by Diana Palmer
Brannon nodded. "There may be some mob involvement. Specifically, Jake Marsh."
"Marsh." Bib ground his teeth together. "Well, that tears it. If he's implicated, it will really make headlines all over again, right?" he asked his friend with a grimace of distaste.
"It's already doing that," Marc agreed, reading the undisguised worry in his friend's handsome face. Beside him, Silvia looked as if she'd been frozen in place. He knew she hated bad publicity. "Don't worry, Bib. It'll be a nine-day wonder. Nothing more," he assured his friend.
"I hope so," Bib said heavily. His eyes lowered and he toyed with a tiny piece of thread on a jacket button. "It brings back so many terrible memories."
"Oh, that's all behind us now," Silvia said at once, and smiled, but not with her eyes. She got to her feet abruptly, and a little clumsily. "Marc, you have a good trip back to San Antonio. And, you will let us know how it goes?"
"Certainly." He was curious about why Silvia seemed so eager to get rid of him. "Bib, how about walking me out?"
"I'll come, too," Silvia said at once, apologizing to their guests.
That was one of many things about Silvia that Marc didn't like: She hung onto Bib like ivy. The man couldn't get out of her sight. It had been like that since she was sixteen and seduced Bib into marriage, so that she could escape the unbearable poverty of her childhood. She never talked about it. Her father had fallen down a well and died just after the unexpected accidental death of her younger brother. Neither death had seemed to bother her much, although Marc was apparently the only one who'd noticed that, despite Silvia's tragic past, she was curiously impervious to grief.
"You haven't told us all of it," Bib said when they were out on the porch. His pale blue eyes narrowed. "There's more, isn't there?"
Marc stuck his hands deep into his pockets. "The investigator Simon's sending out to coordinate efforts with the Bexar County District Attorney," he began reluctantly. "You might remember her. Josette Langley."
Silvia's face flushed. "That bitch!"
Bib looked weary. "Sil, it was a long time ago"
"That woman accused you of being the murderer! Do you think I could ever forget? She'll stir up trouble, she'll make false accusations, she'll go to the media!" Her voice rose, becoming shrill.
"Calm down," Bib said quietly, looking her straight in the eyes. He put a gentle hand on her nape and smoothed it up and down. "Calm down. Take deep breaths. Come on, Sil."
She did what Bib told her to. She still looked glassy-eyed, but she was quiet. Bib reached into a crystal bowl on the side table next to the open front door and produced a mint in a fancy wrapper. He placed it in her hands and waited while she unwrapped it and popped it into her mouth. Candy calmed her in these odd outbursts. Once he'd thought she might be diabetic, but bloodwork disproved that theory. She refused to see a psychologist, despite his best efforts. She was violent in these rages, dangerously so. Once, she'd killed a favorite dog in one of them. In a way, Bib was glad they couldn't have children. She was too unpredictable.
Bib turned back to Marc, who was scowling worriedly. "Miss Langley was talking to Henry, before he was killed. She was a quiet woman, not the sort to enjoy a party. I couldn't understand why she was dating Dale in the first place. He did work for Henry, against my advice. He was in close with Jake Marsh in San Antonio. I had problems with a campaign worker who was in Marsh's pocket during the lieutenant governor's race. I'm sure Marsh put Dale up to what he did," he added bitterly.
"That was never proven," Silvia said sweetly. "I always thought the man was working on his own. I'm sure he had no real connection to Marsh."
"Then why was his body found near Marsh's nightclub?" Marc wondered aloud.
"Those sort of people can get killed anywhere," Silvia said carelessly. "I wouldn't waste state money on an investigation like that. He was a nobody."
Bib ignored her. "That campaign worker," he told Brannon, persisting. "Jennings had recommended him, to work on my campaign for lieutenant governor. The man went behind my back and apparently dug up a scandal to force my opponent out of the race. I'm almost positive it was why he pulled out of the race at the last minute, but I never could prove it. I didn't like Jennings around Henry, and I said so that night at the party when Henry was killed. We argued." He grimaced. "I hated parting from him on an argument. You know how Henry was," he added with a wan smile. "He trusted people."
"That's how you get killed in the modern world," Silvia said with a high-pitched laugh. "You can't trust anybody these days."
Bib continued to ignore her and stared at Marc. "How did Jennings die?"
"Single gunshot wound to the back of the skull."
Bib's intake of breath was audible. "Dear God!"
"Oh, what does it matter how he died? He was a murderer," Silvia said with regal nonchalance. "I don't feel sorry for him. Is that why the state attorney general's sticking his nose in, because it was execution-style?"
Marc didn't reply for an instant. "That, and because Marsh is involved in a lot of illegal activities. He's been trying to shut him down for years. Now we're involved in a high-profile murder. Everyone wants to make sure the investigation is done properly."
"And Simon's letting that Langley woman mess it up. How stupid!" Silvia said.
"She has a degree in criminal justice, and she's worked for Simon for two years," Marc said, defending her against his will.
"She's personally involved in this case. So are you. Neither of you should get involved." She turned to Bib. "Call someone important and tell him to pull Marc and that woman off the case!"
That went right through Marc. "Do it," he invited, silver eyes glaring at her, "and I'll call a press conference myself and tell the world why I'm off the case."
Silvia gasped. "Well! And I thought you were our friend!"
"I am your friend," he returned curtly, looking at Bib, not at her. "But the law is the law. I won't have interference in a case this sensitive."
Silvia glared at him. Her hand, holding the glass, shook. She slammed it down on the porch, shattering it. "You stupid idiot!" she raged at Bib. "You're such a wimp! You never do anything right!" She whirled and went back into the house with her eyes flashing. She muttered curses as she slammed the door furiously.
She wasn't quite normal, Marc thought, and not for the first time.
Bib just shook his head. "Seven years of that," he murmured heavily. "She's a good politician's wife, and she loves television appearances and society bashes. But there are times when I wish I'd married someone less explosive. I'm afraid I fall far short of Silvia's expectations. She'd have left me long ago if I'd been poor or had a dull social life."
"She loves you," Marc said, although he wasn't convinced.
"She owns me," Bib laughed hollowly. "Well, I'd better go back inside and kiss a little more butt. They're potential contributors to my senate campaign." He lifted both eyebrows. "Going to vote for me?"
"No," Marc said, deadpan. "You're corrupt."
Bib laughed with pure delight. "We're all corrupt," he agreed. He studied the other man curiously. "This must be painful for you," he added perceptively. "You and the Langley girl were an item back then."
Marc didn't say a word.
Bib shrugged. "Okay. I'll let it drop. We'll be heading up to our place in San Antonio this weekend. Drop by for a drink if you have time." He leaned closer. "Sil's going to Dallas to shop on Saturday morning. We can sneak down to the corner coffee shop and eat doughnuts while she's gone!"
"Won't she let you have them?" Marc asked, surprised.
Bib patted his flat stomach. "I have to have a nice, lean figure for the publicity shots," he confided. "I can't have anything sweet if she's within smelling distance." He shook his head. "Dear, dear, the things we give up for public office."
"You're a good politician," Marc replied. "You have a conscience. And a heart."
"Liabilities, old friend, nothing but liabilities. I lack the killer instinct in campaigns. Fortuna
tely, Silvia has it. You have a safe trip back to San Antonio."
"Sure. You take care, yourself," he added quietly. "There may be more to this case than meets the eye. Do you have a bodyguard?"
He nodded. "T. M. Smith. He was army intelligence in Operation Desert Storm. He can deck most men in hand-to-hand, and he's a crack shot."
"Keep him close. Just in case," Marc added, and smiled to soften what sounded like an order.
Bib shook hands with him. "Do you ever miss the old days, when we hung around the record shop hoping to meet women?"
"I miss sleeping a whole night," Marc said enigmatically, and grinned. "See you."
He got into his black sports utility vehicle and drove away, the smile fading from his lips as he pulled out onto the highway. Silvia's attitude bothered him. She was a strong-willed woman, and most of the time she was an asset to Bib. But he couldn't help recalling her violent outburst when he mentioned that he was investigating Dale Jennings's murderor that it had been Silvia's testimony that had resulted in Dale's conviction for Henry Garner's murder.
Marc had been so upset over Josette's accusation about Webb and the revelation about the truth of her rape charges at the age of fifteen, that much of the murder trial had escaped his notice. He'd misjudged her and caused her untold misery and shame about that long-ago rape trial. Despite his anger at her allegations against Bib Webb, he'd been devastated at having misjudged her so badly. But any idea he'd had about apologizing had gone by the board. She'd looked at him in that courtroom at Jennings's trial as if she hated him. Probably she did. He'd just walked out on her, with no explanation at all.
Worse, he'd been more than a little in love with her just before the Jennings trial got underway. He hadn't been as angry about her allegations as he had been angry at himself, for being such a poor judge of character. He'd gone through the trial in a fog and, afterward, he'd quit his job and left town, to spend two miserable years with the FBI.
Now he was home again and the whole damned mess was being resurrected. Josette had no time for him. He could see the contempt in her eyes when she looked at him, feel her anger. He didn't blame her. She had every right to consider him the enemy. She would do her best to put Bib Webb under investigation, and he would do his best to stop her. After all that time, they were still on opposite sides.
He stopped at a traffic light and a passing glance at a young girl in a long, flowered dress reminded him of his last date with Josette. She'd just graduated from college and he'd been there, along with her parents, for the ceremony. That night, he'd taken her out to a very fancy restaurant. She'd worn a long black silk dress with exotic flowers hand-painted on the fabric. Her long blond hair had been in a neat chignon at the nape of her neck. She'd looked absolutely exquisite.
After dinner, he'd taken her back to his apartment. Up until then, there had been brief, clinging kisses and love play that neither of them carried to the inevitable conclusion. He still hadn't believed her rape story, although the woman he was getting to know didn't seem the sort to tell lies. He'd reminded himself that plenty of women who looked innocent, weren't.
His suspicions increased when she went with him to his apartment. She hadn't protested being alone with him. He'd put on some slow dance music and shed his dinner jacket, moving her close to his crisp, white cotton shirt. Against it, he could feel the soft press of her breasts under the thin fabric. He hadn't felt a bra, and that had aroused him, quickly and uncomfortably.
But instead of backing away, to keep her ignorant of the effect she had on him, he'd let her feel it. He could still remember being surprised at the faint shock in her wide, dark eyes, the tremor that ran through her. She'd started to speak, but he bent and took the husky words right inside his hungry mouth.
He was slow, and deliberate, and thorough in his ardor. Her innocence was no match for his years of experience with women. He had her on his couch in no time, bare to the waist. While his mouth fed hungrily on her small, firm breasts, his hand had been under that silky fabric and the soft cotton briefs she wore under them.
She'd been fascinated by what he was doing to her. He could see it in her eyes, feel it in the nervous hands that clung to him as he undressed her. His shirt had been off, drawing her fingers to his broad, hair-roughened chest while he suckled her.
He'd wanted her for months. During that time, he hadn't seen any other woman. He was aching, and he'd abstained while they were dating. It was inevitable that he was going to lose control.
She'd protested, once, weakly, when his hand went between them to the fastening of his slacks and undid it, so that he could push them away. But his knee had edged between her soft thighs and his mouth had moved back to cover hers, tenderly. When she felt him at the veil of her innocence, she stiffened a little, but her body was hot with desire, her hands were biting into his back, her mouth was moaning under the devouring pressure of his hard lips.
"Oh God, I need you," he ground out as his lean hips began to push down. "I need you so much. Don'tfight me, honey. Don't fight!"
But his huskily whispered plea fell on deaf ears when he pushed again. She cried out, frightened and in pain.
"Too fast? I'll be careful," he said at her lips. "It's been a long time, hasn't it?"
"MarcI haven't ever been with anyone!" she sobbed.
He only laughed softly. She'd been with the boy she accused of raping her when she was fifteen. She was no innocent. But he was careful with her just the same. He didn't want to turn her off, not when his own body was racked with desire.
He wrenched off the trousers and his boots while his mouth worked on her soft belly. He aroused her all over again, determined to make her want him as much as he wanted her, to stop her feeble protests, her lies.
She was shivering, begging him, when he finally slid between her long, trembling legs and positioned himself against her. He looked into her wide, dazed eyes.
"I'm going inside you," he whispered blatantly. "I'm going deep inside you, Josie. Now. Now now!"
His body was shuddering with each quick, hard motion of his hips, and he felt the pleasure rising in him. But he couldn't penetrate her. She was sobbing, shivering, her voice at his ear whispering ardent encouragement, her hands on his buttocks, pulling, pleading.
"Damn it!" he growled, frustrated, blind with desire. He gathered his strength and pushed as hard as he could.
She cried out and came right up off the bed, frantically pushing at his hips, her eyes blind, not with desire, but with honest, terrible pain.
It took him several seconds to realize what was wrong. He was shivering with desire, too, aching for satisfaction. But her body resisted him, and suddenly he realized why.
His lean hand moved suddenly. He touched her intimately, and found a barrier so formidable, so noticeable, that he froze above her in total shock.
"You're a virgin," he whispered, wild-eyed.
She swallowed, embarrassment flooding her. She looked down, at his blatant arousal, and gasped. She'd obviously never seen a manlike that!
"You miserable little tease," he burst out furiously. "Damn you!"
He dragged his body away from hers, too far gone to care that she was shocked by his nudity. He dressed in silent rage, barely aware that she was crying and had pulled her dress up over her to conceal her own nudity in shame.
"Of all the lowdown, dirty things to do to a man, that is the lowest!" he accused. "You're no better than a woman who does it for money, but at least she doesn't get a man hot and then turn off him like that. Get dressed," he said tersely, leaving the room.
He waited in the kitchen while she dressed, too overcome with shock and anger to think rationally. His body was in anguish. Josette had led him on deliberately, knowing that she couldn't be intimate with him. That barrier wouldn't break without some surgery. She had to know it. Then it hit him, like a board in the face. She was a virgin. There was absolute proof of it.
That was when he knew the boy in Jacobsville had lied on the stand when he
was accused of raping a fifteen-year-old Josette. That was when he knew, with absolute certainty, that she'd been assaulted with the intent of rape. But the barrier had stopped him. As it stopped Marc, that night
A horn blew, bringing him back to the present. The light had changed and he was sitting there, staring into space. He grimaced at his memories and put his foot down on the accelerator, shooting forward.
He could still see Josette's shocked, shamed face. She'd cried and cried, still aroused, and ashamed as well, fascinated and humiliated. Nothing he said then could have erased that expression from her face, and he knew it, and didn't speak. He'd said far too much already, things he couldn't even take back now. She hadn't been able to meet his eyes, and tears poured down her cheeks. He wanted to explain why he'd been angry, why he'd said such terrible things to her. But she wouldn't speak, wouldn't listen, wouldn't look at him, and the words died unspoken.
It had occurred to him then that she was probably remembering the rape attempt, that his ardor had reminded her of the most distasteful experience of her life. He'd lost control of himself almost at once, something that had never happened before. She'd let Marc undress her and touch her, and she'd been willing, apparently, to give herself to him. Except that she knew she couldn't have intimacy with any man. So maybe she was a tease. Maybe she was getting even with him, finally, for testifying against her when she was fifteen. That growing suspicion had kept him quiet when she came to the kitchen doorway, fully dressed.
He'd taken her home in a painful silence. He wanted to apologize for helping the boy's defense attorney get her case thrown out of court when she was fifteen. He wanted to apologize for not believing her.
Those harsh words he'd spoken to her, even in memory, had the power to make him sick. She was a virgin, and he'd treated her like a criminal. He should have known that she wasn't the sort of person to lie. When had she ever lied to him, during their months of dating, enjoying each other's company? He'd misjudged her horribly, and then her strict upbringing had probably left her with feelings of guilt because she'd let him go so far. Her natural, sweet ardor was a gift. He wanted to tell her that. He wanted her to know that he didn't blame her for what had happened. But he didn't trust people. She might have done it deliberately. He couldn't be sure she hadn't. He cut off the engine in front of her home and faced her.