Judith McNaught (74 page)

Ted lifted his head and grinned at her, but Katherine jumped as if she'd been caught in the act of doing something wrong and pulled out of his arms. "Julie, I'm sorry!" she blurted.

"For what?" Julie asked, walking over to the cabinet and taking down a glass that she filled with water.

She drank it all, trying to quench the strange thirst she felt.

"For letting you see us like that."

"Why?" Julie asked, holding the small glass under the faucet to refill it, but her head was already beginning to clear and the memories were trying to crowd in.

"Because," Katherine babbled awkwardly, "we shouldn't be doing this in front of you, not when we're

supposed to be helping you deal with what happened in Mexico—" she broke off in horror as the glass slid from Julie's hand and crashed to the floor.

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"Don't!" Julie burst out, bracing her hands on the counter, trying to shut out the sudden memory of Zack's enraged face just before the Mexican police started hitting him and the sound of his body thudding

to the floor at her feet. She shuddered again and again, clenching her eyes closed against the vision, then

after a minute, she managed to straighten and turn.

"Don't talk about it ever again," she said. "I'm all right," she added with more determination than accuracy. "It's over. I'll be all right if you don't talk about

it. I have to make a phone call," she added, glancing at the clock on the wall above the sink, and without realizing she was doing the opposite of what she'd just asked them to do, Julie picked up the telephone, called Paul Richardson's office, and gave the secretary her name.

The last explosion of emotion left her feeling drained and afraid. She was strained to the breaking point

she realized, looking at her trembling hands, and it had to stop right now. Life was hard for a lot of people, she reminded herself, and she had to stop reeling from every blow. Right now. Immediately.

She

could either get a prescription for tranquilizers and turn herself into a zombie, or she could deal with the future in a calm, rational way. Tincture of time would cure the rest. No more tears, she vowed. No more

outbursts. No more pain. People depended on her—

all her regular students and the women she taught to read at night. They especially looked up to her and she had to show them how she dealt with adversity.

She had classes to teach and football and softball teams to coach. She'd have to get busy and stay busy.

She
must not
fall apart.

"Paul," she said with only a slight tremor when he finally took her call, "I have to see him, I have to explain—"

His voice was sympathetic, kind, and final. "That won't be possible right away. He can't have visitors at

Amarillo for awhile."

"Amarillo? You promised me he'd go to a mental hospital for evaluation and treatment!"

"I said I'd try to accomplish that, and I will, but these things take time, and—"

"Don't talk to me about 'needing' time," she warned, but she held onto her composure. "That warden's a monster. He's sadistic, you could see he was in Mexico. He'll have Zack beaten until—"

"Hadley isn't going to lay a hand on him," Paul interrupted gently, "that much I can promise you."

"How can you be sure? I have to be sure!"

"I'm sure because I told him we were going to want to question Benedict in connection with kidnapping charges and that we'd expect him to be in perfect condition when we do. Hadley knows I don't like him

and he knows I mean business. He won't screw around with me or the FBI, especially not when he's already under investigation by the prison authorities as a result of that prison uprising last month. His job and his skin are both too precious to him."

"I will not," Julie reminded him forcefully, "be a party to charging Zack with kidnapping."

"I know that," Paul said soothingly. "It was just a means to keep Hadley under control, not that I think it's really necessary. As I said, he knows the prison authorities are investigating his conduct and watching

him closely."

Julie's breath came out in a rush of relief, and he said, "You sound a little better today. Get some rest.

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I'm going to come see you this weekend."

"I don't think that's a good—"

"Whether you want to see me or not," he interrupted firmly. "You can worry about Benedict, but it's you I'm worried about. He's a killer and you did what you had to do, for his sake and everyone else's. Don't ever let yourself think anything else."

Julie nodded, telling herself firmly that he was right.

"I'll be fine," she said. "Really I will."

When she hung up, she looked at Katherine and Ted.

"I will," she promised them both. "You'll see. It's nice to know," she said with a tremulous smile, "that something good came from this nightmare—the two of you."

She ate the breakfast they forced on her, then she got up to make a second phone call.

With the firm intention of urging Matt Farrell to use his considerable influence to get Zack into a hospital,

Julie dialed his private number in Chicago. His secretary put her call through, but when Matt Farrell picked up the phone, his reaction to her call was beyond Julie's worst imaginings:

"You vicious, scheming bitch," he said, his voice hissing with rage. "You should have been an actress!

I

can't believe I was stupid enough to swallow that act you put on and let you use me to trap Zack!" He hung up on her. Julie stared at the dead phone in her hand while the realization slowly hit her that Zack's friend obviously hadn't thought Tony Austin's death was Zack's doing: The need to accomplish her goal and also exonerate herself became a compulsion.

She called Chicago, got the telephone number for Bancroft & Company's main department store, and asked to speak to Meredith Bancroft. When Meredith's secretary insisted on knowing Julie's name before she'd put the call through, Julie fully expected Meredith to refuse her call.

A few minutes later, however, Meredith's voice came across the distance—cool and reserved, but at least she was willing to talk. "What can you possibly want to discuss with me, Julie?" she said.

Unable to keep the pleading from her voice, Julie said, "Please just listen to me. I called your husband a

few minutes ago to ask if he has any influence to get Zack transferred to a mental hospital, and he hung up on me before I could ask him."

"I'm not surprised. He hates you thoroughly."

"And you?" Julie said, swallowing to steady herself.

"Do you believe what he does—that the night you were here I concocted a scheme to trap Zack and turn him in and that I used both of you to do it."

"Didn't you?" Meredith asked, but Julie sensed a hesitancy in her voice, and she grabbed at it.

Her words spilling out in a desperate jumble, she said, "You can't believe that. Please, please don't. I went to see his grandmother after you were here and she told me the truth about how Zack's brother died. Meredith, Zack
shot
him! Three people who made him angry are dead! I couldn't let him hurt more

people, you have to understand that and believe me…"

Hundreds of miles away, Meredith leaned back in her chair and rubbed her temples, remembering the laughter and love in Julie's dining room. "I—I do believe you," she said finally. "The night Matt and I were

at your house, that just couldn't have been an act.

You loved him very much, and trapping him was the
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furthest thing from your mind."

"Thank you," she whispered simply. "Good-bye."

"Are you going to be all right?" Meredith asked.

"I don't remember how 'all right' feels," Julie said with a broken laugh, then she shook off her self-pity and said politely, "I'll be fine. I'll cope."

In the weeks that followed, Julie coped in the only way she knew how: Shunning the television set and radio completely, she immersed herself in work and a dozen civic and church activities, and she kept herself going until she dropped into bed at night, exhausted. She took on tutoring assignments, volunteered to head the church fund drive, and accepted the chairmanship of Keaton's Bicentennial Celebration, which was scheduled to take place during the last week of May with festivities that ranged

from fireworks and a dance in the park to a carnival.

No one in Keaton had any doubt about the cause of Julie's endless round of feverish activities, but as day faded into day, their surreptitious, pitying glances

came less often, and they were never foolish enough, or heartless enough, to congratulate her on her bravery for turning in the man she had obviously loved.

Days merged into weeks that passed in a blur of frantic activity, but slowly, very slowly, Julie began to

find her balance again. There were days when she actually went for four or five hours without thinking of

Zack, nights when she didn't reread his only letter before she fell asleep, and dawns when she didn't lie awake staring dry-eyed at the ceiling, remembering things like their silly snowball fight or his wonderful snow monster or the husky sound of his whispered endearments when he made love to her.

Paul spent every weekend in Keaton, staying first at the local motel and then, at her parents' invitation, at their house, and the entire town gossiped that the FBI agent who'd come to Keaton to arrest Julie Mathison had fallen in love with her instead. But Julie refused to consider that possibility. She refused because facing it would have forced her to tell him he was wasting his time, when she wanted to keep seeing him. She had to keep seeing him, because Paul could make her laugh. And because he reminded

her of Zack. And so they went out as a foursome with Ted and Katherine, and he took her home afterward and kissed her good night with slowly increasing ardor. It was during his sixth weekend in Keaton that his patience and restraint began to fray.

They'd gone to a local movie with Ted and Katherine, and Julie had invited all three of them to her house for coffee. After Ted and Katherine left, Paul had caught her hands and pulled her to her feet.

"I had a wonderful weekend," he said and teasingly added, "even if you did make me play football with a bunch of handicapped kids who ran me ragged."

She smiled at that and his face softened. "I love it when you smile at me," he whispered. "And just to make sure you smile whenever you think of me, I bought you something." Reaching into his pocket, he extracted a flat, velvet box, and put it into her hands, watching as Julie opened the box. In it was a small gold clown with tiny sapphire eyes that was suspended from a long, beautiful chain. When Julie carefully

removed the chain, she noticed the clown's arms and legs jiggled, and she laughed. "He's beautiful," she said, "and funny."

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"Good. Let's take this chain off and try him on," he said, noticing the slender chain beneath her collar.

Julie clutched involuntarily at it, but it was too late.

Paul had already pulled it out and seen the wedding band Zack had in his pocket in Mexico.

Swearing under his breath, he caught her shoulders.

"Why?" he demanded, making a visible effort not to shake her. "Why are you torturing yourself by wearing this? You did the right thing when you turned him

in!"

"I know," Julie said.

"Then let him go, damnit! He's in prison and he'll be there for the rest of his life. You have your life—a life that should be filled with a husband and children. What you need," he said, his voice softening as his

hands slid down her arms, "is a man who'll take you to bed and make you forget that you ever went to bed with him. I know you did, Julie," he said when her eyes snapped to his. "And it doesn't matter."

She put up her chin and said with quiet dignity,

"When it stops mattering to me, then I'll be ready for someone else. Not before."

Caught between frustration and amusement, Paul touched his thumb to her chin. "God, you're stubborn.

What would you do," he said half-seriously, "if I went back to Dallas and never came back?"

"I'd miss you a lot."

"I suppose you think I'll settle for that for now," he said irritably because it was true.

In answer she gave him a plucky smile and nodded,

"You're crazy about my mother's cooking."

Chuckling, he drew her into his arms. "I'm crazy about
you.
I'll see you next weekend."

"
T
here must be some mistake," Emily said as she looked from her husband to his accountant. "My father

would never buy stock or invest money in anything Tony Austin touched, not if he knew Tony was involved."

"The facts prove otherwise, Miss McDaniels,"

Edwin Fairchild said mildly. "Over the last five years, he's

invested over $4 million of your trust fund in TA Productions, which was owned by Mr. Austin. It was all

quite aboveboard. I assure you, although it certainly was unprofitable and ill-advised on your father's part, since Austin apparently used the money exclusively to pay his living expenses. I'm not implying there

was any wrongdoing on your father's part," he assured her when she continued to frown at him.

"Your

father purchased stock for you in TA Productions, and the stock is in your name. My only reason for bringing this up at this time is that as your new financial advisor, I think it's time to sell the stock back to

Austin's heirs if they'll buy it or else give it to them for a penny a share, so that we can take a loss on your

next joint tax return."

Emily struggled to put her thoughts into coherent order. "What did my father say about all these bad investments in TA Productions?"

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"It's not my place to discuss it with him or question his judgment. He's handled your trust fund since you were a child, I understand, and how he chose to invest the money for you has been exclusively his province. All that is rightfully between you and him.