Sawyer, Meryl (45 page)

"Alibi." Royce gasped. "You mean Caroline was
killed on Saturday, not Sunday?"

They nodded glumly. An hysterical laugh burbled past her lips.
Suddenly she was giggling uncontrollably. Mitch put his arm around her, giving
her a reassuring hug.

"The coroner says Miss Rambeau was killed between midnight
and five-thirty," the younger man informed her.

Royce blurted out, "She was alive at two thirty-four."

All three men stared at Royce as if she'd just confessed to the
murder.

"I—I mean I
think
Caroline was alive at two
thirty-four."

She directed her response to Mitch. "You see, my portable
phone rang just after I spoke to Jason's mother. When the caller hung up, I
believed it was a wrong number. I'd spoken with Val and Talia and Brent
earlier, so people knew I was home, but no one knew I was with you. Now I think
that someone called to make certain I was home—alone."

The detectives looked baffled, but Mitch said, "You're right.
The drugs were planted in your home to cover what the killer really wanted.
Someone took a Coke from your refrigerator that had your prints on it." He
turned to the detectives, who were listening intently. "That's why the
Cokes were still in the cans. The killer couldn't use a glass. Royce's prints
wouldn't have been on it."

"Is that the only place you found my prints?" Royce
asked.

"Yeah," the brawny detective glumly conceded. Obviously,
he resented giving up his prime suspect. No doubt he'd thought her story would
become a TV movie with him as the hero.

Mitch smiled at Royce. "They discovered your charm bracelet
between the cushions of the chair where the perp sat."

"Is that all the evidence against me?"

The younger detective's eyes cut to the beefy man, who was toying
with his pencil. Clearly, they had more evidence. The bubble of hope floating
inside her turned to lead.

Mitch grinned. "I understand you found a few blond hairs that
you'd like to compare to Royce's."

"Yup," the younger detective responded, annoyed at the
question. Obviously, he didn't like Mitch having confidential information.

"Wanna bet the killer took that hair from a brush or comb in
Royce's home the night the drugs were planted?" Underneath the table Mitch
squeezed Royce's hand. "Since then an image consultant straightened her
hair. They'll never match."

Royce dug her nails into Mitch's palm to keep from crying out.
Please, let it be this easy. Let this psycho screw up.

"I guess we don't have a case," the chief detective
conceded, jabbing the off button on the tape recorder with a pudgy ringer.

They were so clearly disappointed she wasn't the killer that the
anger she'd been suppressing refused to stay locked inside her. "I
reported that bracelet missing after your cronies in Narcotics kicked in the
stained glass door my father made and ransacked my home."

Mitch put a hand on her shoulder. "Calm down, Royce."

She swallowed hard, but there was so much pent-up anger, she could
barely think clearly. She answered a few more questions, then left with Mitch.
As soon as the elevator doors had closed, she sagged against the wall.
"God, Mitch, I was so worried. I thought you'd deserted me."

He stared at her, utter disbelief written across his face.
"What?"

"Why didn't you at least visit me?"

He hit the off button, bringing the elevator to a jarring halt
between floors. "I thought you were smart enough to realize I was busting
my ass to free you. Shit! I just got back from Chicago twelve hours ago. I had
to track down the pizza guy, who got himself fired.

"Then I had to find Jason. I'd promised him a new leather
jacket if he never mentioned your name. Well, guess what? "The man' had
taken him fishing. It took me hours to locate Jason's stepfather and get
Jason's sworn statement."

He glared at her with smoldering, reproachful eyes, and she really
couldn't blame him for being angry. Deep down she trusted him, but she had been
so vulnerable, weighted down by everything happening to her. She put both arms
around him, even though he felt as cold and unresponsive as a tombstone.

"I'm sorry, darling, but it's gotten to the point where I
don't know what to think—or who to trust." She rested her head against the
solid wall of his chest, his heartbeat as steady and reassuring as it was when
she'd awaken late at night, terrified. "I knew I could count on you, but I
was frightened. So much has happened—all of it bad—until now. Thank you for
helping me. I'm sorry I doubted you."

He put both arms around her waist and whispered, his lips brushing
the top of her head. "If you don't know by now I love you, when are you
going to figure it out? Hell, I persuaded Arnold Dillingham to give you a shot
at that TV anchor position just so I could see you again."

"Really?" She looked up into his intense eyes. "You
went to all that trouble?"

He framed her face with both hands. "I've loved you from the
moment I sat beside you on that rock with the surf pounding at our feet."

Dumbfounded, Royce remembered the exact moment when she'd met his
eyes, his face just inches from hers. Even now, years later, she could hear the
surf crashing on the rocks almost as loudly as the beating of her heart. She'd
tried to forget him, she truly had. She'd run away to Italy and stayed for five
years.

Mitch drew back, evidently mistaking her reminiscing for
rejection. "Your father's always going to be between us, isn't he? What
can I do? Five years ago, I said I was sorry. I admitted the evidence was weak
and I'd pushed to prosecute him out of blind ambition. But I can't change what
happened. I can't bring back the dead."

Royce didn't know what to say. She'd been forgiving him —by
degrees—for weeks now. Maybe she'd subconsciously forgiven him after he'd
apologized at her father's funeral. That would certainly account for the way
she'd physically reacted to that kiss in the dark. To be honest, she wasn't
certain exactly when—or what—had made her forgive him. But she had.

She recalled what Val had said about forgiving her brother.
Everyone makes mistakes. If you love someone, you can forgive them. And set
yourself free. Her father would understand. He knew what it was to love someone
passionately.

What more could any woman ask of a man? Mitch loved her. He'd
waited five years for her to forgive him. And when the legal system nailed her
to the cross of justice, he'd come to her rescue.

He punched the start button and the elevator began to move. She
knew that hordes of reporters would be waiting on the street level. She had to
talk to him now. She pressed the stop button and turned to Mitch as the
elevator again jerked to a halt. He gazed at her speculatively.

"My father isn't between us, Mitch. Not anymore." She
wound her arms inside his jacket and around his back, pulling herself against
his muscular torso, her eyes never leaving his.

"I
do
love you. I hesitated because you shocked me.
That day on the rock, I looked into your eyes the way I am now. I said to
myself: Oh, no. Not him. Mitchell Durant is everything you despise—a cocky
lawyer. But in my heart I knew you were the man I'd been waiting for."

He brushed her lower lip with the pad of his thumb. "Say it
again."

"I knew you were the man I'd been waiting for." She
gazed into his captivating eyes. "I'll always love you."

"Not as much as I love you." His lips met hers in a
suggestion of a kiss, a sweet, gentle caress that was so unlike the
aggressiveness she'd come to expect from Mitch.

"I can't believe we're having this conversation in an
elevator covered with gang graffiti," she said. "Not too
romantic."

Mitch turned on the elevator, but kept his arm around Royce.
"Tomorrow night we'll go out and celebrate with a romantic dinner."

She rested her head against Mitch's shoulder, at peace for the
first time in months. Even the anger she'd vented on the detectives had
disappeared. Mitch loved her. And the killer had made a mistake that would
surely expose him.

"Will all the publicity about our living together cause you a
problem?" she asked. She loved him so much. The last thing she wanted was
for their relationship to become an albatross. Politicians were expected to be
saints.

"Don't worry about it. If I'm not appointed to the bench this
time, there'll be other vacancies."

"A judge! Your aren't going into politics?"

"No. That's the last thing I'd do." He laughed and
ruffled her hair. "See, angel, you outsmarted yourself. My name's up for a
superior-court appointment."

The elevator doors slid open and they stepped into a dark lobby.
She'd been cruel, needlessly vindictive, when she'd interviewed him on
television. But he loved her anyway. Was she worthy of his love? Had she ever
done anything for him?

He'd spent untold hours and a small fortune defending her. Even
more importantly, he'd given her courage and moral support when she'd needed it
the most. And how had she responded? Like a miser with a gold nugget, she'd
clung to her anger.

Outside the station she saw a phalanx of reporters and she braced
herself. She had no doubt that the reporters, with their myriad sources,
already knew about her alibi. They'd turn her relationship with Mitch into an
ugly scandal. He wouldn't be appointed to the bench this time. Maybe his name
wouldn't even be proposed again.

"Ignore them," Mitch said. "My car's right over
there."

A blast of klieg lights hit them. "There they are."

Mitch cussed under his breath as the reporters charged up and
dozens of microphones were shoved in their faces.

"Hey, Durant, is it true you're sleeping with your
client?" yelled Tobias Ingeblatt.

"Miss Winston," called a female reporter, "when did
he seduce you?"

Royce felt Mitch's arm go rigid, but he kept his face
expressionless as he shouldered his way through the crowd.

"Mitch, I'm going to talk to them." She stepped away
from him and turned toward the cameras. "I have a short statement. Then
we're leaving. I haven't slept in three days."

The crowd stilled, all eyes trained on Royce. What the hell was
she doing? Mitch asked himself. He watched her take a calming breath. She loved
him, Mitch thought, amazed. He'd done the impossible. He'd made her fall in
love with him.

"The murder charge against me was dropped because I have an
irrefutable alibi. I spent the entire night with Mitchell Durant."

Mitch wasn't surprised at the knowing looks and the eyeballs that
rolled heavenward. He could kiss the appointment good-bye. Hell, he might even
get a reprimand from the bar. Not that he gave a damn. He'd trade everything he
had, or ever hoped to have, to save Royce.

"This is not a case of an unscrupulous attorney seducing a
client." Her voice rose above the twitter, silencing everyone. "We
fell in love five years ago. It didn't work out. But when we met again—before I
was ever arrested—we discovered we were still in love."

She paused for dramatic effect. "Make no mistake about this,
I wouldn't trust my life to anyone else except the man I love. And I'm certainly
glad I did. Our relationship foiled a perfect crime."

"This will only take a minute," Mitch told Royce as they
walked toward Paul's office after she'd given her statement. "Paul's been
working nonstop on your case since you were arrested."

"Couldn't you have talked to him on your car phone?"

"Nope. It's on the fritz. It keeps cutting out. Besides, one of
the homeless guys living behind the office told me Ingeblatt's roaming around
using a scanner that picks up portable phone signals as well as cellular
conversations. Paul's cautioned us all to use only land lines when discussing
the case. Watch what you say on your portable phone."

"Yes, sir." She gave him a sharp military salute, but
she looked exhausted. He doubted she'd slept in jail.

Was there something deeper than love? Surely, what he felt was
more powerful than "love"—the word everyone tossed around. He was
still stunned by what she'd said to the reporters.

Obviously, she'd been trying to salvage that judicial
appointment—not that he cared. But she loved him enough to face down the
carrion eaters of modern society and tell them that their stories had become
gossip mongering—not investigative reporting. That struck a raw nerve, for damn
sure.

Where did she get her courage? Hell, he'd seen more than his share
of hardened criminals facing a trial. They all became weaker, relying on him
more and more as the court date drew nearer. Not Royce. If anything, she was
stronger now than she had been at first.