The Judge and the Gypsy (2 page)

A fragile, wary look about her touched him physically. He felt a pounding of energy rush through him; the feeling was almost sexual and yet, at the same time, he felt an unusual hint of fear. Who was she?

Rasch looked around. Nobody else seemed to notice her.

“All right, my lady of mystery,” Rasch said, and started toward her. “If you aren’t a figment of my imagination, it’s time we met.” Quickly he threaded his way through the noisy patrons and tipsy party guests until he reached the lamp. She was gone.

“Damn!”

Rasch climbed up on the base of the lamp post and surveyed the throng. The woman was like smoke. One minute she was there, piercing his peace of mind with her gaze. The next she had vanished like a wisp of fog. He swore again.

“Rasch? What are you doing?” Jake had found him. He was bearing a small glass and a concerned expression. “I don’t think that the judge climbing a flagpole is the kind of image we want to portray for
the next governor. Maybe you’d better not have anything else to drink.”

Rasch ignored Jake’s remarks. “Did you see her, Jake?”

“Who?”

“The woman with the ribbons in her hair. She was standing right here.”

“No. I’ve seen women with glitter, diamonds, lace, and a couple wearing hats, but no ribbons. Why?”

“I’ve got to find her. She’s driving me crazy.”

Rasch could tell from Jake’s expression that his friend was having serious doubts about his sobriety.

“Sorry, Rasch old buddy, I don’t think I can help you find a woman who isn’t there, but here are your aspirin. Come down from the pole. You’re just tired.”

Rasch came down and swallowed the small white tablets. If his oldest friend already thought he was hallucinating, then telling him that the woman had appeared once before, on a balcony four floors up, would certainly be a mistake. Not even Jake would back a candidate who fantasized about mystery women.

“Tonight,” Jake was saying, “we’ve tried to plant the idea in everyone’s mind that you’re a future candidate for political office. That’s all we want right now. Let’s shake a few more hands.”

“You’re right, Jake. I am tired. Since we’re both going to that conference in Asheville on law and order, I think that I’ll drive up to Amicalola Falls next week and spend a few days hiking the Appalachian Trail. You can pick me up at Bly Gap, and we’ll drive into Asheville together.

“Want some company on the trail?”

“No. After fifteen straight months without a break, I’m ready for some peace and quiet.”

“Maybe a few days in the wilderness is just what you need. Find yourself a lady friend to take along. Let yourself go, Rasch. Stop being so much in control.”

Rasch nodded absently and moved away from the waiter hovering nearby with a tray of empty glasses.

The burning sensation at the base of his neck was less potent but still there. He glanced around. The woman was still there too. He couldn’t see her, but he could feel her. At least he thought he could. Maybe he
was
hallucinating.

The scent. He recognized it—that same scent from the balcony. He knew who’d worn the perfume, even if she was no longer visible. He rubbed his eyes. Damn, he didn’t believe in ghosts.

And then he saw it.

At the base of the lamp a single red satin ribbon curled across the pillar of white concrete like a smear of blood.

For the rest of the week she was in his mind constantly, frustratingly. The connection was so strong that over and over he turned his head, expecting to catch a glimpse of her in his courtroom, or in the hallway as he moved about the building. The fragrance that was uniquely hers filled his nostrils, and the burning sensation at the base of his skull stayed with him, but he never caught sight of her.

On Thursday afternoon the jury returned a guilty verdict in the case he was hearing, and Rasch scheduled sentencing for the following morning. By midafternoon on Friday he was in his 4×4 and headed north. In less than an hour the hazy gray shape of the
Blue Ridge Mountains appeared in the distance. With every mile he covered, he felt the tension inside him lift. He’d spend the night under the stars.

Rasch took in a deep breath of fresh air and rubbed the back of his neck. The worrisome tingling seemed to have disappeared. If only he could erase the vision of the woman from his mind—and more important from his body, which kept responding to the thought of her lying beneath him.…

“Are you sure this is the route he is taking?” Savannah Ramey sat in Niko’s battered truck in a patch of woods and wondered why she had ever thought this would work.

“I’m sure. Between Cheno and me, the judge hasn’t made a move that we don’t know about. The man is a robot. He gets up at the same time every morning, wears the gray suit every Monday, the pinstripe every Tuesday, eats at the same restaurant, parks in the same place—”

“Okay, I get the idea, Judge Horatio Webber is a creature of habit.” He was also entirely too appealing. His stunned look of disbelief when she’d first seen him on his balcony had almost made her change her mind. If he’d been anyone else, she’d have been attracted to the disturbingly handsome man who was her sworn enemy.

“Exactly. Tough, honest, but he’s still a sucker for somebody in distress.”

“That’s what I’m counting on. If he decides to check the truck, it won’t crank, will it?”

“No,” her circus companion replied, his concern over her scheme still plain in his expression.

“I don’t want him to realize that this is a setup. It’s better if I keep him confused.”

“If he isn’t confused by a woman who appears on his balcony as a blonde, in a crowded street as a redhead, and on a mountain as a dark-haired witch, I don’t know what else you can do.”

Sometimes
she
was a little confused. How could a man regarded as a champion of the underdog be the callous killer of her brother?

“Exactly,” Savannah said with grim determination. “I don’t want him to know what is real and what is not.”

Her plan had to work. Niko had grudgingly helped her so far, but once the judge appeared, she was on her own. She had only ten days to carry out her plan—ten days to make Judge Horatio Webber fall in love with her.

Savannah got out of Niko’s truck and unwound the mass of raven-black hair she’d kept in a braid. She let it fall across the shoulders of her white peasant blouse while she shook out her bright print skirt and ruffled petticoat. Next she placed her grandmother’s gold chains around her neck, added her mother’s Gypsy earrings, and Zeena’s ankle bracelet with the silver bells that jingled when she walked. The first time they met face-to-face, she wanted to meet Judge Horatio Webber as a Gypsy.

“I’ll go back to the motel and wait for your call,” Niko said with obvious reluctance. “You have the number?”

“I have it. Don’t worry.”

“I still don’t like it, Savannah, but since you insist on going through with this … look—there he is.
Won’t you change your mind while you still can? You could be the one to get hurt.”

“No, Niko. I have to do this.” Savannah gave the old man a quick kiss, moved onto the roadway, and started walking up the mountain. She was banking on the judge’s reputation as a man of honor and responsibility. He wouldn’t drive away and leave a woman on the side of the road.

She shivered, not from the cool air but from anticipation. She’d carefully worked out each sequential step in her plan, but there was always a chance that the judge wouldn’t cooperate. Then she heard the sound of his jeep.

Taking a deep breath, Savannah stopped at the side of the road. Just as the four-wheel-drive reached the stretch of road behind her, she stepped from the gray shadows into the path of the jeep and stuck up her thumb.

“What the …?” Rasch hit the brakes and slid sideways to a stop.

He blinked. It was very early. Wisps of fog rose from the pavement, curling into transparent little patches that reflected the parking lights on his vehicle. He closed his eyes and opened them again, slowly. This was no dream, no hallucination. There was a woman in the road.

No, the apparition in the road wasn’t just
a
woman, it was
the
woman, the silver-haired woman from the balcony, the auburn-haired woman from the street, the woman who’d plagued him unmercifully for the last week. He still had no clear picture of her face, but he knew it was she. And more than that, every nerve ending in his body recognized and responded to her presence, just as they had before.

This time she was wearing a long print skirt and no shoes. And her hair, her glorious hair, was neither silver nor gold; it was as black as a midnight sky, and wildly tousled as if she’d just rolled from a man’s bed.

He swore in the silence.

“Please?” she said in a low, melodious voice. “I seem to be stranded. Could you give me a ride?”

Her words became an almost verbal caress, and he felt his body surge in response.

He’d seen a truck with the hood open back in the trees. Was she alone? Was this some trick to lure him into a trap? He couldn’t see anyone else.

“I’m alone,” she said, almost as if she could read his mind. “I sent Niko down the mountain to get help. He’ll come back for the truck. But I don’t have time to wait.”

“Why? What are you doing up here?”

“I’m meeting someone. Please, may I get in? It’s cold in the woods,” she said simply, as if that answered his question.

It didn’t. But for now he’d go along with her story. Hallucination? Spirit? He might be tired and confused, but this woman was real, and it was time he got to the bottom of the mystery. “Get in.”

He heard the fleeting tinkle of bells, and suddenly she was inside the small truck, filling it with her distinctive, elusive fragrance, and the curious feeling of excitement that had seemed to follow him for the last three weeks. She was here, the object of his uncertainty and desire, and he was determined to know what kind of game she was playing with his emotions.

“That fragrance,” he asked, “what is it?”

“It’s made from the blossoms of the tea olive tree. Do you like it?”

“It’s very unusual.”

“Yes.” She didn’t volunteer any more, but placed her knapsack between her knees and settled back as if she were someone he’d known a long time, someone with whom he was comfortable enough not to need to make conversation.

“Where are you going?” he asked, slowly letting off the brake and listening to the crunch of the loose gravel on the road as the tires found traction and began to move.

“To Amicalola Falls. I plan to do some hiking. You?”

Once he decided to go along with her request, he’d stopped being surprised. “That’s where I’m going too.”

“I’m glad. It’s very early,” she said. “I’ve come a long way. I think I’ll take a nap.”

“But wait, who are you? What’s your name?” he started to ask. Except before he got the second word out, her eyes were closed and she seemed to be asleep.

Rasch shook his head in disbelief. Where had she come from? She had a backpack, but her feet were bare and scratched. How could his mystery woman possibly be in the same place as he, at the same time? From the moment she’d appeared on his balcony, his power of reasoning seemed to have deserted him.

Certainly she hadn’t been far from his thoughts either asleep or awake. He’d constantly looked for her, worried over his recollection of what he’d seen or imagined. He’d begun to doubt his own recall after a
time. Now, here she was, sitting beside him, almost as if he’d conjured her up.

He looked across at her once more. The lines of her face were clear now. Her pale skin was like that of an Old Master’s Madonna. Lips as red as the dahlia that his mother grew in a bucket at his back door were closed serenely in sleep. Long velvety lashes feathered cheekbones that more nearly belonged on a painting than a real person.

She was an enigma, this woman of silence and grace, yet beneath that calm was a hidden fire. He couldn’t see it so much as he could feel the tension. The interior of the truck felt charged with a strange energy, and he shivered.

Whatever she was, and wherever she came from, she’d appeared to him three times, and he had to know why. There were answers to his questions, and he meant to have them. He’d take her to meet her friend, for it suited his purpose to know more about her. He gave the vehicle gas and moved up the mountain.

Savannah Ramey let out a silent sigh of relief. She’d passed the first hurdle. She hadn’t expected it to be so hard, lying to him. From a distance the square cut of his jaw hadn’t been so intimidating. She hadn’t seen the laugh lines at the corner of his eyes, or their steely gray color that seemed to pin her down. But it was more than the way he looked, it was the sensual power of the man, more potent at close range, that had forced her to retreat into silent confusion.

She liked men, but after one mistake as a teenager, she’d never had a serious romantic relationship. She was never in one place long enough to develop intimacy
anyway, so her circle of friends had been limited to the circus people, and she was the boss’s daughter. Being apart from the mainstream had suited her fine, but it hadn’t suited Tifton.

Tifton. She forced her attention away from the man beside her and back to her plan. According to the information Niko had gathered by following the judge and eavesdropping on his conversations with his friend Jake, she should have four or five days to reach the halfway point on the trail. Five days later the judge would meet Jake Dalton, who would drive him on into Asheville. She had ten days to complete her plan, and she had no intention of failing. She owed that much to Tifton, to the laughing, happy boy who’d died because of this man—this vigilante judge.

Rasch was content to study her as she napped or pretended to, until he was certain that she wasn’t up to something else under cover of sleep. By that time they were well into the foothills of the mountains. “Do you plan to sleep all the way?”

Savannah opened her eyes and gave him a half-amused, half-sultry look. “Maybe.”

“That’s easier than talking.”

“Yes. Thank you for the ride.”

Her voice was vaguely musical. There was a breathlessness, a baffling hesitation in the way she paced her breathing between words, almost as if she were rehearsing lines she’d never read before.