Truly Married

by Phyllis Halldorson

  “So you would recognize someone in that condition?”

  “Sure.”

  “Did Ms. Sawyer show signs of shock?”

  “Yes, very much so.”

  “Can you tell us what some of the symptoms were?”

  The officer hesitated, as though searching for the right words. “She seemed dazed. Her eyes didn’t focus properly, and at first she didn’t respond to me at all—she just sat there staring down at her hands folded in her lap. Later she started to comprehend a little, but she was confused and had trouble understanding the simplest questions.”

  “When you arrested her did you read her her rights?”

  “Yes, that’s standard procedure.”

  “Did she understand what you were telling her?”

  The officer shrugged. “She said in front of witnesses that she did, so we went ahead and booked her.”

  Fergus walked over to the defense table and stood in front of it as he continued. “Was the sliding-glass door in the office open or closed when you got there?”

  “It was open.”

  “Was it dusted for fingerprints?”

  “Yes, it was.”

  “Were Ms. Sawyer’s prints found on it?”

  He nodded tersely. “Yes, they were.”

  “Both inside and outside?”

  Jackson’s gaze shifted slightly away from Fergus’s. “Yes.”

  “And wouldn’t that suggest to you that she had left and returned through that door?”

  “Objection,” Hollingsworth said.

  “Overruled,” the judge said. “The witness may answer.”

  “I suppose she could have,” the officer answered.

  “Were there other prints besides Ms. Sawyer’s?”

  “Only Mr. Vancleave’s. They were on the inside.”

  Fergus hesitated a moment, then moved closer to the witness stand. “Now, about your statement that Mr. Vancleave was probably killed by someone he knew and trusted. How did you come to that conclusion?”

  The officer shifted in the chair. “Because the victim didn’t appear to have put up a fight. He was a good-sized man, and muscular. It’s reasonable to assume he would have grappled with a stranger.”

  “But isn’t it also reasonable to assume he would have grappled with anyone who threatened him with a weapon, stranger or not?”

  “I suppose,” the officer admitted, “but if it were a woman and somebody he knew he’d be more apt to try to placate her.”

  “A woman? Are you implying that only a woman could have committed this crime?” Fergus’s tone was low, but sharp.

  Officer Jackson looked startled. “Ah...no, but since the suspect is a woman—”

  “Then you didn’t bother to look for other suspects, since you had one so conveniently close by?” This time Fergus’s tone was deadly.

  “Yes... I mean no!” Jackson was obviously rattled. “Ms. Sawyer was found bending over the body with the murder weapon in her hand.”

  “But you didn’t actually see her like that, did you? You testified she was sitting in a chair behind the desk when you arrived.”

  “She was, but we had statements by witnesses—”

  “Did any of those witnesses see Ms. Sawyer stab Mr. Vancleave?”

  “Of course not,” the officer said, red faced.

  “Tell me, Officer Jackson, have you made any effort to find someone else who could have committed this crime?”

  “You know damn well I haven’t,” he answered angrily. “I don’t do follow-ups. That’s the detectives’ job, and once they got there they took over. You’ll have to ask them whether or not they’re looking for other suspects.”

  Fergus seemed to relax somewhat. “I did,” he said, “and they’re not.”

  The prosecutor was on his feet. “Objection!”

  Fergus turned away. “I have no more questions,” he said, and sat down next to Sharon.

  After that Hollingsworth rested his case and gave a closing argument, which was little more than a replay of his opening.

  “Do you have a closing statement, Mr. Lachlan?” the judged asked after the prosecutor had finished.

  “A short one, Your Honor,” Fergus said as he got to his feet. “I submit that there’s not enough evidence to proceed with this charge against my client, and certainly not when the charge is first-degree murder. Although the state’s own witness has admitted that Floyd Vancleave was a man who antagonized people and was difficult to get along with, no effort has been made to find out if someone else had good reason to kill him.

  “Ms. Sawyer admits that she went into the victim’s office through the reception area, then quarreled with the victim. But that door is not the only one leading into or out of that room. There was another one that led to the outside area, and Sharon Sawyer’s fingerprints were found on both the outside and the inside of that door.

  “There’s every reason to believe that she left the room as she claimed in her statement to the police, in which case someone else also had access to the office for several minutes before she returned.”

  Fergus sat down, and the judge was silent as she sifted through her notes. Finally, she raised her head and looked at both the prosecutor and Fergus.

  “I’ve heard all the testimony presented and examined the evidence. It is the judgment of this court that there is probable cause to find that Floyd Vancleave was criminally assaulted and died as a result of that assault. There is also probable cause to find that Sharon Elisse Sawyer had the opportunity and the motive to commit that crime.

  “However, I do not find enough evidence to support a first-degree murder charge, but will bind her over to superior court on a charge of murder in the second degree.”

  Her gaze sought Fergus. “Mr. Lachlan, are you still willing to be responsible for Ms. Sawyer and guarantee her appearance in court when she is summoned?”

  “Yes, I am, Your Honor.”

  “Then the defendant will remain free on bail under that condition.”

  Hollingsworth got to his feet. “Objection!”

  “Overruled.” The judge banged her gavel. “Court’s adjourned.”

  Chapter Ten

  Sharon felt numb.

  Fergus had warned her that the district attorney’s case was strong and she would almost certainly be bound over for trial. She thought she’d accepted it, but in truth she’d had no idea of the emotional havoc this hearing would cause her.

  She knew Fergus had done everything he could to keep her from going to trial. She trusted him completely, but, given the weight of the evidence against her, no one could have saved her from this indignity.

  She knew all of this, so why did the words bind her over to superior court on the charge of murder in the second degree come as such a shock and fill her with hopelessness and dread?

  Gradually Fergus’s voice intruded into her fog of despondency.

  “Sharon. Honey, look at me. What’s the matter?”

  He sounded disturbed, and slowly she became aware of the sound of shuffling feet hurrying toward exits and excited voices debating the judge’s decision. Fergus had his arm around her shoulders and was gently shaking her. “Sharon, talk to me. Are you sick?”

  She shook her head, then turned it to look at him. “I didn’t kill Floyd,” she said barely above a whisper.

  His eyes were soft with compassion. “I know you didn’t, sweetheart,” he said tenderly.

  Ray appeared with a glass of water and ice, which he handed to her. “Here, Sharon, drink some of this. You’ll feel better in a few minutes.” He looked worried.

  She reached for the glass, but when she took it her hand shook so, it rattled the ice. Fergus wrapped his hand around hers and steadied the glass as he guided it to her mouth. His hand was warm and strong and comforting, and she took several swallows of water. It felt cool and soothing on her dry throat.

  “Better?” he asked anxiously as he put the glass down.

  She nodded, then clutched at his hand when he moved it
. “Fergus, can we go home now?”

  His troubled gaze searched her face. “You bet,” he said, then turned his attention to Ray. “We’ll leave in your car. I don’t think the reporters will recognize it. Bring it around to the back, as close to the door as you can get. We’ll be waiting there for you.”

  Ray left, and Fergus returned his attention to Sharon. “Can you stand up and walk?”

  “Yes,” she said determinedly, although she wasn’t really sure. She felt as if all the stamina had been drained out of her. There was no way she was going to admit that, though.

  Apparently Fergus wasn’t sure, either, because he practically lifted her out of her chair and held her until she got her balance. Her legs felt rubbery and her head light, but it only took a few seconds for her to steady herself.

  The hall in front of the courtroom had been cleared, but even so a bailiff escorted Fergus and Sharon to the express elevator and down to the basement in an effort to avoid the reporters gathered at the elevators on the main floor. Then they walked up one flight of the back stairs, where Ray was waiting in the car outside.

  Fergus helped Sharon into the rear seat, then walked around and got in beside her. “Do you want to stop someplace for lunch?” he asked as Ray drove without a ripple of recognition past the crowd waiting at the front of the building.

  “No,” Sharon answered promptly. “I just want to go home.”

  As Ray wove in and out of the downtown traffic, Sharon was only vaguely aware of what was going on around her. Fergus took her hand, and she clung to his like a lifeline. He was all that stood between her and a long prison term, but even more than that, he and Anna were the closest thing she had to family. She had an aunt who lived in Alaska, but they’d lost touch years ago.

  She’d never felt the need for relatives so acutely before. She’d been nineteen and in college when her parents were killed, but she’d always been independent and self-sufficient, and she’d been able to work through her grief and get on with her life.

  The following year she’d met and married Fergus, and even though she’d nearly been destroyed when their marriage had broken up three years later, she hadn’t needed a shoulder to cry on. Far from it. She’d shied away from sympathy and offers of help. Instead she’d moved to a new city in a different state and started over again—new job, new friends, new interests.

  So why was she so shattered and frightened now? Why did she feel so needy? So dependent? So desperate for someone to lean on?

  Again Fergus had to rouse her from her mental fog when they arrived at the house. He helped her out of the car, and Ray drove on as they walked up to the door and let themselves in. She loved this gracious old redbrick house that had been home to her for the past four years, and for the first time she allowed herself to dwell on the fact that her days in it might be numbered.

  Would she ever live here again after the trial was over? Or would she spend the next thirty or forty years in prison?

  My God, she’d be an old woman by the time she got out!

  A chill swept through her and she began to shiver. Not a polite tremor, but a convulsive shaking that rattled her teeth.

  Immediately Fergus swept her up in his arms and carried her to the sofa, then sat down with her on his lap. “It’s all right, Sharon,” he said softly, but she heard the doubt in his voice. “Everything’s going to be all right.”

  He wrapped her in his embrace and rubbed his cheek against hers. “I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you. I love you. I’d never forgive myself if you were convicted of this crime. I’ll find out who killed Floyd Vancleave if I have to track him or her down myself.”

  Sharon buried her face in his shoulder and let his low comforting voice and his reassuring words, murmured over and over again, flow through her like a soothing caress. She basked in the body warmth that radiated from him, and made little mewling sounds when his fingers stroked and his lips nibbled lovingly.

  As she slowly relaxed she became aware of a different set of sensations. The strength of his arms that promised protection; the softness of his cheek as it pressed against her own; and the hard muscles of his thighs beneath her bottom.

  A wave of heat swept through her and caused a twitching at her core. The swiftness and the strength of it caught her off guard, and she squirmed on his lap.

  He moaned and she felt another hardness in him, as familiar as the throb of desire that rocked her and as welcome as the burst of excitement that set her on fire.

  With an answering moan she lifted her head and fastened her open mouth over his. He gasped with surprise, but his lips parted to receive her, and his arms tightened as he strained to pull her hip against his groin. Their tongues thrust and withdrew, sometimes in his mouth and sometimes in hers, while their hands expertly explored each other with the haste of long-denied craving.

  Neither of them spoke. There was no need, their bodies were out of control in full, rapturous harmony that sent them spiraling higher and higher.

  With frantic haste they tore at their clothes, removing only what was necessary before Fergus lowered her to the carpeted floor and joined her body with his own.

  There was no time for tenderness or murmured endearments as the burgeoning urgency drove them harder and faster until the whole world exploded and sent them rocketing into ecstasy.

  * * *

  For a long time they lay there on the floor, still joined, but now with Sharon on top, as they waited for their hearts to stop pounding and their breathing to slow to normal.

  Fergus was afraid to speak. Afraid of breaking the spell that had gripped them so unexpectedly and sent them on a journey to paradise and back. But what now? Was she finally ready to forgive him and resume their life together? Or was this just a mistake that would make her even more unforgiving when the magic wore off?

  Sharon slid off him, but she offered no objection when he reached for her. Instead she curled up in his arms beside him, and he breathed a grateful sigh of relief.

  He nuzzled her temple and murmured, “I’m not going to say I’m sorry, because I’m not.”

  “Neither am I,” she said, still a little breathless.

  Fergus smiled. “I’m glad, but you deserve a hell of a lot better setting than the hard floor.”

  “Didn’t you like it?” she asked with a small pout.

  “Like it!” he exclaimed. “Oh God, I loved it. I’ve never experienced anything so intensely shattering before, but it doesn’t surprise me. For over three years you kept me in an almost constant state of arousal.”

  He knew he shouldn’t have said that when she frowned.

  “Not always—” she began.

  But he quickly covered her mouth with his to shut off her words and hopefully the thoughts that prompted them. She’d never understand his feelings for Elaine.

  She responded immediately to his kiss, and in seconds he was hard and throbbing again. He was reacting like a teenager who hadn’t yet learned to control his lusty urges, but that’s exactly how he felt, urgent and out of control.

  Her mouth was soft and sweet, and the familiar taste of her was driving him out of his mind, but he wasn’t going to take her again like a rutting boar. She’d surprised him the first time, and then it was too late to stop, but he was determined not to let that happen again.

  It took all his willpower to ease his mouth from hers and lift his head. “Not yet,” he said, his tone scratchy with frustration. “Not here. I want to make long, slow, euphoric love to you in a bed where you can be comfortable.”

  She nibbled at the sensitive hollow on the side of his neck, scattering his good intentions.

  “I sort of like the floor,” she said lazily, as she slowly slid her tongue over the area she’d just kissed.

  He tightened his arms around her even as he protested, “Now, stop that, dammit.” Then immediately he negated his command by shivering with desire and bucking against her as her unruly tongue continued up to his ear.

  With one last burst
of determination he managed to pull away from her and sit up, then looked back down at her. “Humor me just this once, sweetheart. I don’t want Anna to come home and find us making love on the floor. As I remember she threatened us with eviction if that happened.”

  Sharon chuckled and sat up beside him. “Picky, picky,” she scolded teasingly as they both got to their feet.

  Fergus pulled up his briefs and trousers and zipped his fly while Sharon pulled down her skirt and slip, then picked up her panties and panty hose off the floor. He put his arm around her and they walked up the stairs together, then down the hall to her bedroom, the one nearest the bath.

  He began removing his clothes. “Shower with me?” he asked as he watched her step out of her celery-colored skirt and start unbuttoning her creamy silk blouse.

  She looked at him, her eyes focusing on his bare chest. “I’d be delighted,” she answered and removed the blouse, revealing a lace-trimmed ivory satin slip.

  He remembered that she’d always worn sexy underwear, even under jeans and an old sweatshirt. That was one of the reasons he’d never been able to keep his hands off her. The soft satiny texture of the material added an extra dimension to the round curves underneath, so that now just the memory of it made his hands itch.

  Quickly he stepped out of his pants and briefs. He didn’t remember taking off his shoes and socks, but he must have done so downstairs, because he wasn’t wearing them. He glanced up to see that Sharon was also naked, and it took his breath away.

  She was even more luscious than before. In the five years they’d been apart she’d ripened. That was the only word he could think of to describe her. She may have gained a few pounds, but they enhanced rather than detracted. Her breasts and hips were fuller and even more enticing, although he was sure he could still span her tiny waist with his two hands, and her nipples were rosier and even more tempting.

  The painful tightening in his crotch alerted him to the fact that he was staring, and he was jolted back to reality to find that Sharon was also staring at him. He took a deep breath and walked across the room to where she stood beside the bed.