Til Death Do Us Part (46 page)

“I never meant for anyone to get hurt.” Trey came toward Cleo, his hands open in supplication. “You've got to believe me. When I took that shot at you right after Uncle George's funeral, I had no intention of harming you. I just meant to frighten you.”

“You were the one! My God, it was you all along.” Cleo curved her fingers into claws and lifted them toward Trey. “You put spiders in my bathroom and poison in my tea. You—”

“No, Cleo. No! I didn't. I swear I didn't. All I did was take a shot at you to try to scare you.”

When Trey reached out for Cleo, Roarke stepped between them. Trey gazed into Roarke's stern face and backed away.

“Do you expect me to believe that you haven't been behind the other three attempts on my life?” Cleo wanted
to put her hands around Trey's throat and choke the life out of him for what he'd put her through, for what he'd done to her and Aunt Beatrice and all the employees at McNamara's.

“I don't know who's been trying to kill you,” Trey said. “But I would never hurt you. Scare you into selling McNamara Industries? Yes. But try to kill you? Never.”

“Come on, Cleo, you don't need any more of this. Not tonight.” Roarke put his arm around her shoulders. “Don't do this to yourself.” Leaning over, he whispered in her ear, “Think of the baby.”

She allowed Roarke to lead her out of the interrogation room and back down the hall toward the sheriff's office. When they reached the end of the corridor, Cleo heard her aunt Oralie's voice.

“Oh, God, they're here.” Cleo leaned against Roarke.

“You don't have to see them tonight, honey. I can take you out of here the back way. We can check into a motel. You can face them tomorrow.”

“No. I'm not running away. It's past time I took charge of this situation.” Cleo moved out of Roarke's arms and walked down the hall.

He followed her, but stayed several steps behind, ready to come to her aid only if she needed him.

Daphne caught a glimpse of Cleo and called out loudly, “There she is mother! You tell her to get Trey out of this jail right now.”

Oralie rushed toward Cleo, hysterically waving her arms in the air. “What have you done to Trey? How dare you have him locked up in this awful place. I demand that you have him released this very minute.”

“How could you allow the sheriff to arrest Trey?” Daphne pursed her lips and glared at Cleo.

Cleo marched past Daphne, past Oralie, and stopped
dead still in front of Perry Sutton. Aunt Beatrice stood several feet away, her arm around a weeping Marla. Aunt Beatrice shrugged her slender shoulders and smiled sadly.

“Trey was caught tampering with the computer system at McNamara's as well as placing a small bomb in the main production room at the plant. He's confessed to being behind all the sabotage that's taken place since Uncle George's death.”

“That's not possible,” Oralie cried out. “You're framing Trey. You want him out of McNamara's. You never wanted him working there in the first place.”

Cleo ignored her aunt's outburst, keeping her eyes focused on her uncle Perry's somber face. “Trey also admitted to being the one who took a shot at me right after Uncle George's funeral.”

“You're lying!” Daphne shouted.

“Trey has been arrested and is facing some serious charges, Uncle Perry,” Cleo said. “If he's convicted, and I have no doubt he will be, he's going to be in prison for years.”

“I understand.” Bowing his head, Perry looked down at the floor.

“Well, I don't understand,” Oralie said. “This is a family matter. There was no need to turn Trey over to the sheriff.”

Cleo spun around and faced her wild-eyed, angry aunt. “Trey tried to shoot me, Aunt Oralie, and he put McNamara Industries' employees in danger, as well as cost the company thousands of dollars. He committed more than one crime. What do you think I should do—slap him on the hand and tell him to be a good boy from now on?”

“You—you can't let him go to prison. I won't allow it! Do you hear me? I won't allow it.” Oralie pointed her finger in Cleo's face.

“Get your finger out of my face right now, Aunt Oralie, or I'm going to bite it off!”

“How dare you threaten me!” Oralie lowered her finger.

“If you think that was a threat, you haven't heard anything yet.”

Phil Bacon walked up the hall and stopped by Roarke's side. “What's going on?”

“Shh, I think my wife is just about to set up some new ground rules.”

“Trey is going to have to pay for his crimes. He'll go to trial and if he's convicted he'll be sentenced to prison,” Cleo told her aunt. “I will not lift a finger to help him.”

“You're cold and heartless and—”

“I will not discuss this with you ever again after tonight. I want you and your family to move out of Aunt Beatrice's home. Uncle George left the house to her, you know. After all, it did belong to her mother's family. Aunt Beatrice has been far too generous allowing y'all to make her home yours all these years.” Cleo took a deep breath. “I'll give y'all one month to find somewhere else to live.”

“You don't mean what you're saying.” Oralie stared at Cleo in disbelief.

“Yes, I mean every word I've said. I'm going to have a baby and my child is my first priority. I don't want my son or daughter living in a house with y'all.”

Oralie glanced across the room at her cousin, who still had her arm around Marla's trembling shoulders. “Beatrice, you won't let her do this, will you?”

Beatrice looked at Perry, who had his back to her. “Yes, Oralie, I'm afraid I will let her. It's long past time that you left.”

Oralie fussed and fumed and cried. Roarke walked
around the edge of the room and watched Cleo as she came toward him.

“I'm tired,” she said. “There's nothing else I can do here tonight. I'd like to go home now, Simon.”

She looked so pale and delicate, as if the lightest breeze might blow her off her feet. He wanted to lift her in his arms and carry her away from everything and everyone who'd ever hurt her. But he didn't. He knew she needed to walk away on her on two feet, under her own steam. Cleo McNamara Roarke had finally taken complete charge of her life, and he, for one, felt like applauding her.

R
OARKE LAY IN
the darkness, listening to Cleo breathe. She had slept restlessly, tossing and turning most of the night. He'd slept very little and had been awake for quite some time. Dawn light came through the windows and French doors, permeating the room with a muted, rosy glow. He looked at Cleo, her face partially in shadow as she lay on her side, her back to him. She was so lovely, her features so utterly, completely feminine.

The oddest thought went through his mind. He wanted to memorize her face, so that over the years he would never forget exactly how she looked at this precise moment.

Cleo awoke with a start. Gasping for air, she shot straight up in bed. Roarke sat up beside her and pulled her into his arms. Maybe she didn't want his comfort, but he knew she damn well needed it. She was a strong woman, but sometimes the strongest people needed someone to lean on, someone to let them know they weren't all alone. He halfway expected her to resist him, but she didn't. Relaxing against him, she laid her head on his shoulder.

“You're safe, honey.” Brushing away an errant red strand of hair that had fallen across her forehead, Roarke kissed her temple.

He hadn't realized how much he'd missed her girlish giggles or her breath-stopping smiles or her warm, enthusiastic loving. He'd become used to Cleo. As the old song
went, he'd become accustomed to her. That had been his mistake—his letting himself get emotionally involved. There hadn't been a woman in his life on a steady basis since his divorce from Hope. Women had come in and out of his life over the past fifteen years, but not one of them had put a dent in his defensive armor.

But Cleo had.

“Is it over, Simon? I mean really over?” Lifting her head off his shoulder, she looked at him, her eyes pleading for reassurance. “Now that Trey is in jail, am I safe?”

He wished he could tell her that it
was
over, that she
was
safe. But he couldn't. His gut instincts told him that Trey Sutton was telling the truth, that he had been responsible for shooting at Cleo right after George McNamara's death, but not for any of the other attempts on her life. If Trey had been honest with them, that meant the greater danger to Cleo still existed. Whoever wanted her dead was still free to try again.

Holding her securely in his embrace, Roarke stroked her arm tenderly. “I don't know. I honestly don't know. I'd like to think that we don't have anything else to worry about, but I tend to think Trey was telling us the truth last night.”

“If he was, that means Daphne or Hugh or Uncle Perry or maybe even Aunt Oralie or Marla was the one behind the other three attempts on my life.” Cleo shuddered, then draped her arms around Roarke's waist and buried her face against his chest. “Don't leave me.” She whispered the plea, her lips brushing his collarbone. “I need you. The baby and I need you. Just for a little longer.”

He grasped her chin with one hand. She gazed up at him. “I'm not going to leave you, honey. I'm not going anywhere until I know you're safe. You and the baby.”

The baby. His baby. God help him, he'd tried so hard
not to think of the child as his, but it was his. Nothing could ever change that fact.

He saw the need in her eyes, felt the hunger in her quivering body, and knew that Cleo could no more resist him than he could her. An overwhelming passion existed between them, a desire so strong that it overrode their common sense.

Lowering his mouth to hers, he consumed her with a kiss that combined tenderness with savagery, a gentle conquest, but a conquest all the same. Cleo pressed her body against his. Placing his hand in the center of her back, he shoved her harder against him, rubbing his chest over her aching nipples. Her satin-covered nipples hardened, jabbing into his chest.

He deepened the kiss, his tongue thrusting, mimicking the most intimate invasion of all. She clung to him, urging him, encouraging him, returning in full measure the fury of his loving attack. When they were both breathless, Roarke slowed the kiss and turned his attention to her neck.

She moaned softly, then whispered his name. He slipped his hand under the cover, up beneath her gown and between her thighs. He sought and found her hot, moist core.

“Let me love you.” He murmured the words against her neck.

“Yes.” She sighed. “I need you so much.”

He tossed the covers aside, eased Cleo's gown over her head and threw it on the floor. Lifting his hips, he eased his briefs down his legs and flung them into the air. He mounted her slowly, forcing himself not to move too quickly, not to rush this sweet, sweet moment.

Roarke tormented her breasts with his lips and tongue, creating an unbearable urgency within her. Grasping his
buttocks, Cleo urged him to take her. He cupped her hips, lifting her to meet his forceful plunge. Her body welcomed his entrance, claiming him completely.

They made love in quiet, hurried desperation. Each in such urgent need of the other. Each aware on some level that this might be their last time. Their fulfillment came too quickly. White-hot. Rocking them to the depths of their souls.

She would never know this ecstasy with anyone else. Only with Simon. Only with the man she loved with all her heart. Only with the father of her child.

 

S
EVERAL HOURS LATER
when Cleo and Roarke came downstairs for breakfast, they found the house unnaturally quiet. On their way to the dining room, they encountered Pearl pushing a serving cart toward the open French doors leading to the patio.

“Good morning, Pearl,” Cleo said. “Are you serving breakfast outside today?”

Pearl continued pushing the cart, laden with a coffeepot and a pitcher of orange juice, toward the patio. “Perry called down an hour ago and said Oralie wanted me to set things up outside. He said the sunshine and fresh air might do her some good.”

Cleo tensed at the mention of her aunt and uncle. Last night she had given them their walking papers, ordering them out of the house within the month. But this morning, it was business as usual, Oralie presiding over the household as if she were the queen bee.

“Has anyone come down yet?” Roarke asked.

Pearl stopped in the doorway. “I haven't seen anyone except Daphne. She was asking about you, Mr. Roarke. Wanted me to let her know the minute you and Cleo came down for breakfast. She's on the phone in the study.”

“You might as well find out what she wants,” Cleo said. “I'll walk on outside with Pearl and pour us both a cup of coffee.”

“No,” Roarke said. “I'll go on outside with you. Pearl can tell Daphne where we are.”

Pearl pushed the cart over the threshold and out onto the patio. “I know the sheriff arrested Trey last night. Hugh Winfield came by and told the family that Mr. Kane had caught Trey up to no good at the plant.” She paused momentarily, turned her head around and looked directly at Cleo, who stood in the doorway. “I didn't hear you and Mr. Roarke come in last night, but when the rest of them returned, Oralie was making enough noise to wake the dead. She was crying and screaming and carrying on like you wouldn't believe. I heard her say that you was kicking them all out of the house. Is that true, Cleo Belle—are you getting rid of that bad rubbish once and for all?”

“Yes, Pearl, she is.” The feminine voice came from behind Roarke, who had stopped just inside the house, a couple of feet away from Cleo.

They all glanced back at Daphne. She ran the tip of her index finger up Roarke's arm, but she gazed past him at Cleo. “She's given us a month to get out. Generous of her to give us that much time, don't you think?” She looked at Roarke then, her full, red lips curving into a forced smile. “I'd like to ask a favor of you, Mr. Roarke.” She emphasized the word
mister
when she spoke. “You're the only one I know who might possibly help me.”

Pearl turned back around and went about setting up the coffee and juice for the family's breakfast. Cleo followed Pearl.

“Wait, Cleo,” Roarke called after her.

“No. It's all right. Find out what you can do to
help
Daphne. I'll fix us some coffee.”

“I'll join you in a minute,” Roarke said.

Cleo nodded and waved at him, then headed straight for the silver coffee server that Pearl had just filled. The housekeeper handed Cleo a china cup, then waddled off toward the house.

“I'll be back directly, as soon as I take my apple cinnamon rolls out of the oven,” Pearl said, disappearing inside the house.

As Pearl passed them in the dining room, Roarke noticed her disapproving glare aimed directly at Daphne. He grinned at Pearl. Her lips twitched, but she didn't return his smile. She just stared at him briefly, shook her head and headed toward the kitchen.

He glanced outside, watching Cleo as she poured one cup of coffee, set it down on the table, then repeated the process.

“What can I help you with, Daphne?” Roarke asked.

Daphne walked around Roarke and closed the French doors. He glanced outside, checking once again on Cleo, who he knew was deliberately ignoring him and her cousin.

Daphne danced the tips of her long red nails up the front of his shirt. “You can intercede with Cleo for us. You're the only one she seems to listen to these days. The only one who has any influence over her.”

“Why would I intercede for your family? I hardly know any of you, and what I do know, I don't like.”

Laying her hand flat on Roarke's chest, she rubbed her palm around and around. Roarke grabbed her wrist. They glared at each other.

“If you got to know me, you'd like me. I promise.” She licked her moist red lips. “If you'll help us, I'll be very grateful.”

“Exactly what do you think I can do?”

“You can persuade Cleo not to kick us out. After all, we are family. And you could ask her to help Trey. He didn't actually try to kill her. He told you himself that he only wanted to frighten her, scare her into selling the damn company.”

When Daphne wiggled her fingers, trying to caress Roarke, he tightened his hold on her wrist. “The only person who can help Trey now is Drennan Norcross. A good lawyer might get him a reduced sentence since he has cooperated and confessed.”

“Cleo cares more about McNamara Industries than she does her own family.” Daphne twisted her arm, trying to pull free of Roarke's tenacious grip. “She'd rather save the jobs of a few hundred people than do what's best for us.”

“Cleo has done more for your family than most people would have under similar circumstances. She's had to put up with your jealousy and greed all her life, and since her uncle's death, someone in this family, if not Trey, has attempted to kill her more than once.”

Glowering at Roarke, Daphne tugged on her wrist. Releasing his hold on her, he shoved her hand toward her. “I can't help you,
Daffie.
Not you or Trey or your mother or father. For once, y'all are going to have to help yourselves.”

 

C
LEO KNEW THAT
Roarke wasn't going to fall for any of Daphne's persuasive promises, but years of losing boyfriends and even a fiancé to Daphne made Cleo uneasy. What could Daphne possible want from Roarke? Why had she waylaid him in the dining room? Probably for no other reason than to aggravate her.

Nervous and restless, Cleo shoved back her chair, lifted her cup and saucer and stood. She looked up at the clear,
blue sky, at the beautiful morning sun shimmering an orange gold on the eastern horizon. The day was Southern summertime beautiful.

She walked around the pool, careful not to get too close to the edge. She didn't want to accidentally slip in and have to change clothes before she went into the office for a few hours this morning.

Sipping her coffee, occasionally glancing toward the dining room, where she could see Daphne and Roarke, and enjoying the fresh, morning air, Cleo continued her stroll around the pool.

She heard a noise from behind her. Thinking Pearl had returned with warm apple cinnamon rolls, Cleo started to turn around. Something hard and heavy hit her across the side of her head. A hand reached out and shoved her into the pool. Cleo opened her mouth to scream. A thick, heavy darkness surrounded her, silencing her cry for help.

 

O
PENING THE
F
RENCH DOORS
, Roarke looked outside. Cleo wasn't walking around the pool as she'd been doing only minutes ago. He glanced around the patio area. Cleo wasn't there. Where was she? His heartbeat accelerated, the thunderous roar deafening him to any other sound. He ran outside, his gaze searching. Suddenly he saw her—in the pool. God, no!

Fully clothed, Roarke jumped into the pool and lifted Cleo's head out of the water. She lay lifeless and unbreathing in his arms. He swam with her to the pool's edge, hauled her up onto the patio and laid her down on the stone floor. He straddled her hips.

Daphne hovered over him. “What happened? Is she all right?”

“Call 911! Get an ambulance here on the double!” Roarke shouted.

Daphne ran into Pearl when she rushed toward the house. “Call 911,” Daphne said. “Something's happened to Cleo. I'll go get Mother and Father and Aunt Beatrice.”

Roarke had performed resuscitation techniques before. He knew the drill. But this wasn't just anybody lying beneath him. This was Cleo. His wife. The mother of his child.

Forcing himself not to think, not to feel, only to perform, to do what he had to do, Roarke opened Cleo's mouth and positioned her tongue. Pinching her nose shut, he breathed into her mouth. He removed his mouth, allowing time for her lungs to empty. He repeated the process quickly, again and again.

While he gave Cleo artificial respiration, he concentrated fully on the task at hand. But while his mind focused on what he could do to save her, his heart prayed for divine assistance.

“I called 911.” Pearl scurried out onto the patio, halting at Roarke's side. “The ambulance is on its way.”