protects us when life feels overwhelming, some sort of self-preservation. And the rest of us have other great characteristics but lack that core of self-preservation that will sustain us.”
“Do you think so?”
He shook his head. “I honestly don’t have any idea. It’s just a theory I’ve come up with to try to understand.”
But if he was right, if those types of people didn’t have what it took to help themselves, wasn’t it up to those around them to provide that help?
“In the end, we’re each responsible for ourselves,” Blake said, as though reading her thoughts.
It was something he’d done more than once on their long-ago night together.
What was it about this man that made him somehow…different?
They sat silently for several minutes, thoughts wandering. She had to go, Juliet knew that. She just wasn’t ready to leave the peculiar sense of peace that had settled around her.
Thinking about trying to explain the moment to Marcie, she couldn’t find a way. Blake’s life was in complete turmoil. Hers wasn’t much better. And still, in this room together, for these few minutes out of time, they’d created a moment of calm.
It was a precious commodity.
“So how soon should I expect them?”
He hadn’t moved, other than to turn his head on the couch. Hadn’t said who he was expecting, either, but she knew. Them. The Law.
“Could be late this afternoon. Or tomorrow.”
Licking his lips with the tip of his tongue, Blake said nothing.
“It’s always possible the grand jury will find that Schuster doesn’t have enough evidence.” Possible, but not likely. She just couldn’t leave him sitting there without hope.
“Schuster’s as seasoned as they come,” Blake said, his voice a monotone. “How often do you think he goes to the grand jury without sufficient evidence?”
“Never.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“You’ll call me?”
His gaze locked with hers. “You’ll take the case?”
“If I can,” she told him, wondering how the hell she was going to get him off when the evidence so clearly pointed to his guilt. And how she was going to survive however many weeks it took to do the job, becoming intimately acquainted with the father of her child, torn to the roots of her soul about one solitary choice that had seemed so right at the time and now just seemed too huge to handle.
She couldn’t tell Blake about Mary Jane now. That much was clear. The timing was all wrong. For everyone.
She could only hope that, by some miracle, she’d be able to hold things together for all three of them.
CHAPTER TEN
THERE WERE MANY REASONS Blake didn’t sleep that night. Walking around the home he’d built upon his return to the States, he felt haunted.
By Amunet and the things he should have seen but didn’t. The things he still didn’t see. By Juliet and a night that had taken on surreal qualities in its perfection and therefore stood before him as a measure by which to judge every relationship he’d ever have—a measure by which every relationship could only fail. A measure that was pure fantasy.
Haunted. And hunted, too. By a judicial system he’d always taken for granted would offer him security and protection. Would they come with the light of dawn? To his home? His office? Would he soon no longer be free to wander his house in the dark? To hear the ocean as it crashed against the shore?
Was this all he’d ever be, what he was in this moment? Was there to be no chance for a family? A chance to have loved ones in his life again? People he could call his own?
And God in heaven—he knelt down at the window of his living room, fists and hands resting against the glass as he faced the ocean—he knew what they did to guys in prison.
When he couldn’t stand the pain of viewing the magnificent, moonlit ocean before him, he squeezed his eyes shut. And let the tears escape.
How the hell was he going to survive?
THEY CAME TO HIS HOME. Before Pru arrived for work Tuesday morning. Up and dressed in a blue suit, white pressed shirt and red tie, Blake was glad they’d spared him the discomfort of having his staff gathering around him. This particular moment he wanted to face alone.
“Mr. Blake Ramsden?” the uniformed man at the door asked.
“Yes.”
The fifty-something peace officer held out his badge. “I’m Deputy Thomas from the sheriff’s department, sir.”
Blake read the badge because it seemed to be expected of him. He didn’t doubt the credentials of his messenger.
“I need to give you this.” The man held out a folded piece of paper, innocuous-looking for all the consequences implicit in its contents. “You’ve been charged with a crime, sir, and are required to appear at 8:30 a.m. Friday morning….” He named the branch of California Superior Court not far from Blake’s office. “If you fail to appear there will be a warrant issued for your arrest.”
Blake had a breakfast meeting with the mayor Friday morning. Not that he considered mentioning it. Guaranteed, neither Schuster nor the Superior Court of California gave a damn about Blake’s breakfast. No matter whom it might be with.
Already his freedom was being curtailed. Whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty?
Blake took the document. Signed where he was told to sign. Thanked the man. And closed the door.
“I THANKED HIM!” were the first words out of his mouth ten minutes later when Juliet McNeil answered her phone.
“Thanked who?”
Somewhere in the back of his mind was the realization that she didn’t ask who he was.
“It’s only seven-thirty in the morning,” was his reply. “I expected to get an answering machine. And you answered yesterday, too. I wouldn’t have thought you’d spend much time in your office, answering phones. You hard up for cases, Counselor?”
Forearm leaning against the wall, Blake ran his other hand down his face. “I’m sorry, I don’t even know what I’m saying,” he continued. He held the hand clutching the folded paper above him.
“It’s okay.” Juliet’s tone was soft, almost a whisper. “The number on my card is my cell phone. It takes messages just as effectively as an answering service would and cuts out the middleman.”
Blake heard about half of what she said. He had her cell number. That was good.
“So you answer it at home?”
“Not usually,” she said. “I saw your number come up on the screen.”
He’d given it to her the previous day, just before she’d left his office. He hadn’t expected her to memorize it.
“Who did you thank, Blake?”
“The deputy who served me.”
He was standing in the kitchen, his back to the windows, avoiding the ocean. Today it didn’t say anything to him but words he didn’t want to hear.
“What’s the charge?” Juliet asked.
“I don’t know. I didn’t read the document.”
“Did you look at it?”
“No.” He glanced up at the offending piece of paper. “It’s still folded.” Not that he held out any hope that not looking would change the result.
Right