Witness (17 page)

“Deborah?”

“Well, it was, wasn't it? I mean, I did throw myself at you and practically beg you to make love to me, didn't I?”

“If I'd been more of a man and less a boy that night, I'd have turned you down and saved us both a lot of misery.”

“And that's what the memory of that night has been for you,
hasn't it, a misery?” Deborah shut her eyes, capturing her tears beneath closed lids.

Dear God, no! The results had been a misery, but not that night. Never that night! “No, honey, that's not true. The memory of that night is bittersweet for me.”

“More bitter than sweet.” Swallowing her tears, she lowered her head, wrapped one arm across her stomach and cupped the side of her face in her other hand. “That's why you left town, wasn't it? To get away from me?”

“I left town because your father and the D.A. gave me no other choice.” Ashe slid across the seat, grabbed Deborah by the shoulders and shook her gently several times. “Look at me, dammit.” With her head still bowed, she raised her eyes to meet his. “Your father told me that if I didn't leave town and never come back, he'd make sure I did time for rape. He wanted me out of your life for good.”

“No, he wouldn't have… He knew. Oh, Ashe, he knew.”

“He knew what?” Ashe gripped her shoulders, tightening his hold when she didn't immediately respond.

“He knew I was—” She'd almost said
pregnant with your baby.
“He knew I loved you, that I would never have testified against you, that I would have made a fool of myself to protect you.”

A searing pain ripped through Ashe, the hot, cauterizing pain of truth, killing the festering infection of lies and suspicions, preventing him from clinging to past resentments.

“Dear God, Deborah. All these years I've thought…” He pulled her into his arms. She trembled, and he knew she was on the verge of tears, that she was holding them in check, being strong. He stroked her back; she laid her head on his chest.

She had not betrayed him. She hadn't even told her father, only her mother. She had never accused him of forcing her or seducing her. Lies. All lies. Wallace Vaughn's lies to force Ashe out of Deborah's life. Had the old man been that afraid that sooner or later Ashe would destroy Deborah's life?

Ashe found himself kissing the side of her face, along her hairline, one hand continuing to stroke her back while he threaded the fingers of his other hand through her hair, caressing her tenderly.

“Have you hated me all these years, Ashe?” she asked, her voice a whisper against his chest.

“I've hated you. I've hated myself. Hell, I've hated just about everyone and everything associated with my past.” When she gazed up at him, he dotted her forehead with kisses. “But I never hated what we shared that night, the feelings inside me when we made love. It had never been like that for me before.” He swallowed hard. “And it's never been that way for me again. Not ever.”

“Oh, Ashe.” She slipped her arms around him, burrowing her body into his, seeking and finding a closer joining.

He took her mouth like a dying man clinging to life, as if without the taste of her he could not go on. She accepted the kiss, returning it full measure, her hands clawing at his back, inching their way up beneath his jacket, yanking his shirt from his slacks, making contact with his naked flesh. Ashe thrust his tongue deeper into her mouth, their tongues mating furiously.

Breathless, their lips separated, but they clung to each other, Deborah unbuttoning Ashe's shirt, Ashe lifting Deborah's sweater up and under her arms.

“I've wanted you since that first day I came back to town.” He nuzzled her neck with his nose as he lifted his hand to her lace-covered breast. “I've called myself every kind of fool, but nothing's eased this ache inside me.”

She curled her index finger around a swirl of dark chest hair, then leaned over to kiss one tiny nipple. Ashe groaned. “I hated you for making me want you again,” she said. “I swore no one would ever hurt me the way you did, and here I am throwing myself at you again as if I were seventeen.”

“No, honey, no.” He took her face in both his hands, looking deep into her eyes, smiling his irresistible smile. “This works both ways. I want you and you want me. Neither of us are kids. We're two responsible adults who are as frustrated as hell.”

She laughed. “Ashe, I don't know if I can handle this, what I'm feeling. It scares me. It scares me more now than it did when I was seventeen.” She circled his neck with her arms, pressing her cheek against his. “When I was seventeen I was so in love with you that nothing we did seemed wrong. I didn't know the first thing about sex. Now…well, now I'm aching with wanting you. It's different now. It's—”

“It's right this time, honey,” he said against her lips. “No fairy tales, no declarations of undying love, just a man and a woman who want each other desperately. Mutual desire.”

“Yes.” She nodded. “Mutual desire.” You're wrong, she wanted to shout. It isn't all that different now. I'm still in love with you and you still don't return that love.

“Let's vanquish all those bad memories,” he said. “Let's lay the past to rest. Tonight.”

His kiss was less frantic this time, more tender and giving, yet as hot and needy as the one before. There was no way to make him understand that she could never lay the past to rest, that Allen was the embodiment of that night so long ago when a young and foolish girl had given herself to a man who didn't love her.

Ashe held her in his arms, burying his face in her neck, breathing in the sweet fragrance of her hair. “We can't make love back at your house and I know you don't want to make love here, in the car, the way we did that night. Where can we go, honey? A motel room seems cheap and I want this night to be special for you—for us.”

“You're wrong about my not wanting to make love here and now, in the car,” she said. “I do.”

“Why would you want to—”

“I'm not sure I can explain how I feel, but… Well, it would somehow validate that first time. I know it sounds crazy, but…I need for us to make love here, now, in the car, the way we did that night when… Please, Ashe, make love to me.”

“That's exactly what you said to me that night.” And damn his rotten soul, he hadn't been able to resist her. She had been the sweetest temptation he'd ever known—and she still was.

“I guess I'm still begging.” A lone tear escaped her eye and trickled down her cheek.

Ashe kissed the teardrop. “No, Deborah, I'm the one doing the begging this time. I'm the one who'll die if I can't have you. I'm the one willing to do anything to make you happy, to see you smile, to make your forget.”

He actually remembered every word she'd said to him that night when she'd told him she wanted to make him happy, wanted to make him forget Whitney, wanted to make him smile again. She had pleaded with him to make love to her, saying she'd die if he didn't.

“You remember what I said.”

“Every word.” He lifted her sweater up and off, tossing it into the back seat, then unhooked her bra and eased it off her shoulders. “And I remember how you looked and how you felt.” He covered both breasts with his hands and planted a row of kisses from her collarbone to her shoulder. “And the smell of you. My sweet, innocent Deborah.”

He licked the tip of her breast; she moaned. He unsnapped and unzipped her slacks; she shoved his jacket off his shoulders. Ashe removed his shoulder holster, laying it on the dashboard before removing his shirt.

She kissed his chest, tiny, loving nicks. He tugged her slacks down and off her legs, throwing them on top of her sweater. She shivered when he dipped his hand beneath the elastic of her silky panties and cupped her buttocks, lifting her up and over him as he slid down onto the seat, his head braced against the armrest on the door.

While he suckled at her breasts, his fingers delved between the delicate folds of her body, finding the sensitive, hidden peak. She unzipped his trousers and reached inside to cover his arousal with the palm of her hand. Their kisses grew hotter, harder, longer, as they moved to the rhythm of nature's mating music, their bodies straining for closer and closer contact.

Lifting his hips, Ashe removed his wallet, then tugged his trousers downward and kicked them into the floorboard. “I'm dying,” he groaned. “I wanted to wait, to take more time, to—”

Leaning over him, she covered his mouth, silencing him with the fury of her kiss. He ran his hands up and down, over her shoulders, down her back, pulling at her panties until she helped him remove them. He eased her over and onto her back, drawing her body beneath his as he ripped off his briefs, sheathed himself and positioned her for his possession.

“Now, honey? Now!” He was fast losing control.

“Yes, now!”

He plunged into her, lifting her hips, delving deep and hard. She gripped his shoulders, rising to meet his demands. Sliding her legs up his until she reached his hips, she whispered his name over and over, telling him with the tone of her voice and little moans of pleasure that she was near the brink. He didn't want this to end, wanted it to go on forever, but knew he couldn't last much longer. The pleasure was too great, too intense to slow the upward spiral toward completion.

“It's too good, honey. Too good.”

He felt her tightening around him. She clasped him like a tight fist. Crying out, she quivered in his arms as spasm after spasm of fulfillment racked her body. His release came hard and fast, shaking him to the core of his being.

He cried out, losing himself in her, kissing her as they shivered from the aftershocks of such a powerful loving.

Lifting himself, Ashe pulled Deborah up off the seat and into his arms, holding her against him, listening to her rapid breathing.

“I want to make love to you again,” he told her. “Tonight. Tomorrow. The day after tomorrow.”

She didn't say anything; she couldn't. She knew he was telling her that, this time, there would be no rejection and no regrets. She lifted her face to him, glorying in the feel of his arms around her, the passion in his consuming kiss.

 

D
AWN SPREAD A
honeyed pink glow across the horizon. When Ashe parked the Caddy in the driveway, Deborah awoke. Lifting her head from his shoulder, she smiled.

“It's 5:40,” he said. “Mazie is going to be up and about any time now.”

“Think she'll catch us sneaking in?”

“Would you care if she does?” Ashe opened the car door and assisted Deborah. Wrapping his arm around her, he led her to the front door.

“She'd probably be shocked. She's not used to me sneaking into the house at all hours.”

Ashe unlocked the door. They walked into the entrance hall, arm in arm. “What do you usually do, stay overnight at your lover's house?”

Shadowy morning light coming through the windows illuminated the stairs. Deborah stopped dead still in the middle of the staircase.

“I haven't had any lovers,” she said, then pulled out of Ashe's arms and ran up to the landing.

He caught her just as she flung open her sitting room door, whirling her around to face him, pulling her into his arms. “What do you mean you haven't had any lovers?”

“There's never been anyone else. Only you.” Lowering her head, she looked down at the floor.

He lifted her chin in the curve of his thumb and forefinger. “Honey, I—”

“I never fell in love again, that's all. I hoped that sooner or later the right guy would come along and I'd be ready, but it just didn't happen.”

“Just Mr. Wrong again, huh?”

“No, Ashe, not Mr. Wrong. Just not Mr. Right.” She slipped her arms around his neck and kissed him, then stepped back and smiled. “This time we're lovers. Remember? Mutual desire?”

“You'd better get in your room and lock me out or we'll be right in the middle of some mutual desire any minute now.”

“Good night, then.” She laughed. “Or should I say good morning.”

“Next time, we're going to have to find someplace else to make love.” He rubbed the small of his back. “I'm too old to do it in a car, even a big Caddy.”

“Next time,” she whispered to herself. Next time. She knew she would never be able to resist him and that for him this was only an affair. But not for her. She was already so in love with Ashe McLaughlin she couldn't bear for him to leave her.

He kissed her with a passion that told her that even if he wasn't in love with her, leaving her was as difficult for him as it was for her. Releasing her, he shoved her into her room and closed the door. She took a deep breath, turned and raced into her bedroom, falling in a heap on her bed. Hugging herself, she rolled into a ball and closed her eyes.

This was what she had dreaded since the moment she'd walked in and seen Ashe talking to her mother in the living room. And, if she was honest with herself, this was what she had wanted to happen. No matter how hard she had tried to deny it, she still loved Ashe McLaughlin. She had never truly stopped loving him.

What on earth was she going to do now? She had rushed headlong into an affair with her son's father. How could she
continue lying to Ashe, keeping the truth about his child from him? The longer she waited to tell him, the more difficult it would be—for both of them. But did she dare tell him? Would he understand? Or would he hate her for keeping his son from him all these years?

“P
LEASE, TELL US,
M
S
. Vaughn, what happened when you took that wrong turn off Cotton Lane?” the district attorney asked.

“I realized I'd gotten off on the wrong road and was looking for a place to turn around.” Deborah sat straight, her hands folded in her lap. “I noticed a truck pulled off the road. One man jumped out of the truck, but I couldn't see his face. There were two other men behind the truck, one holding a gun to the other's head.”

Deborah's stomach tightened into a knot; she gripped her damp hands together. Glancing out into the courtroom she sought Ashe. Their gazes met and held. She took a deep breath.

“Are you all right, Ms. Vaughn?” District Attorney Jim Bitterman spoke softly, his voice a light tenor, a distinct contrast to his rugged, almost ugly face and wiry, muscular body.

“Yes.” Deborah kept her vision focused on Ashe for several seconds longer, gaining strength from his presence.

“Will you continue, please?”

“The man holding the gun was Lon Sparks.”

“Objection, your honor,” the defense attorney, Leland Prater shouted, rising from his seat and moving his short, rotund body around the desk. “Ms. Vaughn was not acquainted with Mr. Sparks and therefore could hardly have recognized him.”

“Ms. Vaughn later identified Mr. Sparks from a photograph, your honor,” Jim Bitterman said.

“Overruled,” Judge Heath said.

“Please continue.” District Attorney Bitterman stood directly in front of Deborah. “Tell the jury what you saw.”

“Lon Sparks shot the man in the head.” Deborah closed her eyes momentarily, the memory of that dreadful sight closing in around her, filling her with the sense of fear she'd known in those horrific seconds when she'd witnessed the murder.

Jim Bitterman allowed her to continue recalling the events at her own pace. Leland Prater, long known as an old bag of wind and one of the most crooked lawyers in the area, objected every chance he got, deliberately unnerving Deborah as much as possible. But she did not waver in her testimony, not even when Prater cross-examined her.

She'd been warned, by Jim and by Ashe, that Prater's strategy would be to bring her to tears, show her to be a highly emotional, hysterical woman, who had allowed her hysteria and fear to wrongly identify Lon Sparks.

Not one tear fell from her eyes. Not one shrill word escaped her lips. When her nerves rioted, she took deep breaths and looked to Ashe, seeking and finding the strength she needed to do the job she and she alone could do.

When she was dismissed, Deborah stepped down and walked slowly toward Ashe, who stood and waited for her. He slipped his arm around her and led her out of the courtroom. Even the bevy of reporters flinging questions at her did not disturb the serenity she felt as Ashe led her downstairs and out of the courthouse.

Neither of them said a word until they were safely inside Deborah's car. Ashe buckled her seat belt, kissed her on the nose and smiled at her.

“It's over.” She sighed. “It's really over.”

“Yeah, honey, it's over.” But Ashe wasn't sure. Not one incident of harassment had occurred since Huckleberry's poisoning two days ago, and that made Ashe all the more suspicious. Buck Stansell should have escalated his threats the closer the day
came for Deborah to testify. But he hadn't. He hadn't done anything. Did that mean he was waiting to take revenge? Hell!

Deborah checked her watch. “We have time to make the last half of Allen's soccer game, don't we?”

“That's where I'm headed.” Ashe maneuvered the Caddy out of the parking lot and onto Water Street.

Leaning against the cushioned headrest, Deborah closed her eyes. Ashe reached out and took her hand, squeezing it tightly. She smiled, but didn't open her eyes or speak. She felt such a great sense of relief.

She had done the right thing, despite being afraid. She had faced the devil—and won! Now, all she had to face were her own personal demons, the biggest lie in her life. She'd had the courage to stand up against Buck Stansell and his gang, but did she have the guts to tell Ashe the truth about Allen? She knew now that she'd been wrong to keep his son's existence a secret from him all these years. Despite her own feelings, her deep sense of betrayal and rejection, she should have contacted Ashe long ago. Mama Mattie would have given her his phone number or address if only she'd asked.

But what would telling Ashe the truth now do to their new relationship? Although he had promised her nothing permanent, had made no commitment to her, she knew he truly cared about her. She, and she alone, was the woman he wanted. Would it be so wrong to wait, to take what time she had left with Ashe and savor the joy she felt, the mutual passion and desire?

“Are you sure you're up to this?” Ashe parked the Cadillac behind a row of cars lined up along the shoulder of Avalon Avenue, west of the railroad tracks that separated Muscle Shoals from Tuscumbia and Sheffield.

“The worst is over. Right? There's no reason why I can't resume my normal activities, is there?”

“Deborah…” Dear God, he didn't want to tell her that he
thought the worst might not be over, that the worst might be yet to come. But he would not lie to her. “We can't be sure what Buck Stansell might do if Lon Sparks is convicted.”

“You're saying it isn't over.” She clutched her shoulder bag to her stomach. “You think he might try to kill me after the trial ends, don't you?”

“There's no way to know.” Ashe grasped her shoulder, urging her to turn to him. “But my guess is that you're safe until the jury reaches a verdict.”

She leaned toward him, wanting to fall into his arms, wanting and needing his comfort and reassurance. But this was hardly the time or the place. “Then I'm going to try not to think about it, for now. I don't know how much more Mother and Allen can take. I can't bear to think what it would have done to Allen if Huckleberry had died.”

“Don't think about it. Huckleberry is as good as new,” Ashe said. “Come on, let's go cheer for the home team.”

Deborah and Ashe joined Carol Vaughn and Simon Roarke on the sidelines of a tense soccer game between two sets of ten- to twelve-year-olds. Carol had built herself a comfortable nest around her folding lawn chair. She sat with a plaid blanket wrapped about her legs, a thermos of hot coffee at her side. Roarke stood directly behind her chair, his gaze moving around the crowd, then back to the soccer game where Allen Vaughn raced down the field, his long, strong legs moving with agile grace.

Roarke stepped aside when Deborah laid her hand on her mother's shoulder. Ashe nodded, motioning to Roarke.

“How's the game going?” Deborah asked.

“We're ahead,” Carol said. “Two to one.”

Deborah glanced at the sky. “It's getting cloudy and the wind's up. I hope it doesn't start raining.”

“Where's your coat?” Carol asked.

“I didn't wear one today. Just my suit. But don't worry, I'm fine.”

“Mothers worry.”

“I'm okay. Really. Everything is going to be all right.”

Ashe and Roarke moved away from the crowd, close enough to keep an eye on everyone and yet far enough away to have a private discussion.

“We're going to be staying for at least another couple of weeks,” Ashe said. “If we're lucky, this will be over when the trail ends, but my gut instincts tell me not to count on it.”

“A man could do a lot worse than living around here, spending the rest of his life in a small town.” Roarke's dark gaze came to a halt on Allen Vaughn as the boy kicked the ball past the goalie and scored a point for his team.

Ashe slapped Roarke on the back. “Did you see that? Damn that boy's good. He's big and fast and strong and a real fighter. Look at his face. Good God, how I know that feeling. He's lightheaded from the victory.”

“He reminds me of you,” Roarke said.

“What?”

“Allen Vaughn reminds me of you.”

“Hell, he's just like Deborah. They could be twins.”

“I know he looks like Deborah, but the more I'm around the kid, the more he reminds me of you.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Ashe watched Allen, seeing nothing except his blond hair, his blue eyes, his strong physical resemblance to Deborah.

“When did you leave Sheffield and join the army?”

“When did I… Eleven years ago.”

“When exactly?”

“In July.”

Grunting, Roarke nodded. “Allen Vaughn was born in February. Seven months after you left town.”

“So?”

“Has it never once crossed your mind that you might have gotten Deborah pregnant, that Allen could be your son?”

Ashe's body rebelled, tensing every muscle, bringing every
nerve to full alert, knotting his stomach painfully. “She would have told me. Deborah never would have kept something like that from me. She was in love with me. If she'd been pregnant with my child, she would have come running to me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, dammit, I'm sure!”

“Then forget I said anything.”

“I sure as hell will.” Ashe glared at his friend, a man he had come to like and respect since their first meeting over a year ago. Roarke stood eye to eye with Ashe, the two equal in height and size, broad-shouldered, long-legged. Roarke, like Ashe himself, a former warrior, still in his prime.

“You want me to give Sam a call tonight and let him know we'll be staying…indefinitely?” Roarke asked.

“No. This is my case. I'll call Sam.” Ashe watched Allen, inspecting his every move with an analytical eye, searching for evidence to substantiate Roarke's suspicion. “I'll let him know we could be here for a few more weeks. Once I know Deborah is safe, we'll head back to Atlanta.”

Dammit! Why couldn't Roarke have kept his suspicions to himself? They were totally unfounded. They had to be! Not getting Deborah pregnant that long-ago night was the one and only thing Ashe hadn't had to feel guilty about all these years. Allen Vaughn was Deborah's brother, not her son. Most certainly not
his
son. No way in hell!

 

D
INNER HAD BEEN
a double celebration. Deborah's court appearance was over and Allen Vaughn had once again scored the winning goal that led his team to victory.

Deborah and Ashe had allowed her family to believe the danger was over; indeed, Deborah convinced herself that there was hope all the threats and harassment had come to an end.

She had sensed a tension in Ashe she hadn't noticed before tonight. He kept watching Allen and his close scrutiny unnerved her. Did he suspect something? Or was he simply worrying
that Buck Stansell still posed a threat to her family, that Allen might be the target of the man's revenge?

But then Ashe would look at her and his eyes would warm, his expression telling her plainly that he was remembering their lovemaking in the early morning hours. Yesterday. Less than forty-eight hours ago.

“I'm afraid I must say good-night.” Carol rose from her chair in the library. “Come along, Allen. It's a half hour past your bedtime.”

“How about coming up with me, Ashe?” Allen asked. “You said you wanted to see my science test.”

“You bet I do. I want to see what you did to get 105% on that test instead of just a plain old 100%.” Ashe laid his hand on Allen's shoulder and the two followed Miss Carol.

“Are you staying down here for a while?” Carol asked her daughter.

“Yes, I think I'll fix myself a drink and relax a bit before I come up.”

“Don't forget to say good-night,” Allen called out from the hallway.

“I won't forget.”

Alone in the library, Deborah kicked off her shoes and tucked her feet up on the sofa. Suddenly she felt the man's presence before she heard him clear his throat. Jerking her head around, she saw Simon Roarke standing in the doorway.

“Come on in, Mr. Roarke,” Deborah said. “Would you care for a drink?”

“No, thanks.” He walked over to the liquor cart. “May I fix something for you?”

“Just a little brandy.”

Roarke poured the liquor and handed it to Deborah. “This about right?”

“Perfect.” Deborah looked up at Simon Roarke, thinking, and not for the first time, that there was a hint of sadness in his eyes. “Please, sit down and talk to me.”

“What do you want to talk about, Ms. Vaughn?”

“Call me Deborah. And I'd like to ask you about your friendship with Ashe.”

Roarke sat in the wing chair to Deborah's left. “We've known each other a year. We have similar backgrounds and found we worked well together and enjoyed spending some of our off time together.”

“You were in the army, too?”

“Yeah.”

“How long have you worked for the Dundee Agency?”

“Over two years.”

“You aren't married?”

“No.”

“Girlfriend?” Deborah asked.

“Neither Ashe nor I are in a committed relationship, if that's what you're asking. I'm sure he's told you that.”

Deborah smiled. “I'm not very good at this, am I? Cross-examining you to get information about Ashe isn't something I'd ordinarily do, but—”

“But you're curious about Ashe. Why don't you just ask him what you want to know?”

“Yes, that would be the logical thing to do, wouldn't it?” Deborah slid her feet off the sofa and back into her shoes. “Did he tell you that we knew each other, years ago?”

“Yes.”

“You aren't making this easy for me, Mr. Roarke.”

“Just Roarke,” he said. “I'm afraid I can't tell you what you want to know. I'm not sure Ashe can tell you. He probably doesn't even know himself.”

“Is it that obvious?” Deborah clasped her knees with her fingertips. “I made a mistake about the way Ashe felt about me once, and I don't want to make another mistake.”