Dread Champion (31 page)

“It doesn't matter what you're doing; that's what they'll say! It won't change a thing in the end, not
one thing!
”He glared at Brett. Finally air hissed out of his lungs. He dropped his shoulders, looking deflated and worn. “Except that you could be in here with me.”

Sickness crept through Brett's veins.Was his father right? Could his relationship with Kerra have made it impossible to save his dad? His eyes closed at the thought.

“I'll stop seeing her,” he said. The mere words filled his stomach with lead.

His father rubbed an eyebrow. “Won't help. It's too late.” He raised his head and cast Brett a penetrating look. The anger in his face waned, and he regarded Brett as if seeing him for the first time.

“You care for this gal a lot.” It wasn't a question.

Brett blinked at the thought. “Yeah.”

“And you'd give her up? For me?”

He tried to speak but his throat was too thick. He nodded.

Darren Welk spread a hand upon the glass.“Well,” he said gruffly. “You won't have to.Wouldn't do any good anyway.”

Brett's eyes stung. “I can't stand this, Dad.”

His father managed the barest of smiles.“We'll manage, Son.We always have.”

B
RETT PARKED IN A SPACE
outside Max's Restaurant, got out, and slid inside Kerra's car.

“How did it go?” she asked.

“Fine.” He focused out the windshield, feeling the weight of Kerra's gaze. Her unspoken questions swirled between them. After her public support she deserved a few answers. But what could he do? Even if he could tell her everything on his heart, his words would hardly put her at rest.

“Do you want to go in and eat?” he asked.

She looked away. “Not really. Someone could recognize us. I've had enough people staring at me for the day.”Accusation tinged her tone.

“I'm sorry all the reporters are hounding you, Kerra. Maybe if you stopped sitting with me, they'd leave you alone.”

“Is that what you want?”

“You know it isn't.”

“Fine then.” She pushed back in her seat, arms folded.

“So,” he ventured after a moment, “where do you want to go?”

“I don't know.”Her tone was clipped, irritated. “I can't take you to Aunt Chelsea's house, knowing that she wouldn't approve of that. I'm sure you can understand.”

“Sure. I can respect that.”He gathered his nerve. “Want to go to my hotel room?”

She gave him an exasperated look. “Oh, that would be just great. Imagine the news stories if someone were to spot us.”

Tiredness washed through Brett.He knew this was hard for Kerra. It wasn't exactly a cakewalk for him, either. After the long day, after the visit with his father, he did not have the energy to shore her up.

“Kerra,” he said quietly, “do you just not want to be with me tonight?”

She searched his face, her expression smoothing. “You know I want to be with you, Brett. I just don't know where we should go. And I just wish you would
talk
to me.”

The words hit him in the chest. If only he could.

He reached for her hand.“How about this: I'll go inside and get some food to go.We'll drive up into the hills somewhere, see if we can find an out-of-the-way place to park.Nobody around to bother us.We'll try to forget the world's even happening. Okay?”

She read his thoughts all too well. Closing her eyes, she sighed in resignation. “Okay.”

Twenty minutes later they were winding their way through forested hills on Skyline Boulevard, west of Redwood City. Brett pulled off at a vista point sign, and they trudged a short distance to a clearing overlooking the cities and the bay beyond. A large, flat rock provided the perfect picnic table. Brett set down the food.

“Looks like a great spot to me.”

Kerra gazed at the view. “It is. Although I suppose someone else could come along at any time.”

“Well, it's better than a public restaurant. Besides,” he said, pulling her close, “we're supposed to forget about the world. Remember?”

T
HE JURY OPTED FOR
individual room service that night. Chelsea was relieved to eat alone. Better to be cooped up in the same four walls of her hotel room than to share another uncomfortable meal with the others.

She couldn't decide what to order, distractions from the day filling her head. Finally she settled on soup and a salad. Soon after she placed her order, Paul called. She longed to spill her heart out to him about Kerra and the jury members but knew she could not.He was so far away.What could he possibly do about any of it but worry? Instead she urged him to tell her about his day. She drank in his words and his voice, imagining his touch.Wishing he were beside her. By the time she hung up the phone, she felt even more alone.

The food arrived. Chelsea could only pick at it.Worries descended upon her like a dark cloud. Try as she might, she could not chase them away. One negative question after another pounded, until her head felt like a whirling storm.

How was she going to do everything God expected of her? She didn't have the strength. She was already tired, and jury deliberations hadn't even begun. She pictured Tak's hard eyes and Hesta's chilled stares. The impatient expressions of Gloria and Latonia. Antonio's judging frown.What would it be like, stuck in a room with these people until they all agreed? How would they treat her if she disagreed with any of them?

And what was Kerra doing right now, and Brett? Were they together all the time? Did Brett have something to do with Shawna Welk's death? If so, dear God, what was going to happen to Kerra?

THIRTY-FIVE

It was almost seven thirty when Milt pulled into a visitor's parking space in the Valley Way apartment complex. Both buildings were grayed, needing fresh paint.Milt's eyes roved over the brown, sparse grass. Must be a far cry from Darren Welk's expensive digs, he thought.He got out of his car and put on his suit coat. Patted his tie, smoothed his hair. Took a moment to summon his charm. The mere thought of using it lifted one corner of his lips.

Tracey lived in number twenty-six. Fortunately, all the apartments had outside entrances. Rogelio would have been hard pressed to follow her down some long hallway.

He knocked on the door, rehearsing. He'd rehearsed his interweaving of fact and fiction during the entire drive.

A voice filtered through the door. “Who is it?”

“Milt Waking,Miss Wilagher, from Channel Seven News. I have to talk to you about your mother. It's important.”

Silence.Milt could almost feel the girl's revulsion.

“I don't want to talk to any reporters.”

“Miss Wilagher, I am not here as a reporter.”He leaned forward, a hand on the doorpost.“My workday has ended; I could be home kicking my shoes off. But I've stumbled across some information that I knew you'd want to hear.”

Milt heard a footstep.“What information?” The voice was closer.

“I can't talk to you through the door.”

“How did you know where I live?”The words rang with suspicion.

“Miss Wilagher, are you going to let me in or not? If you don't hear this information from me, you could end up hearing it on the nightly news.”

Another long pause. Milt closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, hoping against hope. Then he heard the sound of a bolt sliding back. Exhaling aloud, he pulled away from the threshold. Straightened himself as the door inched open. Tracey's thin face appeared in the crack. He smiled, pouring warmth into his eyes. “See? It's just me. No paper and pen. No camera.”He pulled his eyebrows together in a look of concern.

She gazed at him, lips pressed. Milt watched her swallow. He stood absolutely still, afraid that the slightest movement would send her skittering.An interminable moment passed. Finally she stepped back, opening the door farther.

“Come on in. But only for a minute.”

He slipped inside, looking around the living room of her apartment. A few pieces of cheap furniture, probably rented.A small television. No pictures on the walls, no knickknacks. A computer on a square folding table in one corner. It was on, displaying an unfinished email.

She saw his gaze, quickly crossed the room and switched off the monitor. “Okay, you're in.” She crossed her arms, standing woodenly. “Now what is it?”

His presence clearly rattled her. Suddenly she seemed so small, her shoulders so narrow and frail. Loneliness and distrust hung about her like a fog. He felt a surprising pang of empathy, wondering what it must be like to have lost a mother in such a horrible way. Then it vanished.

“Could I sit down?” he ventured.

“You won't be staying that long.”

“Okay.”

He eased a few steps until he reached the back of her couch. Rested a hand upon it. “I was placed in a moral dilemma this afternoon, Miss Wilagher, due to some information I heard about your mother, and I realized that talking to you was the only right thing to do. I came as soon as I could.”

The exaggerated rise and fall of Tracey's breathing bespoke her anxiety. She hugged her arms.Milt forged ahead.

“I now know that about a month before she was murdered, your mother sold a baby to Enrico Delgadia for a substantial amount of money. And that you signed as a witness to the adoption.”

A gasp rattled through Tracey's lips. Her face blanched. “Where did you hear that? It's not true!”

Milt leaned over the couch, the picture of sincerity.“Please don't waste what little time we have denying this. I've seen the adoption papers. Believe me, I'm not here to make your life harder than it already is.”

Her knees wobbled in shock, body tilting. Both hands flew out to steady herself against the folding table. The next thing Milt knew, he'd sped around the couch to her side and was bracing her underneath the elbows.

“No, don't touch me; get out of my house!” She flailed at him wildly, splayed fingers connecting with his chin. His head jerked back in surprise at the intensity of her reaction. For an instant he almost let her go. He hadn't counted on this kind of gamble.What was he doing? But if he left her now …He put his arms around her and pulled her to him.

“Let me go!” she sobbed into his shirt, writhing.

“Tracey, listen to me; I want to help you.”He tightened his hold.

“No, you don't! You don't want to help me at all!” Her head tossed from side to side against his chest.

Milt hung on with rising panic. How on earth had this happened? The things she could accuse him of!

That very thought made him hold her all the more tightly. No way he could afford to fail at winning her over now. “Shh, it's okay,” he soothed. “It's all right.” He slid a hand to the back of her head, smoothing her hair. “It's all right.”

After what seemed an eternity, Tracey's struggles began to lessen. Finally she seemed spent. She leaned against him, shaking like a leaf in the wind. She was still crying.

“Come on, let's get you to sit down.” He gently led her to the couch and they sank upon it. He continued holding her, stroking her hair until all hiccuping subsided. She inched out a hand to clutch his sleeve, fingers trembling. He was struck again by her frailty. He found himself imagining her life, and his heart went out to her. Regardless of his reason for being there, comforting her at that moment felt almost … good.

Well, he thought, bringing his mind back to focus. All the more ammunition to make her feel she could trust him.

“Tracey. Can you listen to me now?”

His fingers sifted through her hair. After a moment she nodded. Her face remained buried in his shirt.

“Okay. I'll explain everything.”He sighed. “First of all, I haven't told anybody what I know. Like I said, I came to you first. After watching how hard it was for you on the stand, I just really felt for you. But I'm putting my career on the line.Not to mention my conscience. I can't continue to keep quiet unless I'm sure all this wouldn't change things.”He gazed down at the top of her head, feeling the flutter of her heart against his chest. “Obviously, the defense attorney doesn't know about all this. Do you realize what he could do with the information if he did?”

She stiffened. “What?”

Her response was perfect.“He's looking for any argument to convince the jury that someone other than Darren Welk could have killed your mother. This would make his day. He'd haul you into court and make you tell everything you know. Then he'd haul Del-gadia in. And in his closing arguments he'd weave a tale about how Delgadia might have wanted your mother dead to silence her.”

Tracey's fingers tightened on his arm.“You know that's not true.”

“But I don't, Tracey,” he said quietly. “That's just it.”

She raised her head to look at him. Her deep brown eyes were red-rimmed. Hair lay flattened and stuck to her temple. “What do you mean?”

Milt brushed the hair off her face. “How can I know that with such a motive, Delgadia
didn't
kill your mother? Maybe he was looking for a chance; maybe he followed them to the beach that night. Do you see my problem? I can't sit on information if I think doing so would send an innocent man to jail.My conscience will force me to tell Terrance Clyde.”

Her eyes widened in terror. “You can't do that! Please!” Fresh tears sprang to her eyes. “Believe me, it wouldn't make any difference; Enrico Delgadia didn't kill my mother.”

“How do you know that for sure?”

“I just
do!
” The last word was almost a wail.

“Okay, okay.”He cupped her chin. “I want to believe that. But I can't set everything straight in my mind unless I know all the facts.”

She shook her head, tears spilling onto her cheeks. “I can't tell you anything. That's just it—I can't talk to
anybody
about
anything!