Sweet Anger(77)

“Who was your source?”

She stared up at him for a long moment. Her eyes were sad and apologetic. “Please don’t ask me that, Hunter. You know I can’t tell you.”

“This isn’t a game, Kari. You’ve got to tell me. Your informant might be the culprit. He might be suffering a guilty conscience, wanting to confess but afraid to.”

“No, he isn’t the one. And I use ‘he’ as an impersonal pronoun, not to specify gender.”

“You took the word of one individual and—”

“Two. I have two sources. I met one face-to-face. The other confirmed over the telephone what the first told me. They’re both frightened.”

“We’ll protect them until we have enough evidence to arrest the suspects. Their names won’t be divulged. I promise.”

“I promised, Hunter, before you did. I can’t reveal my source.”

“Even if it means going to jail?” he asked quietly.

She could feel the blood draining from her face. “Jail?”

Hunter began to pace. “When I came over here tonight, I was mad as hell at you. I saw months of hard work going down the drain. But I’m a pussycat compared to the chief detective assigned to this case. He’s a hard-nosed cop, Kari. I pleaded with him on your behalf. I begged him to let me talk to you first. I promised to deliver you and the names of your sources to him first thing in the morning.”

“You shouldn’t have promised that. I can’t give them to him.”

“And me?”

“I can’t give them to you, either.”

He caught her to him, pressing her face against his throat. “Kari, for once in your life, don’t be stubborn. Relent this time. Give me a phone number, an address, something to go on, anything.”

She clung to him, her eyes squeezed shut. Her lips were touching the skin of his throat. “And if I don’t?”

With the pads of his fingers, he rubbed her scalp. “They’ll put you in jail for obstruction of justice.”

She raised her head. Her eyes were glassy with tears of apprehension. “You’d let them send me to jail?”

His eyes roved over her face, taking in the loveliness and the fear. His heart twisted with pain, but he replied, “I’d have no choice.”

Her eyes closed, forcing the tears between the lids. They rolled down her cheeks. “No, I guess you wouldn’t,” she said softly.

He drew her closer to him and bent over her protectively. She felt so small in his arms. Barefoot as she was, the top of her head came only to the base of his neck. He was overwhelmed with a need to protect her, but she was making it impossible. He spoke into her hair. “I told them there was no need to send a car for you in the morning, that you’d come in on your own.”

“Thank you.”

“Nine o’clock tomorrow. For convenience sake, let’s meet in my office.”

“Nine o’clock,” she repeated. Her hands slid around his waist. The muscles beneath the stretched cotton of his shirt were familiar. The palms of her hands glided over his back. He felt so strong. She wished he could imbue her with strength and courage.

“Change your mind. Please,” he whispered desperately. “How in the hell do you think I could lock you in a jail cell?”

“How do you think I could betray my professional code of ethics?”

He muttered a curse of frustration, as he pulled back. Then he lowered his head and stamped his mouth over hers. He kissed her long and deep, but the passion was stimulated by anxiety, not desire. When they broke apart, they stared into each other’s eyes for a long minute.

He left as he had come, without a word.


She was at Hunter’s office by eight forty-five, not wanting to take a chance on being late and having them send the police after her. Being put under arrest and hustled off to jail didn’t bear thinking about.

Hunter’s secretary greeted her and solemnly led her into the inner office. The moment she stepped through the door, Hunter jumped from his chair and came around his desk to take her arm. Did she look as faint as she felt? she wondered.

The other man in the office was less eager to put her at ease and much less courteous. He came to his feet slowly, a triumphant smirk on his thick lips. He both frightened and repelled her.

He was short and brawny. The lower part of his jaw was shadowed blue with a heavy beard. He had oiled black hair with flakes of dandruff in it. He looked like he would eat meatball sandwiches with garlic for lunch and make crude comments about women.

She had heard of Lieutenant Harris. He was reputed to be a valuable law enforcement officer, a cunning detective, with the tenacity of a bulldog and a mind as shrewd and analytical as his piercing black eyes intimated.