“Are you sure you’re all right?” Sissy asked, her eyes tracking Brittany as she returned from the kitchen and sat on the sofa, folding her legs under her.
“Drink some of your chocolate,” Brittany said lightly, dreading the next few minutes, when she would have to rehash the horror she’d endured. Sissy wouldn’t rest until she told her, though Brittany had no intention of telling her the whole story.
“To hell with the cocoa. I want to know whose fist you ran into. I can’t accuse Tommy—”
“Sissy!”
“Just kidding.”
A short silence ensued while both women sipped the steaming cocoa. Then Sissy put her cup down and said pointedly, “I’m waiting.”
“It’s not an easy thing to talk about,” Brittany said, still hedging.
“Did…he rape you?”
“I don’t think so. I blacked out, but…”
Sissy swore, which was so out of character it almost made Brittany smile.
“Other than your face, do you have other injuries?”
“Some cuts and bruises.”
“So what happened?”
Brittany explained, but without mentioning Rupert’s name—or Collier’s.
“What a horrible experience,” Sissy said in a numb-sounding voice. “It’s a miracle you survived, and it’s another miracle someone came along to pick you up. Even though you won’t tell me who’s responsible, I hope to hell you told the police.”
“No.”
“Dammit, Brittany, why not?”
“I’d rather not talk about it.”
Clearly frustrated, Sissy snapped, “That’s not smart. Hell, I didn’t even know you were seeing someone, much less that he would turn out to be a violent creep.”
“Please, Sissy, don’t ask me anything else. I’ve told you all I’m prepared to.”
“Fine, but if that bastard touches you again, I won’t let you off the hook so easily.”
“You know how I feel about depending on the law,” Brittany said by way of another excuse. “After the way Tommy was railroaded, you, of all people, should understand.”
“I understand, but in this instance, I don’t agree. But you have to do what you have to do.”
“Thanks for your support.” Brittany tried to smile.
“Can I do anything for you?” Sissy asked. “I feel so helpless.”
“Nothing except give me a few more days off.”
“What about your classes?”
“I’ll go to those and work in the diner.”
“Can’t you forget the diner? I’ll advance you—”
“No,” Brittany interrupted. “I’ll be okay.”
Sissy stood, her mouth stretched in a thin line. “When you come to your senses, I’ll be here for you. Meanwhile, take care and heal.” She leaned over and brushed Brittany’s other cheek. “And that’s an order.”
Brittany gave her a watery smile. “Thanks.”
“I’ll see myself out.”
Once Brittany was alone, her head hit the back of the sofa, though it wasn’t all that comfortable. A spring jabbed her in the back of the neck, forcing her to shift positions and making her wince again. Her body was just now beginning to feel the effects of her ordeal. But at least the bruising had paled somewhat, and she no longer scared herself when she looked in the mirror.
Maybe Tommy wouldn’t even notice. Ha. She knew better, but right now, she didn’t have to think about that. Nor did she have to think about Collier Smith. That problem was solved. He was out of her life.
Though she would never forget the hot, physical attraction that had crackled between them, it had been his special way of cutting through her shield and finding her tender spots that made him unforgettable. He was the type of man she had searched for all her adult years and never found. Until now. But she could never have him.
He had gone back to his world and left her in hers.
Eight
“Hey, Dad.”
“Son, you’re just the person I wanted to see.”
Son.
Collier’s heart always beat a little faster every time Mason called him that. He didn’t remember reacting like this when he was younger. He guessed that back then he’d just taken it for granted he belonged to Mason. But since he’d become an adult and learned the cold truth, that word had taken on new meaning. If only Mason could have adopted him…
“What’s going on?” Collier finally asked with a smile, something that didn’t come often or easily of late.
“I’ve set the date for the party,” Mason said without preamble.
Collier propped his foot on the bottom stair, almost wishing he hadn’t stopped by the mansion before heading for the office. It had been a while since he’d seen his brother, and he felt like a heel. Though officially retired, Mason maintained an office at the firm and spent a lot of time there. Not so with Jackson. If Collier wanted to see him, he had to make an effort.
“Your silence tells me you don’t approve.”
Collier blew out his breath. “No. I wish you hadn’t done it.”
“It’s the right thing to do.”
“I don’t agree,” Collier countered. “It makes me uncomfortable. We have to face facts. I might not get the appointment. Nothing’s for sure, you know.”
Mason gestured impatiently. “All the more reason to start tooting your horn now, especially since a friend called and told me Rupert Holt’s out lobbying strongly for his candidate, Travis Wainwright. I refuse to let Rupert get the upper hand.”
“When are you two going to stop taking punches at each other? This has been going on far too long. You ought to call a truce.”
“He’s the one with the ax to grind,” Mason said doggedly. “The one who keeps the pot boiling.”
Collier suppressed a sigh. “Regardless of how you feel about Rupert, Wainwright’s a credible candidate. He’s got a good chance of getting the presidential nod.”
“Over my dead body. No one associated with Holt’s going to kick your ass.”
Mason’s thick white eyebrows bunched together, giving him a fierce look. Collier understood why his mother had fallen for him. Not only was he downright handsome—tall and robust, with white hair and blue, blue eyes—he was highly intelligent and filled with boundless energy. And at sixty-six, he was blessed with good health.
Yet, since the tragedy that had befallen his eldest son, there was another side of Mason that had risen to the surface. He’d developed a vindictive, angry streak. Before, he’d been personable and levelheaded. Now, almost anything, insignificant or not, could set him off like a rocket.
No matter, Collier loved him and wanted to find favor in his eyes in everything he did. Sometimes, though, he thought that was an unattainable goal.
“Did you hear what I said?” Mason demanded.
“Uh, no.”
“Dammit, boy, where’s your head?”
Deliberately ignoring Mason’s irritation, he asked, “What were you saying?”
“That you need to give me a guest list for the dinner.”
“I can’t talk you out of it?”
“No,” Mason said with force. “I’m convinced it’s the right thing to do.”
“All right,” Collier conceded with a sigh. “At least Lana will love it.”
“Speaking of Lana, when are you two going to tie the knot? Hell, her old man can do as much or more than anybody to help you get that appointment. This would be a perfect time to announce your intentions. The news might even make the front page of the paper.” Mason’s face suddenly brightened. “Why not do it at the dinner party?”
Collier’s stomach bottomed out. “Whoa! You’re getting way ahead of things. Besides, that’s something personal between Lana and me.”
“Well, don’t lollygag much longer.” Mason’s chin jutted. “It’s high time you were married with a family.”
“Dad, can we change the subject?”
“Yes, but only because I have an appointment. Will I see you
at the office?”
“I’m heading there after I look in on Jackson.”
Mason’s features tightened. “I’ll warn you. He’s in more of a funk than ever, and not very pleasant to be around.”
With that, he walked out the door. Collier remained motionless for a moment, trying to regain his momentum, feeling as though he’d been hit by a mini hurricane.
Shaking his head, he finally turned and bounded up the stairs to Jackson’s suite. Following the accident, Mason had had an elevator installed in the house so Jackson wouldn’t be confined to his quarters. He’d also added a full gym and all the amenities, including a trainer and physical therapist.
At first Mason had done everything in his power to make sure his son walked again. But when it became clear that that wasn’t going to happen, he’d focused on making him as comfortable as possible. But nothing, no amount of money or attention, had been able to help Jackson’s attitude.
Forcing himself to be upbeat, Collier tapped on his brother’s door. Only after he got no response did he ease it open. Jackson was sitting in front of the smoldering fireplace in his wheelchair, sound asleep.
Collier was tempted to wake him, thinking he could sleep most anytime. But for some reason, he refrained from doing so. Perhaps it was because Jackson looked so peaceful, so at ease, something he never was when he was awake.
Even though his lower half was no longer functioning, his upper half was in fine form. Before the paralysis, he’d been a tall, fit, good-looking blond man with piercing blue eyes, so like Mason’s. Now, at forty-two, his upper body had become the focus of his attention. He’d honed those muscles to perfection, in contrast to his wasted lower body.
Too bad he didn’t work that hard on his attitude, Collier thought. Lately, it had sucked. As Mason had pointed out, Jackson had been even more bitter than usual, feeling unusually sorry for himself. Collier hoped his bid for the federal judgeship hadn’t been the catalyst.
Collier would gladly give that up to have his brother whole again.
He continued to look at Jackson, guilt pounding him once again. He was unable to get over the idea that he’d somehow let his brother down.
He hadn’t been there for him when the accident occurred or right afterward. He’d been in the Soviet Union on a case that had represented a golden opportunity for the firm. He’d wanted to come home. He’d made his plans to do just that, only to have Mason demand that he remain in Russia, claiming Jackson didn’t want to see him or anyone else.
He’d gone with Mason’s call, but he’d never forgiven himself for it, thinking that if he’d come home, he might have been able to break through the barrier Jackson had erected between himself and the world. But hindsight was twenty-twenty, and now he had to live with the fact that he hadn’t gone with his heart.
Suddenly Collier jerked his mind back to the present and noticed that the coverlet had slipped slightly to one side, exposing one of Jackson’s legs. It was terribly thin and stiff, as if it was artificial. Collier’s heart turned over, and he felt the sting of tears behind his eyes.
Blinking them back, he crossed lightly to the chair, reached down and replaced the crocheted afghan. When Jackson still didn’t stir, he stepped back. Such a waste of such a brilliant mind. Before the accident, Jackson had been a crackerjack attorney, and he still could be. Unfortunately, he’d chosen not to practice law any longer. Instead, he seemed content to sit and brood behind these walls.
Something had to give soon. But what? Although Collier had asked himself that question numerous times, he still had no answer. Nothing seemed able to shake his brother out of his depression. If by some chance Collier did get the appointment to the bench, there would be a big void in the office. Maybe then Jackson would come to his senses.
Collier clenched and unclenched his fingers. Dammit, it wasn’t fair. Life wasn’t fair.
What a morning.
Collier had been busier than a cranberry merchant, though he couldn’t say he’d accomplished all that much. He had stopped by the prison to see his friend, though. He’d done that immediately after he’d left the mansion.
Afterward, it had taken him a while to get his head back on straight. First Mason, then Jackson, and finally Jim’s sad plight, had started his own day off on a down note. Not that he’d needed a reason. Ever since he’d left Brittany in her sparse surroundings, he hadn’t been able to settle down.
His insides felt like jumping beans had set up shop there. He’d flitted from one case to another. It was a continuation of the night, when he’d lain awake, his mind ping-ponging between Brittany, wondering what she was doing, what she was thinking, and the judgeship, asking himself what dirt his opponents would uncover on him.
He’d counted every slow turn of the ceiling fan in his room before daylight had forced him out of bed.
Forget her.
He might as well. He sure as hell couldn’t see her again. It would be political and emotional suicide. He might as well get a gun and shoot himself in the head and be done with it. If he didn’t, Kyle would, he reminded himself brutally. Despite that, thoughts of Brittany refused to die a natural death, regardless of how many drinks he took or how often he saw Lana.
It was inconceivable that it had only been a week since he’d left Brittany. It seemed an eternity already. Lust for her gnawed constantly at his gut.
“Good, you’re here. Since Pamela wasn’t manning the desk, I thought I’d take a chance on catching you.”
That was the only reason Darwin Brewster had made it into Collier’s office. Pamela knew better than to let that happen.
Still, Collier was glad of the interruption, even if Brewster was the only attorney in the entire firm he had trouble stomaching. The guy badly needed an attitude adjustment, and, on several occasions, Collier had obliged him.
“What’s up?” Collier asked, pushing his folder aside and peering at his uninvited guest.
While not handsome, Darwin did have a gift of gab that seemed to charm his clients, especially the women. His deep brown eyes, thick hair and perfectly groomed mustache apparently made up for his lack of stature. He was short, and thin almost to the point of gauntness. Collier suspected his arrogant attitude stemmed from the “little man syndrome.”
When in a group, Darwin’s demeanor proclaimed he was the best, brightest and most intelligent one in the room. If you didn’t believe him, you could just ask him. He would admit it. That arrogance irritated the hell out of Collier. If he’d had his way, he would never have taken the man on board the firm.
But Mason had been Brewster’s champion, something Collier failed to understand, especially since he had been the court-appointed attorney for that Rogers kid who was responsible for Jackson being in a wheelchair.
Shortly after the scumbag was sent to the pen, Mason had insisted on hiring Brewster. Ever since, Brewster had been in like Flynn. And though Mason’s high regard for him stuck in Collier’s craw, he had to admit that the man knew the law and had won some tough cases.
He hoped Darwin’s track record would carry over to the personal injury case they were working on together. Darwin was second chair.
“There’s something I want to talk to you about.” Darwin looked up from the folder in front of him. “We go to trial next week.”
Collier hadn’t needed a reminder. “I know.” To his knowledge, the details had been pretty much worked out, and he was ready. Apparently Darwin wasn’t. “So what’s on your mind?”
Darwin cleared his throat, though his eyes didn’t waver. “I want to be lead counsel.”
Collier didn’t so much as flinch. “Oh, and why is that?”
“For one thing, I feel like I’ve put in more work and know the facts better. Also, the last few weeks, I’ve really bonded with our client. She’s the one who asked that I be in charge.”
“So you asked.”
Darwin looked a bit confused. “And?”
“The answer is no,” Collier responded in a smooth and controlled tone.
“But—”
Collier stood. “No buts, Brewster. Consider yourself lucky to still be on the case. Now get the hell out of my face and out of my office.”
Nine
Would her life ever get back to normal? Would she ever get her energy back?
Since the accident, she’d not only been exhausted but restless, edgy, as if something else terrible was about to happen. For one thing, she kept waiting for Rupert Holt to come through the door of the agency. To date that hadn’t happened, and maybe it wouldn’t. With any luck, he was running scared, not because of her and what she would do, but because of his wife.
According to Sissy, Angel Holt’s family was the money behind Rupert. So why had he taken the chance of cheating on her? Maybe his wife didn’t care. Maybe she did her thing and Rupert did his, which was to take advantage of unsuspecting women like her. How many other notches did Rupert have on his sexual belt?
Despite the warmth in her Honda, Brittany shivered. She couldn’t get out of her mind just how close she’d come to losing her life that night on the lonely stretch of highway. The resurgence of that thought made her breakfast congeal in her stomach.
A part of Brittany had been tempted to throw caution to the wind, make a phone call and rat on the sleazebag. If she told Rupert’s wife what her husband had done, surely that would bring him to his knees. But she couldn’t. That wasn’t the way she operated. When and if she got the chance to nail Rupert, she wouldn’t use his wife as the hammer.
She simply wanted never to see him again and to get on with her life. A bitter smile erupted. She could have done that if she hadn’t met Collier Smith. He had her mind so fractured, her insides so tangled, nothing made sense anymore.
Did she want to see him again? Was that what all her stewing was about? Apparently so, or she wouldn’t be in such a mess. She thought about him constantly, when she was in bed, in class, at the diner, at the agency. It didn’t matter; he seemed to have attached himself to every aspect of her mind and body.
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