Mitchell&Associates.01.Smash.Cut.2009 by Brown Sandra

Author:Brown, Sandra [Brown, Sandra]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Google: ub9ri8E3nDoC
Publisher: Pocket Books
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER

17

JULIE HAD TO RING THE DOORBELL THREE TIMES BEFORE HE answered.

He was dressed as he’d been when they separated, in a pair of jeans and a white shirt with the cuffs rolled to his elbows, but now he looked unkempt. His shirttail was out, and his hair looked as though it had withstood a hurricane-force gale. His eyes were bloodshot and wet. A man in heartache.

He had no reaction to seeing her, not surprise, gladness, or annoyance. His features were drawn with acute sorrow.

She said his name, just that, softly and with compassion.

Saying nothing in return, he left the door standing open and retreated down an entry hall. She stepped inside, closed the front door, followed him around a corner and into a compact room. Two of its walls had built-in bookshelves. They were neat but functional, not for show. Louvered shutters were closed over a single tall window.

The room was minimally furnished. A desk with a computer, stacks of newspapers, unopened mail. An armchair. And a tobacco-colored leather love seat on which Derek was sprawled, his head resting on the padded armrest, his forearm covering his eyes.

Now she was here, Julie wasn’t sure what to do. He’d hung up directly after telling her his beloved Maggie had been killed. Acting impulsively, she’d got up, dressed, and within minutes of answering her phone was speeding toward his home.

When her plan to prevent him from representing Creighton was still unformed, she’d looked up his address. Habersham was one of the most prestigious streets in the city, and like most of the homes on its winding trail through Buckhead, Derek’s was situated on a deep, tree-shaded lot. It was an older home to which renovations had been made without any sacrifice of its original character. At any other time, she would have enjoyed taking in all the details.

But tonight she was more interested in the owner than in the well-appointed house. In her haste to get here, she hadn’t paused to question what was compelling her to come. Now, she questioned the advisability of intruding on his grief.

Gingerly she lowered herself onto the seat of the armchair. “Can I get you anything?”

He shook his head.

The house was as silent as a stone. Not even a ticking clock, or the creak of settling lumber, disturbed the profound silence that pressed against her eardrums like water pressure at fifty meters. She thought of leaving, just going, without disturbing him further. She could slip out and he probably wouldn’t even notice or remember later that she’d been there. But something kept her perched tensely on the edge of the chair.

Finally he lowered his arm and looked at her, just looked, said nothing.

“Do you want me to leave?”

“Why did you come?”

“Because ” She stopped. She’d been about to say, Because I know how much Maggie meant to you or Because I know how wrenching a loss like this can be. But suddenly she realized the reason she was here, and it made her ill. She had raced here in order to apologize.

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