A few minutes later, Tim hung his rain-streaked trench coat in the closet of the room he'd rented for the night. There was a lamp on the end table next to the bed. He turned it on but left off the overhead light. He phoned Ally with his room number, then sat in the room's only armchair. He felt sick with fear and self-loathing as he waited for Bennett to arrive. Twice he started to leave, but turned back at the door. Several times he wondered if Ally would come to the motel and each time part of him hoped that she wouldn't show.
A knock startled Kerrigan. His stomach felt like it held a hot coal. When he opened the door, she was standing there, as beautiful and sensual as he remembered her.
In the lot, the man in the black car watched Kerrigan open the door for his visitor.
'Aren't you going to let me in, Frank?' Ally asked with a seductive smile.
'Yes, of course,' Kerrigan answered, stepping back. She glided by him, taking in the room before turning to study her client. Kerrigan locked the door. His throat was dry and his lust made him dizzy.
'Here's the deal, Frank. You give me my fee and I give you your dreams. Does that sound like a fair trade?'
Ally was wearing a short wraparound skirt that showed her legs to the thigh, and a tank top that revealed the curve of her breasts. Her voice was huskier in person. Just hearing her speak made Kerrigan hard. Without taking his eyes from Ally, he removed the money from his pocket and held it toward her.
'Bring the money here, Frank,' Ally said, establishing her dominance. It was what he'd hoped for and he obeyed, gladly surrendering his will to her.
Ally counted the money and put it in her purse. Then she peeled off her tank top and unwrapped her skirt until all she was wearing was a pair of black-lace bikini panties. Kerrigan's breath caught in his throat, and his knees almost gave way. If he could have invented a woman he would have invented the woman who stood before him.
'Tell me what you want, Frank. Tell me what you dream about.'
Kerrigan lowered his eyes until he was looking at the floor. He whispered his wish.
Ally smiled. 'Are you a shy boy, Frank? You spoke so softly that I didn't hear you. Say it again.'
'I . . . I want to be punished.'
Cindy Kerrigan turned on her light when Tim crept into the bedroom.
'It's almost two.'
'I'm sorry. Hugh Curtin was at the dinner. He's having personal problems and needed to talk.'
'Oh, really,' she said coldly. 'And how is Hugh?'
'Okay. You know. Hugh is Hugh.'
Cindy sat up and leaned against the headboard of their king-size bed. One strap of her silk nightgown slipped down, revealing the curve of her left breast. She had ash-blond hair and lovely tanned skin. Most men thought that she was beautiful and desirable.
'Megan missed you,' she said, knowing Tim would feel guilty. He could not avoid her without avoiding his daughter, whom he loved.
'I'm sorry. You know I wanted to come home,' he said as he stripped off his clothes.
'What exactly was the problem?' Cindy asked in a tone that let him know that she saw through his lie.
'Office politics. Making partner wasn't all he thought it would be,' Tim answered vaguely as he grabbed his pajamas. 'It's complicated.'
Cindy stared at him with contempt but dropped the subject. Tim walked into the bathroom. She clicked off her light. He thought about Cindy lying there in the dark, hurt and angry. For a moment, he almost went to her, but he couldn't. She'd see through him. And if the holding and the touching led to sex, he wouldn't be able to perform. He was spent. Of course, the likelihood of kindling any passion between them was remote. Sex had almost completely disappeared from their marriage.
Shortly after their wedding, it dawned on Tim that he had not married Cindy because he loved her. He had married her for the same reason he'd gone to law school. Marriage and law school were places to hide--islands of normalcy after the media frenzy that followed the Heisman award and his decision to forgo pro football. The moment Kerrigan had his epiphany, he felt like a gray cloth had been draped over his heart.
Cindy was the daughter of Winston Callaway and Sandra Driscoll. The Driscolls, the Callaways, and the Kerrigans were old Portland money, which meant that Tim had known Cindy his whole life. They had not become a couple until their last year in high school. When Cindy followed Tim to the University of Oregon, they continued to date, and they had married the weekend Tim received the Heisman Trophy.
Tim had hoped that having a child would make him love his wife, but that experiment failed miserably, as did every other attempt he made to force himself to feel something for her. Playing a role twenty-four hours a day was exhausting and had worn him down. Cindy was no fool. He wondered why she stayed with him when all he did was hurt her. Tim had considered divorce, but he could never bring himself to leave Cindy, and now there was Megan. He dreaded losing her or hurting her.
Kerrigan slipped onto his side of the bed and thought about his evening with Jasmine. Sex was not the magnet that had drawn him to her. Freedom was the attraction. When he was naked in that seedy motel room, he had been truly free of the expectations of others. When he knelt before Jasmine, Kerrigan felt the mantle of the hero fall from his shoulders. When he used his mouth on her, he was perverted and not perfect, a deviate and a criminal, not an idol. Kerrigan wished that every person who had praised him and held him up as an example to others had seen him lying on those stained sheets, eyes closed, begging a whore to degrade him. They would turn away in disgust, and he would be free of the fame he knew was built on a lie.
Chapter Seven.
Harvey Grant, the presiding judge in Multnomah County, was a slender man of average size with salt-and-
