Nothing To Lose. RaeAnne Thayne
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that was thrown out at trial that proves you could never have killed anyone.”
He shook his head in resignation, but there was a warmth in his eyes that she hadn’t seen in a long while.
“You never did know when to give up the fight, did you. Remember when you brought home that stray mutt and the Judge said under no conditions would that mangy thing ever be allowed in our house? You hid him at Suzie Walker’s house down the street and spent weeks wearing the Judge down.”
She smiled at the memory. “I think what finally did the trick was the ten-page research paper I did—complete with footnotes and annotations—outlining how child development experts believe pets can be beneficial to young minds.”
“That’s funny. I thought it was the amateur ad campaign you shot of you taking care of Rascal down at Suzy Walker’s—feeding him, walking him, teaching him tricks.”
“I miss that dog. You know, he would have died before admitting it but I think the Judge warmed up to Rascal eventually. After you moved out, I even caught him petting him a few times.”
Hunter unbent enough to smile—or as close as he came to a smile these days anyway. Too quickly, though, he sobered. “You’re not going to win this one, Tay. You need to face facts here. God knows, I have. Life is a hell of a lot easier to deal with after you stop holding on to foolish hope.”
“Without hope, what else do you have?”
He didn’t answer, but she saw the truth in the bleakness of his eyes. Nothing. He had nothing. She wouldn’t have thought it possible but her heart cracked apart a little more.
Before she could respond, the guard walked up behind Hunter. “Time’s up,” he said, his features stony.
Oh, she hated time, especially each reminder that it was quickly running out.
“I haven’t given up hope,” she said urgently into the phone, wishing more than anything that she could throw her arms around her brother. “I will never give up hope, Hunter. You did nothing wrong and I will do whatever it takes to prove that to the world.”
Whatever brief moment of levity they had shared over the memory of a stray mutt, Hunter had once more donned that impassive mask. “Don’t waste your life on me, Tay. I’m not worth it. Go back and finish your residency. Be a doctor. Help people.”
She wanted that—oh, how she wanted that—but right now she had other work.
“I’ll see you next Tuesday,” she said.
He looked as if he wanted to argue, but the guard roughly snapped on the transfer handcuffs and led him out of the room.
She watched him go, his back tall and straight, and wondered how much more of him would crumble away before next Tuesday.
Wyatt never minded waiting.
He considered it research, a rare and wonderful chance to study people in a variety of situations, the whole rich texture of the human experience.
He spent the twenty minutes he waited for Taylor cataloguing the others in the waiting room, wondering about their stories, imagining the journeys their lives had taken to lead them to this point.
As he did wherever he went, his mind recorded impressions as he looked around the room.
He saw an older woman with stunning blue eyes and a face etched with character holding tight to the arms of her chair, her spine straight and her feet in their sensible brown shoes precisely lined up on the floor. Was she here to see a son or a grandson? he wondered.
Across the room sat a man of about fifty with a tattoo of an American flag just below his shirtsleeve and an Elvis-like pompadour and sideburns. He was a mechanic, Wyatt figured, at least judging by the grime under his fingernails and the faint shadow of permanent oil stains on the knees of his jeans. The man fidgeted and glanced at the clock every few moments while pretending to leaf through a hot-rod magazine.
Nearest the door to the visiting area sat a pregnant girl who couldn’t have been a day older than eighteen, her belly stretched beneath a blue T-shirt that exposed a few inches of skin above her low-rider jeans. She chewed gum loudly and looked bored to tears, but every once in a while she paused to lay a loving hand across her stomach and her heavily made-up features would soften with a warm maternal glow.
No, he didn’t mind waiting. This was life, gritty and real.
He was making a few notes from his conversation with Hunter in the steno notebook he had carried in with him when the man’s sister walked through the checkpoint.
She wasn’t a frail woman by any means, but for just a moment as she paused there at the entrance to the waiting room, she looked fragile, brittle almost. When she caught sight of him, he watched her take a deep breath and then paste on a polite smile as she walked toward him with a grace that seemed out of place here.
“Mr. McKinnon. Thank you for waiting.”
She was extraordinarily beautiful, he thought, with that luminous skin and those dark blue eyes. He wondered if she had any idea how fresh and lovely she looked here in these grim surroundings, even with exhaustion stamped on her features.
“No problem. I didn’t mind, especially since I cut into your time with your brother.”
She looked as if she wanted to say something, then changed her mind.
“I wanted to apologize for the other night at your book signing, for coming on so strong,” she said after a moment. “I suppose I’m a little too protective of Hunter. He tells me I am, anyway.”
“It’s natural in this situation. Perfectly understandable. You want to make everything right again for him, the way things were before all of this happened.”
“I can’t do that.” The bleakness in her voice gave him the oddest urge to pull her into his arms.
“Probably not.” He debated the wisdom of his next words, then threw caution to the wind. “Your brother knows his own mind. Despite the fact that most of his life is out of his control now and other people now tell him when he can shower and what he can eat, he’s not helpless. He has his reasons for wanting to tell his story and he trusts me not to write a ‘salacious’ book. Maybe you should too.”
She winced at his deliberate use of her word from the other night. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I’ve read a few of your books and none of them were salacious. I’m sure this one wouldn’t be either.”
She closed her eyes for a moment and he was struck by the pale tracery of veins in her eyelids. She had the delicate skin of a redhead but she still looked as if she had spent too much time indoors lately.
When she opened her eyes again there was a determined light in them. “You’re right, Hunter wants you to do this book and he’s asked me to cooperate with you. I can do little enough to help him, but at least I can do this.”
“Against your better instincts.”
“Maybe. But haven’t you ever gone ahead with something when your instincts were telling you to run, Mr. McKinnon?”
He thought of how his own instincts were warning him right now to run away from this woman with her expressive eyes and her passionate defense of her brother. If he let her, he had a strong feeling she could be hazardous not only to this project but, worse, to his heart.
“Listen, I know a great diner in Draper,” he said, deciding to ignore his better judgment. “What do you say I buy you a cup of coffee and we can talk about the book? I’ll see if I can allay some of your concerns—and maybe convince you to call me Wyatt.”
Indecision flickered on her features. She started to nibble her lip, then checked the motion. “All right,” she said, with a quick glance at her watch. “I have a study group at seven but I’m free until then.”
Wyatt refused to worry about the excitement flowing through him at the idea of