BRINGING BENJY HOME

by Kylie Brant

  He'd always been an extremely light sleeper. He'd always needed to be. But Jaida slumbered peacefully, unaware of his presence. He sank gingerly to the edge of her bed, watching her. All that was visible beneath the cocoon of blankets was that mass of pale hair and her profile, as pure and delicate as a cameo. He knew well that nature had a way of masking even evil intentions with pleasant disguises. The most beautiful face could hide the soul of a harlot; the kindest demeanor could cover a terrorist. But there was something about sleep and moonlight that lent an air of innocence to this woman.

  Deliberately, Trey clicked on the lamp on the bedside table. When Jaida still did not stir, he called her name and shook the bed urgently. "Wake up."

  Frowning, Jaida snuggled down farther under the blankets, shielding her eyes from the lamp's light.

  Trey paused for a moment, then in a louder voice he said, "Come on, Jaida, wake up. I want to talk to you."

  The form under the mound of blankets remained motionless.

  He stood abruptly, grasped the blankets and yanked them to the foot of the bed.

  The sudden loss of her enveloping warmth roused Jaida as nothing else could. Grumbling sleepily, she rolled over in bed, searching for the blankets without opening her eyes.

  If Trey's action had left Jaida feeling chilled, it had the opposite effect on him. Slow heat bloomed in his belly. She was decently covered in a sleeveless satin gown. But it had crawled up during the night, leaving an alluring portion of her slim legs bare. The gown's dark purple color glowed against her skin, and her hair streaming over it shone like a precious stone on a bed of velvet.

  He wasn't even aware of moving. Sinking back down on the bed, he reached for her, filling his hand with streamers of her tresses. Then his hand moved, unbidden, as though charting its own journey. It smoothed a path up one silky shoulder and across to her graceful neck. The current that sparked immediately at his touch was becoming familiar. One finger lingered on the pulse beating beneath her jaw. The rhythm of her pulse accelerated sharply.

  His gaze drifted to the vee of the gown's neckline, to the hint of shadowy cleavage. Feeling like a voyeur, he still made no move to retreat. He watched, fascinated, as her lips parted and her breathing became more ragged. Then her eyes slowly opened, and she looked at him fixedly.

  The dark-blue stare was slightly unfocused, as if she were still not quite alert. "It wasn't your fault," she mumbled, her voice raspy. "You were only a boy—you couldn't help it. Too young."

  A shudder racked her then, as though she were overtaken with a chill. "Much too young … to take care of Lauren."

  He froze for a second as her words washed over him, an instant replay of his earlier thoughts. Then he snatched his hand away and sprang up.

  Their gazes clashed for long, charged seconds, before Jaida shuddered again and turned away. Seeing the blankets in a heap at the foot of the bed, she leaned over and caught the edge of one, hauling it up to wrap around herself.

  He couldn't think, couldn't move. "Woman, who the hell are you?" he muttered finally, staring keenly at her. "What are you?"

  Jaida refused to look at him. He'd awakened her from as sound a sleep as she'd ever known, and she was as shaken as he by the response he'd evoked. She'd never slept with someone beside her, had never been awakened by a touch. It was decidedly disconcerting to learn that her unconscious was as psychic as her alert mind. She was dazed and dismayed by the realization. And the fact that she'd found out now, with this man, was even more alarming. "What do you want? It's still dark outside."

  "It's only 3:00 a.m.," he affirmed. She was huddled in the center of the bed, shrouded in that blanket, her head lowered. He had the uncanny notion that she was hiding from him. "I wanted to talk to you."

  She pushed her hair over one shoulder, still refusing to look at him. "It couldn't wait until morning?"

  Her question hung in the air between them. Yes, he fervently wished he had waited until morning. He wished he hadn't seen her, half bare and erotically arousing in this bed. He wished he hadn't touched that pale tangle of hair again, or noticed the slim lines of her body. But most of all, he wished he hadn't awakened her, hadn't heard that strange husky rasp, so unlike her usual melodic drawl, repeat an echo from his mind.

  There would come a time in the morning, after he'd slept, when a rational explanation for this scene would no doubt become apparent to him. But right now, arriving on the heels of his heightened awareness of her, it was downright spooky.

  When he said nothing else, she raised her head and turned cautiously in his direction. "Trey?" she said, her voice tentative. "What's the real reason you didn't tell Lauren we were coming to Boston?"

  He was silent for so long that she feared he wouldn't answer her at all. His voice was low, reluctant, when he finally spoke. "Lauren had married a wealthy lawyer, and they were living here when I found her. Her husband, a man by the name of William Penning, controlled her, abused her. He treated her the way he would a piece of property. His jealousy ruined their marriage. I arranged for her to get away from him, and I believed he didn't know where she was."

  "Or of Benjy's existence," Jaida murmured.

  He looked sharply at her. "Or of Benjy's existence," he agreed.

  "Do you think he found her? Did he arrange the kidnapping?"

  "I don't have any reason to believe that," he said deliberately.

  She didn't need his words to tell her that he'd never trusted her, not when he'd asked for her help, and most certainly not now, despite what had passed between them. Something had happened to Trey Garrison, made him close out the world, eyeing it with suspicion. Only a very select few were allowed inside that barricade he'd erected around his emotions. She'd sensed that since she'd met him. But instead of finding it maddening now, she was curiously empathetic to the events that must have built those inner walls, brick by brick.

  The feeling was frightening. She didn't want to know Trey any better, didn't want to like him or to understand him. He was getting too close to her, having too strong an effect on her to be ignored. If she had any choice in the matter he wouldn't have to urge her to return home—she'd hightail it back to her safe Arkansas Valley in no time.

  She'd run home and hide, just as she had before.

  The voice inside jeered at her. That was what she'd done when life had become too complicated to handle. But that time had been nothing like this. She hadn't run from one man then; she'd fled the crowds under the bright lights, the people who'd come to hear her sing and who thought they owned a part of her because they'd paid the price of the ticket.

  But she wasn't running this time. She had to bring that baby home to his mother. She raised a fatalistic gaze to the man staring at her unrelentingly from across the room. He looked no more eager than she to continue this odd relationship of theirs.

  A sudden thought struck her. "When you found out that the Glenview Motel was close to Boston you must have suspected Penning right away."

  "He's always been a suspect," Trey acknowledged. "He's being watched."

  "We need to know whether he masterminded this whole plot," Jaida said, frowning. "If he's as obsessed as you say he's capable of anything. We have to be certain—"

  "We don't have to be certain of anything," he corrected her. "Penning is being taken care of. There's no need for you to concern yourself about him." He stopped then, having said more than he wanted. The events here had circumvented his normal caution. "We'll talk tomorrow. I'm sorry I woke you up."

  "We'll talk tomorrow," she repeated softly to his retreating back. The door closed behind him quietly. Reaching down to the foot of the bed, she retrieved the rest of her covers. No doubt by morning Trey would regret his uncustomary candor. But his disclosure about William Penning had been valuable indeed. It was apparent that no one knew for sure whether Penning was involved.

  And she was the only one who could find out.

  * * *

  Sunlight flooded the room, filling it with an uncomfortable am
ount of warmth. Trey woke up perspiring, squinting into the bright room. He hadn't bothered to pull the shades after he'd come in off the balcony, wouldn't have seen a need to if he had thought of it. He rarely slept much past dawn. But it had been late when he'd returned from Jaida's room, later still before he'd finally slept. Even then his slumber hadn't been restful. It had been filled with a mysterious specter with moon-glow hair, who gave voice to the thoughts in the recesses of his mind.

  He got out of bed and padded to the bathroom. While he showered he went over the conversation he'd had with Jaida the night before, and discovered her insight still had the power to make him uncomfortable. He searched his memory for something he might have said that would have led to her remarks.

  By the time he'd finished shaving and gotten dressed he was no closer to figuring out the source of her knowledge. Having learned from his mistake of the night before, he knocked on the adjoining door this time. On the day of Jaida's certain departure from his life he was feeling somewhat magnanimous. He'd be willing to take her to breakfast, to see if her appetite of yesterday was only a fluke. He knocked again, and still there was no answer. Letting himself into the room, he strode to her bed. On the table next to it was a note addressed to him. Reading the brief message, he cursed, then crumpled it in his palm. What "matter" could possibly have needed her attention today?

  And why did her disappearance make him so damn nervous?

  * * *

  It was shortly after one o'clock when Jaida walked into the law office of Penning and Associates. After inquiring for directions, she made her way down the hallway to the corner suite of rooms. She paused for a moment to appreciate the beauty in the etched glass panel of the door, then pushed it open to find herself in an elegantly furnished waiting room. The man at the desk was probably close to her age, she estimated. His dark hair was thinning on top, and he looked up from his computer and surveyed her disapprovingly through gold-framed glasses.

  "I believe you have the wrong office," he informed her dismissively.

  She tried a tentative smile, one that had no visible effect on him. "I don't think so. I'm here to see Mr. William Penning."

  "You don't have an appointment," the man stated surely, not even consulting the book on his desk.

  "No, I…"

  "Mr. Penning sees no one without an appointment." He went back to his typing.

  "Perhaps I can make an appointment," Jaida offered.

  The typing never ceased. "He's booked through the rest of the month. If you have a legal matter to take care of, I suggest you find someone else."

  "It has to be Mr. Penning."

  The man sighed heavily and stopped typing. "He will be in conference for the rest of the afternoon. Perhaps you'd like to leave a message with me."

  Jaida smiled serenely. "No, thank you. I'll wait."

  The man tried, with diminishing degrees of diplomacy, to dissuade her. Finally, he turned back to his typing, his fingers flying over the keys more furiously than ever, as if by ignoring her he could make her go away.

  Three hours later Jaida had decided that the disagreeable man had the makings of a sadist. He'd poured himself several cups of coffee and even nibbled at a sandwich at his desk. He never addressed another word to her, didn't even look in her direction. She spent her time dismally counting the meals she'd missed recently and spinning fantasies about ways she'd like to see Penning's secretary spend the rest of his days. Choking on his keyboard.

  When the desk phone rang, Jaida straightened. The man listened and then said, "Very well, sir, I'll see to it." Hanging up the receiver, he shot a superior smile in Jaida's direction. "Mr. Penning will be leaving for the day now. I'm afraid you've wasted your time." His tone was smug.

  The inner door to the office opened the, and two men dressed in suits came out. One walked by Jaida and left the area, and the other stopped at the secretary's desk. Jaida stood up, nervously smoothing the wrinkles from the royal-blue dress she'd bought that morning. She'd purchased it, along with the matching shoes, with total confidence in her ability to pull this charade off. But now that the moment had come, her stomach was fluttering wildly.

  The man in the suit turned away from the secretary's desk and saw Jaida for the first time. "Roland," he said. "You didn't tell me I had a client."

  "You don't, Mr. Penning." Roland's voice held a hint of peevishness. "This young … woman does not have an appointment, but she refused to leave, even when I told her how full your calendar is."

  "I had to see you, Mr. Penning," Jaida said quickly. "I'm terribly sorry to bother you like this—I know you're a busy man—but this was the only opportunity I had." Her breathlessness wasn't completely contrived. "Please, I only want a minute of your time."

  "As I tried to tell you repeatedly, Miss—" Roland began.

  "Never mind, Roland," Penning said, without taking his eyes from Jaida. "I think I can spare this young lady a few minutes." He held out a hand for her to precede him into his office.

  Jaida hoped her inner reluctance didn't show as she walked into the office. Penning closed the door behind her and stepped around his desk to his chair. He indicated a chair in front of his desk, and Jaida sank into it. If the outer office seemed lavish, this room was opulent. Rows of windows were at Penning's back, offering a magnificent view of the skyline. But it was the man, not the room, that commanded attention.

  Lauren's husband was arrestingly handsome, with dark hair combed straight back from an aristocratic forehead. His nose was slightly long and aquiline. His eyes were dark and fathomless. Jaida didn't have to fake speechlessness for the first few moments. She couldn't imagine Lauren married to this man. He exuded money and power. And something else, something infinitely more disturbing.

  It wasn't until he glanced at the gold watch on his wrist that Jaida was propelled to speech. "I apologize again for dropping in like this, Mr. Penning. Now that I'm actually here, I can't believe I had the nerve." That was certainly true enough, she thought a little frantically. "The truth is…" She took a deep breath. "I'm a law student. Or at least," she corrected herself, "I will be a law student. Actually, I've been working a few years, trying to earn enough money for college, where I'll major in pre-law. But I've been doing some studying on my own, and your cases intrigued me." She turned wide eyes on him. "I just had to meet you while I was here."

  "And your name…" He cocked his head slightly.

  "Oh!" She raised her hand to her cheek in feigned embarrassment. "I'm so sorry! It's Rhodes. Gwen Rhodes."

  "Rhodes." He leaned back in his chair, surveying her over a steeple he'd made with his fingers. "Are you by any chance related to Arthur Rhodes of Boston?"

  Jaida let her expression go blank. "No, sir. Not that I know of. I'm not from around here."

  A small smile played across his mouth. "Of course not, not with that delightful accent. I'd place you in … South Carolina? Or is it Georgia?"

  She smiled in return. "I am from Georgia, although I've lived with my sister and her husband in Maine for the past four years. But I plan to—"

  "Go into law," Penning finished for her, his opaque eyes intent on her. "So you've said. With those looks, you'll go far."

  She couldn't prevent herself from stiffening slightly at the blatantly sexist remark. Her reaction didn't escape his observant eyes.

  "I hope I haven't offended you—" he paused inquiringly over her title "—Miss Rhodes?" At her nod, he continued smoothly. "That certainly wasn't my intent. My meaning is that a good lawyer must be a powerful lawyer. And a powerful lawyer has presence. Do you understand me?"

  Jaida shook her head.

  "A lawyer has to put everything he or—" he nodded toward her "—she has into a case. All your knowledge, all your skill will not necessarily be enough to win. You, the lawyer, are also a tool in trying a case. And you need to use every accessory you have when you're in front of a jury."

  "You mean the lawyer is an influencer in his or her own right."

  Penning
nodded approvingly. "Exactly. Some lawyers are gifted with marvelously modulated voices, the mere sound of which has the jury following every word they utter. Others command by their stature, and still others by—"

  "Their presence," she said softly, and he inclined his head in agreement. "I think I understand." And she did. She could only imagine the effect this man would have on a jury. The aura of power about him made him a commanding individual.

  "What brings you to Boston, Miss Rhodes?"

  "I've been living with my sister and her family, and they summer at the Cape," Jaida lied. "I enjoy following your cases in the newspapers." She thought she saw a glint appear in his eye for a moment, and then it was gone. She affected an ingenuous shrug. "It took me all summer to gather up the courage to approach you like this."

  "I'm very glad you did," he murmured, his dark eyes revealing nothing. "Tell me, Miss Rhodes, which of my cases intrigued you the most?"

  His question made her palms dampen, and she had to fight the urge to wipe them on her dress. She thanked God she'd thought to do a little homework before coming here. "I think I was most curious about the State of Massachusetts v. Marcus Temple."

  His eyebrows raised. "That case attracted much media attention. It was very complex." He leaned forward and placed his folded hands on his desk. "Earlier you mentioned being intrigued by my cases. Now you admit to being curious." At her silence, he chided, "Come, now, Gwen, don't be shy. I'm very interested in hearing what arouses your curiosity."

  Jaida bit her lip, feigning consternation. "I feel silly questioning you, Mr. Penning. But it seemed as if you were more a focus of the case than was your client. All those motions and countermotions, claiming bias on the part of the judge. It seemed to draw attention away from the facts you were presenting." He leaned back in his chair again, rocking a little. "Ah, but Miss Rhodes, it did set the stage for an appeal, should the jury have found my client guilty. Given the judge's bias, of course. I'm sure you'll be wonderfully inventive on behalf of your own clients, once you've had the proper training. Where do you intend to go to school?"