“And I’m not very happy with Daddy.”
Startled into silence, Linda managed, “You’re not?”
“I’m not.” Taking advantage of her discomfiture, Blake walked around to Linda’s chair and pressed a hand to her elbow. She rose to her feet automatically, and it was only as he escorted her to the door that she managed one last question. “What am I supposed to tell him?” she asked. “Daddy, I mean.”
“Tell Sam that what interests me about Cat D’Angelo may well be beyond his comprehension. Tell him I’m in love with the woman.” He smiled and shut the door on Linda’s astonishment.
A shock wave of apprehension hit Blake as he released the doorknob. He blanked for a second, couldn’t even remember what he’d said. Then he raked a hand through his hair, aware of the sweat beading on his brow. In love? If that was true, it was probably a first for Blake Wheeler. He wasn’t sure he even knew what “in love” meant. As a kid he’d thought of it as some kind of degenerative condition for which he had a built-in resistance. His parents had never shown any signs of succumbing to the malady either. As an adolescent, he’d witnessed the screwball behavior brought on by his friends’ crushes and decided life was easier without that kind of brain damage. Especially the life he had planned.
He walked to the window and stared out. He was aware of the crisp cotton collar against his neck and thought about loosening it. He rubbed his chin instead and experienced the friction of his forefingers against his facial skin. He could even feel the hair on his thighs catching against the fabric of his pants. You’re alive, his body was telling him. Your heart beats, your blood flows through your veins, and you feel things, man. Surprise, you feel things deeply.
He turned away from the window and scanned his office, searching for signs of the man he knew. All right, he felt things. But love? Love was too deep a concept for a man who hadn’t even finished his second cup of coffee. He did know one thing though—the second burning certainty in ten days’ time. Now that Cat D’Angelo had walked back into his life, he wasn’t letting her walk out. There would probably be hell to pay for that decision, but he would pay it.
Cat spent her Monday morning waiting for the other shoe to fall. It did. But it wasn’t quite the shoe she expected.
Johnny Drescher arrived for his session with a quirky grin on his face. “Did you really make out in the park with Blake Wheeler?” was the first thing out of his mouth.
She threw her head back in despair. “Who told you that?”
“I don’t know,” he said, falling into the chair opposite her desk. “I guess it’s true, huh?”
It took Cat twenty minutes to dig more than an “I don’t know” out of Johnny. Finally, in fear of his young life, he admitted that it was all over Bayside High that she and Blake had been caught in flagrante delicto in Mariner’s Park. “And that’s not all,” he added, a wiseacre grin on his face. “They’re saying Wheeler’s gone squirrely.”
“Squirrely?”
“Yeah, a student intern in the mayor’s office overheard Linda Delahunt telling her father that Wheeler’s wigged out. I guess he told Linda he was in love with you or something.”
Cat was dumbfounded. She cut short the meeting with Johnny, and once he’d gone, she sat in her office with an amazed and utterly stupid grin on her face. In love with her? Love? The L-O-V-E kind? The idea was staggering.
Curiosity short-circuited Cat’s common sense. She called Blake’s office and was told he was in a staff meeting. When Cat left her name, the secretary surprised her with the news that Mr. Wheeler was planning to pick Cat up at six that evening. “I was just about to call you and let you know,” she explained.
“Pick me up? For what?” Cat asked.
“Well, I don’t know, dear,” the secretary said, slightly flustered. “For a date, I suppose.”
A date? Cat replaced the receiver, and the silly grin returned. Nervy of him, she thought. Damned nervy, but still she couldn’t wipe the smile from her face.
As the day wore on, Cat began to adjust to the idea that she and Blake were an item, mainly because everyone she encountered told her so, including Gwen.
“Apparently you’re over your grudge against Blake,” Gwen said, a lilt of disapproval in her voice as she hovered in Cat’s doorway. “When I suggested you put the past behind you and get on with your life, I wasn’t thinking of anything quite so demonstrative, Cat. Certainly not splendor in the grass.”
Cat felt like a thirteen-year-old justifying an outrageous prank to mom. “Neither was I, Gwen. It just happened.”
When Blake showed up at the center with a bouquet of violets that evening, a crowd assembled. Therapists and their clients materialized out of offices, and even the normally discreet receptionist couldn’t get her mouth closed.
Most of the neighbors were kibitzing from their porch swings as she and Blake rolled away from the building in his Corvette.
“We ought to set up bleachers,” Cat said, waving to Bumper, who was crouched on the sidewalk, playing a fierce game of marbles with his friend Biff.
“And charge admission,” Blake agreed.
Cat laughed and swung her head toward Blake. Their eyes connected for a minute, and as the laughter faded, another awareness took over. It was heart-catching and sudden, a glimpse of some emotion that cut right to the core. Cat felt as though the breath had been knocked out of her, but there was only one thought on her mind—Johnny’s announcement that morning. He told Linda he was in love with you . . .
Blake broke their connection first. He looked away, aware of the blood pounding through his temples. The sound was like a muted volley of gunfire. He loosened the knot on his tie and heard his own words echoing distantly. Tell Sam I’m in love with the woman.
He reached over, flicked on the radio, and the car was filled with the mellow voice of James Taylor singing “Handy Man.”
“Nice song,” Cat said, suddenly very interested in what might have been a water stain on the lapel of her blouse.
“Right, I always liked his . . . stuff.”
After a couple more equally unproductive attempts at small talk, they made the remainder of the trip to Blake’s cabin in silence. Cat sat with the violets in her hand, trying to ignore the bouquet, and what it might mean. Blake drove with the concentration of an ambulance driver, never taking his eyes off the road. It was as though neither of them knew quite how to address the emotional static that was spiking the air around them.
Blake made a couple of references to the weather, and Cat had the oddest thought. He seemed almost shy. A smile warmed her lips. Never happen, she decided. Blake Wheeler could walk down Main Street naked and not be self-conscious. The violets were beautiful though, she realized, bringing them to her nose to smell them.
She’d always loved shy men.
Blake seemed to have recovered a measure of his composure by the time they reached the cabin.
“Do you want a drink?” he asked, pouring himself a highball glass nearly full of straight Scotch.
“Yes, please. Some white wine if you have it.”
As he turned to her with the wine Cat took a deep breath and released it, along with the question that had been driving her wild with curiosity. “In love with me? Blake, did you really say such a thing?”
He left her drink on the bar and took a deep swallow from his own glass. “Who told you?”
That sounded like an affirmation, and Cat could hardly believe her ears. Or her eyes. She watched him pull off his tie and yank open the top buttons on his shirt. She’d never seen him so uneasy. They were right. He was squirrely. “It doesn’t matter who told me,” she said softly. “What’s happening to you?”
“Why the hell is everybody asking me that?”
“Because of the way you’re behaving.” She held up the violets. “Because of these. You’re not yourself.”
“Right, so maybe I am in love—” He broke off, a glint of trapped frustration in his eyes. Palming the glass of Scotch in his hand, he l
ooked as though he intended to finish the rest of it off in one swallow. And then start in on the bottle.
A flash of silver eyes. “Is that a problem?”
Problem? She was thrilled out of her head. She was also scared half to death at the prospect. “No, not a problem exactly. I just can’t quite fathom the idea.”
“Neither can I.” He stared at her for a long moment, his expression charged with mounting fascination. An ironic smile shimmered as he set down his drink. “I’m willing to work on it though, if you are.”
He walked toward her, and Cat could hardly hear herself think over the explosion of excitement inside her. “You know me,” she said, breathless, “always the hard worker.”
Their first undertaking was a taut, tender kiss. It was the sweetest kiss of Cat’s life. She shuddered in his arms, anticipating his low groan of desire. They were well on their way to a soul-scorcher when the phone rang.
Blake broke away with a touch of his lips to her nose and went to pick it up. He listened a minute and handed the receiver to her. “It’s for you—Gwen.”
Cat answered with the dizzy smile that was becoming her trademark. “Hi, Gwen—what’s up?”
“Bad news, Cat. Very bad, I’m afraid.”
Cat gripped the mouthpiece of the phone. “What is it?”
“It’s Johnny,” Gwen said. “The police picked him up an hour ago. He’s being held down at the city jail.”
Eleven
BLAKE DROPPED CAT OFF in front of the station house, a two-story brick structure with holding cells for juvenile as well as adult offenders. He caught Cat’s arm as she pushed out of the small car. “If they give you any trouble about seeing Johnny, tell them I’m on my way. I’ll park the car and stop at the desk to find out what they’re holding him on.”
Because of Cat’s counselor-client relationship with Johnny, she was able to see him without any difficulty. She sat in a booth in the visitors’ area, waiting for him to appear on the other side of the crosshatched glass. When he did, he looked so pale and frightened that Cat felt sick at heart. She recognized the fear. It was the familiar stench of buildings like this one. It had never left her nostrils, not completely.
“Are you all right?” she mouthed through the glass.
He nodded his head, and Cat tried to smile, but by then she was caught up in the burgeoning memories of her own experience. Chalky blue uniforms, handcuffed wrists, and grimy glass barriers. It was too real, too close to her own nightmare. She could even remember the musty holding tank, the bars, the suffocating claustrophobia.
She had to consciously order herself to pick up the phone receiver. Once she’d managed it, she signaled Johnny to do the same. “What happened?” she asked him.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I was walking home from the garbage dump, and the police picked me up.”
“What are they holding you for?”
“I don’t know—breaking and entering, I think.”
Keep asking questions, she told herself. “Breaking and entering what?”
“Somebody’s house—” He lifted his shoulders helplessly, and Cat could see he was near tears.
“That’s okay,” she said quickly, “Blake will find out. What were you doing at the garbage dump?”
“I had my slingshot is all. I was hunting rats. I do that sometimes when my mom works late.”
“Does your mother know about this?”
His jaw contracted, fighting emotion. “No—I only had one call. I tried to get you at the center, but you weren’t there.”
“Don’t worry about it,” she reassured him. “I’ll let your mom know.”
With a savage gesture he knuckled the moisture from his eyes. “I don’t know what they got me in here for, but whatever they’re saying I did, it’s a lie.” His voice cracked. “I didn’t do it. Cat.”
“I know you didn’t.” She swallowed against the sting of tears in her throat. “I’ll get you out of here, I promise.”
Blake appeared as she was reassuring Johnny and telling him not to worry. With one last attempt at encouragement Cat reminded Johnny that she’d been through it, too, and survived. But her heart sank as she saw the somber look on Blake’s face.
She held the phone against her chest. “What is it?” she asked. “Breaking and entering?”
“Yes,” he said, “but it gets worse. He’s also being held on counts of illegal entry, vandalism, and robbery.”
“Oh, God—”
“It was two houses down from the Kirkpatricks’ place.”
“The place where I’m staying?” Her next words were a faint attempt to assimilate the information. “Someone robbed the Kirkpatricks’ neighbors?”
“Not someone, Johnny. Or at least that’s what they’re saying.” He took the phone from her hand. “Let me talk to him.”
Cat listened anxiously as Blake probed Johnny for more information. Blake’s approach was cautious, almost gentle, but Cat’s stomach was tied up in knots long before Johnny had finished his story. The real horror came when she realized that he had no alibi for the time of the robbery. None whatsoever.
Panic hit her. It was the sound of a needle being dragged across a phonograph record. Her thoughts spun back in time, dragging the needle across the surface of her life. She’d had no alibi either. There was no one who could corroborate that she’d been home alone when Cheryl drove up in the car and persuaded her to go for a ride. When the police detective had questioned Cat afterward, Cat had been cooperative. She’d told him everything he wanted to know. Later, much of what she’d said in that session had been used against her.
“Johnny, stop!” she said. “Don’t say any more.”
Blake frowned at her. “What’s wrong with you?”
“You’re the DA.” Her voice was soft, almost shrill. “You could end up prosecuting him.”
“Cat, he’s my witness. I’m trying to get to the bottom of this. Maybe we can get him released tonight.”
“No!” She pulled the phone from Blake’s hand and spoke to Johnny. “Don’t say another word! Not until I find you an attorney.”
Blake let Cat into the Corvette, slammed her door, and went around to his side of the car. “What the hell was that all about?” he asked, hitting the gas pedal as he twisted the ignition key.
Cat’s voice sharpened over the roar of the car’s engine. “Johnny has two priors. They’re not going to do a kid like that any favors, and you know it.” She finished her argument once they’d pulled out of the tiered parking area. “He has to be protected, Blake. Even if you don’t prosecute him personally, your office will. He needs an attorney.”
“For God’s sake, Cat, I wasn’t building a case against him. I wanted to hear his side of it.”
Blake went silent, negotiating the evening traffic as he made a lane change. Cat swayed and caught her balance against the console, her fingernails creasing the leather. Neither of them spoke for several moments.
“What have they got on him?” she asked as Blake turned down the street that led to the Kirkpatricks’ place.
“It’s bad,” Blake said. “There’s an eyewitness. A young girl saw a teenager matching Johnny’s description enter the house.”
“She saw him breaking in?”
“She said he entered by the front door. At first she thought he lived there, but he was acting oddly enough to make her suspicious.”
“Who was this girl? West End?”
“No, she was bicycling through the neighborhood on her way to a friend’s.”
A bystander, Cat thought, some anonymous bystander who didn’t even know Johnny. Frustration sparked inside her, and for one hot, razor-quick second she wanted to cry. Her fingers bit into soft leather, and then, in the rebounding seconds, she caught herself. She was identifying too closely with Johnny’s situation, and that kind of self-indulgence was dangerous now. She needed to stay rational, ask questions. It was the only way she could help him.
“What was supposed to have been stolen?
Did they find anything on Johnny?”
“Jewelry—rings, watches, credit cards, that sort of thing. Johnny was clean when they picked him up, but he would have had plenty of time to hide the stuff.”
Cat’s jaw stung as though she’d bitten into sour fruit. The taste filled her mouth as she stared at Blake, and she couldn’t swallow it away. “You think he did it, don’t you?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But you do.”
She jerked back as Blake reached for her hand. “What about the Sinclair trial?” she asked sharply. “What happens now?”
Blake downshifted and shot her a glance. “It depends on what happens to Johnny. Without his testimony we haven’t got a case against Skip Sinclair. Even with it, Johnny may have been so badly discredited by this that he won’t be an effective witness.” The car jolted and bounced as Blake drove over the railroad tracks. “Without any new evidence my office will probably have to drop the case.”
Cat’s thoughts whirred frantically, grabbing at possibilities. “Maybe it wasn’t Johnny. Eyewitness testimony isn’t infallible. People get picked up by mistake all the time. That girl? How can she be sure who she saw?”
Blake’s voice took on a firm, calming tone. “The report indicated a positive ID. At any rate, there’ll be a lineup. Shell have to pick him out of several other men who match the description.”
Another possibility churned into Cat’s head. It was crazy, but she said it anyway. “What if he was framed?”
“Framed? Why?”
“I don’t know. Maybe someone is setting him up to get the Sinclair case dismissed.”
Blake heaved a sigh. “Cat, stop this. You’re desperate. You’re grabbing at straws.”
“Yes, I am desperate! Why aren’t you? He’s your witness. Or maybe you want the case against Sinclair dismissed too? I’m sure it would be less messy that way.”
Tears welled in her eyes. She was lashing out, trying to hurt him, and she could see by his expression that she had already done some damage, but she couldn’t stop herself. “Prosecuting Skip can’t be good for the ol’ political career, am I right?”
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