by Connie Mason
Testimony from Miss Grundig concurred with Kellerman’s, and was even more condemning and judgemental. Acquittal looked hopeless and Belle resigned herself to a guilty verdict. Dimly she wondered why Casey had chosen to absent himself from the trial. He was probably suffering guilt for lying to her. All that nonsense about wanting her trust and not allowing her to go to prison was nothing but false words and empty promises. She began to doubt her own wisdom. Marrying Casey and placing her son into his keeping had been rash and foolish. As the testimony continued, Belle’s thought process completely shut down.
* * *
Casey wasn’t going to give up, not even on the day of the trial. He had to find Hopkins. He still felt Hopkins was the key to the case. He and Mark left the house before dawn, split up and conducted a search of the dives and boarding houses along the waterfront. When the time set for the trial arrived, Casey bemoaned the fact that he couldn’t be with Belle, but figured she wouldn’t miss him anyway, given the way she felt about him. And continuing the search was far more important than giving Belle moral support.
Then, the miracle actually happened. Casey found Harry Hopkins in one of the most disreputable saloons on the waterfront. He was hunched over a mug of ale, his eyes half closed, his face the color of ashes. Casey sat down in the chair opposite him.
Hopkins looked up. “You found me,” he said without rancor. “Thought you might. I didn’t kill McAllister. Thought about it often enough but I didn’t do it.”
“A young woman is going to prison if you don’t confess.”
“I’m sorry. She looked like a nice gel. McAllister must have treated her like hell, just like he treated his partners.”
Casey grew desperate. “I can’t prove you did it, Hopkins, but I’m appealing to your decency and honor.”
Hopkins winced as if in pain and clutched his stomach. He did indeed look like a man courting death. “You must love the gel a great deal.” He grew thoughtful and his words rambled aimlessly. “I never loved a woman like you love your wife. I never had time. I was always on the move, searching for that rich vein. Once I struck it rich I was gonna find me a woman to love and settle down. It never happened. I owe my wasted life to that cheating skunk McAllister.”
“All the more reason for you to kill him. Time is running out for Belle, Hopkins.”
“She has a child, you say?”
“Yes, a small son who needs her.” For the first time in days Casey felt the dawning of hope.
Hopkins jerked the mug of ale up to his mouth and quaffed deeply while staring at Casey over the rim. “Did I tell you I’m dying?” he asked after he set the mug down.
“I believe so. I’m sorry, but that doesn’t give you license to kill.”
“Why are you so sure I did it, sonny?”
“There are no other suspects. Belle didn’t do it and you had ample cause to want McAllister dead.”
“Got it all figured out, ain’t ya?”
“I believe so. All I need is your confession in court, in front of witnesses.”
Hopkins looked even sicker and paler, if that was possible.
“How am I supposed to have killed McAllister?”
Casey sent him a disgruntled look. “Did your memory fail you? You used a gun. The same gun Belle used to threaten McAllister earlier that evening. McAllister took it away from her and threw it into the bushes beside the house. You retrieved it later, shot your old partner, and left through the window.”
“Got him in the heart, huh?”
Casey stared at him curiously. “You blew his brains out. Don’t you remember?”
The frail old man smiled cryptically. “Served him right. Sometimes my mind plays tricks on me. Signs of age, I reckon.”
Casey fidgeted nervously. Time was running out. If he didn’t persuade this tricky character to confess to murder, Belle would be wrongly convicted. Casey could always use force, he supposed, but it wouldn’t be nearly as effective as Hopkins appearing of his own accord and claiming guilt for McAllister’s murder.
Hopkins stared into his beer, mulling over Casey’s words and picturing in his mind the little gel wrongfully accused of murder. He imagined Belle’s son, crying for his mother, and he thought of Casey, who obviously loved his wife and would do anything to keep her from going to prison. Then he considered his own life. Dying, no friends to speak of, no relatives and nothing to look forward to. What little money he’d had ran out days ago, and finding work in his condition was out of the question.
He could always beg handouts like the other bums roaming the city, but no matter how broke he’d been in the past he’d never had to resort to begging.
“What will happen to me if I confess?”
“You’ll probably have a hearing and be sent to prison or …” His words dangled ominously.
“If I live that long,” Hopkins mumbled. He finished off the last of his ale and rose abruptly. “We’d best get going if we’re gonna save that little gel.”
Casey shot to his feet, wanting to shout with joy. Urgency brought him back to reality. “I only pray it isn’t too late.”
* * *
Belle watched the proceedings dispassionately. She knew the verdict would be anticlimactic. Everyone in the courtroom, including the jury, had decided beforehand that she was guilty. She had declined to testify and Crowley hadn’t forced the issue. She just couldn’t go through all that again. She’d be questioned on her past, which had already been thoroughly explored and vilified in turn by the prosecutor. And she’d have to admit that she’d been in bed with Casey while her son was being abducted by his grandfather’s henchmen.
“Where is your husband?” Crowley asked anxiously. “I planned on calling on him to testify.”
Belle shrugged, trying not to care. “It doesn’t matter one way or another whether Casey testifies. Nothing is going to sway the jurors.”
“He’s your husband, he should be here.” Crowley’s voice was thick with disapproval.
Belle bowed her head and tried not to think about Casey. He had promised to bring Tommy to see her before the trial and hadn’t. One more reason not to trust men. Her distrust of males started with her own father and hadn’t improved during the years she lived with Naomi. Her father had dragged her from town to town, leaving her to fend for herself while he gambled away their livelihood. He had neglected her to the point of forgetting he even had a daughter. Many a night she had gone to bed cold and hungry, wondering when and if he’d come home. Finally he hadn’t.
Casey’s betrayal was just one more reason not to trust another man. Tom had been the only man she’d ever trusted and it had taken months to come to that decision. Marrying Casey had been the lesser of two evils where Tommy’s welfare was concerned, one she hoped she’d not live to regret.
“The judge is about to give instructions to the jury,” Crowley whispered into Belle’s ear. Belle tensed but said nothing.
Suddenly the courtroom door burst open and Casey strode in. Following in his wake was a man Belle recognized as Harry Hopkins. A frail, ill, Harry Hopkins.
“What’s the meaning of this?” the judge blustered. “We’re in the middle of a trial here.”
“I think you’ll be interested in hearing what Harry Hopkins has to say, Judge.” Casey reached behind him and pulled Hopkins forward. “Tell him, Hopkins. Tell the judge and jury what happened the night T.J. McAllister was killed.”
Harry Hopkins located Belle in the crowd and sent her a tremulous smile. “I killed T.J. McAllister, Your Honor. He cheated both me and our third partner, Arnold Jones, out of what’s rightfully ours. I’ve waited a long time to even out the score.”
“You do realize what you’re saying, don’t you, Mr. Hopkins? This is a court of law. You haven’t been sworn in, but the jury and witnesses heard every word you just said.”
Momentary panic flashed across Hopkins’ thin face. Then he composed his features and nodded his understanding. Once again his gaze sought Belle’s, finding his reward in her
obvious relief and joy.
“I killed McAllister,” Hopkins repeated. “This little gel had nothing to do with it. I found the gun in the bushes, sneaked in after the lady left and blew out McAllister’s brains.”
Pandemonium reigned as the spectators in the courtroom went wild. A bailiff came forward to take possession of Hopkins and he went along meekly. Meanwhile, Casey searched frantically over the heads of the spectators for Belle. He finally spotted her, standing alone at the defendant’s table, looking confused, stunned, and ill. She seemed to stagger a bit and Casey pushed his way through the milling crowd to get to her. He cried out in dismay when he saw Belle start a slow spiral to the ground and shoved people out of his way to get to her. He reached her scant seconds before she hit the ground. He carried her from the courtroom amid bedlam.
Belle squeezed her eyes tightly shut, afraid to open them. The bed was too soft, the room too warm. It had been so long since she’d felt the comfort of a real bed she just wanted to lie there and dream a while longer. She knew the harsh realities of her situation would return once she opened her eyes. She stretched her limbs and gave a breathy little sigh. She even forced a smile, thinking how absurd her dream was for a woman facing a long prison term.
“Belle. Open your eyes.”
Now she was hearing voices. What next?
“Come on, Belle, I know you’re awake.”
Slowly Belle opened her eyes. The mist before them cleared and she saw Casey sitting on the edge of the bed. Bed! Not a bunk but a bed. Remembrance came rushing back to her. Just before the jury had been sent out to reach a verdict, Casey had arrived in the courtroom with Harry Hopkins. And Harry Hopkins had confessed to McAllister’s murder. How could that mild man kill anyone?
“Where am I?”
Casey watched her warily. “You’re home. I brought you here after you fainted.”
“I’ve never fainted in my life!” Suddenly her eyes narrowed. “Whose home?”
“Yours and Tommy’s. The house and everything that goes with it belongs to Tommy. I’ve merely been the caretaker until your release.”
She pushed herself up into a sitting position and Casey fluffed the pillows behind her. “What you need right now is rest. And something to eat. I’ve asked to have a meal sent up for both of us. It should arrive shortly.”
“Where’s Tommy?”
“He’s with Wan Yo and Naomi. They wanted us to have some time alone. We are newlyweds,” he reminded her. “Wan Yo will bring him back tomorrow.”
“I want to see Tommy now. I’ve been without him too long.”
“One more night won’t hurt. Are you up to talking?”
“I suppose so.” At least her nausea had passed for the moment. Her expression grew anxious. “I don’t have to go back to jail, do I?”
“Never again,” Casey vowed.
“Did Harry Hopkins really murder my father-in-law?”
“I believe he did. So does the judge.”
Dimly Belle recalled meeting Harry Hopkins’s gaze in the courtroom. She didn’t believe his were the eyes of a cold-blooded murderer. She remembered how he had helped her after T.J.’s carriage had nearly run her down, and how solicitous he had been of her. Deep in her heart she didn’t believe Harry Hopkins capable of murder. But clearly Casey did.
She touched his arm, wanting to express her misgivings, and Casey mistook her gesture for something else. Desperate for a crumb of affection from her, he thought she was reaching out to him. He moaned helplessly as he pulled her into his arms and bore her down with him onto the bed. He kissed her with desperate fervor, tasting her lips and thrusting his tongue into her mouth, exploring it with unleashed passion. This was what he had been waiting for, yearning for. One small sign from Belle that she forgave him for his part in this godawful mess.
Belle moaned out a protest, but Casey was too inflamed to think it anything but encouragement for him to continue. A soul-stealing sweep of his tongue against the tender insides of her lips sent heat swirling through her. Why was he doing this to her now, when she was vulnerable and confused?
Frantically he fumbled with the buttons on her blouse, pulling it free of her skirt and discarding it. Their mouths were still fused as he unfastened her skirt and drew it down her legs, tossing it aside to join her blouse. One large hand moved over the tops of her breasts, and with a few deft motions her corset and shift were stripped from her, then her petticoats and drawers.
When he finally lifted his mouth from hers she was breathless with need and too disgusted with herself to admit it.
“You don’t know how often I dreamed of this moment,” Casey whispered against her lips. “To see you free again and in my arms where you belong.”
Belle made a feeble attempt to squirm out of his arms but Casey only held her tighter. “I don’t belong in your bed,” she protested. “You promised I could end this marriage.”
Difficult as it was, Casey forced himself to practice patience. “I lied. We are married for the duration whether you like it or not. Tommy needs a father and he trusts me even if his mother doesn’t. Why can’t you give us a chance, Belle? Have you no forgiveness in your heart? Is it just me or all men you don’t trust?”
Belle flushed and looked away. Casey had come too close to the truth. Trusting hurt. Her father had taught her that. She stirred beneath him, wanting to escape despite her aroused body but unable to find the will. What if she forgave him and he betrayed her again, like her father, like all the men she’d known with the exception of Tom?
“What is it, Belle, what aren’t you telling me?”
“Just leave me alone.”
“I want to make love to my wife.”
His fingers slid down her throat. Then his hands were on her bare shoulders, drawing her against his fully aroused body. “I’ve not forgotten how it was between us, how it’s always been. You can’t hide your body’s response. You felt something.”
Belle shook her head wildly but her eyes gave her away. She had felt something. “I felt nothing!” she lied. “You seduced me. You made it possible for your cohorts to abduct Tommy. Lust-driven, that’s what I’d call our last coupling.”
For the space of a heartbeat anger leaped in Casey’s eyes. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by a dark, sultry determination that frightened Belle. “If you truly believe that, at least give me a chance to prove you wrong. Give me the wedding night we never had. I kept my promise, I didn’t let you go to prison. Does that count for nothing?”
Even as he spoke his hands claimed her breasts, his head began to lower. Belle opened her mouth to tell him she was grateful for his tenacity, but the sweet pressure of his lips stopped her words. At first his kiss was hard, his lips unyielding. Anger and disappointment churned within him. Belle’s stubbornness had nearly defeated him. But his anger was short-lived.
Belle was surprised when Casey’s hard mouth went soft and pliant. At first she kept her lips clamped tightly shut. But he was endlessly patient, endlessly coaxing … endlessly determined. Her lips parted fractionally.
“That’s it, love, open your mouth. A little more … ah … just a little more …” Several minutes passed before Belle realized he had removed his shirt, and that his bare chest was molded intimately against hers.
Belle panted into his mouth and their breaths mingled deep in the back of her throat. A dark, sweet thrill swept through her. Belle moaned, helpless against his masculine allure. Then his trousers were gone and she felt all of him against her—the incredible breadth of his shoulders, the muscular hardness of his chest, the swelling heat and potency of his loins, and the taut length of his thighs.
She felt overwhelmed by the extent of power this man—her husband—wielded over her. No man deserved that kind of power. Tom had loved her and she him, but she had never allowed him to hold the awesome power to move her that Casey possessed. Even as a child she had hidden an inner part of herself from her father, for it was the only part of her he couldn’t reach and therefore disappo
int.
His tongue entwined with hers, an erotic mating that sent heat and moisture to the tender spot between her legs. His fingers toyed with her nipples until they stood taut and tingling, aching for the hot brand of his mouth. She tried to deny the feelings coursing through her, tried to recall that this man had brought her to the brink of disaster, but the hot lashing of his tongue against her aching nipples made coherent thought impossible. It was a sensation like warm liquid being poured over her.
And then the sensation of his hair-roughened chest brushing slowly over her breasts brought a tormented gasp to her lips. He slid slowly down her body, his tongue blazing a fiery path across the satin plane of her stomach. Down … down …
Suddenly Belle realized where he was heading and she gasped in understanding. “Casey! Dear God … what …”
He gazed up at her. “Did you and Tom never … ?”
“No! Please …”
He pressed against her inner thighs with the breadth of his shoulders until he felt her thighs give way. “Relax, love, I won’t hurt you. I want to please you … all of you … in every way.”
For Casey there was no conscious thought. There was only the incredible, nearly obsessive need to pleasure her, to possess her in every way a man could possess a woman. Her hands fluttered helplessly against the muscular tautness of his arms as he lowered his head and tasted her, his breath a heated rush of wildly erotic fire against her dewy flesh. He groaned. She was hot and tasted tangy-sweet.
His tongue flicked against her sleek, wet recesses, again and again, teasing, circling, tormenting and exploring. Her fingers knotted his hair. She arched against him and panted, her needy cries filling the air, driving him to a frenzy. His blood pounding a primitive beat, he gave her what she so guilelessly sought.
His tongue pressed high and full against her swollen core, against the dewy pearl of sensation, wringing a convulsive shudder and a cry from her lips. Despite his nearly bursting manhood, he waited until she quieted before levering himself over her. She opened her eyes, all smoky and dazed, and stared at him as his lean fingers separated soft, downy fleece and then pink, moist folds. With a triumphant cry he plunged deep, embedded tight within her heated center. He withdrew, all hard and hot and glistening. Belle watched in awe as he came inside her again, driven and powerful. Thrust and withdrawal became wild and frenzied, performed against the welcoming wetness of her sheath.