Jenny obediently sat, paw raised, to shake for her treat. Mitch couldn't help smiling. Like people some dogs have it so good, while others have nothing but misery. Even all these years later he could still hear his old coon dog's soulful whimpering.
If he told Royce about it, she'd cry. He wasn't ready to trust her with his secrets quite yet. When the trial was behind them and the future decided one way or the other, then he'd have a better idea of how she felt about him. If she admitted she cared for him, he'd be damn tempted to tell her, but she held back. Would she always hold her father's death against him?
Royce waited several minutes, but Mitch didn't speak. Well, he certainly wasn't going to reveal anything about his past. She sucked in a calming breath and cursed herself for leaving her portable phone at home. If she had it, she could slip off to the restroom and try to reach Wally. She had to convince him to stop investigating Mitch. A man who guarded his privacy so much that he couldn't talk about his dog would be furious if he found out about Wally.
"Come on," Mitch said. "Let's race."
She watched his powerful thighs pedaling the bike and recalled those same thighs, slightly rough with hair, covering hers. Since when had desire replaced hate? Why did she want to get closer rather than run away?
Day by day her feelings about Mitch had been changing. Surely she wasn't falling in love with him, was she?
By late that afternoon when they returned the bicycles to the stand, Mitch wasn't doing wheelies yet, but he was riding quite well. Best of all, he seemed to love it. Maybe next weekend she'd teach him how to roller-skate.
"Where to?" he asked as they left the rental stand.
"Let's make our own pizza for dinner. There's a great Italian market nearby. We can get everything there."
Mitch draped one arm over her shoulders and they walked out of Golden Gate Park, Jenny leading the way. They hadn't brought his car. Attempting to park near the popular recreation area was impossible, so they'd walked.
Once Royce would have caught a bus, too much in a hurry. Now, with this weekend disappearing and with only three weekends left until the trial, she cherished the opportunity to be outside. Free.
"I'm leaving tomorrow for Chicago," Mitch announced. "I'll be back at the end of the week."
She wanted to beg him not to leave. Just knowing he was in town—even if she wasn't with him—was comforting. More comforting than she had realized until now. But she couldn't beg him. He had his job, his own life that didn't include her.
Instead of commenting on yet another absence, she called to the dog. "Jenny, be careful. Wait for us."
"I wouldn't go if I didn't have to. This has been scheduled for months."
What could she say? It was immature to dread the lonely nights. And tomorrow, Sunday, she'd mentally made plans, but now she'd be alone with Jenny. She spotted the retriever ahead of them, one paw in the crosswalk.
She yelled, "Jenny, wait."
A car careened around the corner and caught Jenny stepping off the curb. The dog bounced off the fender and for one heart-stopping moment was suspended midair. She landed headfirst in the middle of the street—limp.
Mitch charged down the sidewalk with Royce at his heels. His frantic cry—"Jen-n-ny"—was butchered by the squeal of brakes. A van skidded to a halt just inches from Jenny's head.
Mitch leapt off the curb—nearly being struck by a taxi— and bounded to the center of the street. He dropped to his knees beside Jenny.
Royce followed him, cutting through traffic and crouching next to him. Jenny whimpered, her head lolling from side to side in pain, blood seeping from her golden fur.
"Hang on, old girl," Mitch pleaded, his voice rife with anguish.
Jenny gazed up at him, her doe-brown eyes glazed with fear, her breathing labored. Foam coated her muzzle and blood now gushed from a wound on her leg. Royce whipped off her scarf and made a tourniquet.
"Please call Pet Alert," Royce yelled, certain someone in the traffic jam they'd created had a car phone and would call the pet ambulance.
Mitch drew Jenny's head onto his lap and caressed the fur on her noble head. In that unguarded moment his expression revealed all the pain she'd only suspected he'd been hiding, an emotional wound so deep that it had become a part of him, never to be healed. Tears burning her eyes in a scalding rush, she longed to hold him, to ease his suffering, but sensed she'd be intruding on a very private moment.
"Please, Jenny," he whispered brokenly, raw grief flickering in his eyes. "Don't leave me."
But Jenny didn't respond. Her soulful eyes drooped shut and a spasm shook her, bringing a rattling sound from her chest.
"O-h-h-h, Jenny," Mitch's tone implied this might be the last chance he had to speak with his beloved pet. "No-o-o. You can't die."
Tears blurred Royce's vision as she searched the crowd for any sign of the pet ambulance. Don't let Jenny die. Please. She's my friend.
How many nights had she been alone except for Jenny? Too many to remember them all. But Jenny was always at her side, always wagging her tail. Without question Royce knew Mitch had experienced the same overpowering loneliness. But he'd lived with it all his life.
Mitch was staring down at Jenny, her broken body cradled in his arms, her blood covering his thighs. "So loving, so loyal," he whispered to the dog who no longer knew he was there.
At the veterinarian's office Mitch went into the examining room with Jenny while Royce gave the receptionist his Visa card. The young woman looked at Royce closely, and Royce realized she'd been recognized. No doubt, motorists at the intersection had recognized her as well.
What could she do? Nothing. Fate seemed to have her in the palm of its hand, determined to squeeze the life out of her. But don't take an innocent dog, Royce prayed. She was still praying when Mitch returned to the waiting room.
"She's in surgery." He collapsed onto the sofa beside Royce.
He looked so—so defeated that it actually hurt to look at him. Usually he was tough and cynical, making no allowances for weakness in himself. He would never have survived if he hadn't. Along the way he'd abandoned the comfort of a close personal relationship. Except for a dog.
She recalled his cautious admission that he'd "once" had another dog. Amid the horrors of modern society animals represented a precious link—someone you could trust. Pets have a special place in our hearts, she realized, thinking of Rabbit E. Lee. Unlike people they loved you without question.
"Jus' like my ole coon dog. Jenny's suffering."
Mitch's voice was soft, his slight southern accent now more pronounced, the way he sounded when he was really angry—or upset. He stared straight ahead, almost as if he didn't know she was there, in his voice a low yet ominous quality that instantly alerted her. Without knowing what he was going to say, she hurt for him.
"I bought Jenny for myself... for a birthday present. Twenty-five years after Harley died." Mitch kept looking forward at the deserted waiting room now cloaked in the shadows of early evening.
"I can still remember the first time I saw Harley. It was my eighth birthday, but I wasn't counting on getting a present. Hell, I was six before I found out when I'd been born. I'd never gotten a present and knew better than to expect one.
Her breath seemed to have solidified in her throat. The rare and totally unexpected glimpse of his early years left her speechless. And angry. Who could be so cruel to a child?
Her own youth had been a succession of joyful birthday parties—so many that they now were a blur in her mind. But overriding those fuzzy images was the impression of happiness—and love.
But then another bit of information fell into place. Jenny was just two. That meant it had been twenty-seven years since Mitch first saw Harley. That would make him thirty-five, not thirty-seven the way his birth certificate read.
Why had he lied about his name—and his age?
"Harley wasn't a pup," Mitch went on, totally unaware of what he'd revealed. "He was an old coon hound, white around the muzzle
, with long, droopy ears. He came trottin' up the dirt lane, and I figured God had sent me a present.
"He had no collar, so they thought he'd fallen out of a truck and wandered in from the highway. I begged for days and they finally let me keep him."
Look at me, Royce silently pleaded. Tell me this—not an empty waiting room. Mitch had a fundamental distrust of people so ingrained that it had become an integral part of his personality. But the shock of Jenny's accident had prompted him to talk. She was afraid to touch him, afraid to break the spell.
"For the next three months Harley and I were always together. Finally, I had someone to play with. The only time he left me was just before dawn when I let him out to go to the bathroom. He'd come back after sunup. Then one day they served breakfast and Harley still wasn't back."
He didn't have to look at her—although she wished he would—for his tone to betray his inner turmoil. She longed to touch him, to close the chasm between them, a distance he carefully maintained with everyone. Somehow, even with her silence, she wanted him to know he could count on her.
"By noon Harley still hadn't appeared. I started checking the woods, the hollows. I even went up to the fishing hole, but he wasn't there. Nuthin'. Everyone said Harley had wandered off jus' like he'd wandered in.
"But I knew better. He loved me; he'd never leave me. I spent the whole night searching. I hollered his name so loud, they must have heard me in the next county." Now, Mitch's tone was flat, but it didn't disguise his anguish. "I knew Harley was somewhere hurt, waitin' for me to rescue him."
Royce kept her eyes open wide to hold back the tears. Where were his parents, for God's sakes? She ached with a pain more intense than anything she'd ever known, experiencing the heart-wrenching torment of a lonely little boy as he traipsed through the dark woods desperately searching for the dog he cherished. Crying. Brokenhearted.
"On the second day I went by myself to the nearby farms. I came to Slocum's Chicken Farm last. The farmer came out —a big burly guy with a long beard like they wore in the Old Testament. 'That yore dog, boy? That ole coon hound with the long ears?'
" 'Yessir,' I said, proudly. 'Harley's my dog.'
" 'Hoo-ee,' the farmer said, grabbin' me by the arm. " 'Lemme show you what happens to egg-suck dogs.' He dragged me behind the barn."
Mitch hesitated and Royce closed her eyes, knowing whatever Mitch had seen behind that barn was a sight so terrible, no child should ever have seen it. Harley wasn't just any dog. He'd loved Mitch. Quite possibly the only love Mitch had as a child.
"The farmer had nailed his four paws to the barn, and his ears were high above his head, pinned to the wood with a single nail. That bastard had crucified him. Harley was alive —but barely.
"I called to him and he finally managed to open one eye. He looked at me, pleading for help and whimpering... just like Jenny. He was begging me to save him, but I couldn't reach him.
Royce's stomach roiled spasmodically. She'd never heard of anything so barbaric. She could actually feel the heart of an eight-year-old beating in double-time, desperate to rescue his beloved pet. But helpless.
" 'Where you been, boy?' the farmer yelled. 'Don't you know that's what happens to egg-suck dogs in these parts? He's stayin' nailed to the barn until he dies.' The old goat tucked his thumbs in the pockets of his bib overalls. 'If'n you want to save him, you'll have to shoot him, boy.'
"I couldn't bear to leave Harley nailed to the barn to die in the hot sun. Already flies were all over his wounds and his tongue was black and swollen from lack of water. I said, 'Git me a gun.' "
Tears rolled down her cheeks in a silent parade, Mitch's story shattering her composure. Dear God, what had that farmer done to an innocent child?
"He brought me a shotgun. I'd never fired a gun. I didn't know I was standing way too close. I didn't know the kick would knock me on my ass.
" 'Good-bye, Harley,' I said. 'I'll never forget you.'
"Harley whimpered. It was the most pitiful sound I've ever heard. Even now, all these years later, I can still hear his tortured cry, and see him hanging there, helpless. Suffering the way no living being should ever be made to suffer.
" 'I love you, Harley. I'll always love you.' I closed my eyes and fired. When I opened them, I was on the ground— covered with Harley's blood and bits of his fur. All that was left of him was his four paws hammered to the barn." Mitch's voice kept dropping with each word. "And his long ears—coated in blood—swinging from the single nail."
An explosive gasp echoed through the room, but Royce hardly realized the sound came from her own lips. Instead, as if she'd been transported back in time, she suffered the heartfelt torment and pure horror of an innocent young boy, knocked flat by the force of the shot, having killed the dog he loved so dearly.
His only birthday present. A gift from God.
CHAPTER 23
"Oh, Mitch," she cried, throwing her arms around him just as she'd longed to do. "I would have killed that farmer."
Unexpectedly, the veterinarian emerged, his greens splattered with Jenny's blood. Royce held her breath, her arm circling Mitch. He had a much bigger emotional investment in Jenny than she'd realized until now. Somehow the dog represented a link with his past, a time in his life when he'd found something to love, only to lose it so tragically.
"How's Jenny?" Mitch asked the doctor, his tone level, but Royce detected subtle clues others might have missed. Mitch was mentally bracing himself, dead certain he'd lost Jenny the way he'd lost Harley.
"She's going to make it," the vet announced with a satisfied smile.
"Wonderful!" Royce hugged Mitch and he squeezed her so hard, her breath was trapped in her lungs.
"Finally"—he smiled, a rare, unguarded smile—"we get a break."
We. He'd said "we" as if they were truly a couple. Now wasn't the time to tell him that she'd been recognized. With luck no one would call Tobias Ingeblatt. Anyway, was it a crime to be walking with your attorney on a summer day?
"Jenny's going to have to stay here a few days. She has several broken ribs and her leg is fractured in two places."
"But she'll recover fully, won't she?" Mitch asked.
"Yes, but she's going to need lots of care after I release her."
"She'll get it," Royce spoke up, letting Mitch know he could count on her to take care of Jenny while he was out of town.
They left the clinic, but Mitch didn't say anything all the way home. Royce couldn't talk either. She couldn't shake the image of a young boy lying in the dirt staring up at those two ears.
Having killed the thing he loved most.
At home they showered in silence, then Royce tossed their bloodstained clothes into the washer while Mitch settled himself on the sofa in the living room without bothering to turn on the light. Why was he so moody? she asked herself. His initial euphoria at hearing Jenny would live had evaporated. Was he upset that he'd told her about his past?
Perhaps. But it seemed even more likely that he was somehow reliving that past. After talking about it, the horrible incident had brought back a wealth of unhappy memories. Maybe he was thinking about his parents—not just Harley.
Royce had no idea what to say and since Mitch seemed to want to be alone, she went into the kitchen. She peered into the refrigerator.
"Not much here," she said out loud, then realized she was automatically talking to Jenny even though she wasn't there.
She took out tomatoes and celery. Tomato soup was going to be the best she could do tonight. Her telephone rang. It was Talia, but Royce didn't have the energy to talk.
She should be grateful that Val and Talia called faithfully every evening to give her moral support, but lately the strain of not being able to discuss the case was eroding their friendship. How much small talk could she make?
Her friends seemed to sense the change in her too. They'd pulled inward; neither of them shared her private life with Royce the way she once had.
Later when she called Mitch to dinn
er, he gazed at the bowl of homemade tomato soup as if it had ants swimming in it.
"You should eat something." Had she really said that? She sounded like his mother, for God's sakes.
"I hate tomato soup," he said softly. Too softly. He didn't sound anything like himself.
"No wonder you pick the tomatoes out of the salad," she said, trying to keep her tone upbeat. "Aren't you hungry?"
"Let's order pizza." He called Godfather's for his usual order, then left the kitchen.
Her phone rang again, keeping her from following him, which was just as well because she didn't know how to comfort him. This time it was Val. There was nothing she could say to console her either. Talia had told Royce that David was dying, but how could Royce ease Val's pain? She tried a few platitudes and hung up, feeling shamefully inadequate.
When the phone rang for the third time, she almost screamed. She didn't want to talk to anyone, but she answered it, hoping it was Wally. She didn't know how to reach him and planned to call the paper to see if they knew his number, but she wanted to wait until Mitch wasn't around.
"I tried to get you all day." This from Brent.
Royce resisted the urge to hang up. "I was over at my place all day packing." Heavens, she was getting to be a proficient liar. "I'm going to have to sell my house to pay for my legal fees."
"If I'd known you were there, I'd have come and helped."
Why had she opened her mouth, she asked, knowing tomorrow she would be there, sorting and packing. She didn't need Brent to show up. "Where are you?" She changed the subject. "I hear music."
"Mother's having a dinner party. I had to come. I just wanted to check in and be sure you're not too lonely. Are you all by yourself?"
"Of course. I'm in a new safe house, you know." Amazing, how good she was getting at lying. "In the Haight-Ashbury area."
"The Haight's being rehabbed a lot. Some of the places are nice," Brent said. There was a noise in the background. "Darling, I've got to go. Mother's about to serve dinner. Should I call you later?"
"No." Had she said that too quickly? "I'm exhausted from all that packing. I'm going to bed soon."
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