Sandra's Classics - The Bad Boys of Romance - Boxed Set

by Sandra Marton

  She had fallen in love with Peter Saxon and lost him, all in four short days. In the week since his capture she had thought of little else except Peter and what he believed about her.

  The look in his eyes as they had led him away tormented her by day and haunted her at night, plucking her from dreams in which Peter held her in his arms and kissed her, hurling her into the cruel reality of her cold and lonely bed.

  She hadn't seen Peter since the morning of his arrest. Jim Garrett had driven her back to town, then led her from his car and into the police station. Reporters and photographers had been clustered outside; what had seemed like hundreds of questions had been shouted at her. Sara had turned away from everyone, burying her face in the police chief's protective shoulder, and never looking up until the door to his private office had swung shut after them.

  Then, with surprising gentleness for a man his size, Garrett had eased her into the swivel-chair behind his desk and squatted beside her.

  "Sara? Are you all right?"

  It had taken all the strength she had to nod her head. "Yes," she had whispered.

  "Are you sure? I can send for the doc if you think—"

  "Chief," Sara's eyes had met those of her boss, "Peter didn't hurt me. I keep telling you that."

  Garrett had risen to his feet. "He sure as hell did something," he had said, his voice flat. "All I've heard for the past hour is how I've arrested the wrong man."

  "That's right. Peter is innocent. He's not a thief. He—"

  "Sara, for heaven's sake, take it easy, will you?"

  Sara drew a deep breath. "I want to see him. I have to see him. He thinks I turned him in, Chief. He thinks I—"

  Garrett squatted beside her again, and took her hands in his. "It doesn't matter what he thinks, Sara. He can't hurt you anymore. You don't have to worry."

  Sara snatched her hands away. "Damn," she said, anger roughening her voice, "I want to see him." Suddenly, tears filled her eyes and began to spill down her cheeks. "Please," she whispered, "take me to him."

  Her boss looked at her as if he had never seen her before. "You've been under a lot of strain," he said finally. "I'm going to call Alice. I'll need a statement from you but it can wait until you've calmed down and gotten some rest."

  "I'll give you a statement right now. Peter's been framed. He didn't take the jewels. He—"

  The look on Garrett's face was made up of equal parts of compassion and distaste but his voice gave nothing away.

  "Just take it easy until Alice gets here, OK? What you need is to talk to another woman. Maybe then we can make some sense out of all this."

  Sara nodded numbly. She watched as Garrett telephoned his wife. It was impossible to hear what he said—he turned his back to her and cupped his hand around the phone—but when Alice arrived she had a sympathetic look in her eyes and a determined set to her mouth.

  "Sara and I aren't going to talk in your office, Jim," she said, and she slipped a comforting arm around Sara's waist. "You come with me, dear. My car's out back. We'll go have ourselves a nice cup of tea and chat a little."

  As soon as they were outside, Sara turned to the older woman. "Alice, please, take me to Peter."

  Chief Garrett's wife spoke to her as if she were soothing a child awakening from a bad dream.

  "They're probably still doing all the paperwork. You know how long these things take." She smiled and opened the car door. "There's plenty of time. We'll go to your house, and you can take a shower and change while I put the kettle on." She glanced at Sara meaningfully. "And then we'll talk."

  The two women had talked until Sara was hoarse, Alice listening so sympathetically that at first Sara thought she believed her.

  "Do you understand now?" Sara finally asked. "Peter Saxon is innocent. You have to make the chief listen to me, Alice. Maybe you could talk to him while I go to Peter."

  Alice patted Sara's hand. "Drink your tea, dear. It's good for you."

  "Didn't you hear me? I have to see Peter. He thinks I turned him in. I can't go on letting him believe that."

  Alice's face twisted, shattering the illusion of compassion. "That rat! What kind of man would put a woman through such an ordeal? And all to save his own neck! No wonder you're confused."

  Sara stared at the older woman in disbelief. "Haven't you heard anything I said? I love Peter." Her voice cracked with anguish. "How could he have thought I would call the police?"

  "Let him think it. It's the only way you can salvage your pride." Alice sighed. "Don't you see? He played on your sympathies for his own protection. It's like the time they arrested him—that woman he stole from wouldn't say anything against him either."

  Sara shook her head. "The papers said she didn't see anything."

  "Maybe she just didn't want to see anything, the same as you." Alice marched to the sink and filled the kettle with fresh water. "Saxon was running out on you when Jim caught him. Do you really think he'd have done that if he cared anything for you?"

  Sara bit her lip. "He—he couldn't face prison. Put yourself in his place."

  "It's you I'm interested in," Alice said, slamming the kettle down on the electric stove. "A man like that ought to be horsewhipped. I hope they lock him up and throw away the key—and so will you, once you get some rest and come to your senses."

  Alice Garrett had been on the phone to her husband, her back to the kitchen, when Sara rose quietly and slipped out of the door. Her car had been sitting in the cold all week but it started up easily. She had glanced in the mirror just in time to see the chief's wife running down the road after her, yelling at her to come back.

  Sara had driven straight to the county jail only to be told that Peter Saxon refused to see her. He had refused her calls, too, the next day and the day after that.

  The whole thing was like a nightmare. And there seemed nothing she could do to change it. Nothing...

  "Sara?"

  She blinked and looked up. The postman was standing before her desk, the morning's mail clutched in his hand.

  "Sorry, Mr. Pemberton. I didn't hear you come in."

  The man nodded. "Snow in the air," he said laconically.

  "That's what the weather report says."

  The postman looked at her through eyes red-rimmed by the wind. "Heard a rumor you refused to testify against that Saxon fella, Sara. Is that true?"

  "Heard a rumor you're not gonna finish your route by nightfall, Eddie." Sara looked behind her. Jim Garrett stood in the doorway to his private office, his grizzled eyebrows raised politely. "Is that true?"

  The postman shrugged, and put the mail into Sara's outstretched hand. "Town runs on rumors, Chief." His eyes slid to Sara. "We all know that." He smiled and pulled up his collar. "Have a good day, folks."

  "Same to you, Eddie." Garrett stood behind Sara until the outer door had opened and closed. Then he sighed, and came around to the front of her desk. "Maybe you shouldn't have come back to work just yet," he said.

  Sara shook her head. "No," she said quickly, "no, I'd much rather be here than at home. The days were endless..."

  ...but not as endless as the nights, she thought.

  Jim Garrett nodded. "Yes, I guess you're right. Besides, in a town like this, there's not much you can do to stem gossip." He gave Sara a sharp look. "You do know people are beginning to talk, don't you?"

  She smiled faintly. "People always talk in Brookville, Chief. It's how they get through the winter."

  "I'm not joking, Sara. There are all kinds of rumors floating around. And it's only going to get worse. I can't put people off forever. They're full of questions."

  Sara shrugged her shoulders. "I appreciate your concern, Chief, but I haven't asked you to protect me. Besides, everyone will know how I feel when the case comes to trial."

  Garrett perched his bulky haunches on the edge of her desk. "I'm hoping you'll come to your senses long before then. The prosecutor is going to subpoena you. You'll have to go into a courtroom and testify under oath."

/>   "Peter Saxon didn't steal those jewels."

  "The judge won't solicit your opinion," Garrett said sharply. "He'll be interested in facts."

  "I'll tell what I know. Peter is innocent."

  Her boss sighed. "Sara, listen to me. I don't know what happened between you and Saxon—"

  Sara flushed. "I told you what happened. We figured out the truth about the jewel theft."

  Garrett waved his hand in the air. "I know, I know. Saxon was framed by Simon Winstead. You've been telling me that all week." His eyes met hers. "But the prosecutor's not going to buy that without proof, Sara. He's going to rake you over the coals if you try that story on him."

  Sara tossed down her pencil. "What would you like me to do? Lie? Say that—that Peter stole the jewels? That he beat me? That he—that he—"

  "I only want you to tell what you know. Saxon kidnapped you. He threatened you. He restrained you forcibly. He stole a car—"

  Sara shoved back her chair and got to her feet. "He had no choice. He was forced into doing those things, because he knew no one would believe him."

  Garrett's eyes narrowed. "What the hell does that prove?"

  "What it proves," she said furiously, "is that he was right. I kept telling him to turn himself in. I said he would get a fair hearing from you, that you would put aside your prejudices and really listen to him."

  The chief scowled. "Listen to him? I wish to hell I could listen to him. But he won't talk to me. The way I hear it, he's even refused to talk to his attorney. The only thing I know about this case is the crazy story I keep hearing from you—that Winstead set Saxon up, and that the missing jewels are in his safe."

  "It's not crazy," Sara insisted. "And I don't know why Peter hasn't said anything. He knows Winstead did it—it just doesn't make any sense,"

  Jim Garrett sighed. "None of this makes sense."

  Sara sank down at her desk. "And it won't," she said wearily, "not unless you look in Winstead's safe."

  "Back to square one," the chief said. He watched her for a moment and then he cleared his throat. "Alice and I were talking last night. We wondered, well, Alice thought—the thing is, we know you must have had a pretty bad time of it with Saxon. And people get turned around when they're under a lot of stress—"

  Sara looked at him coldly. "And?"

  Garrett shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe you should see somebody. I was talking to Doc Ronald, over at the hospital, and he says he knows somebody on staff there—"

  Sara's eyebrows rose. "Somebody? Don't you mean a psychiatrist?"

  "What if he is? He's an expert on this kind of thing, the doc says. He can help you. He—"

  "Dammit, I'm not crazy! I don't need a doctor—I need somebody to believe me." Suddenly her anger dissolved, and was replaced by a bone-draining weariness. "Chief, I beg you, get a search-warrant for the Winstead house. Open the safe."

  The police chief rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "I wish to hell I could! I'm beginning to think that's the only way to make you see the truth."

  "Then why don't you?"

  Garrett snorted. "There's not a judge in the state who would grant me a warrant, Sara. You've been in this business long enough to know that."

  "But if you tell him..."

  "Tell him what? That my secretary says Peter Saxon told her New York's classiest jeweler's got three million bucks' worth of stolen jewels stashed in his safe?" The big man made a face. "Hell, Sara, just listen to yourself. I don't know how that S.O.B. got you to believe a story like that but it's so full of holes, it couldn't hold a thimble full of water."

  Sara drew in her breath. "I saw the jewels," she said softly. "I told you that."

  Garrett's eyes narrowed. "In the trunk of Saxon's car."

  "Yes. And—"

  "And you noticed right away that the tiara and the emeralds were missing."

  Sara hesitated. "No. Well, not exactly. Peter was the one who noticed. And he told me. And—"

  The chief threw up his hands. "For heaven's sake, can you just hear me telling that to a judge? ‘My secretary says Saxon told her some of the pieces were missing, your Honor. And he told her he knows where they are.’" He shook his head. "Sara, for pity's sake—"

  "Suppose—suppose I said I had noticed right away? I mean, what if I'd realized that some of the jewels weren't there the first time I saw them?"

  Garrett lowered his head. "Do you know what you're saying?"

  Her chin rose in defiance. "Would it make a difference? Would you be able to get a warrant if—"

  "No." Her boss's voice was sharp. "It wouldn't be worth a damn. For one thing, Saxon could have had the missing jewels in his pocket."

  "But he didn't. He—"

  "For another," Garrett said coldly, "I would know you were lying, because that's not the way you told me the story every other time we talked." He stared at Sara until her cheeks colored. "So," he said finally, "you would even lie for that creep, would you?"

  "Peter is innocent."

  The chief shook his head. "I just can't believe it, Sara. You, of all people. Why? I always thought you could spot a phony—" He shook his head. "Look, why don't you come to stay with Alice and me for a while? Alice thinks—"

  Sara turned away. "I know what she thinks. She thinks that Peter Saxon made a fool of me."

  "No, Sara. Nothing like that."

  She drew a deep breath. "I don't want him to be locked up for a crime he didn't commit. Anything else is my business and no one else's."

  Garrett ran his fingers through his hair. "Saxon doesn't deserve this kind of loyalty. He won't even see you."

  She laughed bitterly. "I'm not the most popular woman in town, am I? Winstead won't see me, either."

  The chief's head rose sharply. "What?"

  "Don't lecture me, please. I know I shouldn't have done it."

  "Done what? For heaven's sake, if you've made insane accusations about Simon Winstead, he'll have your job and mine so fast that it'll make your head spin."

  She sighed and rose from her chair. "Don't worry," she said, pouring herself a cup of coffee. "I didn't accuse him of anything. I drove to his house last night. His butler announced me, and Winstead came to the door just long enough to tell me not to show my face there again."

  Garrett put his hand to his forehead. "Sara, that wasn't bright at all. The man's got lawyers and—"

  The shrill ring of the telephone cut him off. Sara reached for it but he waved her away. She sipped her coffee as he lifted the receiver and mumbled his name into it. He listened for a moment, his face darkening, and then he slammed down the phone.

  Sara looked at him. "Bad news?"

  The big man shrugged. "Just a minor set-back. That was the state cops. They took Indian Lake Lodge apart, looking for the jewels that weren’t in the backpack we found in Saxon’s motel room.'' His eyes met hers. "They didn't find them."

  Sara nodded. "I told you they wouldn't. I told that to Winstead last night, too. Not that he wanted to hear it."

  Garrett sighed. "I thought he didn't talk to you."

  "He didn't. Not really. I told him Peter Saxon was no thief. And Winstead laughed and said he was, that honest people didn't drive around with boxes of jewels in the trunks of their cars."

  Jim Garrett got to his feet. "What? What did you just say?"

  Sara looked at him, her expression puzzled. "I said I told Winstead that Peter wasn't a thief."

  He shook his head impatiently. "Not that. The other part."

  "The other...? Winstead said only a thief would have a box full of jewels tucked in the trunk of his car." She stared at her boss's face, and her pulse suddenly began to race. "Why are you looking at me that way?"

  Garrett's meaty hands clasped her shoulders. "Are you sure that's what he said? I mean, about the jewels being in the trunk?" Sara nodded. "That's very interesting," he said softly. "Very interesting. You see, nobody but you and Saxon knew the jewels were in that trunk."

  Her heart turned over. "Are you sure?"
>
  The chief nodded. "Saxon hasn't made any statement at all. And you haven't spoken to anybody but me."

  "Jim." Sara's voice was a whisper. "The only way Simon Winstead could have known that..."

  "...is if he put the jewels there himself." Garrett took a long breath. "All right," he said after a minute, "let's hear your crazy story again, Sara. From the top." He looked out of the window to the snow that had begun falling, and a quick smile flashed across his face. "What the hell? It's going to be a long afternoon. What have I got to lose?"

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  It was amazing, Sara thought, how easily euphoria could change to despair.

  Only a few hours ago, she'd been filled with hope. She'd told Jim Garrett the details of her flight with Peter over and over but this afternoon had been the first time she had done so with an eagerness that even she could hear in her voice.

  The chief listened closely, interrupting only after she'd described the moment she'd first seen the jewels in the trunk of Peter's car, heaped in a simple box and gleaming like dime-store spangles under the beam of her flashlight.

  "You're sure, Sara?"

  Her eyes had met Garrett's. "Yes." She'd waited for her boss to say something more but he hadn't, and finally she had cleared her throat. "Are you convinced now? Winstead put the jewels there himself. He would never have known about them otherwise."

  The chief had shrugged. "Maybe."

  That was when her euphoria had begun to fade. "Maybe? But you said he did. You said—"

  "I said it was an interesting possibility."

  "He put them there, Chief. You know he did."

  Her boss had given her a non-committal smile. "Maybe. And that's the best I'm going to do right now. I'll check it out, and if I can come up with something—"

  "What do you mean, you'll check it out? I just gave you all the proof you need!"

  Garrett had shoved back his chair, risen heavily to his feet, and strolled to the window.

  "The snow's picking up. Why don't you go on home before the roads get any worse?" When he turned towards her and saw the look on her face, he'd sighed. "If I come up with something, I'll let you know. If, Sara. Do you understand?"