He knew one visitor who wouldn’t be returning. He closed his eyes resignedly. Had he actually thrown a bottle at her? He winced and shook his head. Soon he would be knocking her on the head and throwing her over his shoulder. Of course, that was what he really wanted to do; maybe the ancients had the best idea. They just acted, without worrying about the niceties of civilized behavior.
Marisa Hancock did not make him feel very civilized.
When she first left his room, he had been ready to give up on her entirely. But then he had replayed the preceding scene in his mind. He remembered the look on her face when he asked her if she couldn’t think of the real reason for his attention. For one brief, glorious moment, she had known what he meant and wanted to believe him. And then her guard went back up and her expression changed to detached, cynical denial.
That one moment was enough to give him hope. When he was sprung from this cage he would find her and try again.
And he must make very sure to control his temper and not throw anything at her.
* * *
“So how did it go?” Tracy asked, looking up from her notes when Marisa entered their hotel room.
“Disaster, utter disaster. I should have listened to you and stayed away from him.”
“Is he all right?”
“Oh, he’s wonderful. He’s in fine, even athletic, form,” Marisa replied wryly.
“What does that mean?”
“Never mind. He’s recovering nicely, that’s what it means. I’m sure he’ll be back tormenting us in court as soon as we resume the case.”
“Which reminds me,” Tracy said, brandishing an envelope with the seal of the State of Florida on it. “A little missive for you from Judge Lasky.”
Marisa accepted it wearily. “Anything else?”
“Charlie called. He wants you to call him back at home tonight.”
Marisa nodded.
“Oh, and the records from the Seminole cemetery have been released to the court. You can see them any time in Lasky’s chambers.”
“So he says here,” Marisa observed, looking up from the letter. “Well, I guess we’d better get to it.”
“Now?”
“Why not? Isn’t that what we’re here for?” Marisa said testily.
“Marisa,” Tracy said gently, “the court is closed.”
“In the morning, then. First thing.”
Tracy nodded, certain that Marisa’s mood had more to do with her visit to the hospital than her eagerness to peruse the history of an ancient graveyard.
* * *
Marisa spent the next day with the cemetery records and collapsed in her room that evening while Tracy went to the movies. She was staring at a rerun on television when there was a knock on her door.
“Just a minute,” she called, pulling a dressing gown on over her pajamas and running her fingers through her tumbled hair.
There was no sound from the hall.
“Is that my laundry?” Marisa said, pulling the door open.
“I’m afraid not,” Jackson Bluewolf replied.
Marisa stared at him, then glanced down in dismay at her bare feet and the washed-out robe she was wearing.
“I thought you were the cleaning service,” she mumbled inanely.
By contrast with herself, he was gorgeous in eggshell jeans with a blue Oxford cloth shirt and leather moccasins. His left arm was in a sling and he carried a fringed suede jacket over his right shoulder.
“May I come in?” he asked.
Chapter 3
“What are you doing out of the hospital?” Marisa asked, stepping aside so he could precede her into the room.
“I discharged myself against medical advice,” he replied, turning to face her as she closed the door behind them. “I had to sign all these forms saying that my family would not sue them if I dropped dead in the street, or something like that.”
“If I were your lawyer I would have talked you out of doing that,” she said dryly.
He fished in his pocket and held up a bottle of pills. “I’m supposed to take two of these every four hours, or four of them every two hours. I forget.” He frowned at the printing on the label.
“Please, sit down,” Marisa said, sweeping a pile of papers from a chair onto the floor. “I don’t want to witness a relapse.”
He sat heavily as Marisa hovered nearby. They surveyed each other warily.
“Just give me a minute to change and I’ll be right with you,” Marisa said suddenly, remembering what she was wearing.
He nodded.
She bolted into the bathroom and grabbed a pair of jeans and a T-shirt from the hook on the back of the door. As she changed hastily, not bothering with underwear, she glanced at the mirror and groaned at her hair. She found a clip in the medicine cabinet and pulled it back, fastening the wavy mass at the nape of her neck. There was no time for makeup, she would have to do as she was. She reentered the bedroom as he looked up and said, “Too bad.”
“What?”
“I liked you with your hair down.”
Marisa fingered the clip nervously, resisting the impulse to yank it out and fling it on the floor.
“It was the first time I’d ever seen it that way. In court you’re always so buttoned up and proper. With all that hair around your face you looked like a little girl.”
Even if it was a deliberate attempt to charm her, she was helpless. It was working. Marisa looked back at him silently, unable to frame a reply.
“I suppose you’re wondering what I’m doing here,” he finally observed.
“The thought had occurred to me.”
“I came to apologize for my behavior when you visited me at the hospital. I can only offer the excuse that I was shot full of prescription drugs and not responsible for my actions.” He smiled slightly.
“That’s all right. I got so mad at you I forgot to thank you for saving my life.”
“That’s a bit of an exaggeration.”
“Not from my point of view.”
“I guess we should call it even then,” he said lightly.
“Not even, exactly. That boy Jeff Rivertree is still in jail facing a capital charge.”
He made a deprecating gesture. “That’s my fault. When I guessed what Jeff was going to do, I rushed to the courthouse but I didn’t arrive in time to prevent the incident. I had hoped to get to him first.”
“What is he being held on?” Marisa asked.
“Attempted murder.”
She winced.
“I hope we can get it reduced to felonious assault. We’re trying to raise the bail right now,” Jack said.
“I’d lobby for the lesser charge, but I can’t get involved with his case. You do understand that,” Marisa said.
He nodded. “I understand.”
A silence fell and they stared at each other.
Jack cleared his throat. “There’s another reason for my coming here,” he said.
“Yes?” she said, sitting on the edge of the bed.
He leaned back in his chair and folded his good arm across the one in the sling. Instead of focusing on his face she found herself staring at the top button of his shirt, wishing she could undo it. When she tore her gaze away she realized that she didn’t know what he was saying.
“Why this is so important to me,” he concluded.
Marisa stared at him, clueless. “I beg your pardon?” she said weakly.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Yes, fine, I’m just a little tired. Hectic week, you know.” She smiled vacuously, feeling a perfect fool.
“Of course. I was just saying that we’ve been at cross-purposes from the beginning, but I’ve never had a chance to explain to you why I’m involved here, why my work for NFN has become my life.”
“Don’t you do anything else?” Marisa asked ingenuously, and then bit her lip. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that, but I know NFN can’t be paying you much.”