Love on Trial (8 page)

 

It was unsettling to realize just how deeply Hawke's absence was beginning
to affect her. The next day, she barely touched food. She alternated between lying on the beach and swimming. Later, she contemplated her miserable state on the balcony when the sun went down. She and Kitty visited some of the nearby restaurants just for a change, and pored over shells and souvenirs in the little gift shops. But nothing took her mind off Hawke for very long. She hated her own helplessness. She'd never been vulnerable before, never been dependent on a man for happiness. She hated that new vulnerability. She wished with all her heart that she'd stuck to her guns in the first place and stayed home. She could be working on a fire right now, or some controversy in the police department. She could be where the action was, instead of stuck here on a beach littered with tourists. She could be doing something else beside mooning over Hawke.

The second night, she forced herself to
sit in the living room of the lonely suite with her small portable typewriter on the coffee table. Without much success, she tried to concoct a presentable summary of the Devolg murder.

She studied her notes without any real enthusiasm. In a city that was notorious for homicide, another murder wasn't that sensational. Not that she'd become hardened to the extent that she didn't feel compassion for the families of victims, but she'd covered so many.

As she stared at her notes, she came across the original news story she'd done on the murder. Datelined Atlanta, it read:
Justin Devolg, 49, of Oak Street, Atlanta, was found dead in his apartment this morning from stab wounds.

Her eyes scanned the page, resting on the paragraph that read:
Inspector Long stated that no motive for the killing was readily apparent. The dead man had a large sum of cash in his wallet, but it was untouched. He was wearing a diamond
ring with an estimated value of $2,000 at the time of his death, and the ring was still on his finger when police arrived on the scene.

A search is still pending for the unidentified man who fled when the body was discovered. Police have arrested a fifteen year old juvenile for questioning in connection with the murder, but no further information was available. The murder is still under investigation by local police and the FBI. Some pieces of evidence have already been sent to the state crime lab for inspection, and an early wrap-up of the case is expected by law enforcement officials.

Siri frowned. Of course, the update would confirm stab wounds as the cause of death, but they also would include the arrest of Hawke's young client in connection with the murder. The sensational nature of the case made it a natural for front page treatment.

She was searching her brain for a
good, strong lead, when the door opened unexpectedly and Hawke walked in. She gaped at him, as if she were looking at a ghost, her mind still on the murder.

“Have you eaten?” he asked quietly. “Or does the creative effort really take the place of food?”

“Sometimes it has to,” she replied with a smile she didn't feel. She dragged her eyes away from him, hating the sudden quick beating of her heart as it reacted to the sight and sound of him. She was just now realizing how lonely she'd been these past few days, and how much she'd missed him. She felt a glow inside, as if a rainbow of warmth had suddenly raced through her.

“That doesn't answer my question,” he reminded her.

“Oh, sorry,” she apologized, “my mind was still on the Devolg story. No, I haven't eaten.”

“Throw on a sweater and we'll walk
down the road to the seafood place,” he told her. “It's a little chilly for summer.”

“All right.”

As excited as a teenager on her first date, she darted into her bedroom to change. She threw on a beige wraparound skirt and a green blouse. She ran a comb through her unruly hair. She left off makeup, except for a light touch of lipstick, and grabbed for her sweater as she went out the door into the living room.

Hawke was waiting for her at the main door. He was wearing a pale blue shirt that was open at the neck. Matched with his darker sports jacket, the outfit gave him a sophisticated look that went well with his masculine attractiveness. Her eyes absorbed the sight, dwelling on the broad, muscular sweep of his shoulders. Why did he have to be so good to look at, she wondered miserably, following him out into the hall. Why couldn't he have been fat and squatty with a face like a toad?

He caught the back of her neck, giving it an affectionate squeeze as they walked outside the hotel behind a group of tourists into the chill night air.

“What are you brooding about, honey?” he asked gently.

She almost told him. It very nearly slipped out, but she caught herself just in time.

“I'm just tired,” she said quickly. “Kitty and I hit every tourist shop within walking distance this afternoon.”

“You like her, don't you?” he asked.

She nodded and smiled. “I never had a sister, but if I could pick my own, I'd choose Kitty.”

He was extremely quiet as the crowd of tourists moved a little ahead of them going down the side of the road while cars jammed together in a steady stream on the highway.

“How much did she tell you?” he asked suddenly, his eyes narrow and glittering as he glanced down at her.

“About what?” she asked uneasily.

“You damned well know about what,” he growled.

She jerked her eyes away from his to the colorful neon lights ahead. He hadn't been back a half hour, and already he was trying to pick a fight.

She stopped and turned toward him. “Why don't I go back to the hotel and order my supper from room service?” she asked quietly. “At least that way we'll both be able to enjoy what we're eating.”

He stared down at her long and hard. Finally, his hand came up and touched her cheek gently. “I'm being unreasonable, is that what you're trying to tell me?”

“Yes,” she admitted.

“Oh, Siri,” he said gently, “don't you know why? Aren't you even that sophisticated?”

She looked up at him, puzzled. “Trying to understand you is like trying to
read Sanskrit,” she observed. “Hawke, what do you want?”

“You, damn it!” he said curtly.

She flushed and turned away.

“Let's eat something,” he said tightly, catching her by the arm as he began to walk again. “Maybe it'll improve my temper.”

She felt shaken, uneasy. Was that why he'd begun to cut at her so much since they came on this trip—because of a purely physical attraction he couldn't help or do anything about? It made sense, it really did. But what a blow it was to her pride, to be desired only for the arrangement of physical features. It was as if he couldn't see her as a person at all. And didn't care to.

He led her into the seafood restaurant and seated her in one of the colorful red booths beside him. It created an intimacy that she could have done without. She couldn't move without touching him.

The waitress brought ice water and menus, and they studied them silently.

“I'd like the scallops,” she said finally, handing him the menu as the waitress came back, “and coffee.”

He ordered for both of them, automatically reaching for a cigarette when the waitress went away.

“Will the smoke bother you?” he asked, glancing down at her.

She shook her head. Her hands were wrapped around her water glass as if it were a life jacket, keeping her head above water.

He caught a strand of her hair and tugged it gently, forcing her frightened eyes up to his. He read them, and smiled.

“I'm not going to do anything about it,” he said softly, reading the thought in her mind. “You're perfectly safe, little bird.”

She looked into his eyes. “I'm sorry for what I did at the beach house,” she said in a subdued tone. “It really was the
rum. I'd never have done anything like that if I'd been myself.”

His dark brows came together. “You've never tried to interest a man like that before?” he asked.

“I haven't and I wouldn't,” she replied. “It's cheap and cruel.”

“It depends on who's doing it, and for what reason,” he said softly. “I said things to you that I shouldn't have, and I regret them. But I've never lost my head with a woman before. It shook me.”

The admission startled her. “But you didn't…!”

He tugged the strand of hair again, more firmly. “I very nearly didn't let you go,” he said solemnly. “It was good, Siri. It was so damned good, I didn't want to stop. I was rougher with you than I ever meant to be, and more intimate. It must be my age,” he laughed mirthlessly. “I've never stooped to the attempted seduction of innocents before. And I'm going to take you home tomorrow before I
try it again. You're very…vulnerable where I'm concerned, Siri,” he remarked with a scowl. “It's damned flattering, but extremely dangerous. One thing I told you I meant—you need to learn about adult relationships with a boy your own age. I'm too old and jaded to teach you in any respectable way. In short, little one,” he added with a mocking smile, “I want it all. Not just nibbles.”

She blushed, dropping her eyes to the shiny table where her reflection looked back at her. “I shouldn't have come.”

“It's my own fault, baby. I talked you into it.” He leaned back to light his cigarette, only to have to put it out again as the waitress reappeared with two full plates of scallops, tossed salads, rolls, and baked potatoes.

“Don't dwell on it, sparrow,” Hawke told her with a quiet smile. “Tomorrow we'll be home. You'll be back on the job, and swinging at Holland, and all this will seem like a dream.”

“Or a nightmare?” she teased with a little of her old impudence as she glanced at him.

“I wouldn't go that far,” he said with a considering look. “You left some pretty deep marks on my shoulders.”

She blushed to the roots of her hair and gasped unconsciously at the reference. She attacked her scallops with a vengeance, ignoring the soft, amused laughter at her ear.

It was all a game to him, she thought as she ate. Just a game to play with her, and he was a master at it. She wasn't experienced enough to laugh it off, or throw the taunting remarks back at him. Oh, I wish I was five years older, Hawke Grayson, she thought angrily. I'd pay you back with interest, if I had just a little more experience under my belt!

 

They walked back to the hotel in companionable silence. Siri didn't dare break it, for fear that he'd start teasing her
again, and she didn't think she could bear it.

In one way, it would be good to go back home and leave the danger of being with him like this behind. In another sense, it was going to be horribly painful. Now that she finally knew how she felt about the broad-shouldered, husky man at her side, it was going to be all that much harder to go back to the old routine. Having had a taste of heaven, life was going to be very boring for a long time, maybe forever. She glanced up at him, her eyes resting briefly, involuntarily, on the chiseled curve of his mouth. Why couldn't he have been ten years younger? Why couldn't she have been ten years older?

They were alone in the elevator going up to their suite, and she felt his eyes on her every foot of the short climb. He got to the door first and opened it for her, standing aside to let her enter. She started for her bedroom, as she usually did when
they came home late. The last time, she thought, this was the last time….

“Siri…” he called gently.

She turned slowly, her sad amber eyes meeting his across the short distance that separated them. His were dark and strange, smoldering.

“Infatuation dies a natural death when it doesn't have anything to feed on,” he said. “And that's all it is, sparrow. You're growing up fast. I've taught you things you should have learned in easy stages, and it's gone to your head, that's all. Don't mistake it for something more permanent.”

She felt absolutely whipped. Was that what it seemed like to him, a teenage infatuation? Did he think her such a child?

“I…I didn't say…” she faltered, embarrassed.

He jammed his hands into his pockets, his eyes narrowing. “You didn't have to say it. It's written all over you, every time you look at me.”

S
he bit her lip, staring down at her toes peeking out of the sandals, feeling the lump come into her throat.

“As you say,” she managed unsteadily, “it's just a…phase I'm going through. It doesn't mean…anything.”

There was a muffled curse. “If you keep looking like that, I'm going to carry you over to the sofa and make love to you, Siri! I want you so much, it's like a
fire burning inside me, and damn it, you're not helping!”

Her eyes jerked up incredulously to his dark, heavily lined face. The sight of him made her knees go weak. Would it be so very wrong to give in? To feel that hard, hungry mouth on hers just once more, to yield to arms so much stronger than her own…

“You'd let me love you, wouldn't you, little girl?” he asked in a deep, low whisper.

Her lips trembled as they formed the words. “Hawke, I…” she began huskily.

But before she could get them out, the insistent jangle of the phone broke into the silence like an air raid siren. She flinched at the sound.

Hawke turned on his heel and went to answer it. Siri moved out onto the balcony, letting the sea breeze cool her burning skin, settle the throbbing nerves that screamed from disappointment. Through the clearing fog of her emotions, she
heard Hawke's deep, curt voice in the distance as he spoke into the receiver.

Minutes passed before he joined her on the balcony. He didn't speak at first, not until he'd halfway smoked a cigarette.

“That was my housekeeper in Charleston,” he said. “The overseer had a heart attack this afternoon. I'll have to fly up there and make arrangements for someone to take over the farm until he's back on his feet.”

“Oh, I'm sorry,” she murmured.

“You've never been to Charleston, have you?” he asked suddenly.

Her heart jumped. “No, I haven't.”

“Come with me, Siri.”

She hesitated, remembering what had almost happened once before. What if…?

“We'll take the Hallers with us,” he said quietly. “I think…we could use a chaperone, don't you?”

“Yes,” she managed in a whisper.

He drew a deep breath. “I ought to
send you home,” he said. “You know that, don't you?”

“I know,” she replied.

“But you don't really want to go any more than I want to let you,” he added roughly. “I missed you like hell, Siri!”

She turned, her eyes seeking his in the soft light from the living room. It was magic! Sheer magic! Did he care, could he?

He moved away from her, back into the living room. “I think you'd better go to bed,” he said.

She followed him into the living room. One look at the set of his jaw was enough to tell her not to argue with him. For all the emotion there'd been in his voice in the darkness, there wasn't a trace of it on his face.

She wanted to ask him…but she didn't dare. She nodded quietly and turned toward her bedroom. Just before she fell asleep, she realized he'd told her nothing about his trip.

 

The next morning, with Randy and Kitty in the back seat of the big Cessna, they were on the way to Charleston. Hawke's handyman, Charles Simms, met them at the airport outside Charleston in a spacious Lincoln town car and drove them to the farm, which was only minutes away.

Siri watched her surroundings change minute by minute with a bubbling fascination. Charleston was a city of many different faces; it ranged from gorgeous white beaches to cobblestoned streets, where flower vendors and basket-weavers plied their trade; from two-hundred year old homes to modern skyscrapers. Palm trees and crepe myrtle mingled naturally in this city once called Charles Town.

“Looking for the cannons?” Hawke teased as he saw Siri glancing out toward the ocean. “I'll make time to carry you out to Fort Sumter and Fort Moultrie while we're here.”

“I'd like that,” she said enthusiastically. “Can I fire off a cannon?”

“I don't think the city fathers would like that,” he replied.

She sighed. “I never get to have any fun.”

 

The family estate was called Graystone, and once they followed the winding, flower-laced driveway up to the main house, she understood why. The house was built from pale gray stone in a Gothic design, with a soaring portico and columns placed in pairs on either side. A balcony curved over the portico, with black wrought-iron railings, and fourth floor over-portico windows completing the Gothic styling. It was a large house, but not massive like some of the residences they'd passed going through the city. It was impressive without being gaudy.

For Siri, as she stepped out of the car and looked around at the neatly kept
grounds, at the massive oaks with their beards of Spanish moss, at the river beyond the garden, there was a sense of belonging. It was strangely like coming home after a long absence. And when she turned and met Hawke's intent gaze, the feeling was complete.

The three of them were introduced to Mr. Simms' wife, Mary, who'd kept house at Graystone ever since Mr. Hawke was a lad. She was a buxom woman with gray hair neatly coiled at the back of her head, and Siri had a feeling that she could set a table like no one else.

As they climbed the steps to the wide, immaculately scrubbed portico, Siri noted the big rocking chairs and settees that lined the walls. In the distance, the soft watery sound of the river could be heard along with the swish of the tree limbs touching and the mingled birdsongs. It was like something out of another world; a bower of peace in the world full of turmoil.

“Oh, Hawke, it's heaven,” she murmured as they went into the house behind the Hallers.

“It can be lonely,” he remarked quietly.

She met his dark eyes. “Any place can be.”

Hawke gave them a grand tour, and Siri was flooded with impressions of an elliptical stairway, curved walls, rounded banisters of pure mahogany, and large paintings of previous owners of the house.

“Graysons have lived here for over 200 years,” Kitty told Siri, as they followed along behind the men. “In Hawke's den, there's a portrait of the first owner, with a bayonet tear in the center of it. They say a Union soldier used it for target practice when federal troops camped here during the Civil War.”

“You and Randy have been here before, haven't you?” Siri asked.

“It was a long time ago,” Kitty replied
softly, and Siri knew somehow that it had been when Hawke's mother died.

When the luggage was arranged in their rooms, and they'd had a light lunch, they got the tour of the farm. Hawke walked beside Siri, his arm brushing against hers as they first went to the big barn, where a prize polled Hereford bull pranced proudly in a paddock surrounded by a white fence.

“Gray's Fancy,” Hawke mused, gesturing toward the huge animal. “The pride of my stock, and he knows it. He's sired five champions already.”

Siri cocked her blond head at him. “He does have a macho look about him,” she observed.

“You'd have the same look if you carried the price tag he does.” Randy laughed. “That's a very expensive ton of beef.”

“Don't say that,” Kitty cautioned, “you'll hurt his feelings!”

The next stop was the spacious stretch
of green pasture where the polled Hereford main herd dotted the countryside with their red and white coats. Siri leaned back against the white rail fence and watched them moving lazily back and forth against a horizon of trees.

“The farm covered two counties over a century and a half ago,” Hawke told her, while he smoked a cigarette. “Now there are barely a thousand acres left. We raise a few crops, but cattle are our main interest.”

Siri gazed up at him. “You haven't been here in a long time, have you?” she asked, so softly that the Hallers, who were several yards away, wouldn't hear.

He studied the glowing tip of his cigarette. “No,” he said finally, “I haven't wanted to come near the place until now.”

“Could we see the gardens? I got a glimpse of them…”

“Come on.” He caught her elbow and
turned her with him, calling to the Hallers to join them.

The gardens were on the banks of the Ashley River, amid towering magnolia and expansive oak trees with curling lavender-gray strands of Spanish moss trailing down from their lofty branches. The mixing of colors was perfect; the white and pink of the hydrangeas, the violet crepe myrtle, the white snowball bushes, and the pale purple wisteria hanging like grape flowers. It was enough to take an artist's breath away.

“You should see it in the spring,” Kitty sighed, “when the magnolias are blooming along with the dogwoods and rose bushes. It's a symphony of color.”

“It must be lovely,” Siri murmured, her eyes on the lazy current of the river as it wound through the cypress trees at its banks. “What a lovely place to have a picnic.”

Hawke turned on his heel, his face taut. “We'd better be getting back. I've got
some calls to make about a temporary overseer.”

Siri hung behind with Kitty. She knew that Hawke was remembering happier times by the river—maybe picnics he'd shared with Nita in his younger days. She felt a twinge of envy at the thought of how much he must have loved Nita.

 

Hawke found two possible replacements for his ailing manager before sundown, leaving the interviews to do the next day.

The four of them sat down to a seafood supper that Hawke swore was Mary's crowning accomplishment—stuffed crab and lobster tails. It was the best Siri could remember ever having, but she'd never eaten in surroundings this elegant. Crystal chandeliers hung overhead and old silver utensils and serving dishes adorned the table. It brought the distance between Hawke and her into vivid focus. Looking down the table at him, sitting so majes
tically at the end of the table in a dark suit, she understood him just a little better. The rugged aristocrat. The plantation master. He'd have been right at home in the nineteenth century.

 

After the last of the crab was gone, they went into the parlor for after dinner drinks. Siri accepted a small glass of delicately aged French brandy, and sneaked away at the first opportunity to sit in one of the big rocking chairs on the porch outside.

The atmosphere of night in this secluded green paradise was delicious. They were far removed from traffic and the smell of car exhaust. Siri sipped her brandy quietly, drinking in the serenity around her; the low murmur of the river, and the soft chirp of crickets in the thick woods around the house.

“You've got the makings of a country girl,” Hawke said at her shoulder.

“Would you rent me about six cubic
inches of this and have it mailed to my house?” she asked with a smile.

“You'd miss the sirens after the second week,” he replied, taking the chair next to hers.

“Where are Randy and Kitty?” she asked.

“On the phone. Kitty wanted to call her mother while she was in town.”

“Don't she and Randy still live in Charleston?” she asked.

“No. They have a home in Savannah now.” He sipped his whiskey and leaned back in his rocking chair with a heavy sigh. “Mary has a way with crab,” he murmured.

“Mary has gifted hands,” she agreed. “Hawke, I never did get to ask you what you discovered about that witness.”

“I found him,” he replied.

She sat straight up in her chair. “Where? Who is he? Will he testify? Did he…?”

He chuckled heartily. “For God's sake, one question at a time!”

“All right,” she agreed breathlessly. “Will he testify?”

“He'll testify.”

“Do you know who killed Devolg?” she persisted, leaning across the arm of her rocking chair to intently study his impassive face.

“I think so.”

“Are you going to tell me?” she burst out while he emptied his glass in one swallow. He set the glass down on the floor and leisurely lit a cigarette.

He glanced at her with one eyebrow raised. “And make you an accessory?” he asked with mock incredulity.

“Hawke!” she groaned. “You know I can keep a confidence, and you know I wouldn't write anything until you tell me to!”

He smiled at her eagerness. “Remember I told you that Davy Megars had an older sister?”

“Your client Davy?”

“The same. Well, she had a boyfriend, a very jealous boyfriend who knew she was making time with Devolg.” He leaned back in his chair and watched the path of a cricket as it crawled jerkily off the porch. “I had a feeling Davy was protecting someone. Youngsters don't generally go around killing other men without a motive. And the fact that his fingerprints were found in Devolg's room only placed him at the scene, they didn't prove he was the murderer.”

“What would he have been doing there?” she asked, her mind nowhere near as sharp as Hawke's.