False Pretenses Read Free Page B

Christian Hunter in my life.” She turned on those words, pinning him with those intense green eyes. Gifted-artist eyes, Timothy had told him, flushed, in love with this enigmatic woman.
    Rod shrugged. “He sought me out, told me his story. I put him through the blender and I knew he would be believed by the jury. He is the most credible witness I’ve ever seen.”
    She stood stiff, ramrod stiff.
    â€œWhy? He saved you, Elizabeth. I don’t know . . . Yes, I do know. Without him the jury would find youguilty. Were it not for Christian Hunter, you would go to prison for life.”
    She knew that well enough. The jurors had regarded her throughout with distrust and the natural wariness and envy of the very rich. “Yes,” she said finally. “Yes, I know. He told Moretti that he was rich. Odd how they would believe him and not me. What does he want, Rod?”
    â€œI don’t know. Your estate is vast, Elizabeth.” He paused, but just for a moment. “There’s more, of course. The family, as you well know, is going to fight the will. I’ve held them off with the trial. But now—as soon as the jury brings in the not-guilty verdict—it will start in earnest. Don’t think they will change toward you because you’ve been exonerated.”
    Her hand released the delicate silk curtain. “I don’t care, you know that, Rod. I’ve never cared. You should realize that by now.”
    He was silent.
    She stared at him. “No, I guess you don’t know, do you?” she said slowly, thoughtfully. “There is no one for me, is there?”
    â€œElizabeth . . .” he said, his hand clutching at his martini glass.
    â€œNo, don’t.” She wasn’t stupid or blind. She saw his uncertainty, understood it. She drew a deep breath. “No, you don’t know, do you, Rod? Now we’ve another battle, have we?”
    â€œYes,” he said simply. “We do. Are you going to be up to it, Elizabeth?”
    She didn’t answer immediately. She was thinking: Timothy, what am I to do? Fight your family? Your brothers? Your own sons and daughter? Your mother, for God’s sake?
    â€œWhere did you find Christian Hunter?”
    He felt himself stiffen at her cold tone. “I told you, he came to me.”
    â€œYou should have consulted me, Rod.”
    Yes, I could have, but you didn’t make a whimper, did you? You let him tell his story and didn’t make a sound. “I suppose I could have,” he said aloud. He drank down the rest of the martini. “Moretti won’t break him.”
    â€œNo, perhaps not. But, Rod, what price will Hunter ask? What is it that he wants?”
    â€œI don’t know, Elizabeth. I truly don’t know.”

2

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    E lizabeth stared at the black letters of the Post headline: ELIZABETH X SAVED BY SURPRISE WITNESS .
    Rod Samuels had been right, about everything. Moretti hadn’t broken Christian Hunter. Dr. Hunter had broken him, never tiring, never mixing up his story, even after four brutal hours of pounding from the district attorney.
    She looked up at Rod, saw the triumph in his dark eyes. Triumph at winning, at beating Moretti, whom he considered an uneducated fascist. Rod was rubbing his hands together. They’d escaped the media. Gallagher had very efficiently locked the lobby doors in their faces.
    â€œThe man was a marvel, wasn’t he?” Rod said, accepting a flute of Veuve Clicquot from the beaming Kogi.
    â€œYes,” said Elizabeth. “I thought Moretti would kill him, he was so furious.”
    Rod regarded her closely. It seemed to him that he was always looking at her for the slightest hint of whatshe was thinking or feeling, for her voice never gave her away. “The jury took only an hour.”
    â€œYes,” she said again.
    â€œMoretti couldn’t dig up a scrap of dirt on Hunter. Even his ridiculous IRS ploy backfired