Indiscretions (19 page)

Sean immediately fell to her side, as blood slowly oozed from her scalp. His heart pounded. He shook her. She didn't move, but she was still breathing. He looked frantically around the room, then went to the bathroom in search of a cloth to place on the wound. He returned and carried her to the sofa, pressing the cold, wet washcloth against her head. The bleeding slowed, and he applied more pressure until it stopped.

“Why, Carol? Why does it always have to be this way between us?” The question stabbed at his knotted stomach. Then a dark, fleeting thought crept through his brain. He looked at her. His heart pounded. She stirred, moaning softly. He saw that his one chance would quickly end.
No, man. Enough is enough.

The figure behind the tinted window of the parked car watched as Sean exited the building and rushed toward his car. His jaw clenched in recognition. When the car sped off, he got out and stormed into the building, his own anger boiling to the surface. He would put an end to this once and for all. But what he found when he put his key in the door and opened it made his job that much easier.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Sean sat on the edge of his bed, his large hands hanging over his thighs, head bent. He looked at the phone, reached for it, then stopped midway. Guilt assailed him. He should have made sure everything was fine before he left. But all he could think about at the time was getting out of there as quickly as possible before—

Damn!
He slammed a fist down on his night table. He shouldn't have let her get to him like that. He covered his face with his hands, trying to wipe away the vision of her lying so still.

But he couldn't…wouldn't let the incident interfere with him getting to Khendra. Why hadn't Phil called? Rising from the bed, he went to the bathroom and gathered toiletries, which he threw into an overnight bag, then grabbed shirts and slacks from the closet.
I have to be ready.
Satisfied he had what he needed, he reached for the phone and dialed the airport.

Alex gripped the steering wheel of his Cadillac so hard his knuckles began to hurt. Pulling into driveway of his house, he mentally prepared himself for his wife's accusing looks and silent knowledge. But he would deal with her as he always did.

He checked his watch. They were already an hour late for a benefit dinner engagement. So if she started in on him—well, he would just leave her home.

He chuckled. Now everything was back in order. He took a deep breath and walked into his foyer. “Ellen!” he called up the winding stairway as he leaned against the heavy cherry wood banister. “I'm home. I hope you remembered to get my suit from the tailor.”

Sean had spent a fitful night. Over and over, he had seen the coat rack slowly fall toward Carol, and he was never able to get to her in time. And then—No! He wouldn't think about it. It was over.

No longer able to stay in bed, he got up and took a long, steamy shower, as if trying to wash away the vision. Draped in a towel, he padded into his bedroom and reached for the phone, just as it rang. He snatched the receiver off the cradle, his anxious voice leaping across the wires. “Yes,” he barked tersely.

“It's me, buddy. Looks like lady luck is on your side. I've been on this from the moment we hung up and—”

Sean's pulse pounded in his ears. “Cut the crap, Phil,” he growled, his adrenaline pumping.

“Keep your shirt on,” Phil retorted, stifling a chuckle at his friend's blatant eagerness. “She's with a guy called Clifford Samuels. He's got an office at—”

Sean's mind raced faster than his shaky fingers could write. He had found her, and he was going to make everything all right. No more lies, no more cover-ups. He would make her understand. The past was finally behind him, and he wanted her in his future.

“I owe you one, Phil,” Sean said in a shaky voice.

“Forget it, man. This one's on the house. Now all you gotta do is get here.”

“I'm on my way.”

Phil hung up, and Sean depressed the button to dial. He was interrupted by a fierce pounding on the door, as if someone was trying to break it down. He looked at the bedside clock. It was seven a.m. Now who in the hell could that be?

He pulled a navy-blue terry cloth robe from his closet, shrugged it over his muscular shoulders and went to door. “Who is it?” he demanded.

“Open up. Police.”

Shock waves of dread ripped through him. He flung the door open to see two large men dressed in civilian clothes. The tense, drawn faces that greeted him seemed to reflect in the badges they flashed.

“Yes?” A flicker of apprehension grabbed him in the gut.

“Are you Sean Michaels?” asked a burly detective.

Sean took a defiant stance, legs splayed apart. “I am.”

“May we come in?” the detective asked, brushing by him before he had a chance to respond. The other followed.

Sean, becoming more irked by the minute by this intrusion, stood by the door as the men inspected his apartment. “Just what do you want?”

“I hope you weren't planning on going anywhere, Michaels,” the second detective said, looking through Sean's bedroom door at the open suitcase he had placed on a chair, “because we have a warrant for your arrest.”

Sean's head snapped instinctively toward his bedroom, sudden panic rippling through him. “What!” Disbelief and icy fear twisted within him.

“You're under arrest for suspicion of murder.”

“Murder?” Sean was incredulous. “Have you lost your mind? I haven't murdered anyone.” Sheer, dark fright gripped him. His heart thudded wildly in his chest.

“I suggest you get dressed, Mr. Michaels, and quickly. You're coming with us,” the first detective stated calmly.

“What? I don't understand. Who am I supposed to have murdered?”

“Your ex-wife, Carol Gordon-Michaels. Read him his tights, Murphy,” the big detective said to his partner.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

The teapot whistled shrilly throughout the tiny apartment. Khendra dashed across the carpeted floor in stocking feet, zipping her camel-colored skirt as she moved to turn off the stove. She was thankful that she didn't have to be in the office until later. Her evening out with Cliff had left her tired.

She smiled. Cliff was a good man. He could probably make her very happy. She sighed, then shook her head. No one could replace Sean. The thought was frightening but true. And she would not allow anyone else to capture her heart again. She would consume herself with work, and that, she thought weakly, would be enough. She'd been burned once too often.

Straightening her shoulders with resolve, she poured herself a cup of herbal tea and headed for the bedroom to look for a file. As she passed the television in the living room, she flipped it on and set her cup on the coffee table.

“Now where is that file?” she said out loud, fishing through the folders on her desk. Unsuccessful in her search, she stepped into her brown leather pumps and left the bedroom. She was looking through a stack of papers and folders on her coffee table when a flash on the television screen caught her attention.

The picture-perfect face, devoid of all emotion, with hair that was combed just right, seemed to be talking directly to her.

“…as you can see by all the activity behind me, I'm standing in front of the 90th Precinct in downtown Atlanta—”

The camera panned the expanse of the area, revealing news vans, reporters, police barricades and scores of onlookers..

“…where notable attorney, Sean Michaels, of the law firm McMahon, Counts and Perry, was taken into custody earlier this morning and is being held on suspicion of murder.”

The teacup Khendra held in her hand crashed to the floor. She felt an unbearable heat race through her body.

The hair on the back of her neck bristled. Her pulse pounded so loudly in her ears she could barely make out what this insane—he must be insane—news reporter was saying.

“It appears that his ex-wife, Carol Gordon-Michaels, daughter of former New York Supreme Court judge, Bradford Gordon…”

Bradford Gordon! Oh, merciful heavens.

“…was murdered last night in her Atlanta apartment.”

Khendra's head began to spin.

“Mr. Michaels, as you may recall, was the attorney who successfully handled the…”

She couldn't breathe.

“…As we obtain further details on this shocking event, we will keep you informed. This is Mark Hampton in Atlanta.” He raised his right hand to press his earphone, then raised a finger to get the cameraman's attention.

“This just in,” he said, the scent of blood rippling through his voice. “Mr. Michaels has just been charged with the murder of Carol Gordon-Michaels. We tried to reach her father in New York, but…”

Khendra's knees buckled beneath her, and she crumpled onto the sofa. Her vision blurred with the unreality that danced in front of her eyes.

The voice droned on. She wanted to reach through the screen and grab that lying reporter by the throat and make him take back everything he'd said.

How could this be happening? She ran her fingers through her hair, her eyes wide with frightened disbelief. It couldn't be true. Could it? She shook her head vehemently. Sean wasn't capable of murder. There had to be some other explanation. But what?

Then a terrifying thought settled on her like a blanket of snow, chilling her. What if it was true? The very idea riveted her to her seat, as a slow, steady tremor shook her body. No, it was impossible.

She took a deep breath and tried to calm herself with quiet reason.
There's nothing I can do. Why should I anyway after all he's done to me? I'm sure he has excellent representation and he'll get through this with flying colors.
Her eyes roamed the room as she twisted her hands. “There's nothing I can do,” she whispered weakly.

In slow motion she turned off the television and went through the steps of getting ready for work.

Charisse strolled down Martin Luther King Drive, her coat collar pulled high around her neck. It was a cold but clear day, and she occasionally stopped to look in shop windows as she walked.