Tami Hoag - Heart of Gold

“Are you-”

“I’d rather not discuss my personal life,” he said curtly.

Deep inside him was the hollow ring of derisive laughter. He didn’t have a personal life to discuss. His job was his life, because that was the way it had to be. He lived in a sort of vacuum, existing with no emotional entanglements, because emotional entanglements were dangerous to all parties involved. He had learned that lesson in the cruelest way possible.

“I’m sorry,” Faith said quietly, not sure where the words had come from. A sudden sense of emptiness ached in her chest as she looked at Shane. The pain was so sharp, it nearly took her breath away.

“Mr. Callan, how seriously are you taking these threats that have been made against Faith?” Alaina asked.

“Considering her value as a witness in the Data-Tech case, we have to take every precaution,” Shane said, glad to have something concrete to focus his attention on. “We have every reason to believe Gerrard and his accomplices will make good on the threats if given the chance.”

“The whole thing is ridiculous,” Faith grumbled. “William isn’t violent; he was only out for the money.”

“Well, you would know more about that than I,” Shane remarked dryly, his face showing nothing of the unrest inside him. A part of him stubbornly insisted she was guilty. Another part of him wanted to believe in her innocence. And everything male in him simply ached looking at her.

Where had his concentration gone? What had happened to his ability to detach himself emotionally? Faith Kincaid was a job. It made no difference to him if she was guilty or not. So why did he suddenly have this war raging inside him?

He sat back in his chair with a frustrated sigh and reached inside his coat for a cigarette as Jayne and Lindy returned from the kitchen with the pudding.

“Unless you intend on eating your pudding with that cigarette, I’ll have to ask you to leave, Mr. Callan,” Faith said with as much haughty disdain as she could muster. “This dining room is a smoke-free environment.”

Shane stared at her, nonplussed. “You’re joking.”

“I’m afraid she’s not,” Alaina said, rising from her chair with a wry smile. “Come along, Mr. Callan. We’ll banish ourselves to the front porch.”

Outside the evening had turned a darker shade of gray. The lights that flanked the double doors created a small pool of warm light on the porch. Shane automatically shunned it in favor of a darker spot with a sweeping view of the grounds, where he could put his back to the wall and maintain a cautious vigil.

“Where were you practicing law before you came here?” He lit Alaina’s cigarette for her and waited for an answer he already knew. Banks had hurriedly scraped up facts on Alaina Montgomery and on Jayne Jordan, a film critic who had been based in LA until two months ago.

“ Chicago,” she said on a stream of smoke.

“Strange coincidence, isn’t it?” Shane lit his own cigarette and took a long, deep pull on it. “That you were living in the same city as DataTech headquarters.”

“Life’s funny,” she said, but her tone held no laughter.

“What made you give up a lucrative practice and move out here?”

“I was burned out.”

She wasn’t telling him everything, but then he’d known she wouldn’t. Alaina was a woman who gave away only what was absolutely necessary, automatically holding facts in reserve. He didn’t envy anyone going up against her in a courtroom.

As she looked up at him, Shane recognized something in her direct, measuring gaze-cynicism, wariness; two of his own best friends.

“I didn’t ask you out here to discuss the vagaries of fate, Mr. Callan. I want to talk about Faith.”

“What about her?”

“I don’t want to see her hurt-either by William Gerrard or you.”

“Do you want to see her dead?” he asked point-blank. He could see the question confused her for only a split second; then her mind put together the same puzzle pieces his had.

She laughed, seemingly amused by his deduction. Almost admiringly she said, “My, you’re a bastard.”

“I’m a realist.” He picked a fleck of tobacco off his tongue, his eyes never leaving Alaina’s. “You came here about the same time Faith did. You obviously ran with a flashy crowd. No reason you couldn’t have known the DataTech big shots.”

“What’s my motive for killing my best friend?” she asked, obviously intrigued by his theory.

“Money is always a nice neat one. Lord knows there’s a load of it to be had in the defense contracts game-honestly or otherwise. Greed is a great motivator.”

“Don’t I know it,” Alaina said, a hint of bitterness in her tone.

She was silent for a moment as she finished her cigarette and ground the butt out on the porch railing. She gave Shane a long, measuring look. “My friends and I moved here because we needed a change of scenery. We all came to a crossroads in our lives and decided to take the same new path. I wouldn’t hurt Faith or Jayne if you held a gun to my head. We’re friends; we care about one another.”

“And look out for one another?”

“Faith needs someone to look out for her. In spite of everything she went through with Gerrard, she’s too trusting.”

“And you’re not?”

“No. I don’t trust people, and I don’t romanticize their motives. If you hurt her, I’ll see that you pay for it.” She gave him a shrewd smile. “As you guessed, I have some very influential friends.”

“Why would I hurt her?” He dismissed her threat. A man who had nothing, had nothing to lose. “I’m here to see she doesn’t get hurt.”

Alaina’s gaze was steady and as cool as the fog that surrounded the house. “Then we won’t have a problem, will we?”

Shane tossed his cigarette off the porch as he watched her saunter toward the front door. More amused than angry, he asked, “Who appointed you watchdog?”

She tossed him a saucy look over her shoulder. “It’s a self-appointed role. I’m the only Doberman in the pack.”

“Somebody should call Clint Eastwood,” Jayne said as she carried plates into the kitchen, “to tell him this Callan guy has his voice.”

Faith’s smile was distracted and halfhearted at best. Jayne gave her a little nudge. “You do it, honey. I’ve been on Clint’s bad side since I told a few billion people his last movie wasn’t worth eating stale popcorn for.”

Faith stepped aside from the dishwasher and leaned back against the counter, hugging herself and fighting back tears that had been threatening for hours. She felt as if all her emotions were suddenly ganging up on her, and Jayne’s attempt to lighten the mood only made her feel worse.

“Hey,” Jayne teased gently, though her eyes were full of concern. “Don’t worry about Clint. He’ll bounce back.”

“I don’t think she’s upset about Clint,” Alaina said as she walked in. “It’s our own real-life version of Dirty Harry, isn’t it?”

The last subject Faith wanted to discuss was Shane Callan. Nor did she care to go into the strange emotions he drew out of her, charming her one minute and accusing her the next. She decided instead to focus on the reason Callan was there, which was equally unpleasant but easier to understand.

She gave her friends an apologetic look. “I didn’t want to involve the two of you in any of this trial business. I’m sorry.”

Jayne slid an arm around Faith’s shoulders and gave her a reassuring squeeze. “Honey, what’s the use in having friends if you can’t depend on them in a crisis?”

Alaina crossed her arms in front of her and nodded decisively. “She’s right.”

“Thanks,” Faith murmured, wiping a tear from her lashes.