Реклама
Читать книгу: «Without You», страница 2
Those softly spoken words, backed by emotion, tore at her. Still, she held on to her resolve. “Jackson, you don’t know what you’re asking. If you’re in the kind of trouble you think you are, I’m not the attorney you need.”
“Yes, you are.”
“Okay, let me put it this way. Regardless of whether I’m qualified or not, I wouldn’t feel comfortable representing you. I don’t know how to make it any plainer.”
His mouth worked and he stared deeply into her eyes. “Please,” he said again. “I trust you, and you have to help me.”
Hallie opened her mouth, but the words froze in her throat.
Three
But I don’t trust you.
Though Hallie wanted to utter those words, she couldn’t; they dried up in her throat. Still, she was angry that Jackson had so brazenly appeared in her office, opening old wounds with both his unsettling presence and his raw demand.
“Hallie?”
The unspoken plea in his voice refocused her mind. Yet she stopped short of giving him a definitive answer, even though she knew this situation was grave and could spell disaster for him.
“I need time, Jackson,” she stalled, which was not like her at all, and he knew it. She had always been admired for her ability to think quickly on her feet, in an unpleasant situation or otherwise.
Right now, however, she was having a difficult time even thinking, much less thinking rationally. Apparently Jackson wasn’t having any qualms, or he wouldn’t have approached her. Or else he was desperate. With that thought jumping to the forefront of her mind, Hallie lifted her slender shoulders as if preparing for battle.
“I need your answer now,” Jackson said before she could break the heavy silence.
Chocolate-brown eyes met blue ones, and for a moment, Hallie couldn’t find her next breath. Jackson must have experienced the same smothering reaction, for his features darkened even more and he shifted his gaze.
“Why are you a suspect, Jackson?”
He rubbed his chin, which was beginning to show a slight stubble, further enhancing his sex appeal. “I was with Roberta last night.” His voice was brusque.
Hallie didn’t know why that blunt admission still had the power to prick her heart, but it did. She should feel bitterness and contempt. Instead, her response was far more personal. Ignoring those thoughts, she said, “You need to be more specific. With her could mean a number of things.”
Jackson’s eyes were bleak. “It’s not what you think.”
“You have no idea what I think,” she countered with quiet dignity. She was determined to keep this conversation professional and impersonal, until she could convince him that Nathan was the lawyer who could best serve him.
“You hate me, don’t you,” he said out of the blue.
Her stomach dropped, but she didn’t let on that his tortured words got to her. “Of course I don’t hate you.”
She didn’t hate him, but she did hate every second of his presence and this conversation. She didn’t want to know why he had been with Roberta and what they did. Two years ago, that woman had been a bone of contention between them, and now she was again, even in death.
“Sorry,” he muttered. “I didn’t mean to make this personal.”
“About Roberta,” she pressed, ignoring his apology.
“She showed up at the club after a long absence. She was in a mess.”
“A mess, how?”
“A mental and emotional wreck.”
“And you felt sorry for her.” Hallie paused. “Again.”
“Okay, so I felt like I owed—” His jaw stiffened, cutting off his sentence.
“I know how you feel about that,” Hallie said, “so there’s no use repeating it.”
Jackson flushed but he didn’t comment. Instead, he said, “I took her to dinner to try and calm her down.”
“Seems like I’ve heard that before.”
This time, Jackson’s face drained of color. She had struck a nerve and it showed. Hallie reminded herself of the reason for her question. All she wanted was to get enough information from him to warrant calling the firm’s heaviest criminal gun. Nathan didn’t take kindly to having his time wasted. Perhaps Jackson wasn’t in as much trouble as he thought. Once she proved or disproved that, then she’d know where to go from there.
“Sorry, I was out of line.” Her tone was much huskier than she would’ve liked.
“In hindsight,” Jackson said, “I know that taking her out was not a smart move. After dinner, she seemed calmer, and I took her back to her hotel. That was the last time I saw her.”
Hallie remained silent, battling a dull roar in her head.
“You know me, Hallie. I could never have done such a heinous thing.” His eyes were dark and pleading.
“I know, Jackson. That’s why you’re still in my office.”
“But I want to explain about Roberta, especially if—”
She held up her hand, cutting him off again. “Your personal relationship with her is no longer my concern.” He was free to boff anyone he wanted, including Roberta Klein.
“It’s your concern if you’re going to represent me.”
“I haven’t said I’d represent you.”
They stared at each other hard and long.
“Please,” he said, stopping just short of begging.
She heard the break in his voice and it got to her. Again. Jackson might be many things—he was a liar, for sure—but a murderer, no. A man with such a capacity for giving and loving could never bring bodily harm to a woman. So did that mean her resolve to not get involved was weakening? Heaven help her if it was. But when he looked at her like that, she couldn’t deny him anything.
“Look, I’ll take over for now, but only if you agree to meet with Nathan.”
“Fine. I’ll do whatever you say.”
“I’m not finished yet. If it looks like there’s going to be a trial, Nathan will have to take my place in the pecking order.”
At the word trial, he blanched, then asked, “Why?”
“That’s the deal, Jackson. Take it or leave it. I’m not about to jeopardize your life by my lack of experience.”
“I’ll take it.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “What choice do I have?” A tinge of bitterness had crept into his tone.
“Plenty. For starters, you can go to another firm.”
“You drive a hard bargain, Hallie Hunter.” He paused, sighing deeply, though his features seemed to have become less gaunt since he’d won the first round.
“I told Detective Gomez I’d avail myself for questioning.”
“Are you talking about today? Now?”
Jackson grimaced. “I’d like to get it over with—if you can spare the time, that is.”
She couldn’t, but she would just have to make the time. He was right; to postpone the trek to the police station wouldn’t make it any less palatable for either of them.
“What’s this detective like?” she asked, unfamiliar with Gomez.
“He’s cocky and self-assured.”
During her court appointments on criminal cases, she’d gotten to know many of the ranking detectives and for the most part had developed a good rapport with them. But since she’d been out of the criminal loop for a while, she’d lost her contacts. This Gomez must be a new kid on the block or a transfer.
“Then, we’ll just have to un-cock him,” she said with her usual self-assurance.
For the first time since she’d walked into the room, Jackson smiled. The change was as sudden as it was shocking. Her breath caught as the flush of unwanted heat swept through her.
If he noticed her reaction, he didn’t show it, for which she was most grateful. “Are you ready?” she asked in as normal a voice as she could muster.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
Hallie paused at the door and looked up at him. “Let me handle things. Until I know what Gomez has, we’ll play our cards close to our chest.”
“I’ll do whatever you say.”
Swallowing a sigh, Hallie squared her shoulders and walked out of the room, fully conscious of Jackson matching her step for step. As long as her commitment wasn’t set in stone, what she was about to undertake would be tolerable. Otherwise…
Hallie shook that thought aside as they left the building and headed for his BMW, hoping for the best and fearing the worst.
“Thanks for coming in so soon, Mr. Cole.”
“No problem.”
Detective Gomez turned to Hallie and extended his hand. After introductions were completed, Hallie decided Jackson’s opinion of the detective was right on target. Cocky. Young. And good-looking.
Gomez smiled at Hallie—a smile that rubbed her the wrong way, maybe because it was as smug as it was suggestive.
“I’ve heard of your firm.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Hallie said in a cool tone.
He seemed to think for a second, then his smile disappeared. “No need to be defensive. Some of my friends are defense attorneys. Like Ernie Sanders, for example.”
“Mr. Sanders must not have been that good a friend, Mr. Gomez,” Hallie replied, “or you’d know he died last month.”
“Oh, that’s when he became my best friend, ma’am.”
Hallie stiffened at the direct slam, but before she could make a suitable comeback, Gomez seemed to remember his manners.
“Please, have a seat, both of you. Then perhaps we can get this matter cleared up quickly.”
Once they were seated in his shoebox of an office, he asked, “Can I get you something to drink? Some coffee? Or a Coke?”
Their “no, thank you” came simultaneously.
Gomez shrugged, then helped himself to a cup of coffee. He seemed in no hurry to bring this session to an end, despite his claim to the contrary.
Hallie could feel Jackson’s unrest. He appeared coiled and ready to spring. It was going to be an effort for him to keep his mouth shut and let her do the talking. She sensed right off that the detective and Jackson would tangle if there was no one to referee.
She would have to keep Jackson on a short leash; words said in frustration in a detective’s office had a way of taking on more meaning in the courtroom, and she did not want her client hanging himself because he got angry.
Silence. Two, then three minutes, without a word. Gomez sat across the desk from them, sipping coffee and watching Jackson. When he finally spoke, it jolted Hallie out of her reverie.
“So, were you sleeping with the dead woman, Mr. Cole?”
“No, I was not. And I didn’t kill her, either.”
More silence. Although Hallie didn’t want to look at Jackson, didn’t want to see his face, she had no choice. This was a murder investigation, and no matter how difficult this line of questioning was for her personally, she couldn’t back down. Better to get the ugly question out in the open early.
Jackson’s face had darkened, and he muttered an obscenity. Hallie reached out and placed a hand on his arm. It was hard and rigid, but her touch seemed to calm him immediately.
Another minute passed before Gomez spoke again. “So, tell me about Roberta Klein, Mr. Jackson.”
Jackson looked at Hallie and she gave him a nod, indicating that he was free to answer.
“We are…were…lifelong friends,” Jackson said.
“Then, you saw her often?”
“Not really, at least not in the last year.”
“Oh? Lover’s spat, and she moved out?”
Hallie spoke up. “I think my client has answered that already, Detective. He told you they were not…intimate.”
“For one thing, she didn’t live in Memphis,” Jackson said. “As you know.”
“So she just showed up on your doorstep like some baby wrapped in a blanket, so to speak?” Gomez made no effort to hide his smirk.
Jackson nodded. “That’s exactly what she did.”
“Was she in the habit of doing that? Just showing up at any old time she pleased?”
“In the past, yes.”
“So she felt comfortable—completely at ease—just dropping by out of the blue?”
“One has to assume so.”
“We’re discussing you, Cole.” Gomez’s tone was sharp. “Did she assume so, too?”
“What’s your question, Detective?” Hallie asked in a cold, firm voice, her patience wearing thin.
As if he sensed that, Gomez said, “I understand you took her home.”
“That’s right. I dropped her off rather early, then I left.”
“How was she?” Gomez paused. “When you left.”
Jackson ignored the rich sarcasm in the detective’s voice and asked, “What do you mean?”
Another smirk at the double entendre. “Had she been drinking?”
“A little. Some.”
“Did anything…unusual happen?”
“No,” Jackson said.
More silence. Hallie sensed Jackson’s desire to fill the time with words, but when she laid her hand on his arm a second time, he remained quiet. After two minutes, Gomez got up and poured himself another cup of coffee, his eyes still on Jackson.
Finally, he sat back down, took a slurping sip and set the cup down. “Are you sure, Cole, that the two of you weren’t making it? Doin’ the deed? Wrinklin’ the sheets? Swappin’—”
“Enough, Detective,” Hallie said, already on her feet. “We’re out of here this minute.” She knew a fishing expedition when she heard one. “Do you have any evidence against my client, Gomez? It’s neither a crime nor a sin to be the last person to see someone alive.”
“But I’m not through questioning Mr. Cole.”
“Yes, you are. If you intend to scrape a case together, Gomez, you’ll have to do it without our help.”
Gomez’s already dark features darkened further as he focused his attention on Jackson, who was standing so close to Hallie that she could hear his labored breathing.
“I was hoping for more cooperation from you, Mr. Cole.”
“He’s been more than cooperative, Detective. You chose the low road, but we’re not taking it. If you want to see Mr. Cole again, bring some evidence—a warrant. And just for the record, he will answer no more questions for you.”
“Oh, I’ll bring my warrant, all right, Ms. Hunter. But all in good time. There’s no statute of limitations on murder.”
Hallie fastened the middle button of the jacket of her pants outfit. “You have your job, Detective. Go to it. Mine is to see that you don’t violate my client’s rights, and I take that just as seriously as you do.”
“No doubt the three of us will meet again,” Gomez said.
“Possibly, but there won’t be any questions the next time.”
“So you’re absolutely refusing to allow Mr. Cole to talk to me again?”
“I never say never, Detective,” Hallie said. “If you brought a fresh attitude and a smattering of knowledge about the Bill of Rights to our next session, I might reconsider.” Then, turning to Jackson, she added, “Are you ready?”
Together they left the building. Outside, the late afternoon air had turned chilly, but it was a lovely evening. A perfect night to spend with a lover next to a smoldering fire sipping on a glass of wine, Hallie thought.
Although mortified at the sudden image, Hallie knew the reason for it. Jackson. He had awakened old and buried yearnings. During the time they were engaged, they had done that very thing more times than she could count. The result had always been a sweet but fiery tumble between the sheets.
“Beautiful night, isn’t it?” he commented in a husky voice.
“I wouldn’t know,” she snapped.
“Hallie?”
“What?”
Jackson’s eyebrows rose. “Why are you angry at me? Did I say something wrong in there?”
“No. It’s just been a long day and I’m tired.”
His lips thinned.
“Be in my office first thing tomorrow morning,” she said. “I want you to meet Nathan.”
“Then, you’re not interested in joining me for a cup of coffee?”
She faced him then and their eyes met. Tension, hot and heavy, leapt between them. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, do you?”
His sigh was deep and ragged. “You’re probably right. It isn’t.”
“Just take me back to my car. Please.”
Four
Jackson parked at the rear of the club and slipped in through his private back entrance. He didn’t want to see or talk to anyone—which was not his usual modus operandi.
As much as he trusted and looked to Terrance for help and guidance, Elan was his baby and he made it a point to be hands-on. Usually a mere stroll through the premises was exactly what he needed to make it through his long days. However, he had started cutting back on the hours he spent at the club, determined to finally get a “normal” life. But the transition was difficult, if not impossible, especially of late.
Since his breakup with Hallie two years ago, he had gone through the motions of living—feeling nothing, touching nothing. That way he’d been off the hook emotionally, which had been the only way he could hold body and soul together.
And his strategy had worked, enabling him to awaken each morning without that burning pain in his heart. But then things started to backfire, and once again his life seemed to change faster than a crashing stack of dominoes.
Jackson walked to the bar in his office and helped himself to a drink. It didn’t help, so he set the empty glass down and went to his desk. But sitting wasn’t the answer, either. He felt like ants were crawling through his insides; he walked to the window and stared outside.
The evening, like the day, was magical. The trees, swayed by the brisk wind, sent their multicolored leaves cascading to the ground. He watched the soothing sight for a moment, then turned around. He should call Terrance and let him know he was back. He owed it to his assistant to inform him of what had transpired at the police station, but he wasn’t ready. He needed more time alone to get his jumbled thoughts in some kind of logical order.
Murder.
Such an ugly word. It made him shudder to his core. The very idea that he could be accused of such an act was incomprehensible. So too was the image of Roberta’s lifeless body. She had been his lifelong friend, for heaven’s sake.
He rubbed the back of his head and muttered an expletive. Brooding over his present predicament wasn’t doing him any good. By seeking Hallie’s counsel, he’d taken the necessary steps to head off this impending disaster. The best thing he could do now was to visit with Terrance, then mingle with the customers.
But he still didn’t feel like facing anyone. That feel-nothing, touch-nothing mood had invaded his system again.
The phone suddenly rang, jarring him. He grabbed it and said, “Cole.”
“Ah, I’m glad I caught you.”
At the sound of the low, familiar voice, red hot fury boiled inside him. “I told you to stop calling me, you bastard.”
“Now, now, is that any way to talk to someone who has your best interest at heart?”
“Heart?” Jackson gave a harsh laugh. “You wouldn’t know about that, since you don’t have one.”
“If you persist in refusing to sell,” the caller continued, “we’ll find a way to take over, to force you out.”
“Then, I suggest you give it your best shot.” Jackson slammed down the receiver. But so much for his bravado. He felt gutted on the inside, a feeling he despised as much as he despised them and their bullying tactics.
Damn them, the organized crime faction that was determined to bring him down.
Lately the pressure had increased relentlessly. They seemed more hell-bent each day on buying him out, chipping away at his resolve.
Why him? Why his place? Why not one of the countless other clubs on the drag? He’d wrestled with those questions until he’d come up with several reasonable answers. Elan was slightly off to itself, making it more secluded, yet still accessible. In addition, the building property had more square footage and more land.
No matter. He’d dug his heels in and had no intention of budging.
He wondered suddenly if his implication in Roberta’s murder wasn’t Mafia related. They had the resources and connections to frame him. Having reached that conclusion, shouldn’t he tell Hallie?
Not yet. He had no intention of involving her in a dangerous game with the mob. Besides, she had enough to do looking after his legal worries. Too, handling this crisis was a responsibility he wasn’t about to put off on anyone else. He would take care of things himself. He always had.
None of the success he had obtained had come easy. Life had dealt him some cruel blows, beginning with the death of his mother in an auto accident when he was eleven years old.
Left with his father, an alcoholic who owned two bars, Jackson had very little home life and virtually no parental love or supervision. He spent most of his out-of-school time hanging around bars, until he met Roberta’s mother, Ruby.
In the evenings, she often frequented one of his father’s clubs, yet Ruby had used restraint in her drinking. Jackson had met her one evening when she had approached him to play a game of pool.
From then on, she had taken pity on him, and often invited him to her house to share pot roast dinners with her family. Ruby had a son, Edgar, who was never there, and Roberta, who was several years Jackson’s senior. He, Ruby and Roberta, three misfits, had become firm friends. He would never forget the fond times he’d spent at their home, even though the environment was certainly no June Cleaver haven.
At the time, however, he was grateful for any crumb of womanly compassion he could get. Ruby and Roberta had helped buffer his acute loneliness and build his self-esteem.
Once he graduated from college with a degree in business, he was determined to make something of himself away from the nightlife. But when his dad died unexpectedly, he found himself saddled with the responsibility of the bars. After selling one, he had borrowed more money and turned the other into Elan on Beale Street.
He had been successful beyond his wildest expectations. Yet there was something missing from his life—a sense of real belonging, a sense of roots. At one time, he thought he had found the answer to those needs in Hallie, only to lose her by betraying her trust.
Granted, he had been less than honest with her about his relationship with Roberta. After the fact, he rationalized that he and Hallie would not have made it anyway. Her career was going full steam ahead while his was winding down. And she hadn’t been particularly eager to have children, while he was.
Nonetheless, he had never stopped loving her or wanting her. He carried with him every sound, smell and taste of her. Though he hated that weakness, he was powerless to shake it.
“So why ask Hallie for help?” He realized he’d spoken aloud when his voice penetrated the silence in the room.
It was an insane move; he was far too vulnerable where she was concerned. Just seeing her had made him throb with that old intense longing. But a desperate man did desperate things.
And like he’d told her, he trusted her. Even if he hadn’t known her personally, hadn’t had a hot, intimate relationship with her, he would have sought her out. Her reputation as a tough officer of the court was widespread. She was both respected and admired. When it came to her clients, she was feisty and fearless in defending them.
He had met her by accident, or maybe it had been fate. They had both been at a party for the rich and famous at a rival nightclub. He hadn’t wanted to go, but Terrance had insisted, reminding Jackson he needed to get out of his cocoon and see what the competition was up to.
He had agreed, though with no real enthusiasm.
He hadn’t been interested in a permanent relationship with a woman. Nonetheless, he suspected that was what Terrance’s urging was all about. For sure, Jackson had had plenty of women. A man didn’t reach forty without having had his share of affairs.
But that was exactly what they had been—affairs. None of the women he’d been involved with had been what he considered “wife material,” though he wasn’t sure he knew what that meant. He’d been too busy with the club to think in those terms. Besides, tying the knot had scared the hell out of him. He’d been alone too long to take a waltz down the aisle.
The second he had walked into the club, where a band was playing a waltz, he’d felt out of place. Terrance had left him on his own almost immediately, having spotted a woman whom he’d dated. Jackson was about to turn and walk out the same door he’d come in, when he saw her. He’d stopped dead in his tracks.
He thought she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. She was tall and thin with spectacular chocolate-colored hair, a lovely face and shapely legs—a Southern beauty in all her glory.
When she smiled, the effect was electric. He had fallen madly in love on the spot.
If she’d been with a man, perhaps he wouldn’t have had the courage to approach her. She appeared to be alone. As though his legs had a will all their own, he moved toward her. Something made her turn and face him directly. He paused for a second and their eyes met. An electric current seemed to instantly connect them. It hadn’t been his imagination, either. That radiant smile on her face had slipped a bit while something unidentifiable jumped into her eyes.
Finally, he reached her and, without mincing words, said, “Would you like to dance?”
“I don’t make a habit of dancing with strangers.”
Her voice was as sexy as her body—husky and warm. He felt himself turn hard and prayed she wouldn’t notice.
“I can take care of that. I’m Jackson Cole.” He held out his hand. At first she appeared reluctant to touch him but then she did. When he grasped her thin hand, that current shot all the way up his arm. He knew she experienced the same sensation—she withdrew her hand immediately, her eyes wide.
“And you are?” he asked into the blistering silence.
“Hallie Hunter.”
He smiled. “Since we’re no longer strangers, shall we dance?”
“Suppose I don’t want to dance with you?”
He peered deeply into her eyes as he lowered his voice. “Only you do, don’t you.”
“You’re awfully sure of yourself, Mr. Cole.”
“Jackson,” he corrected.
Before she could answer him, he reached out and pulled her gently into his arms, then onto the dance floor.
Heady stuff.
The feel and smell of her body against him penetrated his skin and went straight to his heart. She was utterly captivating, and he prayed the song would never end, so he wouldn’t have to let her go. Yet when it ended, she made no effort to leave his arms.
“I like your style, Mr. Cole,” she said with a confident smile, displaying her delightful dimple.
“Jackson,” he reminded her.
She laughed. “All right, Jackson.”
“So when can I see you again?”
She gave him a sassy look. “How do you know I’m free?”
“Are you?”
“Yes.” That tiny word came out a whisper.
“So am I, which means we have a green light.”
“For what?”
“To make love,” he whispered. “Tonight.”
She gasped. Then he did something he’d never done spontaneously before. He drew her even closer and lowered his lips to hers with explosive force.
From then on, they were inseparable, and within weeks they were officially engaged. And all was well in paradise, until Roberta reentered his life and ripped the bloom off the rose.
Now, disgusted with the direction his thoughts had taken, Jackson shook himself and walked back to the bar, then poured himself another drink. But he knew that drinking wasn’t the answer.
Regardless of how much booze he put in his body, it couldn’t override his thoughts of Hallie. She had set up housekeeping in his head and heart forever. He still loved her; her absence in his life hadn’t changed that.
But he couldn’t think about Hallie in those terms. She had moved on and up and was totally lost to him. In order not to lose himself, he had to concentrate on getting out of this latest trouble. With the mob breathing hot and heavy down his neck, there was no way he could afford to be charged with murder, arrested, and detained indefinitely. Suddenly he felt as though he had a ticking time bomb strapped to his body.
He must remain completely focused, no matter how much he would like to concentrate on Hallie and what might have been.
Бесплатный фрагмент закончился.
