Blind Trust (17 page)

Clint pulled her against his chest and walked her into the vacant living room. “I need your strength, Sherry,” he whispered, kissing the top of her head. “I need to know that you’re back here waiting for me. That you’ll marry me when I get back.”

She looked up at him, as if he didn’t know how much he was asking. Strength was such a rare commodity for her lately. His black eyes hid a wealth of emotion—more than most people know in a lifetime—and yet he seemed to cope so well.

“You will come back, won’t you? And it’ll all be over then?” She wouldn’t think about afterward. If they could just get through this part …

“I’ll be back,” he assured her. “When do you want to get married?”

“We should have done it yesterday,” she said. “We should have done it the first day you came back for me. We should have done it eight months ago.”

“We can do it the day I come back, if your father can pull some strings.”

Her eyes blanched to the color of frost. “I don’t want my father to be a part of it.”

“He will be a part of it,” Clint said. “I want you to forgive him for this. He did the right thing.”

“He put your life in danger. He’s
still
putting your life in danger.”

“He did the best he could, and he will continue to.”

She straightened the knot in Clint’s tie, and tried not to cry. “Let’s not talk about him,” she managed to say. “Let’s talk about our honeymoon. Where will we go when this nightmare is over?”

“How about home?” he asked. “We could find a house and buy it, and move in and not come out for a few weeks. I want to hear you laugh again, and I want to see that smile creep back into those beautiful blue eyes.”

“Come back to me and you will.” Her voice broke with the promise, and a tear escaped to roll down her cheek. “Come back to me, Clint.”

“I’ll be back.”

Someone cleared his throat from the doorway, and they both looked up. Gary Rivers leaned smugly against the jamb, watching them with disdain. “Sorry to interrupt this touching little scene,” he said. “But I believe Clint has an appointment.”

Slowly, as if he were being called to the execution chamber, Clint let go of Sherry.

“Don’t worry about her,” Gary said. “I promise to take good care of her.”

Clint’s eyes whiplashed across the room. “What did you say?”

“You heard me,” Gary said, his brown eyes challenging. “While you’re in court being a hero, I plan to make sure that nothing happens to Sherry.”

Clint’s laugh was dry, grating. “You honestly think I’m going to get in a car and ride away, leaving scum like you behind to ‘protect’my fiancée? Who’s going to protect her from you?”

Gary seemed to balance on the verge of laughter. “Sherry doesn’t need protection from me. Her father trusts me.”

“Well, I don’t.” Clint’s neck reddened. “And I’m not leaving here without you.”

Gary wasn’t convinced. “Come on, Jessup. All these months of exile and you expect me to believe you’d give up your little crusade because you don’t want me to stay with Sherry?”

“You’d better believe it,” Clint bit out.

Sam came to the door, clad in a navy hooded jacket and holding another in his hand. “You ready, pal?”

Clint didn’t budge. “I’m not leaving him here with her. If he stays, I stay.”

“You could take me with you,” Sherry ventured again.

“I’m not taking you,” Clint said, “and I’m not leaving him.”

Sam looked at Gary, who had lost his smugness. “All right, Rivers. You’re going with us. I’ll get someone else to stay. Go get one of the jackets and put it on.”

“But Grayson—”

“Grayson will understand,” Sam said.

Shooting Clint one final, fiery glare, Gary left the room.

“What if he doesn’t try to protect you?” Sherry asked. “What if he—”

“He’ll do his job,” Clint assured her. “I’ll be fine.”

“He will,” Sam said, tossing Clint the jacket he held. “Put it on,” he said. “With the hood up. It’s the latest style in sniper-proof wear.”

“But you’re wearing one too. What if they mistake you for me?”

“That’s the general idea, pal. And if they see ten of us in the same jacket, we’re liable to confuse the pants off of them.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Clint said dryly.

Sherry watched them both pull up the hood. “It’s a good idea,” she said in a shaky voice.

“It was your father’s idea,” Sam said. “Just like the ambulances.”

“Ambulances?”

Sam nodded toward the front door. “Come on. You won’t believe this.”

Sherry followed them out the door and caught her breath at the sight of ten officers wearing hooded navy jackets, milling around three ambulances.

“With everybody wearing the coats, and not a clue as to which ambulance holds the witness, there’s not a whole lot they can do, is there?” Sam said. Then he laid a comforting hand on her arm. “We’ll bring him back this way too, Sherry. We’ll take care of him.”

“Who’s going to take care of you?” Madeline asked from the side of the house, where she leaned pensively against the wall.

“I’ll take care of myself, pretty lady,” Sam said in a softer voice. The wind whipped Madeline’s hair across her mouth, and Sam stepped forward to push it back. “You’ll be here when I get back?”

She shrugged and attempted a smile. “Where would I go?”

“Good point,” he said. His hand lingered on her face, and his eyes softened. “I will be back, you know. I have this gut feeling.”

“Hold onto it,” she said, but her voice cracked.

The engines cranked to life, signifying that the time had come.

Sherry clung tighter to Clint’s arm, but she reached out for Sam’s as well. “I haven’t been very nice to you,” she choked out, tears blurring her eyes. “But you’ve been good to Clint. Will you ride in the same car with him?”

A poignant smile sauntered across Sam’s face. “You bet I will. And I expect to be best man in the wedding when we get back.”

Sherry nodded and lowered her eyes. She saw Gary look back at her with a sullen expression, and he got in one of the cars—thankfully not the one Clint was riding in. Clint took her face in gentle hands and kissed her one last time. “I love you, Sherry,” he whispered.

“I love you too, Superman,” she said, before he turned and dashed into the ambulance.

She and Madeline were left behind with three guards as the ambulances started their procession to Shreveport and the trial.

“Are we all right?” Sherry asked in a tremulous voice as the cars disappeared from sight.

“I hope so,” was all Madeline said before going into the house, to bask in her own despondency.

M
adeline was washing the dishes when Sherry found her in the kitchen, stacking them on a drainer without anything under it to catch the water, but Sherry didn’t correct her. The fact that she was doing such a domestic chore at all was a major indication of her state of mind.

A wet cup slipped from her hand and crashed onto the floor. Muttering, Madeline stooped to pick it up, but she turned her back to Sherry when she saw her watching.

It was too late. Sherry had already seen the rare tears forging shiny paths down her friend’s face. Swallowing back her own fragile ball of emotion blocking her throat, Sherry pulled out a chair and sat down. “I’ve been pretty caught up in my own troubles,” she said. “I just realized that you’re getting attached to Sam, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.” Madeline gave a soft, unspirited laugh. “Imagine me falling for some guy who carries a gun and doesn’t know where—or if—he’s going to live from day to day. All this time I’ve been waiting so patiently for God to send me the right guy. Sam’s not really what I expected.”

“If anybody could fall for him, you could.”

Madeline wiped at her eyes and tossed the shattered remains of the cup into the trash can. “Are you implying that I fall too easily?”

“No. I wasn’t even thinking of Gene at the studio, or the Italian circus acrobat, or the paratrooper, or that guy who made like Evel Knievel every time he cranked up his bike.” They both forced a smile. “No, I meant that if anybody could handle someone with such an unpredictable occupation, you could. I’ve never met anybody with such acceptance. Such an ability to take one day at a time. I envy you for it. You put so much value on what you have, and don’t even seem to worry about tomorrow.”

New tears sprang into Madeline’s eyes to replace those she had wiped away, but she blinked them back. “Don’t envy me, Sherry. It’s a defense mechanism. And it’s slipping. Because I’m very worried right now.” Her voice cracked with the admission.

Sherry gazed solemnly at her for a moment. “Are you in love with him?”

Madeline swallowed. “All I know is that when I’m with him, I’m shriveling up inside. His eyes make me warm. And when he kisses me …”

“He kisses you?” Somehow, Sherry’s image of Sam didn’t fit that role.

Madeline gave a soft smile. “When he kisses me, I burst all over. And now that he’s gone, I ache.”

Sherry didn’t know what to say, for Madeline had never been quite
that
serious. “How long have you known the guy, anyway? Three days?” Sherry asked.

Madeline shrugged. “It could have been three years.”

“Maybe it’ll be three more decades,” Sherry ventured.

“Or three more minutes,” Madeline whispered.

Sherry’s face contorted, and she covered her mouth to hold back the onslaught of despair. “Don’t, Madeline. I need you to tell me that we’ll be all right. That things will be great. I need you to get my mind off of it. You’re so good at that.”

“I need the same things.” The words were spoken on a gasp of restraint, but big tears spilled over her lashes and rolled down her cheeks.

Sherry stood up and set her arm around her friend’s shoulder. It was time to return the favor Madeline had granted her for the past eight months. It was time to swallow back her own self-pity, to move past it, and to help her friend through this horror. “Could I interest you in some bologna?” she asked.

Madeline smiled through her tears. “I’m not hungry.” She wiped her eyes and pushed her hair back behind her ears.

“They’ll be all right,” Sherry said, and she tried to believe it. “They’re strong, and Sam is the best bodyguard Clint could hope for.”

“But bodyguards have been known to stop bullets for the body they’re guarding,” Madeline said. “And Sam feels a big responsibility to Clint.”

“They aren’t the only two out there,” Sherry went on. “They may be as close as you can come to being heroes, but they aren’t stupid.”

“No, they aren’t stupid,” Madeline agreed. She looked at the ceiling, as if tipping her head back could waylay the tears. “I should have brought my camera. I should have gotten a picture of him. I should have taped one of those ridiculous songs he kept singing. I should have …”

Sherry pulled her against her shoulder and hushed her like a mother hushing a child. It had to be purged, this misery. This was Madeline’s purging time. She only hoped she could hold herself together long enough to see her dearest friend through this.

Chapter Twenty

W
es sat in front of the television set in his living room, his eyes transfixed on the news as it unfolded regarding the Givanti trial. Laney stood behind him, rubbing his shoulders. “Honey, don’t you need to get to work?”

“No,” he said. “I have to see what he’s up to.”

“He? He who?”

“Eric Grayson,” he said coldly.

“Your father.”

He took in a huge sigh. “He’s not my father. He’s just some man whose genes I happen to have.” He got up and paced in front of the television. “They’re bringing the mystery witness today. Clint will be a sitting duck as he goes into that courtroom, and I’ll bet you anything that Sherry will be right there with him.”

“There’ll be protection for them,” Laney said. “Wes, you have to trust your father’s office to provide what they need.”

“Forget it. Why should he care if my sister’s life is in danger? It’s not like he has any emotional attachment to her. Easy come, easy go.”

“I don’t think that’s true, Wes. Why don’t you call and talk to him, just to give you peace of mind? Find out what he intends to do to protect Sherry? Maybe he’d listen to suggestions.”

“I don’t want to talk to him.”

“Maybe for Sherry’s sake, you should anyway. Maybe it’s time to swallow all that pride.”

“This isn’t about pride, Laney,” he said, defeated. “It’s about history … experience. He doesn’t have a great track record when it comes to taking care of his own.”

“Then go over there … be in court … make sure that he knows you’re watching. Maybe there’s something you can do.”

Wes stared at her for a moment, turning the idea over in his mind. “You know, I think I will.”

He grabbed his keys, and started toward the front door.

“Wes?”

He turned back. “Yeah?”

“I love you. And I’ll be praying.”

He wilted and came back to her, pulling her into a tight hug. “Thanks. That’s what I should have been doing, but I’ve been in knots over this, worried sick, and I’ve just … I’ve forgotten to pray about it.”

“Well, I haven’t.” She kissed his lips, then wiped the lipstick from them. “Be careful, Wes.”

Wes felt that he walked a little taller as he headed out to his truck.