“Do you love your wife?” She wanted to know, more out of curiosity than anything else. She wanted to know him better. And he could never be anything less than honest with her. He hesitated and then nodded.

“She's very lucky.” But he didn't want to talk about his wife with her.

“I haven't been able to think about anyone but you since the night I met you. All I wanted to do that night was put my arms around you.” They exchanged a long intense look, and then each knew what the other was feeling. They didn't even need the words. All they needed was each other. And they both knew he could lose his job over what he was doing…and his wife…but the truth was, he didn't care now. All he wanted was to be with her, to take care of her, and protect her as no one else had. Marielle was drawn to him too, but she couldn't imagine what would happen. They were both married, whether happily or not, and however angry Malcolm was at her now, she couldn't leave him after losing Teddy.

“What's going to happen to us?” she asked softly.

What do you want to happen, Marielle?” His voice was deep and gentle.

“I'm not sure.” She looked worried. She didn't want to hurt anyone, not John, or his wife, or even Malcolm.

John touched the silky cinnamon-colored hair. And the truth was that he was ready to leave Debbie for her, but he knew that if he told Marielle that, it would frighten her and make her feel guilty. He didn't want to make promises he couldn't keep, yet he wanted her so badly. He wanted to be with her, to help her, to hold her, to give her everything she'd never had before. He wanted all of her…her soul…her life…and her body…

“You haven't had a hell of a lot of lucky breaks, my friend.” He said it with a rueful smile, and more kindness in his eyes than she had seen in a lifetime.

“No, I guess you could say that…Teddy was one of them…and now you…maybe that's all you get…maybe all you get out of anything worth having is a few years, a few days… a few moments…” She had had Andre for a brief two years… Charles for three…Teddy for four…maybe that was it…maybe that was all… Maybe there was no forever.

“You don't ask for much.”

“I haven't had much choice.” She looked him in the eye and he leaned toward her and kissed her again. This time it took their breath away, and he wasn't sure he could restrain himself much longer.

“I want you to be happy…” he whispered heatedly, but she looked at him sadly. Even though he had given her so much joy in these few precious moments, she didn't expect more, and she wanted him to know that. And all she wanted right now was to find Teddy.

“This has been such an awful time…” she said softly.

“I know.” He took her hand in his own, wishing he could solve all her problems. Maybe in time…but he shuddered to think what would happen to her if they never found the boy, or they only found his body. “You have to be very strong, Marielle.” He knew she was already. “I'm here to help you.” And then he had a thought, because in truth, she asked so little of him. “Why do you ask so little of everyone? Why are you so decent?” Therein he knew he had found the key. That was why they all hated her. Because she expected nothing of them, because she gave without wanting anything in return, and it all made them feel so terribly lacking. She was too good, too kind, too pure, and too willing to endure the pain they gave her. “Don't be so good…even to me, Marielle…don't…” He kissed her again, and she kissed him hard this time, and finally she stopped and pulled away with a small smile that made his heart turn over as he watched her. With all her dignity and gentleness, she still exuded an aura of passion, and she was driving him crazy.

“If we don't stop soon, we're going to have a serious problem.” She looked at him knowingly as she said it.

“I'm not so sure that isn't what I want,” he answered hoarsely. And she was sure it was what she wanted. She hadn't made love to a man in three years, and the sinews beneath his shirt looked powerfully appealing, but they also didn't need that kind of complication at the moment, and they both knew it.

“When this is all over, you and I are going to have a serious talk, Mrs. Patterson. I don't know what's going to happen. But I do know I'm not going to let you off the hook so easily then.” He had never felt like this about anyone, not even his wife, and he wasn't willing to give that up now. The moment he had met Marielle, he had known his life was about to change forever. But he also knew that what he owed her now was to find her son, and if he couldn't do that, to at least help her through the trial and see Charles Delauney convicted.

“Would you like something to eat before you go?” she offered, but he shook his head.

“I have to get back to the office,” he said reluctantly, hating to leave her. He seldom went home before ten o'clock. Because he really didn't want to. He had told Marielle he loved his wife and he did… he had… he used to…But the truth was, he loved his kids more, and that and their religion kept them together. “Ill call you tomorrow,” he whispered to Marielle, wondering if she'd regret what they'd done, what they'd said, and if she'd be embarrassed, but there was a look of contentment in her eyes when she stood up, and she looked at him strangely.

“I know I should feel guilty, but I don't. I just feel peaceful.” As though something very special had happened. And he felt it too. Something right. Something good. Something they both needed and wanted. But would they ever be allowed to have it? It was still too soon to know the answer to that question.

“Good night, Mrs. Patterson,” he said softly, brushing her lips with his own before they left the room and were under the scrutiny of the policemen still assigned to her home night and day. “Good night, Marielle…” he whispered. She smiled as she walked him to the front door, and a few minutes later, she walked quietly upstairs to her own room. It was the first time in a month she had smiled, it was so wonderful to feel loved and wanted again, even if only for a moment.

9

Bill Palmer, the U.S. Attorney, became a frequent visitor to their home, while he was preparing his case, and for long periods of time he would stay closeted with Malcolm. He spoke to various members of the staff, and he had had several conversations with the no longer employed Edith and Patrick. And finally, in early March, he spoke to Marielle again, this time alone, with neither John Taylor, nor her husband.

“I want you to be sure, Mrs. Patterson, before you take the stand, that you're perfectly clear on what you believe happened. Do you understand me?” She was sure she did, and he was one of those people who spoke in a deliberate voice, and there was absolutely nothing endearing about him. His hair was slicked down, and his face was pale. He was probably John Taylor's age, a man in his very early forties. He was given to pin-striped suits and dark ties, he wore horn-rimmed glasses, and it was obvious that he was extremely impressed with Malcolm.

“I understand,” she said quietly. But there was still very little to tell. She had heard a noise late that night, and at midnight she had gone upstairs to check on Teddy, just to kiss him, she explained for the hundredth time, but the attorney looked untouched by her recital. He was only interested in convicting Delauney. He hated men like him, a socialist lurking in the robes of a rich man, as he viewed it. A spoiled playboy who thought he could do anything he wanted. “I found Betty, and Miss Griffin, bound and gagged. Miss Griffin had a pillowcase over her head as well, and she'd been chloroformed. And Teddy was gone…that's all there was really… he had vanished.” And there had been nothing since then, except the false alarm over the ransom left in Grand Central Station. It had never been picked up and they'd never called again, which convinced the police and the FBI that the call had been made by cranks in the first place.