reason for breathing. They had had sex anywhere and everywhere, anytime and all the time. Their heat for each other had never subsided… until she had taken up with Trey. Her passion had found another man but his had never found another woman. He had always wanted her, physically and desperately. He still wanted her. And she wanted him again.
'Are you healthy enough for sexual activity?' she said.
Breaking through the heat was Boo's admonition to use a condom.
'Rebecca…'
She released him and skipped down the sand, her arms spread and turning in circles. Then she stopped and faced him. She untied her top and tossed it aside. She pushed the bikini bottom down and kicked it away. Then she ran into the surf.
'Come on-for your health.'
He went to her.
He embraced her and lifted her and kissed her, hard this time, and he wanted her as desperately as the first time. And it felt like the first time as the heat consumed them, and they touched each other. He had missed the heat of passion. He had missed being one with a woman. And he would miss it now. He had failed again.
'Sorry, it's been a while.'
She smiled. 'Don't worry-there'll be more opportunities.'
She dove into an oncoming wave then surfaced and brushed her hair back with her fingers. The moonlight captured her face.
'God, I love the water,' she said. 'Being in it, on it.'
They sat in the gentle surf. She pointed out to sea. The lights of the offshore drilling rigs twinkled in the night sky.
'Cancun is seven hundred fifty miles that way.'
They sat in silence for a time then she said, 'Scott, if I'm not… well, you know… we could try again. I'm not the woman who left you. I know a lot more now. I know you're the best man I'll ever know. And I know who I am now. I'm not the beauty queen or the society belle anymore, and I don't want to be. I know I don't deserve her or you, but I want to be her mother again. I want to be your wife again. If you both can forgive me.' She turned to him. 'Scott, maybe we can both have the life we always wanted.'
'Missy Dupree made chair of the Cattle Barons' ball.'
' Missy Dupree? Oh, God! She's so… me two years ago… except she's enhanced.' Rebecca smiled. 'Remember what I wore to the last ball? Powder blue fringed suede miniskirt and silk halter top, matching cowboy boots, and a pink suede cowboy hat. I spent days putting that outfit together.'
'You looked good. How much did it cost?'
She laughed now. 'You don't want to know. What'd you do with it?'
'Sold it. We had a yard sale.'
'In Highland Park?'
'Yeah, it was quite the event.'
'I can only imagine.' She shook her head. 'Society balls, social climbing, gossiping about other women at lunch…'
'What'd you call it?'
'Scandal souffle. I'm sure they had a field day with me back then
… and now. Rebecca Fenney on trial for murder and defended by her ex-husband-that'll keep them busy all summer.' She turned to him. 'When is the trial?'
'We'll find out in the morning.'
The sea offered the only sounds for a time, until Rebecca spoke.
'Did you miss me?'
'Every day.'
Scott stared out to sea. She was right: he did still love her. But should a lawyer love his client? Could he think like a lawyer if he loved her like a man? Was Melvyn Burke right, that a lawyer can only defend his client, not love her, too? That this case would destroy his career and his life? And what secrets was Melvyn Burke hiding behind the attorney-client privilege?
TWENTY-THREE
Scott held Rebecca's hand as they entered the Galveston County Jail for her formal booking at nine on Monday morning. Junior again manned the lobby window, and Sarge stood next to Junior, hands clasped behind him, as if awaiting a dignitary's arrival.
'I guess you didn't dress up for me,' Sarge said.
Scott was wearing a $2,000 suit that day.
'I'm surrendering Rebecca Fenney for arrest and booking.'
Sarge held up a document. 'Rex brought over the arrest warrant himself this morning, said you'd be bringing her in, said I was to-what was it, Junior? — 'extend all courtesies to Mr. Fenney and his client,' whatever the hell that means.'
'It means, be nice.'
'Hey, I got no dog in this fight, Mr. Fenney. We'll book her, then take her over to the courthouse for the arraignment. Judge'll set bail, we'll bring her back over, you can bond her out right here. And Detective Wilson's a jackass.'
'What?'
'Going on TV, saying she's guilty. Cops ain't supposed to do that.'
Scott turned to Rebecca. Her face belonged to a frightened child. She hadn't slept the previous night.
'Scott, I can't go back in there. Those women, they'll hurt me.'
'No, they won't. It'll be okay, I promise. I'll see you at the courthouse.'
He squeezed her hand then tried to release her, but she clung to him.
'Scott, I can't!'
He wiped a tear from her face. 'They have to book you.'
She abruptly turned and bent over. She couldn't sleep, but she could throw up. Scott pulled out his handkerchief and wiped her mouth. She was crying.
'Junior!' Sarge yelled. 'Get out there and clean that mess up!'
When Sarge opened the secure door, Scott led Rebecca over to him. The cop facade dropped from Sarge's face at the sight of her. He sighed.
'I'll book her myself.'
Sarge put an arm under hers as if he were escorting Rebecca Fenney into the high school prom instead of the county jail. The secure door swung shut behind them.
The new Galveston County Courts Building's modern architecture seemed out of place on the quaint Victorian-style Island. The curved front facade faced south and featured four stories of glass, and the front entrance metal detectors manned by deputy sheriffs. After reloading his pockets and briefcase, Scott took the elevator to the fourth floor. On the north side of the corridor were the courtrooms; the south side was a floor-to-ceiling glass wall offering a panoramic view of the Island, from the buildings of downtown on the East End to the pyramids of Moody Gardens on the West End, with the Gulf of Mexico providing the dramatic backdrop. Scott found the courtroom at the end of the corridor. The nameplate above the double doors read 'Judge Shelby Morgan, 147th District Court.' He pushed open the doors and entered.
Walking into an out-of-town courtroom was like walking into an out-of-town football stadium: You knew you were behind in the score before the game even started. You knew you were not contesting the case on an even playing field. You knew your opponent had home-field advantage. A Dallas lawyer didn't contribute to the Galveston judge's campaign, didn't vote for her, and didn't rate her for the judicial rankings-thus a Dallas lawyer had no standing with a Galveston judge. Winning a high-profile criminal case in your own home town was improbable at best; winning that case in someone else's home town was almost impossible.
