me the truth?"
His smile was devastating. She'd heard that sociopaths had a certain charm, but that was nothing compared to the man in front of her. She could feel the pull, and she wanted nothing more than to smile back, to move toward him.
"No," he said, very gently. And instead of reaching for her, he went and sat down in the green leather chair once more.
CHAPTER 4
« ^ »
Richard Tiernan never thought he'd look forward to spinning that endless pack of lies. He'd told it so often, for police, lawyers, investigators, in-laws. He knew all the details—they were engraved on what passed for his heart. He'd told them to Sean O'Rourke, and watched him try to trip him up. It had become a game between them, one Sean relished and Richard endured. As he endured life.
But faced with the woman sitting at Sean's oversize, messy desk, he found he could summon at least a trace of interest. Just how much could he tell her? How close to the truth could he skate, and when would that reluctant fascination turn to horror?
He needed to find out. He leaned back in the leather chair, stretching his legs out in front of him, watching her. "My wife was a very fragile creature," he said, keeping his voice carefully neutral. That much was the truth, at least. "She was an only child—frail and blond and high-strung. Like a fairy-tale princess."
For a moment Cass just looked at him. And then she pulled a pad of legal paper in front of her and began to write, and if he hadn't been watching her so closely, he wouldn't have seen the frown that wrinkled her brow.
"She was an army brat. But not just any army brat. Her father was General Amberson Scott."
She knew the name—he could tell by the faint pause in her note taking. Most people did. His father-in-law was a war hero, one of the media darlings of the Gulf conflict and a tough-talking man who knew his way around politics far too well. "They were devoted to each other," he said flatly. "Diana's mother is a quiet, unassuming woman, content to follow in her husband's shadow. Diana was their darling, pampered, petted, adored."
"In other words your wife was a spoiled brat," Cassidy said, her eyes meeting his briefly.
"You might say so," he agreed. "But she was a beautiful, charming spoiled brat. We were very happy."
"How nice."
He wanted to grin at the faintly acid tone in her voice. She was surprisingly tough, Cassidy Roarke was, but then, he'd hoped for that much. She'd need to be tough when he got through with her.
"The general approved of me, her mother adored me, and Diana enjoyed being the perfect wife and mother. She loved her children." He kept his voice cool.
She flinched at the mention of his children. He liked that. And then she raised her eyes to meet his, fearlessly. He liked that even more. "You had two," she said.
"Amy and Seth. Amy was five when she died, Seth was three. And Diana was pregnant."
"I remember." Her voice was soft, reluctantly sympathetic. As if she could hear the pain in his voice. Silly, really, when he knew perfectly well there was no pain in his voice at all. No feeling whatsoever.
She dropped her eyes again, looking at the notes. "You lived in Bedford."
"We had a very comfortable life. Diana's mother came from old money, and Diana had already inherited quite a bit from her grandmother. And I worked hard."
"At what?"
"Your research didn't tell you that much?"
"I didn't do research," she shot back. "As a matter of fact, I wanted to avoid hearing anything at all about your case."
"You didn't succeed."
"I know. What was your job?"
"That doesn't make the tabloids too often, does it?" he said calmly. "I was a professor at a small liberal arts college. Generally innocuous profession, even if it kept me busier than my family would have liked."
"I wouldn't have thought you'd make a very good teacher," she said.
"Oh, but I was. Most of the female undergraduates thought I was fascinating."
"Did you do anything about that?"
"Do you mean did I fuck
His smile was devastating. She'd heard that sociopaths had a certain charm, but that was nothing compared to the man in front of her. She could feel the pull, and she wanted nothing more than to smile back, to move toward him.
"No," he said, very gently. And instead of reaching for her, he went and sat down in the green leather chair once more.
CHAPTER 4
« ^ »
Richard Tiernan never thought he'd look forward to spinning that endless pack of lies. He'd told it so often, for police, lawyers, investigators, in-laws. He knew all the details—they were engraved on what passed for his heart. He'd told them to Sean O'Rourke, and watched him try to trip him up. It had become a game between them, one Sean relished and Richard endured. As he endured life.
But faced with the woman sitting at Sean's oversize, messy desk, he found he could summon at least a trace of interest. Just how much could he tell her? How close to the truth could he skate, and when would that reluctant fascination turn to horror?
He needed to find out. He leaned back in the leather chair, stretching his legs out in front of him, watching her. "My wife was a very fragile creature," he said, keeping his voice carefully neutral. That much was the truth, at least. "She was an only child—frail and blond and high-strung. Like a fairy-tale princess."
For a moment Cass just looked at him. And then she pulled a pad of legal paper in front of her and began to write, and if he hadn't been watching her so closely, he wouldn't have seen the frown that wrinkled her brow.
"She was an army brat. But not just any army brat. Her father was General Amberson Scott."
She knew the name—he could tell by the faint pause in her note taking. Most people did. His father-in-law was a war hero, one of the media darlings of the Gulf conflict and a tough-talking man who knew his way around politics far too well. "They were devoted to each other," he said flatly. "Diana's mother is a quiet, unassuming woman, content to follow in her husband's shadow. Diana was their darling, pampered, petted, adored."
"In other words your wife was a spoiled brat," Cassidy said, her eyes meeting his briefly.
"You might say so," he agreed. "But she was a beautiful, charming spoiled brat. We were very happy."
"How nice."
He wanted to grin at the faintly acid tone in her voice. She was surprisingly tough, Cassidy Roarke was, but then, he'd hoped for that much. She'd need to be tough when he got through with her.
"The general approved of me, her mother adored me, and Diana enjoyed being the perfect wife and mother. She loved her children." He kept his voice cool.
She flinched at the mention of his children. He liked that. And then she raised her eyes to meet his, fearlessly. He liked that even more. "You had two," she said.
"Amy and Seth. Amy was five when she died, Seth was three. And Diana was pregnant."
"I remember." Her voice was soft, reluctantly sympathetic. As if she could hear the pain in his voice. Silly, really, when he knew perfectly well there was no pain in his voice at all. No feeling whatsoever.
She dropped her eyes again, looking at the notes. "You lived in Bedford."
"We had a very comfortable life. Diana's mother came from old money, and Diana had already inherited quite a bit from her grandmother. And I worked hard."
"At what?"
"Your research didn't tell you that much?"
"I didn't do research," she shot back. "As a matter of fact, I wanted to avoid hearing anything at all about your case."
"You didn't succeed."
"I know. What was your job?"
"That doesn't make the tabloids too often, does it?" he said calmly. "I was a professor at a small liberal arts college. Generally innocuous profession, even if it kept me busier than my family would have liked."
"I wouldn't have thought you'd make a very good teacher," she said.
"Oh, but I was. Most of the female undergraduates thought I was fascinating."
"Did you do anything about that?"
"Do you mean did I fuck
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