“You do know something.”
“Benjie is innocent.”
“But he’s somehow involved.Tell me, Cooper.Please.I don’t want you going to prison for something you didn’t do.”
“You hired Peter so that wouldn’t happen.”
“But he can only do so much.”
Cooper stared off at the wall.His expression was tighter than ever when he looked back at me.“You’re spending a lot of money on this, Jill, even though you know I didn’t want it.Well, I’ve agreed to be represented by your man, but that doesn’t mean that I’ve sold him my soul.You’re right; he can only do so much.I’m not asking that he prove me innocent, or that he prove anyone else guilty.All I’m asking is that he establish reasonable doubt in the minds of those jurors.”
“But if Benjie has information that can prove your innocence.…”
“Leave Benjie alone.”
“He’s an adult.At some point he has to take responsibility for his actions.”
“Do you think I don’t know that?”Cooper barked.
I backed off a bit, but only to the extent of moderating my voice to a more gentle tone.“Then tell me what you know.TellPeterwhat you know.If Benjie saw something, he’ll be protected.If he was actually involved, he could get immunity by testifying for the state.”
“Leave it, Jill.”His voice was as darkly ominous and unyielding as his eyes.
I felt pushed to a crossroads, where I had to choose between respecting Cooper’s wishes for the sake of our friendship or risking that friendship for the sake of his future.It was a no-win situation.
“I don’t like this,” I whispered, my voice breaking.
“Don’t you dare cry.”
“I don’t like it at all.”
Leaning forward, he reached for my hand.When I offered it, he closed his fingers tightly around it.“Everything’s going to be okay, Jill.Trust me.Trust Peter.I’ll be fine.”
How many times I said those words in the course of the next few days I didn’t know, but at some point they ceased referring to Cooper and began referring to me.That point came when I realized I missed Peter.
I didn’t know why I missed him.On top of my worry about Cooper, I had plenty to do to catch up on what I’d missed while I’d been gone.But still there were those times—odd times, quiet times—when I felt lonely in ways I hadn’t felt since right after Adam had died.
It was bad enough that I still craved him.I’dhave thought that after the sexually active four days we’d spent together, my body would be sated.The problem was that sexually active wasn’t necessarily sexually exhausted.All I had to do was to recall any one of the things we’d done together and my temperature rose.
Worse, though, the craving wasn’t only physical.I kept thinking about the time we’d spent together in New York and how much I’d enjoyed it.I remembered the satisfaction I felt when we talked, even when we disagreed.I remembered the meals we’d eaten together.I remembered showering while he shaved.I remembered the silences we’d shared, when we’d each been lost in our own thoughts with only the link of our arms or our hands to connect us.I remembered the pleasure in that, and I missed it.
I’ll be fine,I told myself.It was the novelty of Peter that had gotten to me.I’d calm down.I’d get used to being alone again.I’d fall back into the old groove.That’s what I wanted.
Still, I looked forward to his arrival with growing enthusiasm, and by the time Saturday finally arrived, I felt as though I’d been waiting four weeks, rather than four days to see him.
I drove into Bangor to meet his plane, and the feeling was much like the one I’d had the week before, when I’d first caught sight of him at the show.At the moment he passed through the terminal door, I felt everything else in the room fall into a hazy background.This time, there wasnothing to shatter the moment.I went toward him, first at a properly sedate walk, then a bit faster, finally at a light run.Peter had set his carry-on down by the time I reached him, and when I flew into his arms, he caught me tight, whipped me off my feet and whirled me around.
We kissed long and well.
“Let’s get out of here,” he growled at last.With his bag over his shoulder and his coat over his arm to hide his arousal from the world, he ushered me to the parking lot.
We talked the entire time during the drive to my house—about his work, about Cooper and Benjie, about little nothings from the weekend before.As soon as Peter stopped for a breath, I picked up, and the instant I stopped, Peter started again.Listening to us, one would have thought that we either had to squeeze a whole lot in a very little time, or that we were totally starved for conversation.
I’m not sure it was conversation that we were starved for.As soon as we parked the car and went inside, Peter dropped his things and picked me up in his arms.
“Where’ll it be?”he asked in a hoarse whisper.
But the light in his eyes asked another question, one I’d been asking myself since I’d returned.It was one thing for Peter and I to make love in the neutral territory of a hotel in New York, another for us to make love in my house.I’d never doubted that we would make love if he came.But where?In my room or his?Which bedwould we share during the night—the one he’d slept in before, or the one I’d shared with Adam?
