by Pamela Clare
MARC SAT IN the back of the courtroom, watched them bring Sophie in, the sight of her in restraints like a fist to his gut. But apart from the shadows beneath her eyes, she looked fresh and beautiful, as if she’d just stepped out of the office and not a jail cell. No sooner had she stepped into the room than a dozen cameras clicked, flashes lighting the room like strobes.
Rather than turning away from the cameras or seeming flustered, she smiled and waved—or tried to wave—her chin held high. She was flanked by two uniformed COs and followed by a tall man in a black turtleneck and jeans whose long, dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail. The two COs looked young and green as grass—naïve, inexperienced, overconfident—but the one with the ponytail was a pro.
He moved like a man who’d spent his life in action, his gaze never resting. He seemed to be watching over Sophie more than guarding her. He rested a protective hand on her arm, ducked down, muttered something in her ear. She looked up at him, smiled, an expression of complete trust on her pretty face. But who was he?
As if he sensed Marc watching him, he turned his head and looked straight into Marc’s eyes. Something unspoken passed between them—one killer instinctively recognizing another—before his gaze passed over Marc and through the crowded courtroom. Marc looked away, too, not wanting to give himself away by focusing on Sophie. When he looked back, she was seated off to the side with the other inmates, the man with the dark ponytail standing against the wall behind her.
Coming here was probably the most idiotic thing he’d done—and given what he’d been up to these past couple weeks that was saying something. Despite the risk, he hadn’t been able to stop himself. With the nightmare trapped inside his skull, he’d needed to see her. He’d needed to know she was all right. So he’d put on his suit, had driven downtown, and had walked through the front door of the Denver jail, passing through security and making his way to the courtrooms, fairly certain the cops weren’t looking for him in their own living room.
“All rise.”
Marc stood while the judge took her seat at the bench, his thoughts drifting as she worked her way through her first few cases. He’d read in the papers this morning that police had searched Sophie’s home and found nothing. He’d have given money to see the look on that bastard’s face when he learned that the heroin he’d planted in her bedroom had been transformed into doggie treats. Of course, that was nothing compared to the shock the fucker would feel staring down the barrel of Marc’s Glock the moment before Marc pulled the trigger.
“The people versus Sophie Alton.”
Sophie stood and went to join her attorney, a man with a head of wild white hair.
The prosecutor rose and asked for one hundred thousand, pointing to the severity of the allegations against Sophie.
Then her attorney stood and addressed the bench. “Your Honor, my client is innocent of this crime and is, in fact, the victim of a series of incidents related to her work as a journalist—the latest of which occurred last night in this very jail.”
What the hell?
Marc found himself on the edge of his seat, his gaze on Sophie.
What the hell had happened last night?
Her attorney didn’t bother to explain. “Ms. Alton has no priors and is an upstanding member of our community with a record of public service, integrity, and honesty. Keeping her in jail is a gross injustice and only serves the interests of those who are trying to intimidate her. I ask that bail not exceed ten thousand dollars.”
The judge seemed to consider the arguments, reading through what was probably Sophie’s arrest report. “The court is extremely concerned about any allegations of intimidation against the press, particularly those involving law enforcement. I hope you encourage your client to report whatever occurred last night to the proper authorities. The court further recognizes that Ms. Alton has no criminal record and acknowledges both her contributions to our community and the extreme and violent hardship she has recently endured. However, thirty grams of heroin was found in her possession. Until that issue is resolved, this remains a criminal matter. The court sets bail at twenty-five thousand.”
With the bang of a gavel it was over.
Sophie stood and was engulfed in the excited embrace of her attorney’s platinum blond sex kitten of an assistant. Then she turned to a group of women behind her, one of whom was heavily pregnant, and accepted their hugs, her wrists still in restraints.
He knew the moment she saw him. Her eyes went wide for a second, then she looked hastily away, as if trying not to betray his presence, her attention focused once more on her friends. But someone had noticed.
Behind her, the man with the ponytail was watching him.
It was time to get the hell out of Dodge before the man truly recognized him.
Marc slipped into his trench coat and strode casually out of the courtroom. It would be at least a couple of hours before Sophie’s bail was processed and she was free to go. But when she got out, he would be waiting.
CHAPTER 17
“AS I’M SURE you know, credibility is a newspaper’s most valuable asset.” Glynnis sat in Tom’s office, her hands, with their fake nails and French polish, clasped in her lap. “The Independent simply cannot afford to let this go without a suitable public response. Pending the outcome of your case, you’re suspended with pay.”
“Wh-what?” Sophie gaped at Glynnis, unable to believe what she was hearing. “Suspended? But that could take weeks!”
“Months,” Tom added.
“It doesn’t matter how long it takes.” Glynnis adjusted the jacket of today’s red pantsuit. “The paper cannot keep you on staff as long as your character is in question.”
“But the heroin wasn’t mine! I’m being set up!” The doubt she saw in Glynnis’s cold eyes cut like a blade. “Tom, you know I’m telling the truth, don’t you?”
“Of course. There’s no question of your innocence, Alton. This is clearly an act of retribution against you as a journalist.” He spoke matter-of-factly, but she could see that he was furious. “Unfortunately, the paper is more concerned about its image than standing by you, even though this incident is a direct result of your doing your job.”
Sophie could have bought him a beer, hugged him, kissed him on the cheek.
Glynnis looked like she wanted to kill him. “This is about what’s best for the newspaper. Might I remind you that this is the second incident in which Ms. Alton’s character has been called into question?”
Tom rolled his eyes, shook his head.
Glynnis went on. “Think of it as a paid vacation. I’m sure a lot of people would love—”
“I don’t want a vacation! I’m a journalist!”
Glynnis ignored her. “If you’re acquitted, your job will be waiting for you. If not, your employment will, of course, be terminated. In the meantime, please take anything you need from your desk. Security will come to take your Denver Indy ID and your key card and escort you from the building shortly.”
Take her ID and her key card? Escort her from the building?
They were treating her as if she’d already been fired.
The breath left her lungs in a single, slow exhale, leaving her empty.
Tom stood, his size dwarfing the publisher. “That won’t be necessary, Glynnis.”
Glynnis rose to her feet, too. “It’s standard operating procedure—”
“It’s bullshit!” Tom’s shout made Sophie jump. “Alton’s been a valuable member of my staff for four years, and you are not going to treat her like a fucking criminal!”
Glynnis stood there, glowering, her lips pressed tightly together, nostrils flared. When she spoke, her voice was as smooth and cold as ice. “Report to my office in ten minutes.”
And then she was gone, her heels clicking down the hallway.
Feeling as if she were made of wood, Sophie willed herself to stand. She took her ID and key card, which hung on a chain around her neck, lifted them over her head, and set them down on Tom’
s desk. “Thank you, Tom.”
“I’m sorry, Alton.” He reached out, put a hand on her shoulder. “If it were up to me, you’d be at your desk working on deadline.”
Sophie nodded, fought back the tears that pricked her eyes. “I know.”
She turned and walked to the newsroom, aware that Kat, Natalie, Matt, and Joaquin were watching her and waiting to find out what the shouting had been about. She managed to get three words out before her throat grew too tight to speak. “Glynnis suspended me.”
“Oh, honey!” Natalie looked as shocked as Sophie felt. “I can’t believe it!”
Sophie picked up her briefcase, set it on her desk, and opened it, reaching for files and setting them down again, strangely confused, her mind muddled.
Think, Alton! Think!
She’d need her files on Hunt and Megan. And a copy of the CORA request. And her card file and probably her…
She felt a hand on her arm and looked to find Kat standing beside her. Then Kat did something she’d never done before. She put her arms around Sophie and hugged her tight. “This isn’t right.”
Touched beyond words, Sophie blinked back tears, returned the embrace.
“This is so fucked!” Matt was on his feet. “I’m going to tell that stupid hag exactly what I think about this.”
“I’ll go with you,” Natalie offered. “I have a few things I’d like to say.”
“Count me in.” Joaquin set his camera down.
“Harker, Benoit, Ramirez, sit down!” Tom’s voice filled the room. “It’s my honor to deal with our esteemed publisher, and I don’t feel like sharing the fun. Instead, why don’t you do something useful like figure out who’s going to handle Alton’s beat while she’s away. And, Alton, as far as I’m concerned, this story is still yours. Whatever you need to get the job done, you’ve got. I expect to hear from you every day.”
Tom disappeared down the hallway in angry strides.
“Oh, to be a fly on that wall.” Natalie stared after him.
Joaquin nodded. “Clash of the Titans.”
Sophie finished packing her things together, trying to think of anything she might have forgotten. Then she stepped back and looked at her desk.
She’d worked hard to earn the right to sit in this seat—four years of J-school, two grueling internships, long months of busting her butt at the News. All-nighters. Early mornings. Missed meals. Hate mail. Threats.
If they fired her…
God, what would she do?
If they fire you, it means you have bigger problems—like a prison sentence.
“Do you need a ride home?” Kat interrupted her thoughts.
But Sophie couldn’t go home.
Julian had made that clear this morning after they’d left the jail. “You can stay at our place until we catch this bastard. If this son of a bitch is desperate enough to plant drugs in your car and good enough not to leave a trace, there’s nothing to keep him from breaking into your apartment and strangling you in your sleep.”
That had been a reassuring thought.
Of course, whoever the jerk was, he’d already broken into her apartment. In fact, her home had been break-in central lately. But Sophie didn’t share that information. Much to her relief, Julian hadn’t yet asked her about the dog biscuits, and she didn’t want to do anything to prompt him in that direction.
“Julian was going to pick me up after work, but I’ll just catch a cab. Thanks for the offer, Kat.” She turned to face her coworkers. “Thanks for everything. You’re the best.”
Before she could dissolve into tears, she turned and hurried out of the building.
She had every intention of doing exactly what she’d said she was going to do—hailing a cab and taking it to Julian and Tessa’s house. But when she reached the street, a gleaming black Jaguar slid up to the curb in front of her, its window rolled down to reveal the one person in the entire world who might truly understand how she felt.
Without thinking, without hesitation, Sophie opened the door and climbed inside.
MARC SAW THE bleak look on Sophie’s face—a numb mix of shock and grief and fear—and felt an answering tug in his chest. He’d brought this down on her. Her life had been moving along fine until he’d used her to escape. Whatever she was going through right now was as much his fault as that of the bastard who’d set her up.
She sat in silence, clearly having had all she could take, her briefcase held awkwardly in her lap, her gaze focused on nothing. He took her briefcase, tucked it behind her seat, then reached over and buckled her seat belt. Without a word, he merged into the flow of traffic and headed west toward Speer.
She said nothing as he threaded his way across town to Cherry Creek. She didn’t even ask him where he was taking her. Only when he pulled into the Rawlingses’ driveway did she look over at him, confusion on her face.
He stopped the engine, closed the garage door behind them, and answered her unasked question. “I’m house-sitting.”
She said nothing, her silence worrying him more than if she’d grabbed her cell phone and called the cops on him for breaking and entering. Something was very wrong. Whatever had happened to her in the past twenty-four hours, it had shaken her to the core.
He got out, walked around, and opened her door, then took her hand. “Come on, sprite.”
He led her indoors, took her coat, and settled her in the kitchen, his stomach knotting at the stricken look on her face. Not sure what to do, he poured her a double scotch and pushed it into her hands. “Drink.”
She took a sip, grimaced, coughed, then looked at the tumbler as if she’d been expecting lemonade.
He drew up a chair, sat down in front of her. “Tell me what happened. Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”
For a moment, she stared at the floor. Then she looked up at him, her blue eyes expressionless, her voice strangely monotone. “I saw you at the jail.”
He brushed a stray strand of hair from her cheek. “I needed to know you were all right.”
Her eyebrows drew together in a frown. “Julian saw you, too. I was afraid he would recognize you.”
Julian? So that was the guy’s name. “Is he a friend?”
She nodded. “Julian Darcangelo is my best friend’s husband. He’s a cop and former special agent. If he’d have recognized you…”
“I was careful.” Friend’s husband was good. Cop and former special agent was not so good. Shit. “Drink.”
She took another sip, shuddered. “You broke into my apartment. You left dog biscuits.”
So she’d figured that out. “Yeah.”
“Thank you.”
“It was the least I could do.” It was the only damned thing I could do. “Now tell me, Sophie, sweetheart. What happened?”
Slowly, she recounted the experience of being pulled over, arrested, and booked. By the time she got to the part about being strip-searched, she seemed to be coming back to herself, emotion returning to her voice, shock giving way to the distress he knew she must be feeling.
“I’ve known for years that inmates are strip-searched, but I had no idea how degrading and dehumanizing it feels. They made me…” Her voice trailed off, her free hand reaching for one of his and clasping it tightly.
It was a simple gesture of trust, of need, and it made warmth blossom in his chest. He caressed the back of her hand with this thumb. “I know the routine.”
He knew it only too well.
“They took me to my cell. Everyone was already locked down. I tried to sleep, but I was so scared. I felt like I was trapped in someone else’s life.”
“I bet.” He’d felt that same sense of unreality many times since watching Cross fall dead on his living room floor. “You keep thinking the nightmare will end, but it doesn’t.”
She met his gaze, her eyes soft and filled with empathy. “I tried to tell myself that everything would be okay, but then I thought of you and how no one had believed you when you’d told them the cocaine wasn’t yours.�
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“The dead body might have had something to do with that.”
For a minute or two she said nothing. “Last night, a man tried to get into my cell.”
Marc’s pulse picked up. This was what he’d been waiting for. He kept his voice calm. “One of the guards?”
She nodded. “It scared me because it was still dark, and no one else was around. Something about it seemed wrong. I woke up when he stuck his key in the lock. Then I heard a burst of radio static—someone asking him where he was. He told them he was on a bathroom break and that he’d be right back. Then he stomped off, swearing.”
Marc took in the information, did his best to rein in his anger, to stay focused on Sophie. She needed him. The guard could wait—for now. “Did you get his name?”
She shook her head. “I didn’t think to look until it was too late.”
“Did he come back?”
“No, but I was so afraid he would! I was so scared, Hunt!” The lingering panic in her eyes and the grip she had on his fingers told him just how afraid she’d been. “God, I was such an idiot! If only I’d gone to look through the window, I might have seen his face. Then we’d know who he is. I feel so stupid!”
He tucked a finger beneath her chin, forced her to meet his gaze. “Listen to me, Sophie. You’re anything but stupid. It’s good that you didn’t get a look at him. It might have driven him to do something desperate.”
He could see on her face that she hadn’t thought of that.
Then tears filled her eyes. “Worst of all…the publisher suspended me!”
He took her drink, set it on the table, and did what he’d wanted to do since she’d slipped into the car. He pulled her against him and held her, offering her what little comfort he could, as she sobbed out the pain and fear of the past twenty-four hours.
It felt right to be close to her like this, to feel her, soft and sweet, in his arms. He pressed his lips against her hair, closed his eyes, inhaled her scent, dumbstruck by the bone-deep bliss of just holding her. If it hadn’t been for the fact that she was miserable, he would have wanted the moment to last forever.