Back
to Joyce and Jim's Main PageConstant Craving
"What are you doing here?" Jessie whispered when she saw him.
Rhys didn't speak until the door closed behind him. The control that sustained him through the past few hours broke. He dropped his briefcase and pulled her up against him. "I'm sorry," he murmured as he kissed her. "I'm so sorry."
"I'm okay." She sobbed as his mouth captured hers again. "Just don't let me go."
He looked down at her, reassuring himself that she was all right. Her beautiful brown eyes were red from crying and her face was smudged but she was fine. They were together. That was all that mattered.
"How did you get in here? They said I couldn't see anyone." Jessie had so many questions. She didn't know where to start.
Rhys suddenly realized that he was sitting on the scarred wooden table in the center of the room. Jessie was on his lap. He didn't let her go when he sat down, just moved with her in his arms. Her wedding gown flowed over the side of the table like a waterfall of white silk. "I guess I came to rescue you."
"They'll arrest you if they find you sneaking in here." She pictured them both in jail. That wouldn't do anyone any good. "I appreciate you coming but you can't just waltz in and out of here! This is a police station. It's serious!"
Rhys used his clean white handkerchief to wipe the tears from her cheeks. He smoothed her long dark hair away from her face. She'd stopped crying but she was still sniffling. He gave her the handkerchief. She blew her nose on it with unladylike gusto and tucked it into her sleeve. "Jessie, we have to talk."
"They won't let me go," she confided to him. "They say they aren't charging me but they can keep me for forty eight hours while they look for evidence against me. They're convinced I killed Pat."
The words hovered expectantly between them. She needed to hear Rhys say that he believed in her. That he knew she didn't kill Pat. That the whole thing was ridiculous. Maybe that would wake her up out of this bad dream.
"You have to trust me," he said, searching her eyes. "You have to tell me everything."
Jessie got down from her perch on his lap. She rubbed her arms and wished she hadn't climbed out of bed that morning. Her dress was ruined, along with her beautiful wedding. She looked at Rhys. He was a mess, too. He was still wearing his tuxedo but it was grass-stained and his shirt was half pulled out of his trousers. He'd lost his tie and his jacket was damp and wrinkled. His dark red hair was windblown. He looked as lost and bewildered as she felt.
"Jessie?"
"I didn't kill Pat," she said finally. "Now you better get out of here before someone else comes in. They go in and out all the time."
"I know you didn't kill Pat. But do you have any idea what happened? When did you see Pat last?" He got up from the table and started to take her into his arms again. She pushed away from him and stood facing the wall. "What is it?"
She shook her head, disappointment bitter in her mouth. "I'm tired. I just want to get out of here." I want you to believe in me without me telling you anything. Can't you do that?
"I'll take care of you." He hated that she was there at all. Hated the wall that had slammed down between them. He blamed himself for his soul searching before he came to her. If he explained everything, would she understand? "I can have you released in a few minutes."
"How?" She turned to face him, blinking away the tears standing in her eyes.
"I'm a lawyer, Jessie. I'm going to represent you. At least for now until we can find out what happened." He started to explain, then thought better of it. She needed to go home. He needed to accomplish that much for her. "I'll explain the rest later. Let's get out of here first." He picked up his briefcase then knocked on the door. A uniformed officer opened it for him. "I'll be back in a few minutes. It's going to be okay, sweetheart."
She nodded. The door closed behind him and she sat down on the wooden chair again. She knew that Rhys had a past. They never spoke of it. She never asked because she didn't want him to ask about her past. He was too well spoken, too street smart. She knew he wasn't always a hermit living in the woods.
There were times during their brief relationship, that one or the other touched on a place where the other one shut down. They learned to tread delicately in the last three months. When those shuttered moments came, they backed away, zealously guarding their secrets. Was this what he was hiding? If so, it didn't seem so bad. Why didn't he want her to know?
She thought that his past included some hurt he couldn't get over. It was always there between them, a wall she couldn't quite get across. But she believed that he would tell her about it one day. And she would share her own secret.