"Are you taking antidepressants? That could potentially be used as evidence that you're unfit. I doubt he'd get very far, but it's well to be prepared."
"No Prozac, that was just a figure of speech. When I'm upset or depressed, I play my piano." Mia made a face. "One thing I'll say—with all the harassment from Steve, my playing is the best it's ever been."
"A silver lining if I ever heard one." Val looked at her tablet and made a mental note to look into the matter of the pension. Maybe Steve had slipped a waiver in with other paperwork and Mia had signed unknowingly. If so, it might provide some leverage, though it would be Mia's word against Steve's as to whether she had signed voluntarily. "Tell me—why do you think Steve is so persistent? Is he still in love with you?"
For the first time, Mia laughed. "No way. He has a gorgeous girlfriend fifteen years younger than he is. His lawsuits really aren't about me or the kids. He just doesn't like losing."
Val showed her teeth. "Neither do I. And trust me, a Harvard-trained litigator can rip the throat out of a retired army officer any day."
Can, and would. Mia Kolski needed some justice, and Val was going to see that she got it.
Chapter 13
The high generated by her visit to Rob carried Val through the rest of the week. Link by link, she was severing her ties with her old job, except for a couple of cases that Donald Crouse wanted her to stay with until completion. In two more weeks, she would move into her own office and become officially self-employed. She could hardly wait.
Her Saturday morning was devoted to an in-home visit by Anita Perez, the Big Sister/Little Sister caseworker. Besides checking that Val had a respectable domicile, Anita grilled her on how she would handle anything that might go wrong when she and Lyssie Armstrong were together. What would Val do in the event of accident? Illness? Temper tantrum? Please show proof of up-to-date car insurance.
Val would also need to sign a contract that spelled out the ground rules for being a Big Sister. These included a commitment of at least six hours a month to Lyssie, promising to pick her up on time and return her to her grandmother promptly. Lyssie would be signing a similar contract about her responsibilities in the relationship.
At the end of the meeting, Val said wryly, "It's amazing to think that people go ahead and have babies without any of this. It seems downright irresponsible."
"Off the record, if I had my druthers no one would be allowed to have a baby without passing a test, sort of like getting a driver's license." Anita grimaced. "I worked in child protective services for years. Far too many kids pay the price for being born to irresponsible parents who shouldn't be trusted with a goldfish, much less a complex, demanding, lovable, fragile baby."
"People think being a lawyer is hard, but what you do is far harder. If I worked with abused kids, I'd be a basket case in no time."
"That's why I left that job—burnout after ten years of seeing man's inhumanity to child. This work is much more fun. With a good Big/Little match, everyone benefits." Anita collected her files and tucked them into her briefcase. "I'm so glad that you and Lyssie hit it off. I was worried that she would be a difficult match because she's prickly. She has a pretty horrible past."
"I know," Val said quietly. "At least, I think I know the worst of it."
"She told you? You two really did connect."
"Actually, I think Lyssie was trying to scare me off, but it didn't work."
"Good. Her grandmother does her best, but she's in poor health. Lyssie needs someone like you to be a steady, supportive presence." Anita offered her hand. "I'll expedite the paperwork, and with luck, you can meet with Lyssie and her grandmother next weekend. If there are no problems, you've got yourself a new sister."
"I've always wanted a little sister. Thanks for moving this through the system so quickly."
"Not a problem. Your friends sent in the references very promptly. They all think very highly of you."
Val grinned. "I picked them very carefully. Have a good weekend, Anita." She closed the door behind the social worker, thinking that of all the changes she was making in her life, this was the one that carried the greatest responsibility. The prospect was scary but exciting. Rather like real parenthood, she suspected.
* * *
Between Anita's visit and her date with Rob, Val concentrated on the business of living—laundry, grocery shopping, basic house straightening. It was a sign of how much time she spent at the office that she actually enjoyed doing ironing and vacuuming.
As she folded sheets from the dryer, she pondered what to wear to dinner. Usually on a first date she aimed for attractive but a bit reserved, so she wouldn't have to fight if the guy was the sort who thought cleavage was an invitation to jump her bones.
But she and Rob were way beyond that point, so they wouldn't experience the walking-on- eggs caution usual on first dates. That meant that it would be possible to relax and enjoy a romantic dinner. And because she knew how the evening would end, she would wear something that would dazzle him until his eyes popped.
She studied her closet, looking for an outfit that was feminine, slightly demure but definitely sexy. After she showered and fluffed her hair to have lots of bounce, she donned a flowing outfit of black silk with painted borders in shades of garnet, gold, and amber.
The ankle-length skirt was slit to the knee, the tank top made the best of her cleavage, and the long, drifting jacket lent an air of spurious respectability. Night-on-the-town makeup, several tiny, sparkling butterflies in her hair, and garnet-colored, dominatrix-style spike heels completed the effect.
Rather than waste time biting her nails waiting for the doorbell, she spent the last minutes making notes about strategies to pursue on behalf of Mia Kolski. The bullying Mr. Kolski was going to regret using his money to harass his ex-wife. The trick was to find a vulnerable place and file a countersuit. When he had something to lose himself, he might be more willing to back off.
The doorbell rang, and she made a quick appearance check. Outfit looked nice, butterflies safely tethered. She opened the door, prepared to be admired—and halted in astonishment, her greeting dying on her lips.
Rob had shaved off his beard. Standing on her front porch was Robert Smith Gabriel, the well-tailored tycoon brother who had turned in the Eco-Arsonist. If she hadn't recognized him from the old news stories, she would have thought a stranger was on her doorstep. Blankly she echoed what he had said when he first saw her in jeans. "Who are you and what have you done with my dinner date?"
"I wasn't sure the teddy bear look was a plus for an investigator. And... it seemed like time to come out of hiding. A little, anyhow."
The beard had been a good disguise—clean-shaven, he projected a totally different image. Though she had sympathized with his terrible moral dilemma when the Eco- Arsonist story broke, she hadn't felt particularly drawn to his photos. He seemed too icy-eyed and controlled, too much like his brother.
Beardless and in person, those qualities were even more visible. His sharply planed face was more handsome than she remembered, and even more formidable. She said randomly, "You'll scare the truth out of a few people now."
"Am I alarming you?"
"No," she said, not quite truthfully. "But your new look will take some getting used to."
He grimaced. "Sorry. I cut the beard off on impulse this afternoon."
"It's your face. You're entitled to change it. You look very striking this way. Just... different than I'm used to." Since they were still in the doorway, she stepped back. "Come on in before the cats escape. They're going to want to check you out."
"What if they reject my new look?"
She laughed. "Then you're in big trouble, Robert."
Damocles appeared and rubbed adoringly against Rob's trousered ankle. If Rob had backed away from getting cat hair on his suit she would start to worry, but he bent and scratched the cat's head as casually as if he wore jeans.
Straightening, he said, "Now that I've been cat-scanned, can I s
ay that you look absolutely stunning? I'd love to kiss you, but if I did, I think we'd miss our dinner reservations."
"Where are we going?"
"The Milton Inn. I'm sure you've been there but I haven't. It sounded like a nice place for our first real date."
"No kissing then. I love the Milton Inn." She picked up her small tapestry evening bag. "Shall we be off? Or do you have more surprises in store?"
"Well—I didn't bring the truck. I was afraid they wouldn't let us in a fancy restaurant if we arrived in that. So I brought my old car instead."
She stepped outside and blinked at the shimmering silver convertible parked by the curb. "Good God, what is that?"
"A Rolls-Royce Corniche." He put a light hand on her back and guided her to the car. "Though I did pretty well with my business, I didn't live lavishly. Serious consumerism takes time, and I never had enough of that to waste it shopping. Then one day I drove by a Rolls-Royce dealership. I'd always thought of them as the ultimate in quality and class—way out of my league. Suddenly it occurred to me that I could afford one if I wanted it. So I marched inside and ordered a Corniche on the spot."
He circled the vehicle to climb in on the driver's side and pushed a button to bring up the powered top. "I walked away from just about everything else in my California life, but I couldn't bring myself to sell the car. I drove it cross-country with one duffle bag and a laptop computer in the trunk. Since a Rolls didn't exactly fit my new life, I rented a garage for it when I reached Baltimore. I pulled the car out of storage for you, since you're the ultimate in quality and class yourself."
"I'd always fancied myself as a latent Ferrari, but I'll settle for this." She stroked the buttery leather of the seat, understanding why the car had been an irresistible symbol for a boy who had grown up the hard way. What did cars like this cost? Surely at least a quarter of a million dollars. "Are you rich, Rob? Ignore the question if you prefer, but you wear the trappings of wealth as easily as your battered blue jeans."
There was a long silence while he put the car into gear and pulled away from the curb. Val began to regret asking the question.
They were on Northern Parkway before Rob said, "If wealth is a state of mind, I was never rich, though my business sold for one heck of a lot of money. After Jeff's execution, I set up a foundation for funding grassroots projects in poor neighborhoods. I kept a chunk for myself—I worked too hard to give it all up, and I don't ever want to be poor again. I guess I qualify as comfortable, but rich? Not now, and I never really was, not in my mind."
A foundation? Another attempt at redemption, Val guessed. "You're using the money well. Are some of your projects here in Baltimore?"
"A couple of them are. The Brothers Foundation is the chief sponsor of the Fresh Air Community Center. It's been successful, so they're looking to open a couple more in other neighborhoods. The foundation also contributes to several existing community housing organizations, plus it supports our graffiti eradication program."
"Graffiti? Like the Graffiti Guy I read about in the newspaper a while back?"
He smiled faintly. "I am the Graffiti Guy, or at least the original one. These days, most of the work is done by Sha'wan Baker. He's a terrific kid."
She shook her head, impressed but unnerved. "I feel like you didn't just shave off your beard, but had a personality transplant."
He frowned. "This sounds like something that needs to be talked about. Do you really feel that I'm that different? I can grow the beard back."
"Don't worry, I'll adjust." She studied his face, trying to integrate this glittering man of the world with the warm, sensitive lover. "But you're a real moving target, Rob. When we first met, I thought you were a hardworking, uncomplicated carpenter. Since then you've become a crusader, a Marine, an investigator, a man with a past, and now a philanthropist who looks like a world-class tycoon. Even though all these things are true, it's kind of like sleeping with a male harem." She smiled a little. "Not that that's necessarily a bad thing. But I keep wondering if I really know you."
He pulled the car over to the curb and turned to face her. "Close your eyes."
When she obeyed, she heard the creak of his weight shifting on the seat as he leaned across the console. A large hand smoothed back her hair before cupping her cheek. The callused hand of a carpenter, not the smooth fingers of a businessman.
Then he kissed her with the warmth and tenderness that were so much a part of their lovemaking. This was the man she thought she knew, not the soulless overachiever who had showed up on her doorstep this evening. The vulnerability was still there under his polished surface, as was the indefinable quality that made him Rob.
"Now do I seem familiar?" he whispered before deepening the kiss.
Liquid heat pooled demandingly, making her ache for his touch. "Point taken," she said shakily. "You're still you, and you were right—kissing puts dinner in jeopardy."
"How hungry are you?" His lips moved to her throat, unerringly finding a pulse point that magnified the erotic effect.
She considered and pulled away. "Pretty hungry. Remember, pleasure delayed is pleasure multiplied."
He took a deep breath and put the car in gear again. "You're right. We can continue this later in a less public place."
"Given the attention this car is attracting, that's a good idea." Val glanced in the mirror and decided her new no- smudge lipstick worked pretty well. "Where did you get your computer training? You mentioned it so offhandedly that it sounded like you went to a trade school, but now I suspect it was some high-class place like MIT."
"Why would I want to study at a second-rate dump like MIT?" He gave her an appalled glance. "I went to Stanford."
She laughed, glad his sense of humor was still recognizable. "Silicon Valley. California boy. Of course Stanford. I should have guessed. I've always thought of myself as open-minded, but you're a real challenge to my preconceptions, Rob."
"If I'm hard to classify, it's because I don't fit into any normal framework."
Though his voice was level, Val heard the underlying bleakness. "Normal is a myth," she said quietly. "It sounds to me as if you create a place for yourself wherever you go." She rested her left hand on his thigh. After a moment, his right hand came down to rest on it.
As they drove north into the Maryland countryside, Val observed Rob from the corner of her eye. He was a remarkably fine-looking man with or without the beard, but she couldn't help feeling that their relationship was built on ever-shifting sand.
* * *
Rob should have known better than to try to make the evening perfect. The first crack had appeared as soon as Val opened her door, looking like an invitation to sin, and froze at the sight of his shaved self. Though she claimed she would adjust quickly, for the rest of the evening she seemed more than usually reserved.
He should have warned her that he was taking the damned beard off, but as he'd said, it was an impulse. The decision to come out of his shell was only one of his reasons. Equally strong was looking in the mirror and deciding the beard looked sort of silly with his CEO suit. Since he wanted to impress her, out came the scissors and razor.
Belatedly it occurred to him that since she had spent her formative years in a commune, she might prefer a beard to the clean-shaven look. He'd discovered that the beard made him seem more approachable. His unadorned face made people wary, and it was having that effect on Val.
His attempt to impress her with the Rolls hadn't been much better. Though she liked the car, he should have realized that a woman who was perfectly okay with a battered pickup wasn't going to swoon over an expensive set of wheels.
His optimism revived when they reached the restaurant. Well north of the city, the Milton Inn was a genuine coaching inn built in the first half of the eighteenth century, and as romantic a setting as anyone could want. But a getaway it wasn't. Not only was Val greeted by name, she waved to several acquaintances as they were escorted to a table in one of the charming rooms.
S
he even stopped at the table of an older couple to perform introductions. "My checkered past is about to be exposed, Rob. As a kid, I was a member of a girl gang, and this tolerant couple here, Judge Charles Hamilton and Julia Corsi Hamilton, were parents of a couple of my buddies. Folks, this is my friend Rob Smith."
The judge, a distinguished man with silvered hair, rose to shake hands. "Val was the gang's attorney," he said with amusement. "Even at age ten she had an amazing ability to construct watertight defenses when the girls got out of line."
"She can certainly talk circles around me," Rob agreed, nodding to Mrs. Hamilton. The judge's sharp glance made Rob wonder if he had been recognized, but if so, he said nothing.
After taking leave of her friends, Val moved on to their table on the other side of the room. "Sorry," she said after taking her seat. "Having lived here most of my life, I just about always see people I know. Incidentally, Julia is the mother of Kate, your friend Donovan's wife. She and the judge are newlyweds. They were both widowed, so when they married, Kate and my friend Rachel became stepsisters as well as friends."
"You mean fellow gang members." Rob studied Val, admiring the way the silk draped over her lush figure. "It must be wonderful to have such long-term friendships."
"Yes, but it's hard to get away with anything when every time you turn around, you see someone who knew you when you were knee-high to a squirrel."
He tried to imagine being so much a part of a place, and failed. Maybe if he stayed in Baltimore long enough, he'd find out.
After a quick scan of the menu, she made her decision and set it aside. "Tell me about being the Graffiti Guy."
Her choice of subject broke the ice, and over food and wine they deepened their knowledge of each other. He approved of her becoming a Big Sister because he knew how valuable such programs could be, but hoped the Little Sister didn't take up too much of Val's time. He wanted as much of that time as he could get.
By and large they stayed away from the subject of Daniel Monroe, except when Rob said, "It's occurred to me that Monroe might be a good one to ask about other young men in the neighborhood who might be confused with him. Do you mind if I visit him in prison without you there?"
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