She set a plate in front of him, then placed hers opposite him at the table and sat down. “At the moment, I like you better than I ever have.” She grinned at his frown. “Don’t worry. I’m sure the feeling will pass very quickly.”
An answering smile touched his lips. It was a real smile, not the derisive kind she’d come to expect from him. As an unexpected warmth shot through her, she lowered her gaze and focused on her plate.
She ate, not tasting the food, trying to get back her equilibrium where he was concerned. She was sorry she’d asked him about his family. It was far easier to keep emotional distance without the complication of empathy.
Tyler seemed lost in his own thoughts, his brow furrowed as he ate methodically. For the first time in years, Samantha allowed herself to mentally replay the night she’d tried to seduce him.
As usual, she’d left the house after fighting with her father. She no longer remembered what the fight had been about; she only remembered the reckless hurt and anger that had driven her to the James Tavern, where she’d proceeded to drink herself silly.
She hadn’t known it at the time, but the bartender was an old client of her father’s. He’d made a phone call and Tyler had been dispatched to retrieve the recalcitrant Samantha.
Tyler’s arrival at the bar had only incensed her even more. Her father hadn’t cared enough to come himself, but rather had sent his underling.
Disgust had tightened Tyler’s features as he’d taken her arm and led her out of the bar. His disapproval shouted in his utter silence as they got into his car. Somehow, Samantha’s anger had twisted inside her, battling with the underlying attraction she’d always felt for him.
In the close confines of his car, with the scent of his provocative cologne filling the air, the desire Samantha had fought against for so long surfaced without the usual inhibitions. Along with desire came simple need—the need to be held, to be loved.
She’d scooted next to him and placed her hand on his thigh. His reaction was instantaneous. She heard his swift intake of breath, felt the tightening of muscles that implied a desire of his own.
There had been no triumph in the knowledge that he might want her, only a quickening of her heart. She’d leaned against him, brushing his jaw with her lips, wishing only that for a few minutes he would make her feel loved, cherished.
“Samantha?”
Jerked from her thoughts of the past, she felt heat wash over her face in a blush as she looked at him. “What?” she asked, hoping her features revealed nothing of her memories.
“You have to make me a promise.” His dark blue, mesmerizing eyes held hers for a long moment.
“What kind of promise?”
“Promise me you won’t do something stupid like you did tonight. Promise me you won’t go anywhere near the Devil’s Kitchen or any place like that again.”
“I can’t do that.” Samantha broke their eye contact, uncomfortable as she tried to shove aside her memories of wanting him, of needing him. “I have to go wherever my investigation takes me, wherever I might find proof of Dominic’s innocence.”
Tyler stood and took his empty plate to the sink. “I’ll give Wylie Brooks a call tomorrow, see if I can talk him out of his retirement to give you a hand,” he said as he rinsed his plate and stuck it in the dishwasher. He turned back to face her. “In the meantime, would you at least promise me you won’t go anywhere alone? If you need to investigate away from the office, tell me and I’ll go with you.”
“I thought you didn’t want to be involved in this in any way,” Samantha reminded.
“I didn’t,” he replied. “But I can’t in good conscience allow you to stumble around, stirring up trouble and putting yourself at risk.”
“Let me guess. It’s bad for the reputation of the firm,” she replied with a touch of sarcasm.
“Exactly.” He looked as if he were about to say something more but instead raked a hand through his hair and sighed tiredly. “Are you planning on attending the funeral tomorrow?”
She nodded. Abigail Monroe would be laid to rest the following day. “Who knows, maybe the real killer will break down and throw himself across her casket.”
He smiled. “Things like that only happen in the movies.” His smile faded. “I have a feeling there will be no Perry Mason moments in this case. Just hard work and heartache.” He eyed her thoughtfully. “For your sake I hope you’re up to it.”
“For Dominic’s sake, I have to be.” She raised her chin a notch in determination.
Although she knew she looked strong and decisive, her insides quivered in fear. She was scared—scared that she would prove her father right, her sister right. She’d always made a mess of things, but in the past the consequences had always been hers alone to endure.
She felt as if this was her last chance to prove something not only to Tyler and Melissa and the rest of the people of Wilford, but also to herself. She was intensely aware that this time if she messed up, she wouldn’t be the only one to carry the burden. Dominic would wind up on death row, and Samantha had a feeling she would spiral so out of control she would never find her way back.
The funeral for Abigail Monroe nearly shut down all the businesses in Wilford. Store owners and workers stopped for the afternoon to attend and pay their respects not so much to the dead, but rather to the powerful man she’d been married to.
Samantha got out of her car, grateful she’d opted for black slacks instead of a dress as a cold autumn breeze greeted her, slapping her in the face and cutting through the suede jacket she wore. Although it was only late September, the air held more than a hint of early winter.
It was just two in the afternoon and she was already exhausted. Dominic’s arraignment had been that morning. Samantha hadn’t been surprised, but nevertheless was disappointed that she hadn’t managed to talk Judge Halloran into setting reasonable bail.
The cemetery was already filled with people as Samantha picked her way through the other grave sites to where a large tent structure had been erected. Low whispers filled the tent, along with the cloying scent of floral wreaths and sprays.
Next to the flower-bedecked white casket, Morgan Monroe sat in a chair, surrounded by friends and family.
At the moment Morgan didn’t look like a crazed killer, he looked like a grieving old man. His face was colorless, his eyes red-rimmed. Samantha had already checked Morgan’s alibi. As Tyler had told her, it appeared airtight. But, that didn’t mean he hadn’t hired somebody to take care of the murder for him.
Next to him stood a young man with similar physical characteristics, although the strong features showed no signs of grief. A son, Samantha guessed, mentally adding him to the list of potential suspects.
She tried not to think about the fact that her father was buried nearby. Perhaps eventually she would want to take flowers to his grave. At the moment, she didn’t feel mentally prepared to say her final goodbyes to the man who had so ruled her life and dictated her choices; a man who had never found a reason to love her.
“Samantha?”
Samantha turned toward the feminine voice coming from behind her. “Marcia? Marcia Wise?”
The petite brunette grinned. “It’s Marcia Wellington now. I married Dennis right after graduation.”
Samantha remembered Dennis Wellington, one of the star football players on the Wilford Tigers team. Marcia had been a cheerleader and although not particularly close to Samantha, had always been friendly. “I heard you were in town. It’s good to have you back.”
Samantha grinned at her old high-school acquaintance. “You’re one of the few who think it’s nice I’m back.”
“Some turnout, huh?” Marcia gestured toward the crowd.
“Were you a friend of Abigail’s?” Samantha asked curiously.
Marcia shook her head. “Not really. I’d seen her around town, but we didn’t know each other personally. Dennis works at the bank for Mr. Morgan. He’s working now, but I thought it would be a good idea if I came
and paid my respects.”
“Looks like the whole town thought it would be a good idea,” Samantha observed as she scanned the large group of people.
“It’s almost as big a turnout as when your father was buried.” Marcia touched Samantha’s arm lightly. “I’m sorry for your recent loss.”
“Thanks.”
For a moment the two were silent, each scanning the crowd. Samantha wasn’t surprised that her father’s funeral had drawn a huge turnout. Jamison Jackson Dark had been a man every bit as powerful and respected as Morgan Monroe.
“Samantha, I heard you’re representing Dominic.”
“That’s right,” Samantha replied.
“Dennis and I are good friends of his. I don’t care how bad it looks, I know he couldn’t have killed Abigail under any circumstances. He loved her.”
Samantha nodded. “I feel the same way, and I intend to do everything in my power to see that the truth comes out.” It felt good to hear somebody else voice support for Dominic, and utter disbelief that he could have been involved in such a crime.
Samantha stiffened as she saw Tyler standing on the opposite side of the tent. She hadn’t seen him or spoken to him since last night. He’d gone up to his room while she still sat at the table, finishing her meal along with trying to swallow her fears.
His head was bent as he listened to a petite woman standing next to him. He looked achingly handsome in a three-quarter-length black trench coat belted at his slender waist.
As he flashed the attractive blonde a smile, a fury of resentment swelled inside Samantha. He certainly had never smiled at her like that, so openly friendly. His smiles for Samantha were always laced with overt arrogance and mockery.
“He’s quite a hunk, isn’t he?”
Samantha grimaced, realizing that Marcia had followed her gaze and was speaking about Tyler. “He’s all right,” she answered grudgingly.
“All right? I’d say most of the women in town have wicked fantasies about Mr. All Right over there.” Marcia laughed. “If I wasn’t so happily married, I’d jump his bones in a minute.”
Samantha was grateful the minister chose that moment to begin the graveside services and there was no further opportunity for idle chatter about Tyler.
Still, as the minister continued his sermon, Samantha found her thoughts wandering back to that distant night when she’d sat so close to Tyler, had needed him to hold her, tell her she was good and valuable. Instead he had pushed her away, scorn darkening his eyes—the same scorn she’d always seen in her father’s eyes.
She drew her collar up around her neck, chilled once again by thoughts of that night of humiliation. Had she succeeded in seducing him and they had made love, he would have been shocked to discover that the “bad girl” of Wilford, Kansas, was in actuality a virgin.
Samantha knew that Tyler, like her father, had always assumed the worst about her, including the belief that she’d enjoyed a wild sexual freedom.
Nothing could be further from the truth. Oh, she’d snuck out of the house, met boys with bad reputations. She’d dated often, deliberately choosing boys she knew her father would hate.
She’d been caught skinny-dipping in the park, and had nearly surrendered her virginity to Larry, a boy with soulful eyes who’d professed he would love her till the end of time. Ultimately she’d told Larry that if he really loved her he would wait until she was ready, and apparently, for Larry, that had been “the end of time.” He’d broken up with her that same night.
Since Larry, there had been no other man with whom she’d felt any kind of heart-searing, mind-numbing passion. Until Tyler.
It irritated and angered her that the one man she didn’t want anything to do with had the capacity to make her think of tangled sheets and bare skin, hot hands and heated sighs.
She tore her gaze from him, trying to focus her thoughts on the minister’s final farewell to Abigail Monroe. She didn’t want to think about Tyler. She needed to watch the crowd, check for inappropriate or unusual reactions. She had a feeling that whoever was actually responsible for Abigail’s death was probably here, saying a personal final goodbye.
The service was brief. Afterward, people milled around as if reluctant to return to their jobs or their lives. Samantha stood off to one side, watching as people approached Morgan Monroe and his son. Morgan accepted the words of comfort and sympathy with a barely contained dignity, looking as if at any moment he would shatter into a hundred pieces.
“Counselor, I’m rather surprised to see you here.”
Samantha hid a grimace of distaste behind a smile as she greeted the assistant district attorney, the man she would be facing in Dominic’s trial and had sparred with that morning at the arraignment. “Chester.”
She acknowledged his presence with a dip of her head.
Chester Sparks had been a peer of her father’s, although Jamison had had nothing but derision for the dapper dresser with his penchant for outrageous ties.
Chester liked to think of himself as a ladies’ man. He had three ex-wives and chased everything in skirts. The salacious look he gave Samantha should have earned him a sound slap. “You’re a mighty little thing to be trying to fill your daddy’s shoes,” he said as he sidled close enough to her that she could smell the scent of his deodorant.
She took a step back from him. “I have unusually big feet,” she retorted.
He laughed, his hazel eyes sparking with a presumptuous intimacy that made Samantha’s skin crawl. “I’m looking forward to battling you in the courtroom. I’ve always found a good intellectual contest sexually stimulating. What about you?”
“There you are.” Tyler’s smooth voice came from behind her.
He stepped next to her and took her arm. He nodded curtly to Chester, then smiled at Samantha. “I’ve been looking all over for you. We’ve got to get back to the office.”
“That man should be arrested,” Samantha fumed as Tyler led her out of the tent.
Tyler released his hold on her arm and laughed. “Unfortunately, being a buffoon isn’t considered a crime.”
“His taste in ties should at least make him guilty of a misdemeanor,” she replied. She stopped walking. “Thanks for the rescue. Another minute or two and you’d have been representing me on a murder charge.”
“I could tell by the look in your eyes that he was getting to you.”
“I remember Dad used to say if snakes wore ties they’d all be named Chester.”
Tyler laughed and Samantha felt a sweeping warmth suffuse her at the pleasant sound. The afternoon sun played on his hair, glinting on reddish highlights that were normally invisible. The cold wind had whipped color into his cheeks, but Samantha suspected that despite the coolness of the breeze his skin would be warm.
She averted her gaze from him, wondering why on earth he affected her on such a primal level. People were starting to head toward their cars and Samantha’s attention was caught by one particular woman, clad all in black. Her face displayed deep grief as tears rolled down her cheeks.
“Tyler, who is that woman?” Samantha asked.
Tyler followed her gaze, then looked back at Samantha. “Georgia Morgan. The first Mrs. Morgan.”
“Why on earth is she so distraught?”
Tyler shrugged. “I think Georgia and Abigail had become friends.”
Samantha watched as the woman fumbled in her purse and withdrew a tissue, then got into her car. Another name to add to her growing list of suspects. She suddenly had the feeling of time passing—and wasting. Dominic’s case would begin in less than two weeks and Samantha had only started her investigation.
She looked back at Tyler. “Thanks again for the rescue. I’ve got to get to the office. There’s a ton of work waiting for me.”
As she got in her car she cast one last look at Tyler. The trench coat flapped against the length of his legs and the wind tousled his hair. God, he was such a handsome man.
She had to remember that he was her adversary. He’d
come into their lives and stolen her father’s love from her. He’d wiggled his way to a place in her father’s heart that Samantha had been denied. He’d even finagled half of Justice Inc. for himself.
For years she’d believed she hated him, had wanted to hate him; but she found that particular, comforting emotion difficult to evoke at this moment, and that frightened her.
Tyler had always made it very clear he thought little of her and the last thing she wanted was to entertain any warm, fuzzy feelings for him. That was the formula for heartache and she’d had enough of that while growing up. She’d long ago decided never to allow a man access to her heart, and she refused to let Tyler be an exception to that rule.
As she pulled away from the cemetery, she buried any desire she might have for Tyler deep in her heart, where hopefully it would rest in peace forever, never to be retrieved.
Chapter 6
For the third time in as many minutes Tyler shifted position against the mattress that suddenly felt too hard, too lumpy for sleep.
Usually sleep came easily for him, but tonight he’d been tossing and turning for the past hour. Giving up, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood. A hollow pain gnawed at his stomach and he pressed a hand against it as he reached for his robe.
It had been months since he’d had an ulcer flare-up this intense and he knew exactly what had caused this latest eruption. Samantha.
He’d spent the last two days at Justice Inc., hearing the sounds of merriment drifting up the stairs from Jamison’s office. Samantha’s laughter, vibrant and melodic, filled the entire building. She and Edie and Miranda, the filing clerk, had holed up in Jamison’s luxurious room like the plotting Three Musketeers.
Tyler had a feeling Samantha had enlisted the others’ aid in the investigation for the Marcola case, and that worried him. That was all she needed—an airhead receptionist and a giggling file clerk as her support team. He made a mental note to contact Wylie Brooks first thing in the morning and convince the private eye to come out of retirement for this particular case.
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