Taken to the Edge

by Kara Lennox

  “They acted like they had proof I did it. They asked the same questions over and over, and then they gave the answers, and all I had to do was nod my head and they would let me go home. And I was so tempted—so tempted to say yes, I did it, just so they would let me out of that room.”

  Ford pulled over to the side of the road. “I’m sorry the police did that to you. But it’s how they operate. It’s how guilty suspects are broken down. You have to manipulate their emotions.”

  “You say ‘they’ and ‘them,’ but they’re your methods, too. Even in high school—same questions over and over. Same assumption of guilt.”

  He nodded, awarding her the point. “Unfortunately, innocent people like you do get caught up in those methods.”

  Ford found a box of tissue and handed it to her. She grabbed a wad and wiped at her face. “So you’re willing to believe that maybe, just maybe, I didn’t steal those art supplies?”

  He looked away. “There certainly wasn’t enough evidence to draw that conclusion.”

  “I’m asking what you believe. Not then, but now.”

  “Robyn, it was years ago.”

  She considered pressing him but she suspected she wouldn’t like the answer she got. So she dropped it. Her innocence in a high school theft wasn’t the point here.

  “I shouldn’t have brought you with me,” he said. “This is too hard for you. And it’s only going to get harder.”

  “No, please, don’t shut me out.” She pushed thoughts of the past out of her mind and sniffed back the last of her tears. “I’m okay now. No more breakdowns.”

  “I can’t do this job if I’m constantly worried about hurting you. You’re right, I can’t possibly understand what you’ve gone through or how it feels to lose a child in such a terrible way. But you’re wrong about one thing. I did lose a child.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  SHE GASPED AND LOOKED at him sharply.

  “My ex-wife had a miscarriage,” he added hastily.“Oh, God, I’m sorry.”

  “It’s not the same as what you—”

  “Oh, Ford, of course it’s the same. Losing a child is a devastating loss no matter what the circumstances. Sometimes I tend to believe I’m the only one who has ever suffered. I get self-absorbed.”

  “Please, don’t apologize. I didn’t tell you that so you could feel sorry for me. I just don’t want you to think of me as some heartless machine.”

  Robyn suddenly did see Ford in a different light. She’d known he had an ex-wife—he’d mentioned her once. But she’d never pictured him as a family man, as having any paternal inclinations at all. To her he was a means to an end, part of a justice machine that for once was going to work in her favor.

  He wasn’t heartless. He was focused on a goal. If he had to offend a selfish, dishonest minister’s wife to save Eldon’s life—even if she was some kid’s mommy—wasn’t that an acceptable trade-off?

  With a start, Robyn realized Ford was touching her hair, as he’d done earlier when she’d freaked out about some damn thing. He probably thought she was a fragile little flower that he had to tiptoe around.

  His touch felt way too good. Not exactly comforting, as he no doubt meant it to be. In fact, the heat of his big hand on her scalp made her want to squirm in her seat.

  She reached up and took his hand, pulling it away from her hair. “I’m okay now.” Her voice came out breathy, like Marilyn Monroe’s. She didn’t let go of his hand.

  Afraid to look at him, afraid she would see her own sudden heat reflected in his eyes, she stared down at her lap.

  She heard him unbuckle his seat belt, felt him slide across the big bench seat toward her. He slid one arm around her shoulders, and for a moment she thought he’d take her in his arms and kiss her. She kind of hoped he would.

  But he pulled her against his shoulder instead. “I’m an insensitive bastard. I suck. But I’m not likely to change my ways. I know how to do my job and I’m good at it. Trust me.”

  “I do,” she insisted.

  “If you want to hang close, I won’t stop you. But you have to promise me something.”

  “I won’t break down again, I swear. It’s just that—”

  “I wasn’t going to ask that of you,” he said. “What I want you to promise is that you won’t hold back. You won’t stifle your feelings. If you’re upset, let it out. Because I won’t be able to sleep at night if I think you’re going home alone and crying your eyes out because I trampled all over your feelings. If I act like a pigheaded clod, at least give me the chance to apologize for it.”

  She looked up at him. “Deal.”

  That was when she realized she did see something in his eyes, some flicker of desire, the twin to her own small flame that now burned even brighter.

  Oh, no-no-no, this wouldn’t do. She started to wiggle out of his grasp, then realized she had nowhere to go. He had her pinned against the door.

  They shared the same air, almost the same breath. In the span of a heartbeat, she no longer wanted to escape. In another heartbeat, she wanted his kiss more than oxygen.

  It should have felt awkward as hell, but instead it felt like the exact right thing to do. They’d both bared their souls, at least a little. It seemed only fitting they punctuate their true confessions with a friendly kiss.

  But this didn’t feel merely friendly. She’d seen those old movie clichés of fireworks and waves crashing against rocks, but this was the first time she’d understood what those visual analogies meant.

  Oh, God, he smelled good. The smell of his skin was intoxicating.

  When his mouth finally made contact with hers, it was a sweet kiss, a gentle kiss, and Robyn didn’t want it to end. But it did, all too quickly.

  Ford eased away from her. “Um, yeah. That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

  “Weak moment,” Robyn agreed, then laughed nervously. “We can pretend it never did.” As if she could put it out of her mind. No way. She wished she could bottle the way she felt right now, all tingly and warm and strangely right with the world.

  Ford slid across the seat, resuming his spot behind the wheel. “I’ve wanted to do that ever since high school.”

  “Yeah, me, too.”

  He started the car. “You? The girl who so thoroughly snubbed me in the cafeteria, when all I wanted to do was help her study Shakespeare?”

  “Oh, yeah. ‘The Bard.’”

  “God. You had to remind me what a pretentious ass I was. I rehearsed that opening line for ten minutes before I walked up to you. And you shot me down with a few icy words.”

  Robyn had a hard time believing him, then and now. He wasn’t the only one who’d been crushing in high school. She’d been watching him at football practice for weeks, fantasizing about various improbable ways they could meet and get naked. But when he’d opened the door, she’d slammed it in his face, terrified that it was some kind of joke, that he would lure her into opening up, get past her defenses and find some vulnerability to exploit. People had been doing that all her life.

  “I did behave rather badly,” she admitted. “If you were sincere.”

  “I was.”

  “For what it’s worth, I thought a lot about kissing you, too.” Her face warmed, and she hoped he didn’t look over at her, because she was sure her face was turning the shade of a ripe tomato.

  Amazing how one potent memory could instantly make her feel like a gawky teenager again.

  Ford glanced over at her, studying her out of the corner of his eye. “Huh.”

  “Well, now we’ve satisfied our curiosity. Back to business.”

  “Right.” He cleared his throat and made a big deal of refastening his seat belt. “I didn’t tell you about the wig fiber.” He started up the car and launched a detailed explanation of what the Project Justice evidence analyst had found. Robyn didn’t understand half of it—science had never been her forte. She understood the gist of it, though. They had a small chance at tracking down that wig.

  But she had a ha
rd time focusing on the specifics of how, when and why. Her mind was on that kiss.

  She hadn’t dated since she’d lost Justin. In fact, she hadn’t experienced so much as a passing urge toward any man until she’d seen Ford again. The part of her that connected with others on an intimate level had died along with her son. She’d believed that her students satisfied any emotional needs she might have; she poured her heart and soul into reaching those kids and being a positive influence in their lives.

  Apparently she’d been wrong. Something inside her, long asleep, had awakened—at a damned inconvenient time, too. She wished she had someone to talk to, but she simply didn’t have any close female friends.

  It was going to be a long drive back to Green Prairie.

  THE CALLER ID TOLD ROBYN it was Ford calling. She glanced at the clock and realized she had slept much later than normal.

  Her heart pounding, she picked up the phone, anxious to hear his voice. Yesterday had ended on a strange, awkward note when he’d dropped her off at the school parking lot to pick up her car. He’d waited to see that she got safely into her car and that it started, his concern for her welfare warming her heart.But nothing had been said; he’d made no further reference to the kiss, when it was all she could think about. She had said they could pretend it hadn’t happened, but was he even capable of that? She certainly wasn’t.

  “Hello, Ford,” she said, trying to inject just the right note of cordiality into her voice.

  “Hi. Are you up for some strictly unglamorous phone work?” He explained about calling the wig retailers, and she was all for it.

  “I’m ready to do anything other than sit and wait for the phone to ring.”

  “This is normally the kind of thing we get our college interns to do,” he said, still apologizing. “But one of them is sick, and the other two are already committed to helping with another case.”

  “I don’t mind, really,” she assured him.

  “Can you bring Trina with you? I know she’s angry, but we need her on the team. The more people we have working on this, the more ground we can cover. And we have a lot of ground.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Robyn had promised.

  So she called and made nice to Trina, who had sounded strained, but less emotional.

  “If Ford wants me there, I guess I should go,” she’d said. “But I’m not happy with the direction he’s going.”

  “He knows what he’s doing,” Robyn assured her. “Besides, what we’re doing today has nothing to do with…with what we talked about the other day. We’re going to help with that wig fiber.”

  “Okay. I’ll pick you up in a few minutes.”

  “I can drive. You drove last time.”

  “No offense, Robyn, but if we’re going to drive on Houston freeways, I’d rather be in my car. It’s bigger and safer. And I need my lumbar support.”

  “Your air-conditioning probably works better than mine anyway,” Robyn said, unsure why Trina’s request irked her. Trina liked to be in control, that was one thing. She was always the center of attention during meetings with lawyers.

  Then again, it was her husband they were trying to save, not Robyn’s. Perhaps Trina should be running the show.

  They said little during the hour-long drive. Robyn had struggled to get a conversation going, carefully avoiding the subject of Eldon’s infidelity, but after a while the effort had been too much, and they’d lapsed into silence, letting a Christina Aguilera CD fill the car instead.

  The blatantly romantic, sexy music made Robyn think of Ford again. She couldn’t get that kiss out of her mind. And though she knew it didn’t mean anything, that spur-of-the-moment embrace that had caught them both unawares, she couldn’t help the way her body responded every time she thought of Ford, which was about every thirty seconds or so.

  Totally inappropriate on her part. She was trying to save a man’s life, and personal feelings would only get in the way of that goal.

  So long as she didn’t act on her feelings—act again—she supposed it didn’t do any harm to fantasize. Sometimes she needed the distraction. When her revived grief threatened to swamp her, she would just think about Ford’s lips on hers or the feel of his hand smoothing her hair, and any threatening tears would back off.

  Trina pulled into a parking spot on Main Street near Project Justice, which was housed in a landmark building in the historic district. After feeding the meter some quarters, they stood on the sidewalk, staring at the imposing edifice. It was three stories of red brick with cream-colored masonry trim around the doors and gracefully arched windows. Two wide stone steps led up to the oak double doors, bracketed by a pair of old copper-sheathed gaslights.

  Robyn thought it was one of the most beautiful buildings in the whole city. Houston was a relatively new city, and few of its early structures had been saved.

  “I wonder why they chose this old place,” Trina said. “The guy who started Project Justice has millions, doesn’t he?”

  Robyn shrugged. “Maybe they like it here.” She climbed the steps, unwilling to argue taste with Trina. But Trina stopped her with a hand to her arm.

  “Listen, before we go in there, I just want to say I’m sorry for the way I acted, storming out of the meeting that way. You just shocked me, that’s all.”

  Robyn knew how it felt, so she just nodded.

  “I can’t believe Eldon was unfaithful to me,” she said, jutting her chin forward belligerently. “But I want to know—what else is Ford going to hit me with? If there are going to be any unpleasant bombshells, I’d like advance warning.”

  Ford had wanted to tell Trina about their interview with Eldon, but Robyn had thought it best not to bring it up. So long as Heather flatly denied knowing Eldon, she was no good to their case anyway.

  “Are you sure you want to know?” Robyn asked.

  Trina folded her arms and leaned against the brick wall. “What now?” In her hot-pink jeans and hand-painted silk tank top, she could have been posing for a fashion photo.

  “Eldon confirmed that there was a woman. We located her in Louisiana. She’s a minister’s wife, and she denied everything.”

  “You see there?” Trina said, latching onto anything that might bolster her case. “Your mystery woman is a preacher’s wife, not some husband-stealing bimbo.”

  The irony of that statement was apparently lost on Trina, who’d just described herself, but Robyn of course let it pass. She’d never confronted Trina about her affair with Eldon while he was still married, because she’d always figured, what would it help?

  But sometimes Trina made it so tempting.

  “Whatever Eldon told you,” Trina continued, “he was probably just yanking your chain, or grasping at straws. He’s desperate, you know. Who wouldn’t be?”

  “You’re probably right,” Robyn said. Trina’s reaction only cemented her opinion that Trina shouldn’t be told everything—whether she had a right to the information or not.

  Project Justice occupied the entire building. Robyn immediately felt the energy of the place when she walked into the foyer, with its tall ceiling, polished wood floors and grand chandelier. A frosted glass screen separated the foyer from the rest of the first floor, but through it, Robyn saw the shadows of people moving about and heard the muted voices of those working beyond her vision.

  On one wall was a large gold seal, the Project Justice logo. Around it were framed newspaper clippings describing the various successes the foundation boasted. How many innocent men and women had been freed because of Ford’s work, and that of his colleagues? A more sobering thought was, how many more were still imprisoned because no one had championed their cause?

  Then her gaze settled on the receptionist, and she froze to the floor. The woman had to be seventy-five if she was a day, but she was no sweet little old lady. She had a mane of long, curly silver hair, bright purple glasses, red lipstick and gigantic, dangly red rhinestone earrings.

  As she set aside her Soldier of Fortune maga
zine, the look she gave Robyn and Trina could only be described as an imposing glare.

  “May I help you?” Her booming voice made the word help sound like a curse.

  “I’m, um, Robyn Jasperson.” Robyn hated the tremor in her voice. She had every right to be here—had been invited here. So why did this woman terrify her? “Ford Hyatt invited me, er, us, to come here.”

  “Hmph,” said the woman, whose nameplate identified her as Celeste. “Show me ID.”

  Robyn reached obediently into her purse. She had a “scary teacher voice” that she used when any student gave her trouble, and usually it made them jump to obey. But she wasn’t used to anyone using that technique on her.

  Trina didn’t appear at all cowed. She stepped forward and Robyn braced herself. Part of her wanted to watch these two women tangle. But only a small, evil part of her. A conflict would slow them down.

  “We’re here to help on an important case. Don’t you recognize us?”

  Celeste eyed Trina up and down. “Can’t say as I do. That’s why I asked for ID. I’m not singling you out, you know. Boss’s orders. No one gets through here without showing me ID.”

  Robyn handed over her driver’s license. “Just do it, Trina.”

  “Oh, all right.” Trina pouted and made a production out of pulling everything from her tiny purse before finding a slim wallet and a driver’s license.

  Celeste studied the IDs, then the women, with a critical eye. “You two are related?”

  “No, we—” Robyn started, but Trina inter rupted.

  “Can you just call Ford Hyatt, please? We’re on a tight schedule.”

  “I’ll do that.” Celeste relinquished the licenses, setting them on the polished marble counter between them with long, elegant hands. Her nails were painted bright red.

  Trina reclaimed her license and restuffed her purse, her short, jerky movements broadcasting her irritation. Robyn reminded herself to cut Trina some slack. She had to be beside herself with anxiety over her husband.

  Celeste gave Trina a sour look before picking up the phone and dialing an extension. “Mr. Hyatt, two ladies here to see you. Both seem to be Ms. Jasperson.”