by Pat Warren
“I don’t want to hear her name mentioned around here again.” Adam picked up his pen and yanked open a file. “Time to get back to work.”
“Yeah, right.” Fitz left, knowing Adam needed some time alone, time to adjust. He was fooling no one with his blustery act. Fitz knew he was hurting.
Adam stared unseeingly at the papers in front of him, clenching his hands into fists. He would get over her. He had his work, people who needed him, challenges waiting. He didn’t need her or anyone else to make his life complete. He would throw himself into his work.
And to hell with Liz Townsend.
CHAPTER 6
Reverend Wilfred Blaine dribbled holy water onto the baby’s head, wetting the blond fuzz. The child’s godmother, Molly Washington, carefully held tiny Sara Jane Fairchild suspended over the font as the minister finished the baptismal ceremony. The sleeping infant didn’t even awaken, surprising her relatives and friends gathered on the Fairchild sun porch two Sundays after the Fourth of July.
“What a good baby,” Katherine Townsend whispered to her daughter as they watched Reverend Blaine dry Sara’s hair with a soft white cloth. “You’re very fortunate, Liz.”
Liz smiled in agreement, unable to keep her eyes from her beautiful daughter. “I know. Hardly two weeks old and she’s already sleeping six hours at a stretch.”
“You were like that,” Katherine recalled, fingering her strand of pearls. “You rarely cried. Such a joy to have around.” Her expression changed to one of remembered exasperation. “Nancy had colic for six months. She cried night and day. I thought I’d go out of my mind.”
Liz didn’t comment, but she wished her mother would stop taking every opportunity to compare her two daughters. It was hardly Nancy’s fault she’d had colic.
Her sister hadn’t shown up for this occasion, although Liz had called to invite her. It was probably just as well. After the scene she’d created at their wedding reception, quarreling drunkenly with their father in the library, Liz wasn’t anxious to give her another opportunity. She felt guilty at times about her sister, wondering if she’d tried hard enough to get through to her. Nancy rebuffed everyone’s attempt to get her to talk about her drinking and her self-destructive lifestyle.
Watching Richard take the baby from Molly and cuddle her lovingly, Liz felt another rush of guilt over her own happiness. Perhaps if Nancy’s marriage had worked, if she hadn’t turned to the bottle, she’d be different.
“I’ve never seen a man more enthralled with a baby than Richard,” Katherine commented.
Liz smiled as Richard pointed out Sara’s perfect features to his law partner, Tom Nelson, the baby’s godfather. An unmarried man, Tom was trying to look properly enthused. “I think it’s wonderful.”
She couldn’t have asked for a better husband or a more attentive father. Richard had encouraged her to redecorate their home, bought her gifts large and small so often that it was almost embarrassing, had attended Lamaze classes faithfully, and been present when Sara had come into the world. With tears in his eyes, he’d held the tiny bundle minutes after her birth. He couldn’t have been more devoted if he’d been her biological father.
Reverend Blaine stood alongside Richard, studying the baby as she yawned, stretched, and blinked against the sun’s glare. “You know, Katherine,” he said as he glanced up, “I believe Sara Jane resembles you with her fair hair and those blue eyes. Her parents are both dark.”
“Then I’d say she’s mighty lucky,” Joseph Townsend said, sliding a hand along his wife’s waist.
Katherine smiled up at her husband. “Thank you, dear.”
Unaware of the fuss, Sara dozed off again. At Liz’s signal, the live-in nanny Richard had insisted on hiring gently took the guest of honor from him. “You might as well take her upstairs for now, Dorey,” Liz said, touching the hem of the long white christening gown that she’d worn at her own baptism. “It seems that Sara Jane intends to sleep through her first party.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Dorey said, then left the room.
Richard walked over to where the champagne sat chilling and worked at popping the cork as their housekeeper, Emma Drake, appeared, carrying a tray of glasses.
“Looks like you and I produce beautiful girl children,” Joseph commented to Richard as he joined him.
“That we do,” Richard agreed, pouring.
“Maybe the next one will be a boy,” Joseph added, taking a glass from the tray.
Richard caught his wife’s eye briefly, then looked away. “I wanted a girl,” he told his father-in-law.
He had wanted a boy, Joseph remembered while the others helped themselves to the champagne, a boy to work with him in his office. But Katherine had had two miscarriages after the girls, and by then he’d decided to have a vasectomy. Fortunately a urologist friend had just begun doing them as an in-office procedure. Unknown to Katherine, Joseph had had one, because by then he’d decided he needed outside stimulation from time to time, and he wasn’t about to take a chance on one of his dalliances claiming he’d fathered her child.
He glanced over at Katherine, always so serene, never a hair out of place. He’d been so impressed with her cool, blond beauty when they’d first met, and with her family’s wealth and connections. She’d had a lot of men after her, but he was the one who’d won her. Then he’d worked eighteen and twenty hours a day, amassing a small fortune so her father could never say Joseph Townsend had married his daughter for her money.
He loved his work, the challenges, his life in general. If he strayed from hearth and home occasionally, it didn’t mean he loved his wife and daughters any less. A man needed more than what one woman could provide, at least a virile man like him. He’d always been extremely discreet, except that one time. And even then Katherine had never learned of the incident. And she never would. He’d make sure of that.
Joseph turned to Richard, who was looking at Liz adoringly. Cynic that he was, Joseph wondered how long it would be before Richard tired of the ties that bound and began to look about. He loved his daughter, but he wouldn’t blame Richard for an occasional flirtation, provided he was prudent. Liz was beautiful, but she gave every indication that she was as cool as her mother. Women like them didn’t understand that a man needed heated passion now and again to feel like a man.
Then there was Nancy, who unfortunately was as hot-blooded as he himself was. He didn’t want to think about Nancy today, or most any day. He considered his youngest daughter a lost cause. After their last blowup he was relieved she hadn’t put in an appearance today.
Raising his glass, Joseph listened to Richard’s toast.
“To Sara Jane,” Richard said softly, looking into his wife’s eyes, “who makes our circle complete.”
They all drank, then moved to the hors d’oeuvres table that Emma had set up. Richard took a filled plate to his widowed mother, who sat on the couch in a shower of sunlight, looking frail and almost ethereal. Lettie Fairchild had had a heart condition for years. Katherine walked over to sit with Lettie, so Joseph took Richard aside.
“I’ve been thinking, Richard. How would you feel if I sponsored you as a member of the La Jolla Beach and Tennis Club?”
Richard was aware of the prestige in belonging to the best club in southern California. Membership couldn’t hurt his client base. “I think I’d like that very much.”
“Good, good. You need to get involved in the community more. A two-attorney office such as yours is limited by too low a profile. I’d also like to get you involved in politics. There’s big money to be made, if you meet the right people.”
Richard wasn’t offended. He knew Joseph was a wheeler-dealer. He certainly wasn’t averse to making more money. “I’ve always had a keen interest in politics, just haven’t done much about it.”
“I’ll call you next week. We’ll set something up.”
“I’d appreciate that.” Richard watched Joseph saunter off, thinking that his father-in-law’s connections were a bonus to his marri
age, one he hadn’t thought of at the time of the wedding. He’d thought only of Liz and how much he loved her. Watching her now as she and Molly Washington strolled out onto the terrace, he realized he’d never been happier.
“How are things going?” Molly asked Liz once they were out of earshot. She’d been so busy lately preparing for her latest art show that she hadn’t really talked with Liz since the night of Sara’s birth.
“Fine. How are the paintings coming?”
“Good. Another week and I should be finished.” Molly sipped from her glass, then turned and noticed the San Diego Union where it had been tossed on the glass table in front of the wrought-iron couch. “So you’ve seen this morning’s paper,” she commented, picking it up.
At the low brick wall, Liz stared out at a restless sea. The morning fog had lifted, and the sky was a robin’s-egg blue. She loved the view from here, the pounding waves foaming onto the rocky shoreline. She often came out here to sit and think. She hadn’t had much time for solitude since Sara’s birth. On Sunday mornings she loved to come out and read the paper. Today’s lead story had given her pause. “How could I miss it? Front page, yet.” The California attorney general was involved in a sweeping prison reform, and he was getting some flack over his ideas.
“Didn’t we always say he’d make a name for himself? No matter what else you may feel about him, you have to admit Adam’s a fighter.”
“He is that. When he sees something wrong, he simply has to jump in and try to remedy it. I always admired that about him.”
“Then you’ve gotten over your harsh feelings for him?”
Glancing over her shoulder, Liz made sure they were alone, then looked at her friend. “I never felt animosity toward Adam. He never lied to me, never led me along. I always knew his career came first. The situation I found myself in was of my own doing.”
“Bullshit. No one gets pregnant alone.” Molly’s voice was a near whisper.
Again Liz glanced toward the open veranda doors. “We were careful. It just… happened. If anyone’s to blame, I am. I should have gone on the pill ages ago.” She brightened, thinking of Sara. “However, I’m not a bit sorry. I’ve got a beautiful baby, a good life.”
Perhaps, but did she have passion? Molly wondered. She could hardly imagine life without it. She tossed aside the paper. “Today’s article couldn’t have been more supportive. I think most people are behind Adam.”
“As we often said, he’s a winner.”
“I’m enjoying watching his career. I have a feeling he’s going to do some pretty great things.” She paused eyeing her friend. “You never hear his name linked with any woman. I wonder why not.”
“He guards his private life.” He’d certainly guarded the part she’d played in it. No one outside of Fitz and Molly had guessed they’d had a relationship, she was certain. Since their split she’d begun to think Adam had wanted it that way. The realization had hurt.
“Do you think he knows you’re married?”
Liz shrugged, watching a low-flying gull circle inland. “Hard to say. Probably. Fitz reads half a dozen papers daily cover to cover.”
“But Adam’s never called or dropped you a note?”
“Why would he, Molly?”
Molly drained her glass. “You’re right, of course.” She’d just ended a three-month relationship with a handsome stockbroker and was feeling argumentative and blue. Determined to overcome her mood, she slipped an arm around her friend’s waist. “Despite everything, I envy you. You seem happy.”
Whether or not she was wasn’t a subject Liz allowed herself to dwell on. “I adore my baby, and Richard’s very good to me. What’s to be unhappy about?” Putting on a smile, she slipped her arm through Molly’s. “Come on. Let’s check out the goody table.”
Jesse Conroy closed Adam’s office door behind him and walked across the pale gray carpeting to take a seat across the desk from the attorney general. Jesse was an underreactor, a calm man whose expression seldom changed. It was often said of Jesse that if he won the lottery, he would probably say, “That’s nice,” and go on working.
However, today was an exception. His dark eyes were shining, and the corners of his expressive mouth twitched as he looked first at Fitz seated alongside him, then at Adam. “You are never going to believe this report, but I can verify every word.” His fingers shaking, he handed the typed pages to Adam, then sat back with a small smile.
Usually patient, Fitz sat up taller, watching Adam skim the first page. Ever since Adam had taken office fifteen months ago, the three of them had been working on a white supremacy case, giving it priority above all others. It was a problem they’d inherited from the previous administration. Someone was inciting young white men to riot and use violence against blacks. They had half a dozen names, but Adam didn’t want to nail the small fry. He was after their leader.
“Jesus,” Adam said, looking up from the report. “Judge Frederick Becker the third? Are you certain?”
Jesse leaned forward. “Check the second page. A sworn statement from the munitions manufacturer. Cut-and-dried ID. And he’s willing to testify.”
Shocked, Fitz whistled through his teeth. “The sanctimonious son of a bitch.” Judge Becker, currently the youngest member of the California State Supreme Court, was known for his maverick dissenting opinions; he usually distanced himself from the majority and leaned toward an extremely conservative viewpoint. The former governor who’d appointed Judge Becker had been widely criticized for putting one of his good friends into such a powerful position. “He probably feels inviolate since he’s just been elected to his second twelve-year term.”
“That won’t do him much good if we can prove he’s involved in criminal activities,” Adam said.
“Can we prove it?” Fitz asked, his excitement mounting.
Jesse showed him the report. “Becker personally went along with one of his more radical supremacists, Kent Nolan, to pick up the explosives that have been traced to the recent bombing of that black meeting hall in San Francisco. According to the shop owner’s testimony, Becker looked scruffy and needed a shave. But it was definitely Becker. He’s also the one who paid. In cash, of course.”
“How could he be so careless, so stupid?” Adam wondered aloud.
“It’s more arrogance than stupidity,” Jesse ventured. “He gets off on getting away with something under our noses.”
Adam was excited, but outwardly calm. “This isn t nearly enough to get a conviction. It’s a start, but we’re not going to go for indictments until we have an ironclad case. Becker could come up with half a dozen logical reasons why he was buying explosives.”
“The very same explosives, fragments of which, with serial codes intact, were found at the scene? Hardly a coincidence. You see, dynamite is sold in sticks, available in varying lengths, color-coded by the federal government with serial numbers on each stick and box. A purchaser must produce a driver’s license and fill out a form when he buys dynamite, the same as for guns or ammo.”
Fitz was incredulous. “You mean Becker signed for the purchase?”
Jesse grinned. “Yes, and we have a copy.”
Fitz’s smile split his face. “How about that!”
Adam leaned back on his chair, trying to contain his own excitement. “Let’s see if we can arrange some surveillance—unofficial, of course—to start with. Not only on Becker, but on Nolan and any of the other skinheads who do his dirty work.”
Jesse frowned. “That could take weeks, maybe months, and it could cost lives if we don’t stop him before another violent incident.”
Adam nodded. “I’m aware of that. However, if we move too fast, they’ll disband here and, when the heat’s off, start over again elsewhere. There’s already a similar group in Florida that call themselves the White Aryan Resistance. These hate groups are growing in number. We’ve got to put together a strong case to halt their activities once and for all. If we don’t, even more innocent people will get hurt or killed.”
“You’re right,” Fitz said.
“If we don’t follow the letter of the law,” Adam went on, “Becker will find a loophole and wiggle out. Remember, he’s got friends in high places or he wouldn’t be in a powerful position to begin with.”
“When the time comes, we’ll topple his friends, too,” Jesse promised.
“I want only our most trusted men on that surveillance team, Jesse. We can’t afford to blow this one. And let’s keep the details among the three of us.”
Jesse got to his feet. “I’d like to bring someone else in on it. Diane has been invaluable. She does whatever I ask, and I ask a lot of her. She never complains, works late, comes in on weekends. I need her on this, and I believe she can handle it while she juggles her other duties.”
Fitz stood also. “I have to agree with Jesse. Diane’s proven that she’s not only intelligent, but intuitive enough to find that missing something quite often.”
Remembering several cases where she’d come through, Adam agreed. “Then let’s include her. Just make sure she understands the need for discretion. One leak of this, one hint to the news media, and Becker will distance himself.”
“Right. I’ll get to work on it.” Jesse walked to the door.
“I want daily reports, Jess,” Adam called after him.
“You got it.” Jesse left quietly.
Adam rubbed his burning eyes. Seven in the evening, and he had at least two more reports he had to review and analyze before he could leave. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast. “Anything else?” he asked Fitz.
“Yeah. Why don’t we call it a day and grab a bite to eat? When was the last time you chucked work for a few hours and just had fun?” Adam’s face was thinner, and the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes had deepened to resemble worry lines. Fifteen months on the job, and he easily fit the workaholic image the media depicted.
He remembered the last time all too well. He’d done that frequently during the campaign, picking up a sack of Chinese food, dropping in on Liz, eating and talking in her cozy kitchen, winding up in her bed, blocking out the whole world, waking up refreshed and ready to tackle anything, instead of awakening more tired than the night before. But that was then and this was now.