“Reporters want to know what business Burkett and your husband…late husband…had with each other. What was Burkett’s motive for killing him? That’s what they’re clamoring to know.
“Now, strictly as a favor to you,” he said, lowering his voice to an intimate pitch, “I haven’t revealed that, haven’t even acted like I know what could have possessed Burkett to do such a terrible thing. But when he’s caught, well, that’ll be another kettle of fish. When he’s indicted, this thing is going to blow wide open, more than it already has. There’s no way I can conceal your adultery.”
That word brought her around. But unable to stand being that close to him face-to-face, she moved away. “I’m prepared for that.”
“Really? Are you sure you’re prepared for the beating you’re going to take? Right now you’re regarded as a tragic figure, the bereaved widow of a murder victim. The media is sensitive to your feelings, treating you with kid gloves. But I don’t have to tell you how nasty reporters can get, especially when they feel like they’ve been deceived. They can turn on you.” He snapped his fingers loudly. “Like that. You’ll need protection from that onslaught.”
“I appreciate your concern.”
“Someone at your back, acting as a buffer.”
“Thank you.”
“You’ll be glad to have me close. Protecting you like a…” He waited a beat, then said, “brother.”
Inwardly she shuddered. “I’m very tired. If there’s nothing else-”
“The car keys?”
She retrieved them from her handbag and reluctantly handed them over, being careful not to touch him. “Thanks.” He bounced the keys in his palm and looked smug to have them in his possession. “Order anything you like from room service. The DPD is taking care of the charges.”
“How long are you going to extend me this hospitality?”
“Till Burkett is in custody.”
“That could be a while.”
He grinned. “I don’t think so. But you’ll be our guest till then, whenever it is. In the meantime, don’t worry. He can’t get near you.” Having made clear his message, he went to the door and placed his hand on the knob. “If you need anything, call me. Anytime.” He glanced beyond her toward the bed, then his gaze slid back to her, and he smiled. “Nighty-night.”
CHAPTER 29
AS SOON AS RODARTE WAS THROUGH THE DOOR, LAURA turned the dead bolt. She heard him confer with Carter and the policeman outside, then the soft ping of the elevator when it arrived.
But even after she knew he was gone, she stood hugging herself. She would ask housekeeping to bring her a can of air freshener so she could rid the room of his scent. But later. She didn’t have the wherewithal to talk to anyone just now. She was weary of words.
She unzipped her suitcase and began unpacking it. But halfway through the chore, she ran out of energy. Even the will to move deserted her. She lay down on the bed. Tears came easily. They ran unchecked from the corners of her closed eyelids, trickled down her temples and into her hair.
Just as they had that day when Griff Burkett had brushed her tears away, the day it all had changed, the day-face it, Laura-he had reawakened her to feelings and sensations she hadn’t experienced in a very long time. She’d told herself she didn’t miss them, didn’t yearn for them. How foolish she’d been. How wrong.
But she’d been particularly susceptible to tenderness that afternoon. Foster’s indifference to her SunSouth Select proposal had cut her to the quick. It was worse than an outright rejection would have been. He simply had never acknowledged it again. He’d acted as though she’d never made the presentation. He’d killed the project with apathy, smothered it with his silence.
That afternoon, just before leaving to join Griff Burkett, she’d gone into Foster’s office looking for something. What she’d found was the syllabus she had spent hundreds of hours preparing. It was in his wastepaper basket, along with the pieces of the airplane model. He’d disassembled it and tossed each component into the trash.
Even Griff Burkett had asked her about the model. He, a stranger, with no vested interest whatsoever in the airline industry, had been more curious about it than Foster.
Seeing the destroyed model had devastated her. It signified the death of her idea. Even though it was almost a certainty she would ovulate that day, she should have called Griff Burkett and canceled their appointment. She was too emotionally fragile to go, but she went, not wanting to explain to Foster why she had skipped a cycle and wasted an opportunity to make a baby for him.
While she lay beneath the sheet, waiting for their hired stud to come into the bedroom, she felt like a sacrifice on an altar. And it occurred to her then that that was precisely what she was, a sacrifice on the altar of Foster’s ego. She’d been crying over that when Griff came into the room.
Neither had expected what happened next. She was certain that Griff hadn’t intended it any more than she. Indeed, her tears had made him angry at first.
And then, with surprising gentleness, he had whisked them away. His caring had soothed the hurt of Foster’s rejection. Instinctually she had grasped at it, clutched it with a desperate need for validation and tenderness, understanding and affection. Griff had responded to this reaction as most men would, sexually.
She had never joined him in that house seeking sexual satisfaction. Quite the opposite. She had fought the very idea of it. She went through her days, and nights, telling herself that she didn’t feel deprived, that fulfillment came from other aspects of her life with Foster, that she didn’t miss the weight of a man on her.
But feeling him swell inside her had been powerfully erotic. She was seized by a longing so acute, wasn’t it natural, even excusable, that her body responded, and that, almost in spite of herself, she had given herself over to it?
She could almost justify what had happened between them that day.
But how could she excuse the afternoon four weeks later? She couldn’t. What they’d done had been wrong, and ultimately calamitous.
Now she pressed her hand against her lower abdomen and wept for the child who would never know his father.
Either of them.
The next day she presided over the meeting she had called. All the department heads were there, as were all the board members.
She cut straight to the chase. “I won’t hold you to the terms of Foster’s will, automatically appointing me CEO. Foster wrote the proviso to prevent leaving the airline without a specified executive officer in the event of his sudden death. You know how he hated leaving anything to chance. However, he also ran this corporation as a democracy. I intend to carry on that tradition.”
She reached for her water glass and took a sip. “Foster’s manner of death will result in a trial. If not a trial, then at least there will be a formal inquiry and legal entanglements that can’t be avoided. One way or another, I’ll have to get through them, unsure of how or when they will be resolved. I want to prepare you for some unpleasantness. Allegations will be made, and I’ll have to address them publicly.
“There will be an ongoing melee with the media. I hope to protect SunSouth from the worst of it, but Foster’s and my names are synonymous with the airline. I beg your cooperation. If anyone from the media asks you for a comment, please refer them to our legal department. No matter how harmless a reporter may seem, please don’t reply to any questions or make any statements or speculations. Anything you said could be used out of context.”
“What unpleasantness do you predict?” one asked.
“The nature of our relationship with Griff Burkett may come into question. I confess it was intensely personal and private.” An awkward silence descended over the room. Everyone focused on something other than her.