Second Chance - 03 - Blind Trust

by Terri Blackstock

  Sam dropped his gaze to the dirt at his feet. “We do what we have to do, Madeline. There’s nothing that says we have to like it or feel good about it. I had a gut instinct and I listened to it.”

  She nodded and sat erect, leaning her own head back. “On one hand, I was awed. If not for you, Clint and Sherry would be dead. You saved their lives single-handedly. You’re very good at what you do.”

  “And on the other hand?”

  Though they were only inches apart, that distance seemed much too far. And at the same time, she had never felt closer to or more in tune with anyone. “And on the other hand, I didn’t want to believe you had pulled that trigger.”

  “Why?” His voice came softly, like a caress.

  “Guess I wanted to believe you were an innocent. Mysterious, maybe, but pure and untainted.”

  “But I mean, why did you want to believe that?” he asked. “Even when you thought I was some criminal trying to kidnap you, you didn’t really seem afraid of me. It was as if you knew more about me than I had told you, even then.”

  Madeline looked into those silver eyes that mirrored her confusion and her tenderness, and she thought how obvious it was that he was a good man. If he could only see himself that way, she thought, he would understand her certainty. There would be no question about her faith in his sense of right.

  “I had a gut instinct and I listened to it,” she replied quietly.

  He held her gaze for a segment of forever. “Has it changed?” he asked, finally. “Now am I some tainted, evil man who courts danger?”

  She sighed, smiling slightly. “If only you were,” she whispered. “If only you were.”

  Their lips met in tentative offering, and Madeline was awed at the softness of lips that she had been tasting in her fantasies. He shifted in his chair and touched her arm, such a simple gesture, but its tenderness devastated her. Slowly, she parted her lips beneath his. Had she seen the violence and the tenderness in the same man, or was one just an image her heart had conjured up to protect her from the other?

  The kiss ended, but Sam did not pull back. He looked at her with eyes that had found the gold hidden away at the end of his rainbow. He pushed her dark curls away from her eyes, and let his fingertips sculpt the crest of her cheekbone and the delicate slant of her jaw. “I don’t know why he did it, but I’m glad God sent you here,” he whispered.

  “So am I,” she whispered, startled at the honesty of her emotions. “So am I.”

  Sherry sat alone on the couch, hugging her knees, waiting as Clint showered in his room. She saw the bloody shoe lying on the floor, and wished she had done more for Clint’s foot than put a Band-Aid on it. Was that what she had done with his life? Had she cured the immediate symptom of frustration and anger by promising to stand beside him? And what would be the end result? Would he be killed tomorrow because she hadn’t succeeded in changing his mind?

  So little time, she thought, as tears welled in her eyes. Too little time to waste fighting about something that could not be changed. Clint would go through with this whether she wanted him to or not, because he believed it was right. And how could she be worthy of a man like that if she didn’t stand behind him? She took a deep breath and thought about tomorrow. She would go to court with him, and hold onto him until they called him to the stand. And somehow her being there would make him invincible. It had to.

  The door opened and Clint came back in, holding a shoe box in his hands. He had showered and shaved, and he looked a hundred percent better than he had earlier. She wondered if it was the shower or her declaration of love that had done him the most good. He sat down next to her, one leg bent under him and the other on the floor.

  “What is that?” Sherry asked quietly, referring to the box. He smiled at her and dropped a kiss on her lips. Then he opened the box, revealing a stack of papers covered with his handwriting.

  “Your manuscript?” she questioned. “The book you said you wrote?”

  He shook his head. “There was no book. I kept thinking there would be. But every time I sat down to write, I thought of all the things I wanted to say to you. And so I did. On paper, I told you everything I felt. It’s like a journal. It was my only link to you.” He breathed a great sigh and handed the box to her. “In a way, it kept you with me. It kept me sane. I want you to have it now, if you want it.”

  She took it, smoothing her fingertips across the ink and the page that testified to Clint’s love, to the months of separation, to the fear and pain he suffered, and to the fact that he’d kept her in his mind as well as his heart.

  “We can’t get those eight months back, Sherry, but this might help to fill them in. And the next time we’re apart, it will hold us together again.”

  Somehow it sounded like a good-bye, but she told herself that he needed her to be strong. No more tears. There was too little time left. She would cling to the man who sat before her, and concentrate on the night’s reprieve they had been granted. And if the day came for him to be torn away from her again, she would turn gratefully to the soul he had written down and handed her in a cardboard box. Then she would grieve and regret and hate.

  But not before. Not before.

  Late that night, sleep wouldn’t come for Sherry. She lay on her side and thought of the man she loved so much who could be snatched from her tomorrow. Had she loved him enough? Had she loved him too much? Should she have held back and continued trying to make him succumb to her wishes? No, she told herself. That would only have made him more frustrated and tense, but it wouldn’t have changed his mind. And he needed all his wits about him for what he would face tomorrow.

  Tomorrow. Would it be the end of their nightmare, or merely a new chapter? What if Givanti’s circle was bigger than they thought? What if it reached farther? What if … ?

  Closing her eyes, she covered her forehead with her wrist. One thing at a time, she told herself. Just be there while he needs you tomorrow, and believe that there is an end to the terror. Just push through one moment at a time, for tomorrow would come too soon.

  The men sat around the breakfast table the next morning sipping their coffee quietly, nibbling at their food with a noticeable lack of appetite. Madeline, pale and drawn, sat across from Sherry next to Sam, who hummed softly. Sherry hadn’t known him long, but she had been around him enough to know that his singing often signified his anxiety.

  Clint sat with his arm draped across the back of Sherry’s chair, his ankle crossed over his knee, in a stance that made him look at ease, but Sherry knew better. She had helped him tie his tie this morning, had seen the distant, too-accepting look in his eyes, and felt the rigid set of his muscles. He had been quiet. Much too quiet.

  One by one, the men left the table to go and prepare for the hazardous trip to court. Clint sat still, gazing into his coffee cup. When they were, at last, alone, Sherry set her shaking hand over his. “We’ll be all right, Clint,” she whispered. “I’ll be with you, and—”

  “You can’t go,” Clint cut in, his eyes luminous with dread. “You have to stay here.”

  Sherry’s eyes filled with alarm, and she drew back her hand. “No. I’m going with you.”

  Clint shook his head firmly. “It’s been decided, baby. It’s too dangerous. You’ll be safer here.”

  “But I said I’d be with you,” she blurted, tears springing to her eyes, tears she had vowed not to cry. “I need to go, Clint. I need to be there. You can’t keep me away.”

  “It’s too dangerous.”

  “That’s why I have to go!” she shouted. “If you’re in danger, I want to be with you. We can survive it if we’re together. And if you don’t, I don’t want to either!”

  Clint caught his breath and pulled her against him, holding her with his eyes squeezed shut, as if it could keep out her terror and reasoning. “I know that feeling,” he whispered into her hair. “I do. But your father has left strict orders that you are not to come to the courtroom. And I agree with him.”

  Sherry was
trembling. “That’s because my father knows that you’ll be killed! If he’s willing to let you get killed for his case, then he’ll have to let me be too.”

  Clint pulled her back and took a deep, ragged breath. “I’m sorry, baby.”

  “No!” Sherry jerked out of his arms and stood up. “They can’t make me stay!”

  She bolted out of the kitchen. Her eyes wild, she approached each officer she could find, but no one would help her.

  Finally, she went to Sam, her eyes pleading. “Sam, you’ve got to let me come.”

  Sam shook his head. “I understand why you want to, Sherry. I would, too, in your place. But you have to understand and respect our decision.”

  “It’s not the decision. It’s the implication behind it. My father knows he’ll be hurt.”

  She looked at Sam, and set her hands on her hips, struggling with the tears brimming. “I want you to tell me how you can be sure that someone won’t blow him up before he even gets into that courtroom.”

  Sam looked at Clint with eyes that said he couldn’t be sure. “If he gets blown up, so will I.”

  “Oh, that’s comforting!” she said, throwing up her hands. “And to think I’ve been so concerned!”

  Sam sighed roughly. “I meant that I’m not going to leave his side until he’s on the stand. I’m a good cop, Sherry. And Clint’s a good friend.”

  Sherry turned back to Clint, the fight draining from her. “Clint, please …”

  Clint pulled her against his chest and walked her into the vacant living room. “I need your strength, Sherry,” he whispered, kissing the top of her head. “I need to know that you’re back here waiting for me. That you’ll marry me when I get back.”

  She looked up at him, as if he didn’t know how much he was asking. Strength was such a rare commodity for her lately. His black eyes hid a wealth of emotion—more than most people know in a lifetime—and yet he seemed to cope so well.

  “You will come back, won’t you? And it’ll all be over then?” She wouldn’t think about afterward. If they could just get through this part …

  “I’ll be back,” he assured her. “When do you want to get married?”

  “We should have done it yesterday,” she said. “We should have done it the first day you came back for me. We should have done it eight months ago.”

  “We can do it the day I come back, if your father can pull some strings.”

  Her eyes blanched to the color of frost. “I don’t want my father to be a part of it.”

  “He will be a part of it,” Clint said. “I want you to forgive him for this. He did the right thing.”

  “He put your life in danger. He’s still putting your life in danger.”

  “He did the best he could, and he will continue to.”

  She straightened the knot in Clint’s tie, and tried not to cry. “Let’s not talk about him,” she managed to say. “Let’s talk about our honeymoon. Where will we go when this nightmare is over?”

  “How about home?” he asked. “We could find a house and buy it, and move in and not come out for a few weeks. I want to hear you laugh again, and I want to see that smile creep back into those beautiful blue eyes.”

  “Come back to me and you will.” Her voice broke with the promise, and a tear escaped to roll down her cheek. “Come back to me, Clint.”

  “I’ll be back.”

  Someone cleared his throat from the doorway, and they both looked up. Gary Rivers leaned smugly against the jamb, watching them with disdain. “Sorry to interrupt this touching little scene,” he said. “But I believe Clint has an appointment.”

  Slowly, as if he were being called to the execution chamber, Clint let go of Sherry.

  “Don’t worry about her,” Gary said. “I promise to take good care of her.”

  Clint’s eyes whiplashed across the room. “What did you say?”

  “You heard me,” Gary said, his brown eyes challenging. “While you’re in court being a hero, I plan to make sure that nothing happens to Sherry.”

  Clint’s laugh was dry, grating. “You honestly think I’m going to get in a car and ride away, leaving scum like you behind to ‘protect’my fiancée? Who’s going to protect her from you?”

  Gary seemed to balance on the verge of laughter. “Sherry doesn’t need protection from me. Her father trusts me.”

  “Well, I don’t.” Clint’s neck reddened. “And I’m not leaving here without you.”

  Gary wasn’t convinced. “Come on, Jessup. All these months of exile and you expect me to believe you’d give up your little crusade because you don’t want me to stay with Sherry?”

  “You’d better believe it,” Clint bit out.

  Sam came to the door, clad in a navy hooded jacket and holding another in his hand. “You ready, pal?”

  Clint didn’t budge. “I’m not leaving him here with her. If he stays, I stay.”

  “You could take me with you,” Sherry ventured again.

  “I’m not taking you,” Clint said, “and I’m not leaving him.”

  Sam looked at Gary, who had lost his smugness. “All right, Rivers. You’re going with us. I’ll get someone else to stay. Go get one of the jackets and put it on.”

  “But Grayson—”

  “Grayson will understand,” Sam said.

  Shooting Clint one final, fiery glare, Gary left the room.

  “What if he doesn’t try to protect you?” Sherry asked. “What if he—”

  “He’ll do his job,” Clint assured her. “I’ll be fine.”

  “He will,” Sam said, tossing Clint the jacket he held. “Put it on,” he said. “With the hood up. It’s the latest style in sniper-proof wear.”

  “But you’re wearing one too. What if they mistake you for me?”

  “That’s the general idea, pal. And if they see ten of us in the same jacket, we’re liable to confuse the pants off of them.”

  “I’m looking forward to it,” Clint said dryly.

  Sherry watched them both pull up the hood. “It’s a good idea,” she said in a shaky voice.

  “It was your father’s idea,” Sam said. “Just like the ambulances.”

  “Ambulances?”

  Sam nodded toward the front door. “Come on. You won’t believe this.”

  Sherry followed them out the door and caught her breath at the sight of ten officers wearing hooded navy jackets, milling around three ambulances.

  “With everybody wearing the coats, and not a clue as to which ambulance holds the witness, there’s not a whole lot they can do, is there?” Sam said. Then he laid a comforting hand on her arm. “We’ll bring him back this way too, Sherry. We’ll take care of him.”

  “Who’s going to take care of you?” Madeline asked from the side of the house, where she leaned pensively against the wall.

  “I’ll take care of myself, pretty lady,” Sam said in a softer voice. The wind whipped Madeline’s hair across her mouth, and Sam stepped forward to push it back. “You’ll be here when I get back?”

  She shrugged and attempted a smile. “Where would I go?”

  “Good point,” he said. His hand lingered on her face, and his eyes softened. “I will be back, you know. I have this gut feeling.”

  “Hold onto it,” she said, but her voice cracked.

  The engines cranked to life, signifying that the time had come.

  Sherry clung tighter to Clint’s arm, but she reached out for Sam’s as well. “I haven’t been very nice to you,” she choked out, tears blurring her eyes. “But you’ve been good to Clint. Will you ride in the same car with him?”

  A poignant smile sauntered across Sam’s face. “You bet I will. And I expect to be best man in the wedding when we get back.”

  Sherry nodded and lowered her eyes. She saw Gary look back at her with a sullen expression, and he got in one of the cars—thankfully not the one Clint was riding in. Clint took her face in gentle hands and kissed her one last time. “I love you, Sherry,” he whispered.

&nbs
p; “I love you too, Superman,” she said, before he turned and dashed into the ambulance.

  She and Madeline were left behind with three guards as the ambulances started their procession to Shreveport and the trial.

  “Are we all right?” Sherry asked in a tremulous voice as the cars disappeared from sight.

  “I hope so,” was all Madeline said before going into the house, to bask in her own despondency.

  Madeline was washing the dishes when Sherry found her in the kitchen, stacking them on a drainer without anything under it to catch the water, but Sherry didn’t correct her. The fact that she was doing such a domestic chore at all was a major indication of her state of mind.

  A wet cup slipped from her hand and crashed onto the floor. Muttering, Madeline stooped to pick it up, but she turned her back to Sherry when she saw her watching.

  It was too late. Sherry had already seen the rare tears forging shiny paths down her friend’s face. Swallowing back her own fragile ball of emotion blocking her throat, Sherry pulled out a chair and sat down. “I’ve been pretty caught up in my own troubles,” she said. “I just realized that you’re getting attached to Sam, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah.” Madeline gave a soft, unspirited laugh. “Imagine me falling for some guy who carries a gun and doesn’t know where—or if—he’s going to live from day to day. All this time I’ve been waiting so patiently for God to send me the right guy. Sam’s not really what I expected.”

  “If anybody could fall for him, you could.”

  Madeline wiped at her eyes and tossed the shattered remains of the cup into the trash can. “Are you implying that I fall too easily?”

  “No. I wasn’t even thinking of Gene at the studio, or the Italian circus acrobat, or the paratrooper, or that guy who made like Evel Knievel every time he cranked up his bike.” They both forced a smile. “No, I meant that if anybody could handle someone with such an unpredictable occupation, you could. I’ve never met anybody with such acceptance. Such an ability to take one day at a time. I envy you for it. You put so much value on what you have, and don’t even seem to worry about tomorrow.”