After Dark (23 page)

    How could he even begin to tell
her what he felt when he didn't know himself? He could admit that of all the
women who had been a part of his life, she was the only one he'd been unable
to forget. He could thank her for Will, for giving the boy life when Sharon
would have destroyed him. He could beg her to forgive him for not taking
her with him, for not saving her from Kent.

    And he could tell her that he wanted
her more than he had ever wanted anyone or anything. That a raging hunger
rode him hard and it was all he could do not to act on his baser instincts.

    He could have had her years ago.
She had been more than willing. But she had been so sweet and innocent.
And so trusting. He had been so damn proud of himself for letting one naive
little rabbit free from the trap that had caught so many others. But how could
he have known that by releasing her, he had in turn trapped himself? Always
wondering. Always dunking of what might have been. Never knowing.

    Each woman was a mystery, waiting
to be solved. But more often than not the solution held no reward beyond
solving the riddle itself. Would it be that way with Lane? Once he'd had
her, would she become just one more woman in a long line of women?

    He wrapped her securely in his embrace,
keeping her close. She relaxed against him, as if she could no longer bear
her own weight. Her arms encircled him and held tight.

    "Lane, I-"

    A car horn blew. Someone yelled
out a greeting. Lane lifted her head off his chest and searched for the
source of the sounds. On the paved drive that circled the outer edges
of the park, a young woman in an SUV had stopped to talk to one of the elderly
walkers.

    Lane disengaged herself from
Johnny Mack's arms. "Take me home." She glanced down at her
wrist-watch. "Will should be there by now. He'll worry if we don't show
up soon."

    As she turned to go back over the
bridge, he grabbed her arm. She halted and stared at him, wariness in her
eyes.

    "Whatever the truth is, you need
to share it with me," he told her. "You're not helping Will by
lying for him."

    Lane jerked free. "Don't you
dare presume to tell me what's best for my son."

    Damn! Somehow, no matter what he
said, it turned out to be the wrong thing. Lane was hiding something.
Will was more involved in Kent's murder than anyone knew. She was covering
up for the boy. And he would bet his last dime that Lillie Mae was helping
her.

    What if Will had killed Kent! Would
he actually allow his mother to go to prison for a crime he had committed?
If so, what kind of young man did that make Will? A spoiled, selfish…

    "You're right," Johnny
Mack said, his voice terse. "It's apparent that even though I'm
Will's father, you still don't trust me enough to be honest with me. Maybe
I haven't earned the right to make a judgment call when it comes to Will.
But dammit, Lane, no matter what you think of me or how you feel about me,
you've got to know"-he laid his fist over his belly-"in your gut,
that I'd never do anything to hurt Will."

    "You wouldn't mean to hurt
him," she said.

    Johnny Mack's cellular telephone
rang. Lane jumped. He pulled the phone from the inside pocket of his
sport coat, flipped it open and growled his name. "Cahill here."

    "Where the hell are you
two?" Quinn demanded. "I've been at Lane's house for the past
ten minutes. Lillie Mae and Will are climbing the walls worrying that something
has happened to Lane."

    "Lane's fine. We got sidetracked.
We're on our way."

    When Lane's gaze questioned
him, Johnny Mack said, "That was Quinn. Your presence is required
at home."

    "Johnny Mack?"

    "Yeah?"

    "Don't say anything to Will
about… please, don't ask him anything about the day Kent died."

    "I won't ask him anything if
that's what you want. Not now. But you'd better have a damn good excuse to
give Quinn, because he's going to want to ask Will and Lillie Mae a lot
of questions."

    "Lillie Mae, yes. Will,
no."

    If he thought it would do any good,
he would shake her until her teeth rattled. But she had made up her mind
to protect Will, no matter what. It would prove I an impossible task to
convince her that lying for Will "I would, in the long run, only harm
him. But sooner or later, he would have to find a way to unearth the
truth, even if it meant alienating Lane.

    Will met them at the door. The moment
Lane stepped over the threshold, she opened her arms and I Will walked into
her maternal embrace. His son had. neither a glance nor a word of greeting
for him. What had he expected? Thanks, Dad, for guaranteeing a hundred
and fifty thousand dollars bail to get my mother out of jail. Thanks for
getting her safely away from a vicious group of reporters. Thanks for
bringing in one of the best criminal lawyers in the country to defend
her.

    When he entered the living room,
Lillie Mae came to his side and whispered, "You got a phone call about
an hour ago. Some woman. Said her name was Monica Robinson. Said you
had her number."

    "Thank you." He could
tell by the frown on Lillie Mae's face that she disapproved of him receiving
a call at Lane's house from another woman.

    "Who is she?" Lillie Mae
asked.

    "Monica?"

    "Yes. Who is she?"

    "A friend."

    "A lover?"

    "Why the third degree?"
he asked.

    "I hoped you'd changed."
Lillie Mae glanced around the room as if to make sure no one overheard
her. "Like always, one woman isn't enough for you. You're still tomcatting
around, aren't you?"

    "My love life is none of your
damn business," he told her, his voice low and controlled. "But
since you're so determined to believe the worst of me and your opinion
of me actually matters, I'll explain. I've been in a monogamous relationship
with Monica for a year now."

    "Are you going to marry
her?" Lillie Mae asked.

    They had been so engrossed in
their conversation that neither Johnny Mack nor Lillie Mae had realized
that Will had approached them. Not until he spoke.

    "Are you getting married?"
Will asked. "To the woman who called here earlier?"

    "What?" From across the
room, Lane gasped the question.

    Quinn, who was standing next to Lane,
a glass in his hand, gave Johnny Mack a raised eyebrow. He figured Quinn
was drinking Jack Daniels, the only whiskey Lane's father had ever kept
in the house. Despite his wealth and sophistication, Bill Noble's taste
in liquor had been plebeian.

    "I'm not getting married,"
Johnny Mack said. "The woman who called here is a good friend. Nothing
more."

    As much as she tried to hide her
emotions, Lane could not disguise the expression on her face. She looked
as if he had slapped her. The last thing he wanted was to inflict more pain,
but he seemed to have a knack for doing just that, especially where Lane
was concerned.

    Shit! Why the hell had Monica called
and opened up this hornet's nest? Because you haven't bothered to call
her since you left Houston, you idiot!

    "If y'all will excuse me,
I'll return Monica's call." He glanced across the room at Quinn.
"When you finish up here with Lane, we can head back to the motel. I
want to check out of that dump and find a better motel, until I can rent a
condo or an apartment for us."

    "There's no need for you to
rent a place," Lane said, only a hint of a quiver in her voice.
"This house is huge, and we have rooms we never use. You and Quinn
are welcome to stay here until the trial is over."

    "That's very hospitable of
you, Lane," Quinn said. ''We'd be delighted to take you up on such
a generous offer."

    "Y’all living here will be
convenient for all of us. I'll have my lawyer within arm's reach twenty-four
hours a day, and if Johnny Mack stays here, it'll give Will and him a chance
to become better acquainted."

    "I don't want him here!"
Will skewered Johnny Mack with a drop-dead glare.

    Ignoring his son's outburst, Johnny
Mack focused on Lane. "Thank you for the invitation, but are you sure?"

    "Yes, I'm sure. And you're quite
welcome." Lane nodded to Johnny Mack, then smiled at Quinn.
"You're both welcome." She glided across the living room and
slipped her arm through Quinn's. "While Lillie Mae prepares dinner
and Johnny Mack makes his phone call, why don't I show you around the house
and you can choose which bedroom you'd like." She glanced at Will.
"Do you have any homework you should be doing?"

    "Yeah, sure." Will shrugged.
"I'll be in my room. Call me when dinner's ready."

    Johnny Mack could have strangled
Quinn for responding so enthusiastically to Lane's invitation.
When they disappeared upstairs, he had to force himself not to follow
them. Quinn Cortez was a lady-killer, and Lane was very vulnerable right
now. Later, he would have a talk with his old friend-and warn Quinn to keep
his hands off personal property. And God help him, that was how he thought
of Lane. She was his. First. Last. Always.

    If the lady was in the market for a
lover, then she had damn well better choose him.

    They sat around the large glass
and wrought-iron table on the patio as the sun set and splashed the western
horizon with vivid hues of pink, crimson and lavender. The lulling cadence
of the river's flow added to the summertime music of the cicadas singing
nearby. Lillie Mae had served barbeque ribs, which were Johnny Mack's favorite.
But he hadn't known, until tonight, that they were Will's favorite, too.

    Except for an occasional question
to Quinn about Lane's case, Will had remained quiet and sullen, not once
speaking to or looking at Johnny Mack. But there had been no lulls in conversation,
no periods of awkward silence, thanks to Quinn. That half-breed Mexican-
Irishman had certainly inherited the gift of gab from his mother's Celtic
ancestors. He could relate a tall tale with the best of them. But from
his father, Quinn had inherited his Latin charm, which he lavished on
Lane tonight. And Lane seemed to be absorbing Quinn's attention like
a dry sponge soaking up water. Was she that needy, Johnny Mack wondered,
that she would fall for Quinn's flattery?

    When he caught Lane's eye, she smiled,
but there was no warmth in her eyes, no genuine congeniality to her expression.

    "Did you make that call to your
friend?" Lane asked.

    "Yes," he replied.

    "I suppose she misses you
and wants you to come home soon."

    "Not really. Monica has a
busy life and many other friends." Johnny Mack didn't want to discuss
Monica with Lane. He didn't want to discuss any of the other women in his
life-past or present-with her. Monica had mentioned missing him, and had
asked how much longer he would be gone, but she hadn't seemed disappointed
when he'd told her he was staying in Noble's Crossing for the duration of
Lane's trial. Monica was a good friend and an enjoyable lover, but he
suspected that she knew their time together was over.

    "Excuse me." Will jumped
up abruptly. "I'm going to go shoot a few hoops."

    "Want some company?" Quinn
asked.

    "Nah. I'd rather have some
time alone. Thanks anyway."

    The minute Will disappeared around
the corner of the house, Lillie Mae suggested that everyone go inside
for after-dinner coffee. Before Johnny Mack even got out of his chair, Quinn
was up and assisting Lane.

    Just as the couple started to go
through the French doors leading off the patio into the house, Johnny
Mack grabbed Quinn's arm. "Could I talk to you for a few minutes, old
pal?"

    Lane gave Johnny Mack an inquisitive
stare, but saved her gracious smile for Quinn. "We'll have coffee
waiting when y'all finish your private conversation." She followed
Lillie Mae, leaving the two men alone.

    "What's up?" Quinn asked.

    "That's what I want to know."
Johnny Mack released his friend's arm, but stood eye to eye, command and
determination in his stance.

    "I'm clueless, amigo."
Quinn shrugged.

    "Clueless my ass. And don't you
amigo me. What the hell do you think you're doing with Lane?"

    "What am I doing? I'm being
charming and attentive to a very lovely lady who is in great need of male
appreciation."

    "Well, you don't have to be so
damn charming. There's no law that says you have to be a Latin lover all
the time. Besides, Lane is off limits to you."

    "And why is that? I find her an
incredibly desirable woman."

    Johnny Mack's black eyes narrowed
to angry slits. "Lane isn't the type for a one-night stand or even a brief
affair. She's vulnerable and lonely and she could be easily hurt. So
stay the hell away from her."

    "I agree. And I have no problem
with drawing the line at being Lane's attorney and her friend. What I
want to know, Johnny Mack, is will you be able to take your own advice?"

    "What the hell do you mean by
that?"

    Quinn laid his hand on Johnny
Mack's shoulder. "This is Quinn you're talking to. We've been best
friends for nearly fifteen years. I know you better than you know yourself.
You've got the hots for that woman. And maybe there's something more to
the way you feel about her. More than the fact that she saved your life
and has raised your son. Man, if you could see your face when you look at
her, you'd know what I mean."

    Was Quinn right? Did his feelings
show on his face? In his eyes? If so, could Lane read him as clearly as Quinn
did? And just what could others see that he couldn't?

    "Lane's special to me,"
Johnny Mack admitted. "She's always been… What I feel for her is different
from what I've felt for other women."

    "Then, why not follow through
and give the lady what she needs?"

    "I'm not going to hurt her.
She's been hurt enough."

    ''And would becoming her lover
harm her?'' Quinn asked as he squeezed Johnny Mack's shoulder. "She
is hungry for you, my friend. I see the desire in her eyes, too."

    "Go inside and have your
coffee. And while I'm gone, don't flirt with Lane anymore," Johnny
Mack said, deliberately avoiding the subject of Lane's passion for
him. "I'm going to find Will and see if he'll talk to me."

    "That boy is very hostile toward
you. Don't be surprised if he tells you to take his basketball and put it
where the sun don't shine."

    "Tell Lane I've taken a walk.
She doesn't need to know that I'm-"

    "Giving her son the third degree?"

    "You know, without my saying
so, that Will could be the one who killed Kent. Lane could be protecting
him."

    Quinn nodded. "Don't push the
boy too hard."

    "You just keep Lane entertained.
But keep your hands off her."

    "I will try my best to accommodate
you on both counts."

    The sound of Quinn's deep-throated
laughter drifted on the twilight breeze as he saluted Johnny Mack with
a mock bow, then turned and went into me house.

    He stood at the side of the house
and watched Will as he made hoop after hoop. The boy was a natural.
Tall. Lean. Athletic. With an amazing power of concentration. But
the most amazing tiling about this smart, handsome, fantastic boy was
the undeniable fact that he, Johnny Mack Cahill, was his father. A reckless
act of sex, one long-ago summer night, had created this perfect child. No love.
No commitment. No thought beyond the pleasure of the moment. How was it
possible? Nature sure as hell had things screwed up. All a guy had to do
to become a father was have a climax. Without a thought of the consequences.
Without any plans for the future. Without wanting to reproduce.

    Johnny Mack studied his son, searching
for any resemblance to Sharon. The shape of his face, a little rounder
than his own, with a softer, less square jaw. And his nose was Sharon's.
Smaller, with a slight tilt at the end. But the eyes, the mouth and even the
sulking expression were pure Johnny Mack. The height and build, as
well as the black hair and dark eyes, were gifts passed down from John Graham,
may the frigging old bastard rot in hell. Traits that he, and now Will, had
shared with the old man and with Kent.

    If he never did anything else
right in his entire life, he had to make it right with Will. He owed this
boy something more than money, which he now had in abundance. Will might
have killed Kent. Lane could be covering for the boy, willing to go to
jail to protect her son. But what would it do to Will if he let his mother
take the rap for him?

    "Are you going to shoot hoops
with me or are you going to stand back there and watch me all night?"
With the basketball held high, Will turned his gaze on Johnny Mack.

    Barely able to halt the smile forming
on his lips, Johnny Mack stepped out of the shadows and held out his hands.
Will tossed him the ball. And the game was on. For a good thirty minutes,
father and son ran, dribbled, blocked and scored. In the end, Will won by
making the final hoop with a jump shot.

    Johnny Mack, sweat glistening on
his forehead and dampening his cotton knit shirt, laid a hesitant hand
on his son's damp back. Will grinned, then tossed the ball through the hoop
one final time. When it slipped through the net and bounced off the driveway,
Will let the ball roll off into the yard.

    ''You play in school, don't
you?" Johnny Mack commented.

    "Yep. Football, baseball
and basketball. Kent…" He balked after mentioning his adoptive father's
name. "Kent wanted me to play all the sports, just like he did. There
was a time when his approval was very important to me."

    "Before he found out that you
weren't his biological son."

    "No, before that even,"
Will said. "My feelings for Kent started changing right before he
and Mama got a divorce. By then, I was ten and old enough to understand
that he wasn't good to her. He never hit her-except that once, after he
got the letter from Sharon Hickman. But he talked awful to her all the time,
and he treated her like dirt. He treated just about everybody like dirt
when he was drinking. And the past few years, he drank all the time."

    "Kent wasn't a very nice
man," Johnny Mack said. "When your mother married him, I don't
think she realized what a bad person he was or how much damage he could
inflict on her. And on you."

    "He used to think I was the greatest
thing in the world. His son. But when he found out that you were my real father,
he hated me. He did a hundred-and-eighty-degree turn. You can't imagine
the things he said to me."

    "Do you want to tell me what he
said that day? Want to tell me what happened?"

    Will looked Johnny Mack square in
the eye. "What you're really asking me is did I kill him? Did I pick up
my baseball bat and beat him to death when he was too drunk to fight
back?"

    "No one could blame you if
you did kill Kent," Johnny Mack said. ‘'If he attacked you, it was
self-defense."

    "He didn't attack me,"
Will said. "Not physically. Just verbally. He told me all about you
or at least his version of who and what you were. And he said I'd turn out
to be a no-good, sorry bastard just like you. Guess he didn't know you were
a fucking multimillionaire, did he?"

    "Do you want to tell me what
happened that day?" Johnny Mack asked.

    Will shrugged. "Mama told me
not to say anything to anyone about what really happened, and I agreed.
But that was before she was arrested. I can't let her take the blame for
something I probably did."

    ''What do you mean something you
probably did?"

    "I don't remember everything
that happened that afternoon. I remember that Kent came by the house.
Mama wasn't home. She was down at the Herald checking on something or other.
Lillie Mae was home, and she tried to stop Kent from coming into the backyard;
but she couldn't stop.him. He was drunk and angry. When Kent got drunk, he got
mean."