Finger Prints (19 page)

Sagging back against the wall in defeat, she put her hands in her pockets and pressed her arms to her sides. Head down, she studied the tile underfoot. “I’m sorry, Ryan. I’m not…free…to talk.”

“You’re not free. Not free. It all comes down to that, doesn’t it?” When she didn’t answer, but simply stared at the floor, he took a step closer and went on. “I’m still trying to figure it out. What is it, Carly? Why
aren’t
you free? All right—” he raised a hand “—I know about your husband. His death must have been a trauma, and I fully sympathize. But that doesn’t mean that you have to shut yourself off from the rest of the world.”

“I’m not.”

“From
me
, then.” He took a breath. He hadn’t meant to broach it quite this way, but he was helpless to stop himself. Sam’s presence this morning, Carly’s tension—it was as though a hole had been poked in the dam of his self-restraint and now the words spilled with gathering force. “Monday night I tried to call you in the Bahamas, but I couldn’t get through. The hotel had no record of a Carly Quinn registered. Or of anyone by the name of Johnson. I
assumed
that was your brother’s name, since it’s your maiden name.”

Her chest constricted. Things seemed to be closing in on her. Even as she tried to improvise, she fought a wave of growing panic. Damn it, Sam was so good at this type of thing. Where was he now and what would
he
have said?

She ran the tip of her tongue over suddenly dry lips. “I had no idea you’d called.”

“Obviously.”

Goaded by his sarcasm, she met his gaze. “And I have no idea why you couldn’t get through. My room was registered in my own name.” So far, no lie. Robyn Hart was her own, if no longer her legal, name. She didn’t want to lie. Perhaps stretch the truth a little, but not lie. True, she’d had to show proof of citizenship at customs, but the hotel clerk had not thought to question—if he’d known of it at all—any discrepancy in names. “If the Emerald Beach—”

“Emerald Beach?” Ryan eyed her quizzically. “Weren’t you staying at the Balmoral?” When she grimaced, he squeezed his eyes shut. “Damn,” he murmured, “I can’t believe I did that.” There was distinct sheepishness in his eyes when he reopened them. “I was calling the wrong place. That was really dumb.”

Carly felt doubly guilty. “No. It was an innocent mistake and may have been my fault at that. I may have mentioned different hotels. I was looking through so many brochures….”

One more step brought his body flush to hers. He put his hands on the wall on either side of her shoulders even as crimson stained his cheeks. “I must be going crazy,” he murmured hoarsely. “I’m such a fool. When I couldn’t get through I thought I’d go out of my mind. And I’ve been stewing about it since then. If I didn’t want you so much….”

Needing to touch him, Carly put her hands on his waist, then slid them inside his jacket to his back. The tension in his muscles seemed to ease on contact. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“No. I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I’ve never been the suspicious type, or jealous, for that matter. Until I met you. What with not being able to reach you, then having Sam dominate your mind since you’ve been back—”

“Sam’s not dominating my mind. And it was you I thought of the whole time I was away. You were the one I looked forward to seeing.”

He settled more snugly against her, holding just enough of his weight to keep from hurting her, not enough to keep from exciting her. “You mean that?”

She nodded, unable to tear her eyes from the compelling heat of his gaze. Only when his head lowered did her lids flicker shut, and then it was to more fully concentrate on the healing warmth of his lips.

He kissed her slowly at first, taking long, moist sips of her mouth. His senses, too, were centered there, his full concentration devoted to renewing the bond that, earlier, had seemed endangered. He found her mouth soft and sweet, trembling as he moved the tip of his tongue over its curves. When her own tongue emerged to touch his, his body quaked.

Bidden in small part by guilt at the pain she’d caused him, in large part by the wealth of erotic feeling he inspired, Carly met his kiss with a fervor to express all she couldn’t say in words. She gave her hands play over the firm muscles of his back, drawing him closer as her lips parted widely in welcome. Her reward was the intense pleasure that spiraled through her limbs.

It was only the click of the front door as it opened that drew them apart. Ryan stayed where he was, gasping softly against her forehead, unable to step back for fear of embarrassing them both.

Eyes shut tight, Carly took short, shallow breaths. She heard the sound of a key in the lock then the pull of the inner door, and wondered which of her neighbors was witness to their impromptu surge of passion. But the door slid shut well before Ryan released her, so she was never to know. Not that it mattered. She’d paid for her place in this building, as had Ryan. If they wanted to neck in the lobby….

Her muffled laugh was echoed by Ryan’s.

“Hmm,” he murmured, “got kind of carried away there. Wanna go back upstairs?”

“Now? But we’re going shopping.”

His hoarseness was telling. “The shopping can wait. Let’s go to my place. You can get ideas in my bedroom.”

“No way.” She staved him off good-naturedly, a fast cover for her lingering hesitance. “You’ve taken the day off, so we’ll go shopping. Who was the one who railed about not having any furniture?”

Slowly he pushed from the wall and levered himself straight. He took a deep, if unsteady, breath. “Why do I get the strange feeling you’re putting me off?” When she put a hand against his chest and opened her mouth to argue, he raced on. He wanted nothing that hinted of tension to mar a day that had already had its share. “No harm. There’ll be a better time.” He held the door open. “Ma’am?”

Carly passed through with a demure smile, then took great gulps of the fresh, cold air. Though snow lay in random mounds on the grass, the walkway was dry. Yet she was walking on thin ice. She knew it and wondered fearfully when it would crack.

Sam propped his boot on the open lower drawer of his desk. “John? Sam Loomis calling. I spoke with Carly Quinn this morning.”

John Meade cocked his head toward the door of his office, sending his assistant on his way. Then he swiveled in his chair until he faced the window. “How’d she take it?”

“She’s upset. It’ll be tough on her if that new trial is ordered. She doesn’t relish the thought of facing it all again.”

“If it’s a question of facing it or letting the bastard go free, she doesn’t have much of a choice.”

The matter-of-fact way it was put rankled Sam. Carly had spoken well of Meade, expressing faith in his ability, an ability that would, of course, place prime concern on the legal issues involved. But Carly was a person, and it was Sam’s job to understand her.

“She knows that. She won’t fight you.”

“What about her relationship with Bradley? She never said a word about it when she was here.”

Sam scraped his thumbnail against the worn leather arm of his chair. “There was nothing to say. They were close friends and co-workers. That’s it.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m a pretty good judge of people. She wasn’t lying.”

Meade sighed. “Well, we may have to get her back here to go over her story anyway.”

Sam wasn’t thrilled with that idea. He could just begin to imagine what Carly’s reaction would be. “Is that necessary?”

“I’m not sure yet. It depends what we can find out about this ‘new evidence’ Mancusi claims he’s got. If it’s anything, and I decide to run through the story with Robyn, we can fly her in for a couple of days.”

“She works.”

“So do I. Listen, I don’t want to have to do it either. Hell, I didn’t ask for new evidence; I thought we’d covered it all last time. Do you have any idea what it’ll mean in terms of sheer man-hours if we have to go through the whole damn trial again? This isn’t a joy ride for me, and I know it’ll be tough on her, but it’s all part of the deal.”

Sam just grunted. It wasn’t worth arguing. He was caught in the middle, feeling for Carly even as he knew that what John Meade said was true. All he could do was to hope that it would never come to a trip to Chicago, much less a new trial.

It was after he’d finished with Meade that a niggling thought bade him pick up the phone and punch out another number. Though he didn’t know Bill Hoffmeister well, the little they’d dealt with each other had set the groundwork for a mutual respect. Sam wanted input on this one.

Having identified himself to the switchboard operator, he was in the process of mutilating a paper clip when Bill’s hello came over the line.

“Bill? Sam Loomis. Got a minute?”

“Sure. What can I do for you, Sam?”

“It’s about Carly Quinn. I have this uncomfortable feeling, maybe because she’s so damned vulnerable. But with characters like Culbert and Barber, and considering what they tried to do before, do you think I should give her extra cover?”

“Assign someone to guard her? I don’t know. I’m not sure we can justify that. There haven’t been any threats.”

“We won’t be the ones to hear them. We have to anticipate them. I think what’s got me nervous is the fact that Mancusi chose Carly as the focal point of the appeal.”

“She was the star witness.”

“Yeah. But they could have tried to find fault with the way the evidence was presented or looked for some technicality involving something the judge or prosecutor did or said. They chose Carly and they’re trying to discredit her. If they think she’s that crucial to the state’s case, isn’t there always the possibility that they’ll try to find her?”

“There’s always that possibility. But they won’t be able to find her. We’ve made sure of that.”

“Then you think I should hold off?”

“I don’t think there’s any cause to worry, not yet at least. Let me put someone on it here. We can monitor Culbert to a certain extent, find out if he has any suspicious visitors, if any sudden withdrawals are made from his bank account, that type of thing.”

That was just what Sam wanted. “I’d appreciate it. Carly’s tense enough about all this. The more reassuring we can be, the better.”

“All the more reason not to put a guard on her. Speaking of which, Sheila Montgomery was in the other day. How’s it working out?”

“Okay.” Bill was one of those who had recommended her so highly. And though the woman had proved to be capable, there was still something about her that bothered Sam. “She was supposed to be back here Monday. I wasn’t too thrilled when I got her call.”

“She’ll settle down,” was the pacifying reply. “Give her time. As a matter of fact, if it ever comes to guarding Robyn, you’ve got the perfect one in Sheila. They’re friends anyway.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Sam said, and he did. He sat slouched in his seat with his fist pressed to his cheek for long minutes after Bill Hoffmeister had hung up. Then Greg barreled in, arms piled high with a conglomeration of papers and notebooks and files, and Sam’s attention turned his way.

Greg hadn’t been bad lately. He’d worked over the holidays without a murmur, had worked
hard
. He’d been more low key, less smart mouthed. He’d been a help.

“Greg,” Sam began pensively, “how well have you gotten to know Sheila?” To his knowledge, and mild astonishment, there seemed to be absolutely nothing romantic going on between the two.

Greg eased his multilayered burden onto his desk, caught the stack when an avalanche threatened and looked up in surprise at Sam’s question. “Sheila?” he managed a one-shouldered shrug. “Not well.”

Sam recalled Greg’s choice comments about Carly. Sheila was every bit as attractive in her way. “Any special reason?”

Greg darted Sam an oblique glance as he worked to distribute his goods into two more stable piles. “Any special reason you ask?” he countered cautiously.

“Just wondering. I thought you were into good-looking women—no pun intended.”

“None taken. Sure, I appreciate them. And Sheila is good-looking—I have to say that for her.” He settled into his chair and eyed Sam through the corridor he’d shaped. “But there’s something about her.” He frowned. “I’m not sure I can put my finger on it.”

“Try.”

The quiet command puzzled Greg. He half wondered if he was being baited and wasn’t sure he liked the thought. “Why?” he asked with due respect. “I mean, she’s a colleague. It’s not my place to be analyzing—”

Sam cut him off with a wave of his hand. “Off the record, Greg. Strictly between you and me. Gut feelings. Nothing written. Nothing beyond that door.”

“Gut feelings?” Greg echoed, pleased by the request only until he turned his thoughts back to Sheila. He let out a snicker. “Doesn’t make it any easier. It’s this vague feeling. I mean, she’s friendly and all. She’s bright. She’s got a sense of humor.”

“But….”

“You’re gonna think I’m nuts.”

“We both may be. Go on.”

Greg winced. “It’s something in her eyes. A sharpness. She’s looking at you, but she’s looking past you. And the whole time she’s bubbling. It’s like she’s constantly…on. Maybe that’s it. Nervous energy. It’s unsettling.” He paused. “What do you think?”

“I think,” Sam mused in a slow, quiet voice, “that I agree with you. Unsettling. That’s it. Listen, do me a favor?”

“Sure.”

“Get closer to her?”

“How…closer?”

Sam appreciated his assistant’s caution. “Nothing compromising. Just friend-wise. Get her talking. Find out what she does in her spare time, who her friends are, what she wants out of life. It may be that she’s just different. Or—” he passed off a self-effacing smile “—that we’re being chauvanistic. I mean, hell—” he sobered “—she does her job all right. I can’t fault her on that. But I want to know more about her. Think you can oblige?”

“I’ll try,” Greg said. “When’s she coming back, anyway?”

“Monday. Seems she wanted to spend more time with old friends. And since she’s accumulated vacation time over the past few years, I couldn’t exactly deny her. Didn’t tell her I was thrilled, but then, I think she knew that.” He was thinking aloud, feeling strangely free to ramble. “Come to think of it, maybe what bothers me about her is that she doesn’t like me.” He grinned and raised his brows in self-mocking speculation. “There’s always that possibility, isn’t there? Hey, maybe she’ll decide to transfer back to Chicago. Now, that
would
thrill me.”