Sawyer, Meryl (46 page)

Mitch opened the door to Paul's office and let Royce walk in ahead
of him. He stopped in his tracks as he spotted Valerie Thompson beside Paul.
What the hell was she doing here when Paul was working on Royce's case? Before
Mitch could protest, Paul spoke.

"Val has an airtight alibi for the night Caroline was
killed." Paul turned to the attractive woman beside him. "She was
with me—in my bed—the way she is every night."

For a moment Royce appeared startled, then she bounded across the
room and hugged Val. "Paul's the man you've been hiding from everyone?
Wonderful!"

"We're getting married," Val said, unmistakable love in
her eyes.

Mitch shook his head. How was it his best friend was getting
married, and he hadn't even known Paul was in love? Come on, you should have
suspected. Why in hell do you think he hired Val?

"Fabulous." Royce sighed. "Married."

"Royce is going to have to marry me," Mitch said before
he could stop himself.

Royce turned to him, one arm still around Val. "Why? Are you
pregnant?"

They all laughed, the giddy, relieved laughter that comes after
you've weathered a crisis. When they'd regained their composure, Royce was in
Mitch's arms and Val was nestled against Paul.

"Look," Mitch said, "I need to get Royce home. She
hasn't slept in days. Is there anything new on the case?"

"They're in a tailspin at the police station," Paul
said, more than a hint of satisfaction in his voice. "The coroner says the
bruise on Caroline's arm definitely came from intense pressure—probably from a
shoe."

It took a minute to explain the details to Royce. She closed her
eyes for a moment. "That poor woman knew she was going to die. How
terrifying."

"We've got a psycho on our hands," Paul admitted.
"My guess is the perp also killed Linda Allen. I've prodded ballistics
into comparing the bullets that killed the informant and Caroline. We should
have an answer in a day or so."

Mitch raked his fingers through his hair. "So what the hell
do we do until the killer is found? Royce could be his next target."

"True," Paul conceded, "but if he—or she—wanted to
kill her, Royce would be dead by now. I believe Royce was merely someone to
frame. Still, you've protected her, Mitch, by keeping her hidden and being with
her."

"She sure as hell won't be hidden now. The world knows we're
living together."

"Exactly," Paul said, "so I've hired security to
patrol your grounds. If nothing else, they'll keep Ingeblatt and the other
reporters from bothering you. And when you're not with Royce, I've arranged to
have Gerte be with her. I don't want her alone for a moment—until the killer is
arrested."

"Good thinking," Mitch said. "I have to be in court
tomorrow. I won't be able to stay with her all day."

"Remember"—Paul looked at them each in turn—"don't
use the car phones or portable phones to discuss the case. Use regular land
lines that require a wiretap to monitor our conversations. We don't want the
perp to know what we're doing. He won't use a wiretap. They're impossible to
get."

"Speaking of phones," Mitch said, "won't the list
of people who have Royce's portable phone number help narrow down the
suspects?"

Paul shook his head. "Val and I went over the list. Wally,
Val, and Talia called Royce every evening."

"Don't forget Brent," Val cut in.

"But they gave out her number to others, and the word was out
she was living alone in a safe house."

"It's true," Royce added. "I did speak to several
old friends, people who knew my father, people who worked on the paper. I
always gave the impression that I was living alone and moving constantly from
safe house to safe house."

"I know you were counting on the perp being one of the people
who called Royce the evening of the murder," Paul told Mitch, "but it
doesn't wash. Too many people could have thought she was alone that
evening."

"What about that call just after two-thirty?" Royce
asked.

Paul shrugged. "So far we can't tie it into the crime. Could
be a wrong number or a prank. Who knows?"

"We're back to where we started," Val said. "What
was the motive for killing Caroline? Money?"

"The house seems quiet without Jenny," Royce observed as
they came through Mitch's back door. "How's she doing?"

"She's better. We'll stop by and see her tomorrow on our way
out to that romantic dinner I promised you."

Mitch's arm around her, they crept upstairs without turning on any
lights that would alert the herd of reporters hovering out front.

"Why's Wally been in the South so long?" Mitch asked.

Oh, no, Royce thought. Don't let Mitch suspect. Tonight marked a
new beginning. She needed to solidify their relationship before confessing what
she'd done.

"Wally's doing a series of articles on how southern states
are stealing California's businesses by luring them away with tax incentives
and cheap labor." She blessed the darkness; she couldn't have looked Mitch
in the eye. "You saw the article on how chickens from the South are so
much cheaper than chickens raised here, didn't you?"

"Yeah. Are you sure that's where he is? Have you actually
called him down there?"

Royce stopped, shocked at what Mitch's words implied. He
suspected, all right, but he didn't think Wally was investigating his past. He
suspected Wally had something to do with the murder. "What are you
saying?"

He hesitated a moment. "Nothing, angel. Just thinking out
loud."

"No, you're not. You think Wally framed me, don't you? Well,
you're wrong. Why would he kill Caroline Rambeau?"

"He doesn't have a motive," Mitch conceded, gently
urging her up the stairs. "But there's something about him that bothers
me. My imagination, I guess."

Again Royce blessed the darkness. Mitch was extremely
intelligent—and intuitive. He'd sensed Wally was up to something. Don't let
Mitch find out, she silently prayed.

"Do something for me."

"Anything," she whispered.

"When Wally returns, meet his plane. Be absolutely certain he
gets off a flight from—where did you say he is?"

She could barely get the words out. "I didn't. Last I heard,
he was in Arkansas... I think."

Oh, Lord, she hated lying. Should she tell Mitch the truth? He
loved her, didn't he? Yes, but what would he think of her so cavalierly
breaking her promise?

Like the dark side of the moon, there was a hidden element to
Mitch's personality. She trusted him with her life, but she didn't quite trust
him to understand why she'd allowed Wally to delve into Mitch's past.

"Humor me," he said. "Make sure your uncle was down
South."

"I will," she promised.

"The killer made a mistake—but a crucial one," Mitch
assured her. "I can prove incriminating evidence was planted at the murder
scene. What jury won't believe the other crimes were committed to frame you?
Carnivorous knows this. She's going to drop the charges rather than face a not
guilty verdict that will tarnish her conviction record."

"The charges will be dropped. Thank God." Royce sighed.
"It's finally over." She should have screamed with joy, but a
bone-deep numbness had taken over her body, her mind. Free at last. Somehow the
thought didn't quite register.

Royce tossed her clothes in the hamper and headed for the shower,
aware that she was totally comfortable with Mitch. Being nude in front of him
didn't bother her. They loved each other; they belonged together.

She should be able to tell him about Wally, but the words wouldn't
come. When she was rested and could think clearly, she'd find a way to explain
what she'd done.

She climbed into the shower and let the water sluice over her
head, intending to wash her hair, but unexpected tears blurred her vision. Free
at last—the reality finally hit her. Hot tears flowed down her face, mingling
with the warm water. For months she'd looked ahead and seen nothing but a black
hole for the future. Now—horrible as it was—thanks to Caroline's death Royce
had her life back.

Mitch stepped into the shower beside her and gathered her into his
arms. He didn't say a word, but she sensed he was every bit as relieved as she
was. He'd been frightened for her, she realized, maybe even more frightened
than she. He cuddled her, letting the water wash over them until her tears
stopped.

Now her future was again bright with promise, the bleak, dark
world banished by a thousand shimmering possibilities for a new, better life.
She loved Mitch—more than she'd thought it was possible to love another person.
She needed to show him, little by little, day by day, how much she loved him.

Mitch helped her wash, lathering soap and gently running the
washcloth over her. His movements were quick, businesslike. There was nothing
sexual about what he was doing, and she knew he understood how exhausted she
was. She helped him shampoo her hair and rinse out the suds. Then he sent her
out of the shower.

She dried herself with a terry towel, listening to the thoroughly
domestic sound of Mitch singing off-key as he showered. She flipped her head
upside down and grabbed the blow-dryer from its wall bracket. She combed her
thick hair with her fingers, letting the hot air dry it.

Mitch stepped out of the shower and treated her to an inverted
view of his body. Tall and lean but sculpted with muscles across his impressive
chest. Glistening with water droplets, his sex hung heavily between powerful
thighs.

He was so superbly, utterly male that a familiar thrill spread out
in ever widening circles from her lower body. She stood upright and tossed her
hair back away from her face. Catching her reflection in the mirror, her unruly
hair framing her face, she looked wild, wanton. She turned, ready to share some
flip remark about her appearance with Mitch.

He'd dried his tousled hair—or at least attempted to—but his hand
was now resting on the towel bar and he was staring at her. They'd seen each
other without clothes many times. Why on earth was he giving her that odd look?

Her gaze traveled the length of his magnificent body, and she
noticed his shaft was hardening as she watched, growing longer and thicker and
rising slightly. The reaction of his body to just looking at her filled Royce
with a heady sense of power. Until she realized merely gazing at him elicited a
purely feminine response from her own body.

She forgot about her wild hair; in two strides she was across the
spacious bathroom and standing before him. Sinking to her knees, she kissed the
sensitive spot just below his belly button where no hair grew. Leaving a trail
of moist kisses she moved lower and lower over his flat belly that was slightly
damp and had the fresh, clean smell of soap. She stopped, his erection brushing
her nose. She eased her hand between his thighs and cupped the full weight of
his sex in her hand.

Heat swirled through her body, a brazen indicator of how easily
Mitch aroused her. She ran one finger up the ridge of his cock, then circled
the tip and was rewarded with a low moan. Mitch's fingers were in her hair now,
gently massaging her scalp. She playfully licked him, her tongue retracing the
route her finger had blazed. Another low moan. She smiled to herself, aware of
the heavy, congested feeling between her thighs, as she stroked him with her
tongue.

Mitch twined his hands in her hair and pulled her head back. "Dammit,
Royce, if you don't stop, I'm going to—"

"I know. I want you to—"

"No, you don't." He drew her to her feet.

"I'm in charge tonight," she said with a flirtatious
smile as she switched off the light. She pushed him backward, forcing him to
sit on the edge of the Jacuzzi tub. Facing him, she looped one leg around his
waist, then the other, and sat on his lap. Shifting her weight, she used one
hand to guide him inside her.

They rocked back and forth, gathering momentum. Her mind reveled
in the sensation, possessing him for a change, owning him the way he'd claimed
her for so long. She'd made love to him enough times before to recognize the
signs. Any second, he'd climax. She couldn't help smiling inwardly; tonight
Mitch couldn't control himself the way he usually did. She felt her own body
clenching, but she forced herself to tip Mitch's face upward.

A stray moonbeam played across his face, heightening the hollows
beneath his cheeks, casting shadows from his eyelashes, and deepening the two
scars that she'd wondered about so often.

"I love you, Mitch. I'll always love you. No matter
what." She didn't give him a chance to answer, covering his lips with
hers.

A shudder racked his body just as her body peaked, and his
powerful arms clutched her tightly. She collapsed against him, spent. And
satisfied with herself.