Native Affairs (24 page)

“Even so, you made the right move for your client,” Tracy said stubbornly. “And I’m sure you would have made the right move for your client anyway, you’re too professional to do anything else.”
 

Marisa smiled wanly. “Thanks, Tracy. I can use the vote of confidence right about now.”

“And that Randall Block’s a jerk, isn’t he?” Tracy inquired sympathetically.

Marisa laughed. “Well, he’s a bureaucrat, forgive the pun. He goes back to Washington in the morning, thank God, and I hope he stays there.” She sat up. “What do you say we hit that Italian restaurant on Evans Boulevard tonight? I could use a break from all this angst, and Charlie’s picking up the tab.”

“You’re on.” Tracy rose and they headed for the door.

* * *

It was two more days before Marisa got in to see Jackson Bluewolf. His sister finally took pity on her— or got tired of seeing Marisa sitting in the visitors’ lounge—and led her into Jack’s room with a murmured, “I will probably regret this.”
 

Jack looked up as Ana said brightly, “Someone here to see you.” She vanished immediately as Marisa stepped into the doorway.

Jack was propped against a pile of snowy pillows, his dusky skin a pleasant contrast with the stark white linens. The stands for intravenous fluids were still next to his bed but the tubes had been disconnected. He was stripped to the waist, his left shoulder swathed in bandages. Marisa was relieved to see that he was looking far from frail; in fact, he appeared rather remarkably hale and strong for a recent gunshot victim. And it was clear that he was angry. Very angry.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded furiously.

“I... I…” Now that she had finally made it into his presence, Marisa seemed to have nothing to say.

“I will have a few choice words to say to my sister for bringing you in here. Did you cast a spell on her?” he said.

“I just told her I wanted to see for myself that you were all right,” Marisa replied.

“Well, you’ve seen me. I’m alive. You can go.” He looked away from her pointedly.

“Is there anything I can do?” she said helplessly.

“Don’t you think you’ve done enough already?” he countered.

“You know I never wanted this,” Marisa said quietly, gesturing toward the bed.

“You wouldn’t listen to me!” he snapped, stabbing a forefinger in her direction. “If you had this never would have happened!”

“How nice for you that you know everything,” Marisa said sarcastically, losing patience with his attitude.

“How nice of you to apologize!” he countered. “You can’t even admit that you were wrong. God, I’ve heard of stubborn, but you are the living, breathing limit.”

“Oh, come on, there was more to it than that and you know it!” Marisa replied with equal heat.

“What do you mean?” he said, his eyes narrowing. He pushed himself upright in the bed impatiently, the muscles in his upper arms flexing as he did so.

“I mean the flowers, the nifty rescue from the reporters, the practiced routine. Don’t think I couldn’t figure out the reason for all that attention.”

He stared at her a long moment, his dark eyes penetrating, the hollows beneath them more pronounced from his recent illness. The shadow of stubble on his square jaw made him look even tougher than usual, and curiously even more attractive.

“Perhaps you’ll enlighten me,” he said quietly. Too quietly.

“You thought if you romanced me a little you could influence my conduct in the case,” Marisa said bluntly.
 

There was a silence for several beats, and then he said flatly, “You must not have a very high opinion of yourself, Ms. Hancock.”
 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
 

“Can’t you think of any other reason for my ‘attention,’ as you put it, than my desire to best you in court?”

Marisa could feel herself flushing. She gripped her hands together, striving for equilibrium. “If you think I’m going to fall for that line you’re mistaken a second time,” she replied unsteadily.

His mouth tightened. “Oh, the hell with you,” he said disgustedly. “Get out.”
 

“Wait a minute...”

He picked up the empty plastic carafe from his bedside table and threw it. The bottle exploded against the wall behind her head. “I said get out!” he yelled.

Marisa stared at him, stunned. “You tried to hit me with that thing!” she gasped.

“If I were trying to hit you I would have hit you,” he said through clenched teeth. “I merely want you to leave.”

A nurse appeared in the doorway, staring in astonishment at the jug on the floor. “What the devil is going on in here?” she demanded.

“Remove this woman from my room,” Jack said distantly. “She’s making me sick.”
 

The nurse looked at Marisa.
 

“I’m going,” Marisa said meekly and slipped into the hall. The nurse followed her out.

“Miss, we can’t have you upsetting the patients this way,” the nurse hissed.

“Don’t worry,” Marisa said in defeat. “I won’t be causing any further disturbances.”

She hurried off down the hall before she could provoke any more flying missiles.

* * *

A couple of hours after Marisa’s abrupt departure, Jack shoved his dinner tray aside and sat up on the edge of the hospital bed. The room swam for a moment and then righted itself. He glanced at the clock. Twenty minutes before visiting hours began again, which meant that his mother and sister would be back. He sighed. He appreciated their good intentions, but after a while he usually couldn’t think of anything to say to them.

He knew one visitor who wouldn’t be returning. He closed his eyes resignedly. Had he actually thrown a bottle at her? He winced and shook his head. Soon he would be knocking her on the head and throwing her over his shoulder. Of course, that was what he really wanted to do; maybe the ancients had the best idea. They just acted, without worrying about the niceties of civilized behavior.

Marisa Hancock did not make him feel very civilized.

When she first left his room, he had been ready to give up on her entirely. But then he had replayed the preceding scene in his mind. He remembered the look on her face when he asked her if she couldn’t think of the real reason for his attention. For one brief, glorious moment, she had known what he meant and wanted to believe him. And then her guard went back up and her expression changed to detached, cynical denial.

That one moment was enough to give him hope. When he was sprung from this cage he would find her and try again.

And he must make very sure to control his temper and not throw anything at her.

* * *

“So how did it go?” Tracy asked, looking up from her notes when Marisa entered their hotel room.

“Disaster, utter disaster. I should have listened to you and stayed away from him.”

“Is he all right?”

“Oh, he’s wonderful. He’s in fine, even athletic, form,” Marisa replied wryly.

“What does that mean?”

“Never mind. He’s recovering nicely, that’s what it means. I’m sure he’ll be back tormenting us in court as soon as we resume the case.”

“Which reminds me,” Tracy said, brandishing an envelope with the seal of the State of Florida on it. “A little missive for you from Judge Lasky.”
 

Marisa accepted it wearily. “Anything else?”

“Charlie called. He wants you to call him back at home tonight.”

Marisa nodded.

“Oh, and the records from the Seminole cemetery have been released to the court. You can see them any time in Lasky’s chambers.”
 

“So he says here,” Marisa observed, looking up from the letter. “Well, I guess we’d better get to it.”

“Now?”

“Why not? Isn’t that what we’re here for?” Marisa said testily.

“Marisa,” Tracy said gently, “the court is closed.”
 

“In the morning, then. First thing.”

Tracy nodded, certain that Marisa’s mood had more to do with her visit to the hospital than her eagerness to peruse the history of an ancient graveyard.

* * *

Marisa spent the next day with the cemetery records and collapsed in her room that evening while Tracy went to the movies. She was staring at a rerun on television when there was a knock on her door.

“Just a minute,” she called, pulling a dressing gown on over her pajamas and running her fingers through her tumbled hair.

There was no sound from the hall.

“Is that my laundry?” Marisa said, pulling the door open.

“I’m afraid not,” Jackson Bluewolf replied.

Marisa stared at him, then glanced down in dismay at her bare feet and the washed-out robe she was wearing.

“I thought you were the cleaning service,” she mumbled inanely.

By contrast with herself, he was gorgeous in eggshell jeans with a blue Oxford cloth shirt and leather moccasins. His left arm was in a sling and he carried a fringed suede jacket over his right shoulder.

“May I come in?” he asked.

Chapter 3

“What are you doing out of the hospital?” Marisa asked, stepping aside so he could precede her into the room.

“I discharged myself against medical advice,” he replied, turning to face her as she closed the door behind them. “I had to sign all these forms saying that my family would not sue them if I dropped dead in the street, or something like that.”

“If I were your lawyer I would have talked you out of doing that,” she said dryly.

He fished in his pocket and held up a bottle of pills. “I’m supposed to take two of these every four hours, or four of them every two hours. I forget.” He frowned at the printing on the label.

“Please, sit down,” Marisa said, sweeping a pile of papers from a chair onto the floor. “I don’t want to witness a relapse.”

He sat heavily as Marisa hovered nearby. They surveyed each other warily.

“Just give me a minute to change and I’ll be right with you,” Marisa said suddenly, remembering what she was wearing.

He nodded.

She bolted into the bathroom and grabbed a pair of jeans and a T-shirt from the hook on the back of the door. As she changed hastily, not bothering with underwear, she glanced at the mirror and groaned at her hair. She found a clip in the medicine cabinet and pulled it back, fastening the wavy mass at the nape of her neck. There was no time for makeup, she would have to do as she was. She reentered the bedroom as he looked up and said, “Too bad.”

“What?”

“I liked you with your hair down.”

Marisa fingered the clip nervously, resisting the impulse to yank it out and fling it on the floor.

“It was the first time I’d ever seen it that way. In court you’re always so buttoned up and proper. With all that hair around your face you looked like a little girl.”

Even if it was a deliberate attempt to charm her, she was helpless. It was working. Marisa looked back at him silently, unable to frame a reply.

“I suppose you’re wondering what I’m doing here,” he finally observed.

“The thought had occurred to me.”

“I came to apologize for my behavior when you visited me at the hospital. I can only offer the excuse that I was shot full of prescription drugs and not responsible for my actions.” He smiled slightly.

“That’s all right. I got so mad at you I forgot to thank you for saving my life.”
 

“That’s a bit of an exaggeration.”
 

“Not from my point of view.”

“I guess we should call it even then,” he said lightly.

“Not even, exactly. That boy Jeff Rivertree is still in jail facing a capital charge.”

He made a deprecating gesture. “That’s my fault. When I guessed what Jeff was going to do, I rushed to the courthouse but I didn’t arrive in time to prevent the incident. I had hoped to get to him first.”

“What is he being held on?” Marisa asked.

“Attempted murder.”

She winced.

“I hope we can get it reduced to felonious assault. We’re trying to raise the bail right now,” Jack said.

“I’d lobby for the lesser charge, but I can’t get involved with his case. You do understand that,” Marisa said.

He nodded. “I understand.”

A silence fell and they stared at each other.

Jack cleared his throat. “There’s another reason for my coming here,” he said.

“Yes?” she said, sitting on the edge of the bed.

He leaned back in his chair and folded his good arm across the one in the sling. Instead of focusing on his face she found herself staring at the top button of his shirt, wishing she could undo it. When she tore her gaze away she realized that she didn’t know what he was saying.

“Why this is so important to me,” he concluded.