Witness (7 page)

“Could just anybody get one of these cards?” Ashe waved the envelope in the air.

“Oh, yes, anybody could get one.” Deborah walked into the outer office. “Megan, we're so glad you stopped by. Who's got Katie? Come on, Helen, give her to me.”

Ashe stood in the doorway, watching Deborah hold her secretary's baby. She looked so natural, as if cuddling a baby in her arms was something she did all the time. Why wasn't she married, with children of her own? A woman like Deborah shouldn't be single, still living at home with her mother and little brother. She should be hustling a pack of kids off to school and baseball games and cheerleader practice. She should be holding her own child in her arms.

Ashe didn't mean to eavesdrop, but when Megan pulled Deborah aside into the corner near her office, he remained standing just behind the partially closed door.

“I want to thank you again for the bonus you gave me,” Megan said. “Bennie is so proud, he would never have accepted the money if you hadn't convinced him it was a bonus and that Mr. Posey had given the same amount to his secretary. Annie Laurie even went along with our little fib.”

“It was a bonus,” Deborah said. “A baby bonus. I think every baby should have a fully equipped nursery.”

“We could never have afforded everything without that bonus. And after that, you didn't have to bring another gift to
the hospital.” Megan looked down at the pink-and-white ruffled dress her daughter wore. “It looks beautiful on her, don't you think?”

Ashe closed the door. Still the do-gooder. Still the tenderhearted pushover. No, Deborah hadn't changed. She was older, more beautiful, more experienced and certainly more sophisticated. But she was still the girl he'd considered his friend, the girl with whom he would have trusted his soul.

Was it possible that she had no idea what her father had done to him? Had he misjudged her all these years? Maybe she hadn't run to Wallace Vaughn and cried rape. But even if she hadn't falsely accused him, she'd still told her father that the two of them had made love. Surely she would have known how her father would react.

Even after Ashe had left town, Wallace Vaughn had slandered him. It had become public knowledge that Deborah's father had run Ashe McLaughlin out of Sheffield.

All the old feelings came rushing back, bombarding him with their intensity. All the love, the hate, the fear and the uncertainty. Maybe Carol Vaughn had been right. He hadn't returned to Sheffield before now because he was afraid to face the past, to find out the truth, to confront Deborah and Whitney.

But he was back now, and there was no time like the present to meet the ghosts of his past head-on.

C
HARLIE
B
LAYLOCK HAD
been a friend of her father and Deborah suspected he'd always had a soft spot in his heart for her mother. He asked about Carol every time he ran into Deborah, and his concern certainly seemed a bit more than neighborly.

Deborah tried to relax as she sat in Charlie's office listening to him explain the details of the Lon Sparks case to Ashe, and exactly what he could and could not do to protect Deborah against Buck Stansell and his bunch of outlaws.

“When Carol asked my advice about hiring a private bodyguard for Deborah, I was all for it.” Charlie gazed out the window that overlooked the parking area. He moved with a slow, easy stride, all six feet five inches, three hundred pounds of him. “We don't have a smidgen of proof that Buck and his boys are involved in the threats Deborah's been receiving. If we had any proof, we could make a move to stop them. But even if we caught the guy who's making the phone calls, Buck would just have somebody else take up where he left off.”

“I'm planning on paying a visit to Lee Roy and Johnny Joe.” Ashe stood, walked across the room, and stopped at Charlie's side. “I want you to have one of your men stay with Deborah while I drop in on my cousins.”

Charlie lifted his eyebrows. “When were you planning on visiting the Brennan brothers?”

“Tomorrow. Bright and early.”

“I've tried to tell Ashe that I've survived for a couple of weeks now without his constant protection.” Deborah squirmed around in the uncomfortable straight-back chair in which she
sat. “I'll be perfectly all right at the office for a couple of hours.”

“I'll have somebody stop by the house around seven in the morning and stay with Deborah until you finish your business and get back to Sheffield.” Charlie laid his big hand on Ashe's shoulder, gripping him firmly. “I was surprised when Carol told me she was hiring you. Last I'd heard, you were still in the army. The Green Berets, wasn't it?”

“I left over a year ago.” Ashe looked down at Charlie's hand resting on his shoulder, all friendly like.

Ashe figured Charlie Blaylock knew exactly what his old friend, Wallace Vaughn, had done to him eleven years ago. Although Charlie had been sheriff even then, Wallace had brought the district attorney with him when he'd had his little talk with Ashe. And Sheffield's chief of police had been waiting right outside the door, waiting to arrest Ashe if he hadn't agreed to leave town and never return. But Charlie would have known what Wallace had been up to, perhaps had even given him a little advice on how to get rid of that white-trash boy who had dared to violate Wallace's precious daughter.

Charlie gave Ashe's shoulder another tight squeeze, then released him. “Carol wants you here. She's convinced herself that nobody else can protect Deborah. I'll do everything I can to cooperate with you.”

“I'll keep that in mind.”

Removing the most recent threatening letter from his coat pocket, Ashe dropped it on Charlie's desk. “You might want to have this examined, but I'd say it's clean.”

“Another one?” Charlie asked. “This has become a daily occurrence, hasn't it?”

“I expect you'll notify the big boys, keep them informed on every detail. Let them know that I've arrived, if you haven't already called them.” Walking across the room, Ashe held out his hand to Deborah. “Let's go get a bite of lunch.”

Deborah started to take his hand, then hesitated when Charlie spoke.

“What makes you think anybody else is involved in this case?” Charlie picked up the envelope from his desk, glancing at it casually as he turned it over.

“Buck Stansell has the drug market cornered in this county. And if Corey Looney's death was drug related, the DEA is already unofficially involved.” Ashe dropped the hand he'd been holding out to Deborah.

She glanced back and forth from Charlie's flushed face to Ashe's cynical smile. The big boys? The DEA? No one had told her that Corey Looney had been executed because of a drug deal.

“What are y'all—” Deborah began.

“I don't know what you're talking about.” Charlie laid the envelope on his desk, rested his hand on the back of his plush leather chair and looked Ashe straight in the eye.

“My boss is a former agent,” Ashe said. “All Sam Dundee had to do was make a phone call. I know everything you know, Blaylock. Everything.”

“Stop it, both of you!” Deborah jumped up, slammed her hands down on her hips and took a deep breath. “I have no idea what y'all are talking about, but I'm tired of you acting as if I'm not in the room. I'm the person whose life is in danger.
I'm
the one who should know
everything!
”

Ashe grabbed her by the elbow, forcing her into action as he practically dragged her out of Charlie's office. “I'll tell you whatever you need to know at lunch.”

“Whatever I need to know!” She dug in her heels in the hallway.

Ashe gave her a hard tug. She fell against him and he slipped his arm around her. “It's a beautiful fall day. Let's pick up something and take it down to Spring Park for a picnic.”

Deborah jerked away from him. She couldn't bear being this close to him. Despite their past history, she could not deny the
way Ashe made her feel—the way no other man had ever made her feel.

“What was all that between you and Charlie?” Deborah stood her ground, refusing to budge an inch, her blue eyes riveted to Ashe's unemotional face. “For a minute there I thought he wanted to take a punch at you.”

Ashe glanced around the corridor, listening to the sound of voices from the adjoining offices. “This isn't the time or the place.”

“Just tell me this, is the DEA involved in this case?”

“Unofficially.” Ashe grabbed her by the arm again. “Come on. We'll get lunch, go to the park and talk.”

“All right.” She followed his lead, outside and into the parking lot.

She didn't resist his manhandling, macho jerk that he was. Ashe's brutally masculine qualities had fascinated her as a teenager. Now they irritated and annoyed her. Yet she had to admit, if she was totally honest with herself, that she couldn't imagine any other bodyguard with whom she'd feel more secure.

There was a strength in Ashe that went beyond the normal male quality. It had been there, of course, years ago, but she recognized it now for what it was. Primitive strength that came from the core of his masculinity, the ancient need to beat his chest and cry out a warning to all other males.

Deborah shivered. Everything male in Ashe called to all that was female within her. If he claimed her, as he once had done, would she be able to reject him? A need to be possessed, protected and cherished coursed through her veins like liquid fire, heating her thoughts, warming her femininity.

When he opened the passenger door of his rental car and assisted her inside, she glanced up at him. Her heartbeat roared in her ears. Ashe hesitated just a fraction of a second. He looked at her lips. She resisted the urge to lick them.

“Where's a good place to get take-out close by?” He shut
the door, walked around the hood of the car and got in on the driver's side.

“Stephano's on Sixth Street has good food.” She clutched her leather bag to her stomach. “It's on the left side of the street, so you may want to turn off on Fifth and make the block.”

When she returned home this evening, she'd tell her mother that this wasn't going to work, having Ashe as her bodyguard. Even if he kept her safe from Buck Stansell, another few weeks of being near Ashe would drive her insane.

Ashe picked up a couple of meatball subs, colas and slices of sinfully rich cheesecake. Gazing down into the bag, Deborah shook her head.

“This is too much food. I can't eat all of this. I have to watch my…” She left the sentence unfinished. She'd been about to tell Ashe McLaughlin that she had to watch her weight. Of course she had no need to tell him; he could well remember what a plump teenager she'd been.

“Splurging one day won't spoil that knockout figure of yours.” Ashe kept his gaze focused on the road as he turned the car downward, off Sixth Street, and into the park area beneath the hill.

He thought she had a knockout figure? Was that the reason he couldn't seem to take his eyes off her all morning? Why he watched every move she made at the office? The thought of Ashe approving of her figure sent pinpricks of excitement rushing through her. Idiot! She chastised herself. You shouldn't care what he thinks. You shouldn't care what any man thinks, least of all Ashe. He didn't want you when you were a plump teenager, and you don't want him now. So there.

Liar! Good or bad. Right or wrong. You still want Ashe McLaughlin. You've never wanted anyone else.

“Is there a woman in your life back in Atlanta?” She heard herself ask, then damned herself for being such a fool. How could she have asked him such a question?

Ashe parked the car in the shade, opened his door and turned
to take their lunch bag from Deborah. “No one special,” Ashe said. “Women come and go, but there's been no one special in my life since I left Sheffield eleven years ago.”

Whitney, Deborah thought. Her cousin had been the only special woman in Ashe's life. Jealousy and pity combined to create a rather disturbing emotion within Deborah. Both feelings constituted an admission that she still cared about Ashe.

And she didn't want to care. God in heaven, she didn't dare care. He had taken her innocence, broken her heart and left her pregnant. What woman in her right mind would give a man like that a second chance?

But then, Ashe hadn't said or done anything to indicate he wanted a second chance.

“This place hasn't changed much, has it?” Ashe looked around Spring Park, a small area of trees, playground equipment and picnic tables surrounding a small lake fed by an ancient underground spring.

“It's a bit lonely this time of day and this late in the season. Most of the activity takes place over there—” Deborah pointed to the south of the park “—at the golf course.”

Ashe chose a secluded table on the west side of the park, near a cove of hedge apple trees, their bare branches dotted with mistletoe. The spring's flow meandered around behind them on a leisurely journey toward Spring Creek. Laying down the paper sack, Ashe removed the white napkins and spread out their lunch. He handed Deborah a cup and straw. She avoided touching his hand when she accepted the offering.

“Are you afraid of me?” he asked, swinging his long legs under the picnic table.

Deborah sat across from him, gripping the plastic container of food as she placed the cola on the concrete table. “Why should I be afraid of you? You're here to protect me, aren't you?”

“I wasn't asking if you were afraid that I might physically harm you. We both know that's ridiculous. I'm asking why your
hands tremble whenever you think I might touch you. And why you have a difficult time looking directly at me. Your eyes give you away, honey.”

She undid the plastic covering her meatball sandwich. “I feel awkward around you, Ashe. I guess I'm just not as sophisticated as the women you're accustomed to these days. Maybe what happened between us in the past didn't affect your life the way it did mine.”

No, Ashe didn't suppose what had happened between them had affected his life the way it had hers. She had gone on as if nothing had happened, secure in her family's love and support and Wallace Vaughn's money. Maybe she'd suffered a broken heart for a while until she'd found another boyfriend. But he had paid a high price for their night of passion. He had lost his dream. His big plans of becoming one of the area's movers and shakers had turned sour.

“You don't look like you've fared too badly.” Ashe surveyed her from the top of her golden blond hair, all neatly secured in a fashionable bun at the nape of her neck, to the length of shapely legs partially hidden beneath the picnic table. “You're successful, beautiful and rich.”

Did he actually have no idea what he'd done to her? Of course he didn't know about the child they had created together, but how could he have forgotten his adamant rejection, his cruel words of regret, his deliberate avoidance of her in the days and weeks following their lovemaking?

“Whenever we're together, I can't seem to stop thinking about… I suppose it's true what they say about a woman never forgetting her first lover.”

Her words hit him like a hard blow to the stomach. He sucked in air. Why did she sound so innocent, so vulnerable? After all this time, why did the memories of that night haunt him? Why did the thought of a young girl's passionate cries still echo in his mind? “And a guy never forgets what it's like
to take a virgin, to be her first. I never meant for it to happen. One minute you were comforting me and the next minute—”

“You don't have to tell me again that you wished it hadn't happened, that you regretted making love to me the minute it was over. You made that perfectly clear eleven years ago! Do you think I don't know that you were pretending I was Whitney all the while you were…”

Deborah lifted her legs, swung them around and off the concrete bench and jumped up, turning her back to Ashe. The quivering inside her stomach escalated so quickly it turned to nausea.

Dammit! Is that what she actually thought? That he had pretended she was Whitney? Yes, he'd thought he was in love with Whitney, but the minute she announced her engagement to George Jamison III, there at the country club where he worked, he'd begun to doubt his love. And when she had laughed in his face and told him he'd been a fool to think she'd ever marry a loser like him, all the love inside him had died. Murdered by her cruelty.

Ashe got up and walked over to Deborah. He wanted to touch her, to put his arms around her and draw her close. She stood there, her shoulders trembling, her neck arched, her head tilted upward. Was she crying? He couldn't bear it if she was crying. “Deborah?”