Keeping Watch: Heart of the Night\Accidental Bodyguard (4 page)

“The Barringtons are way out of my league, too,” Kate agreed. “They used to make the papers a lot. Only it was on the social pages then. I guess they didn’t hate reporters so much in those days.” There was a trace of bitterness in the comment. She had finally met Thorne Barrington, the man in the pictures she’d collected, but it hadn’t gone exactly like her daydreams about it.

“The guy’s been through hell, August, and people like you want him to relive it, to satisfy the public’s lust for all the gory details. ‘How did it feel, Judge Barrington, to have a bomb explode in your hands? Can you tell our viewers how that’s affected your life?’”

“I told him he was hiding,” Kate admitted. Put it all on the table, all the
mea culpas
. If Kahler wanted to despise her, she’d give him the right reasons.

“Maybe he is,” Kahler said. “Maybe I would. Maybe you. Who knows? But it isn’t your right to question how Barrington reacts to what happened to him.”

“You know better than that,” Kate said. “He’s news, Kahler, and he will be until Jack’s caught.”

“You’re as bad as the rest of them,” Kahler said in disgust. “Leave him alone, Kate.”

There wasn’t much left to say. No high moral ground to take in what she’d done. Neither of them credited her claim that her actions had been motivated by real concern for what she’d seen when she’d driven by. She didn’t particularly want to explain that driving by had become a normal part of her routine. Kahler thought she’d gone there to question Barrington about today’s bombing. The judge thought she was there because she was just like whoever had sneaked into his hospital room to take those pictures. A ghoul. A vampire.

“Can I go now?” she asked when the silence between them grew beyond comfort.

“You can go. I’ll try to get Barrington to drop the charges.”

She thought about telling him not to bother, but she wasn’t sure enough about the consequences if the judge wanted to pursue it. Between being taken in by the patrol car and Kahler’s fury, she was beaten down enough to be afraid. Of what Lew would say. Of eventually ending up in jail.

“Thanks,” she said. She waited a moment to see if Kahler’s anger would allow him to relent enough to say good-night.

“Your car’s in the north lot. I had them bring it in.”

“Thanks,” she said again, glad he seemed willing to allow her to escape. To run home and hide.
To hide.
That’s what she’d accused Barrington of doing, she suddenly realized, and all that had happened to her—

“Don’t bother him again, August. Stay away from Barrington. I want your word on that.”

“You’ve got it,” she said. “But it wasn’t what you thought. It wasn’t what
he
thought. I swear to you I wasn’t there because I wanted an interview.” She didn’t wait for a reply. She walked out of the small room with its revealing glass walls where she’d waited for Byron Kahler’s arrival and endured his fury and disgust. Then she went out through the Saturday-night confusion of the station house.

The heat hit her when she opened the heavy outside door, but she stopped a moment before she started down the shallow steps. She’d tell Lew tomorrow to give the series to someone else. She wasn’t sure she’d tell him all the reasons. It was enough that she’d lost Kahler’s trust. She knew she would have to endure a similar lecture from her boss when he heard what she’d done. She’d blown it, big-time, and maybe it was just as well. But she wouldn’t pass on the file, she thought, embarrassed by the pictures she’d acquired. Like some kind of groupie.
That
she’d throw away. No one would ever know about that secret collection.

She almost bumped into the man who came hurrying up the steps, briefcase in hand. Despite the haste with which he brushed past her, she had no trouble recognizing Barton Phillips. She wondered what one of Atlanta’s highest-priced attorneys was doing in a neighborhood precinct house this late at night.

She glanced at her watch, surprised to find that it was almost eleven. She fought the automatic urge to follow Phillips inside, her instincts telling her that if he was here, something was going on, but for some reason she didn’t even want to know what. It could be the biggest story of the year, and all she wanted to do right now was go home. She started down the shallow stone steps, feeling more depressed than she could remember.

When she reached the street, she had to stop and think what Kahler had told her about her car. North lot. She turned right and had taken several steps before she became aware of the black Mercedes paralleling her movement down the sidewalk. The windows, closed against the heat, were so heavily tinted that she couldn’t catch even a glimpse of the occupants.

She didn’t become concerned until the Mercedes turned into the parking lot, pulling to a stop before her, blocking the path to her car. Her heartbeat began to accelerate, her mind dredging up all the stories of carjackings and kidnappings she’d heard in the last few months. This was a police station. Surely…

The rear window glided down smoothly, but she jumped at the unexpectedness of its motion.

“Ms. August.” It was the same voice that had spoken out of the shadows tonight—Thorne Barrington. “I’d like to talk to you,” he said. “Would you get into the car, please?”

The invitation was the last thing she’d expected. In view of what she’d just promised Kahler, it couldn’t have come at a worse time. Except she hadn’t sought Barrington out. He had found her. However, considering the fool she’d made of herself tonight, she knew it was better that she apologize now and then do what Kahler had told her.

Reluctantly, she put her hands on the top of the glass, bending her knees to look into the car. She could barely see Barrington, a silhouette against the blackness of the glass behind him, its tint dark enough to prevent the parking lot security lights, almost as bright as day, from really penetrating the car. He would be able to see her clearly enough, she knew, with one of the powerful lights just above her head.

“Judge Barrington, I can’t tell you how sorry I am for what happened tonight,” she began. “I know it’s no excuse for entering your home, but I really thought—”

“Ms. August, I would be deeply grateful if you’d just get into the car,” Thorne Barrington interrupted.

Kate hesitated a moment longer.

“Please,” he offered finally.

There was something compelling in that single syllable. She suspected that Barrington seldom asked favors. That
please
had sounded as if it had been wrung from him against his will.

While she was trying to decide what to do, Barrington reached across the wide back seat and, releasing the latch of the door, pushed it slightly open. He leaned back against the opposite door, waiting.

Kate knew somehow that he wouldn’t ask her again.
This is what you wanted,
some inner voice reminded her, but it wasn’t, of course. Not this way. Not under these circumstances. Kahler had supplied all the abuse her frayed conscience could handle for one night. She didn’t want another lecture, so she was a little surprised to find herself crawling awkwardly into the back seat.

Despite the size of the car and the width of that seat, she felt very close to Barrington. He was a big man—six-four, she remembered from her notes—and she was very aware of his size. In the diffuse light that filtered into the car from the lot’s security light, his features were revealed for the first time. He looked just as he did in the pictures taken before the bomb. If there had been facial injuries, they were no longer apparent—at least not in the dimness of the car’s interior.

“Would you close the door, please?” he asked.

She took a deep breath before she complied, and then listened to the window slip up again as soon as she’d done what he’d asked. The tinted Plexiglas panel between the driver and the back seat was already closed.

“It appears that I owe you an apology,” Thorne Barrington said. His voice was soft in the enforced intimacy, holding now none of the anger it had held before. The accent was still there, familiar and comforting, caught below the overlay of years he’d spent up North. A Southern gentleman.

Kate’s lips lifted suddenly in relief. He was apologizing to her. “The gate was open,” she said.

“Elliot had fallen. He had left the dog and had come back inside, but then he fainted. The dog’s too much for him. I should never have…”

Kate waited, but he didn’t complete the explanation.

“Elliot?” she asked.

“My butler. He’s a little…beyond caring for a puppy. Especially one that size. I should have realized it before now.”

“Beyond?” she repeated.

“He’s almost ninety. A vigorous ninety, but still…”

Again the soft voice faded. Guilt and regret for what had happened to the old man was clear in his voice. Yet despite his concern, Judge Barrington had taken the time to find her, to apologize to her. Only…she wasn’t sure she deserved an apology. Had her motives in going inside his house been as straightforward as she’d indicated to Kahler? Or had her judgment been clouded by other emotions? Even now she wasn’t completely clear about that.

“Is he all right?” she asked finally.

“Just a small cut on his forehead. He’s been treated and released. I took him home.”

“So…I was right. Something was wrong.”

“Yes,” he admitted.

“You don’t intend to press charges.”

“No.”

“Thank you,” Kate said.

“It seemed the least I could do. To apologize. I’m afraid I didn’t even listen to what you tried to tell me. When I heard your name…” Again he hesitated, and Kate remembered what Kahler had told her about the hospital photographs. “When I realized you were a reporter, I prejudged your motives. I simply wanted to tell you that I’m sorry. I was wrong.”

Leave it alone,
her head argued. Accept his apology, be gracious and forgiving. Let him take the blame.
I was wrong,
he had just confessed, letting her off the hook.

“Not about everything,” her mouth whispered instead.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You weren’t wrong about…everything.”

The silence lengthened. “I see,” he said finally.

“No, you probably don’t,” Kate said, knowing she could never really explain, “but it doesn’t matter. I’m not as guilty as you thought, but I’m also not as innocent as I would like to believe. Some of what you said tonight…”

She had intended to say that some of what he’d accused her of was true, but she couldn’t seem to bring herself to admit it. Not to him. He had been through hell, just as Kahler said, and she
had
wanted to stick a tape recorder under his nose and ask, if not the mocking questions the detective had suggested, others just as hurtful. Just as invasive.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “For everything.”

There was no answer from the man on the other side of the car. She found the handle of the door and stepped out. The Mercedes didn’t move until after she had backed the Mazda out of its parking place and was driving across the lot. She turned south and in her rearview mirror, she watched the taillights of the big car, which had headed in the opposite direction, disappear behind her into the night.

S
HE MANAGED TO UNDRESS
down to her bra and panties before the phone rang. A little apprehensive, not only because of the lateness of the hour but also because of all that had happened since she’d left her desk, she let it ring a couple of times. Had Barrington called Lew at home or had Kahler thought of another sarcastic remark that couldn’t wait until he saw her again? She finally picked up just before the sixth ring, which would trigger the answering machine.

“Hello,” she said, trying to sound as normal as possible.

“I just thought you’d sleep better if you knew there won’t be any charges,” Byron Kahler said. There seemed to be no residual anger in the deep voice.

“That’s wonderful,” Kate assured him. Apparently, the judge hadn’t admitted he’d already talked to her when Kahler had, as he’d promised, asked him to drop the charges. Letting Kahler think he’d arranged for her rescue might put her back into his good graces, and she needed all the help she could get.

“Thanks, Kahler. And thanks for letting me know.”

“As much as I’d like to, I can’t take credit for the dropped charges. Barrington had a change of heart. It seems…”

When Kahler hesitated, Kate’s lips involuntarily curved into a small smile. It seemed the detective was also having a hard time admitting that he now knew her story to be true.

“There
was
a problem at the house. The gate and the door were open and, under the circumstances, he decided to give you the benefit of the doubt,” he finished.

She fought the urge to say “I told you so,” and awarded herself a few character points for finding the willpower.

“Whatever the reason, I’m grateful. I’d already decided to tell Lew to put somebody else on the story. I didn’t think I could be too effective having been arrested for breaking and entering one of the victim’s houses, no matter how innocently that happened.”

Kahler’s laugh expressed his disbelief. “I can’t see you giving up that easily, August. Once you’ve got hold of a story, you’re not going to let go. You’ll be there at the bitter end.”

“Which for this one is soon I hope. You going to Tucson?”

“Yes,” Kahler said.

The voice had become official, putting distance between himself and that unpleasant task. Kahler had visited all the scenes, talked to all the victims’ families, all the business associates. He had been the officer in charge on the Barrington case, and the Atlanta bombing, like all the others, was still open, the investigation ongoing.

“I hope you find something,” Kate said softly. “I hope this time he screwed up. I hope you catch him, Kahler.”

There was a silence on the other end. She knew she’d said something so obvious it didn’t require an answer. Kahler lived with that hope daily. It probably intruded even while he worked on his other cases. Then every six months—except this time, it hadn’t been six months.

“Why do you think he hit early?” she asked.

“Who knows? Who knows how he thinks or why he does what he does? I don’t have any answers for you, Kate.”