Tess Gerritsen - Presumed Guilty

And so they fell asleep.

Chase was the first to awaken. He found his arms looped around her, his face buried in the sweet-smelling strands of her hair. She was curled up on her side, facing away from him, the silky skin of her back pressed against his chest. The memory of their lovemaking was at once so vivid he felt his body respond with automatic desire. And why not, with this woman in his arms? She was life and lust and honeyed warmth. She was everything a woman should be.

And I’m treading on dangerous ground.

He pulled away and sat up. Morning light shone through the window, onto her pillow. So innocent she looked, so untouched by evil. It occurred to him that Jill Vickery once must have looked as pure.

Before she shot her lover.

Dangerous women. How could you tell them from the innocents?

He left the bed and went straight to the shower. Wash the magical spell away, he thought. Wash away the desire, the craving for Miranda Wood. She was like a sickness in his blood, making him do insane things.

Last night, for instance.

They had simply fallen into it, he told himself. A physical act, that was all, a chance collision of two warm bodies.

He watched her sleep as he dressed. With each layer of clothes he felt more protected, more invulnerable. But when she stirred and opened her eyes and smiled at him, he realized how thin his emotional armor really was.

“How are you feeling this morning?” she asked softly.

“Much better, thanks. I think I can drive myself back to town.”

There was a silence. Her smile faded as she took in the fact he was already dressed. “You’re leaving?”

“Yes. I just wanted to make sure you got out of here safely.”

She sat up. Hugging the sheets to her chest, she watched him for a moment, as though trying to understand what had gone wrong between them. At last she said, “I’ll be fine. You don’t have to wait around.”

“I’ll stay. Until you get dressed.”

A shrug was her response, as if it didn’t matter to her one way or the other. Good, he thought. No sticky emotions over last night. We’re both too smart for that.

He started to leave, then stopped. “Miranda?”

“Yes?”

He turned to look at her. She was still hugging her knees, still every bit as bewitching. To see her there could break any man’s heart. He said, “It’s not that I don’t think you’re a wonderful woman. It’s just that…”

“Don’t worry about it, Chase,” she said flatly. “We both know it won’t work.”

He wanted to say, “I’m sorry,” but somehow it seemed too lame, too easy. They were both adults. They had both made a mistake.

There was nothing more to be said.

“It’s not as if any of this is incriminating,” said Annie, flipping through the notes from M that were arrayed on her kitchen table. “Just your routine desperate-woman language. Darling. If you’d only see me. If only this, if only that. It’s pathetic, but it’s not murderous. It doesn’t tell us that M — whoever she is — killed him.”

“You’re right.” Miranda sighed, leaning back in the kitchen chair. “And it doesn’t seem to tie in with Jill at all.”

“Sorry. The only M around here is you. I’d say these letters could cause you more damage than good.”

“Jill said there was a summer intern a year ago. A woman who got involved with Richard.”

“Chloe? Ancient history. I can’t imagine she’d sneak back to town just to kill an ex-lover. Besides, there’s no M in her name.”

“The M could stand for a nickname. A name only Richard used for her.”

“Muffin? Marvelous?” Laughing, Annie rose to her feet. “I think we’re beating a dead horse. And I’m going to be late.” She went to the closet and pulled out a warm-up jacket. “Irving hates to be kept waiting.”

Miranda glanced with amusement at Annie’s attire: a torn T-shirt, scruffy running shoes and sweatpants. “Irving likes the casual look?”

“Irving is the casual look.” Annie slung her purse over her shoulder. “We’re sanding the deck this week. Loads of fun.”

“Will I ever get to meet this boat bum of yours?”

Annie grinned. “Soon as I can drag him to shore. I mean, the yachting season’s gotta end one of these days.” She waved. “See ya.”

After Annie had left, Miranda scrounged together a salad and sat down at the kitchen table for a melancholy dinner. Irving and his boat didn’t sound like much in the way of companionship, but at least Annie had someone to keep her company. Someone to keep away the loneliness.

Once, Miranda hadn’t minded being alone. She’d even enjoyed the silence, the peace of a house all to herself. Now she craved the simple presence of another human being. Even a dog would be nice. She’d have to think about getting one, a large one. A dog wouldn’t desert her the way most of her friends had. The way Chase had.

She set down her fork, her appetite instantly gone. Where was he now? Probably sitting in that house on Chestnut Street, surrounded by all the other Tremains. He’d have Evelyn and the twins to keep him company. He wouldn’t be alone or lonely. He would be just fine without her.

In anger she rose to her feet and slid the remains of her salad into the trash. Then she started for the door, determined to get outside, to run around the block, anything to escape the house.

At the front door she halted. A visitor stood on the porch, hand poised to ring the bell.

“Jill,” whispered Miranda.

This was not the cool, unflappable Jill she knew. This Jill was white-faced and brittle.

“Annie’s not here right now,” said Miranda. “She…should be back any minute.”

“You’re the one I came to see.” Without warning Jill slipped right past into the living room and shut the door behind her.

“I–I was just on my way out.” Miranda edged slowly for the door.

Jill took a sidestep, blocking her way. For a moment she stood there, regarding Miranda. “It’s not as if I haven’t been punished,” she said softly. “I’ve done everything I could to put it behind me. Everything. I’ve worked like a madwoman these last five years. Built the Herald into a real newspaper. You think Richard knew what he was doing? Of course not! He relied on me. Me. Oh, he never admitted it, but he let me run the show. Five years. And now you’ve ruined it for me. You’ve already got the police shoveling up old dirt. You think the Tremains will keep me on? Now that they know? Now that everyone knows?”

“I wasn’t the one. I didn’t tell Lorne.”

“ You’re the reason it’s all come up! You and your pathetic denials! Why don’t you just admit you killed him? And leave the rest of us out of it.”

“But I didn’t kill him.”

Jill began to pace the room. “I’ve sinned, you’ve sinned. Everyone has. We’re all equal. What sets us apart is how we live with our sins. I’ve done the best I could. And now I find it’s not good enough. Not good enough to erase what happened….”

“Did Richard know? About San Diego?”

“No. I mean, yes, in the end. He found out. But it didn’t matter to him—”

“It didn’t matter that you killed a man?”

“He understood the circumstances. Richard was good that way.” She let out a shaky laugh. “After all, he himself wasn’t above a little sinning.”

Miranda paused, gathered the courage for her next question. “You had an affair with him, didn’t you?”

Jill’s response was a careless shrug. “It didn’t mean anything. It was years ago. You know, the new girl on the block. He got over it.” She snapped her fingers. “Just like that. We stayed friends. We understood each other.” She stopped pacing and turned to look at Miranda. “Now Lorne wants to know where I was the night Richard was killed. He’s asking me to come up with an alibi! You’re casting the blame all around, aren’t you? To hell with who gets hurt. You just want off the hook. Well, sometimes that’s not possible.” She moved closer, her gaze fixed on Miranda, like a cat’s on a bird. Softly she said, “Sometimes we have to pay for our sins. Whether it’s an indiscreet affair. Or murder. We pay for it. I did. Why can’t you?”