Witness... And Wife?

Chapter 3

“Damn it, Cassie.” The chair legs screeched on the linoleum as he leaped up. Startled, Duffy scrambled to his feet, shooting Luke an injured look. Cassie laid a soothing hand on the dog’s head to assure him he wasn’t the cause of the outburst, but he continued to eye Luke warily.

Luke paced across the kitchen. “Why can’t you listen for once? This isn’t a game. It’s real life. Make the wrong move and you lose more than your two hundred dollars for not passing Go.”

“I don’t play games with my life.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he muttered without looking at her.

Choking back another retort, Cassie watched him pick up the coffee carafe and refill his cup. “For your information, Thomas Wainright was a family friend. And in my book you don’t just sit quietly by and let someone get away with murdering a friend.”

“So you’re on a crusade.”

“No. Yes.” She floundered, stung by his obvious disdain. “This is more than a crusade. It’s…” She ducked her head, fighting resentment at his unwillingness to hear what she said.

The stutter of a lawnmower drifted from a nearby yard, accenting her discomfort.

Why did it always seem as if the two of them were speaking different languages? No matter how hard she tried to explain, he would never understand. “You can’t stop me,” she repeated, keeping her tone reasonable.

“Anything for a story, huh?”

“For this one, yes. Judge Wainright didn’t often give interviews, but he talked to me because he thought what I was doing was necessary. Important. I owe him.”

“Owe him?” Luke resettled in the seat across from her, conveying cynicism with a quirk of the lips. “Or owe yourself?”

Cassie clamped her teeth together to prevent angry words from spilling out. Why did he always attribute the worst possible motives to her? Did he really think she wanted to end up just another statistic on the police files?

She took a sip from her mug, hoping the jolt of caffeine might kick-start her brain and supply her with the way to win his cooperation. Instead, the acrid taste of cooled coffee coated her tongue and brought a grimace to her face. She shot a glance across the table. Luke’s dark eyes glittered beneath lowered brows. Arms folded across his chest, he was obviously primed for a fight. Abruptly she changed tactics. “I suppose you’re right. I am thinking of myself.”

He showed no surprise at the admission, but a subtle softening of the lines that bracketed his mouth prompted her to plunge ahead. “If my…digging…set things in motion, then I’ve as good as murdered Judge Wainright myself. The only way I can think of to make up for it is to not let his death be meaningless. I have to figure out what he wanted to tell me and finish the articles.”

Luke shook his head. “I don’t buy it. Wainright made his own choices. You didn’t force him. And if his death was due to information he had, you’re risking your life trying to ferret it out.”

His cavalier disregard of her emotions, to say nothing of the ease with which he shrugged off her reasoning, blew Cassie’s composure. “Risk? With you playing bodyguard?” she scoffed. “The only risk I’ll be taking is tripping over you.”

Luke’s gaze swept over the front of her T-shirt in blatant appraisal, and despite an obvious effort to maintain a serious expression, his lips twitched with amusement. “Well,” he drawled, in a passable imitation of a Texas accent, “just make sure you’re facing me when you fall.”

His bantering caught her by surprise, and even knowing he wasn’t serious, she couldn’t stop the onslaught of tactile memories. The crispness of his chest hair grazing her swollen nipples. A tangle of legs as they sprawled across a bed, laughing. Hot kisses. Building passion.

Heat crept up her neck. If such a display weren’t guaranteed to inflate his ego, she’d have covered her breasts in a virginal attempt to shield herself from his gaze. Silently she cursed her unruly senses and wished she dared kick Luke in the shins for not playing fair. Their relationship was history. Dead history. And no amount of playacting on his part could convince her otherwise.

The thought, repeating itself like a mantra, enabled her to pin him with a quelling glance that wiped the amusement from his face. “I don’t plan to take risks,” she announced firmly. “I’m perfectly willing to play the game your way—cautious and careful. What I’m not willing to do is run scared.”

“It’s not running scared to give us time to do our job.”

“I don’t have time. I have a deadline. Eckhart has guaranteed me lead-story status if I wrap everything up within the week. Waiting will only give people the chance to cover up.”

“It’ll give us a chance to solve the case without you messing things up,” Luke retorted, his impatience getting the best of him.

“Me?” She turned and widened her eyes in pretended innocence. “You’re forgetting who trained me. You should have more faith in the job you did.”

She was playing with fire. She knew it from the familiar look of exasperation that narrowed his eyes and wrinkled his brow. Then, amazingly, his expression softened. Leaning forward, he covered her hand with his much larger one. “Let me do my job, Cassie,” he said softly.

Let me protect you.

The unspoken message was so seductive, Cassie was tempted to give in and do it his way. But she couldn’t. She’d battled too hard, too long, to yield now and let others dictate what was best for her.

She wasn’t asking much, and she knew she wasn’t being reckless. She’d agreed to delay action until he could be with her. He was just being bullheaded.

“I have to do this,” she insisted. “Now, not later.”

Luke jerked back his hand as though burned. “You haven’t changed a bit, have you?”

Stung by the bitterness in his voice, she thrust out her chin. “Neither have you. You still issue orders and expect everyone to jump.”

“Maybe if you’d jumped instead of insisting on having your own way—” He clamped his mouth shut, then catapulted from his chair, as though he couldn’t bear looking at her one minute longer.

Cassie felt the blood drain from her face. She didn’t need to hear the words to know what he’d almost said.

If you hadn’t insisted on having your own way, Danny wouldn’t have died.

Her heart twisted in agony, the same agony she’d lived with for two years: because she’d tried to have it all, do it all, their child was dead.

She would carry the guilt to her grave.

Everyone had warned her to slow down—Luke, her father and brothers, even her boss—but she’d thought she knew better than any of them. She was young and strong, a modern woman. And her doctor had backed her up, giving his approval to continue working as long as she felt like it.

Six months pregnant, she’d jumped at the chance to show them all she was capable of juggling career and motherhood as easily as any other female reporter. She begged for the assignment of interviewing a man being held at the county jail for murder. Everyone had a theory about why he’d killed his wife, then calmly turned himself in. Cassie planned to get the story from his own lips.

The meeting itself seemed to pose no risk. Held in a secured room under the watchful eyes of two guards, it had promised to be as tame as an afternoon tea. How could she have known the man would take her hostage in a desperate bid for freedom? And who could have foreseen the results of the police chase that followed, the chase ordered by Luke to rescue her?

She still had nightmares of the car careening off the highway, trees rushing at her and the bone-jarring impact. The ride to the hospital was blurred by pain, and it was only the next day, when she saw the pity on the nurse’s face, that she knew for certain she’d lost her baby. She’d wanted to scream denial, but one look at Luke’s stricken expression had silenced her. He was having enough difficulty dealing with the death without her falling apart.

Maybe she should have followed her first instincts and loosed her tears. At least then, Luke might have acknowledged her pain. Instead he’d acted like the loss was his alone, a grief she couldn’t possibly share because she hadn’t wanted to be pregnant—at least not initially.

And when his despair left no room for hers, she’d done the only thing she could—hide her sorrow and crowd the hollow in her life with activity.

In silence Cassie cleared the mugs from the table and carried them to the sink, sneaking a glance in Luke’s direction. Hands thrust into jeans pockets, he stood at the kitchen door, seemingly absorbed with something in the backyard, though the rigid set of his shoulders and his widely spread legs betrayed his inner tension.

For an instant Cassie felt an urge to step close, to wrap her arms around his waist and lay her cheek against his back, to whisper she was sorry, the way she’d done in their early days together. Things had been so easy then. One simple gesture and Luke would shake off his irritation and laugh at himself. He’d gather her close and tell her he loved her just the way she was—ornery and contrary and too damned independent.

Not for long. After they’d married, he called her headstrong, foolhardy, and she’d found his attempts to protect her stifling. Maybe people were right when they said the things you loved best about a person were what chafed the most as time went by.

No, she told herself, picking up a wet sponge, their differences couldn’t be settled with a simple apology.

She blotted a coffee stain from the countertop, wishing it were as easy to wipe out past mistakes. But hers had seeped into the very fiber of their marriage, like printer’s ink across a sheet of newsprint.

The curtains at the open window stirred briefly, and the hot, dry air seemed to suck all moisture from her body, leaving behind an empty, brittle husk. She closed her eyes and wished Luke would leave. She had enough to deal with without resurrecting the past. Things like a throbbing head and weary muscles.

Shifting her weight from one leg to the other, she felt a nudge against her bare calf. Even before she turned, she knew Duffy was regarding her with a hopeful look. Grateful for the diversion, she joined in the familiar game by cocking her head skyward and pretending not to notice. Duffy settled back on his haunches, pricked his ears and whined.

Though Luke turned at the sound, Cassie avoided meeting his gaze. Focusing, instead, on playing out the ritual with the dog, she stared at the ceiling and feigned indifference to his whimpers. He gave a sharp bark—her signal to look astonished and ask, “What’s the matter, fellow?” In response, he balanced on his hindquarters and raised his front paws, unashamedly begging.

Cassie dipped a hand into the cookie jar, all too aware that Luke now leaned against the counter, arms crossed over his chest, narrow hips outthrust in a flagrantly male posture.

Watching.

His pose was so achingly familiar, she hesitated, her fingers curled around a dog biscuit. Memories flooded through her, memories of other times when he’d assumed the same stance, following her every movement with such passion-filled intensity, she’d grown faint with longing.

A second bark from Duffy broke the spell. Quickly she withdrew her hand from the jar and held the biscuit a few inches over Duffy’s head. He caught it midair and settled to the floor, crunching happily.

“I guess you can teach an old dog new tricks.”

“Some old dogs,” Cassie muttered, then looked up in surprise when Luke chuckled.

No one, seeing Luke at this moment, would imagine him other than the most easygoing of men. He’d shrugged off his anger easier than a dog shook water from wet fur, but Cassie didn’t buy it. She studied the lazy smile playing across his lips and wondered what he was up to.

“We won’t solve anything by losing our tempers,” Luke said as though responding to her unspoken thoughts.

Cassie stiffened. “I was explaining my position. You lost your temper.”

Although a nerve twitched along his jaw—an obvious sign he wanted to throttle her—he merely shook his head in resignation. “Have it your way.” He even managed a halfhearted grin as he held up his hands in exaggerated surrender. “Truce?”

She eyed him with suspicion. Luke never gave in unless he’d already come up with an alternate strategy. She wondered what new surprise he had up his sleeve.

“Hell, Cassie,” he growled, his patience snapping. “I’m not the enemy.”

“Trying the ‘catch more flies with honey’ approach?” she asked in saccharine tones.

Even before he bridged the short distance between them, she knew she’d finally pushed him too far.

“Would it do any good?”

His husky whisper raised hairs on her neck. Cursing her runaway tongue, she took a hasty step backward and ran into the counter. Her retreat cut off, she took the only available course of action—she tensed and stood her ground.

Calmly, deliberately, he moved closer. Close enough for her to feel the heat of him. Close enough to read intent in his dark eyes.

Anticipation skittered up her spine. Surely he wouldn’t—

His fingers curled around her upper arms.

Sensation jolted through her, making a mockery of her efforts to remain indifferent. As her pulse leaped, she realized she’d been deluding herself. She was as susceptible to his charm as she’d been the first time they met.

Her mouth turned to parchment when he drew her to him, but she could no more break free of the gentle pressure he exerted than stop her heart from beating. His palms cupped her face, and she shut her eyes, feeling the soft caress of his breath as he dipped his head.

An alarm sounded in her mind.

She couldn’t respond to it.

Didn’t want to.

The touch of his mouth, coaxing and featherlight, took her breath away, and when he brushed her lips with his moist tongue, she thought she’d melt from pleasure.

It was insanity. Sheer madness. Yet Cassie was powerless to halt the swell of emotions that blossomed within her. As she surrendered to them, inhaling his familiar, masculine scent, the long years of separation vanished as though they’d never been.

His kiss transported her back to the beginning, when their relationship was fresh and new and full of wonder. Power radiated from his lean body; tenderness, from his stroking fingers. Her pulse leaped in an erratic dance of desire.

And then his hands dropped away, releasing her. Cool air slipped between them. She opened her eyes.

Luke’s face was expressionless, his gaze assessing.

“Enough honey?”

As his meaning penetrated, her stomach clenched and a bitter taste filled her mouth. It was a game to him, a cold-blooded experiment. She doused the pain in her heart with a surge of anger. Clenching her hands into fists, she opened her mouth to deliver a scathing put-down.

The phone rang.

No fighter, down for the count, could have felt more relieved than Luke did when Cassie whirled to grab the telephone. Her flashing eyes and thin-lipped glare had informed him she was furious.

Not that he blamed her. He was a fool to have pulled such a stunt, especially when he was trying to be reasonable. If she hadn’t thrown his good intentions in his face, he might have been able to carry it off, but her challenge had pushed him over the edge. There was only so much a man could take before setting the record straight.

Crouching, he scratched behind Duffy’s ears and tried not to eavesdrop. Unfortunately that left him replaying his colossal blunder. The instant she’d melted in his arms, he’d seen his error. Trouble was she’d felt so good, tasted so sweet he didn’t care. Tearing himself away was the hardest thing he’d done in a long time.

He glanced across the kitchen, noting Cassie’s still-angry posture. So much for teaching her a lesson. All he’d proved was their libidos were as healthy as ever, and he’d better make damn sure he never got that close again.

“What do you want?”

In spite of Cassie’s attempt to keep her conversation private, Luke caught a sharp edge in her voice. His senses sprang to red alert.

“What things?” she snapped. Then, as though sensing Luke’s interest, she lowered her voice and repeated the question in calmer tones.

Luke wasn’t fooled. Her white knuckles and stiff spine betrayed her. Rising swiftly, he crossed the tiles on silent feet and peered over Cassie’s shoulder, noting the caller ID display on the phone. Out of Area.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she said with a swell of bravado, “but if you’re threatening me—”

Intuition told Luke the person on the other end was no ordinary crank caller; instinct warned him to tread with care. Cautiously he touched her shoulder to attract her attention. She shrugged from beneath his hand, then went rigid in response to whatever the caller was saying.

With sudden clarity Luke realized he would never win Cassie’s cooperation if they continued to fight. If he didn’t give in to her demands—or at least give the appearance of doing so—she was apt to bolt and ruin any chance he had of protecting her. Gritting his teeth, he resisted an urge to wrestle the phone from her grip and tell the creep what he thought of him in no uncertain terms.

Cassie slammed the receiver down so hard it rang in protest.

“What did he say?”

“He’s watching,” she replied without turning.

Reacting to the thread of fear weaving through her anger, Luke reached out to touch her but was deterred by her rigid stance. Frustrated, he punched in the numbers that would set in motion a trace of the call, by the phone company, when what he really wanted to do was wrap his fingers around the caller’s neck.

She faced him. “It’s the murderer, isn’t it?”

“Possibly,” Luke hedged.

“Probably,” she corrected. She rubbed at her upper arms, as though warding off a chill. “He described the house. The rooms. Duffy. He said he hoped I was a good girl who kept her opinions to herself.”

Though the quaver in her voice wrenched at his gut, Luke knew better than to offer assurances. “So what are you going to do about it?”

“Do? I already went back over my notes like you asked. No likely suspects. The people Wainright mentioned by name are either dead or in prison.”

“You said you intended to continue digging so you could wrap up your story. Have you changed your mind?”

Indecision clouded her eyes for the merest fraction of an instant. Then, just as he expected, defiance replaced it.

“No.”

It was time. Time to convince her he was on her side. Time to secure her cooperation and make sure she didn’t go off half-cocked. “Okay. Where do we start?”

“We?” Her eyes widened in surprise. “But you said—”

“I’ve changed my mind.” When her expression conveyed disbelief, he motioned toward the phone. “The caller changed my mind.” Infusing his voice with what he hoped sounded like resignation, he continued. “Besides, what’s the point in working at cross purposes?”

Cassie stared at him, obviously unconvinced of his sincerity, but Luke knew when to hold his tongue. Given time, she would realize that the advantages of his offer far outweighed her reservations.

After long seconds his patience was rewarded when she gave a reluctant nod. “Okay, we work together.”

“Equal partners,” Luke agreed with a smile.

Chapter 4

Judge Wainright’s clerk, Chelsea Sparks, was every male’s fantasy. Tall and willowy, with a liquid fall of hair so platinum it could only have come from a bottle, she was padded in all the right places. Indeed, her ample curves strained the limits of her smartly tailored suit in a manner that was nearly indecent.

Feeling like nothing more than a mushroom in comparison, Cassie poked at her own wild mass of permed curls and watched Chelsea’s pouty Elizabeth Arden lips form into an expression of profound sorrow.

“He was the greatest boss a girl could have.”

Cassie shifted uncomfortably under the syrupy flow of sentiment and wondered how long the woman had practiced the slight quaver in her voice and the sad flutter of mascaraed eyelashes. The display was so blatantly false, it curdled Cassie’s stomach. How could the woman just sit there, a room away from where her boss was murdered?