Blind Trust (4 page)

The unfeelingness of it all ripped at her, leaving scars that she hoped would remind her the next time she was weak. She realized now that it had been weakness to delude herself while he was gone. New misery welled up as she remembered the letters she had written to him at first, a form of therapy that had helped her to cope. She had spilled her heart out in them, knowing he would never see them. And whether they had been packed with curses or lamentations, they had all ended with,
Clint, where are you, where are you, where are you?

And today he could walk up behind her at work, slide his arms around her, and expect her to accept him as if the months of loneliness and humiliation had never occurred. Those presumptions hurt her almost as much as his leaving had.

A door closed in the house, and Sherry snapped her head up to see her father coming toward her.

“I didn’t know you were coming by today,” the stern-looking U.S. attorney said, although his handsome gray eyes twinkled with pleasure at the unexpected sight of his daughter. “Why aren’t you at work?”

“I had a headache so I took off,” she said. “I thought you were in court.”

“We’ve recessed until this afternoon, so I came home for some peace and quiet. The media will probably be banging on the door any minute now.”

“If you were going to get so involved in this case, why didn’t you handle it yourself instead of giving it to Colin Breard? Isn’t it too important for an assistant?”

Eric squinted in the sunlight and shrugged. “Breard deserved it. He wanted it. He’ll probably be behind my desk in a few years, anyway.”

The logic seemed misplaced somehow, but Sherry wrote it off to her father’s fatigue. “So how’s it going?”

“Slow,” he said, running a hand along his gray temples. “Givanti’s a weasel who had so many gambling debts that he started distributing cocaine to pay them off. Has mush for brains. It’s a wonder he ever ran a business. Unfortunately, though, he has a shrewd attorney.”

“But you guys are shrewder, right?” Sherry said with a smile.

“Let’s hope.” He sat down on the lounge chair next to hers, and clasped his hands between his knees. “So, how are things with you?” A look of concern gilded his gray eyes. “You looked a little upset when I came in.”

That sympathetic look and tone had lost its comfort value, for while she knew her father loved her dearly and suffered with her, she couldn’t bear the constant reminders of what had happened. Madeline’s no-nonsense approach to heartbreak had been exactly what she’d needed. “I’m fine, Dad. Don’t worry about me.”

As if knowing when to quit after months of dealing with her hot-and-cold moods, Eric stood up and smiled. “Well, I’d better go fix myself a sandwich. Want one?”

The knots in Sherry’s stomach had left her appetite dead. “No thanks.”

He shrugged. “All right. Maybe another time.” As if he couldn’t think of anything else to say, he slid his hands into his pockets and started back toward the house. “Oh, by the way,” he said as an afterthought, turning around. “Did you by any chance notice that black sedan parked in front of the Millers’house when you drove up?”

“No, why?” Sherry had been in such an emotionally explosive state when she’d come here today that a submarine could have been parked in front of his neighbor’s house and she wouldn’t have noticed.

A deep frown clefted his forehead, and he rubbed his jaw. “Just wondered. This trial has me paranoid. He’s probably just waiting for the Millers to get home.”

“Must be,” Sherry said. “It wasn’t Clint, was it?”

As if the question warranted his full attention now that she had broached the subject, her father came back to her. “No, not Clint. I suppose you’ve seen him by now, huh?”

Sherry nodded.

Her father turned to the blue water and focused on the sunlight reflecting from the surface. “Thought so. He seemed pretty intent on starting things up again when he was here yesterday.”

Sherry looked up at him, surprised. “He was here?”

“Yeah. He said he’d seen you.”

She let out a deflated sigh. “He thinks I should forgive him and run back into his arms.”

Her father’s unusual momentary silence was more eloquent than his words. “There are worse things you could do.”

Sherry’s eyes narrowed in amazement. “What did you say?”

Eric’s eyebrows arched apologetically. “I just want to see you happy again, honey.”

Sherry couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “And you think I could be happy with a man who ran out on me? A man who humiliated me by practically leaving me at the altar? Have
you
forgiven him?”

“He isn’t asking for my forgiveness,” her father said in a wooden voice. “You’re good at forgiving, honey. You’ve forgiven me. Maybe it won’t be as hard as you think.”

“That’s right,” Sherry snapped. “I’m the forgiving one, so people can kick me in the teeth and expect me to smile when they say they’re sorry.”

Her father’s shoulders dropped as he exhaled. “I didn’t mean to get you all—”

“I’m fine.” She got up and started toward the house. “I’m going back to work. I don’t have time to worry about Clint Jessup anymore. It seems he has enough people to do that already.” She looked back as she reached the door, saw the look of pity on her father’s face, and cursed Clint Jessup all the more for being the one who put it there. She didn’t need her father’s pity. And she sure didn’t need Clint’s brand of love.

Chapter Three

W
es saw the shadows of fatigue under Sherry’s eyes when she came back to the office later that afternoon. He stopped what he was doing and pulled a chair up to her desk. “You okay, sis? I’ve been looking for you.”

“Yeah,” she said. “I’m fine. I was at Dad’s.”

He grew quiet for a moment, biting his tongue. Why she spent so much time with the man who hadn’t given them a thought for most of their lives, was beyond him. He said he had changed, that the love of Christ had transformed him, but Wes was doubtful. Why now? If God was going to change a person, wouldn’t it be while his children were young, when they desperately needed him? Would he really wait until they were older?

Something about the whole story rang false to him, and even though his wife, Laney, accused him of being too hard on the man, Wes couldn’t seem to help himself.

“He said I should forgive Clint.”

Again, he was surprised. “He did? Why?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Wes thought it over for a moment. “Maybe he can relate to him. Since he skipped out on you, too.” The stung look on her face made him wish he hadn’t said it.

“I really don’t want to talk about this.” She slid her chair back and struggled not to cry as she headed for the file cabinet.

“I’m sorry, sis. I didn’t mean it.”

“Yes, you did,” she said, turning back to him. “You don’t ever want me to forget that I was dumped by my father, and then by my fiancé, do you? Does it make you feel better to remind me, Wes?”

He slumped over and covered his face, wishing for once he had listened to his wife’s advice and kept his mouth shut. “No, that’s not true. I do want you to forget. I just have trouble with Eric, that’s all.”

“He’s your father.”

“We have the same DNA. That’s about as far as it goes. Now, tell me about Clint. What has he said about why he was gone?”

Raking her hands through her roots, she sat back down at her desk. “Oh, it doesn’t matter.”

“Sure, it does.”

She shook her head dolefully. “He wrote a book. Needed time. And space, I guess. Maybe I’m too much. Too overwhelming. Maybe I just smother the people I love.”

“You’ve never smothered me, Sherry. You’ve been there when I’ve needed you, and I’ve needed you plenty. Don’t buy into that stupid lie that the men in your life are weak because you’ve done something wrong.”

“I know you’re right,” she said. “But I wanted so badly to believe—”

“That there was a good reason?”

She met his eyes as tears welled in her own. “Yeah.”

Wes stared at her for a moment, thinking. He had liked Clint, had trusted him. He couldn’t believe he had been so wrong. “Maybe there is a good reason, Sherry. Something more than that.”

“Like what? Why won’t he tell me?”

“I don’t know. But I can’t believe that Clint is capable of such a cruel thing as leaving his bride at the altar, if there wasn’t some life or death reason behind it.”

“I didn’t want to think it. But I’m a crummy judge of character. You’ve said so yourself.”

“Well, if you are, then I am, too. I thought the world of Clint. So did everybody who met him. Look what he did for his youth group. He took a handful of kids and grew them into a group of a hundred kids who came to church every time the doors opened. He never got tired of doing God’s work. It just doesn’t make sense that he’d skip town for eight months, then float back in with some explanation about writing a book. It’s so disappointing. He’s not the man we all thought he was.”

Sherry’s eyes took on a distant glaze, and he could see the wheels turning. “There’s this guy who was with him yesterday and then again today. Sticks to him like glue. I knocked over that model, and the guy came running like he thought I’d shot Clint or something. It was so weird.”

Wes frowned. “Sure is. Who does he say the guy is?”

“Just a friend. But yesterday when I asked him to explain where he’d been, for just a flicker of a second, I thought he was going to tell me the truth. But he looked at that guy, and then his whole countenance changed, and he gave me the song and dance about the book again.”

“Something’s not right.”

“You said it. But I don’t know if I’ll ever get to the bottom of it.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t try. Maybe you should just steer clear of him.”

“I’m trying,” she said. “But he isn’t making it easy.”

A
little while later, as Sherry drove back to the office from the post office, she noticed that a black car like her father had described was tailing her.

Coincidence,
she told herself without conviction. There must be hundreds of black sedans in Shreveport, and her imagination was making more of it than there was.

She parked her car in the private garage next to the office, and hurried in looking for Wes. Since he wasn’t in his office, she stepped to his window and peered out toward the small parking lot. When nothing unusual caught her eye, she breathed out a long, shaky breath and set her bag on Wes’s desk. She was getting jumpy. Clint Jessup’s sudden return had distracted her in more ways than one. Stepping over, she glanced up the street to her right, and her stomach lurched at the sight of the waiting black Pontiac. Threading her fingers through her hair, she expelled a low, dreadful moan and realized the driver was waiting for her.

“What is it?”

The sound of Clint’s voice made her swing around, and she caught her breath in a ragged gasp. “What are you doing here?”

“I was waiting for Wes. I want to talk to him.” He glanced past her out the window. “What were you looking at?”

Sherry set her hand on her chest as if it could calm her constricted lungs, and turned back to the window, fighting the rebellious urge to tell him it was none of his business. She was becoming frightened, and he was the only one there at the moment. “It’s just … that car. It’s been following me.” Without questioning her suspicion, Clint stepped into the office and squinted up the street at the car she pointed to. When he saw it, his eyes closed and a long, tangled breath wound out of his lungs. “How long has this been going on?” he asked.

She didn’t answer at first, because she wasn’t sure.

“How long?” he asked more urgently.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I think he might have followed me to Dad’s house today. I may have seen the car yesterday, too, but I can’t say for sure.”

“
God … please, no …
” The words came out as a craggy whisper. Clint took Sherry by the shoulders and turned her to face him. She felt a slight shiver in his hands, saw genuine fear and haunted despair in his eyes. “Listen to me, Sherry,” he said, his hoarseness contradicting his steady monotone. “I have to go get Sam. He’s down the hall. I’ll be right back, and I’ll take you home. Don’t leave here until I get back. Do you understand me?”

“But … I have work to do.”

“Forget work,” he insisted. “Just give me your car keys.” “My keys?” The keys were at the top of her bag, and reluctantly, she surrendered them. “What are you—?”

“No questions now, Sherry. Just wait right here. Please.” Frightened at the adamant, admonishing look in his eyes, Sherry nodded acquiescence. She stood frozen, listening to the squeak of his rubber soles as he ran up the corridor, heard the exchange of muffled voices, heard Clint’s athletic breathing as he ran back to her office. When he got there, he closed the door and leaned over her desk to catch his breath. “I’ll drive you home, Sherry. And I want you to promise me that you won’t go anywhere alone. Nowhere.”

“Clint, you’re scaring me.”

“Good,” he said. “Then maybe you’ll listen to me. Come on.” He straightened and reached for her arm, but she stepped back.

“Clint, I’m not going with you!”

“Yes, you are!” he rasped. “Now come on! And keep quiet.”

Sherry suppressed her rising sense of panic as Clint reached for two white hard hats and handed one to her. “Stuff your hair up in this and pull it low over your face.”

Nervously, she obeyed, then followed him down the dim corridor. She felt his hand trembling as it looped around her waist, heard the heavy, rhythmic sound of his breath, tasted apprehension rising like a lethal flood to drown her senses. Before they were out of the building, he stopped and pulled a pair of mirrored sunglasses out of his pocket, put them on, and set his hard hat on his head. “Now, walk fast,” he told her. “And don’t say anything until we’re on our way.”

She nodded. Swallowing the fear flooding her throat, she took temporary refuge in his arm as it wrapped protectively around her. They walked at a fast gait to the Bronco, and he let her in his side and slid in next to her. The engine rumbled to life, and Clint backed out of his space.

Five minutes had passed before Sherry found her voice. “Clint, you know you’ve just scared ten years off my life, don’t you?”

Clint glanced in the rearview mirror. “I’m sorry, Sherry. I didn’t think this would happen.”

“You’ve got to tell me what’s going on.”

Clint only stared at the road ahead, swallowed, and glanced in the mirror again. In a voice racked with frustrated despair, he said, “I don’t even know where you live now.”

Sherry gave him her address on a street he was familiar with, then tried again. “Clint, are you in some kind of trouble?”

“First, let me get you home, Sherry,”

“Then you’ll answer my questions?”

“Then you can ask them,” he said.

Several more explosively silent moments passed as Clint wove through the streets leading to Sherry’s house. “I’m going to park in that shopping center a couple of blocks behind your street. Do you have a back door?”

A cold, nauseous feeling began to take hold of her, and Sherry glanced through the back window. “Why do I have the feeling that any minute now a SWAT team is going to surround us and start shooting?”

“Do you have a back door or not?”

“Yes, I have a back door,” she whispered.

“Then we’ll have to come up through your backyard and go in that way so we won’t be seen.”

“Clint, people see me going in and out of my house all the time and nothing’s ever happened before.”

“Things have changed, Sherry,” he said.

“Why?”

The heel of his hand landed violently on the steering wheel. “Because I came back to town!”

The Bronco whipped into the crowded parking lot at the shopping center, and threaded through the spaces until it stopped. But Sherry didn’t care where they were, for her eyes were set on Clint, seeing the haze of truth for the first time since he’d come back. She had wished there were some deeper explanation for his leaving her, and now she was sure there was. And she wasn’t sure she wanted to know it, after all.

When the engine was dead, Clint turned and gazed into her eyes. Through his mirrored glasses she saw only herself, blurry blue eyes full of fear and turmoil, a face growing paler by the moment. “If I’d just listened …” he began, but then he just shook his head helplessly and opened the door. “Come on. Take the hat off and we’ll get you home.”

They crossed streets like lovers on a stroll, stole through yards like prowlers in the night, and approached her back door like escaped convicts waiting to be caught. “Where are my keys?” she whispered when they reached the house.

“I gave them to That was your house key too?” His impatient voice was rising in pitch.

“Don’t worry,” Sherry said, quelling his outburst with a trembling hand. “I have one here under the mat.”

“Under the mat?” he whispered accusingly.

Ignoring his tone, Sherry opened the door and they slipped inside. Clint closed and locked it behind them, his eyes bright with disbelief. “You actually keep a key under your mat where any fool could find it?”

“It’s a good thing,” Sherry volleyed. “Considering you handed my keys over to some stranger.”

“Sam is not a stranger,” Clint said, taking off his glasses and bolting through the house to peer through the curtains.

“Then who is he?” she asked, following behind.

“A good friend.”

“Is he in trouble, too?” Her voice shook as she posed the question, and Clint turned from the window.

“No.” A hand mussed his hair distractedly. “Sherry, I gave Sam your keys so he could get in your car and distract the person in the Pontiac while we got away. Whoever’s following you will think Sam’s you, if he plays his cards right. I wish I could explain all this to you, but it’s too soon.”

“Too soon? Clint, you
have
to explain. You do intend to, don’t you?”

Clint fell back on the sofa, covered his face with both hands, and slid them wearily down until he peered at the wall over his fingertips. “No. No, I don’t. Not yet.”

Sherry couldn’t believe what she’d heard. “Do you mean to tell me that you’ve just scared me half to death and you don’t think I deserve an explanation?”

Clint folded his sunglasses and put them in his pocket. His eyes sparkled with pain that went levels beyond what she had seen in them before. “You deserve one, Sherry. But I can’t give it to you.”

“Can’t?” she repeated, aghast.

“The less you know, the better,” he said. “It’s for your own good.”