Sawyer, Meryl (19 page)

Paul had his doubts but said, "Let's see what else is on this
tape. Isn't that the actress coming into the ballroom?"

"Yes. It was really overcrowded by then. They must have been
violating the fire code at this point."

"Absolutely. It's getting hard for the camera to focus on
just one person. Tomorrow, I'll freeze frame this and jot down the names of
everyone near the jewels." Right now, he wanted to take her home, and get
back to kissing. Or whatever.

"Look." Val stopped the camera, then pressed the
en-larger. "In the corner of this shot, isn't that Wally? Isn't he
standing in front of the Farenholt table?"

"It's him. He must have been looking for Royce before he
left," Paul said, but he was thinking he ought to check on the uncle.
"Enlarge the shot."

The enlargement showed Mitch in the corner of the frame walking
toward the table. Suddenly, the camera turned away.

"Could Mitch have done it?" she asked.

"No," he said emphatically. There was a dark undertow to
Mitch's personality, enhanced by his mysteriousness about his past, but he'd
never do something like this.

"He came up to Talia and me just after Royce was arrested and
volunteered to help her. He said he knew she wasn't guilty. How could he know
that?"

"Val, there are two factors behind every crime: motive and
opportunity. The number-one reason crimes are committed is for money. Mitch has
plenty of money."

"He planted the jewels so she'd need a lawyer and come to
him. Someone else is behind this drug thing."

Not only was Val beautiful but she was smart. His original
suspicion was that these were two separate crimes, one well planned, the other
a spur-of-the-moment opportunity.

"You know," he blurted out, "there's a job here in
the credit card fraud unit working with computers. Why don't you fill out an
application?"

She fired him a smile that turned up the heat in his pants yet
another notch. "Thanks for the tip. I'll call tomorrow."

He didn't want her to know he owned Intel Corp just yet. He wanted
to know how she felt about Paul Talbott the man, not Paul Talbott owner of
Intel. Hiring her wasn't his best idea when she was still a suspect, but he'd
be damned if he wanted her running around Milpitas—at night, for God's
sakes—checking out greasy French fries at Tomaine Tommy's.

She touched his arm. "Mitch is in love with Royce."

In lust might be a better term, Paul thought, feeling slightly
sheepish because he wished he were in bed with Val.

"Rewind the tape, Paul. You missed something earlier."

If he missed something, it was her fault. He hadn't earned his
reputation botching cases, but then, he'd never been this distracted. He
rewound the tape, stopping where she told him at the footage of Mitch coming up
behind Royce and putting his hand on the small of her bare back.

"Freeze it," Val said.

Wow! He'd never seen a sexier shot. Royce's back was to Mitch and
her unguarded expression revealed the thrill of his touch. Mitch looked as if
he was going to rip off her clothes, throw her down on the table, and make
wild, passionate love to her in front of everyone.

Paul turned to see what Val thought and saw she found the frame
every bit as erotic as he did. Her lips were parted, ready to yield even before
he kissed her. This time he wasn't as gentle, the heat pulsing in his groin,
getting the best of him.

His tongue eased between her lips and her mouth opened more as she
leaned against him, her soft breasts pillowed against his chest. How lucky
could he get? No bra.

The thrusts of his tongue took on a purely sexual rhythm. A low,
feminine moan urged him on. She was as hot for him as he was for her.

She pulled back, her eyes glistening in the light of the TV
screen, her sensuous lips moist. "I knew you'd kiss like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you want me—really want me."

He heard the anguish in her voice and professionally sized up the
situation. She needed to feel loved, desired. Most people were mentally
divorced long before they were legally divorced. She probably hadn't felt loved
in years. What a waste.

He took her small hand in both his big ones, then kissed her soft
palm, never taking his eyes from hers. He guided her hand to his crotch and
pressed it against his erection, encouraging her to close her fingers over the
thick shaft.

"Of course I want you. It took you exactly one kiss."

"Oh, Paul." She rubbed his sex through his trousers. Her
pupils were dilated, and her mouth slightly open, the pink tip of her tongue
skimming over her lower lip. "I love your body."

He dipped under her sweater, finding her soft, warm skin. He
explored with the tips of his fingers until he reached her full breasts. He
brushed her tightly spiraled nipples with the rough pad of his thumb, and she
moaned again, a low, satisfied sound. She had his trousers undone before he
came to his senses.

"Val, I'm not prepared for this. I don't have a condom."

"I have some in my purse." A rush of pink heightened the
color in her already flushed cheeks. "I was hoping you'd have dinner and
stay.
Cosmo
says women should take responsibility."

"God bless
Cosmo."

While she took out a condom, he thought about leading her to his
office where he had a soft leather couch, but she was kissing him again, her hands
in his pants. He switched off the TV. Who needed Mitch and Royce?

"I can't believe I'm doing this," she whispered.

He couldn't either; she didn't seem to be the type to make love in
a chair. But years of experience told him people were capable of anything. It
was always a serious mistake to underestimate.

He worked her leggings and panties down her slim thighs and she
kicked them aside. "Come, here." He pulled her onto his lap, his
erection nestled against her bare bottom.

He kissed the sensitive curve of her neck, telling himself to make
this good. He didn't have a lot of experience in chairs, so he planned quickly
as he stroked her inner thighs. He eased slowly upward, his fingers finding the
moist curls. Hot, slick, she was more than ready, but he refused to rush. He
stroked her, reveling in her soft moans, then he inserted one finger deep
inside her, his thumb still fondling her.

"Hurry, hurry," she pleaded.

"I'm not ready." A fib. He was more than ready, grinding
his pulsing erection against her as she wiggled on his lap. He withdrew his
finger just enough to tease her before entering her again, this time with two
fingers. With smooth, sure strokes, he made certain she was totally aroused.

He lifted her to her feet and positioned her in front of him,
standing, straddling his legs. One firm hand on her buttocks, he pulled her
down until the tip of his shaft was probing her.

"I knew it. I knew it," she moaned.

Paul didn't bother to ask what she knew; he needed all his
self-control now. He lowered her slightly, entering her just a little.
"Take off your sweater." Both hands on her hips, he held her in place
as she tossed the sweater aside.

The room was dark, lit only by moonlight. Her skin was pale,
delicate looking with high, full breasts and taut nipples. "How could any
man give you up, Val? How?"

He didn't wait for an answer. He thrust upward just as he pulled
her down, penetrating her to the hilt.

She grasped his shoulders with both hands, "Oh, Paul,"
she moaned against his lips, "I knew it."

Knew what? He took possession of one hard nipple, sucking slightly
while his tongue swirled around the delicate tip.

"Ride me, Val. Hard. Put everything you've got into it."

She moved against him, pulling away, then coming down over and
over. He was imbedded deep inside her when he felt her contract and slow her
pace. He let himself go, clutching her, thrusting fiercely. He held her for
some time after he'd climaxed, gasping for breath. Where had she been his whole
life?

Royce sat in the chair, allowing the technician to adjust the
headset for the lie detector test. It was an odd contraption that fit over her
head, with special lenses trained on her eyes. Off to one side she could see
Mitch and Paul talking with the doctor who'd administer the test.

Mitch and Paul had taken her for a drug test before coming here,
and Mitch had been totally professional. It was almost as if she'd imagined
being in bed with him the way she'd dreamed someone had tried to kill her.
Almost.

But she knew better. There was no excuse for the way she'd thrown
herself at Mitch. What had happened had been her fault.

Oh, go ahead. Admit it. She found Mitch physically attractive.
Never mind what he'd done; her body didn't care. The talk she'd had with Wally
had sobered her, though. When the chips were down—and, boy, were they down now
—you could count on your family. Her father had loved her. She refused to
betray his memory.

"We're ready," the doctor told her. "I'm going to
switch on the laser." The blue-white beam of light could have shot through
the eye of a needle with room to spare. It hit her, causing her to blink
several times before she adjusted to it. "The laser records minute changes
in the pupil's size."

"If I lie, it'll contract," she said. Paul had explained
the process on the way over; Mitch hadn't talked much.

"Yes," the doctor answered, "and the laser will
detect the change. Mitch and Paul are at monitors. They'll be asking questions
too."

"This session will give us background info," Paul put in
from the table nearby. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Mitch next to
Paul, studying her.

"I'm ready," she said, anxious to get this over with.
The idea of conducting a publicity campaign was foreign to her, but Mitch
insisted most cases were won or lost with jury selection. Going into the trial
Mitch wanted prospective jurors already to be doubting her guilt, and the only
way to influence them was to alter public opinion.

The doctor began with a series of questions about her background,
then said, "Tell me why you believe Eleanor Farenholt committed this
crime."

"She never liked me. When I opened my purse and found the
jewels, I swear, she was gloating."

"And you believe she planted the drugs."

"Yes. Everyone knew where I'd hidden a key. I doubt she
planted the drugs herself, but she must have paid someone to do it."

"And the informant?" This from Mitch.

"Somehow she managed that. I don't know how, but Eleanor has
boodles of money. It wouldn't have been hard for her."

"Give us an example of something Eleanor did before the
crime."

"She always said nasty little things like giving me the name
of her seamstress so I could get my clothes better fitted, or suggesting a book
I might read to improve my mind, things like that. But mostly, she threw
Caroline in my face. Caroline was perfect, and Eleanor never failed to remind
me of it." Royce hesitated. Should she tell them?

"We've got a blip here," the doctor said.

Criminy! Just how sophisticated was this machine? "Eleanor
invited me to join one of her charity groups. It was really just an excuse for
the women to get together and gossip, but once a year they threw a luncheon to
raise funds for blind children. They make all the food themselves, which is a
joke because all of those women have cooks on staff.

"Eleanor headed the salad committee. Every year someone
donates lettuce straight from the field. It was my job to wash it. The ladies
had developed a system for cleaning the dirty lettuce. Boy—this sounds stupid—they
put the leaves in a pillowcase and put it in the washing machine on rinse.

"They swore they'd done this with total success for years.
The trick is to stop the machine before the spin cycle. So there I am in the
basement of some mansion, washing lettuce. I was dicing celery nearby while I
waited for the lettuce. Eleanor was the only other person with me. When I
looked up, the machine was on the spin cycle."

Silence filled the room. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Paul
battling a grin. "I know it's silly, but Eleanor turned that dial. The
woman is an out-and-out sneak."

More silence. She didn't add that she'd felt totally humiliated.
"Eleanor convinced her friends it was my fault the luncheon had been
ruined."

"Describe your relationship with Ward Farenholt."

"There wasn't one," she answered the doctor. "He
spent hours chatting with Caroline, but he never spoke to me unless he couldn't
avoid it."

"How did he treat Brent?" asked Mitch.

"Ward doesn't like many people and he's terribly hard on Brent.
He expects too much. He's cruel."

"Did you like Caroline?" the doctor asked.

"Actually, she was always very nice, but if someone's waved
in your face too often, it's hard to like them."