Close Proximity (11 page)

“L
ooks like something big is happening.”

Although Libby agreed with Rafe's comment, she remained silent. A horde of people crowded the front of the courthouse, spilling from the steps to the sidewalk, even into the street. The scene looked more like a cheap carnival sideshow than the main thoroughfare of a small town.

Her nerves danced a jig as she wondered what had caused all this ruckus.

“You want me to come inside with you?” he asked. “See you through this crowd safely?”

Tensions between herself and Rafe had been tightrope taut ever since their night of passion. She loved the man, yes. But feeling betrayed by him and knowing he wanted nothing to do with her, she was also angry as hell at him.

“No thank you.” Her voice felt and sounded constricted. “You can pick me up here in a few hours.”

She got out of his truck, but before she had a chance to shut the door, the prosecuting attorney approached her.

The man held out a fat manila envelope. “Courier tried to deliver this to you last night and couldn't find you.”

Something in his tone had Libby feeling as if he was blaming her for that. “I left word with the court clerk about where I was staying.”

He shrugged. “It was after hours. Couldn't reach the clerk. By the way, I told the judge we'd be ready to start jury selection in a couple of days. As soon as I have time to review this new evidence. Judge has postponed all further arguments until everyone gets a chance to see this.”

His slow smile left her feeling as if a snake had just slithered across her skin.

“I think you'll find it very interesting.”

He walked away from her, and she only had time to toss the envelope onto the front seat of Rafe's truck before she was besieged by a group of reporters.

“In light of this new evidence,” one man fairly shouted at her, “can you tell us if your father is ready to confess?”

Apprehension had Libby's skin feeling flushed. “I haven't had time to review this new evidence you're talking about, so I have no comment at this time.”

“We were told it looks like a diary,” another reporter spoke up.

One woman added, “Computer generated is what they said.”

Frustrated, Libby murmured under her breath. “
They
shouldn't have said anything.”

“Apparently, this thing's got David Corbett's name stamped all over it,” another reporter shouted.

Libby wanted to tell him she was only two feet from him and that there was nothing wrong with her hearing.
Instead, she stated, “This is obviously some kind of sabotage. Our experts will prove that.”

“Technological sabotage.” A female journalist scribbled as she spoke. “Sounds intriguing. You really think you can prove it?”

“I
know
I can.” She backed her way, inch by inch, into the cab of the truck, one knee up on the seat, her head ducked low. “I have no further comments at this time.” She shut the door.

“Looks like I have the day free.” She swiveled around until she was sitting on the seat properly. “Also sounds like we're going to need it.”

Rafe had opened the envelope and was scanning the documents. “It does look like a diary. Or a journal. Just like they said. Computer generated, too. And David's name is on each page.”

He handed the packet over to her and then put the truck into gear. “You have access to computer experts?” he asked, darting a look at traffic before pulling onto the roadway.

“Not yet.”

“Libby.”

The admonition in his tone had her wishing she could disappear into thin air.

“You shouldn't be making rash statements like that to the press. You know that's going to show up in the papers this afternoon.”

She shrugged. “By then maybe we'll have hired some experts.”

This new evidence contained pages and pages of text. Libby leafed through it. She couldn't quite believe what she was seeing.

“Bad. This is bad,” she muttered to herself.

The electronic journal, its entries dated every few days,
was written by someone who was very unhappy with Springer, Inc., someone who wanted to damage the oil company's reputation. And Rafe was right. Her father's name was on each and every post.

“Let's go see Dad.” She flipped through the pages. “He needs to see this. Maybe he can tell us where it came from and how his name got on it.”

“You don't believe he had anything to do with this, do you?”

She sighed. “I don't know what to believe anymore.” Stopping there would have been the thing to do. But doubts filled her like a flood tide rising in the Pacific. “I rushed to Prosperino thinking I could clear Dad's name like that.” She snapped her fingers. “But now I'm not so sure. The odds seem to be stacking up against him.” Her tone softened to a mere whisper. “Maybe Dad ought to have another lawyer. A big gun. Someone who's nationally known and has some clout behind his name.”

Before she could say any more, Rafe pulled into the parking lot of the Prosperino jailhouse.

 

Rafe came out the front door of his house and offered Libby a glass of wine.

“Thanks,” she said. But her gaze immediately returned to the far horizon.

Ever since she'd been handed that packet of evidence today at the courthouse, Libby had seemed more fragile than ever. The vulnerability she exuded ripped at his heart like the sharp talons of an eagle. It was all he could do not to reach out to her, reassure her.

David had denied any knowledge of the computerized diary the prosecution had found.

“I've filed the paperwork to get my hands on your company computer,” Libby had told her father.

“That would be useless,” David had told her. “Springer computers don't have individual hard drives. Any files and documents generated by computer are uploaded onto a private server. It's like a big mainframe hard drive, as I understand it. Everything is maintained and backed up regularly by the data department.”

“So all someone had to do was create these documents with your name on them,” Rafe had suggested, “and upload them onto the server.”

Libby had brightened then. But David quickly dashed her hopes.

“I don't believe it's that easy,” the older man had said. “The system is password protected.”

“So someone stole your password.”

Rafe had been taken aback by the tone of Libby's voice. Never had he heard her speak so sharply to her father.

After that, David had grown quiet. Rafe and Libby did decide to hire computer technicians to investigate the documents. They also resolved that, once they'd found their experts, they needed access to Springer's server.

Before they left the jail, David once again broached the subject of bargaining with the opposing council for a lesser charge. This had really flustered Libby, Rafe had seen that.

He'd known that David's suggestion had only been based on the fact that the deeper they dug into this mess, the more danger Libby was in. But David didn't want Libby to know that. So she was left silently thinking that her father had no faith in her knowledge of the law or in her ability as an attorney.

Rafe had sought her out, bringing an offering of wine, to somehow console her. To lift her spirits. However, doing so without revealing all the sordid details of the illegal chemical dumping, David's destroying of evidence and the
breaking and entering of Libby's San Francisco apartment seemed impossible.

Sworn to secrecy regarding that whole incident, Rafe simply decided to do what he could.

“Everything is going to be okay,” he told her. He eased himself down on the step beside her.

“I'm glad someone thinks so.”

“Come on now, Libby. Things aren't that dire. You said you were going to call your firm in San Francisco. Did they give you the name of a computer firm that could help us out?”

“Actually, they did better than that,” she said. “They're sending the best person they know. She'll be here tomorrow afternoon.”

He smiled. “See there? Things are looking up.”

Her gem-hued eyes found his.

I'm scared,
was the unspoken message they conveyed. But Rafe knew she'd never admit her fear to him. Not after the way he'd hurt her.

He felt he deserved to suffer a horrendous punishment for what he'd done to her. He should never have given in to his body's desires. But he hadn't known about her past. He hadn't know that she'd been used, duped by a married man.

Well, any male who would betray his wife and his lover by being a conscious participant in infidelity really didn't deserve to be called a man.

Oh, heaven help him. Moonlight turned her skin to alabaster, her hair to shimmering copper. She was gorgeous, and sexy as hell. Being around this woman so much of the time had his hormones in a wild uproar. Need pulsed deep in his gut. But he'd ignore it. He had to.

She sipped her wine, and Rafe remembered how those
luscious lips of hers had made his skin burn. She'd been an uninhibited lover. She'd driven him nearly mad with—

“What is that glow over there?” she asked.

He looked in the direction she pointed.

“A bonfire. The tribe is gathering. To celebrate the Spring Equinox.”

She looked surprised. “You're not going?”

“Normally, I would. But…” He shrugged. “Well, I'm working. I can't be there and here, too. You need me to help read over those papers in there.”

Interest sparked in her gaze. “Is this a religious ceremony?”

He paused, thinking over how he should explain the gathering taking place tonight.

“The Mokee-kittuun are more spiritual than religious,” he told her. “Tonight the tribe will gather to sing praises to The Great Father. They'll ask his blessing on the spring planting. They'll pray for rain, for the crops and for a means to dilute the poison in Mother Earth.”

She nodded, evidently understanding that he was speaking of the DMBE contamination. Then she smiled.

“Praising, praying. Sounds like a religious rite to me.”

“They'll also spend time remembering the past. They'll tell folktales of great warriors, of times past.” His voice lowered when he admitted, “Better times for our people.” After a moment, he added, “There will be music and dancing and food.”

“Then it's a party.”

Excitement glittered in her deep aqua eyes, and his heart tripped in his chest. Never in his life had he seen a more stunningly beautiful woman.

After their intimate encounter, after their angry words, that thought should have upset him. However, it didn't. In
fact, the floating-on-air lightness churning inside him made him laugh.

“Yes, it's a party.”

She studied her wine, then looked longingly at the glow of the bonfire on the horizon. He knew what was on her mind.

He asked, “Would you like to go see what it's all about?”

Her mouth drew into a wide smile. “Do you think anyone would mind?”

“Of course not,” he told her. “But what about those boxes of evidence?”

“We really can't do a whole lot until the computer technician arrives tomorrow.”

He smacked his knee with his flattened palm. “Then let's go celebrate.”

 

Anticipation had Libby pacing the living room as she waited for Rafe. Yes, their relationship had been strained of late. And it probably would remain strained until they parted company when all this was over. But she really was interested in the Mokee-kittuun culture and traditions. Attending this celebration tonight would be an excellent way for her to experience them firsthand.

Rafe's heritage had gone a long way in carving out the man he was. Even though he'd rejected her and wounded her so, she was still eager to encounter even a small taste of American Indian tradition.

He'd gone to his room to “get dressed” for the evening. And when he reentered the living room, she felt as if she'd stepped back in time.

His hair was loose, shining, as it hung down his back. And a single wide black stripe of some kind of face paint slashed horizontally across his left cheekbone. The effect
was simple, but so unexpected that she found it startling. She knew she had nothing to fear but, still, she had trouble catching her breath. He looked the very image of a proud warrior.

A sleeveless, waist-length tunic made of some kind of soft animal skin covered his chest, emphasizing his iron-like biceps. The breast area was fancily adorned with sea-shells that had been buffed to a sheen. His leggings were made of the same supple hide, fringed along the outside length of his leg. The moccasins he wore were beautifully beaded and it was obvious that hours had been put into the meticulous handwork.

The air in the room seemed to have completely disappeared. She didn't know what to say. The sight of him was awe-inspiring. And since
take me here, take me now,
would not be an appropriate comment, she decided to remain silent. But she was sure he must hear the hammering of her heart.

“These are for you,” he offered her the box he had in his hand. “If you'd like to wear them, that is.”

“What's in it?” she asked as she took the carved cedar box from him.

The latch was brass as were the hinges, and when she opened the lid, she gasped.

“They were Onna's,” he told her.

Libby remembered the Mokee-kittuun word for mother.

“Her len-hok'sin. Moccasins. She wore them on special occasions. I thought you might like to borrow them.”

“I'd love to.” Her tone was hushed as she removed the moccasins from the box. The beading was delicate and colorful. “You're sure it's okay that I wear them?”

He nodded. “It's very much okay. Onna would be honored to help you feel more a part of the celebration, I'm sure.”

Toeing off her shoes, Libby slipped her foot into one moccasin, the deerskin still whisper-soft against her skin. She tied it securely, then donned the other. She couldn't believe how comfortable the moccasins were. Or how beautiful. She felt honored that Rafe would trust her with what must be a cherished token from his past.