Sweet Anger(20)
The question was way out of line. He knew it. And she was smart enough to know it, too, because she looked at him just as probingly as he was looking at her. “I trusted my husband.”
He continued to stare directly into her eyes for several moments while jealousy for Thomas Wynne ate at him like gnawing teeth. Wynne had had the absolute love and trust of this woman. And he had betrayed both. So help him God, if Hunter could have choked the life out of Wynne at that moment, he would have.
He turned away from the sight of her to regain his composure. Over his shoulder he asked, “Based on your husband’s personality, his liking to play host, his charisma, is it reasonable to assume that he entertained on his business trips?”
He glared at the defense attorney, daring him to object. When the other man remained still, Kari answered slowly. “Yes. I suppose that’s a reasonable assumption.”
“And since we’ve already established that all the trips he took alone were for business purposes, we have to assume that all his entertaining was for business purposes as well. Right?”
She directed a pleading glance at the defense attorney’s table, but he was busy scribbling notes. “I guess so,” she answered softly. “Although I don’t know that for fact. And remember, Thomas had business interests other than those concerning the city.”
Now it was going to get nasty. If there were any other way … But there wasn’t. He had no choice but to drop a ton of bricks on her head, to publicly humiliate her. Drawing a deep breath, he consulted the file again before returning it to the table. Slowly, resolutely, he walked toward the witness box.
When he was so close that the tips of his shoes were touching it, he asked, “Did you ever hear your husband mention a business associate by the name of Gloria Patten?”
“No.”
“A Gloria Patten of San Francisco?”
“No.”
“What about a Serena Holly of New Orleans?”
She swallowed hard, but her eyes remained unflinchingly on his. “No.”
“A Miss Divine of New York City or a Miss Ortega from San Juan, Puerto Rico? Do any of those names ring a bell?”
“No.”
“Yet these are women your husband must have conducted business with. City of Denver business. Because at its expense he entertained them frequently.”
She gasped and pressed a closed fist against her heart. “Stop,” she whispered.
“What business do you think your husband had with these women, Mrs. Wynne?”
“I don’t know,” she rasped.
A low hum of response buzzed through the spectators. The judge began to tap his gavel. Hunter rounded the witness box and came to stand directly beside Kari. With her eyes wide and wary, she followed his movements. “You don’t know what business your husband had with these women?”
“No.”
“It must have been extensive. Think back—”
“Your Honor, this is outrageous. The witness—”
“Mr. McKee—”
“Please stop,” Kari cried.
He placed one foot on the step of the witness box. “He entertained them frequently. Every time he was in their respective cities.”
“No!”
“In his hotel suite.”
“You’re lying!”
“Your Honor—”
“Mr. McKee, please limit your questions—”
“In his bedroom. All night.”
“No!” she screamed.
She shot to her feet. She reeled. Her eyes closed. She pitched forward.
Chapter Four
HUNTER’S ARMS WERE THERE TO CATCH HER. HE SWEPT her up against his chest, alarmed that she weighed no more than a child. Her head lolled against his arm. She was drastically pale. Her eyelids, shadowed by fatigue to a soft lavender, lay perfectly still. The chalky lips were slightly parted.
The courtroom had been pitched into bedlam, first by Hunter’s unorthodox questioning, then by Kari’s dramatic reaction to it. Reporters and photographers were scrambling for vantage points. Spectators were on their feet, clambering for the aisles. Bailiffs were valiantly trying to restrain them. The judge was banging his gavel and shouting for order. The defense attorney was apoplectically demanding attention.
With the reigning pandemonium providing a diversion, Hunter carried Kari toward a side exit. “Get out of my way,” he snarled at the bailiff who ill-advisedly blocked his path. The bailiff swung open the door for him and stepped aside.
Down the corridor from the courtroom was a small unmarked office. It had been placed at Hunter’s disposal because the main D.A.’s office was a separate building several blocks from the courthouse. It was a room where he could retreat during court recesses or use to privately receive key witnesses. He now headed toward that office with rushed footsteps. He didn’t want anyone to follow him or know where he was taking her. No one would take better care of her than he would. He went into the office, kicked the door shut behind him, and deposited her on an aged leather sofa.