His eyes bore into her. “Because I don’t do things like that. If I buy a condominium, it’s because I can afford it. If I decorate it, I’ll do it in a way I can hack. I’m not a charity case. Until you came along, I thought I was doing real well financially. I don’t want you telling me that what I earn isn’t enough. I pay my own way, Susan. I’m no gigolo.”
She was taken aback, but only for a minute. “I thought you wanted a nice place.”
“I already have a nice place,” he said, tossing one sock aside, “and I resent that little man downstairs—or you—suggesting that it isn’t adequate as it is. I like this place. I never said I was in a rush to decorate it, and I never gave you permission to do it. I never gave you permission to do anything.” Tossing the second sock aside, he stood.
“I thought we were beyond that.”
“Beyond what? Talking? Discussing things? Asking the other’s opinion?” He was working himself into a royal snit, letting off the frustration that had built through a tense and sleepless night. “What kind of relationship is this, anyway?”
“That’s a good question,” Susan said. Everything inside her suddenly hurt. Her pain came out as indignance. “Apparently I overestimated it.”
“Damn right, you did. We’ve known each other for little more than two weeks, yet you assume I’ll lie down and let you walk all over me. Let me tell you something, sweetheart,” he jabbed his bare chest with his thumb, “no woman does that to me. I’m the man in my house. I make the decisions.”
Susan was stunned. “I don’t believe I’m hearing this,” she murmured, then raised her voice. “You’re a fraud, Sam Craig! You have long hair and sing a liberal song, but it’s a front. You’re a cop, as traditional as they come. Your woman is good for two things, food and sex. You’re little better than a Neanderthal.”
Hands on his hips, he glared at her. Wearing nothing but a low-slung pair of jeans and a disgruntled expression, he did look primitive. “Maybe, but that’s the way it is. I’ve lived alone for a long time and I don’t like people waltzing in and taking over. This is my house. Got that? And another thing—I don’t like coming home from work grubby and tired to find you dripping in silk, playing footsies with a guy who’s probably as queer as a three-dollar bill.”
Susan mirrored his angry stance, planting her own hands on her hips. “Maybe you don’t like coming home from work to find me, period.”
Running his fingers through his hair, he looked away. “I’m tired. I don’t need this shit.”
Having long since forgotten the importance of keeping her voice down, Susan cried, “There wouldn’t have beenanyshit if you’d been a little cooperative. But you couldn’t do that, could you? You take delight in making a fool of me. You always have.” She drew herself up straight. “Well, I don’t needthatshit. I don’t know why I bother with you at all.”
“Because,” he said in a sarcastic drawl, “you like where I take you in bed. Face it, sweetheart. That’s the crux of the appeal.”
“You’re crude.”
He barked out a laugh. “Crude? Me? Look who’s talking.”
“I’m not crude.”
“Want some quotes?”
She didn’t, and she was too upset to want much of anything but a speedy escape. “I thought we could find a comfortable meeting ground, but that’s impossible. You’re a lost cause, Sam. You have no class. None at all.” With her hair flying, she whirled around and left while she still had the last word.
***
On Wednesday afternoon, Savannah delivered her final argument to the jury. The judge’s charge was brief and to the point, and by three o’clock the jury was sent off to deliberate. Savannah retired to her office to await their return, but by nine o’clock, they were sequestered for the night. With no hope of a verdict then, Savannah stopped home for the mail before going to Jared’s. After sleeping the night away in his bed, she awoke feeling on edge.
“Is it always this way?” he asked, having been replaced by the morning DJ in time to wake Savannah. Now he stood by the side of the bed, while she sat at the edge, leaning against him as he stroked her back.
It was a divine way to wake up, Savannah knew. She only wished she could enjoy it fully. But she was tense. “When a trial goes longer than three or four days, there’s more at stake. It’s hard when the jury’s out.”
“Any idea how long they’ll be?”
She shook her head against his stomach, then wrapped her arms around his waist. “Could be two hours or two days. I don’t want to begin to think about any longer than that.”
***
Fortunately, she didn’t have to. The jury came back shortly after noon that day with guilty verdicts on nineteen of the twenty-six counts. It was a definite victory for Savannah and the state, and in its wake came multiple interviews with the media and a meeting with Paul. As she’d gotten in the habit of doing, Savannah took her assistants, in this case Arnie and Katherine, out for a celebratory dinner to thank them for their help on the case, but the celebration wasn’t a lingering one. Savannah wanted to go home. She wasn’t feeling well.
Jared called her at her townhouse at nine. He already knew the verdict; she’d left him a message earlier, and he’d followed the news reports, but he hadn’t spoken with her since morning. “You must be thrilled.”
“Uh-huh.”
It was a minute before he said anything. Then, “You don’t sound it.”
“I’m so tired.”
