Deadly Kisses

by Brenda Joyce

  “No!” she cried. Peter stared at her, clearly disbelieving. She somehow smiled. “I am fine, now that that odious man is gone. There is no need to worry Rick.”

  “Mrs. Bragg,” Peter began.

  Miraculously, she spoke even more firmly. All the while, her mind was planning. “I am fine,” she stressed. “You are not to call the commissioner,” she said, and it was an order.

  Peter slowly nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Leigh Anne felt utterly violated, as if she had been brutalized. But she had been abused, hadn’t she?

  You’re a real pretty woman, for a cripple.

  I don’t want to piss off the police commissioner…

  Fifteen thousand dollars will do.

  Fifteen thousand dollars was an astronomical sum. And she had only been given twenty-four hours in which to somehow attain the funds. She could not ask Rick for help. Her every instinct begged her to rush to him, because she wasn’t sure she could manage this crisis or that horrid man, but she didn’t dare. Somehow she would borrow the money. Somehow, by tomorrow evening, she would meet O’Donnell and get him out of their lives.

  She was so afraid.

  “Peter, ready the carriage,” she said. “I am going out.”

  THE CITY PRISON WAS A LARGE, almost square, concrete building a few blocks farther downtown. It was dark and gloomy inside. The long, grim corridors matched her mood. She understood the very difficult position Bragg had been placed in. Apparently, Hart’s case was so sensational that even the mayor had pressured Bragg to arrest him. She was never going to forgive Rick for caving in to that pressure and arresting Hart so suddenly. Nor would she forgive him for sending Hart to the city’s notorious prison.

  Images of Hart in shackles filled her mind as she followed a security guard to the visitors’ room. She was ill. She reminded herself that Hart would get out on bail shortly—wouldn’t he? She wasn’t certain she would be eager to release a suspect like Hart on bail, if she were a judge. She had to speak with his lawyer. And even more important, she had to find Daisy’s real killer, so Hart wouldn’t have to suffer any more such indignities.

  The visitors’ room was a small and square, with a single pine table in the middle. The exterior wall was a large window, so prison officials could observe the prisoners and their guests. As she stepped inside, she was relieved to find the room brightly lit. It was white washed, although the walls were more gray than white. Francesca looked toward the forbidding iron door on the other side of the room. She was eager to see Hart but she was also anxious and afraid. It opened almost immediately and Hart came in.

  Instantly she saw that he was not happy to see her. She had hoped that his attitude would have changed by now, given the enormity of the crisis they faced. He was still dressed in his dark trousers and white shirt from the night before—there was no prison uniform. He had no shackles on his ankles, but his wrists were manacled in front of him. In spite of their surroundings, his presence remained magnetic and invulnerable. In spite of everything, he appeared tired but unchanged. Relieved that he did not seem to suffer from any anxiety, Francesca started towards him. The guard restrained her.

  “The prisoner could be dangerous, ma’am.”

  She whirled, angered. “He’s my fiancé!”

  Hart stepped away from his guard. “We are no longer engaged, Francesca.”

  She quickly faced him, sensing a much larger problem. “Prison visits are restricted to five minutes, Calder. Please, let’s not argue!”

  “I wasn’t expecting you,” he said tightly. He turned. “Take me back to my cell,” he told his guard, clearly giving an order.

  “Yes, sir,” the guard said.

  “No!” Francesca cried in disbelief.

  He stopped, his shoulders rigid. Slowly he faced her. “I asked you not to come,” he said very quietly now. “What is it that you want from me?”

  His words stabbed her. “I don’t want anything from you, Calder. I only want things for you. I want you to have peace of mind and happiness. I came here to discuss the case, and to make certain you were being treated fairly.”

  Something unsettled and dark was mirrored in his eyes. “I am a rich man, Francesca. I have paid off every one in this prison. I am being treated like a king. In fact, I had a sirloin steak for breakfast. Do you feel better now?” There was a sarcastic edge to his words.

  She hugged herself. “I do not feel better. I will not feel better until you are released from this awful place. In fact, I am furious with Rick.” But she absorbed what he had said. “So you are being given special treatment?”

  “Yes, I am.” He eyed her. “He was only doing what he had to do. I don’t think he dared show me any favoritism.”

  “Now you defend him?” She was incredulous.

  “Yes, now I am defending him, believe it or not.” His expression hardened. “I am sorry you made the trip downtown. But seeing you now like this is the last thing I intend to do.”

  Her anger exploded. “You will not treat me this way! If you think that extenuating circumstances can allow you to behave like such a boor, and that down the road we will be all chummy again, then you had better think again!”

  He started, his gaze wide. “You are threatening me?”

  Suddenly, she realized her power. He had been counting on her friendship for many months now. He claimed he could not live without it. “Ask the guards to leave us. Tell them we want fifteen minutes, not five.”

  He smiled tightly, without mirth. “Someone has taught you well, Francesca.”

  “It was you,” she said with heat.

  He glanced at the tall guard who stood just behind him. “I believe you heard the lady.”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Hart,” he said. “Johnny.” He walked to the other side of the room and the two guards left together.

  Whatever Hart was feeling, it was impossible to read. But he said, very softly, “I never expected you to be so ruthless, Francesca.”

  “I am not being ruthless and I did not threaten you,” she said, but she had discovered his Achilles’ heel. “I merely spoke the truth. You can’t expect my friendship when it suits you, yet reject it now in an act of pure madness.”

  He hesitated and she saw the conflict in his eyes. She wanted to take him in her arms and reassure him, for she sensed that he was not quite as confident as he appeared. Instead, she walked around the table so she stood in front of him. He said warily, “What do you wish to ask me?”

  He was steering her away from anything personal, she thought. But clearly they needed such a diversion. “Your family hired the best criminal attorney in the city,” Francesca said.

  “I know. Charles Gray was here.”

  “When will there be a bail hearing?”

  “Francesca, I do not want you there.”

  She ignored his warning. “When does Gray think you will be released on bail?”

  “What do I have to do to get you to promise me that you will not come to the bail hearing? If you still care about me the way that you claim, then you have to try to understand me now. The press will be present. You should not be there—they will descend upon you like vultures.”

  She hadn’t thought about the press being at the hearing, but he was right. She did not want to add to his worries. Most important, his passionate insistence meant that he still cared for her. “I promise I will stay away from the bail hearing.”

  Relief covered his features. “Thank you,” he said. And finally, his tone very low, added, “The hearing is in two hours. You don’t have to worry. Everything has been taken care of. I will be released there.”

  She began to understand. The judge presiding over the bail hearing had been paid off. The hearing was only a formality. And while she hated the corruption in the city’s judicial system, she could not think about her hypocrisy now. She desperately wanted Hart to be released. He was going to be freed in a few hours, she had never been more thankful. But as she met his gaze she saw that his was searching. He knew very w
ell that her choice would have been a fair and honest hearing. He was wondering just how upset she was at the corruption he had encouraged.

  “The evidence is stacked against me. You cannot have it both ways,” he said, clearly understanding her exactly. “No honest judge in his right mind would release me now.”

  She impulsively touched his arm. His sleeves were rolled down but the cuffs were open. “That’s not necessarily true, but I am not going to argue with you. I want you out of here. I can accept this, Calder.”

  He looked away, and as he did, she glimpsed some thing in his eyes that might have been fear. She had never seen Hart afraid. Surely she was imagining it.

  “I never thought to see the day when you would compromise your morals for me.”

  She became alarmed. Hart might use this as more evidence that he would drag her down with him. She thought of the lie she had encouraged Alfred to tell. “You have been framed for a murder you did not commit. You have been falsely imprisoned!”

  He just gave a doubtful look, and no words could have been as clear. He felt that she had compromised her values for him.

  “The Gillespies are in town, Calder,” she said, changing the subject. “I have just interviewed them and I am now on my way to see Rose. I am suspicious of the judge. I think that he is lying about not knowing that his daughter was in this city, using another name. And Daisy’s sister knows something, or wants something from me, I am certain of it.”

  “Are you thinking that the judge killed his own daughter?” Hart asked sharply.

  “No, I am not, although Bragg does not rule out the possibility that public knowledge of his relationship to Daisy represented a huge embarrassment to him.”

  “She would have been a lit fuse, Francesca, considering his profession and reputation,” Hart said. “But I cannot imagine any father murdering his own child.”

  She stood close behind him, aware that he was thinking of his own murdered child. “It is permissible to grieve, Calder.”

  He shook his head. “You are usually the one to jump to those kinds of conclusions,” he said, ignoring her last remark.

  “I know. But I am very suspicious of Rose. Especially as someone framed you,” she said.

  “My affair with Daisy was hardly a secret. Anyone who murdered her and wanted to cast suspicion else where would easily conclude that he might get away with pointing the finger at me.”

  “Someone planted a knife in your coach,” Francesca exclaimed.

  “Have the police determined if it is the murder weapon?”

  “Not yet. I don’t think they can conclude that, but I do think they might be able to determine if the knife is not the murder weapon.”

  He smiled, just a little, at her.

  Her heart leapt with hope. It was his smile of old, heart-achingly familiar. “What is it?”

  He rearranged his expression into unreadable lines. “No one is more intent than you when you are on an investigation, Francesca.”

  “I can’t help it. My mind spins with thought after thought. Hart, I have to ask you about Daisy’s finances.”

  He nodded. “What about them?”

  “In May, she deposited eight thousand dollars in her account, and ten days later, another twelve thousand. Did you give her the funds?” She feared what his answer might be.

  But he was clearly surprised. “No, I did not. Why would I?”

  “Thank God!” she exclaimed. “I was afraid you had tried to pay her off.”

  “For what? For sniping at us? For refusing to leave the house? I am a patient man, Francesca. Besides, if I really wanted to do battle with her, I would simply refuse to pay her household expenses. I had decided not to further antagonize her. She would have moved out in another month,” he added.

  “And then she told you she was pregnant,” Francesca said, watching him closely.

  Grief flickered in his eyes. He walked away from her, pacing.

  Why wouldn’t he share his feelings? She followed him and took his arm, stalling him. “Hart, I am here for you, always.”

  He suddenly faced her. “Do you have any idea who was paying Daisy off?”

  “Is that what you think the money was? A payoff?” she asked, eyes wide.

  “That is too much money to have come from her gentlemen customers. Of course, if your theory is right and Gillespie knew his daughter was here, maybe he was giving her the funds. He wouldn’t be the first father to support his daughter in such a way.”

  She was intrigued with the idea. “But the funds were deposited in May, and only then. If they came from Gillespie, that might mean he didn’t know where she was before that.”

  He smiled. “I would think so.”

  She seized his hand. “Hart! I am sure you are well connected with the Bank of New York. How do I find out where that money came from?” She was very excited now. This was a huge lead, indeed.

  “Darling, I own half of the bank. Speak with Robert Miller, the bank’s president. He will tell you what you need to know—if the money is traceable, of course.”

  She blinked. “I doubt Daisy marched into the bank with a valise filled with bills!”

  He shrugged. “One never knows.”

  Her own excitement faded. He glanced sidelong at her and their eyes met. The bond between them was tangible, unmistakable, and she knew he felt it, too. “How are you?” she whispered. “How are you, really?”

  He regarded her very seriously now. “I am fine. I would be better if you hadn’t come here, Francesca.”

  He was admitting to his genuine feelings. This was the opening she had wished for. “Asking me to some how ignore the fact of your arrest and imprisonment is like asking me not to breathe. I am not turning my back on you. I can’t.”

  “Why,” he finally said, “are you so impossibly deter mined—so impossibly loyal?”

  “Do you want a glib answer?” she asked.

  “Not really.”

  “I believe I already told you that I am in love with you, daring, foolish woman that I am.”

  “Even now.”

  He hadn’t said the words as if they were a question, but Francesca saw the uncertainty in his eyes. She saw the little boy, forever causing trouble, for ever attracting attention and criticism, feeling abandoned and unwanted. “Even now.”

  “I truly did not want you to ever see me like this.”

  “Like what?” she asked, pretending she did not understand. But she did. Power had become his refuge; in prison, he could so easily be reduced to helplessness. “You were served a steak for breakfast and the guards call you ‘Mr. Hart’ and ‘sir.’ I know you are wearing handcuffs. I know you cannot walk out of here right now. That doesn’t change all you have done with your life. It doesn’t change the fact that in this prison you have circumvented the rules, it doesn’t change the road you have traveled, and it certainly doesn’t negate all of your accomplishments.”

  He almost smiled. “Do you really want the truth?”

  She was afraid, and she hesitated. “Yes.”

  “You are my only accomplishment.”

  “Calder, that is hardly true. You left home at sixteen with nothing—and look at the fortune you have made for yourself! Look at the collection of art you have amassed. Look at the companies you manage and own. Your accomplishments are vast.”

  “Persuading you to agree to marry me is my only genuine accomplishment.”

  Did he have any idea, she wondered, that his words were terribly romantic? “I recall very little persuasion,” she said tartly, but she did recall his heated kisses and she felt herself blush.

  He knew, because he gave her a look. “The attraction between us did make persuasion rather easy,” he said.

  “It wasn’t that,” she said, very serious now. “You showed me that beneath that dark reputation you seem to cherish and even flaunt, you are a very good, noble man.”

  “When will you doubt me?” he exclaimed.

  “Never,” she said firmly. “Nothing has chan
ged, Calder. You are the most powerful man I know. Even now, in handcuffs, in a prison cell, you are a dominating force, someone to be reckoned with.”

  He raised his dark gaze to hers. “Everything has changed, has it not?” He said slowly. “Daisy is dead. My child is dead. I am charged with murder. And we are no longer engaged.”

  After a hurtful, sinking moment, she said, “That was your choice, not mine. It will never be mine. My feelings haven’t changed—and I know yours haven’t, either.”

  He did not look away. “My feelings will never change,” he said very quietly. “I don’t want you here with me, like this. But you remain the sunshine in my life, Francesca. Even now, you brighten up this miserable place and my entire existence.”

  His words thrilled her, but she remained uncertain. She felt as if they were at a dangerous crossroads, and that he might choose to stay on his lonely, isolated path, without her, even after she had solved this case. “I want to be the sunshine in your life,” she whispered unsteadily. “You never have to be alone again. But if you shut the windows, if you close the drapes, how will I ever get back in?”

  His expression twisted with grief, misery, and perhaps confusion and doubt. She did not look away, even though she felt foolish tears rising. She tried to smile at him, hoping he would not see.

  But he did. He wiped a drop of moisture from her cheek, having to raise both cuffed wrists to do so. Instantly her body tightened and her eyes drifted closed.

  “I don’t know,” he whispered, and he leaned close.

  She felt his hands on her face. Her heart filled with hope. He tensed and his mouth took hers, brushing, until his lips firmed in the most urgent, uncompromising manner. Francesca reached for his shoulders and held on, wishing she might never let go. The kiss raged, openmouthed and deep. Finally he pulled away.

  She looked into his eyes and smiled at him. “It will never be over, will it? No matter what.”

  “No, it will never be over,” he said. He stepped away from her. “You should go.”

  He was right. She started to leave, when she realized she hadn’t asked him about the money Bragg needed to pay off Mike O’Donnell. She hesitated.