Zach rubbed his hand across the top of his thigh before looking up and meeting Cole's gaze. "That night … the night of the accident … after I left Score, I went over to Pamela's. We had a couple of drinks. Hell, I had more than a couple. I'd planned to spend the night, but we had a fight."
He surged out of the chair. "And I left," Zach continued. "I wasn't drunk. I swear I wasn't. Just upset. Driving mad might be legal, bat it's no smarter than driving drunk. I knew I shouldn't be driving, So I went to Denny's, ordered an omelet and pancakes, and drank about two quarts of coffee. I was there over an hour." He turned back around to face Cole. "I swear, I wasn't drunk when I left there."
"Which Denny's?" Cole wanted to know.
Zach named the cross streets.
"I suppose you don't remember the waitress?"
"No."
Cole pulled a pad toward him. "No matter," he said, jotting down a note. "We can find out who worked that night. Show your picture around. Something will show up." Cole glanced up. "How'd you pay for the meal? Cash? Credit card? Check?"
"Hell, I don't know."
"It's important. A credit card leaves a paper trail."
Zach surged to his feet, thrusting his hands into his pockets. "I don't remember, okay? The bill couldn't have been more than ten dollars, so I probably paid cash. What's the big deal?"
"The big deal is that this could go a long way toward proving you weren't drunk at the time of the accident. How long from the time you left Denny's until you—"
"Killed someone?" Zach interrupted.
Cole looked up from his notes and set down his pencil. "If that's how you want to put it."
Zach shrugged. "Ten or fifteen minutes, I think. No more than a half hour."
"Why didn't you tell me this before?" Cole asked.
"I didn't think you'd believe me."
"You'd be amazed at what I believe." A trace of anger edged Cole's voice.
Zach met his glance squarely. "I haven't lied to you."
"You didn't tell me the whole truth, either." Abruptly Cole pushed himself away from the desk. His temper seared through the edges of his control. Recognizing just how close he was to losing his temper, he grabbed both empty coffee mugs and went to get them another cup of coffee. He stood in front of the coffee maker a moment, irritated with Zach, furious with himself. His belief in a man's guilt or innocence didn't have anything to do with the case. Ensuring the prosecution played by the rules, finding every scrap he could to cast doubt on the evidence—those counted. Somehow, though, Zach's innocence had come to matter. Plain and simple, Cole resented the sense of betrayal that came with this morning's revelations. He swore.
When he returned to his office, Zach was sitting down again, straighter this time, though his attention was still focused on the noisy traffic just beyond the window.
Cole set one of the mugs in front of Zach and went himself to stand in front of the window. The convenience store across the street and the steady stream of rush-hour traffic were a far cry from the view of Cherry Creek Reservoir he'd had at his old office. He turned around and looked at Zach. So were his clients. Bad as things were with Zach, this was still an improvement over Harvey Bates and his ilk.
Zach cleared his throat. "She's testifying for the prosecution."
"Pamela?" So that was what had pushed Zach over the edge, Cole thought.
Zach nodded. "It's bad, isn't it?"
"It's not going to help." Cole took a hefty swallow of his coffee, most of his anger fading. He knew what it was like to be ditched by a woman you cared about.
"There's one more thing," Zach said.
Cole didn't want one more thing. This one was enough to make him sweat bullets.
"I'm checking myself into Maizer's when I leave here." The hospital Zach named was one of the best in the area for treating alcohol and drug abuse.
Any other time, Cole would have applauded the move. The trial, however, was a scant six weeks off. The timing stunk. If the prosecution got hold of this, they'd use it as another piece to build a solid, if circumstantial, case.
"You're going in for a thirty-day program?" Cole asked.
"Yeah."
"You can't wait until after the trial?"
Zach lifted his head and reached for the coffee cup. "I intended to. But I'm not handling this. I'd promised myself I wouldn't touch a drop until after the trial." He briefly met Cole's glance. "I can't stay away from it."
"This isn't going to look good to a jury. Or the D.A."
Zach gave a short bark of laughter. "Some choice, right? I can pretend like this is all going to be okay, and maybe, just maybe, that's how it'll turn out. That is, if I can get to court without looking like I do this morning, Or, I can dry out and whip this thing." His ironic smile vanished. "Which makes me look guilty."
Cole thought back a moment to all the contacts he had developed at his old firm. A very discreet, albeit expensive, sanitarium was one those. "I know of a place—"
Zach shook his head. "Thanks for the offer, but no."
"What about outpatient?" Cole asked.
"If I'm going to do this, I'm doing it right. Hell, walking out of here and heading for the nearest bar … nothing sounds better. Nothing."
"But?"
"I just don't want to wake up a homeless filthy drunk one day," he said. "The way my dad sees me. The way Pamela sees me." He picked up the ring and put it back in his pocket. "One more thing."
"Another one more thing?"
Zach smiled. "Yeah, Counselor. One one more thing."
Cole shook his head. "With your last two bombshells, I don't even want to guess."
"The bar, Score," Zach said. "Theo told me it's being shut down. He said the insurance company raised the owner's insurance to cover their liability."
"You're sure?"
"Theo told me last night. The big boss will be in today to lay off the whole crew. It's not just me I'm hurting anymore. Sure as hell never thought my drinking would cost somebody else their job." Zach pulled out a card and jotted down a phone number. "It'll be a few days before I can talk to you, but if you need to reach me, this is the number." He stood up and extended his hand. "See you in a thirty days, Cole. Clean, sober and clear-eyed as a baby."
After Zach's departure, Cole helped himself to another cup of coffee. The discipline to keep working failed him this morning, and he found himself unable to focus on the other cases that needed his attention.
A part of him was furious with Zach. After Cole thought about it some more, he admitted that another part of him admired and respected the courage Zach's actions required. The man wasn't guilty, but he wasn't innocent, either. In the beginning, Cole had been positive this was a tough case, but one he would win. He was no longer so sure.
Zach's willingness to face problems head-on deserved the best representation Cole could give him. He hoped it was enough.
Zach reminded Cole of Brenna. No blaming someone else for your trouble, no wringing your hands hoping to be rescued. Much as Cole hated the idea of Zach's entering a rehab program so close to his trial date, it was the right thing.
Cole called Brenna, wanting to warn her the bar was closing, but there was no answer. It was late afternoon before he had a chance to call her again. There was still no one home.
Two more appointments with clients kept him at the office until after eight. He headed straight for the apartment Brenna shared with her brother's family.
He needed a break, he decided during the drive. Both he and Brenna did. A few days to be lazy, have a change of scenery. Brenna had loved her grandparents' farm, and he knew she'd love the ranch. He hadn't been there all summer. Long weekends and holidays, his car just naturally pointed in that direction.
A strong pull to go home swept through him.
Home.
The ranch wasn't home anymore. Even so, he needed the sense of renewal and acceptance he always found there. A place he had loved visiting and that had become a bone of contention between him and Susan e
very holiday. She'd grown up spending holidays in exotic locales. The Christmas he'd spent with her in Hawaii ought to have been fun, but he'd been miserable. Paradise instead of a blizzard. A willing, passionate woman in his bed, but no nieces and nephews to tuck in on Christmas Eve.
He'd invite Brenna to the ranch, Cole decided. Over the Fourth. He knew the connotation his parents and grandmother would put on his bringing her. He had never taken anyone before Susan or since.
He parked the Jeep in front of the apartment, got out, and went to the door.
"She's gone for a run," Michael told him after letting him into the house.
"Did she tell you the bar shut down?"
"Yeah," Michael said. "She surprised us when she walked in while Jane, Teddy, and I were having dinner."
"Is she okay?"
"I thought she was doing fine until our dad called. They talked a couple of minutes, and she left right after that." Michael scratched his jaw. "She usually takes off after talking to him. C'mon in and have a seat."
Cole followed Michael into the apartment. "She still doesn't get along with him, does she?"
"She talked to you about that?" Surprise laced Michael's voice.
"Only that she'd left home when she was fourteen. That your mother and grandmother died shortly after." Deciding there was no point in adding that he knew their father had beat Brenna, Cole asked, "Where does she usually go? Washington Park?"
"Yeah."
"I think I'll head that direction." At the door, Cole turned back to Michael. "If I miss her, tell her I'll be back."
Four blocks from the house he saw her, walking toward him her head down and her shoulders slumped. He recognized the feeling. It was the same one he'd had the day Roger Markham gave him a choice between resigning or being fired. As if sensing she was being watched, Brenna lifted her head, and looked straight at him. He quickened his pace.
"Hi," he said, draping both his arms over the top of her shoulders and pressing his lips against her forehead. "I'm sure glad to see you."
Brenna didn't want to be, but Lord, she was glad to see him, too. Without speaking, she wrapped her arms around his waist, shaken at how relieved she was that he'd come. She wanted—needed—him with an intensity she didn't understand and hadn't realized until he held her within the circle of his arms.
"The bar closed," she said.
He rested his chin on top of her head. "I know. Sometimes, it's just one damn thing after another, isn't it?"
"How'd you find out?"
"Zach MacKenzie told me." Cole stopped under the spreading branches of a giant silver maple tree and pulled Brenna into his arms. "I'm here for you, fair lady. I'll help you in any way that I can."
"Will you?" she asked, almost absently, staring into his eyes.
"Sure." He smoothed her hair away from her face. "What are friends for if they can't be around when you need them?"
"Are you my friend, Cole?" she whispered.
"If you'll let me close enough to be."
"I'm trying," she said, as much to herself as to him.
He gathered her closer and nuzzled the hair away from her ear.
She leaned into his caress. Shivers spread through her. She felt his lips on her jaw, and she turned her face, needy for the kiss she knew was coming. He didn't immediately give it to her, though. He watched her through half-closed eyes, his lips near, but not near enough. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulled him toward her, and stood on tiptoe until her mouth touched his. His lips parted, and she drank hungrily from him as though the sheer merging of their mouths could make her feel whole.
He groaned and shifted his hold on her, bringing her in more complete contact with his body. Another surge of heat rushed toward her center. She pressed herself closer. His hands slid under her shirt. She was sure she had never felt anything half so wonderful as his hard palms on her back.
Cole trembled as his body clamored for more. He had never wanted a woman so much as he wanted Brenna in this instant. He had to back off. He knew it. This was too public a place, and he was no longer a teenager willing to bear this hungry teasing. Yet, he barely had control enough to lift his mouth from hers.
"No more," he said, his voice hoarse with need. Ignoring his own command, he pressed kisses all over her face before claiming her mouth again. She came to him in kind. Knowing her need was great as his own made him shudder and again threatened his resolve.
His hands traced the contour of her buttocks, then followed a path from her waist to her soft breasts pressed against him. He tore his mouth from hers. "I could almost lay you down right here on the sidewalk, and to hell with the consequences."
"Take me home with you," she whispered against his neck, inhaling the aroma of his skin.
He dragged in a big breath and framed her face with his hands. "You're sure?"
"Yes."
He ran the pad of his thumb across her lower lip. "Now?"
She nodded.
He took her hand and they walked silently, swiftly toward the apartment. She tried to calm her emotions, to think. All she wanted to do was climb back into his arms. Her legs were shaking so badly, she trembled as she walked. Never had she wanted anyone like this.
She channeled her thoughts into mundane matters. Like an explanation to her brother.
"I have to go in and let Michael know where I'm going. I don't want him to worry when I'm not here in the morning."
Cole chuckled. "You make me feel like I'm stealing my high-school sweetheart off for the night."
"No chance of that," she said. "I was never in high school."
"Michael's not—" Cole stopped talking suddenly, then stopped walking, as well. He faced Brenna. "What did you say?"
"When?" But she knew when, and silently cursed herself. She had slipped again. How could she? How?
* * *
Chapter 12
« ^ »
"You never finished high school?" A puzzled frown drew Cole's brows together.
"I never went to high school." She lifted her chin and faced him squarely, familiar defensiveness surfacing. "I'm a dropout, Cole."
A look of complete bafflement passed over his features, followed by a frown. "You're so bright, so—"
Acting out of years of protecting herself, a habit so old she scarcely recognized it as such, she attacked before he could attack her.
"Going to school wasn't exactly a priority, Cole. Survival was." She thumped herself on the chest. "Take a good look. I've been on my own since I was fifteen years old. This is who I am. A barmaid. A housekeeper."
He stood in the middle of the sidewalk, his arms loosely at his sides.
"It's not exactly what you had in mind, is it?"
He shook his head, and she died a little inside.
"Who were we fooling, Cole? This was never going to work." She held her hands out as though weighing a ball in each, one much heavier than the other. "Your world is here. And mine … is here. They don't match worth a damn, do they? Chemistry between us or not."
He extended a hand toward her. "I thought it was more—"
"Goodbye, Cole."
Without waiting for his reaction—his rejection—she stomped away from him, nearly ran up the walk, wrenched the door open and slammed it behind her.
Cole watched her go, feeling as though the knots in his gut might strangle him. He supposed he ought to have figured it out. He'd just never taken the things she'd told him to the logical next step. She'd left home at fourteen. Her mother and grandmother had died. She wouldn't have gone back to live with her father. And Michael would have been sixteen or seventeen at the time, too young to help her even if their father had permitted.
A dropout, though. Dropouts were stupid. Content to slide through life letting someone else shoulder the burdens. Working at subsistence jobs that took minimal skills and had no future. Like housekeepers. Like barmaids.
Like … Brenna.
Cole hung his head, shocked at the turn of his thoughts. That wasn't how he
thought of Brenna. It wasn't. When he was with her, her jobs didn't matter to him. Quite simply, he liked being with her. She was bright, funny, easy to be with. She had dreams that she had shared with him. But … a dropout.
Much as he wanted to believe she had finished school some other way—with a GED or something, he instinctively knew she hadn't. If there was one thing he could count on with her, it was her truthfulness. It was as she said—she had never finished, had never begun, high school.
He wished he didn't hate the idea quite so much.
Unexpectedly, one of Susan's last taunts came to him. Farm boy. She'd said it with the same derision his thoughts had about dropout. His roots were a piece of what made him who he was. And Brenna … was who she was because of those same roots.
He took a couple of steps toward the apartment, then stopped again. She acted as though she had expected him to look down on her, demean her, hurt her. Hell, he already had.
With a mutter of disgust, he headed for his Jeep wondering how to approach this latest facet of the ever-more-complex woman he was half in love with.
* * *
Brenna jabbed the pillow and tucked it under her chest, no closer to sleep now than she was hours ago. She rested her chin on her arms and silently counted all the ways she was a fool.
One of the problems with sexual attraction, she decided, was that it rendered her brain a useless quivering mass completely at the mercy of her hormones. Twice now she had slipped, and twice now she had hurtled herself into a bottomless well full of her worst fears.
If only she had kept her mouth shut, she'd have her arms full of a warm, vibrant man instead of a lumpy pillow. A wave of complete wretchedness washed over her. If only…
If only… The phrase that measured all the lost possibilities of her life.
What if you didn't have anything to hide?
But I do.
But what if you had told him? Everything.
He'd be gone in a flash.
But he didn't leave you tonight. You ran.
I didn't run.
Didn't you?
She dropped her head onto her pillow and let the tears come. Starkly, she pictured Cole's face as she had walked away from him. Bewilderment—not censure. Concern—not judgment. Expecting the worst from him, she ran. Ran, just as she always had.
CASSIDY'S COURTSHIP Page 12