“The reporters might think you slept with the mayor?” Evan said, his voice rising.
“Sure. Or the governor. Or…” a warm flush crept over Jennifer’s cheeks “…you. Don’t worry about it, Evan. I can handle whatever remarks the press may fling at me.”
“Not on my watch,” Evan said, his jaw tightening. “If any one of them hassles you, you let me know and I’ll straighten them out, believe me.”
“And say what? That, yes, I slept with you, but it was the mayor who decreed that I should film the trial? That ought to make page one of the tabloids, if nothing else. Just stay out of it, Evan, and let me take care of it if it happens. You’re supposed to be concentrating on the trial, not on me and whatever slings and arrows the press might decide to shoot my way.”
“It’s not that easy. I care about you, for you. I can’t stand the idea that you might be harassed because the mayor is calling the shots and…I want to protect you from that garbage, stand between you and harm’s way and… Ah, hell.” He tossed the pen to one side.
Damn it, Jennifer, he thought fiercely. Don’t you get it? Can’t you see it? I’m falling in love with you.
“That’s…that’s very sweet,” she said, blinking back sudden and very unwelcomed tears. “And while it isn’t necessary, I appreciate it, I really do.”
And it just makes me realize that I’m falling deeper and deeper in love with you, Evan, she thought miserably, so stop saying such beautiful things to me please before I dissolve into a puddle of tears.
Jennifer cleared her throat. “So, the witnesses you’re seeing in the next few days will sit in this chair where I am now and you’re there behind your desk and…I just want to be certain I have the details right. I might decide to shoot your office with no one in it, then explain what will transpire behind the closed door that would be shown next.”
“Actually, no. I use the conference room for this type of thing. I don’t want to make my witnesses feel like they’re in the principal’s office with me looming over them from behind my desk.”
Jennifer frowned. “What conference room?”
“Follow me, ma’am,” Evan said, getting to his feet.
They crossed the large room to a door on the far wall and entered an even bigger room that held a long table surrounded by chairs, a sofa and easy chair grouping, a small refrigerator and a multitude of filing cabinets and bookcases filled to overflowing. The table had a row of neatly stacked papers as well as several accordion files.
“This is impressive,” Jennifer said, walking forward. “I didn’t even know this room was here.”
“This is where I get organized before a trial. Plus we have department meetings in here on a regular basis so the A.D.A.’s can bring me up to date on their cases. I go over testimony with witnesses in here because we can sit on the sofa and chairs, or whatever, and it’s less intimidating.”
Jennifer nodded. “Sticks and I will film this room with no one in it, then show the closed door. Okay?”
“That’s fine.” Evan paused. “You know, Jennifer, the first days of the trial will be spent on jury selection. Again, I’d like to protect the jurors’ identities as far as the documentary goes, even though the press will be hovering around with cameras outside the courtroom.”
“In other words, you don’t want me filming during jury selection.”
“No, and no footage of the jury once the trial begins.”
“I have no problem with that, Evan,” she said, turning to meet his gaze.
“Well, there is one problem with it.”
“Such as?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.
Evan closed the distance between them and looked directly into her eyes.
“Well, if I’m tied up with witnesses for the next several days, including through the weekend, then the trial starts next week and jury selection takes place, that’s a whole lot of time during which I won’t see you. That’s not good. Not good at all.”
“It’s not?” She smiled up at him.
“No, it’s not,” he said, matching her smile. “I’ve gotten used to you hanging around, so to speak. I’ll be looking over my shoulder wondering where you are, which would be hazardous to my concentration.”
“I see.” Jennifer laughed. “Well, is there a solution to this dilemma?”
“Why don’t we go out to dinner tonight and discuss it?”
“Well, I certainly want to do everything I possibly can to assist you, sir.”
“Good. I’ll pick you up at seven. Dress casually. I know a restaurant that serves the best steaks in town, but it’s rustic. You know, wooden tables and benches, that sort of thing.”
“Sounds like fun. Oh. Maybe we’re not supposed to have fun while we’re discussing details of this and that regarding this case.”
“I won’t tell, if you won’t.”
“My lips are sealed.”
Evan’s expression became serious and he drew one thumb over Jennifer’s lips, causing her to shiver at the sensual foray.
“Your lips,” he said, his voice very deep and very rumbly, “are so kissable they should be declared against the law.”
“So, arrest me,” she said, hardly above a whisper.
“No, I’d rather…” he lowered his head toward Jennifer’s “…much rather kiss those lips that are so…”
The hazy mist that was settling over them was shattered by the sound of Belinda’s voice in Evan’s office beyond the conference room.
“You don’t have an appointment,” Belinda said. “You can’t just barge in here and…”
“I can and I am,” a woman said. “Now where is Evan Stone? I don’t intend to leave until I’ve spoken with him.”
“What the hell…” Evan muttered, striding toward the door leading to his office.
Jennifer was right behind him.
“I’m sorry, Evan,” Belinda said, throwing up her hands, “but she wouldn’t listen to me and…”
“It’s not your fault, Belinda. I’ll take it from here.”
“Thank goodness,” Belinda said, stomping from the room and closing the door behind her.
“Mrs. Gardner,” Evan said, “won’t you have a seat?”
So this is Cecelia Gardner, Jennifer thought, the grande dame of Chicago society. Or she was until this scandal broke. This was Franklin and Lyle Gardner’s mother. She was definitely an intimidating figure. Tall, thin, white hair swept up and couture clothes that suited her perfectly.
“You’ve been refusing to accept my calls,” Cecelia said, sitting down opposite Evan’s desk, “so I came in person.” She swept her haughty gaze over Jennifer. “I’d prefer to speak with you privately, Mr. Stone.”
Evan stepped forward and moved the second chair from in front of the desk to the side and away from Cecelia.
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible. Ms. Anderson is filming a documentary on the inner workings of the D.A.’s office, per strict instructions from His Honor the mayor. Anything you say to me will be said in front of Jennifer.” He looked at Jennifer. “Jenny? Your chair?”
Jennifer sank onto a chair, her eyes darting back and forth between Evan and Cecelia. The tension in the room was a nearly palpable entity. She studied Cecelia more intently, looking for the sorrow, the mother who had lost one son and had another facing charges of murdering his own brother. All she could see was anger flashing in Cecelia Gardner’s icy blue eyes.
Evan sat down in the leather chair behind his desk. “Now then, Mrs. Gardner, what can I do for you?”
“You can drop the charges against my son Lyle,” she said, lifting her chin. “This trial is a travesty, part of a conspiracy carefully planned by those who are jealous of the social standing, wealth and power that my family possesses. The lies being told about Franklin now that he’s no longer alive to defend himself are further proof of the evil forces who wish to diminish us. I won’t stand for it.”
Evan leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms over his chest, but didn’t speak.