But for her there had been no mercy. There had been her breasts, filled with milk for a tiny life that could never draw from them again. There had been the emptiness in her arms, the rage, the despair….
“Get out of here,” she repeated dully.
He reached for her cheek, but she pushed his hand away. “I’ll be around, Mandy.”
“No,” she pleaded.
And then she knew that he had misunderstood her entirely, because he swore again, then said, “What is it, Amanda? You couldn’t handle a child named Ramiro? Too ethnic for your ears?”
She pressed her palms over her eyes tightly. “Yes! Yes! That’s it! I’m planning to move to Boca Raton, too. Away from Miami. Haven’t you heard that saying? ‘Will the last American out please remember to bring the flag?’ Please! Get out of here.”
But he didn’t. Not then. He straddled her and pulled her hands away from her face, then stared into her eyes with a gaze that burned into her soul. “No!” he thundered harshly. “You can’t run away. Not this time!”
And then, miraculously, he released her.
She closed her eyes. She heard him dress swiftly, and then she heard him leave even more swiftly.
For at least an hour after that she didn’t move. Not a muscle. She just lay there, trying to breathe.
And praying that she wasn’t pregnant.
* * *
In the morning she felt awful.
The flight back took less than an hour. Peter’s car met them, and they reached her home in another thirty minutes.
Peter was worried and solicitous. She could only be grateful that Sean hadn’t been on their plane. He must have altered his arrangements.
Peter had arranged for the police and the FBI to come to her; she spent the afternoon with a pleasant blond man and a sergeant from the Miami PD. Things weren’t really difficult; all she had to do was repeat what had happened over and over again. It was a cut-and-dried situation, but the culprits still had to be prosecuted.
A twinge of conscience touched her, and Mandy remembered to tell them that in her opinion Mrs. Garcia had been an unhappy bystander. She hesitated, then even spoke up for Julio, saying that she didn’t believe he was malicious, just misguided. She was told that if she would say so at the trial, she might lessen their sentences.
“But kidnapping is a federal offense, Mrs. Blayne. No one can walk away from it,” the FBI man told her.
“I know.” She paused, shivering. “And Roberto should be locked up, with the key thrown away.” She lowered her lashes. She had told them, of course, that he had attempted to rape her. She told them, too, about Sean’s fight to save her from him.
She hadn’t mentioned what had happened after that, though.
They left her, and she was alone with Peter. He wanted to stay with her; he wanted her to drink warm milk and go to bed and get better, since her shadowed eyes and pale cheeks had convinced him that she was sick.
He was supposed to be in Washington, and she knew it. With a dozen assurances she finally got him to go home, convincing him that she was determined to get a good night’s sleep and go back to work in the morning. “All I want is Koala,” she told Peter lightly.
Koala was her cat, so named not because he was cute, but because he was so ugly. He’d come to her door one day and moved in without giving her much choice.
Peter hugged her, then turned to leave at last, a haggard-looking man. She loved him so much. “Peter.”
“Yes?”
“Promise me that you’ll get a good night’s sleep, okay?”
He grimaced. “Promise.”
She thought that now her day was over. She thought that she could sink into a warm bath and try to think about about the new dig. She wanted to do everything she could to create distance between herself and Sean, the things he had said to her—and the horrible things she had said to him.
But she couldn’t forget him; all she could do was miss him.
She couldn’t even get comfortable. She ran her bath, but before she could step into the water, the phone rang.
It was her mother, sobbing over the phone, and once again Mandy was cast into the depths of guilt, aware that any decent daughter would have called her own parents by then. She talked to her mother for half an hour, then to her father for another twenty minutes.
They both wanted to fly in immediately, but her father was just recovering from bypass surgery, and Mandy didn’t think he should be traveling yet. She managed to persuade them to wait a few weeks, telling them that she was absolutely fine and planning on a trip to Colorado anyway. She talked about the dig with forced enthusiasm, and at last they seemed to believe that it would be all right to wait to see her until the end of the month.
Hanging up from her parents brought no relief. The phone rang again instantly, and this time it was a reporter. She spoke politely to him, but then the doorbell rang. Another reporter. She spoke politely to him, too.
But when a third reporter reached her over the phone she was ready to scream. She had a pounding headache; all she wanted to do was hide.
She got through the third interview, then hurried through her small house, pulling all the drapes shut. She finally got into the freshly filled bathtub, where she strenuously ignored the phone every time it rang.
She sat in the tub for a long time, feeling the heat ease some of her tension away. Again she tried to think about work, to plan for the trip.
The water began to cool, and suddenly she jumped out of it as if she had been scalded. It had suddenly reminded her…of Sean. Of a day in the surf when she had surfaced to face Roberto, when she had backed away from him, when Sean had been there—and their minds had functioned as one.
She grabbed a towel and wrapped it around herself, shaking. She closed her eyes.
She couldn’t stop thinking about him. Everything, every little thing, was a reminder.
After a few seconds she groped blindly in the medicine chest for one of the tranquilizers the doctor had given her just after the accident. She swallowed it quickly.
She paused for a minute, breathing deeply. Then she walked into the living room and resolutely did the one thing that would convince her that she had been right not to try. That it was better, much better, to have him hate her than…than anything else.
She picked up the picture on the mantle. The picture of a happy family. Herself, Paul and the baby.
As she stared at the tears welled in her eyes, and the immediate past dimmed slowly away.
CHAPTER 12
Sean was back in his cubicle on the fifth floor, sipping his coffee and reviewing his file on the McKinley murder case, when Harvey Anderson sauntered in, leaning against the divider, the daily paper in one hand, his styrofoam cup of coffee in the other.
There was such a grin on his face that Sean sat back, crossing his arms over his chest and arching a wary brow.
“Whew!” Harvey whistled. “Nice, man, nice! Damned if you don’t get all the luck.”
“All right, Harvey, what luck? So far the situation looks like hell to me. I’m gone for a week, and what did you guys do? You let the paperwork on my desk grow like the stinking yellow pages.
“Hey…!” Harvey lifted his shoulders innocently. “We missed you—what can I say?”
“Thanks. Thanks a lot.”
The grin left Harvey’s face. He indicated the top file on Sean’s desk. “We just got the report back from ballistics. The murder weapon was a Smith & Wesson, fifteen shots. One bullet fired, the one that killed him.”
“The same gun found in the house?”
Harvey nodded. “Looks like the wife to me, beyond doubt.”
“We can’t use ‘looks like’ with the D.A.’s office, Harvey. You know that. I think it was his wife, too. We’re going to need a motive—especially since she’s still claiming that it was a break-in. And we can’t get anyone except her stepchildren to say that there might have been trouble in the marriage. Let’s work on it from that angle.”
&nbs
p; “His money was motive enough,” Harvey snorted.
“Yeah, well…”
“Viable proof in court, yeah, yeah. We’ll get it. I’ve got a hunch on this one.” He grinned once again, “They can’t all be neat and clean and wrapped up in a bundle for the feds, with glowing praise and the word ‘hero’ in all the papers.”
Sean’s eyes narrowed. “Okay, Harvey, out with it.”
“Out with what?” His face was all innocence beneath his shaggy brown hair. “What’s with you? When did you stop reading the paper?”
“I overslept. Hand it over.”
“Man, you get all the luck. A week in the Bahamas and the blonde to boot.”
“The paper, Harvey!”
Sean snatched it from him. It was true. His name and the word ‘hero’ were splattered all over the front page—along with a picture of Amanda Blayne in her doorway.
It shouldn’t have been a flattering picture; it was a grainy black-and-white snapshot, and she was in the process of trying to close the door. Even so, she looked beautiful. Distressed, her hair tumbling about her face. Even in black-and-white, you could almost see the color, feel it…smell its fragrance.
Sean glanced over the article and gritted his teeth. The article was mainly about him; she couldn’t have commended him more highly.
“Damn her,” he muttered, the world suddenly turning a shade of red. What was she trying to do? Buy him off?
He slammed the paper down on the desk.
“Hey! What’s with you?” Harvey protested. “If she were gushing all over me, I’d be halfway to heaven. And the big boys down at city hall are thrilled. What with so much corruption going on in the police force these days, they’re thrilled to have gotten some favorable publicity for a change.”
Sean just shook his head. “If the PR is good for the department, great. I just don’t like being all over the paper, that’s all.”
Harvey didn’t leave. He sat down on the edge of Sean’s desk. “What was she like, huh?”
“Polite,” Sean said curtly. Then he softened. Harvey wasn’t actually his partner; Todd Bridges was. But homicide worked in teams, usually on several cases at a time, and the three of them, along with Harvey’s partner, Jill Santini, had worked together many times.
They were friends, and Harvey’s tone had been more curious than anything else.
“She’s a…nice lady. Lots of spunk, lots of spirit. Hey, you can be the liaison between the PD and the FBI. You’ll probably get to meet her that way.”
“Naw, Sean. You’re the man on this one.”
“We’re a team, right? You take it.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Wow!”
Harvey walked away, leaving his newspaper behind. Sean stared at it for a moment longer, threw it down, then picked it back up. He drummed his fingers on his desk, then picked up the phone and dialed information. He glanced at his watch. It was just after seven.
The hell with it. He dialed her number.
A soft, sleepy, too-sultry voice said, “Hello?”
“What the hell did you think you were doing?”
“I beg your pardon? Oh—Sean.”
“Yeah, Sean.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t you get the paper?”
“I don’t read it until I’m awake. Why?” she asked, suddenly defensive. “What did I do? Insult you?”
“No, no, you were glowing.”
“Then what’s your problem?”
“Too glowing, Mrs. Blayne. It isn’t going to change the way I feel about anything.”
She was silent, then she laughed bitterly. “Actually, I don’t begin to understand how you do feel about anything. If anything I said offended you, I’m sorry. It wasn’t intended. Excuse me. If you’re done yelling, I have a class in an hour.”
She didn’t give him a chance to say anything else. She hung up.
He was left staring at the phone.
Harvey came back into his cubicle, his jacket slung over his shoulder. “Ready?”
“For what?”
The other man sighed. “You called me last night—at midnight, I might add—to say you wanted to go over to forensics first thing this morning.”
“Oh, yeah. Give me just a second, will you?”
Harvey nodded and disappeared.
Sean stared at the phone again. He picked it up, not at all sure what he really intended to do.
“Hello?” She sounded more alert this time.
“Want to go to a party Friday night?”
“Sean?” she inquired skeptically.
“Yeah, it’s me.”
“And you’re calling to see if I want to go to a party?”
“Yeah, well, it might be a little dull. It’s just a…ethnic sort of thing. You’re, uh, welcome to invite Peter, too.”
“He’s out of the state,” she answered, and then dead silence came over the wire. “I don’t believe you,” she said at last.
“Will you come?”
“I…”
“Please.”
“You’re crazy.”
“Probably.”
“I…”
“I’ll pick you up at seven.”
He hung up quickly. He didn’t want to give her a chance to refuse him.
“Sean?” Harvey called. Todd was standing there, too, now.
Sean grabbed his jacket, grinning as he joined them. He hadn’t slept a wink all night, but suddenly he felt as if he could work three shifts straight.
Todd commented dismally on the weather as they went down in the elevator.
Sean cut him off. “You all coming to the annual bash this Friday?”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Todd said, perking up.
Sean grinned. “Good. Harvey, you’ll get to meet her after all.”
“The blonde? She’s coming?”
“Uh, yeah, I think so.”
Harvey grinned suddenly, rolling his eyes. “I think there’s a whole lot more to this story than the papers know!”
“And it’s going to stay that way,” Sean declared warningly.
“Sure. Sure it will,” Harvey vowed solemnly.
Harvey stared speculatively at Sean’s back as they walked out to the parking lot. Sean had sounded serious, and Harvey was surprised.
He and Sean had gone through the academy together. He’d been around when…well, he’d been with Sean’s lawyer when they pulled a few strings to get Sean out of jail. It just…didn’t seem possible.
He wondered who was in for the worse time, the beautiful blonde, or Sean Ramiro.
* * *
Amanda was still partially in shock when she reached the campus. In shock because he had called her, yelling, when she had given him every compliment she could, though she had been ready to scream at the mere mention of his name. And in shock because he had called her back and asked her to a party—just like that.
And also because she hadn’t said no.
After a few minutes she roused herself somewhat from her stupor; it was wonderful to be back. There was a giant coffee cake waiting in her office, along with a score of her students and half the faculty. Everybody wanted to hug her, to tell her how grateful they were that she was fine, and how happy they were to see her back.
It was nice to feel so loved, but in time the furor died down.
She had an introductory class that morning, and a second, more advanced class after that. Teaching was fun. She loved it as much as she loved the subject, and it was good to back at work. It was so…normal.
But when her classes were over her mind returned to Sean—and to her own idiocy. Why in God’s name hadn’t she just told him that he was crazy, that he was absolutely insane, and that no, she wouldn’t go anywhere with him? She didn’t want to get involved with anyone, and especially a man who was like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde!
She had barely sat down behind the desk in her office when Valerie Gonzales, one of the ass
ociate professors, came by. “How about lunch?” the other woman asked.
“I’m not really hungry,” Mandy told her ruefully.
Valerie wrinkled her nose. “I’m not, either, but Ed Taylor came in with a decaying alligator that he’s determined to preserve, and the smell of formaldehyde is driving me nuts. Let’s get out of here.”
Mandy leaned back and grinned. “All you want is the inside scoop.”
“That’s right. Are you going to give it to me?”
“No.”
Valerie shrugged. “I’ll buy you a Mai Tai. That ought to do it.”
“Think so, huh?”
They went to one of the nearby malls, where one of the restaurants specialized in appetizers. They ordered two apiece. Amanda refused the Mai Tai that Valerie had been sure would make her open up, but she decided that a glass of Burgundy was just what she needed.
And though she certainly didn’t open up, she found herself admitting that she was going out that Friday with the “way-out cop,” as Valerie referred to Sean. Mandy decided that she needed a little advice, and that Valerie might be able to help her. “Val, all he said was that it’s some ethnic thing. What do you think I should wear? Is there some kind of Cuban holiday coming up?”
Valerie sipped her beer and pondered the question. “Not that I know of, so go for something casual. If they’re celebrating, they might roast a pig.”
“So…?”
“Well, you roast them whole, in a pit in the ground. It’s an all-day event. By night it’s ready to eat.”
“Can you teach me some Spanish? I think I’m going to feel like a fish out of water.”
Valerie laughed. “I know you know some Spanish. I swear all the time and you always know what I’m saying.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t think that’s party conversation.”
“Okay.” Valerie hesitated. “Buenas noches.”
“Good evening? Good night?”
“Yeah, both. Como está usted? How are you? Bien, gracias—fine, thank you. Umm…dónde está el baño? That one is very important to every woman.”
A Matter of Circumstance Page 17