The Night In Question. Harper Allen

Julia Tennant he’d seen two years ago, the Julia Tennant he’d helped put behind bars. That woman might have accepted his warning.

      That woman didn’t exist any longer.

      She raked her hair straight back from her forehead, and narrowed her gaze at her reflection in the mirror. “You tipped your hand, Ross. That wasn’t smart,” she said softly. “You shouldn’t have let me know how much you hated me, because now I’ll be watching out for you.”

      Despite her words, a sudden tremor ran through her as she recalled their briefly antagonistic meeting the night before and saw again the hostile implacability in his expression.

      He would do anything he could to stop her. Sick fear washed through her. In the mirror, her reflection swayed slightly, and she squeezed her eyes shut.

      Sometimes the dream went on, the rest of the memories, less vivid but still unforgettable, tumbling through her mind like a collection of spilled photographs. The faces of the jury members as they’d filed back that final time into the courtroom, the electric excitement from the press section as the verdict had been delivered, the blank expressions of the court officers as they’d moved toward her after she’d been found guilty. Her own confused hesitation as to what was expected of her until she’d seen the handcuffs one of them was unfastening from his belt.

      And just as she was escorted out, the flash of pity, instantly erased, that had crossed Max Ross’s features while he’d watched from a few feet away.

      Abruptly she straightened, blocking out the images in her mind. She’d imagined that, she told herself. Pity wasn’t in Ross’s repertoire. If the man had any humanity at all, he certainly didn’t intend to waste it on the woman he thought of as a black widow spider.

      As she’d learned over the past few weeks, he wasn’t alone in that attitude.

      “Your sister-in-law only testified against you after the authorities guaranteed her safety,” Lynn Erikson had told her in prison. “Do I think you’ve got a good chance of having your conviction overturned with what we’ve found out about the search of your summer home? Absolutely.”

      Lynn had shrugged, and in the small gesture it had been possible to see a ghost of the arrogant and high-powered attorney she’d once been before a cocaine addiction had raged out of control, destroying her life and robbing her of her freedom.

      “They didn’t need a search warrant for the house that had been your husband’s, but the summer place on Cape Ann had always been in your name only. The wiring and the chemicals they found there should never have been allowed into evidence, and without them, all the state has is Barbara’s testimony of seeing you hand the package over to Kenneth just before his flight. That’s not enough to prove you knew what was in it.”

      She’d shaken her head wearily, as if to forestall Julia’s hopes. “But it doesn’t change the deal Barbara got, or the fact that permanent custody of Willa was given to her when you got sent here. Oh, maybe after a lengthy court battle you might win your daughter back, but I doubt it. Even if your sister-in-law didn’t have the Tennant fortune backing her, she’d still have the sympathy of any judge. Her own husband was on that private jet—who’s going to take a child from the arms of a victimized widow and find in favor of the woman who got away with killing both her husband and her brother-in-law?” Lynn’s husky voice had softened. “You say Barbara always adored Willa. At least you know your little girl’s being raised by someone who loves her, Julia. A lot of the women in here don’t even have that to hold on to.”

      She owed her freedom to Lynn, Julia thought, turning from the dresser mirror and staring unseeingly out of the grimy window. Maybe the sensible course of action would be to take the disbarred but still brilliant attorney’s advice and accept that Willa was lost to her forever.

      But she didn’t accept that. Because if she ever did, there would be no reason to go on living.

      The teal-blue suit she’d worn that last morning when she’d said goodbye to Willa hadn’t been found when she’d signed for her belongings upon leaving prison. Her heart had been in her mouth as she’d waited for the rest of her possessions. When the clerk had brusquely told her that her leather handbag had also gone missing, and would be forwarded on to her if and when it was found, she’d feared the worst.

      “There was a pair of costume earrings,” she’d told the woman, forcing a meek note into her voice. “They weren’t worth much, but they had sentimental value. Are they still here?”

      The clerk had exchanged a dry look with the guard behind her. “Sentimental value?” She’d snorted disbelievingly. “Were they a present from your late husband, honey? Here they are.”

      Carelessly she’d rolled the huge pearls across the counter, her hostility barely veiled. But Julia was used to it. Most of the prison personnel had made it clear they disagreed with her release. She’d said nothing as the woman went on.

      “Honestly, I’ve seen less tacky fakes in a gumball machine. I’ve heard you rich bitches never wear the real thing, but couldn’t you at least have bought decent copies?”

      Through the grime of the hotel room’s window Julia could see a knot of pedestrians waiting for the light to change on the street below. For a moment she thought she recognized Max Ross standing a few feet away from the group, and she froze. Tall. Broad shoulders. Dark hair. Then the man glanced impatiently up at the red traffic light and she relaxed as she saw his face. It wasn’t him. She was safe for the time being.

      Her jeans were slung across the back of a chair, and she went to them. Feeling inside the front pocket, she withdrew two tissue-wrapped objects. Carefully she nudged aside the nest of tissue and stared at the pair of earrings in her palm.

      Willa had called them her princess earrings. Kenneth had bought them for her as a wedding present, and had insisted she wear them whenever they were out in public together. He’d told her once that he enjoyed displaying his impeccable taste—in jewelry as in women.

      Appearances had been vitally important to him. She hadn’t known until too late that his gifts and attentions to her were as empty as their marriage had soon become, and it was even later that she’d realized his daughter meant just as little to Kenneth Tennant. She and Willa both had existed only as accoutrements to him—part of the background that he’d felt necessary for a man of his station in life.

      He’d been the coldest human being she’d ever known—as emotionless in his personal life as he was in his business dealings. She’d always been privately convinced that the latter had led to his death. Some rival he’d destroyed, some executive he’d ruined—it had to have been someone like that who’d found a way to kill him and make it look as though she’d been responsible. But even though that unknown enemy had robbed her of two years of her life, she had no intention of trying to discover his identity. She was only interested in one thing, and it wasn’t revenge.

      If Kenneth had still been alive, the wife he’d thought of as a possession would no longer have attracted him, Julia thought without self-pity. But the baubles she’d once been adorned with had kept their value. They were South Sea pearls, exquisitely matched and rimmed with diamonds. They were going to get her back her child.

      “I’m going to find her, Ross,” she said softly to the empty room. “I want what your people took from me—my daughter, my life, my freedom—and I’m going to get it. And when I do, we’re going to disappear so completely that you’ll never see us again.”

      “YOU WHAT?”

      Julia stared at the overweight young man sitting in front of her. He hit a key and spoke over his shoulder at her.

      “I said it only took me a couple of hours to do the job after you left on Tuesday. You should have given me a number where I could reach you.” He tucked a greasy strand of hair behind his ear. “So you’ve been in the joint, huh? What for—dealing?”

      There was absent curiosity in his tone, but most of his attention was focused on the computer screen in front of him. He typed in another command