Mason staggered to his feet, mopping his face and neck with a towel. His house was fifty years old, and the front door was a massive arched slab of dark mahogany set into an entry vestibule with a limestone floor and deep-burgundy walls. Instead of a peephole, it had a small window that was covered by a door. When he opened the door to see who had rung the bell, his heart rate jumped back to the pace of the final hundred meters of his row.
Beth Harrell was on his front doorstep, facing the door while glancing to her right and then to her left. She kept her head down, sneaking a peek at the window as she bundled herself into her arms to keep warm.
Mason pulled the door open, and for a moment they stared at each other. Mason tried to remember the last time he'd seen her, and the best he could do was to guess between a bar association lunch and a law school alumni dinner. Either way, it had been a couple of years. He was struck by how differently people appeared when they were encountered out of context. Beth Harrell had always carried herself with a born-to-the-manner style that was both regal and relaxed. Her posture was always straight, but there was playfulness in her slender arms and easy smile. She had dressed stylishly while giving an enticing hint of a passionate woman. She had a thing for strong, hold colors-particularly deep blues and reds-accented with a fragrance that lingered after she'd gone.
At the moment as she stood in his doorway, the winter wind buffeting her as she pulled a scarf tightly around her throat, she seemed swept away by more than the weather. She looked at him with searching eyes, trying to gauge his reaction to her unannounced visit and predict what he would say to her when he knew why she had come.
Mason recovered from his surprise, helped along by the prickly sensation of sweat freeze drying against his skin. "Beth," he said. "Come on in before we both freeze to death."
He closed the door behind her and took the heavy down-filled coat she handed to him. In the soft light of the entry hall, the red rubbed into her cheeks by the cold wind rose high in her face. She pulled her gloves off and pressed her long fingers against her cheeks as if to transplant the warmth of her hands to her face.
Folding her arms to her body, she surveyed the empty living room and the rowing/dining room. Tuffy made a pass at Beth, sniffing Beth's feet, nuzzling against Beth's thighs, and brushing her whole body against Beth until she broke down and scratched Tuffy behind the ears. Tuffy immediately sat down, pushing her head against Bern 's hand, giving her the unspoken command to keep on scratching. Mason knew that Tuffy was a terrific icebreaker.
"She's beautiful," Bern said.
"She's shameless and will give herself to anyone who scratches her behind her ears," Mason said.
"We should all be so easy," Beth said.
Mason was grateful for the small talk. He assumed that Beth had come to talk with him about Blues's case and that she would get to that subject when she was ready. He didn't mind waiting. He did mind that she looked fabulous even in faded jeans and a bulky cream-colored cable-knit sweater and that he looked like yesterday's dirty laundry in a pair of gym shorts and a sweat-stained Kansas City Rowing Club T-shirt. He knew that he smelled worse than he looked, but he was afraid she'd leave if he told her he was going to take a shower.
"Can I get you something to drink?" he asked her.
Beth answered, "That would be great. Something hot would do the trick."
Mason led her to the kitchen. Tuffy figured out where they were going and raced there ahead of them.
"I've got tea," he said as he searched the pantry. "Never developed a taste for coffee, so I don't keep it in the house."
"Tea would be good, perfect."
Mason boiled a cup of water in the microwave, and a few minutes later they were seated at his kitchen table. Beth stirred her tea, pressing the tea bag against the side of the cup. Mason drank from a long-necked bottle of beer and pressed the cool glass against his neck.
"I read about you in the paper last year. That thing with Sullivan & Christenson," she began. "We didn't teach you that in law school."
"We've both been in the papers," he said. "All things considered, I prefer the comics."
"Amen to that," she said.
The color in her face had evened out to its natural soft, barely tan hue. A slight patchwork of laugh lines had crept into the corners of her mouth and eyes, the unavoidable markers of passing years. Mason decided that the lines looked good on her. He had first met Beth when she was nearly thirty, when her smooth, unlined face was an open invitation full of promise. Then, her beauty lay in her youth. Now, in her early forties, her beauty lay in the fulfillment of that promise, the quiet confidence of things done well and the grace to withstand things gone wrong.
"Was it difficult?" she asked him.
"Was what difficult?"
"Killing that man," she answered, looking at him intently.
Mason paused before answering. He'd come to understand the reluctance of men who'd gone to war to discuss their battles. Heroes, he'd decided, were for bystanders. Soldiers killed so that they could live. He'd done the same thing and found no reason to glory in it.
"It's done," was all he said. "I called you yesterday. You could have just called back. I would have come to your office."
"I was out of town yesterday and today. When I got home I read this morning's paper and saw you and the mayor on the six o'clock news. I decided a house call would be more private. I live at the Alameda Towers and the press has practically camped out in the parking lot."
"How did you get away?"
"Our building is connected to the Windcrest Hotel. I parked in the hotel garage and walked through the hotel. The press can't get past my doorman and they haven't figured out my secret entrance."
"Gee, that's a better setup than having Alfred and the Bat Cave."
Beth laughed. "You were always good at that in law school. I used to watch you with your friends. You were always the one who made everyone laugh."
Mason couldn't hide his surprise. "You watched me?" he asked her, remembering how he had gawked at her when he hoped she wasn't looking.
Beth bit her lower lip and nodded with a grin that nearly took them both back fifteen years. "You were younger than me but not by much. What is it? Five years? I was your teacher, but I wasn't dead."
"Is it too late for me to ask you for extra credit?"
She answered his question with her own. "Is it too late for me to ask you for help?"
Mason drained the last of his beer and carried it to the sink. He leaned back against the kitchen counter, his hands cupped along its edge, and looked at her. She had drawn him in with a mix of vulnerability and flirtation that he found engaging, flattering, and potentially irresistible. The five years that had separated them when he'd been in law school, and their teacher-student relationship, were insurmountable hurdles to any other relationship. Now the difference in their ages didn't matter. What did matter was that she was a key witness against Blues.
"Beth, you taught ethics. The governor hired you because you were an expert on right and wrong. You know who my client is and why I called you. When this case is over, I could represent you. But not now."
"Lou, I'm not asking you to be my lawyer. I know better than that."
"Then what do you want?"
"I want you to protect me."
"From what or who?"
She rose from her chair, crossed the room to where he was standing, and stopped less than a foot from him. He could almost feel her under her thick sweater. She stood, trembling faintly, silently begging him to hold her.