Sweet Anger(84)

“Because of his allegations against your late husband?”

“Yes.”

The attorney stepped between her and the cameras. “These questions have no bearing on the current situation. Ms. Stewart has no further comments.”

“Yes, I do,” Kari countered. A hush fell over the jostling crowd. Even the noise of passing traffic didn’t seem to affect the sudden quiet.

A few months ago she would have grasped this chance to lambaste Hunter McKee. Now she was going to take the opportunity to defend him.

Rather than telling them how he maligned the reputations of dead men, how he victimized their widows, how he used controversial trials as stepping-stones to further his own career, she was going to take his side. She had the power to ruin him by revealing that he had sneaked into her cell in the middle of the night.

Oh, what a sweet secret that was to keep!

How could she have ever thought he was a manipulative opportunist? The man she loved was a man of integrity, who didn’t need to play political games to win the public’s confidence. To uphold a principle he firmly believed in, he had sent the woman he loved to jail. But he had also risked personal ruination by spending the night with her in her cell.

The eager reporters staring up at her would hang onto every word she spoke. She would be quoted and recorded and photographed. A year ago she would have used every means of ammunition available to destroy Hunter McKee. Yet now all she could think of was how much she loved him.

“It’s true,” she began quietly, “that at one time I did hold a personal grudge against District Attorney McKee. But that’s just what it was—a personal grudge. In a most unprofessional way, I used my access to the media to slander him.”

Emotion welled up inside her and she desperately hoped she wouldn’t cry. “Unlike me, he separated his personal feelings from his professional duty in this case. He is a man of integrity. He refused to compromise that integrity, no matter what it cost him personally. He felt strongly about my withholding information. He acted upon it in the only way he could.”

She could tell they were disappointed. What she had said came straight from her heart. She had organized the thoughts in her own mind, reconciled them, acknowledged them, before speaking them aloud. But they hadn’t been the tantalizing kind of statements that made good news copy.

“Now if you’ll excuse us,” the attorney intervened once again, “Ms. Stewart has suffered a terrible ordeal.” Taking her elbow in a surprisingly strong hand, he escorted her toward his car.


Newswise, it was a record day. The late evening television newscasts carried numerous stories about the doctor and nurse who had been operating a blackmarket baby ring from one of the city’s major hospitals. The three children who had been kidnapped and sold had been located. Their tearful parents had been interviewed at length. The doctor was seen hiding his face as he was led handcuffed from a police car into the jail.

Kari felt resentful that she hadn’t been a part of all the excitement, but Pinkie had refused to let her work that day. When the attorney dropped her off at the TV station, Pinkie had blown a fuse. He wouldn’t even let her check the mail on her desk.

“Go home. Rest. Bonnie and I will come by after work. Now get out of here; I’m busy. Has somebody gone out to talk to the Hus … Hoos … hell, whatever their names are? Is someone on the way there now? Come on, let’s haul some ass around here!”

When they arrived at Kari’s condo, Pinkie nursed the two drinks Bonnie allowed him while she converted a sack of groceries into a home-cooked meal. They left as soon as the dishes were done.

The empty evening yawned in front of Kari. She had taken a long nap that afternoon, so she wasn’t sleepy. Her mind wouldn’t stay on a book; there was nothing to watch on television; there was no one to talk to. There was nothing to do but fill the hours with worry.

Why hadn’t Hunter called? She knew he must have been busy all day, but surely he could have taken five minutes to call and ask about her health or her mental state or something. Why hadn’t she heard from him?

She was still agonizing over it when her doorbell rang close to midnight. She ran to the door. When she saw him through the peephole, she sighed her relief and pulled open the door.

“May I come in?”

She stepped aside.

“May I have a drink?”

Without waiting for her consent, he went straight to the portable bar and poured himself a stiff Scotch. He drank it down in one stinging swallow.

He looked haggard. When he’d come in, he’d been holding his coat and vest over his shoulder by a crooked index finger. They had been dropped on the sofa as he passed it. His shirt was wrinkled and limp. His tie had been loosened. There was a shadow of beard on his chin. His cheeks looked gaunt and there were bruises of fatigue around his eyes. For once his glasses didn’t make him appear distinguished but looked heavy as they sat on the bridge of his nose. If anything had combed his hair recently, it had been impatient fingers.