Guilty as Sin (52 page)

Maybe it was just as well, Ellen mused as they passed shopping centers and intersections that gave glimpses of quiet suburban neighborhoods. On the surface, a visit seemed to offer what she needed—support and sympathy. But what she was feeling couldn't be cured by going home. Just as it hadn't been cured by leaving the Cities two years ago—only put off for a time.

She fought it now as it rose to the surface like oil. The fear that what she had walked away from when she had left the Hennepin County system wasn't just politics or disillusionment, but the knowledge of a world and a system in decay, and the knowledge that she was as much a part of the problem as she was disgusted by it.

She thought of the many rape victims whose cases she had prosecuted over the years, the ordeal the system put them through, making them relive the crime over and over during the investigation and trial. It was no different now with Josh. He would be victimized all over again in the name of justice, and again in the name of therapy. His life had been violated, and he and his mother would be put through hell by the people who were supposed to protect them and help them in order to get a conviction. For the first time in two years she felt jaded and old in a way that had nothing to do with her upcoming birthday.

The feeling nagged her as they left the suburbs behind and the view softened to the rumpled white blankets of farm fields and valleys shaded gray with naked woods. And as they neared Deer Lake, another eerie restlessness crept in as she looked off at the countryside—the idea that their nemesis was out there somewhere right now, that if they just turned down the right road, they might drive right past the house where Dustin Holloman was waiting to be rescued.

Cameron took the exit at the Big Steer truck stop and rolled down the frontage road past Dealin' Swede's A-l Auto and Manley's two biggest dealerships, where yellow ribbons had been tied to every car on the lots and the showroom windows had been painted with the slogan "Bring Dustin Home." Even the giant inflatable blue gorilla that hovered above the roof of the Pontiac place had been adorned with a yellow ribbon, fluttering gaily around its neck.

Driving through the streets of town, Ellen saw the same symbols over and over. The ribbons on the front doors meant to show support and perhaps to ward off the evil. The posters taped to store windows. The new banner the town council had had hoisted across Main Street—"Protect Our Children!"

The plea struck Ellen as personal. The citizenry turned instantly to the police they otherwise seldom thought about, expecting the crime to be solved, regardless of the lack of clues. They turned to the court system they likely knew nothing about, calling for justice at all costs. The pressure of their silent demands settled on her shoulders, turning the muscles to rock.

"Did you want to go back to the office?" Cameron asked. "We could try to contact some more of Wright's old chums."

"I'll pass for once," Ellen said. "I think we've suffered enough for one day. All I want to do is get some sleep."

"Yeah, I don't suppose you got much last night."

You don't know the half of it.

It seemed impossible that she had spent the night with Brooks. It seemed impossible that she had let her guard down that much. And with Jay Butler Brooks, of all men. But they had reached out to each other . . . and it had been incredible.

And it was incredibly complicated.

"Apparently, Manley thinks you're cursed," Cameron said, pulling into Ellen's driveway beside the Bonneville. The driver's door wore a big splotch of gray primer where the word "BITCH" had been.

"Can you blame him? Frankly, I was afraid to have my car at his garage. I don't want to be responsible for his business going up in flames."

"You're not responsible," Cameron reminded her. "You're the victim."

"Be that as it may, I'm dangerous to know."

"Do you want me to come in with you?"

"No." She nodded toward the gray sedan parked at the curb. "Mitch gave me a guard. I'll be fine. Thanks for the ride."

"Try to stay out of trouble for a few hours," he said, offering her a gentle version of his teasing grin.

"I'm going to bed early. How much trouble could I get into?"

Visions of Jay's pirate smile rose in her memory as she drove the Bonneville into the garage.

"God, Ellen," she mumbled as she hefted her briefcase out of the car. "Of all the lousy times to develop a libido."

"You won't hear me complaining."

She whirled around. Brooks came out of the shadows of the garage. He hadn't bothered to shave, apparently hadn't bothered to run more than his fingers through his hair.

"Dammit!" Ellen complained. "I'm not going to have to worry about Wright's accomplice getting me. You'll give me a heart attack first! What the hell are you doing in here?"

"I had my doubts about your surveillance team. Decided to test them for myself." He reached out and took her briefcase from her. "They failed."

"I can see that. How did you get in? Everything was locked."

He pulled a credit card from his coat pocket and held it up. "Don't leave home without it. I parked on the next block, cut through the alley, hopped your fence—"

"And Harry?"

"Greeted me with tail wagging. He's not exactly Cujo." He nodded toward the door that led directly from the garage to the backyard. "You need a dead bolt there. I jimmied the lock with the credit card. Any two-bit burglar could do it."

"There's a comforting thought."

"Look on the bright side, sugar," he said, following her into the house. "At least I was the one to show you your security shortcomings. The only thing I'm after is some wild, hot sex."

"Oh, is that all?"

"You weren't so blase last night." Wicked mischief lit his eyes as he planted a hand on either side of her and trapped her with her back against the wall. "As I recall, you said something more along the lines of all that, Jay?"

"I was probably referring to the size of your ego."

His grin deepened. "You're blushing, counselor."

"It's the sudden warmth."

"Hear! Hear!"

He brushed his mouth across hers, his lips cold, his tongue warm, his gaze holding hers. Ellen's body responded to his as if they had spent years together instead of just a night. It was a frightening thought—that they could be so in tune, that she could be so easily won over, that her body could so Eagerly shut out her mind.

She turned her face away. "I need to let Harry in."

She brought the dog in and gave him his supper. She could feel Jay watching her as she hung up her coat and turned up the thermostat. The quality of his gaze unnerved her—the intensity of it, the sense that he wasn't just watching her but observing her, studying her.

She drew a deep breath as she faced him. He had turned the fireplace on and stood with his back to it. In the deep shadows of the room he looked like the kind of man no sane person would cross paths with. In another time, in another place . . . they would never have met. That was the bottom line.

"I've been thinking," she began, pacing nervously between the coffee table and the wing chair.

"Uh-oh."

"Last night . . . last night was . . . incredible—"

"But . . ."

"It can't happen again."

"Because?"

"Because everything. Because of the case. Because of who I am. Because of who you are."

"Those are all the reasons we're together."

"I know." She shook her head. "It can't work, Jay."

"It worked pretty damn good last night," he said, moving toward her.

Ellen held her ground. "You know what I mean. I've got priorities."

"And I'm not one of them."

"Would you want to be? You've got priorities of your own. I doubt I'm one of them."

"Not so," he said. "I believe I made my interest in you clear from the first."

"Your interest in me as a player," Ellen clarified.

"You still don't trust me," he charged.

"You know the position I'm in," she said, stepping around the heart of the issue. "You were an attorney, you should know better than to take it personally."

"That's a little hard to do, all things considered," he said with a sarcastic laugh. "I thought we were past the cover-your-ass stage. You know, I've already seen yours from some very intimate angles."

"Thank you for pointing that out," Ellen said sharply, her temper fraying down to the nub. "Would you care to see it again so you can describe it accurately in chapter nineteen?"

"Jesus Christ, you are so—" He broke off, clamping his teeth down on his temper, reining back the wrong words before they could make a bad situation worse. "Dammit, Ellen, don't you know I wouldn't do anything to hurt you?"

"No, I don't know!" she shot back. "I know you're the one who Keeps warning me away and then pulling me back until I feel like a paddle ball. I know your stated purpose in coming to Deer Lake, and I've made it very clear that I hate it. I know you went to law school with Tony Costello, but you claim you don't know him. You pretend to be my friend, then get pissed off when I don't let you in on what you know damn well has to be confidential. You walk into my life out of the shadows like a stalker, then tell me you want to keep me safe. What the hell am I supposed to think about you?"

The question lay between them like a gauntlet. Ellen waited for him to take it up. Neither of them moved. He stood with his hands jammed at the waist of his jeans, eyes narrowed, mouth set in an uncompromising line.

"I've known you a week," she murmured. "A week. One of the worst damn weeks of my life. What am I supposed to think? That you're a hero? That I should trust you? Do you know what happened the last time I trusted a man who said he was my friend, who said he understood?

"He took that trust and used it, used me to buy himself some power. A rapist walked free."

"Fitzpatrick?" Jay whispered.

"His victim was counting on my team. Art Fitzpatrick had destroyed her life, and he walked away from that like it was nothing, because I was stupid enough to trust the wrong man. Tuesday I get to stand across a courtroom from that man, knowing he'll stop at nothing to get what he wants."

"Costello."

He closed his eyes and muttered the name like a curse. The puzzle pieces he had been playing with for a week fell into place. He had known about the Fitzpatrick debacle, of course, but there had been no direct connection to Costello. Costello hadn't represented Fitzpatrick. But he sure as hell would have courted Fitzpatrick and his counsel for future reference. And he had gone through Ellen to do it. That son of a bitch.

"He'll do whatever he has to do to win a case or anything else he happens to want."

"And did he want you? Is that what this is really all about, Ellen? Costello fucked you over figuratively and literally?"

The words exchanged in anger Friday night came back to him now. Costello had betrayed Ellen, and Costello was here, Wright's attorney of choice—a choice made after Ellen had been given the case, a choice made after Jay himself had come into the picture. Christ almighty, no wonder she was paranoid.

And what do you do, Brooks? Jerk her around like a goddamn rag doll.

He had played on her emotions, purposely kept her off balance in the attempt to get what he wanted—the story, the inside track ... the woman; this woman who stood before him with her defenses worn thin, her pride held up like a shield.

"How's that for an extra twist to your plot, Mr. Brooks?" she said bitterly. "Maybe you'd rather write that story. Maybe you'd rather exploit those people, though I don't imagine sexually abusive corporate magnates sell as well as stolen children. You'd rather tap into that deeper vein of emotion, hit us where we'll all bleed. Well, congratulations, Jay, you managed to hit a double bull's-eye with me. You should be so proud."

"Ellen—" he began, reaching out toward her.

She stepped back from him, holding her hands up in front of her, warning him away. "I think you should leave. The night is young. You can go home and write this little fight scene down while it's fresh in your mind. You can call Costello up and compare notes about my sexual performance. There's just nothing like firsthand experience when it comes to research, is there?"