Suspicions: A Twist of Fate\Tears of Pride (15 page)

Erin began to shake her head in a negative sweep. “You’re just putting off the inevitable. You can’t expect me to take such a chance. I…can’t…”

“And I counted on you as a friend,” Mitch spat out with a bitterness that chilled the air.

“I—we are friends.”

“No, you’ve got that one wrong, Erin, dead wrong!” he snapped, waving an angry accusatory finger and his cigar within inches of her face. “We were friends when it was convenient for you—when I was your boss, and I could help you. Especially when that jerk of a husband dumped on you and you needed a shoulder to cry on. But now, when the tables have turned, our friendship seems to be wearing a little thin, doesn’t it?”

Erin drew in an unsteady and disbelieving breath. “You can’t possibly mean what you’re implying. You know that I care for you—I always have—but you’re asking the impossible!”

“Ha!”

“Mitch…don’t…”

“Don’t what, Erin?” he taunted, all of his hatred coming to the surface. “Don’t overextend your friendship? Don’t ask you to help me, after I helped pull you back together during your divorce? Don’t ask you to do anything that might endanger your fragile relationship with your new boss?”

“What?” she gasped, but the meaning of his words was clear.

“Don’t give me that wide-eyed shocked virgin routine, Erin. It won’t work. Besides, it’s demeaning. I know that you’re Kane Webster’s mistress, and that you’ve been hopping in and out of bed with him since he first set foot in this town!”

All of the color in Erin’s face washed away with Mitch’s cruel words, and little protesting, choking noises came from somewhere in her throat. But Mitch’s vicious tirade wasn’t finished.

“You’re surprised, aren’t you. Well let me tell you this—it’s all over town!”

“No!”

His eyes narrowed evilly. “I never thought you would stoop so low as to sleep with such despicable scum as Webster. But then you’ve never had very good taste when it came to men, have you?”

“That’s enough,” she gasped, finding her voice and her purse at the same moment. “I’m leaving!”

“What’s the trouble, Erin? Am I getting too close to the truth? I should never have promoted you over Olivia Parsons eight years ago. That’s where I made my mistake.”

Erin’s lilac eyes flashed fire. “I’m sure she would agree with you.” She stood and hurriedly pulled on her coat. “I don’t know what it is that’s making you so bitter….”

“The prospect of prison, Erin. It can be very frightening!”

“I’m sorry, Mitch, but there’s absolutely nothing I can do.” Her poise was beginning to come back to her. She sighed heavily. “But no matter what, if it’s any consolation, I do wish you luck today.”

“Sure you do,” he echoed sarcastically. “Thanks but no thanks. I don’t need your good wishes, Erin. Not now, not ever!”

Erin turned on her heels and didn’t bother to say goodbye. Her back was rigidly straight as she marched to the door and never looked over her shoulder. She felt tears begin to pool in her eyes, but she determinedly pushed them backward. She refused to cry over Mitch, not after the way that he had treated her today. She knew that she was trembling and weak-kneed by the time she reached the rain-dampened streets, but she ignored her weakness and the drizzle that collected on her hair and ran down the back of her neck. A queasy, nervous feeling of desperation was churning in her stomach.

How had Mitch changed so much?
she wondered. What had happened to the kind and caring man she had once known and respected? And how—how had he guessed about her affair with Kane? Erin’s mind was spinning in circles, and her face, now covered with drops of rain, had lost all of its color. Her sleek ebony hair had begun to curl in the rain, and tiny tendrils began to spring out of the tidy black knot at the base of her head. She walked along the rain-puddled streets, absorbed in her own distant thoughts for over an hour. With her head bent against the wind, her small fists thrust into the pockets of her raincoat and her jaw clenched at an angle, she hardly looked her pert businesslike self. She felt a burning sense of betrayal that Mitch would stoop so low as to ask her to confiscate bank records secretly for his personal use. How far did friendship reach? How much would he ask of her? Again, she was reminded of Mitch’s initials on the chart showing that Erin had possession of a key that she had never seen. Had Mitch, somehow, tried to implicate her in his crime? Was it possible that she had been wrong about Mitch all this time? She stamped her booted foot impatiently on the sidewalk.

Suddenly aware of the passing time, she hurried back to the bank. She was oblivious to the fact that her usually neat appearance was disheveled from the wind and the rain and that her normally clear eyes were clouded and preoccupied. As she rushed into her office, she paused only to pick up her messages and remind her secretary more curtly than she had intended that under no circumstances, other than a telephone call from Kane, was she to be disturbed.

For the remainder of the afternoon Erin holed up behind her desk, and tried to immerse herself in paperwork. But all her concentration seemed to shift to Mitch, and she found it impossible to forget the hollow look of despair on his face or the nervousness of his hands or his eyes, once clear and blue, now gray and pasty. Erin’s stomach twisted violently as she remembered him and realized just how suspicious she had become of a man she had once trusted completely. Was she being paranoid, or had she been a fool to trust him in the past? She let her forehead drop to her hand, and hoped to God that the afternoon would slide by without any further complications.

The little yellow car couldn’t hurry home fast enough for Erin, and the snail’s pace of the late afternoon traffic as it snarled in the rain only added to her frustration. Maneuvering the Rabbit through the hilly streets of the downtown area of Seattle, she made it to the freeway, but to no avail. Tonight, even the freeways were choked with commuters anxious to get home, semis on their assigned routes and recreational vehicles hoping to get a head start on the wet weekend. As the windshield wipers danced rhythmically before her eyes, Erin sighed, realizing that because she usually worked much later than six o’clock, she had forgotten how difficult and frustrating rush hour could be.

It took her nearly an hour to get home. As she guided her car to a halt she jerked on the emergency brake before racing up the sidewalk and taking the steps to her third-floor apartment two at a time. With unsteady fingers she unlocked the door, hurried into the apartment and switched on the local news. She was too preoccupied to bother shaking the rain from her coat or umbrella.

The sullen-faced newscaster was already making predictions about the upcoming statewide elections as the television snapped on. From habit Erin began to unbutton her coat, but she never let her eyes waver from the small black and white screen that held her attention. At the next commercial break, she managed to slip out of her coat and toss it next to her on the couch just as the dark-haired newsman began to recount the story that was uppermost on her mind: an alleged case of embezzlement at a downtown Seattle bank.

Erin’s eyes were riveted to the set, and nervously she began to bite at her lower lip. As the scene on the television changed to the district courthouse, the eye of the camera sought Mitch and caught him hurrying out of the double doors of the marble courthouse. He was accompanied by a rather short and balding attorney who attempted to protect his client by fending off persistent questions from the group of anxious reporters clustered at the courthouse doors. Mitch, shielding his face with his hands, rushed to a waiting car. Erin only caught a glimpse of her former boss, and she felt a rush of pity for the man as his watery blue eyes darted anxiously back to the attorney before he climbed into the waiting automobile and sped away from the newsmen.

“Yes,” the mustached anchorman was stating, “Mitchell Cameron, once considered one of Seattle’s most prestigious and trusted bankers, was indicted today on seven counts of embezzlement. If Cameron is found guilty, the maximum sentence…” Erin couldn’t listen to the rest of the broadcast. She was too numbed by the chilling realization that Mitch actually had been indicted! Rubbing her temples with her slender fingers, she tried to think rationally—indicted, what exactly did that mean? It took her a few minutes to understand that Mitch hadn’t been found guilty of a crime, at least not yet. But apparently there was enough evidence against him to warrant a serious investigation and a trial. Erin sunk onto the sofa, mindless of the water that had started to collect around her boots on the Persian rug.

The TV continued to talk to her. A picture of the bank building, looking somehow more foreboding in the variegated gray tones of the set, flashed onto the screen. Consolidated First Bank stood out in bold letters, while a reporter recounted the bank’s recent history along with the fact that, within the last month, the ownership of the prestigious building had changed hands. The smug newsman noted that when the president of Consolidated, Mr. Kane Webster, was summoned by the television station to remark on the alleged embezzlement, Mr. Webster declined. He was, of course, unavailable for comment—supposedly out of the state.

Erin had heard enough, and she clicked off the television with cold, numb fingers. Drawing her knees beneath her chin, she wrapped her arms about her legs and sat on the couch, staring at the black Seattle evening through the window. A loneliness settled upon her and she thought about Kane, thousands of miles away in Southern California. The smoky gray drizzle and the heavy purple cloud cover that cloaked the city only added to her gloom. Unconsciously she began to take the pins from her hair, and shake loose the tight, confining chignon. She ran her fingers through her black tresses and rubbed her scalp, hoping to deter the headache that was starting to throb against her temples. If only Kane were here now—perhaps the lonely desperation that was closing in on her would fade….

She must have been staring into the oncoming darkness for quite a while, but she was too lost in her own black thoughts to realize that time had escaped her. The urgent ringing of the telephone startled Erin back to the present, and she rushed into the kitchen to answer its incessant call. As she spoke, she tried to conceal the note of depression that had crept into her voice.

“Hello?”

“Erin?” a concerned voice inquired.

“Oh, Kane!” She sighed, and let her knees give way in relief. Resting against the counter, she found herself overwhelmingly grateful for the thin wire that stretched the length of the West Coast and tied her to Kane.

“Are you okay?” he asked, and she recognized a tremor of concern in his voice.

“I’m fine,” she assured him. “It’s been a long, hectic week without you. I’m just a little tired, that’s all.”

There was a weighty pause in the conversation before Kane spoke again. “Have you heard about the indictment?” he asked, and his voice seemed to have become suddenly reserved.

“Yes…I saw the evening news….” She hesitated a moment. Should she tell him about her meeting with Mitch this afternoon and his proposition? Erin knew that Kane would be angry and upset when he found out about it, and she reasoned it would be better to tell him face-to-face. A long-distance call was too short and too impersonal. Too many misunderstandings could occur.

“I know that you care a lot about Cameron,” Kane began, wondering to himself why he continued to pursue a subject that only incensed him.

“I did, and I suppose I still do…but, really, it’s okay. This is the way it had to be, didn’t it?”

Why did he feel that there was a trace of hesitation in her voice? His fist involuntarily balled at his side, and his grip on the telephone receiver tightened until his knuckles showed white. It had been a difficult week for him also. Dealing with his strong-willed daughter had proven to be nearly impossible. And the fact that Erin was alone and over fifteen hundred miles away only added to his irritation and short temper.

“Krista and I will be home late Sunday afternoon,” he was saying. “Probably around six. And the moving company has promised to have the bulk of our belongings in Seattle by Monday—or so they claim. What won’t fit into the apartment, I’ll have stored. Will the apartment be ready for us?”

Erin couldn’t hide the disappointment that swallowed her. She had hoped that Kane would be home this evening or, at the very latest, Saturday.

“What? Oh, yes,” she agreed distractedly. “Mr. Jefferies moved out at the beginning of the week, and the cleaning people were here earlier today. I’m sure it will be ready by Sunday evening….”

“Good—I’ll see you then.”

“Good night, Kane,” Erin whispered, not wanting to hang up the phone and sever the frail connection that bound her so distantly to him.

“Erin?”

“Yes…”

A pause. “Good night.”

Erin felt an incredible loneliness as she hung up the phone.

“Oh, darling!” Kane murmured to himself as he heard her ring off. He slammed the receiver down in mindless frustration and rubbed his hands together anxiously, all the while leaning against the wall and staring at the clean, white telephone in his sister’s apartment. How was he going to handle his emotions for Erin? God, had it only been four days since he had last seen—or touched—her?

Somehow he had expected and silently hoped that once he had put some distance between himself and her, the miles would erase the goddesslike image of her body and that her likeness in his mind would fade, cooling his hot-blooded need for her. But he had been mistaken, grievously mistaken, and just the reverse had occurred. Instead of forgetting her, the image of her body was burned savagely on his mind and achingly in his loins. He felt an urgency, a driving
need,
warm and molten, that throbbed against his temples and fired his blood. He had to see her again, and he had to see her soon, or he would surely go out of his mind!

And the lies! Oh, God, how he hated his lies. The duplicity of his situation was eating at him, tearing at him from the inside out. He slammed a powerful fist against the wall. How could he lie to her and to himself? How long could the tense charade continue?