Close Proximity. Donna Clayton

to run out of energy suddenly, and Rafe glanced at her. Her expression was…odd. A frown puckered her brow. Concern darkened her eyes. She was gazing off, seeming to wrestle with some troubling thoughts. The urge to reach out to her was powerful, but it was overridden by the strong, abrupt sense that he was being stared at.

      David’s brown gaze narrowed on him, and Rafe was sure the man was trying to convey a message of some sort. However, when Libby’s attention returned to the moment, his head dipped, and he once again began pushing the pen against the paper.

      “We can fight this, Dad. We can.”

      “I know we can, hon.”

      But Rafe didn’t hear much conviction in his words. David’s demeanor was strange, Rafe thought. It was almost as if he was convinced that the battle was lost even before it had begun. Not at all like the strong-willed man Rafe had expected David Corbett to be.

      “I’ve done a little reading…”

      Rafe only half listened to Libby, his attention homing in on David. Each and every time that the man’s daughter turned her gaze away, David would spear Rafe with a sharp, almost desperate look.

      “And since the authorities aren’t pursuing Springer,” Libby continued, “that must mean that the company is cooperating with them against you. I can’t believe the upper management creeps would do that to you after all you’ve given that company.”

      Once again, with quick, darting glances, David kept indicating the legal pad on which he wrote. Finally, Rafe gave one nearly imperceptible nod to let the man know he understood.

      What could David possibly want to convey that he didn’t want Libby to know? Libby was his lawyer. She couldn’t represent him if she didn’t know everything.

      Immediately, Rafe thought of the small puzzle piece he’d refused to present. But it wasn’t as if he was never going to reveal all to the woman. He simply wanted to wait until he had more solid proof.

      “As far as I’ve been able to tell—” Libby reached into her briefcase and extracted a notebook, flipping it open “—there’s not been a precedent set in a case like this. And as hot as environmental issues are these days, it could be that the authorities are thinking of setting you up as an example.”

      Frustration flushed David’s neck and cheeks. “But I didn’t do anything. I wouldn’t do—”

      “I know that, Dad.” Her very air become soft and consoling. “And we’ll prove that, too. Where it counts. In court.”

      Father and daughter shared a brief silence, and Rafe was left feeling as though he were intruding on a special moment. Then Libby went back to studying her notes.

      “One good thing,” she said. “Setting a precedent on any issue isn’t easy. They’ve got to have proof. Rock solid. And since you didn’t have anything to do with the contamination, then they’re going to have a hard time coming up with what they need, now, aren’t they?”

      It was a rhetorical question, meant only to bolster and encourage.

      David tore off the top sheet from the pad, then leaned toward the table, obviously intending to hand the paper to Rafe. But Libby reached for it.

      “Thanks, Dad.”

      In that instant, Rafe read panic in the older man’s expression. Reaching out, he slipped the paper from David’s fingers before Libby even had a chance to touch it.

      “I’ll take care of that,” Rafe said to no one in particular.

      Libby looked a little startled. For a moment Rafe was worried that she’d insist on taking possession of the list her father had compiled. But in the end she seemed to shrug it off.

      “Well,” she said, “would you mind getting me a copy of those names? For my records.”

      Keeping his tone light, he assured her, “Sure thing.” He folded the yellow paper into a smaller rectangle and tucked it safely into his breast pocket. However, the list felt as if it were a flaring match, blistering hot against his skin, so badly did he want to discover the secret message David had written.

      Not long afterward, Libby and Rafe were heading out of the jailhouse.

      “It’s upsetting,” Libby commented out of the blue. “He seems so depressed, so defeated. I mean, I know he’s under a lot of pressure. He was just fired by a company he’d dedicated his whole life to. He’s been accused of a horrendous crime, but…”

      Her long, slender throat convulsed in a swallow, and Rafe wondered what it would feel like to press his fingertips against her soft, creamy skin. Or better yet, his lips. At once, hormones pulsed through his body, fierce and fervent. He clamped a lid on his runaway libido, forcing his thoughts back to the subject at hand: David’s behavior during their visit.

      Rafe had thought the same thing about Libby’s father’s demeanor. There had seemed to be no fight in him. But feeling that Libby needed to hear something a little more heartening, he said, “Once we get our hands on the evidence, once we start talking to people, planning our strategy, he’ll perk up.”

      “I’m sure you’re right.”

      But her sea-green gaze was still clouded with doubt, and he was left wondering what other misgivings were causing her such tremendous anxiety. He’d have loved nothing more than to hug her to him and assure her that everything was going to be all right. But she wouldn’t appreciate such an act. And he certainly didn’t dare put himself in such a role. It would surely change their professional relationship into something personal. Intimate. And that was something he meant to avoid.

      “It’s still early,” Libby finally said. “I think I’ll shoot over to the courthouse.”

      Rafe nodded, looking at his wristwatch. “I could run home and check on my horses. How about if I meet you back at your father’s house in, say, an hour?”

      “That sounds good to me.”

      With a final wave, Libby got into her car and drove away.

      Immediately, Rafe reached up and plucked David’s list from his breast pocket. The paper was crisp against his fingertips as he swiftly unfolded it. His eyes scanned down the list of names. He found David’s message near the bottom, carefully written as if it was just one more name of someone to be interviewed.

      Protect Libby.

      Four

       “S o what good does it do us to know that David eats out more than eighty percent of the time?” Rafe commented. “Or that he replenishes his wardrobe like clockwork every six months? Or buys a new car every five years?”

      Libby poked her chopsticks down into the white cardboard container and extracted a crunchy snow pea, grinning as she slid it into her mouth and chewed. For someone who wasn’t used to this task, studying piles of evidence could be frustrating. Poor Rafe was probably sorry he’d offered to help her. She may have won the argument to have the trial held here in Prosperino, but now she and Rafe faced the daunting task of sorting through the mountain of papers and playing guessing games as to the opposing counsel’s strategy.

      Once she’d swallowed, she said, “I told you the prosecution would want to look at Dad’s finances. They were hoping to find some unexplainable deposits, searching for a secret stash—”

      “But there’s none of that here. Every penny is meticulously recorded. Every deposit in his bank account is either his salary or his yearly bonus from Springer. It’s all accounted for. It’s all thoroughly legit. The man is innocent as a newborn lamb. Surely they’ll see that.”

      Libby knew by Rafe’s use of “they” that he’d meant the attorneys who were trying to convict her father.

      “To them, the only thing this proves,” she told him, “is that Dad is smart enough not to deposit unexplained funds in his bank account. For all they know, he’s got a big,