Everything but the marriage (19 page)

"Reed." Devlin said the name under his breath. AnnaUse drew her eyes from the newcomer and looked up at him. As usual, it was impossible to read his expression, although she thought there was a certain tension in his shoulders that suggested the visitor was not entirely welcome.

"A friend of yours?"

"More or less." But he didn't move forward to greet the man. Reed crossed the yard, stopping at the foot of the steps, his head tilted to look up at Devlin.

"I was in the neighborhood. Hope you don't mind."

His voice was deep and slow, with the merest trace of a drawl to hint at a Southern background.

"Reed." For a moment, Devlin didn't seem to have anything to say beyond the flat greeting. Annalise's eyes darted between the two men, wondering just what a "more or less" friend was.

"It's good to see you," Devlin said at last. He stepped forward, extending his hand.

Reed's lean face features relaxed in a smile. He climbed the steps and took Devlin's hand, shaking it with unmistakable warmth.

"It's good to see you, Devlin. You're looking good."

"Well, I pretty well had to look better than I did the last time you saw me," Devlin said, his mouth twisting with a bitter humor Annalise didn't understand.

Before Reed could respond, Devlin turned to draw Annalise into the picture.

"Annalise, this is Reed Hall, a... friend of mine." The hesitation before the word friend did not go unnoticed by Reed, but he didn't seem disturbed. "Reed, this is Annalise St. John. She's staying with me."

Not, "She's living with me." Annalise noticed how he avoided making her presence seem too permanent. She swallowed the twinge of disappointment she felt and stood up.

"I didn't realize Etevlin had such good taste," Reed said with an easy smile.

"Thank you." Up dose, she realized that his eyes were an unusual shade of pure green, without the slightest hint of gold. The combination of that pale hair and brilliant eyes was striking.

''I made some lemonade earlier," she said as she withdrew her hand from his. *'Would you like some?"

"Sounds wonderful. I was begiiming to think I should have bought a canteen in the last town."

Annalise wondered just how good a friend Devlin considered Reed. Certainly he'd never mentioned the man to her. But then, though she thought they'd attained a certain closeness these past weeks, there was still a big part of himself that Devlin kept walled off. Most of his past was behind that wall.

Considering his rather wary greeting when Reed showed up, Annalise was surprised when Devlin invited the other man to use the spare bedroom, especially since he must have known that it meant she'd have to move her clothing and few personal possessions into the master bedroom. They might have been sharing a bed for weeks, but he'd never suggested that she move her belongings into his bedroom and she hadn't mentioned it.

While Devlin and Reed were talking, she excused herself and hastily gathered her clothing from the spare bedroom and deposited it on DevUn's bed.

There was no chance to discuss the move with Devlin until just before dinner when Reed took his suitcase into his room to clean up before the meal.

Devlin was slicing v^etables for a tossed salad while Annalise kept an eye on the marinated chicken she'd slipped into the broiler.

"I put my things in your room," she said. "I assumed that was what you wanted." She slid him a questioning look, wondering if he was going to feel that she'd stepped across that invisible barrier he kq)t around himself.

"Sure. Clear whatever closet and drawer space you need."

Devlin shced a cucumber with quick, sure strokes. Reed's unexpected visit had given him the excuse he needed to get Annalise moved into his bedroom. She shared his bed, but every morning she disappeared into the other bedroom to shower and dress.

At first, he'd thought it the perfect arrangement. It kept the true nature of their relationship perfectly clear. They were lovers but they weren't seriously involved. This was only a temporary arrangement for both of them, a chance to heal a few old wounds before moving on.

But lately, he'd started to realize that sharing a bed but not a bedroom was nothing more than a smoke screen he'd put up to try to convince himself of the ephemeral nature of their involvement. The fact was, he was more deeply involved with Annalise St. John than he'd ever expected, or wanted, to be with a woman. And he could debate the wisdom of that involvement from now till doomsday, but it wasn't going to change the reaUty of it.

As long as they were involved, he didn't want her sneaking out of his room to go to hers to shower and

dress. Of course, he could have just suggested that she move her things into his room. But that might imply a commitment he wouldn't—couldn't—make.

Reed's visit had given him the perfect opportunity to get Annalise to move into his room without getting into a discussion of what the move really meant.

God, when had he become such a manipulative bastard?

He brought the knife down with too much force, causing it to slip sideways on the cutting board and nick the base of his thumb.

"Damn!" He lifted the injured hand to his mouth.

"Are you hurt?" Annalise darted to him, taking hold of his wrist to examine the injury.

"It's not bad."

"It should have a bandage. Here, rinse it off and I'll get the peroxide." Without waiting for his consent, she turned on the cold-water tap and thrust his hand under it.

With the cold water rushing over his hand, Devlin watched her rummage in the cupboard next to the sink, searching for the bottle of hydrogen peroxide and a box of adhesive strips. There was a small, concerned frown pleating her forehead. She was worried about him.

The thought flowed over him like a warm sunshine. In his life, there'd been few people who ever worried about him. His mother had never quite come into the real world long enough to worry about anyone but herself. And his father's only concern had been beating all traces of sin out of him.

Kelly cared enough to worry about him. Other than his sister, the only name that came to mind was Reed's. And even that had been largely because it was his job to worry about his client.

But Annalise wasn't his sister and she wasn't his lawyer. She wasn't bound by familial or professional obligations to be concerned. She just was.

"Here." She turned from the cupboard and shut off the water. Wrapping his hand in a soft cotton towel, she dried it gaitly. Devlin found himself regretting that it was such a minor cut. It seemed a pity for her to expend all that sweet concern on anything less than arterial bleeding. She examined the small cut, her frown easing.

"It really isn't too bad. Here, this may sting a little." She poured the hydrogen peroxide over the cut, lifting anxious eyes to his face as the liquid foamed into the injury.

"Waiting to see me writhe in agony?" His mouth quirked with humor.

"I just don't like hurting people, even in a good cause." She picked up an adhesive strip and opened it. "I always hated it when Mary injured herself. Sometimes, it was all I could do to keep from crying more than she did."

It was the first time he'd heard her mention her daughter since the night she'd told him about the child. She placed the strip across the cut, pressing the adhesive portion to his hand before lifting her eyes to his face again.

"I haven't thought about that in a long time," she said slowly. "It doesn't seem to hurt as much to think

about her anymore. I guess maybe time really does heal all wounds."

"I guess so." Devlin lifted his newly bandaged hand to brush a lock of hair back from her face, his fingers lingering on her cheek. He wished suddenly that time could heal the wounds that had eaten into his soul, that he could beUeve the time would come when he'd feel whole, when he might be able to offer her something more than what he was now.

"Are you aware that you have a small squad of furred terrorists living in your house?" Reed's question preceded him. Devlin's hand dropped away from Annalise's face and he stepped back.

When Reed stepped on the other side of the breakfast bar, he had a gray kitten in his hand, one long finger rubbing absently between its ears.

"I should have warned you about them," Annalise said, when Devlin didn't seem to have a response. "They're at the mischievous age."

"Mischievous? After climbing my pant leg—while I was still in the pants, I'd like to point out—he proceeded to launch a vicious attack on one of my shoelaces."

"Yes. Well, we haven't quite managed to convince them that shoelaces aren't alien invaders." Annalise pulled the chicken out of the broiler and poked it experimentally. "I think supper's about ready."

Reed turned out to be a pleasant and undemanding guest. He was a lawyer. He'd been working as a court-appointed defender for the past ten years. He'd taken

a few months off just to drive around the country, see all the sights he'd never had time to look at.

Annalise learned more from watching him than she did from what he said. He was easygoing, regarding the world with a sort of sleq)y amus^n^t. But after a day or two, she began to get the feeling that there were a lot of things Reed kqpt hidden, depths he shidded with a friendly smile and an easy laugh.

When she asked Devlin how he and Reed had met, he said only that they'd met quite a few years ago but hadn't really seen all that much of each other. He didn't volunteer any more information and she didn't try to pry it out of him, not that prying would have done her much good.

Reed didn't expect to be entertained. In fact, the first day he was there, he pitched in and helped Devlin put up drywall. He freely admitted that his expe^ rience as a handyman was limited to the ability to plug in a microwave oven and occasionally pump his own gas, but he wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty, and he didn't mind asking questions until he understood what had to be done.

Devlin would have sworn that the last thing he wanted was someone working with him. One of the joys in doing so much of the work himsdf was that it meant long, unint^rupted hours of solitude. But Reed proved to be an undemanding companion.

Their acquaintance over the past ten years had been brief, if eventful. Despite the fact that Devlin was willing to count Reed as one of the few people to whom he could apply the word/Wemi he couldn't really say that they knew each other wdl.

There hadn't been time to get to know each other well. When a man was on trial for first-degree murder, he was inclined to develop an immediate intimacy with the lawyer who was defending him.

When he'd been released from prison, there'd been the pressure of deciding what to do with his sudden, unwelcome inheritance. But there'd been more time for getting to know Reed as a man rather than sunply as a lawyer.

Now, seeing Reed outside his familiar element, Devlin was able to confirm the fact that he liked the man. Reed appreciated the value of silence. If he didn't know how to do something, he watched Devlin until he figured it out. In fact, it was not unpleasant to share the labor with someone.

The small, oddly matched group rubbed along quite well together for nearly a week. Annalise had settled into Devlin's bedroom so easily it was sometimes difficult to remember that she hadn't always been there. She liked seeing her rather sparse wardrobe hanging next to Devlin's shirts.

Though she'd purchased a few things with the salary Devlin paid her, she'd put most of the money in an envelope she kept under her lingerie. Most of the time, she managed to pretend that things weren't going to changQ, that she was just going to continue living with Devlin, growing closer to him, gaining his trust.

But reality was something Annalise had learned to live with at an early age. And she couldn't completely overlook the possibility that, sooner or later, Devlin was going to want his house to himself.

If and when that time came, she was going to need the money she was carefully putting away now. Not that he'd throw her out into the metaphorical cold, but pride demanded that she be able to leave with some dignity. Even if she had severe doubts about whether or not she was earning the salary he was paying ho-, at least she had some claim to the money.

Her fogers lingered on the sleeve of the jacket Devlin had worn to the party in Indianapolis. Her cheeks warmed with memories of how that evening had ended. If she left, she'd take more than money with her.

AnnaUse shut the closet. Time enough to think about leaving if and when the time came. At the moment, she needed to check on dinner.

Dinner was a more lively affair since Reed's arrival. He was an amusing raconteur and his years of working in criminal justice had given him a better-than-average store of anecdotes.

Tonight he had Annalise laughing over the story of a drug dealer who'd shot a man for kicking the bumper of the dealer's Cadillac and then tried to claim it was self-defence because the car was like a part of him. The man had survived and the dealer had gone to jail, still protesting with apparent sincerity that his sentence was a gross miscarriage of justice. The absurd story even managed to draw a laugh out of Devlin.

But his smile vanished with Reed's next words.

"Cases like that are what help you keq) your sanity," he said, pushing his empty plate away and tilting

his chair back. "Thank God, all of them aren't like yours, Devlin."

Annalise's head jerked up, her eyes darting from Reed to Devlin. "Your case?" she questioned. "Reed defended you?"

"Damn." The front legs of Reed's chair hit the floor with a thunk. His eyes sought out Devlin's. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay." But Devlin's expression said it was far from okay. He looked at Annalise, his eyes shuttered. "Reed defended me,"

Annalise bit her lip, swallowing the questions bubbling up in her throat. It was obvious that he didn't want to talk about it.

"I spent eight years in prison," Devlin said abruptly, shoving back his chair and standing up.

"Eight years?" Annalise couldn't prevent the startled exclamation or the question that followed. "What for?"

"First-degree murder." The words were flat. With-' out another word, he turned and walked out of the kitchen. The screen door banged shut behind him as he strode out into the gathering dusk.

He left a strained silence behind him. Annalise stared at the chair he'd been sitting in, trying to absorb the impact of this new information. Devlin had spent eight years in prison for murder. That was why he never talked about the years after he'd left home.

"Me and my big mouth." Reed broke the silence, his voice rough with regret. "I assumed you'd know."

"No." She shook her head slowly. "I didn't know. Devlin doesn't talk about himself very much."

"I remember. It made him difficult to defend. I couldn't get anything out of him that would let me play on the jury's sympathies."

"What happened?" She looked at him, her eyes full of questions.

Reed hesitated and then slowly shook his head. "I've already said too much. Let Devlin tell you whatever he feels is right."

Annalise nodded. Of course he was right. It wasn't fair to go behind Devlin's back. And if Devlin chose to tell hCT nothing? Well, she'd hve with that. It wasn't as if it really mattered. Knowing he'd been in prison didn't change him from the man she'd been living with—the man she was very much afraid she was falling in love with.

"The one thing I will tell you is that he was innocent," Reed said.

"Of course." The look she threw him said that he didn't have to bother stating the obvious.

Reed watched her as she got up and began clearing the table. He wondered if Devlin had any idea just how lucky he'd been to find a woman like Annalise.

Devhn still hadn't returned at ten o'clock. Reed had disappeared into the guest room early in the evening, commenting that he wasn't likely to be high on Devlin's list of people he was anxious to see. Annahse had stayed up, pretending to read a book.

But her mind couldn't focus on the printed page. She kept thinking about Devlin, how bleak his face had looked in those moments before he walked out.

Did he think she'd turn away from him now that she knew about his time in prison? Did he even care?

At ten-thirty, she gave up and went to bed. She knew she wouldn't sleep, but maybe it would be better if she didn't blatantly wait up for Devlin.

She'd been absolutely sure that sleep would be impossible, but she'd been unusually tired lately and she drifted off not long after climbing between the sheets.

Annalise didn't know what time it was when she woke to the sound of thunder rumbling overhead. The weather report had been promising a storm for the following day. From the sounds of it, it had arrived early. She turned sleepily, reaching out for Devlin, but the bed was empty, the sheets cool.

Memories of the evening's events swept over her and she sat up, pushing the heavy weight of her hair back from her face. A glance at the clock told her it was a little after midnight. She was just about to swing her feet out of bed and go looking for Devlin, even if it meant trekking through the fields with a flashlight when she saw the still figure at the window.

She sagged with relief. He was home and safe. Nothing else was as important as that.

She started to go to him and then hesitated. The set of his shoulders suggested that he wasn't in the mood for company. Maybe she should lie back down and pretend she hadn't wakened. But he looked so completely alone.

She slid off the bed and padded silently toward him. Lightning flashed as she stopped next to him. Thunder rumbled on its heels. He'd taken off his shirt and draped it over a chair.

"Hi," she said softly. The muscles in his back tensed as if expecting a blow.

"Go back to bed, Annalise." There was no anger in the words. There was no emotion at all in them.

"Only if you come to bed, too."

"Later."

"Then Fll stay up with you."

He shrugged as tf it were a matter of complete indifference.

Annalise hesitated. In the weeks she'd lived with him, the one unspoken rule had been that neither had invaded the other's privacy. He hadn't pushed her to tell him about losing Mary, and she hadn't pushed him to tell her about the past he so carefully avoided mentioning. If she followed that pattern, then she'd go back to bed and leave him alone.

But no one should be so completely alone. She'd felt that way after losing her child. There'd been no one she could turn to to share her grief, no one who cared whether or not she lived or died. Eventually it had nearly ceased to matter to her.

She sUd her arms around Devlin's waist, pressing her cheeks against the warm skin of his back. He stiffened and she thought he might pull away.

"It doesn't matter, you know," she said softly. "You don't have to talk about it, but I want you to know that it doesn't matter."

"Doesn't it?" He remained rigid in the circle of her arms, but he didn't pull away. "I spoit eight years in prison. Doesn't that worry you?"

"You were innocent."

"Did Reed tell you that?"

"He didn't have to. And if you did kill someone, Vm sure you had a reason."

Her calm assumption of his innocence flowed over Devlin like a sweet benediction. His short laugh held pain.

"I could have used twelve people like you on the jury."

"Obviously, they were twelve very foolish people," she said lightly.

He turned suddenly, putting his arms around her and crushing her close. "Thank you."

"You don't have to thank me for having good sense." She rubbed her cheek against the mat of hair on his chest, saving the feel of him safe and warm in her arms.

She loved him. The thought slipped into her consciousness with hardly a ripple. It was as if it had been there all along, just waiting for her to notice it. How could she not love him?

Devlin's hand slid into her hair, tilting her head back. His eyes glittered down at her, their expression impossible to see. Lightning flashed behind him, and it occurred to her how many significant moments in their relationship had been played out with a storm as a backdrop.

"I have never in my life known anyone like you," he said, his voice hardly above a whisper.

"That makes us even, because I've never known anyone like you."

He bent to kiss her, his mouth gentle. In the kiss, he tried to express all the things he couldn't find the

words to say—how much it meant to him that she be-Heved in him, the serenity she'd brought to his life.

Annalise felt the sting of tears, and she closed her eyes to conceal than from him. She wanted to tdl him she loved him, that he'd made her life whole again, that she'd always believe him.

But now was not the time. Devlin wasn't ready to hear those words from her—might never be ready.

The eastern sky was just starting to turn gray when Devlin left Annalise sleeping in the bedroom. He hadn't slept. His thoughts were too jumbled to allow him to relax.

Annalise's unquestioning belief in his innocence had affected him more than he wanted to admit. He couldn't remember anyone ever having that sort of faith in him. It made him feel strong, humble and vulnerable. It was the feeling of vulnerabihty that made him frown.

"If you're anticipating the need to throw me out on my ear, I'll go without a fight."

Startled, Devlin turned toward the dry voice, making out Reed's figure standing beside one of the windows.

"I was going to go on my own," Reed continued, "but I'd be happy to give you the pleasure of tossing me down the steps."

Devlin lifted his shoulders in an easy shrug as he walked forward, taking up a position on the opposite side of the window.

"I wasn't thinking about throwing you out."

"You should. Fin sorry for speaking out of turn last night." Reed offered the apology with simple sincerity.

"It's okay."

"No, it's not. I just assumed Annalise would know."

"Yeah. I hadn't gotten around to telling her." Devlin watched a thin gold edge appear on the eastern horizon. He hadn't planned on ever telling her, but there was no need to confide that to Reed. "No harm done."

"Good." Reed moved to perch on the back of the sofa. "But I'll be leaving today, anyway."

"You don't have to do that." Devlin glanced at the other man.

"Thanks. But it's time I was moving on."

Devlin didn't argue. He'd enjoyed Reed's company, but he wouldn't be completely sorry to see him go. He missed the easy space of evenings spent with no one but Annahse for company. It occurred to him that he didn't feel similar nostalgia for the many evenings he'd spent alone before Annalise's entry into his life. He pushed the thought aside.

"Why did you come?" he asked Reed. The question had been in the back of his mind ever since the lawyer's arrival.

Reed smiled, his teeth gleaming white in the near darkness. "I've asked myself that a few times."

"Did you come up with an answer?"

Reed shrugged. "I guess I needed to see that you were making out okay."

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"No reason." He shrugged again. "In the years Fve worked as a public defender, I haven't had very many cases that had happy endings. The ones who get off, more often than not, are back in court before long. The ones who do time usually get out and get in trouble again. If s not a really encouraging line of work."

"Why stay with it?" Devlin leaned his shoulder against the wall, his eyes on Reed's face.

"For the few times when you know justice really has prevailed," Reed told him. "For the times when the client is innocent and you can prove it and you know they're going to stay clean." He stopped, his eyes bleak in the growing hght. "But there don't scan to be very many cases like that anymore."

"So quit."

Reed's gaze jerked to his, his lean features break-mg into a slow smile. "Actually, I have." The smile faded. "I've been thinking about it for a while. I had a case—" He broke off, shaking his head. "A nineteen-year-old kid. He was arrested on drug charges. He'd never been in trouble in his life."

"Was he guilty?"

"I don't think so. He said a friend of his must have left the drugs in his car. I believed him. Even if the judge didn't agree, it would have been a first offaise and I could have gotten him off with nothing but probation. But just the arrest was enough to kill his chances of getting the basketball scholarship he'd be^i counting on to get him into college."

Reed stopped, his gaze focused on something only he could see.

"What happened?" Devlin prompted. He could guess what had happened, but he sensed that the other man needed to finish the story.

*'He hung himself the night before the hearing," Reed said without emotion.

**It wasn't your fault," Devlin said after a moment.

"No. No, I know it wasn't my fault." He gave a quick half smile. "I told him he'd get probation at worst. I didn't quit because I believed Todd's death was my fault. I quit because I can't do it anymore."

"What are you going to do now?"

"I don't know." Reed hesitated a minute and then looked at him with a self-conscious grin. "Would you believe, I'm giving serious consideration to buying a ranch in Montana or Wyoming?"

"Sounds good." Devlin thought about how working to build something strong and lasting had helped heal his wounds. Maybe it could do the same for Reed.

Reed stood and stretched. "Well, I'm going to try and catch a couple hours sleep before I pack."

"You don't have to go," Devlin told him again.

"It's time. Wasn't it Ben Franklin who said that guests and fish both stink after three days? I've been here five and I think I'm beginning to detect a slight odor."

Devlin returned his grin, though he didn't argue. Reed turned toward the guest room, then he hesitated, turning back to look at his host.

"You've got one terrific lady in there," he said, nodding toward the master bedroom.

Devlin*s smUe faded, his expression suddenly wary. "It isn't exactly that kind of relationship/' he said.