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A soft knock at the door stirred Jewell from sleep a few short hours later. Somewhere on the outskirts of her conscious mind, the low but steady rapping worked its way into her senses. She pushed back her hair and lifted her head from the pillow.
The pleasant weight across her waist didn't register until she moved to sit up. Benjamin's arm draped over her hips and his body pressed against hers in sleep. Jewell edged her way from beneath his hold, trying not to wake him, and slipped from the covers. She hated leaving the warmth and sensation of Benjamin's sleeping body beside her.
As she edged away, his fingers curled and hung onto the edge of her tank top. A smile edged up her lips and Jewell slowly freed her shirt from his sleeping grasp. He moaned softly and shifted. The knocking continued and, with a groan, she extracted herself completely from the bed.
Jewell wished she'd packed a robe, but hadn't anticipated early morning visitors. She flipped her hair over her shoulder, crossed an arm over her chest, and opened the door.
"Yes?" she said as she peeked through the crack.
An older gentleman stood in the hall, his gray hair mussed and dark bags beneath his eyes. He looked as tired as Jewell felt.
"Miss Kincaid?" he asked, his voice sounding weathered.
"Yes?" she said, stifling a yawn.
"I'm sorry to wake you so early, Miss Kincaid," said the elderly man. "My name is George Ferguson. We spoke on the phone."
Jewell opened the door a little further to take in the man. He wore black trousers and a black jacket with a vest, all impeccably pressed and wrinkle-free. Reality worked its way through her sleep-muddled brain, and all the dots connected. George Ferguson was a member of the staff in the Roth household, by his clothing probably staff management, and Victoria Roth had fallen in love with his grandson. Knowing what she knew about the family, coupled with what she could surmise, she saw clearly why Jon Roth would be so enraged at his daughter's choice. A man like John Roth wouldn't accept anyone so mundane as the grandson of the head of staff.
"I'm looking for Benjamin. I tried his old room, but he wasn't there. One of the other members of the household staff said she thought this was your room, and I hoped you might know where he is."
Jewell swung the door wide open. "Please, come in."
"I'm sure both you and Benjamin were told that Dillon shot Victoria. It's just not true."
"We haven't heard much of anything," Jewell explained, motioning him into the room. "All we know is what you told me on the phone. Some of it was confirmed when we got here, but no one said Dillon was a suspect." She shut the door behind the older man.
Benjamin stirred again in the bed and reached across the mattress to where she had been. "Jewell?" he mumbled in a sleepy voice.
She walked back to the bed so he could see her. When Jewell stepped into view, Benjamin smiled and reached out to her. Never had she imagined anything so sexy as Benjamin, naked from the waist up and looking slightly rumpled from sleep, beckoning her to join him again beneath the covers. Jewell took his hand and he tried to pull her back into bed.
"What're you doing out of bed?"
Jewell smiled back and glanced towards where George Ferguson stood. He looked away, not meeting her eyes, and Jewell realized what he must assume. He came here thinking she might know where Benjamin was, and there he lay in her bed. She didn't know whether she should be ashamed or pleased with her lack of embarrassment in the discovery.
Reluctantly, she released his hand. "George Ferguson is here, Benjamin. He needs to speak with you."
Benjamin sat up and looked around the canopy of the bed to see the man. He nodded and the shadows returned to his face. Obviously, for a few minutes, he had been able to forget why they were there. George's presence brought it back. Slowly, he forced himself from the bed and pulled on his jeans as he stood.
"Come sit down, George."
George sat in an upholstered chair adjacent to the bed. Benjamin raked his wavy hair with his fingers and rubbed his palm over his face. His glance fell on her briefly and one eyebrow arched. She nodded slightly, letting him know she was fine.
Jewell stood off to the side. She felt this was something of which she wasn't quite part. Even though she knew Victoria, and was devastated herself by the young woman's attack, Jewell still wasn't quite part of it all. Self-conscious, she slipped back and went into the bathroom, grabbing her case along the way.
With the door closed behind her, Jewell hesitantly looked in the mirror. The fatigue on her face was clear as day. She glanced at her wristwatch. It was six o'clock in the morning. Good Lord! They slept maybe four hours if that much. Wanting to give Benjamin his space, yet wanting to be close if he needed her, Jewell set her bag on the counter and crossed the bathroom that was bigger than her living room to turn on the shower. She washed her hair quickly and dried off just as quickly. After putting on a pair of wool blend slacks and a sweater, she worked her damp chaotic curls into a neat french braid. A cool washcloth and a touch of makeup took some of the weariness from her face. After slipping on a pair of shoes, Jewell opened the door and went back into the bedroom.
George had moved the chair closer to the side of the bed. The two men sat close together, their stances angled into the small circle formed by the chairs and bed. Even as she came around the end of the bed, Jewell saw dampness on George's cheeks. For the moment, none of them spoke. Benjamin sat forward with his right elbow braced on his thigh and his brow in the palm of his hand.
Jewell swallowed back emotion and moved to Benjamin's side. She touched his shoulder gently. Not looking up, he took her hand and pulled her down to sit beside him. The grip on her hand was almost painful, but she didn't pull away. She looked to George.
"Mr. Ferguson?"
He sighed and shook his head. "I don't know who else to turn to."
"George has asked me to post bail for Dillon and help him find a lawyer."
