Gideon, Robin - Desire of the Phantom [Ecstasy in the Old West] (Siren Publishing Classic) (54 page)

“Garrett, darling, we don’t have much time left together,”
Pamela whispered.
She moistened her lips, thirsty for the taste of his kisses.
“Why waste it talking?”

He grinned then, looking away, shaking his head in
amazement. “Pamela, let’s be serious here. We’re in the Whitetail Creek
jail, and you’re soon to be on trial for murder. As irrational as it
seems, there really is something more important to do
right now than making love.”

“Not as far as I’m concerned,” Pamela whispered, sliding over on the cot so her thigh was pressed to Garrett’s.

“Be serious now,” he repeated more sternly. “If we’re
going to win this case, we’ll need to concentrate.”

The logic would have been fine, except that Pamela didn’t believe the case could be won, not even with Garrett’s brilliant legal mind working full-time on her behalf. She had
no future, but she did have the here and now, with Garrett
at her side, and if she closed her eyes, she might be able to forget she was in a locked jail cell. She might be
able to forget everything except how wonderful it was to
taste his kisses upon her lips, to feel the passion he had
for her.

“Garrett, darling, I couldn’t be more serious,” Pamela continued, tilting her
head to the side to nuzzle his neck. She felt him try to
move away, but she would not be dissuaded from her goal,
nor would she allow him to push her away. “It isn’t
like you to resist.”

Though just a little annoyed, Garrett was grinning. “I
know it’s not like me, and I promise you, just as soon as we win this trial, I’ll be more than happy to give you my
undivided romantic attention for as long as you care to
have it. But while the case is under way, I think—”

“You think all the time,” Pamela complained, slipping her
fingers into his hair, turning his face to
kiss his mouth. “You taught me to not think so much, and
now I’m going to teach you the very same lesson.”

Garrett groaned theatrically. He
was only now
becoming aware of wanting a long future shared with
Pamela. The rest of his life, in fact. That future, not his im
mediate desires, most concerned him now.

“Garrett, kiss me, will you?” Pamela continued in that
faintly disturbed tone she had adopted. “You’ve been so
preoccupied from the moment you stepped foot in my
cell.”

“Of course I’ve been preoccupied,” he said, pushing
her away and getting to his feet.
“How can I be anything
but
preoccupied when the
woman I love is sitting in jail, being tried for a murder
she didn’t commit?”

Pamela had been about to rise from her small cot, but upon
hearing Garrett’s words, she couldn’t move, other than to turn her face away. For a second or two, she was afraid tears would begin to flow. Garrett had said, “the woman I
love.”

Had she ever heard such beautiful words?

Now it was too late for her to have many more tomor
rows with Garrett, Pamela realized. She had fallen in love with
a man who loved her back. At least she now knew Garrett
loved her.

Composure returned to Pamela quickly, and when it did,
she was more determined than ever to forget all about the
trial and the depressing surroundings and to take
pleasure in Garrett.

“Have you any idea how much I’ve wanted to hear you
say those words?” she asked quietly, looking up at him.
“I love you, you know? More than you can imagine. More
than I ever thought I could love anyone. And I’ve loved
you for a long, long time, Garrett Randolph.”

Only then, with Pamela repeating the words he’d spoken,
did Garrett fully realize what he’d said. The reality of it
was as shocking for him as it had been for her. How many
times had he gotten himself in trouble because he’d
re
fused
to give a vow of love to the woman he was seeing? How many times had he been consciously aware that he
could avoid a fight if all he would do was say “I love you”
to the woman in bed with him?

Too many times, to be sure. But Garrett hadn’t spo
ken the word “love” because he’d known all along that
what he felt was many things, but love wasn’t among
them. Not, that is, until he’d found himself with a tomboy
named Pamela Bragg and had come to the conclusion that he
was willing to risk everything—money, reputation, hap
piness, freedom, even his life—to protect her and keep
her with him, because a life spent
without
her would surely
be a hollow, empty experience.

“Tell me again that you love me,” she said. The impish
green twinkle had returned to her eyes, and she nibbled
teasingly on her lower lip.

“Now you’re teasing me,” Garrett said with a grin, back
ing up until he felt the iron bars of the cell door against
his shoulders. He knew the twinkle in Pamela’s eyes, knew
what it meant. But for the life of him he couldn’t figure
out why she was in
that
kind of mood while in
this
kind
of place.

“In a way, I suppose you could say that,” she replied, and as she spoke, she began unbuttoning her light-blue denim shirt. “But Lord knows, you’ve teased with me in
your time.”

“Yes, Pamela, but this isn’t the time for—”

When she pulled her shirt off, the words caught in Garrett’s throat. He watched, temporarily transfixed, as her
fingers toyed tauntingly with the bows holding her chemise closed.

“Time for what, Garrett?” Pamela asked, her tone as inno
cent as a child’s, her fingers tugging loose the top bow of
her chemise to display a little more cleavage.

“For
that
!”
he replied, feeling ridiculous. A myriad of memories—what Pamela had been like when he’d first met her, first kissed her—flashed across the surface of his mind, vividly impressing on him how much she had changed.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” she said in a whisper, getting slowly to her feet. She pulled loose the second bow on her chemise then the final one. With a slight
shrug of her shoulders, she sent the chemise drifting down
her arms to drop unceremoniously on the stone floor of the jail cell. “This is the perfect time.”

“Pamela—”

“Garrett, you’ve just said you love me. Now, if that is the truth, then I want you to prove it, right here, right
now.” Pamela crossed her arms just beneath her breasts, fully aware of how her nakedness drew Garrett’s gaze and addled
his thinking.

“Can’t this wait until after the trial?” he asked, his voice
a breathy whisper that lacked all conviction.

She shook her head, walking forward slowly, then took
his hands in her own and began leading him to the small cot.

She did not trust in tomorrow. She didn’t even believe
she’d be happy an hour from this moment. Pamela knew only
that she loved Garrett, that he loved her, and that at least
for a little while, even though they were locked in her
cell, they had each other.

About everything beyond that, she had grave doubts, but she had Garrett, she had this moment…and she was
going to make the most of both.

Chapter Twenty-Five

It was the third day of the trial.
Every time Garrett looked into the eyes of the jury, the disbelief
he saw reflected in their eyes, the suspicion and doubt he
saw on their expressions, told him they believed Pamela was
guilty of the cold-blooded murder of Richard Darwell.

The most damaging testimony came from Angie. She
broke down in tears as she was testifying. When she broke down a second time, it required both her father and brother
to be at her side to shore her up as she told her heart-
wrenching account of seeing Pamela riding away from “the
scene of that awful, bloody crime!”

Garrett waited for Angie to break, waited for her to at last
look at the jury and tell them she was lying. He knew she wouldn’t, of course, but just the same, he kept hoping
she would do something that would tip the jury to her
duplicity.

But Angie never broke from her story, never revealed that
she was lying, not in her face, in her eyes, or in the way she
held her shoulders as she sat in the witness chair. She was, Garrett now realized, the consummate liar, and as such, she
was perhaps more dangerous to society than her father.

Pamela touched Garrett’s sleeve, and he turned toward her.

“
I never did those things,” she whispered.

“I know you didn’t,” Garrett replied, stifling the “dar
ling” that very nearly had come from his lips. He dared not whisper such endearments to her now, in the court
room, even though he desperately wanted to make her feel
more confident, wanted her to know beyond a doubt that
he believed in her.

What was he to do? The jury believed that Pamela had
killed Richard Darwell. Garrett knew that she hadn’t committed
the crime. If he put Michael Darwell on the witness stand, Darwell would only lie, as would Jonathon.

It was cruel, he now realized, how the law worked. Jus
tice wasn’t being played out in the courtroom. Instead,
power, deceit, and corruption thrived. The Darwells held all
the keys to victory, using them at whim, destroying anyone
who dared get in their way.

As Angie’s gut-wrenching lies continued, Garrett lowered his eyes and looked at a spot on the floor, letting his mind
focus, going deeper and deeper into itself, to a place where
nothing existed but pure thought. Somehow, some way,
he must free Pamela. Garrett believed in the legal system, even
when it was being perverted and abused by an ambitious
prosecuting attorney and by greedy scoundrels like Jonathon, Michael, and Angie Darwell.

But how could an honest man fight such dishonesty, such corruption?

When Garrett turned toward Pamela, his vision once again became sharp and focused. Nebulous ideas were forming.

“Don’t worry about a thing,” he reassured her with a smile as he patted the back of her hand.

Judge Robert Dahlmann looked at Garrett and asked, “Have
you any questions for this poor young woman?”

Garrett looked at the judge and remembered seeing him
accept a bribe from Jonathon Darwell on that fateful night
when the Midnight Phantom had first run across Pamela inside
the Darwell mansion.

The judge was projecting sincerity and sympathy. Garrett
thought,
This guy’s a master at deceiving people, too.
If
I didn’t know better, I’d even think he was really sorry for
all that Angie’s supposed to have gone through.

“No, Your Honor, I have no questions for her.”

Garrett rose from his chair, feeling as though Pamela’s free
dom and his own personal happiness were slipping through his fingers. He looked into the jury box, and his gaze met Andy Fields’s. Fury welled up in Garrett’s breast as he thought back to that night when, as the Midnight
Phantom, he had crouched in the dark with Pamela and watched
Jonathon Darwell give Fields a bribe. It seemed so unjust that Pamela’s guilt or innocence should be in the hands of venal men like Judge Dahlmann and Andy Fields.

The judge rapped his gavel hard, putting the court into
adjournment until the following morning.

Garrett leaned close to Pamela and, giving way to an en
dearment, whispered to her, “Don’t worry, darling, I think
I know how we can put an end to this travesty.”

* * * *

It was late at night when Andy Fields kicked his feet
up onto the footstool then leaned back on the sofa in his
den. All was good in the world as far as he was concerned.
Tomorrow was the last day of the trial, and when it was
over, there would be few serious obstacles standing in his
way to becoming the next mayor of Whitetail Creek.

He took a sip of whiskey, washed it down with a heavy
swallow of beer from a brewery in St. Louis, and then issued a long, slow, satisfied sigh. Everything tasted better to
Andy now that Garrett Randolph seemed so willing to dis
credit himself in the eyes of the voters of Whitetail Creek by fighting for Pamela Bragg. Even Mrs. Fields’s cooking seemed to have improved dramatically since the murder trial had begun, and the prostitutes at Lulu’s appeared more energetic and more pleased to see him.

Andy closed his eyes, letting his mind wander aimlessly
as the alcohol began to take effect. Yes, everything
was
perfect in his life. His wife, seeing his smooth road to being elected mayor of Whitetail Creek, had stopped nagging
him about his drinking and wenching and now concerned herself only with his appearance, always making sure that
his shirts were free from wrinkles and immaculately clean.
Nobody would ever accuse
her
of being a bad wife to the
mayor of Whitetail Creek!

It was mildly disconcerting that his children still didn’t
like him. They made no effort to hide their contemptuous feelings
either. That was a disappointment to Andy Fields since he would have preferred to parade them around come
election time, but the fact of the matter was, his contempt
for his children was commensurate to their contempt for him, so, cardplayer that he was, he figured he was even on that score and didn’t give the matter much thought.

With his head resting on the plushly upholstered back
of the sofa and his eyes closed, Andy was suddenly aware
that a slightly cool breeze passed through the room. He
smiled. It was a stiflingly hot evening, and the breeze felt
good upon his skin.

Good, that is, until he sensed that he was no longer
alone in his den and that whoever had entered the room
had not come through the door.

“Don’t move.”

The two words were spoken calmly, in a conversational tone. Every muscle in Andy Fields’s corpulent body tight
ened, and though he tried to remain calm, he couldn’t even
breathe. He opened his eyes but did not turn his head,
afraid that such movement might somehow anger the in
truder. Out of the corner of his eye, stepping out of the shadows, he saw Garrett Randolph approach from the veranda. At that moment, his heart almost stopped because
in Garrett’s hand was a long-barreled Remington revolver,
and absolutely everyone knew Randolph simply didn’t carry guns.

Unless, of course, special circumstances forced him into a situation where he needed to use them. For instance, if he needed to kill a juror…

“Dear God, please don’t hurt me,” Fields whispered.

Garrett approached slowly, the muzzle of his revolver never losing its deadly aim at Fields’s nose.

“God? Hardly. Just me. I’ve come to offer you the deal
of a lifetime.”

Fields liked what he heard. He asked, “And what is that?”

“More money than you can imagine.”

“And if I refuse?”

Garrett leaned closer, looking Fields straight in the eyes,
and said, “If you refuse, I’ll kill you here and now and b
e done with it. This isn’t a time when you can take the
time to negotiate for the best deal.”

For several seconds Fields simply looked at Garrett, con
templating the veracity of his last statement. Then, slowly,
he realized that while Garrett Randolph might bluff in a
courtroom, he’d never bluff in a situation like this. The cards in this game were being dealt faceup.

“Don’t even
think
about trying to trick me,” Garrett said,
his voice barely above a whisper, yet still carrying an
authority that other men could never achieve. “Just lis
ten to what I have to tell you.”

“Yes,” Fields said. He swallowed dryly, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “Yes,
sir
,” he
added, just in case a certain formality might prove favorable. He tried to take
his eyes off the unwavering muzzle but couldn’t. Un
mindful of his words, he mumbled, “Sir, yes, sir,
sir, sir.”

“Shut up, Fields.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You are, in theory, what constituted my strongest political ri
val. Can the political arena really be so desperate for
candidates that it would even accept men such as you?” Garrett said quietly.

“C–Can I off–offer you a drink?” Fields said, trying to
be polite, to sound casual. He was not a man who was
stable under pressure, and Fields knew it showed.

“I’m particular about those I drink with,” Garrett explained
. “Now listen up, be
cause the things I’m going to tell you I’m only going to tell you once.”

“Yes, sir,” Fields whispered. “Whatever you say.”

Garrett looked around the room, a deadly hatred pooling
within his breast. Andy Fields was just the type of man who would put Pamela in prison, or even send her to the hangman, without ever giving his decision a second thought. Because of that, Garrett wanted desperately to
make him pay in such a way that he would remember this
evening for the rest of his life.

“That’s right. Whatever I say.” Garrett realized he
had little capacity for cruelty, as he had little capacity for
revenge, but he was determined to do something—
anything!
—to make Andy Fields pay for the havoc his corruption had heaped upon the good people of Whitetail Creek. “Are you listening to me?”

“Yes.” He trembled visibly. “I told you I was.”

Garrett smiled. He meant the expression to be intimidat
ing.

“Pamela Bragg didn’t kill Richard Darwell,” Garrett said, lean
ing against a bookshelf. “In fact, she is about as far from
the person responsible for the murder as she can be.”

Andy had regained at least a little of his composure now that Garrett wasn’t quite so near. He adopted what he hoped was a nonchalant
posture.

“How can you be so sure? And why should I believe
anything you’ve got to say anyway? You’re defending that
Bragg gal in court. I’m the head juror. For God’s sake, man, I shouldn’t even be talking to you.”