Читать книгу Falling Grace - Melissa Shirley - Страница 11

After circling the building, kicking at imaginary stones, and muttering a few curse words, I came to a where Rory stood waiting with a fresh glass of champagne.

“Prosecuting my client?” I turned back toward the lush green grass off the patio. “I should have known.”

Rory stood with her back against the railing. “I didn’t know you knew Blane.”

“I met him at the grocery store.” And he liked me, dammit. “What would you do?”

She shook her head and held up a hand. “Oh, no. No. No. No. My Dear Abby days are over. I don’t give love life advice.”

The scent of his cologne arrived before he did, seeping into my senses, heating my body before he pressed close. His arm wrapped around my waist, offered a glass of some amber colored liquid. I took the drink and emptied the glass as he whispered, “I do, and I advise you to dance with me.”

“I can’t dance with you Blane. My client…”

He trailed his fingertip down my throat, and I forgot every single reason I shouldn’t be in his arms, looking into his eyes, and pressing as close as I could get.

Rory shot me a one-eyebrow-cocked look, then left me to fend for myself. Where was the BFF support? The strength in numbers? “You’re the prosecutor, Blane.”

“Not tonight. Tonight, I’m a guy who wants to dance with the prettiest girl in the room. No clients, no office. Me and you. That’s it.” His voice, the cadence and come-get-me sexiness, could have heated hell.

The chatter of conversations and clinking of tableware said dinner started without us. “They stopped the music.”

He pulled me tight against him. With one hand on my stomach and the other laced through mine at my hip, he swayed us side to side. Every cell and pore in my body burned with heat as he nuzzled the spot under my ear with his chin. The friction of his almost-beard against my sensation-heightened skin added a few extra beats per second to my pulse. “Tell me you don’t want to dance.”

I breathed in slowly instead of gulping in the rush of air I needed to stop the dizziness. “Blane, my client…” His lips replaced his chin on my neck, and again, I had no words to finish the thought.

“You’re not going to compromise your case by dancing with me.” The whisper of his breath zinged tiny fires over my skin.

I turned around in his arms, pressing as much of my body against his as I could manage, and closed my eyes to wish for a few less people and a lot less clothes. “We should go inside and eat.” I didn’t add the so I don’t embarrass myself.

A moan rumbled deep in his chest. “I don’t want to share you.” He grinned and moved back a full body space. “Okay. Dinner.”

With a hand pressed against the small of my back, he ushered me toward my table. “I’ll be back as soon as dessert is cleared.”

My breath caught on his whispered promise, and I took my seat.

Rory’s smile disappeared as Blane walked away. When she leaned close enough, I could feel her breath. Our heads nearly bumped and I moved back. “What are you doing?” She hissed the words between clenched teeth.

I folded my napkin in my lap to hide the trembling of my hands and pasted on a bright smile. “Eating dinner.”

Well into the third course, my body still burned from his touch even under the intensity of Rory’s random glares.

As a waiter behind me plopped a dollop of gelato from a crystal serving dish into the silver bowl in front of me, a voice from behind me interrupted the conversation I’d been ignoring. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t Miss Wade.”

If there was anything that could ruin this dreamy night, it was that voice…the deputy I’d threatened with the magazine.

Drawing in a calming breath, I put on my most practiced, fake smile, and turned to face him. “Deputy Wesley.”

He looked around the table. Rory sat to my left, Jack next to her, her brother next to him, then his wife, and Rory’s parents. “We were wondering…” He motioned to the bar and a group of men, a couple of whom mockingly saluted with raised glasses.

I leaned my cheek into the open palm of my hand, my arm braced against the table. “I can’t wait to hear. What were you wondering?”

He looked me up and down, from cleavage to crossed legs, and my skin prickled. For the first time ever, I wanted to cover up in shame, or anger, under a man’s attention. “Do you really think dressing like a whore and shaking your pretty little ass in front of Blane is gonna make that woman any less guilty, or make him take it any easier on your client in court?”

Jack and Tyler each stood to defend my honor, but handling men was one of my finer tuned skills. I looked over my shoulder and reassured them with a smile. Neither man sat, but neither advanced.

I swept my gaze over Wesley’s overly ripe form. “Listen, Deputy Dawg, I don’t know how long it took you to drink enough courage to come over here, but I’m guessing you’re about six or seven drinks in.” I stood, tilted my head, and ran a finger under his long tie. As I advanced, he retreated. “And I’m also guessing you have a collection of complaints in your personnel file. I could probably dig up a bunch of plaintiffs who’d be lining up to sue your ass until a card box underneath an overpass would be too rich for your blood. So, I recommend you don’t screw with what you don’t know about. And make no mistake, you don’t know about me.”

“That bitch is guilty as hell.”

Blood pounded in my ears, but I shrugged a careless shoulder. “Prove it.”

“People in this town ain’t gonna take well to some big city lawyer coming here to defend a baby killer. I’d watch my back if I were you.” He spit the words as though they tasted bad in his mouth.

“Is that your pathetic version of a threat, officer?”

He shook his head and smiled, holding up his hands and backing away. “Just a friendly warning, sweetheart.” He tipped his Stetson toward the table. “Y’all have a nice evening.”

I rolled my eyes at his slurred term of anything but endearment. My heart performed a cowardly somersault, betraying the courage I’d spouted. I waited for him to walk away before I turned to Rory and pursed my lips. “Wow. You folks sure know how to make a girl feel welcome around here.”

“You make friends quickly, don’t you?” Jack, because Rory still wasn’t speaking to me, chuckled as he spoke the words.

“I’m a work in progress where social skills are concerned.”

Tyler snickered into his napkin. “What the hell was that?”

I toyed with the stem of my water glass. “I’m guessing it was the low budget version of the welcome wagon.”

Rory cocked her head to the side. “Grace took Gabrielle Quinn’s case.”

As though time shifted to a stop, silence enveloped our table. Six gazes rested on me. I lifted my chin a notch higher and willed the flush of heat to remain buried in my chest.

“She killed her daughter.”

It didn’t matter who said it, and at that moment, I couldn’t have pointed a finger at who uttered the words, but anger pulsed hard in my veins. Had no one in the great state of Texas ever heard of the United States Constitution? Did innocent until proven guilty not apply here?

I picked up my bag, pushed my chair back, then turned to Mrs. Jordyn. “Thank you for inviting me. I’ve had a wonderful time.” I hadn’t seen Rory since we graduated college and vowed to remain best friends. I’d only talked to her a few times before she called to propose this partnership, but I’d assumed bringing me here and inviting me back into her life implied friendship. Yet, she hadn’t stood to defend me against the deputy, and now she had turned our table into a hostile environment.

“Grace, don’t go.”

Her soft voice and small measure of pleading came a little bit too late to calm my anger. I shook off the hand Rory put on my arm. “I need to get home and unpack. My place is a wreck.” I formulated the excuse despite the strong urge to call her out on her less than friendly behavior. It took a full ten seconds for my frustration to clear enough for me to remember I’d ridden with Rory and Jack. “I’ll call a cab. You guys enjoy your evening.”

When I turned to try to fish my cell out of my bag, I slammed forehead first into Blane’s chest. I bounced off, jostling my chair against the edge of the table. His hands caught my waist and held me upright. “Leaving so soon?”

“Yes.” I stepped around him, gathered the hem of my dress into my fist, and almost jogged to the door. With no ticket to hand the valet, I made my way down the circle drive toward the street. A sharp grip wrapped tightly around my elbow and tugged, stopping my progress. Inhaling a gasp, I jerked free, but didn’t move to get farther away.

“Let me take you home.” The curved sounds of his words softened the demand in his voice.

I shook my head. “Why? Nothing can come of this. You’re the prosecutor, and I’m some kind of social pariah for doing my job. Run away while you still can.”

“I don’t run from anything.” He stepped back. “I’m only sorry you do.”

“What do you want from me, Blane? You want me to give up and walk away from this woman because her crime is too horrible for you? If it’s not me, it’ll be somebody else. You’re still going to have to fight the same fight.”

“But I won’t have to fight you.” His voice dropped to a slow, seductive vibration as he stepped closer.

“Does it really matter?”

“It does to me.” He ducked his head for a second as though his words embarrassed him. “Come on. Let me take you home. We can work the rest out later.” He blinked twice. “Come on.”

As though Mother Nature planted her feet on his side of the ride debate, a loud clap of thunder rolled overhead. “It’s hard to make a good exit scene here.” I didn’t have an umbrella, and the shoes, while one of the prettiest pairs I owned, pinched my toes and squeezed most of the blood flow from my feet. Taking the ride made sense. Lightning split the sky. “A ride sounds great.”

He smiled, held out his hand, and led me back to the valet station. After a moment, a small foreign car with a shiny paintjob and a convertible top pulled up.

Blane helped me in and leaned down, feathering a soft kiss against my cheek. Then, he straightened and walked around the front. In seconds, we were off, zooming around curves, over hills and down straight-aways toward my apartment. He pulled up in front, and I glanced from my building to him.

I crinkled my brow, then offered a smile. “How do you know where I live?”

He shut off the ignition. “I made it my business to know about you.”

I couldn’t decide if that fell in the good or creepy category of potential boyfriends. I hoped for good and ignored the burning in the pit of my stomach that usually signaled something amiss. “Thanks for the ride, Blane.”

He nodded and shifted his weight to the elbow rest on the console. His face hovered close enough I smelled the wine on his breath. “Invite me in, Grace.” His lips grazed my cheek, moved down to my throat, and I tilted my head back.

I’d left home and everything I knew to turn over a new leaf, to change my wicked ways, but something about this guy plunged all my good intentions into a holding pattern. He claimed my mouth, used his tongue to part my lips and hand to cup the back of my neck, urging me closer.

“Blane, there’s a light on in my apartment. Will you come in and check it out?” Each word was punctuated with a kiss after. That morning, I’d switched a light on anticipating a late, and probably tipsy, return. It never occurred to me I would be bringing someone home.

He smiled against my lips. “Sure.” As he walked around the car to open my door, I breathed in slowly and exhaled in a whoosh of window-fogging air. His arm around my waist as we walked to my front door did nothing to calm my nerves. Instead, it sent a rush of shivers along my skin.

With trembling fingers, I fit the key in the lock and pushed the door open as Blane spun me in his arms and laid a breath-stealing kiss on me. My vision blurred and my knees weakened. His arms around me stopped me from melting to the floor in a full-on swoon. I backed in the door with his lips still attached to mine, heartbeat throbbing, hands groping the lapels of his tuxedo. Before the lock clicked into place, I pushed his jacket off his shoulders.

“Grace, you’re not alone.”

In a move inspired by too many viewings of Poltergeist, I spun my head toward the interrupting voice. “Hope! What the hell are you doing here?”

I held the front of my dress in place as Blane fumbled with the clasp of the halter top.

“I came to stay with you. I thought you might be homesick or lonely since you’re new in town. And I unpacked for you.” My youngest sister, at nineteen, took after our mother with her impetuous nature and sneak attack visits.

I glanced around the apartment. She hadn’t unpacked. Unpacking implied putting things away. She’d rooted through boxes and found whatever item she wanted to borrow, then left the boxes opened with the flaps in disarray. “Hope, you can’t stay here. What about school? Or work? What about Dad?”

“Quit school. I’ll get a job here, and Dad is killing me.” She frowned, puffed out her cheeks, lowered her voice and said, “What time will you be home? Who are you going out with? Where are you going?” She twirled a lock of hair around her finger. “He’s suffocating me. I’m almost twenty years old for God’s sake, and I wasn’t allowed to go to Mexico for spring break.”

“So you quit school? Way to show him.” I pumped a fist in the air before dropping it to my side, still clenched.

“Don’t send me back, Gracie. Please? I can’t live with him anymore.” When I looked at her, I didn’t see the almost adult woman she’d grown into, but the three-year-old who crawled into my bed every night as she cried for our mother.

“Does he know where you are?” The words squeaked out as Blane’s finger trailed down my spine. “I mean, go in my room and call him.”

She pasted on her most endearing smile and took a full inventory of Blane from shiny black shoes to loosened tie, to those sinful brown eyes. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”

“No. Go call Dad.”

“If you guys wanna have sex, you can have the bedroom.”

Heat flooded my cheeks. I wasn’t a prude by any means, but hauling a guy I just met into my bedroom while my baby sister occupied couch space in the next room landed in no-no territory. Even for me.

“Go. Call. Dad.” I love my sister. I repeated it over and over again until I could look at her without clenched fists and gritted teeth. She flounced down the hallway, and I turned to Blane.

He leaned his forehead against mine and smiled. “We could go to my place.”

Usually, when I went head to head with temptation, especially temptation dressed in Armani with a body like a superhero, temptation won. Images of peeling away his jacket, tossing his tie over my back, ripping the buttons off his shirt, and rolling around on a bed with him--no. “I can’t, Blane. I wish I could.” He leaned in for a kiss I cut short. “You’re not gonna make this easy, are you?”

“I live ten blocks away. We could be there in two minutes.”

Ten blocks? I blew out a sigh. “Rain check?”

He leaned down slow and brushed his lips across mine, then moved them to my ear. “I’m counting on it.” Everywhere south of his whisper caught on fire. “Can I see you tomorrow?”

I gulped in as much air as I could. At this rate, he would think I had lung problems. “Oh, yeah. I’m counting on it, Tex.”

With one last kiss, one that curled my toes and had me rethinking the entire concept of clothing, he turned and left. I watched him walked down the sidewalk. He leaned both arms against the roof of his car, looked up at me, and waved. As he pulled away, I shut the door and turned to find my sister close enough I could smell the pizza she’d ate for supper.

“Who’s that guy?”

“A friend.”

“Yeah.” She smirked. “Whatever.”

I stepped around her, shucking my shoes as I walked down the hallway to my room.

She followed like a shadow on a summer’s day. “Where did you meet him?”

“Eight-Eight-Eight-Buy-a-Date. Now go away.”

“He’s cute for somebody your age.” At nineteen, her tastes hit all ends of the spectrum. One week she dated a garage band guitar player. The next she loved a philosophy major who quoted Socrates and the Dalai Lama on the same breath he ordered a cheeseburger.

“Hope, I have to get up early tomorrow. I have a case to go over.”

Her smile faded to a frown. “Already? I thought we could hang out, do some shopping, maybe sightsee. You know, sister stuff.” She puffed out her lip and shot me the pout I’d perfected as a teenager. “We used to spend time together. I miss you, Gracie.”

Only she got away with calling me that. Ever. I shook my head, examining the fuzzy tan carpet under my toes. “If you get up early, maybe we can find somewhere to run, then we can shop for a little while.” I didn’t add the word grocery or I knew she’d sleep till noon. “But I need to get work done at some point.”

She grinned and threw her arms around me in a squishy hug that reminded me of her childhood. “Deal.”

* * * *

My dreams that night flashed images I’d run across that day and every horrible memory I had of myself--Blane in a mirror wearing a tuxedo, Deputy Wesley with his crooked shirt and ten gallon hat, a ballroom filled with a hundred pairs of eyes staring at me as I strolled in wearing my coke-bottle glasses, high school hoodie, and a bad case of acne. By two in the morning, I had no intention of attempting more shut-eye.

I padded out to the kitchen, started a pot of coffee, and opened the file I’d retrieved from the police station.

With a sigh, I pulled out the crime scene photos. An eight by ten black and white showed an overall view of the bedroom. A white twin canopy bed sat in the middle of one wall, a closet to the left, and a dresser with a mirror on the right. Long gauzy curtains shielded a window behind the bed. The body, blankets, and sheets had all been removed before the camera captured the image.

I put it aside and moved to the next. At the following photo, I sucked in a breath, turned it on to its face, then closed my eyes. Holy God. I could only imagine what she’d gone through, the pain, the suffering. Flipping the picture up, I recited a prayer under my breath. It took a full minute to breathe through my nausea. After one last calming inhale, I lowered my gaze to take in as much detail of the image as I could.

Her almost transparent skin contrasted heavily with the blood pooled at various incisions on her body. Dark eyelashes rested against her paled cheeks. Long, blond hair matted against her head, and her body lay tucked on its side, one arm against her hip the other bent toward her face. She could have fallen asleep peacefully if not for the blood and cuts. Dots and stains of red colored the blanket pushed down to her feet.

Bile worked its way up my throat, and I stood, leaned over the sink, and pulled in deep drafts of air. The splash of water against my face cooled my heated cheeks and, after a moment, my dizziness subsided. “Shit.” If I couldn’t get through a single photo without the urge to throw up, the odds of making it through court slimmed.

I sat back down and pushed the pictures to the side in favor of the autopsy and police reports. The photos could wait.

Deputy Wesley, the first officer on the scene, documented every detail, and his report stretched on for nineteen neatly typed pages. For a socially inept human being, he’d proven his attention to fact and supposition.

I scanned for the high points, ignored his opinions, and jotted notes on a tablet of Post-its.

Date night. Babysitter--Jenny Walker. Home by eleven. Checked on kids. Emily covered completely, only hair showing. Male child asleep on sofa. Back gate open. No forced entry. House in reasonable state of cleanliness. Heavy odor of bleach. Four people in the home. Two adults, two children. Body found in bed. Empty trash can.

By the time I finished, notes covered the entire surface of my kitchen table and ran up the wall separating the kitchen from the rest of the apartment.

A while after the first rays of sunlight streaked through the blinds and left swirling patterns of dust in the air, Hope hobbled into the kitchen rubbing her eyes, her mouth open in a big yawn. “You redecorating already?”

She picked up a Post-it, read it, and smoothed it onto the front of her shirt.

“Put it back, Hope. I need these in the order I wrote them.”

She rolled her eyes and slapped the yellow sticky note back into place. “You got coffee?”

I nodded to the counter and handed her my cup.

“It’s empty.” She picked up the glass pot and stared at it as though she could telepathically make more appear.

I pushed back from the table, snatched it out of her hand, and began the process I’d already repeated twice. As the water ran into the carafe, I turned away from the sink. “Hope, do you know if the girls have anything going on at home right now?”

She pulled out a chair and plopped down before pulling her knees to her chest. “No. Why?”

I sighed and finished making the coffee before I turned to answer. “I might need Charity”--a forensic investigator--“or Joy”--a criminal psychologist--“to help me out a little with my case.”

I stared at my notes, a nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach churning with the gallons of coffee I’d consumed. My gaze ventured from one yellow paper to another, but always strayed back to one hanging on the wall. Emily completely covered--only hair showing.

I snatched the page off the wall. Didn’t mothers worry about suffocation? With the note still clutched in my hand, I looked from Hope to the door and back again. “I need a mom.”

She scoffed and rested her head on her knees. “Don’t we all?”

I shook my head. “No. Not for me. I need to ask a mom a question.” The gnawing in my belly burned for an answer.

“Doesn’t Rory have a kid?”

“Yes.” But the last thing I wanted to do was drag her into this. We’d reached a tenuous truce, and the question I wanted an answer to held the potential to start a world war between us.

“Go ask her.”

I shook my head and tapped a finger against my lips. Who else could I bother with this? I took a mental inventory of the people I knew in this town--the hot prosecutor, Tyler, his wife, Rory’s parents, an angry deputy, Jack, and Rory. Because my question involved the pertinent details of a case, and I was bound by attorney-client privilege, I didn’t see another choice. “I guess I’m gonna have to.”