Tears raced down Julie's cheeks as she watched Zack pull Emily McDaniels into his arms. He let her go, handing her over to her husband, then he vanished into the limousine, which sped away while Brokaw added, "Amarillo reporters who'd discovered Benedict's release raced to Amarillo's airport terminal in hopes of getting a statement. However, he left with Farrell aboard the latter's private jet. NBC has learned that the flight plan filed by Farrell's pilot lists their destination as Los Angeles, where Farrell owns a home, although it is currently leased to movie star Paul Resterman and his wife."

Choking on her tears, Julie looked at Katherine and said hoarsely, "Matt Farrell never stopped believing in him. At least Zack had one loyal friend."

"Don't start torturing yourself," Katherine warned, but her own voice was strained with emotion and Julie wasn't listening anyway. She was staring at the screen and listening as Brokaw said, "Amarillo Prosecuting Attorney William Wesley is about to make a statement from the courthouse there—"

The picture switched to the steps of the courthouse, where a dark-haired man in his thirties was walking out the doors and addressing a mob of reporters waving microphones and shouting questions at him. "Hold your questions," he warned them, putting on a pair of glasses, "until I've made my statement, and then I'll answer what I can." When the furor died down, he raised the paper he'd been holding in his hand and began to read: "Yesterday, Zachary Benedict's California attorneys requested a special meeting with my office here in Amarillo. During that meeting we were provided with a sworn statement from Miss Emily McDaniels testifying to the fact that her father, George Anderson McDaniels, had admitted to the murders of Rachel Evans and Anthony Austin. Miss McDaniels, who dictated her statement before Police Captain John Jorgen in Orange County, California, also provided a .45-calibre automatic weapon belonging to her father. Preliminary ballistic tests performed this morning, indicate that the bullets that killed Mr. Austin were fired from that weapon. Immediately following our meeting with Mr. Benedict's attorneys, they filed a writ of habeas corpus here in Amarillo, demanding the release of their client from Amarillo State Prison. The writ was signed, with no objection from my office, by Judge Wolcott and then forwarded to the state capitol in Austin for signature by an Appeals Court judge. That signature was granted this morning, and Zachary Benedict has been duly released. There are still some legal formalities to be dealt with regarding his escape from Amarillo State Penitentiary two months ago, which technically violates Texas law. However, it is the opinion of this office that Mr. Benedict has already paid a high price for his brief illegal freedom at the hands of the Mexican police, as well as five years imprisonment for a crime he appears not to have committed. Any questions?" he asked, looking up at the reporters. There were dozens of them, but the one that came across the loudest was the one he answered: "What about Zack Benedict's kidnapping of Julie Mathison? Will he have to stand trial for that?"

"That will depend upon whether or not Miss Mathison wishes to press charges against him in criminal or civil court. Our office has nothing to do with that, however."

In the doorway, Willie dragged his gaze from his teacher's agonized face and returned to his companions at the dining room table, who hadn't been able to hear or see the television program. "It's that jerk Benedict again," he whispered furiously. "He's out of jail, and she's cryin' over him." Picking up his books, he began shoving them into his gym bag. "We might as well pack up and get out of here. Miss Mathison ain't gonna want us to see her cryin' over him, and from the way she's bawlin', she ain't gonna be able to stop for a long time."

The other boys hastily obeyed their leader's command, but Johnny Everett lifted his worried, freckled face to Willie's. "Why does seein' Benedict on television make her cry, Willie?"

Grabbing his gym bag, Willie automatically gave Tim a hand with his wheelchair. "My mom says he broke her heart, that's why. My mom says the whole town knows it, too."

"He's a jerk," Tim said.

"A big jerk," Johnny agreed, backing his wheelchair away from the table and heading it toward the kitchen where a specially constructed ramp led from the back door to the driveway.

On the sidewalk in front of the house, the three boys paused, looking through the open curtains at their teacher, who was blowing her nose while Miss Cahill patted her shoulder. She glanced up and saw them standing there and she smiled reassuringly, waved, and nodded that they were right to leave.

In helpless consternation, they started down the street. "I hate Zachary Benedict," Johnny announced.

"Me, too," Tim said.

"Yeah, me, too," Willie said, pushing his bike. With a combination of protectiveness and practicality, he added, "Johnny, you and me will get to school early in the morning. We'll warn the kids in our class to take it easy on Miss Mathison for a while. No spit balls. No cutting up. No stuff like that. Tim, you don't gotta worry about your class, 'cause Miss Mathison doesn't teach it. Your job is to spread the word to the kids on the teams she coaches. Tell everybody to go real easy on her."

"They're gonna ask me why," Tim said, expertly maneuvering his chair around a dead branch lying partially across the sidewalk.

"Tell 'em Benedict broke her heart again and made her cry. It ain't no secret if all the grown-ups in town already know it."

Chapter 68

"Welcome back, Mr. Benedict!" The manager of the Beverly Hills Hotel rushed forward when he saw Zack registering at the lobby desk the afternoon of his release from prison. "I've put you in our best cottage, and the entire staff is at your disposal. Mr. Farrell," he said politely as Matt signed in at the desk beside Zack, "your secretary told me you'll only be with us for tonight. Please let me know if I or my staff may be of service to you."

Behind them, a lobby full of people were turning to stare, and Zack heard his name being whispered like wind rustling through the trees. "Send a magnum of champagne to my cottage," he instructed the obsequious desk clerk, shoving the registration form forward. "Then send dinner for two at eight o'clock. If any calls come in through the switchboard for me, tell the callers I'm not registered here."

"Yes, Mr. Benedict."

With a curt nod, Zack turned around and almost collided with a beautiful blonde and a stunning brunette who were holding out cocktail napkins and pens to him. "Mr. Benedict." the blonde said with a dazzling smile, "may we have your autograph?"