by Sandra Brown
Was she still at the station? Probably not. It was late. He hoped she wasn’t. She had no business driving home this late alone.
What in hell was he thinking?
She despised him. She had made a campaign of making him look like a bungling buffoon at best and a political manipulator at worst. But here he was, like an idiot, worrying about her driving home alone on ice-slick streets.
Face it, buddy, she’s never off your mind.
That was the hell of it. Furiously he would watch her reports on TV, then go to bed and dream erotic dreams about her. It didn’t make any sense to a man who was usually pragmatic and logical to a fault.
He had even gone so far as to reexamine his motives for the way he had handled the city council scam. Had he been out for Wynne’s head just because he happened to desire the man’s widow? Rarely did Hunter question a decision once he made it. Such self-analysis was a new experience for him.
But no matter how many times he turned the question over in his mind, he knew he had done the right thing. All his actions had been within the law, motivated by his duty to uphold it. That Kari Stewart could have ever made him doubt himself only showed how much influence she had over him.
“I’m going to shut her up this time,” he said now.
Guy choked on the swallow of tepid Coke he’d just taken. “You’re going to put a muzzle on Kari Stewart? How?”
“By getting the judge to bar cameras from the courtroom. Without a video camera to back her up, she’s virtually ineffective. This is a hot trial. It’s made national news already. We’ll have a tough enough job without it turning into a circus.”
“This judge likes his publicity, Hunter. Do you think he’ll do it?”
Hunter returned to his desk and sank into the chair. He pulled on his glasses and picked up another file. “I’m going to do my best to see that he does.”
* * *
His best wasn’t good enough. The judge denied his request. “Let’s give it a day or two and see how it goes. If it becomes as rowdy as you predict, I’ll reconsider.”
Hunter cursed all the way back to his office. His mood didn’t improve the next day when the trial opened and the first reporter to question him as he entered the courtroom was Kari Stewart.
“Is it true that you tried to have cameras and sketch artists banned from the courtroom?”
Who the hell were her sources? If he had informants like that, there wouldn’t be a criminal left on Denver streets. “Yes, I did.” God, she was gorgeous. A red sweater with a high cowl neck made her complexion glow and her hair look like a golden flame.
“Why, Mr. McKee?”
“I have no further comment at this time. If you’ll excuse me.”
He went around the cluster of reporters. They followed him into the large corner courtroom and competed for the best seats. The trial commenced.
That evening according to Kari Stewart’s report on WBTV news, the accused was portrayed as a victim of his environment. The audience was treated to shots of him crying on his mother’s shoulder. He was quoted as having said that he was remorseful, that he’d been forced to murder his father. Hunter knew better. The report dwelt on the deprived environment the accused had grown up in.
The next morning when he entered the courtroom, Kari flashed him a bright guileless smile that caused his eyes to darken threateningly.
To Kari’s surprise, he came directly toward her. “Ms. Stewart, will you meet me for coffee after we adjourn today?”
The invitation almost struck her speechless. Mike, sitting beside her, gazed on, equally dumbfounded. “No, thank you,” she said politely. “I’ll have to get back to the station to edit my story for tonight.”
“I promise it won’t take long.”
His tone of voice was just challenging enough to make her reconsider. She wasn’t about to back down. Ever. “All right. Where?”
“The Ship Tavern at the Brown Palace?”
Again, she was surprised but hoped she didn’t show it. “I’ll be there fifteen minutes after court is adjourned.” He nodded curtly and withdrew.
“What’s that all about?” Mike asked from the side of his mouth as the judge came in.
“I haven’t the foggiest,” Kari replied in a whisper. “But I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Chapter Six
THE LOBBY OF THE BROWN PALACE HOTEL, A DENVER landmark, was one of Kari’s favorite places. It settled around one like a comfortable, warm shawl. The stained-glass ceiling, several stories above, shed a soft glow and added to the feeling that the lobby was an overgrown Victorian parlor. The paneling shone with the patina of age. The brass appointments sparkled. The potted palms flourished. The furniture invited visitors to lounge. Everything was sedate and understated and tended to make one want to whisper to maintain the restful atmosphere.
Down the hall, the Ship Tavern, with its rich maritime motif, was no ordinary bar. It was as cozy and gracious and intimate as the lobby.
It wasn’t crowded at that time of day. The lunch rush was over. Kari felt awkward going into a dimly lit downtown hotel bar in the middle of the afternoon. Only a few men, probably out-of-town businessmen, were loitering at the long polished bar. She had no trouble spotting Hunter at one of the scattered tables. She wended her way toward him, trying to ignore the knowing looks the other patrons gave one another.
Hunter stood and waited until she sat down across from him before he slid back into his chair. “Thank you for coming. Are you hungry?”
“No. Just something to drink, please.”
“What would you like?”
A waiter wearing an austere black suit had materialized from nowhere. “Perrier and lime, please,” Kari said to him, smiling.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Stewart,” he said formally.
“You know me?”
“From television. It’s a pleasure to serve you. May I say that you’re even more attractive in person than you are on TV?”
“You may, and thank you.”
He turned to Hunter, apparently expecting another celebrity. “I’m nobody,” Hunter said with a wide grin. “But I would like a black coffee.”
“Yes, sir.”
Hunter was still smiling when he turned back to Kari. He wasn’t wearing his glasses. She couldn’t help but notice that the lines forming sunbursts around his eyes squinted together when he smiled. So, he was good-looking. So what? “Why did you choose this place for our meeting?”
“I like it,” he said simply.
“I like it, too, but it isn’t exactly conducive to … to … Never mind.”
“Come on, what? Isn’t conducive to what?”
“Isn’t conducive to anything you and I might have to say to each other. Do you know what those men at the bar are thinking?”
He glanced over his shoulder, then turned back, leaning across the table in order to hear her. She was barely whispering. “Mind reading isn’t one of my strong points. What are they thinking?”
She didn’t like his mischievous, teasing manner. “They’re thinking that I’m either a call girl transacting the business part of our arrangement, or your illicit lover.”
Hunter’s eyes locked with hers a moment before he looked back at the men. “Is that so? Shame on them.”
“I’m leaving.”
“Wait.” His hand shot across the table to trap hers.
He was being charming and joking and affable. She didn’t want him to be charming and joking and affable with her. She didn’t want him to pretend to be anything but the calculating opportunist she knew him to be. “I’ve got work to do, Mr. McKee.”
“What are you thinking? That I deliberately chose this place to make you feel uncomfortable?”
“It crossed my mind,” she said tightly.
“Damn!” he said, lifting his hand off hers, but leaving the impression that he was flinging hers away. “There’s just no winning with you, is there? I asked you to meet me here because it is private. I didn’t think you’d
want to be seen with me in any of the coffee shops closer to the courthouse. They’re always crowded with people we both know.”
She was free to stand up and walk out, but she remained in her chair and stared at him across the checked tablecloth. His exasperation was evident as his eyes bored into hers.
The waiter chose that tense moment to bring their drinks. He withdrew without speaking. She sipped her mineral water, wishing that she had heeded her instincts and never brought up the subject of their meeting place. Now, he was the injured party and she looked like a petulant brat. It seemed there was no common ground for them to meet on. She wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible.
“What did you want to see me about?”
He had wanted to avoid the issue as long as he could. When would he have another opportunity to be alone with her, to sit and look at her? He had put her on the defensive again and now he had to change tactics before she bolted without hearing him out. “Are you all right?”
She responded with a soft, surprised laugh. “Of course I’m all right. What do you mean?”
“I can’t forget how ill you looked that night I came to your house. Are you fully recovered from your …”
“My miscarriage?” The bitterness behind the question was plain. “Yes. Physically, I’m recovered. Emotionally, I will take a long time to heal.”
Why should she be delicate about it and spare his feelings? He had contributed to her poor emotional and physical condition, though she couldn’t swear that he was the sole reason she had lost her baby.
In his mind, Hunter said a foul expletive. Would he ever stop feeling guilty? Rationally he knew that nothing he’d done had caused her to lose her baby. At least, not directly. But every time he thought about it, he became sick to his stomach. The topic should be left alone, but like a sore tooth, he kept going back to it, probing it just to see if any of the pain had diminished.
“Did your husband know about the baby?”
“No. I didn’t find out I was pregnant until several weeks after Thomas … died.”
She must have become pregnant during one of their last nights together. Jealousy pumped through his system like poison. It was irrational and downright stupid. But he couldn’t stand the thought of her making love with another man, even her husband.
It occurred to Kari that this conversation was too personal to be having with a stranger. Or was he a stranger? Why did she always feel that he knew what she was thinking?
It must be the intent, penetrating way he sometimes looked at her. Like now. It made her uneasy. She pushed her unfinished drink aside. “Mr. McKee, I appreciate your concern over my health, but I can’t believe you made this appointment to discuss just that.”
Her sarcasm irritated him. How could she be so damn hostile when all he could think about was how much he wanted her? What if they were lovers meeting for a drink before going upstairs to a room, where they would make love for the rest of the evening?
Ah, that would be a different story. She wouldn’t be frowning; she would be smiling the mellow smile of a woman who knows her lover is dying to have her. They would be sitting close, nuzzling, exchanging small, pecking kisses. Maybe, just maybe, her hand would be riding the top of his thigh. Maybe, just maybe, he’d accidentally-on-purpose graze her breast with the backs of his fingers. She’d act astonished at his boldness, playfully swat his hand away, but her eyes would be shining with heightening desire.
What was he trying to do? Drive himself insane? But, God, he wanted to be deep inside her. He wondered what she’d do if he pulled her into his arms and kissed that vexed tightness off her mouth, kissed it until her lips parted and worked over his hungrily.
Probably shoot him, he thought grimly and forced himself back to the business at hand.
“You’re right,” he said tautly. “I didn’t invite you for coffee to discuss your health. I came to ask you to bury the hatchet.”
She blinked. “What?”
“You know what I’m talking about.”
“I’m afraid I don’t,” she said coolly.
“The hell you don’t.” He folded his arms on the table and leaned forward. “I know why you don’t like me. I regret it, but I can accept it. Only this time you’re going too far. You’ve become an obstruction to the wheels of justice.”
“The wheels of justice!” she exclaimed. “Where’d you get that phrase? Perry Mason reruns?”
He was trying to sound stern and had ended up sounding trite and foolish. So he would appeal to her reason. “You claim that all your stories are unbiased.”
“They are.”
“Do you call a tearful interview with the mother of an accused killer unbiased?”
“I drew no conclusions.”
“You didn’t have to. The viewers did that on their own. But you failed to mention how that woman had stood by year after year and let her husband beat the kid until he became what he is. You didn’t ask her why she failed to seek psychological help for him when he was brought in on an attempted rape charge. He was twelve at the time.”
She knew he was right, but she couldn’t admit it, even to herself. “I didn’t know that.”
“And you didn’t make it your business to find out.”
“I don’t need you to tell me how to do my job!”
“Exactly my point. I don’t act as your critic, so please desist in acting as mine.” Their voices had risen to an angry pitch. They became aware of it simultaneously and both glanced worriedly toward the men at the bar. One winked and saluted Hunter with his highball glass.
Hunter looked back at Kari. The last thing he wanted to be doing was arguing with her. He wanted to be weaving his hands through that mass of blond hair and nibbling on the pearl in her earlobe.
“Your colleagues are going to be very upset if we close that courtroom to cameras,” he said quietly.
“Meaning that’s what you’ll do if I don’t depict you as a white knight?”
He sighed. So much for reasoning and friendly persuasion. “Meaning that that’s what I’ll do if you continue to make the accused out to be a victim, no matter how subtly you do it.”
“Of course, you realize that television is a visual medium. Without visuals, I don’t have a story.”
His smile oozed charm. “Of course.”
She looked away in exasperation. He was admitting that he would do all he could to render her useless. “You tried to have cameras barred once. The judge turned you down.”
“I think he’ll listen this time. If the press swings too far either way, the defense could set up a hue and cry for a mistrial. I don’t think the judge wants to release a killer on a technicality.”
She gathered up her purse. “I hardly want a killer running loose on the streets, Mr. McKee.” She slid from her chair and stood up. He did the same.
“Then, you promise to be less of a distraction in the courtroom?”
“Do I distract you?”
She tilted her head back to look up at him. She had intended to sound flippant, not flirtatious. But the way his eyes lanced down into hers lent another connotation to her question. She would have given anything to recall it.
“Yes. You distract me.”
More disturbing than his eyes was his compelling voice. It was low and husky, raspy and intimate. Though they weren’t touching anywhere, she could feel that voice seeping through her clothes, touching her everywhere.
“I’ve got to get back to work,” she said quickly, wondering why she was suddenly finding it hard to breathe. “I’m making you no promises, but thank you for the drink.”
Hunter watched her go, wondering if he’d gotten his message across. She was damnably high strung.
Damnably desirable.
Sitting at the editing console, Kari did some serious soul-searching. Twice she viewed the unedited tape Mike had shot for her. It was unbiased. The focus of her story would depend on how she wrote her voice track. And it wouldn’t be so much what she said, as how she said
it.
Whether he had planned to or not, Hunter McKee had pushed the right button to make her stop and think about what she’d been doing. Her personal feelings for him shouldn’t matter. They shouldn’t dictate the slant of her stories.
In the long run, where would this lead? What would she gain? Perhaps the scorn of other journalists. She was well thought of by her professional peers. Was her vendetta against Hunter McKee worth risking her reputation as a good reporter?
But even more important, what was this vendetta doing to her as a person? She knew her father wouldn’t have approved of her attitude toward McKee. Pinkie was disenchanted and made no secret of it. Was everyone else right and she wrong? Had she misjudged the man?
Looking at it objectively, not taking into account her personal feelings, she supposed that McKee was only doing what his job demanded of him. She still thought he was a scoundrel. She still didn’t like the way he had handled the evidence against Thomas, nor the way he had bullied her in the courtroom. She especially didn’t like the way he talked to her, looked at her, or made her feel when he looked at her.
But, and that was a crucial but, she was a news reporter, not an editorialist. Her professional reputation was as much at stake as his. What else could she do but report impartially?
She felt good about her story an hour later when she handed it to the producer completed and ready for airing. There was a lightheartedness to her step as she left the building for home. She had only one name for the feeling welling up inside her: relief. McKee would no doubt be glad to have her off his back, but she was just as glad to be rid of that compulsion to bring him down.
At his apartment, Hunter watched the evening news. He held his breath as Kari’s report from the courthouse was introduced. When the story was finished, he let out a great long expulsion of air. She had been factual; her attitude toward him had been tempered considerably.
Thank God, he thought. They were over that hurdle. He wouldn’t have to worry about her anymore.