Her responding laugh was dry and cynical. "You're a romantic, aren't you, counselor? You really believe in family and commitment and the healing power of love."
He had followed her as far as the doorway. Now, as she approached, her coat on and belted, the handle of her briefcase gripped in both hands, he refused to move aside and allow her to leave. "I guess I am," he agreed quietly. His voice dropping even lower, he asked, "And what are you?"
Before she could answer, he reached out and lifted her hair free of the collar of her coat, his fingers brushing against her neck. Although she knew on one level that they were callused and rough, on another level—one of pure sensation—she thought it was the softest, gentlest touch she'd ever known. The contact fueled the longing she'd been trying so hard to suppress. It filled her with a heat that couldn't be blamed on the room temperature or her heavy coat, a heat that came from inside, a heat that threatened her defenses and her good sense and her self control—all the things that had kept her safe the last ten years.
Then he withdrew his hand, slid it into his hip pocket and waited. For what? she wondered dazedly. Oh, yes, an answer. He had asked her a question, and now he was waiting for an answer. And what are you?
"A realist," she replied with just a touch of regret in her voice. "I believe in the law, and I believe in myself. No one else." She took a step closer, pointedly meeting his gaze, letting him see that there was nothing to see, and finally he moved aside.
She stopped at the outer door and faced him again. He remained near the other door, both hands in his pockets, his gaze directed at the floor. He looked weary—not physically, but mentally, emotionally. "Will you be in the city tomorrow?"
"Probably in the afternoon. I have a couple of appointments here in the morning."
She nodded, even though he couldn't see. She didn't know what else to say, didn't know if anything else was even necessary, but she couldn't just turn and walk away. "Well … be careful."
He looked up then and gave her a bittersweet smile. "You've been careful all your life, Beth. What has it gotten you?"
On that note, she did simply turn and walk away. But his question haunted her all the way to her car, all the way up the mountain to Sarah Ryan's house for a brief visit and all the way back to Nashville. What had she achieved by being careful? Her heart was intact and guaranteed to stay that way. Her career was on track and could only improve. She was in control of her life.
And she was alone. Unhappy. Dissatisfied. Missing something unknown.
What had she achieved by being careful? she wondered morosely. What indeed?
* * *
"How's life in the city?"
"Duck," Zachary instructed Katie, perched on his shoulders, as they walked through a doorway in his new house. With Daniel's help, he was working on the master bedroom this chilly Saturday morning, and together they were baby-sitting Katie until her mother returned from the beauty shop to get her. He didn't mind the distraction of trying to keep up with an inquisitive little girl whose energy level was more than double his own, but work would progress much more quickly once Sarah got back.
In answer to Daniel's question, he shrugged, the action making Katie giggle. "You've been to Nashville. What did you think?"
"Too many people."
"Amen to that," Zachary heartily agreed.
"Amen," Katie echoed, then commanded, "Put me down, Sach." At a look from her father, she amended that. "Put me down please, Sach."
"The place is overcrowded, frustrating, confusing, expensive and unfriendly—at least, compared to Sweetwater," Zachary continued as he swung Katie to the floor. "I can't leave the motel without a map, and I still have trouble finding my way around. And the people in Beth's firm—" Breaking off, he shook his head. "They are the snootiest and least helpful bunch of people I've ever come across. Of course, the fact that this case is a freebie and I brought it to Beth's attention doesn't endear me to any of them. Neither does the fact that I'm just a small-time country lawyer."
He pulled his coat off and hung it on the doorknob, then crossed the room to the window on the east wall. Unlike newer windows that consisted of a single sheet of glass and created the illusion of having panes with the use of plastic inserts, this window, filling almost the entire wall, was made of individual panes separated by pine sash bars the color of honey. All the woodwork in the house was the same, and the rockers Daniel had made, as well as the porch swings, matched.
They had positioned the house on the lot so that the best view was here: from his bedroom upstairs and the living room below. There was a wildflower meadow, too many trees to count and, overshadowing it all, the peak of Laurel Mountain, rising a thousand feet above.
Turning his back on the mountain, he studied the bedroom. There were two levels, one comprising about two-thirds of the room, including the big stone fireplace. That was where the bed would go, facing the window. On the upper level was a long narrow space for a couch and chairs, a cozy, comfortable place for reading or watching the sunset.
This house had been designed with a family in mind, he thought with a grim sigh. All of it, like this room, was meant to be shared and lived in and loved in. It wasn't meant for one man alone.
And somehow he was more alone now than he'd been two weeks ago.
Beth had hardly spoken to him all week, other than to give him instructions or directions. The preliminary hearing was scheduled for next Wednesday. He'd told himself that that was why she was so preoccupied and distant. But deep inside he knew it wasn't that at all. He'd made her uncomfortable in his office last Monday, touching her—however innocently—and she hadn't forgiven him for it. She knew that he wanted more from her than a professional relationship, and she wasn't willing to offer it. Although he should have found some comfort in the knowledge that it wasn't anything personal—she wouldn't offer a relationship to any man right now—he hadn't.
The work he was doing was the only bright spot. He'd found the case histories Beth had given him to study fascinating. He'd sat in on conference calls with two of their expert witnesses and come away with a much deeper understanding of what Carrie Lewis had been through and why she'd reacted the way she had. He had conducted more interviews, this time with Del Lewis's former employers and co-workers.
His involvement in the case was strictly junior league—on-the-job training that any investigator or fresh-out-of-law-school attorney could have handled just as well. Although he would sit at the defense table with Beth and Carrie for both the preliminary hearing and the trial, he most likely wouldn't speak, wouldn't question any witnesses, wouldn't present any evidence. Still, he was learning. He was gaining a new respect for trial lawyers in general and for Beth in particular.
And along with that growing respect was a growing attraction. A growing need. A growing hunger. And a growing sense of hopelessness.
* * *
Beth stood in front of the full-length mirror in her dressing room and studied her reflection critically, not in a typically feminine fashion to gauge her attractiveness, but rather her professionalism. The judge who was presiding over Carrie's preliminary hearing today was a stickler for appearances. Casually dressed attorneys didn't fare well in his courtroom.
She certainly looked the part of an assured, successful lawyer. Her suit was navy blue, well-made but not flashy. There were no frills, nothing to draw attention to the outfit, and the hem ended demurely at the knee. Her hair was drawn away from her face, twisted and pinned in a loose roll. It was severe enough to project an image of authority, yet soft enough to satisfy her vanity. She wore no jewelry except the gold Rolex she'd treated herself to last Christmas; her makeup was skillfully subdued, and the fragrance she wore was faint and elusive.
A glance at her watch showed that she still had a few minutes before Zachary arrived. They had decided to go straight to the courthouse this morning, so he was meeting her here at the condo instead of the office. Then they would have a few moments with Carrie to explain what would happen
today. She'd done that during their meeting yesterday, but it wouldn't hurt to go over it again.
Wouldn't it be a surprise if the judge dismissed the charges? she thought dryly as she moved a few items she needed from her purse into her briefcase. She had proceeded with the case as if it would undoubtedly go to trial. If it was dismissed, what a victory for Carrie. What a waste of all the work she and Zachary had done.
And what a shame, having no excuse to see him again.
Slipping into her heels, she took one last look in the mirror, then left the bedroom and went down the broad stairs. This would be the first time Zachary had been to her home.
She wondered as she reached the entry what he would think of it. He would probably be impressed—everyone who came here was—although not wildly so. Being the practical sort, he would probably wonder how she could stand to live in such a big place all by herself.
He would probably also wonder how she could live in such an unwelcoming place, she added as she walked slowly through the rooms. They were spacious, the ceilings high, the furnishings contemporary, the colors minimal. They weren't the kind of rooms that invited you to snuggle in and get comfortable. There was a formality to them that was daunting, a sterility that was…
Frightening. A home should reflect the people who lived there. Was this place a reflection of her—cold, empty, unwelcoming, sterile? Was that what she had become in the years since Philip had unleashed, then destroyed, her passion, her pride and her love?
Suddenly she wished she had told Zachary to meet her at the office. She didn't want him to see this place, didn't want him to make any connection between her and this emptiness. But the chime of the doorbell warned her that it was too late. He was already here.
She opened the elaborately carved door and invited him inside while she got her coat. As she put it on, she studied his appearance much as she had her own upstairs. His usual jeans and cotton shirt had been replaced by a dark gray suit with a pale blue shirt and a neatly knotted tie. Instead of comfortable boots, he wore black dress shoes, shoes that he'd probably had for years, she guessed, but wore only on special occasions. They would last him forever.
His fleece-lined jacket was gone, too, given up in favor of a plain black overcoat. All he needed was a briefcase and he would blend in perfectly with dozens of other young Nashville lawyers. He would even blend in with the young lawyers in her own office, she thought with some dismay.
She preferred the country lawyer, the jeans and boots, the easy, relaxed, pleasant man whose demeanor invited trust. Who would have believed it of her?
After enduring her scrutiny for several moments, Zachary asked, "Do I look all right?"
She smiled uneasily. "You look fine."
"Like a real lawyer?"
His good-natured grin took the edge off her discomfort. "Like a city lawyer. Shall we go?"
They left his Jeep in the parking garage and took her car downtown. When they reached the courthouse, Zachary said, "We have time for a cup of coffee. Do you want one?"
She shook her head. "I never eat or drink anything before a criminal trial."
He gave her a long, surprised look. "Are you nervous?"
"Aren't you?"
"Why should I be? All I have to do is sit back and let you handle everything."
"And that's why I should be. There's a lot at stake here."
"There's a lot at stake in most trials."
"Not like this." There was Carrie herself, a sad, helpless person if ever there was one. And her kids—Tyler and his brothers and sister. There was the baby she carried, the baby she would probably deliver in prison. And there were the other women, women in the same situation, women who might be driven to resolve it in the same way. This trial could have an impact on the legal system across the country. If they lost here, it could hurt the cause of battered women everywhere.
"Do you regret taking the case?"
She gave it a moment's thought, even though she knew the answer immediately. "No. I wish I could handle more cases like this. Important cases. Cases where I can really make a difference."
"So why don't you?"
"And spend the rest of my life battling with the partners over expenses and my lack of billable hours?" she asked dryly. "They voted me in, you know. They can vote me right back out."
"Then you could go into business for yourself. You could take only the kinds of cases that you want—important ones," he said, turning her words back on her. "Cases where you make a difference. Cases like this one, where probably no other attorney in Nashville could do for Carrie what you can."
Odd that he should suggest that, she thought as they went into a small, private conference room to wait for Carrie. Just the other day the idea of leaving the firm had entered her mind for the first time ever, and it had stunned her. But Zachary talked as if it were the most logical thing in the world.
Of course, things were different for him. He'd been in practice alone for his entire career. He wouldn't do well in a firm where he was accountable to others, where he had to defend his choice of cases and his expenses, where he was under constant pressure to bring in as much business—meaning income—as possible. He obviously liked being his own boss, setting his own hours, his own agenda, living by his own rules.
She liked to think that she was her own boss, too, that she ran her career and her life herself. She made that claim, but it wasn't true, not really. Her partners had almost as much authority over her as her father had had when she was younger. No matter how much they valued her, she still needed their approval. She still had to take cases that bored her, still had to represent clients who offended her, because it was good for the firm.
But what was good for her? she wondered.
Zachary pulled off his overcoat, then sat down at the small table that nearly filled the room. He resisted the temptation to loosen his tie and ran his fingers through his hair instead. "What is there to do in this town at night?" he asked, deliberately changing the subject from business. "I've watched television until my brain is threatening to malfunction; I've read until my eyes are crossed, and there's a limit to how many hours a person can sleep each night."
Beth was standing in the corner, shifting slightly to and fro—a calm, controlled person's version of pacing, he assumed. She gave him a slightly blank look that said her mind was elsewhere, then shook her head slightly as if to clear it. "There are quite a few clubs here, something for every preference," she began. "If you like country music, of course, there's the Grand Ole Opry. Nashville has some excellent restaurants and…" She stopped to think.
"You keep so busy that you don't know what night life is, do you?" he asked with a grin.
She responded with a slightly chagrined smile. "I haven't been out in a long time," she admitted.
"That could be changed." He spoke softly, half afraid that raising his voice or using a bolder tone would scare her off. "Tonight."
"I don't mix business and pleasure," she warned.
"I've been waiting for you to say that," he responded with a grin that faded as quickly as it had come. "But at least you admit that it could be pleasurable." It wasn't enough. It wasn't "Yes, Zachary, I'd like to go out with you." It wasn't even any reason to hope.
But he did. He was suddenly very hopeful indeed.
* * *
Chapter 6
« ^ »
Before Beth could say anything else, Carrie was brought into the room under guard. She chose the chair farthest away from both of them and sat down, folding her hands over her swollen stomach. The action pulled taut the fabric of the dress they had picked up earlier at her house.
Zachary couldn't imagine anyone who fit the image of a murderer less than Carrie Lewis did. She was such a fragile, harmless-looking little creature. Hopefully, the jury would see her the same way. Her appearance alone might influence them in her favor.
"Carrie, your preliminary hearing starts soon," Beth said, taking a seat nearby. "I explained to you yesterday what would ha
ppen. Do you remember?"
She nodded. "The judge is going to decide whether I have to go to trial." She looked from Beth to Zachary, her expression hopeful. "Do you think I will?"
Because her gaze was locked with his, Zachary answered. "Probably. It's not likely that they'll dismiss it at this stage."
The hopefulness faded and was replaced by the same dull, empty look Beth associated with her. "Do I have to stay in jail until then?"
"They won't release you without bail," she replied. "Your family can't afford to pay it, and you certainly can't. Are you having any problems, Carrie? Are the other inmates harassing you?"
"No. Nobody bothers me. It's just…" She trailed off and shrugged helplessly. "I want to see my kids."
That was a reasonable request. He was surprised she'd waited so long to make it. "I'll talk to your parents and see if we can arrange a visit."
"You won't have to testify today, Carrie," Beth said, drawing her attention. "You'll sit at the table with Zachary and me and just listen. The state has to show proof that a crime was committed and reasonable cause to believe that you did it."
"And what are you going to do?"
"Ordinarily, I would try to convince the judge that you didn't do it and that the evidence is insufficient to warrant a trial. But we're not denying that you killed your husband. Instead we're trying to prove that you were driven to it, that you had no other choice."
"Some of the women in the jail say that if I'd killed him when we were fighting, I probably wouldn't even have been arrested," Carrie said softly. "Is that true?"
Beth nodded.
"If I'd tried that, he would have killed me for sure." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I thought he was going to, anyway."
The effect of her words hovered in the air long after the sound had faded. Her simple statement touched Zachary with its resignation and its utter hopelessness. It made him realize once again the true importance of this case. It wasn't a chance to learn from a better attorney, as he'd told himself, or an opportunity to add a felony defense to his resume, or even an occasion to get close to Beth.
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