The Heart of the Jungle, стр. 12
He pursed his lips, realizing he was being manipulated. Still, he was reminded about all of those late nights when he couldn't reach Michael at the office; all of the cold, uneaten dinners that he'd scraped into the garbage disposal; the once-lucrative investments and the empty bank accounts. "I'll think about it," he said, though his promise lacked conviction.
Pearl seemed as if she wanted to say something more. She apparently thought better of it and just returned to her station behind the counter. "I'm always here if you need me."
"I know." Chris smiled tenderly at her and turned to leave.
He had no spirit for the jog home. Instead, he walked the meandering mile back up the hill, once more oblivious to the beauty of the summer day. His mind was in turmoil, the doubts and indecision like heavy weights upon his back.
What if everything Jason Kingsley had said was true? What if Michael did have a drug habit? How had he missed it? Could he really have been so blind?
There was only one person who could tell him. Although he was hesitant to pursue it, he knew he couldn't live with the idea of not knowing for sure. He had spent enough time dealing with unanswered questions. It was time to start seeking the truth.
CHRIS glanced at his watch and walked through the glass doors of a downtown high-rise. His hard-soled shoes made clicking noises on the polished marble floor, and he shuffled slightly to dampen the noise. He was ten minutes early, though George MacQuery had assured him that his afternoon was clear, so it wasn't likely that he would have to wait long.
As he stood in the elevator on his way to the twenty-seventh floor, Chris recalled that it was George who had first introduced him to Michael. At the time, Michael had been a promising young associate fresh from a career with the DA's office, ready to take on defense. In his first two years with the firm, he established himself as a rising star, making partner in record time. His strategy in the courtroom was nothing short of brilliant, and his handsome, winning face had charmed more than one jury. He was ruthless when he had to be, but never overtly.
George would often say, "Michael will rip their throats out, but he'll do it with a smile."
George had introduced them at a cocktail party. Michael was immediately smitten and wasted no time in letting Chris know it. Even though he'd flatly rejected the advances, Michael would not relent. He was not the kind of person who liked to lose. He saw himself in a contest of wills and knew it was only a matter of time before Chris gave in. He tried every angle until Chris finally agreed to go out with him. Their courtship was a happy time for Chris---he'd just landed a job at The Sounder, and for the first time in his life, he was on his feet and moving in a positive direction.
In Michael, he had found someone with great passion who could, with a simple turn of phrase or flash of a smile, make the world bow at his feet. He was sexy and exciting but gentle when he had to be---at least in the beginning. Looking back, Chris realized that their relationship had been more good than bad, but they had never shared the quiet closeness of other couples they knew. Michael moved too quickly, was too dogged in pursuing his ambition. He thrived on control, and love would have meant giving in completely to an emotion. That had been impossible for both of them, each for their own reasons.
So instead of love, they found some measure of security in being together, and that had been enough to keep them bound for five years. It probably would have continued to carry them if Michael hadn't been murdered.
The elevator announced his arrival, and Chris stepped into the opulently appointed office space. Leslie, the firm's receptionist, greeted him with a bright smile.
"Chris," she said, coming to her feet. "How have you been?"
"As well as can be expected," Chris answered truthfully. "I have an appointment with George."
"I know. I'll let him know you're here." Leslie indicated he should take a seat and dialed George's line. Shortly after Chris sat down, George came around the corner.
After a warm hug of welcome, George led him into his office and closed the door, then motioned him to a leather sofa and offered him a drink. Chris accepted a bottle of water and admired a new painting George had procured.
"How are you feeling?"
Chris regarded him seriously for a moment and took a sip of his water. He wasn't sure how to broach the subject, and quite before he realized what he was going to say, the words tumbled from his lips. "Did Michael do drugs?"
George was caught off guard, but he quickly regained his footing.
He stood and turned toward the window.
His sudden reticence was all the answer Chris needed. It was true.
Chris struggled to hold the instant flare of shock in check. He was not going to let George escape the question. Instead, he steeled himself and waited for a response. Finally, when the protracted silence became unbearable, he spoke. "Why didn't you tell me?"
George turned toward him, his eyes troubled. Realization that he could not evade the subject any longer was clear in his timid expression.
"A lot of reasons." His voice was touched with remorse. "Mostly because I care a great deal for you. I never wanted this to hurt you."
"Didn't you think I'd find out eventually?"
"I thought I could convince him to kick the habit before that happened."
"How long have you known?"
"Two years. I found out shortly after he won the Brunner Investments case." There was admission in the older man's voice---and something that sounded suspiciously like relief.
Chris stared at the bottled water he clutched in white-knuckled hands. He