Jennifer glanced at the cuckoo clock on the wall and saw that it was nearly ten o’clock.
Was Evan still in his office at the courthouse? she wondered, poring over every scrap of evidence he had. What a lonely picture that painted in her mind. Evan would be in a small circle of light with total darkness and heavy silence beyond it. All alone. Thinking of nothing but the case he was determined to win. How stark, narrow and empty that was as it flitted across her mind’s eye.
But that was her reaction to the scenario she was creating. It might seem bleak and lonely to her, but to Evan? His career was his world, the focus of his existence. If he was still at the office he was probably relieved that everyone else had gone home so he could work in peace with no chance of being interrupted.
The telephone on the end table shrilled, causing Jennifer to nearly jump off the sofa from the sudden noise.
Who on earth would be calling at this hour? she thought, staring at the phone that continued to ring. She snatched up the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Jennifer? Evan.”
Jennifer’s eyes widened. He’d read her mind. From wherever he was he’d peered into her brain, knew she’d been thinking about him. He… Oh, for Pete’s sake, Jennifer, you’re totally losing it.
“Jennifer?”
“What? Oh, yes, I’m here, Evan.”
“I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“No, no, I was working on my notes and…Where are you?”
“At the office.”
Of course he was, she thought. That was his favorite place to be. His home away from home, or some such depressing thing.
“And you called me because?”
“I’m going to stop off at Franklin Gardner’s apartment tomorrow morning before I come in here to the office. Your cameraman…what’s his name? Slates?”
“Sticks. He’s very tall and thin and has long legs, and he goes by the name of Sticks.”
“Whatever. Sticks can film the building from the outside, but the apartment itself is still considered a crime scene and he can’t go in there. I’ll take you inside with me, but no footage is to be filmed.”
“All right. Sticks can go by there whenever and get what he needs from in front or across the street.” She paused. “Why are you…we…going to the scene of the crime now?”
“I don’t know,” Evan said, sounding very weary. “I was called the night it happened because of the fact that a high-profile Gardner had been murdered, but I would have been in the way if I’d gone over then.
“I went the next morning so I would have a clear picture of things in my mind. Now? I’m just retracing my steps, going over everything again with a fine-tooth comb. I want to walk through those rooms once more. I figured I’d better include you in on this, or you’d pitch a fit.”
“My, my, how can I pass up such a warm fuzzy invitation to accompany you, Mr. Stone? I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
“I’m sorry,” Evan said, then chuckled.
A funny little flutter whispered down Jennifer’s spine as she heard that oh-so-sexy sound.
“I didn’t phrase that very well, did I? Chalk it up to the fact that I’m so tired I’m punchy. But be honest, Jennifer, wouldn’t you have pitched a fit if I went there in the morning and told you about it later?”
Jennifer laughed in spite of herself. “Yes, I certainly would have. I’m supposed to be documenting your every little move, you know.”
“Believe me, I’m aware of that. Do you know where Gardner ’s apartment building is?”
“Yes, I have the address in my notes.”
“Okay. Eight o’clock tomorrow morning. I’ll meet you in the lobby of the building.” Evan paused a moment. “What are you wearing right now?”
“Pardon me?” Jennifer said, sitting up straighter.
“I’m sitting here having put in such a long day that I feel like I’ve been in this suit for three weeks. I just wondered what someone who is home, relaxing, probably about to go to bed…is wearing.”
Jennifer glanced down at her less-than-fashionable robe.
“Am I allowed to lie?”
“Nope.”
“Well, darn. After a sinfully long shower I donned my favorite robe which is older than dirt and looks like it was given to me by a bag lady who decided it was too decrepit to be seen in.”
“Sexy, huh?”
“To the max,” Jennifer said, smiling.
“What color is this fashion statement?”
“I don’t think this faded shade really has a name beyond blah.”
“Got it. Okay, nice long, soothing shower, security-blanket type comfy robe and… Hmm…you’re curled up in the corner of the sofa with a drink. Something warm on this chilly night. Coffee? Hot chocolate? No, tea, I think. Yes, you’re having a cup of tea, maybe one of those fancy flavored kind.”
“You’re amazing,” Jennifer said, smiling. “The tea is cinnamon. Caffeine-free. How did you know all that, Evan?”
“I’m not sure. I’m just picturing you in my mind and what I said fits. I guess I know you better than either of us realized. Where did you think I was when you asked me?”
“At the office.”
“Bingo. I rest my case. It’s rather interesting.”
“Disconcerting is closer to the mark. We really don’t know each other very well, but we just somehow knew… Definitely disconcerting.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I think it’s kind of…nice. Very nice, in fact.” Evan paused. “Well, I guess I’ll call it day, or a night as the case may be, and head on home. It was nice…there’s that word again…chatting with you, sweet Jenny. Sleep well and I’ll meet up with you in the morning. Good night.”
“Good night, Evan,” Jennifer said softly.
She replaced the receiver, then smiled. “Very, very nice.”
Evan continued to hold the receiver until a shrill buzzing noise emanated from it, announcing it had been off the hook too long. He slid it onto the base, then leaned back in his chair, laced his fingers behind his head and stared up at the ceiling.
Sweet, sweet Jenny, he thought. All he had intended to do when he telephoned her was set up the meeting in the morning at the apartment building where Gardner had been killed.
But once he’d started talking to Jennifer he hadn’t wished to stop. The “what are you wearing” bit must have sounded corny as hell, but he’d sincerely wanted to know so he could complete the image of her in his mind’s eye. At least he hadn’t gone so far as to ask what she had on beneath the soft, old robe. That would have been really pushing it.
Evan glanced around, unable to see anything in the darkness beyond the circle of light cast by the lamp on his desk.
And there he sat, he mused, in a chilly office. He was attempting to begin the first draft of his opening statement to the jury for the Gardner trial.
He preferred to write his opening and closing arguments in longhand rather than on the computer, and his trash can was filled to overflowing with wadded-up sheets of paper, each holding a handful of words that he’d rejected the minute he’d written them.
“I’ve had it for today,” he said aloud, getting to his feet. “Drag it on home, Stone.”
Home, he thought, as he flicked off the lamp, then made his way cautiously toward the door in the inky darkness. Yeah, his expensive apartment was his home, he supposed, but it wasn’t homey the way Jennifer’s was. His was just there, a place to sleep, eat once in a while, shower, shave, change clothes. It wasn’t warm and inviting, didn’t wrap itself around him with comfort to ease his stress. It was just some walls, floors, ceilings that meant he didn’t have to sleep in his vehicle.
Maybe it took a woman to add that homey touch, he thought as he locked his office door. Maybe the average man wasn’t capable of doing such a thing. Or maybe it was just him who lacked that ability.