Heart of Gold - By Tami Hoag Page 0,12
he had seen in the last few years had been a perversion of normal life.
“Are you—”
“I’d rather not discuss my personal life,” he said curtly.
Deep inside him was the hollow ring of derisive laughter. He didn’t have a personal life to discuss. His job was his life, because that was the way it had to be. He lived in a sort of vacuum, existing with no emotional entanglements, because emotional entanglements were dangerous to all parties involved. He had learned that lesson in the cruelest way possible.
“I’m sorry,” Faith said quietly, not sure where the words had come from. A sudden sense of emptiness ached in her chest as she looked at Shane. The pain was so sharp, it nearly took her breath away.
“Mr. Callan, how seriously are you taking these threats that have been made against Faith?” Alaina asked.
“Considering her value as a witness in the Data-Tech case, we have to take every precaution,” Shane said, glad to have something concrete to focus his attention on. “We have every reason to believe Gerrard and his accomplices will make good on the threats if given the chance.”
“The whole thing is ridiculous,” Faith grumbled. “William isn’t violent; he was only out for the money.”
“Well, you would know more about that than I,” Shane remarked dryly, his face showing nothing of the unrest inside him. A part of him stubbornly insisted she was guilty. Another part of him wanted to believe in her innocence. And everything male in him simply ached looking at her.
Where had his concentration gone? What had happened to his ability to detach himself emotionally? Faith Kincaid was a job. It made no difference to him if she was guilty or not. So why did he suddenly have this war raging inside him?
He sat back in his chair with a frustrated sigh and reached inside his coat for a cigarette as Jayne and Lindy returned from the kitchen with the pudding.
“Unless you intend on eating your pudding with that cigarette, I’ll have to ask you to leave, Mr. Callan,” Faith said with as much haughty disdain as she could muster. “This dining room is a smoke-free environment.”
Shane stared at her, nonplussed. “You’re joking.”
“I’m afraid she’s not,” Alaina said, rising from her chair with a wry smile. “Come along, Mr. Callan. We’ll banish ourselves to the front porch.”
Outside the evening had turned a darker shade of gray. The lights that flanked the double doors created a small pool of warm light on the porch. Shane automatically shunned it in favor of a darker spot with a sweeping view of the grounds, where he could put his back to the wall and maintain a cautious vigil.
“Where were you practicing law before you came here?” He lit Alaina’s cigarette for her and waited for an answer he already knew. Banks had hurriedly scraped up facts on Alaina Montgomery and on Jayne Jordan, a film critic who had been based in LA until two months ago.
“Chicago,” she said on a stream of smoke.
“Strange coincidence, isn’t it?” Shane lit his own cigarette and took a long, deep pull on it. “That you were living in the same city as DataTech headquarters.”
“Life’s funny,” she said, but her tone held no laughter.
“What made you give up a lucrative practice and move out here?”
“I was burned out.”
She wasn’t telling him everything, but then he’d known she wouldn’t. Alaina was a woman who gave away only what was absolutely necessary, automatically holding facts in reserve. He didn’t envy anyone going up against her in a courtroom.
As she looked up at him, Shane recognized something in her direct, measuring gaze—cynicism, wariness; two of his own best friends.
“I didn’t ask you out here to discuss the vagaries of fate, Mr. Callan. I want to talk about Faith.”
“What about her?”
“I don’t want to see her hurt—either by William Gerrard or you.”
“Do you want to see her dead?” he asked point-blank. He could see the question confused her for only a split second; then her mind put together the same puzzle pieces his had.
She laughed, seemingly amused by his deduction. Almost admiringly she said, “My, you’re a bastard.”
“I’m a realist.” He picked a fleck of tobacco off his tongue, his eyes never leaving Alaina’s. “You came here about the same time Faith did. You obviously ran with a flashy crowd. No reason you couldn’t have known the DataTech big shots.”
“What’s my motive for killing my best friend?” she asked, obviously intrigued by his theory.
“Money is always a nice neat one. Lord knows