In her heart, Susan didn’t, either. Still, she appreciated Dorian’s kindness to her and his obvious concern for Sebastian. She shouldn’t underestimate the anguish that losing his half brother so soon after finding him was causing Dorian. She gave him a quick hug before leaving and hastened to get out of his office before she broke down completely. Short of making up an alibi for Sebastian and perjuring herself, Susan didn’t know what more she could do to help the man she loved.
Sick at heart, she returned to her apartment, where she sank onto her couch without bothering to fix any dinner. She grabbed the remote and turned on the evening news. What she saw didn’t do anything to lift her spirits. There, in living color, was Sebastian Wescott himself, caught in the glare of flashbulbs popping in his face. Reporters were shoving microphones at him, demanding to know, as he struggled to make his way down the front steps of the courthouse, whether rumors that he intended to represent himself were true. Susan didn’t suppose he had considered the need to bring bodyguards with him to clear a path so that he could get to his vehicle.
“Mr. Wescott, can you tell us—”
“How will this affect Wescott Oil and all the people who work—”
“No comment.”
Susan was relieved to see him stick to that phrase as the reporters persisted in badgering him and attempting to block his way.
“Did you murder Eric Chambers?” one yokel in back called out.
Susan held her breath as she waited to see if Sebastian was going to dive over the reporters in front and throttle the idiot who had asked the question.
“No, I did not,” he replied, shoving a microphone out of his face.
“Hey!” the offended newsman hollered.
Though it was difficult to make any sense of the babble surrounding Sebastian’s appearance, one question rang out loud and clear. It was a question that turned Sebastian’s face six shades of furious.
“Is it true you fired Susan Wysocki as your attorney because the two of you had a lovers’ spat? That you’ve separated because of irreconcilable differences?”
Susan cringed. She couldn’t help but wonder if Joe himself hadn’t somehow leaked that juicy bit of information to the press. Sebastian grabbed the nearest microphone and waited for silence before deeming to answer for the entire world to hear. Susan heard her own voice join the fray.
“No,” she cried, fearing Sebastian was about to make a deal with the devil himself.
“For the record, I did not fire Ms. Wysocki. I would have been an idiot to do so. Susan Wysocki is one damned fine lawyer, the best I’ve ever had the good luck to run into. As much as I regret it, I have to respect her reasons for resigning from this case. I’d ask you to respect the woman’s privacy and not subject her to the kind of abusive treatment that you clowns claim is the privilege of the press. In fact, I’d appreciate it if you’d just leave her name out of this altogether.”
The likelihood of that, now that Sebastian had so publicly stated his feelings on the matter, was next to nothing. In anticipation of the onslaught of incoming calls, Susan reached over and took her phone off the hook. She should have expected no less from a man who lived by his own unique code of honor and was willing to sacrifice himself if necessary to uphold it.
The close-up the cameraman took of Sebastian’s face just before turning the incident over to the local anchor didn’t do him justice. His features were too marked by torment to show how truly handsome he was. Susan was shocked to see that Dorian hadn’t been exaggerating about his half brother’s appearance. Telltale circles deepened his eyes, and in the harsh glare of the camera’s light, his face took on a gaunt look.
It worried Susan to see the glint in the anchorman’s eyes. The gray at his temples marked him as a veteran of the ratings wars. Clearly he saw this as his chance to make a name for himself in the big time and leave local coverage behind him. He had a hard time keeping the glee from his voice as Susan’s name and face were flashed in a corner of the screen. He seemed to take perverse delight in the prospect of “bringing down” one of the most prosperous and respected men in the state. It was the kind of coup he had been waiting for his whole career.
Regardless of any personal pain inflicted on the injured parties themselves—not to mention the adverse effect it was sure to have on hundreds of people employed by Wescott Oil Enterprises—this fellow showed absolutely no compunction about taking advantage of others’ misfortune. He might be the first to break the scoop, but Susan knew he would not be the last to exploit this story. That this time the target of the press was a millionaire would only amplify the carnival air of the coverage in the days to come. Too many people would silently gloat to see a rich man suffer simply because they were jealous of his success and would be quick to discount the hard work it took to achieve such wealth. It was a strange and twisted form of prejudice that would be hard to fight in court.
Moved by Sebastian’s gallantry under fire in his attempt to protect her, Susan didn’t bothering asking herself why she had fallen in love with this obstinate, honorable man. Fighting it was useless. Without Sebastian, she was not whole. In the soft glow of the television tube, she simply came to accept this truth as one acknowledges that an arm or a leg is a part of one’s self.
Just as she knew that she would wait an eternity for him if she must.
Eleven
Susan awoke on her rented sofa to find herself still dressed in the clothes she had worn to work the day before. She had neglected to turn off the television set before falling asleep, and the first thing she saw upon opening her eyes was the flickering image on her twenty-five-inch screen. It took a moment for her somnolent brain to recall last night’s newscast, whereupon consciousness was upon her immediately. Pulling herself into a sitting position, she checked her watch and was glad to discover that it was far too early in the morning for even the most diehard reporters to begin pestering her.
Reaching for the phone on the floor beside her, she proceeded to put the receiver back on the hook. The first thing she intended to do after taking a refreshing shower, changing into more comfortable clothes and sipping a hot cup of flavored instant coffee was to place a call to Sebastian just as soon as the sun made an appearance in the eastern sky. She wondered if he was as eager to reconcile as she. Vowing to completely avoid the question about where he was on the night of the murder, she began framing arguments for why the two of them should get back together.
If that ultimately meant waiting until he was released from prison to begin their lives anew, so be it. Anticipating Sebastian’s certain reluctance to tie her down to a man with a potential prison record, she constructed her case not on a logical premise but rather on the foundation of her own heart. Bars could not lock up the love she felt for this man. Nor could time diminish a passion that stemmed not from physical attraction alone but from an enduring respect for his intellectual and emotional strength.
However unstable the present might have been, Susan knew enough to let go of the past and grab hold of the present for all she was worth. Looking back over her life, she had never felt more imprisoned than when she had been married to Joe. Just because her relationship with him had been awful did not mean that Sebastian was not worthy of her trust. It was high time to separate then from now and to accept Seb’s reasons for maintaining silence as honorable.
Susan was halfway to the bathroom when the phone rang. Not willing to take a chance on it being a nosy reporter, she decided to simply let the answering machine screen her calls. Still, she waited a moment before stepping out of the room on the off chance that it was Sebastian.
The woman’s voice wafting softly into the room had the effect of exotic perfume upon her. It was utterly captivating.
“Ms. Wysocki,” the woman said in a pleading tone that Susan doubted any man alive could find the strength to resist. “If you’re there, Ms. Wysocki, please pick up the phone. I saw the newscast last night, and I think I can be of help. Sebastian Wescott was with me on the night in q
uestion. If it’s the only way of securing his freedom, I would be willing to come forward and testify to the fact that he was nowhere near the town of Royal, Texas, when that man Eric Chambers was murdered.”
Susan sprung across the room with all the gusto of an Olympic sprinter and grabbed the phone. “Please don’t hang up!” she implored, saying a silent prayer that she wasn’t too late already.
The number on her caller-identity box flashed Not Available.
Silence greeted her directive.
“Hello, hello,” she repeated breathlessly. “This is Susan Wysocki. Are you still there?”
Time was an endless string of beads stretching into eternity. The clock on the wall marked every single one of the seconds ticking by. Susan was just about to give up and write the whole thing off as a cruel hoax when a single, muted syllable gave her heart reason to leap with hope.
“Yes.”
Sensing the caller’s reluctance, Susan waited for her to continue without pressing too hard too soon. Clearly this was a delicate matter, and the last thing she wanted to do was scare off the woman by being perceived as pushy.
“Can we meet someplace private?” Sebastian’s self-confessed alibi asked hesitantly. “I don’t trust phones—or lawyers, for that matter. It’s only because Sebastian spoke so highly of you on the television that I’m willing to talk to you at all.”
Susan detected a slight Spanish accent. The gentle quality of her voice was compelling and sensual at the same time. Susan desperately wanted to put a face to it.
“Name the time and the place, and I’ll be there.”
It was a challenge not to jump prematurely into the long pause that followed her offer. Clearly the woman to whom she was speaking had some deep reservations about coming forward.
“You have my word that I’ll come alone,” Susan volunteered when the silence became too much to bear. The breath froze in her lungs as she waited for a response.
“Is there any way my identity can be protected?”
Tinged with fear, that halting, mellifluous voice gave every impression that the wrong answer to this crucial question would terminate this conversation immediately. As critical as this testimony could be to freeing the man she loved, Susan did not want to obtain it under false pretenses. She answered as honestly as she could without compromising Sebastian’s chance of an acquittal.
“I’m not sure. Once you explain your circumstances to me, I promise I’ll do everything I can to accommodate you.”
The sigh that met her promise seemed to transport this woman’s soul through the telephone wires connecting them. Goose bumps raised the flesh on Susan’s arms. Even without knowing any details, she felt a bond to this woman who held Sebastian’s fate in her hands.
“The gazebo at Royalty Park. Midnight tonight.”
With that, the line went dead.
Susan replaced the receiver with shaking hands. Clearly her anonymous caller wasn’t taking any chances on being seen in public with Susan. It was a potentially dangerous rendezvous. Such a meeting could just as easily be a trap for Susan as a way to free Sebastian. Was she being set up, just as he claimed to have been?
One man was dead already. Murdered. There was no reason to believe that the killer would not strike again. Having been taught long ago that a woman should never venture into dark, out-of-the-way places alone at night, Susan couldn’t keep violent visions from running through her head. She weighed the possibility of being knocked in the head, violated and killed against her love for Sebastian and the chance to preserve his reputation and his freedom.
There was no contest.
She would accept the risk. It was Sebastian’s only chance.
Overjoyed at the prospect of actually being able to save the man she loved from public humiliation, financial ruin and prison time, Susan dismissed all thought of personal safety. All the same, she locked her door before venturing into the shower. She had a full head of lather worked up when an insidious thought occurred to her, causing her to reach out for the handrail to steady herself. The reason Sebastian refused to provide an alibi for the night in question was as painfully obvious as the soap in her eyes. He was protecting the mysterious woman on the phone. The caller’s apprehensiveness about stepping into the public eye, as well as her request to keep her identity a secret, could be explained easily enough by any objective outside observer not blinded by love.
Sebastian was having an affair with a married woman.
And if the woman’s husband was anything like Joe, Susan could well understand why she was afraid to reveal her secret. Certainly in the history of judicial annals, more than one jealous husband had been known to commit murder upon discovering his wife’s infidelity. Had Eric Chambers somehow become mixed up in this whole sordid affair and taken the brunt of a spurned lover’s uncontrollable rage? Or had he been foolish enough to try blackmailing his boss with the knowledge of his clandestine affair?
Sinking into a heap in the corner of the shower, Susan let the hot water slowly turn to cold. Her tears were washed down the drain as the impact of Sebastian’s betrayal stabbed her like thousands of tiny knives. The only logical reason he would continue to protect this woman in the face of a possible life sentence was that he was in love with her. That in itself was more devastating to Susan than the fact that he had conducted an affair with a married woman.
She felt her stomach heave. All the while he had been making passionate love to her, he had likely been imagining another woman in his bed. The thought made her feel dirty, and no amount of scrubbing could ever make her feel clean again.
To think she had believed him to be a man of principle! How devastating to realize that the greater cause to which Sebastian was so willing to sacrifice himself was, in fact, another woman. The only reason Susan could think of that he would refuse to implicate her was that she was married and he felt bound to protect her honor. The case that was once certain to win Susan acclaim and secure her firm’s success had now broken her heart and destroyed her faith in the man she loved.
What a fool she was! To be duped twice in one lifetime into falling for a man of bad character didn’t speak very highly of her own. Sadly Susan dragged herself out of the shower and wrapped a towel around her body, then spent the next hour with the lights off, staring into the darkness and probing her open wounds.
Anger came along to numb the pain.
How dare the birds outside her window chirp such a cheerful welcome to the sun when it rose only to shine light on her lover’s indiscretions? Revenge was tempting. It would serve Sebastian Wescott right if she spent the whole night flirting her eyeballs out at some singles bar, all the while letting his mystery lady turn blue in the cold waiting for her to show up. There was no earthly reason she shouldn’t let him rot in jail for the next three decades. Maybe she should give that cocky anchorman down at Channel One the opportunity to film her slapping a hypocrite in public.
Before she did anything, however, Susan decided it was only fair to give Sebastian an opportunity to explain himself. Memory directed her fingers as she dialed his home phone number. Any action, she decided, was preferable to wallowing in the pit of self-pity.
“Is something wrong?” Rosa asked, obviously worried by the anger she detected in Susan’s voice.
Susan did her best to keep her suspicions to herself. As devoted as Rosa was to Sebastian, there was always the possibility that she would blame his behavior on his father’s bad genes. It was not a theory to which Susan personally subscribed. Having worked with her fair share of criminals eager to attribute their misdeeds to genetic flaws and difficult childhoods, she believed that a man was responsible for his own actions.
She was disappointed to hear that Sebastian had just left for a meeting at the Texas Cattleman’s Club. For all she knew, he was down there right now sharing a big laugh at her expense with all his buddies. The thought made her furious enough to actually consider marching right down there and breaking down the doors of that archaic establishment
, if necessary, to confront him face-to-face.
The doorman dryly told her to “take a number” as he directed Susan to the “ladies’ parlor” and suggested she make herself comfortable. Apparently the club members were in a very important meeting and had left word with him that they were not to be disturbed. Determined to wait however long it took, even if it meant planting herself there like the potted orchid in one corner of the room, Susan took a seat on a newly reupholstered blue velvet settee that dated back to the turn of the century. Instead of the heavy paneling she had spied in the main room, these walls were covered with a delicate rose print that somehow made her feel out of place in her cream-colored slacks and pale-green sleeveless shell. Such a room called for long white gloves, extravagant hats and dresses trimmed with lace.
All things considered, the atmosphere was cozy enough, even if did smack of old-fashioned chauvinism dating back to the days when men banished women from their presence so they could smoke cigars and speak of matters too weighty for their wives to trouble their pretty little heads over. Indeed, the potpourri simmering in an electrical pot on the marble-top table next to Susan failed to completely mask the odor of a hundred years’ worth of such cigars enjoyed on the premises. In the middle of the room, an authentic Royal Bayreuth tea service was displayed atop a cherry stand polished to a gleam. At the moment Susan would have preferred something more substantial in the way of beverages. Even though the club seldom received unannounced female visitors outside the usual charity ball or community shindig, she suspected the tea was nonetheless kept piping hot. Impatient with such pretty folderol, Susan felt like hurling the whole set against one of the many gilded mirrors decorating all four walls.
Tall, Dark...And Framed? Page 11