The Alibi (38 page)

else he had previously thought important. The

desire to know the answer to this question was so imperative,

the cautious, careful, and controlled Hammond

Cross was ranting like a lunatic. "Were you

ever Lute Pettijohn's lover?"

"No!" Then her voice dropped from a shout to a

hoarse whisper. "I swear it."

"Did you kill him?" He pressed her shoulders between

his hands and lowered his face to within inches

of hers. "Tell me the truth about this, and I'll forgive

all the other lies. Did you kill Lute Pettijohn?"

She shook her head. "No. I did not."

He struck the wall behind her with his fists, then

left them planted there. Dropping his head forward,

he aligned his cheek with hers. His breathing was

harsh and loud even above the rain that continued to

lash at the windows.

"I want to believe you."

"You can believe that." Turning her head, she

spoke to his profile. "Don't ask me anything more,

because I can't tell you anything more."

"Why? Tell me why."

"Because the answers are too painful for me."

"Painful, how?"

"Don't put me through this, please. If you do it

will break my heart."

"You're breaking mine with your lies."

"I beg you, if you have any regard for me at all,

spare me having to disillusion you. I would rather

never see you again than for you to know ..."

"What? Tell me."

She shook her head hard, and he realized it was

useless to press her further. As long as her private torment

had nothing to do with the Pettijohn case, he

must respect her wish for privacy.

"That's not all," she continued. "We're going to be

on opposite sides of a brewing crisis."

"So all this does relate to the case," he said dejectedly.

"I knew our being together was going to result in

a mess, but I still made it happen. I wanted it to happen.

Even at the gas station, I could have said no to

you. I didn't."

He raised his head and tilted it back to better see

her face. "Knowing what you know now, if you had

it to do over again . .."

"That's unfair."

"Would you do it again?"

Her answer was to steadily hold his gaze for a very

long time as a tear slid down her cheek.

Hammond groaned. "God help me, so would I."

A heartbeat later his arms were around her and his

mouth was grinding against hers. Water dripped from

her hair onto his shirt. Her lips were warm, her

tongue soft, her mouth sweet.

When they finally pulled apart, they spoke each

other's name for the first time, laughed at themselves,

then kissed again, if possible with more passion than

before. He untied the belt at her waist, slipped his

hands inside the robe, and touched her, stroking the

smooth skin of her belly, eliciting soft moans from

her when his fingertips feathered across her mound.

Hammond's blood pounded against his eardrums

as hard as the rain pounded the roof. It drowned out

everything else. The cautious murmurings of his

common sense and conscience didn't stand a chance

against such a racket.

He lifted her against him and carried her to the

bed. Then, in a frenzy of impatience, he removed his

clothes. When he stretched out on top of her he

sighed with a mix of desire and despair. Her thighs

parted and in the next breath he was enveloped in her

warmth.

Sinking deeper, he swore softly, his voice cracking

with emotion.

"I didn't sleep with you because I needed an alibi,

Hammond."

Planting his hands on either side of her head, he

looked down into her face and began to move. "Then

why?"

She arched her back up to meet his thrusts. "For

this."

He buried his face in her neck. The sensations were

incredible. They shimmied up through his penis into

his belly, spread through his chest and outward to his

extremities, making them tingle. He allowed everything

else to drift out of his consciousness so he could

savor being inside her. But a climax was rushing upon

him too quickly, so he stopped moving and whispered

urgently, "I don't want to come yet. Not without you."

"Touch me."

She guided his hand between their bodies and

placed it where they were joined. He moved his fingers

lightly, stroking her simultaneously inside and

out. She cupped her breast and pressed it up against

his lips. He flicked the nipple with his tongue. The

sound she made was almost a sob. They climaxed together.

They got beneath the covers. He drew her up

against him, nestling her bottom against his lap.

That's when he realized that he hadn't worn any protection.

But, somehow, he didn't care overly much.

What good would it do to fret? There was no help for

it now. He just wanted to hold her. Smell her. Be near

her and share her body heat.

He was content to gaze at her face where it lay in

the crook of his elbow. He thought she was asleep because

her eyes were closed, but he noticed her lips

curving into a smile. He kissed her eyelid. "Penny for

them."

She laughed softly and looked up at him. Lightly

she traced the shape of his mouth with her fingernail.

"I was thinking what it would be like to dress up and

go out on a date with you. To dinner. A movie. Out in

public and for all the world to see."

"Maybe. Someday."

"Maybe," she whispered, sounding no more optimistic

than he.

"I'd love escorting you around Charleston, showing

you off to all my friends."

"Truly?"

"You sound surprised."

"I am, a little. For a back-alley affair--"

"That's not what this is, Alex."

"Isn't it?"

"No."

"I'm a relative newcomer, but I've learned how

things work here."

"What things?"

"Social circles."

"I don't care about that crap."

"But most Charlestonians do. I have no pedigree.

Your family practically invented the concept."

"In the words of a famous Charlestonian, albeit a

fictitious one, 'Frankly, my dear, I don't give a

damn.' But even if I did, I would still choose you over

any other woman in this city. I have chosen you over

any other."

"Over Steffi Mundell." His expression caused her

to laugh. "You should see your face."

"How did you know?"

"Women's intuition. I disliked her on sight. The

feeling was mutual, and it had nothing to do with my

being a suspect and her being a prosecutor. It was

more elemental than that. Today, when she caught us

in the elevator together, I knew. You were lovers,

weren't you?"

"'Were' being the operative and important word

here. It lasted almost a year."

"How long since you broke up?"

"Two days."

Then it was her turn to register dismay. "Sunday?"

He nodded. "Because of Saturday?"

"No. For me it had been over a long time. But after

being with you, I knew with absolute certainty that,

as a couple, Steffi and I were a lost cause." He

threaded his fingers through her hair. "In spite of your

bent for lying, you are the most desirable woman I've

ever met. In every way. It goes beyond the physical."

Pleased, she smiled. "For instance?"

"You're smart."

"Kind to animals and the elderly."

"You're funny."

"Even-tempered. Most of the time."

"You're thrifty, brave, clean, and reverent."

"Somehow I knew you were a Boy Scout."

"An Eagle Scout. Where was I? Oh, your tits are

perfect."

"What happened to going beyond the physical?"

Dispensing with the frivolity, he kissed her meaningfully.

When at last he pulled away, her troubled

expression alarmed him. "What?"

"Be careful, Hammond."

"No one will know I was here."

She shook her head. "Not that."

"Then what?"

"You may have to put me on trial for my life.

Please be careful that you don't make me fall in love

with you first."

WEDNESDAY

CHAPTER

22

Thank you for seeing me."

Solicitor Monroe Mason offered Steffi a chair in

his office. "I only have a minute. What's on your

mind?"

"The Pettijohn case."

"I guessed as much. Anything specific?"

Steffi's hesitation had been planned and rehearsed.

As though uneasy, she said, "I hate to bother you with

what will seem like petty office politics."

"Is it Hammond and Detective Smilow? Are they

behaving like rival bullies instead of professionals?"

"There have been a few verbal skirmishes, with

some snide volleys being fired from both sides. I can

handle that. It's something else."

He glanced at his desk clock. "You'll have to forgive

me, Steffi. I have a meeting in ten minutes."

"It's Hammond's general attitude," she blurted

out.

Mason frowned. "His attitude? Toward what?"

"He seems ... I don't know ..." She hem-hawed

as though searching for the right word and finally

coming up with, "Indifferent."

Mason leaned back in his chair and studied her

over his steepled fingers. "I find that hard to believe.

This case is right up Hammond's alley."

"That's what I thought, too," she exclaimed. "Ordinarily

he would be chomping at the bit. He would

be hounding Smilow to gather enough evidence to

take to the grand jury. He would be anxious to start

preparing for trial. This case has got all the ingredients

that usually make him salivate.

"That's why I'm at a total loss," she continued.

"He seems not to care if the mystery is solved. I've

been briefing him on everything I get from Smilow.

I've kept him apprised of what leads are hot and

which have turned cold. Hammond reacts to every

scrap of information with the same degree of disinterest."

Mason thoughtfully scratched his cheek. "What do

you make of it?"

"I don't know what to make of it," she said with

just the right mix of exasperation and puzzlement.

"That's why I came to you. For guidance. I'm in the

second seat on this case and don't want to overstep

my bounds. Please tell me how to handle this."

Monroe Mason was approaching his seventieth

birthday. He had grown tired of the grind of holding

public office. For the last couple of years, he had delegated

a lot of responsibility to the young and eager

assistant solicitors, advising them when necessary,

but for the most part giving them their heads to operate

as they saw fit. He looked forward to retirement

so he could golf and fish to his heart's content and not

have to deal even with the political aspects of the job.

But it wasn't by accident that he had served as

county solicitor for the past twenty-four years. He

had been a shrewd operator when he assumed the office,

and he had lost none of that edge. His instincts

were as keen as ever. He could still sense when someone

was being less than entirely up-front with him.

Steffi had counted on her boss's intuitiveness

when she planned this meeting.

"Are you sure you don't know what's bothering

him?" he asked her, lowering his booming voice to a

dull roar.

With feigned anxiety, Steffi pulled her lower lip

through her teeth. "I've painted myself into a corner,

haven't I?"

"You don't want to speak badly of a colleague."

"Something like that."

"I appreciate the awkwardness of your situation. I

admire your loyalty to Hammond. But this case is too

important for sensitivities. If he is shirking his duties

--"

"Oh, I didn't mean to imply that," she said hastily.

"He would never drop the ball. It's just that I don't

think he's running full out with it. His heart isn't in

it."

"Do you know why?"

"Every time I've broached the subject, he reacts as

though I've smashed a sore toe. He's touchy and

cranky." She paused as though mulling it over. "But

if you asked me to speculate on what's bothering

him..."

"I have."

She pretended to think it over carefully before finally

saying, "At this point, our suspect is a woman.

Alex Ladd is an intelligent, successful woman. She's

refined and articulate, and some might think attractive."

Mason actually laughed. "You think Hammond's

got a crush on her?"

Steffi laughed with him. "Of course not."

"But you're saying that her gender is influencing

his approach to the case."

"I'm saying it's a possibility. But it makes a weird

sort of sense. You know Hammond better than I do.

You've known him all his life. You know how he was

brought up."

"In a home with very traditional values."

"And clearly defined roles," she added. "He's a

native Charlestonian, southern to the marrow. He was

weaned on mint juleps and chivalry."

Mason contemplated that for a moment. "You're

afraid he might go soft if it came down to asking for