by Jane Graves
He paused, then slowly turned back and met her eyes, those clear blue eyes that had captivated him since the moment he met her.
“Even though I haven’t got a shred of evidence to base it on, for some reason I still believe you’re telling me the truth.”
Chapter 13
In that moment, Renee felt as if every bone in her body had melted with relief. She’d wanted John to believe in her innocence—needed him to believe in her innocence—but what he’d just said meant something more. It meant she wasn’t alone in this any longer.
But as welcome as his admission was to her, she could tell it had taken a toll on him.
He sat down on the edge of the bed and stared at his hands, his shoulders hunched, his face tight and drawn, and for the first time she saw that he wasn’t supercop at all. He was just a man—a man with some very tough decisions to make.
“What’s going to happen to me now?” she asked.
“I don’t know.”
A long silence ensued. Finally John rubbed his hand over his mouth, then shifted around to face her.
“I talked to the woman who owns the convenience store that was robbed. Your eyewitness is a flake. She can barely see her hand in front of her face. Even a crappy defense attorney will discredit her in a heartbeat.”
Renee sat up suddenly. “That’s wonderful!”
“Don’t get your hopes up. It doesn’t prove you didn’t do it. It only proves she can’t positively identify you. It’s pretty meaningless in light of the physical evidence.”
“But it’s something, right?”
“It’s...something. And you were right about the ladies in 317. They’re hookers. But they’ve got a pretty lucrative operation going, and I think we have to discount them as suspects. Another negative is that the original detective on the case has since retired. The guy who’s taking it over is worthless. We’re not going to be able to count on any help from official sources. They’ve got their suspect, and they won’t be looking for another one.”
“You actually checked all this out?”
“Yes.”
Renee couldn’t believe it. That was where he must have been this morning. While she’d been handcuffed to this bed, he’d been out investigating the crime.
“Do you think it’s possible that we could find out who really committed the robbery?” she asked him.
John shook his head. “No. I don’t.”
“But that’s the only way—”
“No. It’s not. We don’t necessarily have to find the person who did it. All we have to do is find enough evidence to put reasonable doubt in a jury’s mind that you did it. If we can do that, you’ll be acquitted.”
“And if I’m not acquitted—”
“You’ll go to prison.”
Prison. Just the word made Renee’s stomach chum with anxiety. “John. Please listen to me. Please. I can’t go there. If there’s even a possibility—”
“Our best hope is to come up with a piece or two of compelling circumstantial evidence. You say you didn’t see Steve at the right time that night to establish an alibi, but it’s close time-wise, so it might make a jury think twice. Your eyewitness can easily be discredited. A defense attorney can use those things to instill reasonable doubt in the minds of the jury members.”
The thought of being thrown on the mercy of the criminal justice system was just about the most frightening thing Renee could possibly imagine. But somehow it didn’t seem quite so ominous with John beside her, now that she knew that he’d been checking things out, going out on a limb for her when he could have done the easy thing and taken her straight to jail.
Sandy had been right about him. So very right.
“But I’ve got to tell you, Renee. This could still end badly, no matter what I do.”
He didn’t define badly. He didn’t have to. If he didn’t find enough evidence to support her innocence, she could still go to jail. And because she was still locked up, even though he believed she was innocent, she knew there would come a day when he’d be forced to take her in and let the court decide what to do with her. Luckily, today didn’t appear to be that day.
Then she had a terrible thought. He’d just told her he believed in her innocence, even though he had nothing to support that belief. But what if he discovered evidence that pointed to her guilt? How would he feel about her then?
When they were walking through the woods, he’d asked her if she had a record. She’d told him no.
What if he found out about her juvenile record? Would he understand that she wasn’t that person anymore? That the adult woman she was now didn’t so much as toss a gum wrapper down on the sidewalk? That the memory of the terribly misguided girl she’d been was so painful she didn’t even like to think about it?
No. She couldn’t risk telling him. The records were sealed, and they wouldn’t be brought into evidence at a trial. He’d never know.
Then again, it wasn’t the trial she had to worry about.
Leandro had known about her juvenile record because some cop couldn’t keep his mouth shut. How likely was it that John wouldn’t find out about it, too? If he ever discovered she’d lied to him—about anything—he’d never trust a word she said again.
“John?”
He turned.
“There’s something I have to tell you.”
Her hands actually started to tremble. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to gain a little bit of control. “You asked me out in the woods if I had a record. I told you I didn’t, but...”
His eyes flickered with surprise, then immediately narrowed with suspicion.
“It was a long time ago,” she said quickly. “Juvenile. Five arrests, six—I don’t even remember. But I’ve been clean since then. I swear to God I have.”
His expression changed again, this time displaying the one thing she’d never wanted to see on his face again: doubt. And it just about killed her.
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” he asked sharply.
“Because I was afraid you’d think I couldn’t possibly have changed since then,” she said, trying to keep her voice sure and steady and failing miserably. “I was afraid if I told you I had a record, any kind of record, I didn’t stand a chance of staying out of jail. But I’m not that person anymore. Just because I did a little shoplifting and joyriding as a teenager doesn’t mean I committed armed robbery.”
“Shoplifting and joyriding, huh? Anything else?”
“Uh...maybe a little vandalism here and there. And public intoxication. I only got arrested once for that, and I think the cop might have let me go if I hadn’t poured beer on his shoes. But that’s it, John. I swear it is.”
“You poured beer on a cop’s shoes?”
“It was light beer.”
“Jesus, Renee.” He dropped his head to his hands and blew out a long breath. Then he started to get up off the bed. She reached out quickly and grabbed his arm, clutching it desperately, praying he wouldn’t leave.
“I did those things when I was a kid, John. I was just a dumb teenager with a bad attitude who didn’t give a damn about—”
“Just a dumb teenager? Where do you think adult criminals come from, Renee? They used to be dumb teenagers.”
“I know I lied to you. But I never will again. Never. Please, please don’t let this change things!”
He expelled a breath of disgust.
“There’s more. Please let me tell you everything.”
He stared down at his hands. At the wall. Anywhere but at her. But at least he didn’t get up and leave.
“When I was seventeen,” she went on, “I got caught riding around with my boyfriend in a car he’d stolen, and the judge threw me in a juvenile detention center for three months. God, how I hated that. Hated it. I’d never really understood until then what it would be like to be locked up, and I was starting to think seriously about my future, about how stupid I’d been and how I needed to make some changes. But I was still way too cool to let anyo
ne know that, so I got a special invitation to a ‘scared straight’ program at the state prison.”
She paused, the memory so awful she didn’t even want to think about it, much less talk about it. But she had to. John had to know everything that had happened to her back then or he’d never understand where she was coming from now.
“I didn’t think it would be any big deal. See, I’d been through all the drug-and alcohol-awareness stuff in high school, where they have a former addict or alcoholic come and tell his story and tell you not to do what he did. I guess I expected more of that. I was radiating my usual screw-you attitude, just daring them to slap my hand one more time.
“Then one of the women got up and started talking. No, actually she started screaming, like a boot-camp sergeant. I remember my heart was beating about a thousand times a minute.”
Renee paused again, the memory so vivid that even now it put her on the verge of tears.
“Then one of the women looked me up and down in this leering kind of way and ran her fingers through my hair. She told me not to worry, that a pretty girl like me would be real popular in prison. It was awful. I mean, awful. It was as if I were already in that prison, feeling every horrible moment of what my life would be like if I didn’t straighten up. And that’s when I finally made the decision to change. No matter what, I was never going to step foot in a prison again. Just the idea of going back to a place like that terrifies me.” She lowered her voice, trying to keep it from trembling. “I’ll do anything to stay out of jail, John. Anything.”
He didn’t respond. He merely stared straight ahead, his face tense and immovable, and she could tell he was still reserving the right to leave the room at any time and slam the door behind him.
“It was hard as hell after that,” she went on, “but I scraped myself off rock bottom. I got a waitress job at Denny’s. Polyester, sensible shoes. The whole ugly thing. After a while, though, I got better jobs. The night of the robbery, like I told you, I’d just gotten the assistant manager’s job at Renaissance. I’d wanted that job forever, and then I got it. I was so excited. I thought my life had finally turned around for good. And then...” She sighed. “And then this. I’m not that rotten teenager anymore, John. I didn’t rob that store. After what I went through at that prison, just the thought of taking one step outside the law makes me break out in a cold sweat. You have to understand that.”
He faced her. “Is that all?”
His voice had faded into a monotone, and she couldn’t read him. She couldn’t tell what he meant to do next. He’d put on that stoic cop face again, and she just couldn’t tell whether he believed she wasn’t that dumb, screwed-up kid anymore. Everything. You have to tell him everything.
“When I was in that prison, one of the women asked me if I screwed around. I told her no, but of course, that was a lie. I’d seen the backseat of every jacked-up, souped-up teenage hot rod in the city of Tolosa. And suddenly all I could think about was how lucky I was that in all those times I hadn’t gotten pregnant, because not one of those guys would have taken responsibility for anything.”
And then she thought about how all those encounters had made her feel, as if she needed to take a shower after every one to wash away the shame. Why was it that when John had touched her she hadn’t felt that way at all?
“What I said out there in the woods was true,” she told him. “I wasn’t trying to bribe you. All at once I thought about being locked up for years and never seeing a man, touching a man, and I remembered the way you’d kissed me in that cabin, and I wanted to...to feel that way again, feel more than that, just once, before...”
Frustration welled up inside her. “It’s not that I wanted it one last time, John. It’s that—” She closed her eyes and exhaled. “I wanted it for the first time.”
He looked at her with surprise. “But you said—”
“I know. I’m not a virgin. Not technically. But high school sex by the dashboard lights doesn’t really qualify.”
He looked at her with surprise. “How old are you, Renee?”
“Twenty-six.”
“You mean, in the past eight years—”
“That’s right. I haven’t.”
He stared at her, trying, she knew, to make some sense out of this mess he’d found himself in, trying to make some sense out of the way he felt about her. His dark eyes seemed deep and endless, and caught in his gaze now, she felt as if she’d only seen a tiny glimmer of the man he really was. His help was more than she ever could have hoped for. He was more than she ever could have hoped for. It wasn’t just any man she wanted so she could feel the heat of passion before the coldness of prison surrounded her.
It was John.
“You told me once that you like a woman who knows what she wants.” Renee spoke the words softly, singularly, her gaze never leaving his. “I know what I want.”
“What’s that?”
“You.”
He stared at her a long time. “Why me?”
“Because I trust you.”
“You might want to think twice about that.”
“Why?”
“God, Renee—don’t you know there’s only so much I can do where the evidence is concerned? I can’t guarantee—”
“When I say I trust you, I don’t mean just about that.” Understanding seemed to come to him slowly, and when she saw in his eyes that he knew what she was talking about, she felt embarrassment creep in. But she wasn’t about to turn away now.
“I don’t know what it’s like to have a man make love to me, John. I want him to be you.”
“If this is about gratitude—”
“Yes. It’s about gratitude. And a whole lot more.”
Seconds passed. She couldn’t imagine what he might be thinking, and for a moment she regretted everything she’d said. Then, slowly, the tension that had kept his body rigid and defensive seemed to melt away, and the wariness disappeared from his eyes. Very deliberately, he reached over to the nightstand and picked something up.
The key to the handcuffs.
“No matter what Sandy thinks,” he said, “the kinky stuff has never really appealed to me.”
He took her hand in his, then slid the key into the lock of the handcuff and twisted it. The cuff clicked open. Slowly he slid her wrist free, then disengaged the other cuff from the headboard and laid them on the nightstand. When he glanced back at her, she saw it in his eyes.
He wanted her, too.
At that moment, it was as if the very air in the room changed, became electrified, molecules dancing between them, drawing them together, and she could barely breathe for the anticipation she felt. For the first time she felt free to look at him, to stare at his handsome face without fear of his looking back at her with anger or recrimination. She focused on the purplish bruise that still ringed his eye, a reminder of how quickly he’d jumped to her defense when Leandro had grabbed her. She touched his face.
“I never wanted you to get hurt,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’ll heal.”
He leaned toward her, moving slowly and deliberately, and when she realized he intended to kiss her, she literally stopped breathing. When he finally touched his lips to hers, he did it so softly she wasn’t quite sure he’d even made contact. Then he pulled back a scant inch, waiting several long, excruciating moments before kissing her again—a gentle kiss that was only a faint whisper of what she ached for. She waited for him to kiss her hard and deep as he had out in the woods, but he didn’t. He slid his hand up and down her arm in slow, mesmerizing strokes, just firmly enough to make her realize he was actually touching her and just softly enough to drive her crazy. Still he was kissing her, always kissing her, every touch of his lips and his hands incredibly slow and endlessly erotic. It should have relaxed her. It didn’t. She grew edgier and edgier, her body sizzling, every nerve humming with anticipation.
Then he leaned away, and it was all she could do not to take him by the shirt collar and drag
him right back. His gaze drifted down her face, to her throat, to her breasts, and back up again.
“Take off the shirt.”
His voice wasn’t demanding. Instead, it was full of desire, and the very sound of it sent a wave of excitement sweeping through her. She wanted this. God, how she wanted it. So why was she still sitting there, frozen in place?
He watched her intently, waiting, she knew, for her to do as he asked, to take off her shirt, to initiate a far deeper intimacy with a man than she’d ever experienced before. But she remembered how things had been out in the forest, when she’d wanted him so much, only to feel shock and humiliation when he’d suggested she had an ulterior motive. He didn’t feel that way now. She knew he didn’t. But still she couldn’t get it out of her mind.
She swallowed hard. “You first.”
He gave her a tiny smile. “A show of good faith?”
“I’m sorry, John. It’s just that—”
“It’s just that this has been a game between us up to now, and you want to make sure the games are over.”
She turned away, feeling totally transparent, wondering how he could have known exactly what she was thinking. Was he thinking, too, about how she told him she trusted him, and now she was acting as if she didn’t?
He caught her chin with his fingertips and eased her back around. “It’s okay,” he whispered, then got up off the bed and stood beside it, reaching up to unbutton his shirt at the same time. Inch by inch he revealed himself, until finally he tugged the tail of the shirt out of his jeans, unbuttoned his cuffs, and pulled it completely off, revealing a lean, muscled chest that flexed sharply with every move he made. She remembered how she’d stared at him when they were out in that cabin, after he’d taken a shower and had been naked from the waist up. He’d noticed her staring, and she’d felt so embarrassed. Now that she could look at him all she wanted to, she took full advantage of the opportunity. Gorgeous. That was the first word that came to mind to describe him, followed by strong and sexy and a dozen more adjectives of total appreciation.