For the first time since the day Nicholas died, Toni saw Billy Hamlin’s facade of bravado and manly strength slip away. Looking into his eyes now, she saw a terrified kid. Scared. Alone. Out of his depth, just like she was.
“But Leslie says it’s possible and I could be out in a couple of years. Then we could get married and . . . things.”
He stopped talking suddenly. Could he read in her face how horrified she was? Belatedly, Toni tried to look the part of the devoted girlfriend. If Billy needed a fantasy to hold on to, something to get him through the nightmare of a life in jail, didn’t she owe him that much at least?
“Please, Toni.” The distress in his eyes was unbearable. “Please say yes.”
Before she could stop herself, the words tumbled out. “Yes. I mean, of course. Of course yes! I wasn’t expecting a proposal right this minute, that’s all. But of course I’ll marry you, Billy.”
“As soon as I get out?”
“As soon as you get out.”
Billy burst into racking sobs of relief. “I love you so much, Toni.” Pulling her close again, he clutched her to his chest like a child with a teddy bear.
The guards arrived. “Time to go.”
“I know it’s gonna sound crazy,” Billy whispered in Toni’s ear, “but I mean it. This is the happiest day of my life. Thank you.”
“Mine too,” Toni assured him. “Be strong,” she added as he was led away.
Toni Gilletti waited till the cell door closed behind him. Then she sank down onto her chair and wept.
She knew she would never see Billy Hamlin again.
Three days after the verdict, Leslie Lose flew to Washington. He arrived at the secure underground parking garage at nine-fifteen at night, the agreed time.
He’d half expected his client to send a courier, someone anonymous to complete the transaction. Instead, slightly to Leslie’s surprise, the client showed up himself. He was an important man, and his presence made Leslie feel important.
“Two hundred thousand. As agreed.” Rolling down the smoked-glass window of his Lincoln Town Car, he handed Leslie a fat stuffed envelope. “You cut it fine.”
“I knew what I was doing. It’s all about knowing your jurors. Let’s just say I knew mine very well.”
“Clearly. I was sure they were going to acquit. But you pulled it off.”
Leslie smiled, wrapping his sausagelike hands around the package greedily.
“You should have had more faith, Senator.”
Senator Handemeyer smiled. “Perhaps I should have, Mr. Lose. Perhaps I should have.”
Billy Hamlin’s attorney watched in the dark as the Lincoln drove away.
Part Two
Chapter Nine
Oxfordshire, England. Present.
“Oh, Michael! Oh, Michael, I luf you, I luf you so much! Please don’t stop!”
From his uncomfortable position in the backseat of his vintage MG convertible, Michael De Vere wondered, Why do women say that? “Don’t stop.” Surely no one would stop at this particular juncture? Although presumably some men must; otherwise girls wouldn’t bother to say it, would they? As Michael’s mind wandered, so his erection began to wilt. But once started, he couldn’t seem to stop. What did Lenka, his latest conquest, think he was about to do? Whip out the Racing Post and start looking through the runners and riders for the four-fifteen at Wincanton? And if he was going to do that, what made her think that shouting “Don’t stop” was likely to change his mind?
“You stopped.” Lenka’s voice trembled with reproach.
“Paused, darling. I paused.”
It was four-fifteen on a glorious May afternoon and Michael De Vere was late. He was supposed to have dropped Lenka at Didcot railway station an hour ago. But what with the sunshine and the blossoms bursting out of the hedgerows, and Lenka’s impossibly short Marc Jacobs miniskirt riding up her smooth, brown thighs, one thing had led to another. Or rather, one thing had almost led to another.