It had come to light that Lyle Gardner wore such a signet ring. He claimed he must have lost it somewhere because he couldn’t find it. Nor had a police search of his home and office turned up the ring.
The detectives believed that Lyle learned of his brother’s activities, confronted him, and the pair came to blows. The wounds from the ice pick had been administered after Franklin was dead to give the impression that a botched burglary had taken place. Lyle had taken a few valuable items from the apartment to further that theory and had disposed of the incriminating ring.
“Oh, dear,” Jennifer said to herself, shaking her head. “It really is very circumstantial evidence. No wonder Evan is so worried about proving that Lyle killed his brother.”
Evan had a rough road to go, Jennifer thought as she set aside her work and sipped her tea. He looked so tired, thoroughly exhausted, and Belinda had told Jennifer that Evan was putting in very long days at the office as he prepared to go to trial.
Jennifer glanced at the cuckoo clock on the wall and saw that it was nearly ten o’clock.
Was Evan still in his office at the courthouse? she wondered, poring over every scrap of evidence he had. What a lonely picture that painted in her mind. Evan would be in a small circle of light with total darkness and heavy silence beyond it. All alone. Thinking of nothing but the case he was determined to win. How stark, narrow and empty that was as it flitted across her mind’s eye.
But that was her reaction to the scenario she was creating. It might seem bleak and lonely to her, but to Evan? His career was his world, the focus of his existence. If he was still at the office he was probably relieved that everyone else had gone home so he could work in peace with no chance of being interrupted.
The telephone on the end table shrilled, causing Jennifer to nearly jump off the sofa from the sudden noise.
Who on earth would be calling at this hour? she thought, staring at the phone that continued to ring. She snatched up the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Jennifer? Evan.”
Jennifer’s eyes widened. He’d read her mind. From wherever he was he’d peered into her brain, knew she’d been thinking about him. He… Oh, for Pete’s sake, Jennifer, you’re totally losing it.
“Jennifer?”
“What? Oh, yes, I’m here, Evan.”
“I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“No, no, I was working on my notes and…Where are you?”
“At the office.”
Of course he was, she thought. That was his favorite place to be. His home away from home, or some such depressing thing.
“And you called me because?”
“I’m going to stop off at Franklin Gardner’s apartment tomorrow morning before I come in here to the office. Your cameraman…what’s his name? Slates?”
“Sticks. He’s very tall and thin and has long legs, and he goes by the name of Sticks.”
“Whatever. Sticks can film the building from the outside, but the apartment itself is still considered a crime scene and he can’t go in there. I’ll take you inside with me, but no footage is to be filmed.”
“All right. Sticks can go by there whenever and get what he needs from in front or across the street.” She paused. “Why are you…we…going to the scene of the crime now?”
“I don’t know,” Evan said, sounding very weary. “I was called the night it happened because of the fact that a high-profile Gardner had been murdered, but I would have been in the way if I’d gone over then.
“I went the next morning so I would have a clear picture of things in my mind. Now? I’m just retracing my steps, going over everything again with a fine-tooth comb. I want to walk through those rooms once more. I figured I’d better include you in on this, or you’d pitch a fit.”
“My, my, how can I pass up such a warm fuzzy invitation to accompany you, Mr. Stone? I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
“I’m sorry,” Evan said, then chuckled.
A funny little flutter whispered down Jennifer’s spine as she heard that oh-so-sexy sound.
“I didn’t phrase that very well, did I? Chalk it up to the fact that I’m so tired I’m punchy. But be honest, Jennifer, wouldn’t you have pitched a fit if I went there in the morning and told you about it later?”
Jennifer laughed in spite of herself. “Yes, I certainly would have. I’m supposed to be documenting your every little move, you know.”
“Believe me, I’m aware of that. Do you know where Gardner’s apartment building is?”
“Yes, I have the address in my notes.”
“Okay. Eight o’clock tomorrow morning. I’ll meet you in the lobby of the building.” Evan paused a moment. “What are you wearing right now?”
“Pardon me?” Jennifer said, sitting up straighter.
“I’m sitting here having put in such a long day that I feel like I’ve been in this suit for three weeks. I just wondered what someone who is home, relaxing, probably about to go to bed…is wearing.”
Jennifer glanced down at her less-than-fashionable robe.
“Am I allowed to lie?”
“Nope.”
“Well, darn. After a sinfully long shower I donned my favorite robe which is older than dirt and looks like it was given to me by a bag lady who decided it was too decrepit to be seen in.”
“Sexy, huh?”
“To the max,” Jennifer said, smiling.
“What color is this fashion statement?”
“I don’t think this faded shade really has a name beyond blah.”
“Got it. Okay, nice long, soothing shower, security-blanket type comfy robe and… Hmm…you’re curled up in the corner of the sofa with a drink. Something warm on this chilly night. Coffee? Hot chocolate? No, tea, I think. Yes, you’re having a cup of tea, maybe one of those fancy flavored kind.”
“You’re amazing,” Jennifer said, smiling. “The tea is cinnamon. Caffeine-free. How did you know all that, Evan?”
“I’m not sure. I’m just picturing you in my mind and what I said fits. I guess I know you better than either of us realized. Where did you think I was when you asked me?”
“At the office.”
“Bingo. I rest my case. It’s rather interesting.”
“Disconcerting is closer to the mark. We really don’t know each other very well, but we just somehow knew… Definitely disconcerting.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I think it’s kind of…nice. Very nice, in fact.” Evan paused. “Well, I guess I’ll call it day, or a night as the case may be, and head on home. It was nice…there’s that word again…chatting with you, sweet Jenny. Sleep well and I’ll meet up with you in the morning. Good night.”
“Good night, Evan,” Jennifer said softly.
She replaced the receiver, then smiled. “Very, very nice.”
Evan continued to hold the receiver until a shrill buzzing noise emanated from it, announcing it had been off the hook too long. He slid it onto the base, then leaned back in his chair, laced his fingers behind his head and stared up at the ceiling.
Sweet, sweet Jenny, he thought. All he had intended to do when he telephoned her was set up the meeting in the morning at the apartment building where Gardner had been killed.
But once he’d started talking to Jennifer he hadn’t wished to stop. The “what are you wearing” bit must have sounded corny as hell, but he’d sincerely wanted to know so he could complete the image of her in his mind’s eye. At least he hadn’t gone so far as to ask what she had on beneath the soft, old robe. That would have been really pushing it.
Evan glanced around, unable to see anything in the darkness beyond the circle of light cast by the lamp on his desk.
And there he sat, he mused, in a chilly office. He was attempting to begin the first draft of his opening statement to the jury for the Gardner trial.
He preferred to write his opening and closing arguments in longhand rather than on the computer, and his trash can was filled to overflowing with wadded-up sheets of pape
r, each holding a handful of words that he’d rejected the minute he’d written them.
“I’ve had it for today,” he said aloud, getting to his feet. “Drag it on home, Stone.”
Home, he thought, as he flicked off the lamp, then made his way cautiously toward the door in the inky darkness. Yeah, his expensive apartment was his home, he supposed, but it wasn’t homey the way Jennifer’s was. His was just there, a place to sleep, eat once in a while, shower, shave, change clothes. It wasn’t warm and inviting, didn’t wrap itself around him with comfort to ease his stress. It was just some walls, floors, ceilings that meant he didn’t have to sleep in his vehicle.
Maybe it took a woman to add that homey touch, he thought as he locked his office door. Maybe the average man wasn’t capable of doing such a thing. Or maybe it was just him who lacked that ability.
No, it was the fact that there weren’t enough hours in the day to accomplish everything he might wish to do.
First priority was his role of district attorney and the responsibilities that title produced. He was determined to be the very best D.A. he was capable of being, even if it meant he had little else in his life, such as turning his apartment into a homey haven, or being in a relationship with a special woman.
But what would it be like, he wondered, as he rode down in the elevator, to know that someone like Jennifer… No, if Jennifer herself was waiting for him to come through the door? Fresh from her shower, clad in her funky robe, a smile would light up her face, she’d rush into his arms which would make him forget instantly that he was weary to the bone. He’d kiss her for a long, heart-stopping time, then…
“Shut up, Stone,” he admonished himself, as he got into his vehicle in the parking garage. “Sleep, I need lots of sleep.”
But first thing tomorrow morning, he mused, as he merged into the traffic, he’d meet up with sweet Jenny Anderson. And that was very…well…nice.
Hours later Jennifer tossed back the blankets on the bed and reached for her robe.
She couldn’t stay in that bed a second longer, she thought, starting toward the bedroom door. She was doing nothing more than tossing and turning, and definitely not getting the sleep she needed. Hopefully a mug of hot milk would relax her and allow her to drift off into blissful slumber.
A short time later Jennifer was once again curled up in the corner of the sofa, her legs tucked next to her, the mug of steaming milk cradled in both hands. She blew on the hot liquid and took a sip.
Her insomnia was Evan Stone’s fault, she decided. He had telephoned her just before she went to bed and, therefore, she’d taken the image of him and the sound of his voice right along with her as she’d snuggled under the blankets. Definitely his fault. And she sounded like a grumpy three-year-old in need of a nap.
Her whatever-it-was with Evan was so complicated and confusing. She was attracted to him, which was putting it mildly, melted like soupy ice cream on a summer day when he took her into his arms and kissed her. He was inching his way into her heart, staking a claim that he wasn’t even interested in possessing.
Evan had referred to what they had shared three months ago on that fateful night as making love. Did he really feel that way about it, or was he just being polite and refraining from referring to it as one-night-stand sex, plain old tacky sex in its purest form?
No, it had been more than that. Their joining had been wondrous, exquisitely beautiful, so intense and meaningful and…and nothing could erase the fact that they’d gone to bed together after knowing each other for a few hours, the majority of which had been spent arguing like cats and dogs about the filming of the documentary.
She’d do well to just forget about that night as Evan apparently intended to do. Chalk it up as poor judgment, and a rather immature lack of control. Her behavior that night had been very, very out of character. That theory was just dandy, but there were extenuating circumstances that made it impossible to ever forget what she had shared with Evan Stone.
That night had changed her life for all time.
Because she was pregnant with Evan’s baby.
Jennifer set the mug on the end table then put her hands on her stomach.
Oh, my, she thought, a baby. She was carrying Evan Stone’s baby. She’d repeated that message so many times in her mind in the past few weeks until she really believed at last that it was true.
She was thrilled, so happy that she wept at the drop of a hat, which was partly due to wacky hormones at this point, she supposed.
But the daddy in this scenario? Oh, heavens, she didn’t even want to think about what Evan’s reaction to her baby bulletin would be. He was dedicated to his career, totally focused on his role of district attorney. No, Evan was not going to beam with delight when she told him she was pregnant.
Which was why, Jennifer thought, staring into space, she was going to keep this pregnancy a secret for as long as possible. Yes, a man had the right to know that he had a child on the way, but she wasn’t prepared, not yet, to tarnish the pure joy she was feeling with what could be a very nasty and angry response on the part of Evan Stone.
She worked continually with men who put their careers first, was aware of the long hours they were away from home with little, or no, thought given to their wife and children waiting for them. Their families seemed very low on the list of what was important to them. No, Evan would not be happy when he heard her news.
“It takes two to get into this situation, buster,” Jennifer said, narrowing her eyes.
That, no doubt, was what she’d fling at Evan if he accused her of being careless, for not considering birth control the night they had been together. Well, he hadn’t brought up the dicey subject, either, by golly. He’d have to admit that, no matter how upset he might be.
But taking equal responsibility for the creation of this little one wouldn’t make Evan want this baby, wouldn’t send him racing off to buy cigars so he’d be ready for the big day that he was ecstatic about.
Evan might tell her that she would hear from his attorney regarding child support payments because he was an honorable man who would provide for his child, but he wanted no part of the role of father to their baby. He didn’t have the time, nor the desire, to do so.
Oh, what a depressing thought.
“It’s just you and me, kiddo,” Jennifer said, patting her stomach, then sniffling. “And maybe a weekend father. But he might not even want to take on that role. I’m so sorry…” she sniffled again “…just so sorry, little darling. Your daddy is magnificent but he isn’t mine, or ours. But we’ll be fine, just the two of us. Fine and dandy. You’ll see.”
Jennifer picked up the mug of milk, then plunked it back down when she saw the scummy film on the top of the now-cool liquid. She took a wadded tissue from the pocket of her robe and dabbed at her nose.
She was not going to cry, she told herself. She was tired, so very tired, and she was on emotional overload from talking on the telephone with Evan earlier and from being with him in his office after not seeing him for three months. There she had sat, knowing she was carrying his child while he glared at her and grumpily said he guessed he was stuck with her for the duration of the filming of her documentary. What a crummy thing for him to have said, the rotten bum.
“And I think I’m falling in love with him,” Jennifer wailed. “Oh, I’m a wreck, a complete wreck.”
She got to her feet and stomped down the hall to her bedroom. Exhaustion claimed her, and she was asleep within moments of climbing into the beckoning bed.
The building where Franklin Gardner’s penthouse apartment took up the entire thirty-fifth floor was in the prestigious Gold Coast area of Chicago. It was cream-colored stone with an expensive brown tint added to the windows that caused a golden hue to be reflected when the sun shone on the structure, as though it was constantly reminding the general public that it took wealth to live within its walls.
At eight o’clock the next morning Jennifer arrived at the building and Evan pushed open the doo
r to the lushly decorated lobby to allow her to enter.
“Good morning, Evan,” Jennifer said, smiling. “Gracious, I think this lobby is bigger than my entire apartment.”
“Let’s get upstairs,” Evan said, then frowned. “You look pale, Jennifer.”
You would, too, she thought, if you’d been tossing your cookies since 5:00 a.m. Her doctor had said that the morning sickness should end any time now. As far as she, wobbly-tummy Jennifer was concerned, it couldn’t happen quick enough to suit her.
“Pale? Me?” she said. “I had a little problem with getting to sleep last night, but I’m fine.”
“If you say so,” Evan said, then started across the lobby.
When they reached the elevators a uniformed police officer was standing by one elevator set apart from the others. Evan nodded at him as he and Jennifer stepped into the elevator. There was only one button on the panel and Evan pushed it.
“This is a private elevator for the penthouse?” Jennifer said. “Impressive.”
The doors swished closed and the elevator began its ascent.
“Yep,” Evan said. “This one only goes to the penthouse. It normally requires a special key, but we’re making it accessible to our people with no hassle.”
The elevator bumped to a stop and the doors slid silently open.
“Oh, my,” Jennifer said, as she stepped forward. “No wonder a private elevator is needed. We’re actually standing in the foyer to the penthouse itself. The elevator is the front door, per se. Mmm. So this is how the other half lives in Chicago, the haves versus us have-not working stiffs.”
“Right,” Evan said, frowning, “but the Gardner family money wasn’t enough for greedy Franklin. He had to have more. So the slime sets up a racket of kidnapping girls no one would miss and selling them to prostitution rings in foreign countries. Unbelievable. The Gardner name has been held in high regard in this city for many, many years and now it’s tarnished beyond repair.”
They entered the enormous living room, then Jennifer followed Evan across the richly furnished expanse to a room on the opposite side. A chalk outline of a body was visible on the carpet in what was obviously a study, or den, with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves.
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