Shared Secrets

by Pam Mantovani

  Taylor opened her mouth to protest, but he covered it with his own. His lips were firm and sure as they slowly explored and teased hers. As they had from their very first kiss. In a move as natural as the kiss, Taylor’s hands slipped free of her pockets and wrapped around his waist.

  She’d forgotten how much Lucas gave in a kiss. And how it always made her hungry for more. Emotions kept under strict control for years were suddenly straining to be set free. When his teeth tenderly tugged at her bottom lip she felt the pull in the most feminine of places.

  This was what she’d missed, what she’d secretly longed for during all those nights and times with her husband. This frantic need, this unexplainable rush of desire that created an ache every bit as intense as the pleasure it brought. The longing to give back. Now. Quickly. Before it could be lost.

  It was another ache, however, that had Taylor jerking out of Lucas’s embrace. Breathing hard she stared at him. She remembered the hurt of learning about his marriage. How it had nearly destroyed her. How Stephen had been there to comfort her.

  Perhaps she and Stephen hadn’t shared the fire of passion the way she and Lucas had, but fire was quick to burn down to ashes. Stephen had given her something far more lasting. He’d offered stability when her world crumbled, an alternative when she’d lost hope. In return she’d loved him in the quiet, restrained manner he seemed to prefer. And she’d worked hard to cultivate and present the image of the polished, political wife he’d needed to further his career.

  “Taylor, I—”

  She hated the tears that burned for release. “As you said, Lucas, now we have that out of the way.” Brushing at her bangs, she drew in a breath.

  The back door swung open. “What do you say we move it, Adams?”

  Taylor questioned again if she could do this. Oh, she could handle the case, and somehow she would find a way to resist the surprising emotions that Lucas’ nearness incited. But could she chance Stephanie becoming involved, being hurt?

  “Let me guess,” Stephanie began, her gaze eating up the small space between Taylor and Lucas. “You’ve decided I’ll just be in your way after all.”

  “No, that’s not it.”

  “It’s okay,” she protested and placed a plastic container of brownies on the hood of the truck. “I’m not a child, Adams. I can figure this one out all by myself.” She crossed her arms over her waist and tilted up her chin. “It’s no big deal. I mean what girl in her right mind would want to be grounded in a little backwater town with no one to talk to but her mother?” she went on with a bite of sarcasm.

  In her daughter’s green eyes, the only trait it seemed Stephanie had inherited from her, Taylor saw the pain of feeling unwanted.

  God, how many times, when moved from one foster home to another, had she felt the same sense of abandonment and isolation? In that moment Taylor knew she would do anything and everything within her power to reassure her daughter. Even if it meant facing the danger of Lucas learning the secret she’d kept all these years.

  “Whether you like the idea or not, you are coming.” She held out her hand. “And to insure that I am the only one you do talk to, I want your cell phone.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me.” Her hand held steady, her gaze remained firm on Stephanie’s.

  “You can’t be serious. How am I supposed to talk to my friends?”

  “You’re not. That’s the whole meaning of being grounded.”

  “Is it going to be like this the whole time?” Stephanie grumbled as she drew the tiny phone out of her back pocket.

  “Depends on your behavior and your attitude. You’re in control of that.”

  “Nice to know I have control over something.”

  “Now, whatever cash you’ve hidden in your pocket.”

  “You are so unfair.”

  “So you said last night.”

  Practically tossing the fistful of bills at her mother, Stephanie looked over at Lucas. “Can I ride with you?”

  “If your mother doesn’t mind.”

  Taylor’s glance bounced from Stephanie to Lucas and back again. “I was hoping we could talk during the trip,” she hedged.

  “But, Mother, you promised we’d have plenty of time to talk while we’re in Prentiss.”

  “Yes, I did.” Taylor dried her sweaty hands by sliding them inside the pockets of her slacks. To argue or decline would raise suspicion. “If it’s what you really want, you can ride with Lucas.”

  “What I really want is to stay here.” Taylor remained silent. Stephanie shrugged. “It was worth a shot.”

  “Let’s get moving,” Taylor suggested, with a glance at Lucas. “We’ve already wasted enough time this morning.”

  Chapter 3

  “What’s taking so long?” Lucas demanded.

  “It’s barely been five minutes since we arrived,” Taylor said from her spot at the window. The sound of boot heels on concrete told her he paced the floor. Another change in the boy she’d known.

  Yesterday’s strain and sleeplessness were beginning to undermine her concentration. Several times during the trip she’d struggled to keep her eyes open—especially once she recognized Stephanie’s slumped posture meant her daughter had fallen asleep against the passenger window of Lucas’s truck. After arriving in Prentiss, Taylor’s headache returned as she’d finally decided to leave a pouting Stephanie sitting in a booth at the diner while an impatient Lucas grew increasingly tense.

  A Styrofoam cup of jailhouse-strong coffee waited next to her briefcase. There were files she should be reviewing, notes she could be making, questions she should perhaps be asking Lucas. Indulging herself, she simply continued to survey the town.

  There was an unexpected wave of nostalgia at the sight of the old, familiar discount department store where her limited financial situation had forced her to do most of her clothes shopping. Just down the street would be the florist shop where she’d worked part time. A faint smile curved her lips as she pictured Mrs. Brewer in the back room where a cup of hot tea would be going cold at her elbow as she created floral arrangements.

  The town had not only grown, it had made progress. As they’d circled the town square searching for a parking space, Taylor spotted a fitness center, a clothing boutique, a national chain coffee shop and an old hardware business converted into an antique store. Traffic, both motorized and pedestrian, was heavier than in her memories. She questioned if it would be a blessing or not that she probably wouldn’t recognize anyone she’d once known.

  Like a grandfather watching his family spread and grow, the county courthouse stood tall and proud in the center of town. In its shadow was the small Detention Center in which she and Lucas now waited for a chance to speak with his son.

  In the very courthouse in which she would defend his son was where she had seen Lucas for the first time. With long practice Taylor eased away from the memory. Instead, she recalled sitting in countless courthouses far too many times during her childhood, her life being arranged and planned by well-meaning but overworked state employees. She had chosen to specialize in defense law because she had known how it felt to have little control over your life and no one working on your behalf.

  “Damn it!” Lucas swore as he came to a standstill next to her. “I want my son out of this place.”

  In spite of her attempt to keep a dispassionate frame of mind, she sympathized with the helplessness in his voice. Hadn’t she gone through a similar rush of parental apprehension over Stephanie’s disappearance last night? She knew, all too well, how far a parent would go, how many sacrifices they would make, to protect their child.

  With a sigh, she brushed at her bangs. “I’ll have him out as soon as possible.”

  “What will you do then?”

  “All I can think of right now is going to bed.”

  “I’d like nothing better than to join you.”

  She quickly looked up at him and despite her efforts to avoid doing so, her mind and body focused to what
it would be like to share a bed with him.

  They had talked and dreamt of what it would be like once they were married, planned for not only the time but the type of bed they would share. Lying on the lumpy sofa as they watched television until his father came home drunk, twisting together on the narrow front seat of his decrepit pickup, pressing close within the small confines of his old workshop, they had promised there would be long nights of discovery and little sleep. In the end it had been on a blanket beneath a moon camouflaged by clouds where they had finally given in to desire and passion.

  Taylor took one step back, but Lucas caught her arm before she could take another.

  “Did you ever remember how it was between us when you were with your husband?” he asked. Forgetting where they were and the reason why, she let him settle her between his spread thighs. The heat seared every muscle in her body. Still, she didn’t turn or shift away.

  “I never forgot what it was like to have you in my arms, Taylor. To feel that wild, hot desire that always aroused me, to know I could gentle your impatience. Even as it ripped me in half with wanting you.” He groaned and then added in a rough whisper, “It’s never been that way with anyone else.”

  The door opened, and they broke apart. Taylor turned back to the window, Lucas to his son.

  Her pulse raced. As it had started to do when he mentioned joining her in bed. Oh, she’d known, intellectually, he meant separate beds, in separate rooms. But her body had warmed and tightened with thoughts of how it had been between them. The key word, she reminded herself, was how it had been between them.

  She and Lucas were different people now. There was nothing to be gained or changed by revisiting the past. Granted she might have agreed to work a case, but she also needed to focus on repairing her relationship with her daughter. Perhaps if she could close this case quickly enough, she and Stephanie could take a trip together.

  And if she wanted this case closed, she needed to begin. That meant confronting Lucas’s son. She turned around.

  Father and son stood with their arms around one another. She’d expected to come up against a twin to her memories. Instead, she found more differences than similarities.

  Lucas towered over his son by a good three or possibly four inches. Their shoulders were both broad, but while Lucas’s frame tapered down to lean hips and long legs, Micah’s solid muscular build reflected obvious, long hours of weight lifting. His dark blond hair curled around the top of his ears and over his shirt collar, creating a vivid contrast to the darkness of Lucas’s coloring. Even the eyes, she noted when Lucas and Micah turned to face her, were contrasting shades of blue.

  Despite the differences it was easy to tell father and son shared a kind of solidarity. Though it wasn’t anything visible, nothing she could describe, she felt the bond between them.

  “Taylor, this is my son, Micah.”

  Micah stepped forward to accept the hand she offered in automatic reflex. “Thank you for coming, Ms. Adams.”

  His grasp was firm. As both a woman and an attorney she recognized that he would have little or no trouble forcing himself on a young girl. Then she looked a little deeper into his eyes and found a shadow of fear clouding the pale blue studying her.

  “Let’s sit down,” she suggested. She opened a file folder and scanned the first page while she continued to speak. “A case such as this one often comes down to the jury deciding whether to take the word of the defendant or the plaintiff. This is why I need your word, Micah, that you will be completely honest with me.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Taylor stared at him. He continued to meet her gaze, not once flinching or looking away beneath her study. “Did you rape this girl?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “I thought,” Lucas said through clenched teeth, “we had already discussed this.”

  “You and I discussed it,” Taylor commented without looking at Lucas. She couldn’t explain why she’d asked Micah. One of the first tenets you learn in law school was never ask the client about guilt or innocence.

  “It’s okay, Dad.” Micah waited until Lucas looked his way. “I understand Ms. Adams has to ask.” He looked back at her. “You can ask me anything, I promise to be honest.”

  Taylor nodded, and then shot a glance to the paper in her hand. “According to the police report, the girl…”

  “Rebecca Whitfield,” Micah supplied.

  “Yes, Rebecca. She named you as the man who raped her. Her father found the two of you on the floor of her bedroom.”

  “Becky called me. She was crying and asked me to come to her house.”

  “Was it unusual for her to call you?”

  “No.”

  An answer, Taylor thought, but no elaboration. She looked to Lucas. “Did you hear the telephone ring?”

  “Becky called my cell.”

  “So, did you tell.” She swallowed and looked back at Micah. “Did you tell your father about the call?”

  “No, he was in his workshop.”

  She consulted the paper in her hand. “At ten before midnight?”

  “Does that surprise you?” Lucas asked in return, his voice firm enough that she lifted her gaze and locked onto his.

  Again, the past slipped in between them. How many times, after midnight and restless from an intense study period, had she found Lucas in the tiny shack he’d used as a workshop? And how often had that late night visit resulted in just as intense kisses and soft caresses? Looking at Lucas now, Taylor knew he recalled those nights. What she didn’t know was why he taunted her like this.

  “I didn’t take the time to tell Dad I was leaving,” Micah said, breaking the silence. “Becky sounded so upset that I thought I needed to get there as soon as I could.”

  “According to your statement.” Taylor made a note to check travel time and distance. “When you arrived at the Whitfield house you discovered Rebecca in the living room.” Taylor looked up. “The front door wasn’t locked?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Is that unusual?”

  “You’ve forgotten what it’s like to live in a small town, Taylor,” Lucas said by way of an answer.

  She and Micah went over details and in spite of her personal misgivings she was impressed at how the young man never hesitated to answer her straightforward questions. She paused only slightly upon learning he had a juvenile record for minor vandalism. She made a few notations on the pad to her right and then flipped up a page of the report. Frowning, she turned back to the front page and then back again to this one.

  “What’s wrong?” Lucas asked.

  “There was no rape kit collected.” She glanced up.

  “So?” Lucas shrugged, and the gesture was so foreign from her memories that it took her a moment to concentrate. “That’s good for our side, right?”

  “Not necessarily. You said when you arrived at the house, Rebecca was in the living room.” Micah nodded. “And yet he was found in her bedroom, with her naming him as her rapist.”

  “She was upset and ran off. I followed her.”

  Taylor took in scratches on Micah’s arm, the welts on his throat. While there might not have been any skin samples taken from under Rebecca’s fingernails, there had been pictures taken of Micah’s scratches. A good prosecutor could convince a jury they were the result of Rebecca fighting off Micah.

  “I’d feel better if we had some evidence of our own.” She made a notation on her pad. “We’ll have a lab draw blood. A private lab so we can control the results.”

  “No.”

  The short, curt denial came from Lucas. With a frown Taylor asked, “I beg your pardon?”

  “I said no blood tests.”

  “This is standard procedure, Lucas. Blood tests could prove Micah’s innocence.”

  “Dad, I—”

  “I know he’s innocent,” Lucas stated.

  Taylor blew out a frustrated breath. “Without those tests, we only have Rebecca’s word against Micah’s.” She paused, but
realized Lucas had no intention of bending. “The court could order the tests.”

  “They didn’t force Rebecca to have any. You’ll have to find a way to stop them from forcing Micah.”

  The door opened and an officer entered. “It’s time to head over to the courtroom.”

  As Micah left with the officer, Taylor studied Lucas. It didn’t make sense that he would resist the idea of blood testing. “What is it you’re afraid of?”

  “I’m afraid of losing my son.”

  “Then why won’t you let me arrange for these tests? We could avoid a trial completely if his blood type is different from that found on Rebecca.”

  “And what if it’s not different?”

  Taylor reached for the cup of coffee and took a small sip. Is that what this was about? Despite his protests to the contrary did Lucas have doubts about Micah’s innocence?

  “You hired me to defend your son, Lucas.”

  “That’s right,” he interrupted, slamming a hand down onto the tabletop. “I hired you. That means you work for me. I want your word, Taylor. No tests.”

  Taylor drained the rest of the coffee. She could argue that, technically, Micah was her client and therefore he should be the one to make this decision. Until she had the opportunity to consult with him in private she had no trouble agreeing to Lucas’s demand.

  “Very well. I won’t schedule any tests.”

  “Lucas. Slow down.”

  Reining in his impatience, he swung around. Taylor strode toward him, a look of aggravation creasing her face. She still looked lovely. His frustration increased. How could she suggest they slow down? She, of all people, should understand his need to hurry.

  “I want to be there when they bring Micah in.”

  “You can’t speak to him.”

  “I know that,” he bit off the words. She faltered half a step, and he blew out a breath. It almost felt as if he was the one imprisoned. “I just want to make sure he knows that I’m there for him.”