Til Death Do Us Part

by Beverly Barton

  She supposed that if Simon hadn’t told her the truth about his past—about Hope and Laurie—she might have gone on thinking that there was a chance he’d change his mind and stay with her. That he might actually want to spend the rest of his life with her. That someday, he would grow to love her.

  But there was no hope now. No false dreams to hang on to. No illusions about a marriage of convenience that she now realized could never be anything more.

  There was no love in Simon to give. The anger and guilt and remorse he felt over Laurie’s death had slowly killed all the love inside him. And no matter how much she loved him, Cleo knew she couldn’t bring his deepest emotions back to life. Only Simon could do that. And he never would. Loving someone meant taking a risk on being hurt. He’d been hurt too deeply, had endured an agony that would be a part of him forever. A man who walked around with third-degree burns scarring his emotions would never again take a chance on getting burned.

  She glanced over at Roarke. He sat behind the Jacobean desk, while she curled up on the leather sofa. They had agreed to wait downstairs together in the study. Wait for Morgan Kane to call and tell them that they’d caught their man. That either Trey or Hugh had walked into their trap.

  Roarke flipped through the pages of a book on farming techniques, which he’d found in Uncle George’s library. Cleo held a biography of Amelia Earhart on her lap. The minutes dragged by, making the waiting unbearable.

  They’d eaten dinner with the family and tried their best to keep up appearances, but Cleo suspected that they’d failed at presenting the happy newlyweds act they’d finally perfected. But it didn’t matter. What difference did it make anymore whether the family believed theirs was a real marriage? They’d all know the truth soon enough, once Simon left. Once they got a divorce.

  Both Daphne and Trey had excused themselves from a family night at home, Daphne saying she had a date with Hugh and Trey telling them that he was going to the country club to play cards with a group of his friends. Both explanations were reasonable. Daphne saw Hugh almost every night and Trey did play cards at the country club fairly often.

  Cleo glanced down at her watch. “It’s ten o’clock. You’d think if something was going to happen, it would have happened by now.”

  Roarke closed the book and laid it on the desk. “Not necessarily.”

  “If it has to be Trey or Hugh, I hope it’s Hugh,” she said.

  “You’re thinking of your family, aren’t you? That it would be easier all the way around if Trey isn’t guilty.”

  “Do you have any idea what it will do to Aunt Oralie if it is Trey? She dotes on her children. She thinks they can do no wrong.”

  The telephone rang. Cleo jumped. Roarke picked up the receiver.

  “Roarke here. Yes. I see. No, go ahead and call Phil Bacon. Cleo and I will meet you at the sheriff’s department.” Roarke hung up the telephone.

  “That was Kane, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes. Our simple little trap worked.”

  “Who?” Cleo asked.

  “Trey,” Roarke said. “They caught him red-handed. He’s trying to talk his way out of it, but there’s no question that he got into the computer again and deleted several files. Of course he had no way of knowing that he was destroying useless files, dummy orders that we’d entered today, or that he was being videotaped.”

  Cleo could tell by the look on Roarke’s face that there was more to what had happened than he was telling her. “What else? You’re not telling me everything.”

  “Trey had rigged some explosives that he planned to set off in the main production room of the plant.”

  “What! How would Trey know the first thing about explosives?”

  “Every man and his brother can find that information on the internet or order it through the mail,” Roarke told her. “It doesn’t take a genius to assemble a simple little bomb.”

  “Trey.” Cleo gritted her teeth. “I didn’t want it to be Trey. I can’t believe he’d try to kill me. Aunt Oralie raised him to be selfish and greedy, but I never thought he was capable of murder.”

  “He may not be.” Roarke shoved back the chair and stood. “He may be guilty of only sabotage. Kane’s calling Phil Bacon, so I imagine by the time we get down to the sheriff’s department, they’ll have brought in Trey for booking.”

  “He’ll be arrested and put in jail, won’t he?”

  “Yeah, and if I have anything to do with it, he won’t be getting out on bond anytime soon.”

  ROARKE WISHED HE could have spared Cleo from this ordeal. If the saboteur had been anyone other than a member of her family it would have been easier for her. But then, she’d known all along that it had to be someone with something to gain. Someone who would benefit if she agreed to sell McNamara Industries.

  Trey Sutton had called Hugh Winfield, who had shown up at the county jail shortly after Roarke and Cleo had arrived. Cleo had reminded Hugh that as one of McNamara Industries’ lawyers, he could hardly represent someone who’d tried to sabotage the plant. Hugh in turn had called Drennan Norcross, an old warhorse of an attorney, who, with his white hair and thick mustache looked the part of a forties-style Southern lawyer. Drennan actually wore white suits in the summertime and carried a gold-tipped black cane, which he said helped him get around better since his rheumatism had gotten so bad.

  While Drennan spoke to his client, Cleo and Roarke waited, along with Morgan Kane and Ellen Denby. But Hugh Winfield suddenly disappeared.

  “He’s gone to the house to tell the family,” Cleo said. “They’ll all be down here in a little while.”

  “We’ll handle that when it happens,” Roarke told her. “I don’t want you to worry. You’re recovering from a concussion. You just got out of the hospital yesterday. Getting upset isn’t good for you. Or for the baby.”

  She noticed that he hadn’t said your baby or our baby, just the baby. Of course he was right. Getting upset and worrying about how she was going to handle Trey’s capture and the family’s reaction weren’t good for her or her baby. And her child had to be her number-one priority. Regardless of the fact that she had conceived this baby to fulfill a stipulation in her uncle’s will, she already loved her child and wanted it desperately.

  In the future, she might have other children, but they would not be Simon’s children. This tiny life growing inside her would soon be all she had of Simon. Their child and her few precious memories of the days and nights they’d shared during their brief marriage.

  Drennan’s cane tapped along on the hardwood floor as he shuffled down the corridor leading from the jail cells that were located in a separate west wing of the sheriff’s department.

  “Well, Phil, Trey’s ready to sign a statement.” Drennan clasped Sheriff Bacon’s shoulder. “But he wants to talk to Cleo first.”

  “What sort of statement is Trey willing to sign?” Phil Bacon asked.

  “The boy knows he’s been caught red-handed, so to speak.” Drennan chuckled, the sound a smirky good-old-boy laugh. “He’s willing to own up to playing around with the computer and to rigging up some little old homemade bomb that probably wouldn’t have done more than cause a loud sound and create some smoke.”

  Cleo rolled her eyes heavenward. Drennan Norcross was making Trey sound like a misguided Boy Scout who’d been caught putting a garden snake in the scoutmaster’s cot.

  “Is he willing to confess to trying to murder his cousin?” Roarke asked.

  “Hell, no. Trey Sutton is no murderer, sir. The boy doesn’t have it in him to try to harm Miss Cleo.” Drennan smiled at Cleo, his white teeth glistening.

  “I want to talk to Trey,” Cleo said. “I want him to look me in the eye and tell me that he didn’t try to shoot me or poison me or—”

  “Cleo will agree to speak to Trey, but not alone,” Roarke said.

  “Of course,” Drennan agreed. “He said you’d want to come along with her.”

  “Are you sure you want to do this, Cleo?” Phil Bacon asked. “We
don’t need a signed confession, not with eyewitnesses—” Phil glanced at Kane and Ellen Denby, who waited discreetly just outside his open office door “—who caught Trey in the act.” Phil lifted a videotape off his desk. “And even recorded what he did.”

  “I understand,” Cleo said. “I’m glad that we’ve caught our saboteur, but unless Trey was behind the attempts on my life, then I’m still in danger. And so is my baby.”

  “Baby?” Phil looked from Cleo to Roarke. “Well, congratulations, folks. Hell, Cleo, this is hardly the place for a pregnant lady. Down here at the jail having to deal with a mess like this.”

  “I promise that as soon as I talk to Trey and hear what he has to say, I’ll go home.”

  “Come on, then,” Phil said. “I’ll walk you and Mr. Roarke on back. If you’d like, I’ll dismiss my deputy and stay in the room with y’all.”

  “Could we speak to him privately?” Cleo asked.

  “I’m afraid not.” Phil shook his head. “Sorry.”

  “All right. Let’s go get this over with.” Cleo turned to her husband. “He’d be a fool to confess that he’s tried to kill me.”

  Roarke nodded, then slipped his arm around her. She didn’t resist the comforting, protective gesture. They followed the sheriff down the hall and into the small, private inquisition room that also served as a private meeting area for lawyers and their clients.

  Phil dismissed his deputy, who exited the room before Cleo and Roarke entered. Trey stood up the minute Cleo entered the room.

  “I’m sorry, Cleo,” Trey said. “I did what I had to do, what I thought was best for the whole family. We’d all be better off if we sold the company while it’s still worth something. The way things are these days, there’s no way for a small plant like ours to survive.”

  Roarke watched Cleo’s face, the tensing of her jaw, the slight flaring of her nostrils, the narrowing of her pensive green eyes. She was trying to control her anger, trying to stay calm.

  “Don’t apologize to me,” Cleo said. “There is no excuse for what you did, for the thousands of dollars you lost for McNamara’s, the lives you put in danger.”

  “I never meant for anyone to get hurt.” Trey came toward Cleo, his hands open in supplication. “You’ve got to believe me. When I took that shot at you right after Uncle George’s funeral, I had no intention of harming you. I just meant to frighten you.”

  “You were the one! My God, it was you all along.” Cleo curved her fingers into claws and lifted them toward Trey. “You put spiders in my bathroom and poison in my tea. You—”

  “No, Cleo. No! I didn’t. I swear I didn’t. All I did was take a shot at you to try to scare you.”

  When Trey reached out for Cleo, Roarke stepped between them. Trey gazed into Roarke’s stern face and backed away.

  “Do you expect me to believe that you haven’t been behind the other three attempts on my life?” Cleo wanted to put her hands around Trey’s throat and choke the life out of him for what he’d put her through, for what he’d done to her and Aunt Beatrice and all the employees at McNamara’s.

  “I don’t know who’s been trying to kill you,” Trey said. “But I would never hurt you. Scare you into selling McNamara Industries? Yes. But try to kill you? Never.”

  “Come on, Cleo, you don’t need any more of this. Not tonight.” Roarke put his arm around her shoulders. “Don’t do this to yourself.” Leaning over, he whispered in her ear, “Think of the baby.”

  She allowed Roarke to lead her out of the interrogation room and back down the hall toward the sheriff’s office. When they reached the end of the corridor, Cleo heard her aunt Oralie’s voice.

  “Oh, God, they’re here.” Cleo leaned against Roarke.

  “You don’t have to see them tonight, honey. I can take you out of here the back way. We can check into a motel. You can face them tomorrow.”

  “No. I’m not running away. It’s past time I took charge of this situation.” Cleo moved out of Roarke’s arms and walked down the hall.

  He followed her, but stayed several steps behind, ready to come to her aid only if she needed him.

  Daphne caught a glimpse of Cleo and called out loudly, “There she is mother! You tell her to get Trey out of this jail right now.”

  Oralie rushed toward Cleo, hysterically waving her arms in the air. “What have you done to Trey? How dare you have him locked up in this awful place. I demand that you have him released this very minute.”

  “How could you allow the sheriff to arrest Trey?” Daphne pursed her lips and glared at Cleo.

  Cleo marched past Daphne, past Oralie, and stopped dead still in front of Perry Sutton. Aunt Beatrice stood several feet away, her arm around a weeping Marla. Aunt Beatrice shrugged her slender shoulders and smiled sadly.

  “Trey was caught tampering with the computer system at McNamara’s as well as placing a small bomb in the main production room at the plant. He’s confessed to being behind all the sabotage that’s taken place since Uncle George’s death.”

  “That’s not possible,” Oralie cried out. “You’re framing Trey. You want him out of McNamara’s. You never wanted him working there in the first place.”

  Cleo ignored her aunt’s outburst, keeping her eyes focused on her uncle Perry’s somber face. “Trey also admitted to being the one who took a shot at me right after Uncle George’s funeral.”

  “You’re lying!” Daphne shouted.

  “Trey has been arrested and is facing some serious charges, Uncle Perry,” Cleo said. “If he’s convicted, and I have no doubt he will be, he’s going to be in prison for years.”

  “I understand.” Bowing his head, Perry looked down at the floor.

  “Well, I don’t understand,” Oralie said. “This is a family matter. There was no need to turn Trey over to the sheriff.”

  Cleo spun around and faced her wild-eyed, angry aunt. “Trey tried to shoot me, Aunt Oralie, and he put McNamara Industries’ employees in danger, as well as cost the company thousands of dollars. He committed more than one crime. What do you think I should do—slap him on the hand and tell him to be a good boy from now on?”

  “You—you can’t let him go to prison. I won’t allow it! Do you hear me? I won’t allow it.” Oralie pointed her finger in Cleo’s face.

  “Get your finger out of my face right now, Aunt Oralie, or I’m going to bite it off!”

  “How dare you threaten me!” Oralie lowered her finger.

  “If you think that was a threat, you haven’t heard anything yet.”

  Phil Bacon walked up the hall and stopped by Roarke’s side. “What’s going on?”

  “Shh, I think my wife is just about to set up some new ground rules.”

  “Trey is going to have to pay for his crimes. He’ll go to trial and if he’s convicted he’ll be sentenced to prison,” Cleo told her aunt. “I will not lift a finger to help him.”

  “You’re cold and heartless and—”

  “I will not discuss this with you ever again after tonight. I want you and your family to move out of Aunt Beatrice’s home. Uncle George left the house to her, you know. After all, it did belong to her mother’s family. Aunt Beatrice has been far too generous allowing y’all to make her home yours all these years.” Cleo took a deep breath. “I’ll give y’all one month to find somewhere else to live.”

  “You don’t mean what you’re saying.” Oralie stared at Cleo in disbelief.

  “Yes, I mean every word I’ve said. I’m going to have a baby and my child is my first priority. I don’t want my son or daughter living in a house with y’all.”

  Oralie glanced across the room at her cousin, who still had her arm around Marla’s trembling shoulders. “Beatrice, you won’t let her do this, will you?”

  Beatrice looked at Perry, who had his back to her. “Yes, Oralie, I’m afraid I will let her. It’s long past time that you left.”

  Oralie fussed and fumed and cried. Roarke walked around the edge of the room and watched Cleo as she came towa
rd him.

  “I’m tired,” she said. “There’s nothing else I can do here tonight. I’d like to go home now, Simon.”

  She looked so pale and delicate, as if the lightest breeze might blow her off her feet. He wanted to lift her in his arms and carry her away from everything and everyone who’d ever hurt her. But he didn’t. He knew she needed to walk away on her on two feet, under her own steam. Cleo McNamara Roarke had finally taken complete charge of her life, and he, for one, felt like applauding her.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  ROARKE LAY IN the darkness, listening to Cleo breathe. She had slept restlessly, tossing and turning most of the night. He’d slept very little and had been awake for quite some time. Dawn light came through the windows and French doors, permeating the room with a muted, rosy glow. He looked at Cleo, her face partially in shadow as she lay on her side, her back to him. She was so lovely, her features so utterly, completely feminine.

  The oddest thought went through his mind. He wanted to memorize her face, so that over the years he would never forget exactly how she looked at this precise moment.

  Cleo awoke with a start. Gasping for air, she shot straight up in bed. Roarke sat up beside her and pulled her into his arms. Maybe she didn’t want his comfort, but he knew she damn well needed it. She was a strong woman, but sometimes the strongest people needed someone to lean on, someone to let them know they weren’t all alone. He halfway expected her to resist him, but she didn’t. Relaxing against him, she laid her head on his shoulder.

  “You’re safe, honey.” Brushing away an errant red strand of hair that had fallen across her forehead, Roarke kissed her temple.

  He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed her girlish giggles or her breath-stopping smiles or her warm, enthusiastic loving. He’d become used to Cleo. As the old song went, he’d become accustomed to her. That had been his mistake—his letting himself get emotionally involved. There hadn’t been a woman in his life on a steady basis since his divorce from Hope. Women had come in and out of his life over the past fifteen years, but not one of them had put a dent in his defensive armor.