Keeping Council Part 33

When I saw you again, I realized that might not have been a good thing to learn. Now I think it may be too late to change."

Tara looked at Ben without moving her head.

Instead she shifted her eyes, and her lashes made phantom shapes on her cheeks.

"And now here you are. Stronger than me because you learned how to live with what you've been dealt. Stronger than me because you didn't just struggle on, you really lived your life. Stronger than me because you recognized that love has failings and you accepted mine, then turned around and welcomed me with open arms again. You want honesty, Ben? I am honestly shamed by you and your understanding, and I truly do still care."

"And what," he asked, "do you honestly want?"

"For you and me?" Tara moved her head on the back of the chair.

"I don't know. I'm not that courageous. I'm coming back to you again and again, almost hoping you'll throw me out and make the decision for me."

"So far I haven't had the urge," he chuckled.

"But I'm not even sure we can get to it until you figure out what you want from this thing with Bill Hamilton."

"I just want it to be over," Tara said, then qualified her statement.

"I want my life back."

"Then take it back. He's stealing all the things you love. Your security. Your sense of control. Take them back, Tara."

"I can't do anything to jeopardize my license, my standing as an attorney, and I don't want my life back at the expense of justice," she insisted.

"I'm not asking you to. I'm asking you to make a decision that's based on something other than written rules. You've got to make a decision that will let your conscience rest. There are ways. There are things you can find out about Bill Hamilton.

Bring pressure to bear wherever you can. On Woodrow, on George Amos, on Bill, on Donna. Do it, Tara. Don't just look straight ahead. Start playing Bill's game."

"I've never played like that before. I don't think I can do it and still keep my integrity."

"Anything's possible, Tara," Ben said and reached for her hand. He touched it with his fingertips.

Those eyes of his looked right through her.

"Anything at all."

"I may make it worse."

"You may make things better." He wound his fingers through hers.

"Take a chance." He tugged on her hand and she pulled away. He tugged back and she was his. He reached up and touched her shoulder.

"Life can be what you want it to be, Tara. All you have to do is want it badly enough."

He murmured and he whispered and he guided her down until she sat in his lap. Tara curled atop him and her head lay exactly where she had wanted it*against his broad and strong chest. He buried his lips in her silky hair and they sat together like that for a very long time.

"Can you?" Tara whispered as she climbed onto his bed.

"I mean .. ."

"I know what you mean." Ben laughed in the darkness at all the things she found so curious that he had come to take for granted. He was on the bed beside her, lifting his legs, graceful in the shadows because of his strength.

"I didn't even see you leave the chair," she whispered.

"I thought it was harder than that. I thought it should be*harder."

Tara lay on her side, her black hair tumbling over the pillow and the spread and over her shoulders.

Ben pushed it away so that it streamed behind her. He smiled sweetly and touched the b.u.t.ton at the high neck of her sweater. He popped the first. Tara lay her hand at his waist, feeling the muscles underneath his shirt, trying not to imagine the rest. He popped the next b.u.t.ton and his fingers touched her throat. She shuddered, still looking him in the eye, hoping he would see she wasn't ready.

"How do you get out of that thing so easily?"

Tara's voice shook; she gestured toward the chair.

Ben gave it a quick glance as if he'd forgotten it was there. Head back on the pillow again, he moved closer.

"Upper body strength," he murmured, amused at her anxiety, determined not to let his own show.

They should have done this in high school, but then maybe the memory would have made it more difficult for them both. He moved. He kissed her.

She kissed him back. Ben Crawford was in heaven.

Tara Limey, in his arms again, at last.

"Do you .. . ?" she said against his lips.

"Adore you?" he asked.

"Yes."

He kissed her again.

"Do I hurt? No."

He lay his lips against her cheek.

"Can I do what other men do? Yes."

The kiss was longer this time, his mouth open, his hands coming slowly up her sweater.

"Will you have to work harder? Absolutely." He slipped the sweater over her head, then kissed the swell of her breast.

"But you've always been such a hard worker, Tara."

She sighed, she shivered, and she put her arms around him and pulled herself closer. With each breathy word, each tender touch, the questions became as unimportant as the answers. Tara rose to the challenge, but worked no harder than he. The man she loved was complete, more so than any man Tara Limey had been with.

She had touched his legs, but desire had made them as lovely as if they could have wrapped around her. Later she would remember to cry for them*she never had in all these years*but at that moment, those wonderful minutes when they kissed and touched and his hands went everywhere, and her arms and legs covered him, Tara thought only of what was and not what could have been. That was the first thought on her mind when they lay together, covers over them, naked bodies molded together, her head on his shoulder, his arm under hers.

"I've made a decision," she said lazily.

"Really?" Ben was sleepy. She could hear it in his voice so she plucked at the lovely light hair that ran across his chest.

"Yes, really. I've decided you're right. I have to make things happen."

"Oh, Tara." Ben moved his head so that he looked away from her. He closed his eyes and pleaded, "Don't ruin it. I don't want to hear about work or Bill Hamilton or crazy people or anything.

Please, Tara, let me just lie here a little while longer."

"Not on your life. You're the one that started all this nonsense," she teased, running her tongue over her lips and lowering her voice.

"I just want you to know that I've decided I've done everything I can for Bill Hamilton. I haven't been running away at all. I've begged Woodrow for help. I've told Bill what needs to be done and he's refused to cooperate.

I've all but broken my pledge of confidentiality with Donna and she still won't listen." Tara kissed Ben's chest and smoothed over the spot.

"So I will not breathe a word of what I know about Bill, but I won't let him rule my life. I won't beg Woodrow for help. I will be ready if Donna needs me."

"Bravo, Tara," Ben murmured.

"Bravo." And he kissed her.

"And I will start living life as it should be lived."

She gave him a sly look.

"So whaddya say? Shall we play it again, Sam?"

"I think I remember the tune," he whispered, and they were at it again.

Bagels. Cream cheese. b.u.t.ter. Jelly. Lox. Capers.

Ben in bed beside her. If it could be better, Tara didn't want to know about it. Unfortunately, after the food, and between the touching, Tara managed to convince Ben the day must begin. He convinced her to postpone it a little longer. It took another hour and a half to get dressed, twenty more minutes to tear herself away.

In her Jeep, heading home to change before the office, Tara came to her senses. She had to wipe the ridiculous grin off her face by the time she deposed the girl who had witnessed Johnnie Rae Riskin run into the pickup truck with all the kids in it. So Tara put Ben in his proper niche inside her head and her heart and edited her deposition as she drove. She was whistling by the time she reached the house. She ended the tune with a flourish while she parked, and walked into the house just in time to answer the phone.

"h.e.l.lo." It sounded like she was singing. Knowing that was ridiculous, she smiled anyway.

"It's Caroline. There was a reporter here, Tara, about one of your clients." Caroline paused. Tara could hear her hesitate.

"He wants to talk to you about the Circle K killer."

"Wonderful," Tara muttered.

"He's coming out to the house."

"Oh, no."

Wrapped in a serape, her feet up on the wall, Tara kept her eyes on the long road that led to her house. In her great-grandmother's day she would have had a rifle slung over her lap. A well-said word or two would have sent the scoundrel packing. Unfortunately, it wasn't her great-grandmother's day and a few choice words could make front page news.

The last thing Tara wanted, the first thing a few other people wanted, was to make the front page.

Apprehensive as she was, now wasn't the time to sort out how this had come to be. So Tara stared blankly at the road. Finally, a small white car, much the worse for wear, came coughing and clanking up the road and stopped at the gate.

Out of the egg-shaped vehicle stepped a man in desperate need of a makeover. His black hair stood angled out of his head instead of lying upon it.

His shirt sleeves ended before his wrists began. His lovely Hispanic complexion was at odds with his rather bulbous nose, eyes, and lips. He was a sight to behold, but a guy to be reckoned with.

"Tara Limey?" He handed her a card with great ceremony. Tara didn't move. He lay it atop the stucco wall.

"Martin Martinez. Reporter for the Journal. Heard you made a call the other night to the sheriffs, and got the deputies out to see about a disturbance. Possible felony a.s.sault? Like to talk to you about that." He sighed and looked about as if this were incredibly trying for him.

"Please go, Mr. Martinez. I have no comment about that incident. It was personal."

"Not so personal if the cops were called." He looked around with a lazy eye but Tara was sure he saw a lot. She didn't like it.

"You check up on every police call?"

"Nope. Just heard this was a little different. My source says you have a client that's a real doozy."

He'd had a visual tour and was now back to her.

"Thought that call might have something to do with that client."

"What client might that be? The doozy?" Tara asked wryly.

"Don't have a name. No charges were brought, so I don't have a public record to check on the other night."

"Mr. Martinez? Can we get to it?" If he had anything, he'd show his hand now.

"I hear you've got something going on the Circle K killing. I hear you're keeping the DA from getting this guy. Love to talk about that, Ms. Limey.

Two sides to every story." She thought he might yawn. If he did, she'd laugh. But he didn't, and she knew then how serious this was.

"I have no comment." She stood and pulled the serape close. He didn't stand away; he held his notebook at the ready.

"But I do have a question, Mr. Martinez. Where are you getting your information?"

"Sorry, ma'am. Privileged. Can't reveal a source, you know. I talked to someone, who had talked to someone else. Circle K killer would make a pretty good story. Lot of people had a hard time letting that one go. Just doing my job, you understand."

"Of course," Tara murmured, and picked up his card. She looked at it to have something to do, then she tossed off the serape.

"I have to get to work. I'm in the book. If you want to bring your source to my office, feel free. I'll discuss anything you like as long as everything's on the table."

"No other comment, right?"

"Nope."

"Can I quote you?"