Witness (12 page)

Deborah opened her evening bag, took out her lipstick and glanced in the mirror to see how much repair was needed. She worked quickly, trying not to notice that she looked like a woman who'd just been thoroughly kissed.

“I'm ready,” she said.

Ashe backed the Cadillac out of the drive and headed toward the country club.

 

“A
SHE
M
C
L
AUGHLIN,
you old dog. I never thought I'd see you back in Sheffield.”

Keeping his arm firmly around Deborah's waist, Ashe jerked his head around, seeking the familiar voice. “Peanut Haygood?”

The skinny teenage boy who'd lived down the street from Ashe's grandmother had turned into a heavyset, bearded man wearing a uniform and carrying a gun. By the looks of old Peanut, Ashe figured he was part of the private security for George Jamison's big birthday bash.

“Peanut? Man, you've changed since the last time I saw you.”

“Yeah, well, a guy grows up and fills out,” Peanut said. “I heard you were in town.” He nodded politely to Deborah. “Nice to see you, Ms. Vaughn. Sorry to hear about all your problems. One of these days we're going to get the goods on Buck Stansell and put him away for life.”

“Are you on the police force?” Deborah asked.

“Yes, ma'am. Over in Muscle Shoals.” Peanut slapped Ashe on the back. “Looks like you and me wound up in the same business, huh? You a Green Beret and me a policeman. Now
you're a private security agent and I moonlight as a guard for these fancy shindigs at the country club.”

“Ashe, if you'll excuse me, I need to go to the ladies' room and then check my wrap.” Forcing a smile, Deborah nodded toward the rest room.

“I'll be waiting right outside.” Ashe followed her down the corridor, Peanut right behind him keeping up a steady stream of conversation.

From where he stood, Ashe could see the entrance to the ballroom. He spotted Whitney immediately. Her loud laughter echoed out into the hallway. She had her arm draped around a young man who seemed utterly fascinated by her.

“Who'd ever thought Deborah Vaughn would turn into such a looker, huh?” Peanut jabbed Ashe in the ribs. “You two were always friends, weren't you? Rumor was her daddy had you run out of town.”

“Rumors aren't always reliable,” Ashe said.

“Well, Ms. Vaughn sure got herself into a mess with ol' Buck and his bunch of roughnecks. It's too bad she come up on Lon Sparks shooting Looney. Neither one of those boys was worth a cuss.”

“Do you think Buck would kill to protect Sparks or seek revenge if he goes to the pen?”

“I'd say Buck would be more likely to have Lon Sparks killed to keep him from talking than he would to kill Ms. Vaughn. Sparks is a liability to them now. Me and some of the boys at work have got us a theory.” Peanut stretched his five feet nine inches and placed his hand atop the gun holster resting on his hip.

“What's your theory?”

“We think Buck is putting on an act of trying to scare Ms. Vaughn, trying to make Lon Sparks think he's protecting him. You get my drift?”

“Yeah, I get it. Buck always was one for playing games.” Ashe knew he should be comforted at the thought that it was
possible Buck Stansell had no intention of killing Deborah, but Ashe's gut instincts told him that he should take nothing for granted. No matter what Buck's intentions were, the man was dangerous, a highly explosive bad boy, who was capable of anything.

Ashe caught a glimpse of Whitney coming his way. She swayed her narrow hips, encased in silver lamé, as she sauntered out of the ballroom.

“Now there's a real piece of work,” Peanut said. “Sexy as hell and so gorgeous she gives a man ideas. But not worth the cost of the lead it'd take to shoot her.”

“You seem to know an awful lot about Whitney Jamison.” Ashe watched his old lover flirting outrageously with every man in her path as she made her way through the influx of late arrivals congested in the hallway.

“Hey, I've been moonlighting on this job for a good many years and I've seen quite a bit of Mrs. Jamison. She really works these social occasions, and I've rarely seen her leave with her husband, if you know what I mean.”

Ashe grinned. “Not the faithful type?”

“Can't say I blame her, married to a loser like George Jamison. The man hasn't held a job in years. They live off her inheritance, you know. Her shares in that real estate firm Ms. Vaughn runs. And Georgie Porgie likes to gamble. They're always flying off to Vegas and Atlantic City and down to Biloxi.”

Whitney walked up to Ashe, slipped her arms around his neck and kissed him soundly on the mouth. Still draped around him, she smiled. “Come dance with me, darling. If I remember correctly, you were a marvelous dancer.”

“You were the marvelous dancer,” Ashe said. “I just followed your lead.”

Whitney's throaty laughter rumbled from her chest. Her almost naked chest, Ashe noted. Her strapless silver lamé dress crisscrossed over her full breasts, just covering her tight nipples.
“It's been a long time, hasn't it?” Whitney sighed. “Come on, let's see if we're still good together.” She rubbed herself intimately against Ashe.

Peanut cleared his throat. Ashe stared at him. The guard gave his head a few sharp jerks in the direction of the ladies' room. Glancing over his shoulder, Ashe saw Deborah watching him.

Grasping Whitney's arms, he pulled them from around his neck and stepped backward, putting some distance between them. Whitney's gaze followed Ashe's. She laughed again, an almost hysterical giggle.

“You'll have to find yourself another partner,” Ashe said. “I'm afraid my dance card is filled.”

Whitney leaned over and whispered in Ashe's ear, “If you think my little cousin is going to give you what you need, then you'd better think again. She doesn't know the first thing about men, and most certainly nothing about a man like you.”

“That's where you're wrong, Mrs. Jamison.” Ashe walked over to Deborah, slipped his arm around her rigid body and pulled her up against his side. “Would you like to dance, honey?” he asked Deborah.

Unsmiling, every nerve in her body tense, Deborah glared at Ashe. “Perhaps, after I've wished George a happy birthday and given him his present.” She held up the shiny golden gift.

When Ashe guided Deborah past Whitney, Deborah paused. “You look lovely tonight, Whitney. But then I'm sure you already know that. No doubt every man at the party has told you at least once.”

Whitney grinned, a rather shaky grin, one that didn't reach her eyes, one that didn't begin to compare with the smile spreading across Deborah's face.

“And you look adorable,” Whitney said, giving Deborah a quick hug. “And aren't you the lucky one, having Ashe McLaughlin as your escort. But then, I suppose Aunt Carol is paying him extra, isn't she?”

“And he's worth every cent.” Deborah tugged on Ashe's arm. She led him away from her cousin, down the hallway and into the ballroom.

Ashe and Deborah heard Peanut Haygood's hardy chuckle, but neither turned around to see Whitney's reaction.

“When did you learn to play hardball?” Ashe asked.

“When my father died and I had to take responsibility for his business as well as my mother and Allen.”

“Let's find George and give him his present.” Ashe ran his hand up and down Deborah's arm. “I want to dance with you.”

Deborah wasn't quite sure what she thought or how she felt. A mixture of anger and exhilaration rioted along her nerve endings. All the old jealousies she'd felt for her cousin had come racing to the forefront when she'd walked out of the ladies' room and seen Whitney wrapped around Ashe. But when she had won their verbal sparring match, she'd felt as if she were walking on air.

She couldn't help wondering what would happen if she spent the night in Ashe's arms, dancing with him here at the country club. Perhaps the safest course of action would be to give George his present, stay long enough to appease her social set's curiosity and make a quiet, discreet exit. If Whitney indulged in her usual weakness for champagne, there was a chance she might make a scene later on. And Deborah wanted to avoid a real confrontation that would put her in the spotlight.

The whole town knew she was the prosecution's star witness, and that her life was in danger. And she had no doubt that Ashe McLaughlin's constant presence at her side had set tongues wagging. What would they say once Ashe had shown everyone that their relationship was intimate?

She didn't give a damn what
they
would say. She never had. She'd always been a lot like her mother. Carol Allen Vaughn had known who she was—an Allen—and had never considered herself subject to the rules and regulations of the society
biddies. And no one had ever dared question Carol's judgment or suggest her actions were inappropriate. In that respect, Deborah was her mother's daughter.

But Carol had given in to Wallace Vaughn's authority, always the dutiful wife. If only her mother had gone against her father's wishes. If only—

“Deborah, such a smashing dress!” George Jamison III smiled his widemouthed, white-toothed smile and gave his cousin-in-law a peck on the cheek. “For me?” George eyed the gold foil-wrapped gift.

“Oh, yes. This is for you.” Deborah hadn't realized that while she'd been thinking, Ashe had led her straight to the birthday boy. Although boy was hardly the appropriate word for a balding man of forty. Then again, perhaps boy was the correct word to describe George, who, in many ways, was far more immature than Allen.

“I'll just put it here with my other goodies.” George laid the gift on top of a stack of presents arranged on the table behind him. “I suppose Whitney greeted y'all at the door. She's such a marvelous hostess. And she does love a good party.”

“Yes, she met us in the hallway, actually,” Deborah said.

Ashe tightened his hold around Deborah's waist. “Happy birthday, George.”

George glanced at Ashe, his long, thin nose slightly tilted upward. He made no move to offer Ashe his hand. “McLaughlin.” George's pale gray eyes met Ashe's vibrant hazel glare. “I was surprised to hear you'd come back to Sheffield to act as Deborah's bodyguard. Of course, we're all pleased that someone is looking out for her. I understand that you're highly qualified to handle brutes like Buck Stansell. Then, of course, it must be a help that you've had ties to those people all your life.”

“Yes, it is a help.” Ashe lifted the corners of his mouth just enough to hint at a smile, but he knew George Jamison would recognize the look in his eyes for what it was. Contempt. Dislike. Disgust.

“We can't stay too long,” Deborah said. “I don't like to leave Mother alone.”

“I quite understand.” Glancing across the room, George waved at someone. “Do enjoy yourselves. I'm sure this is a bit of a treat for you, McLaughlin. Finally getting to come to the country club through the front door. Rather different from the last time you were here, isn't it?”

“George, you're being—” Deborah said.

“You're right.” Catching sight of Whitney dancing with the young man she had cornered earlier, Ashe nodded in her direction. “Eleven years ago you and I were the only two guys Whitney was seeing.”

“How dare you!” George's thin, white cheeks flushed pink.

Ashe led Deborah away from George, quickly ushering her through the crowd and onto the dance floor.

“That was a horrible thing to say to George,” Deborah said.

“I was justified, don't you think?” Ashe pulled her close, leaning over to nuzzle her neck with his nose.

She gulped in a deep breath of air. “Yes, you were most definitely justified. George always has been a little snot! He's so immature.”

“A little snot?” Ashe chuckled. “I guess that does aptly describe George, doesn't it?”

Deborah loved the feel of Ashe's arms around her, the security of his strength, the sensuality of his nearness. She didn't know what she had expected to happen tonight. Between Ashe and Whitney. Between Ashe and George. But she certainly hadn't expected to feel so light and free and thoroughly amused.

It suddenly hit her that neither she nor Ashe were the same two people who had left this country club eleven years ago. They had both grown up.

Ashe was no longer in awe of the wealthy social set that ruled
the county. His dreams weren't wrapped up in a sexy package called Whitney Vaughn. He wasn't an angry, outraged, spurned lover.

And Deborah no longer saw herself as a wallflower beside her exquisite cousin. Any residue of leftover jealousy she might have once felt disappeared completely. She was strong. She was successful. She was attractive.

And Ashe McLaughlin wanted her!

They moved to the music, giving themselves over to the bluesy rendition of an old Glenn Miller song. They spent nearly an hour on the dance floor, wrapped in each other's arms. Occasionally Deborah noticed some curious stares and heard a few whispered innuendoes. None of it mattered, she told herself. She and Ashe were presenting themselves to the world as lovers. She could not allow herself to think otherwise. When the danger to her life ended, Ashe would be gone.

But during the duration of his stay, they could become lovers. She didn't doubt for one minute that Ashe wanted her. He had made that abundantly clear. The question was did she dare risk giving herself to him? Did she dare risk falling in love with him all over again? How could she become his lover and continue lying to him about Allen?

“Are you about ready to leave?” Ashe whispered, then kissed her ear.

Deborah shivered. “Yes. I think everyone has seen us and drawn their own conclusions.”

“We don't have to go back to your house.” Ashe ran his hand up and down her back. “We could find some place to be alone.”