by Maryann Reid
Suki arched an eyebrow. “How about a pitcher of margaritas?”
It took Yolanda a few seconds to decide Suki must be joking. She gave a nervous giggle and said, “I’m afraid we’re nonalcoholic here. Would you like a soda?”
“Maybe a pitcher of ice water instead, and some glasses?” Blake suggested.
“I’ll be right back with that.” Yolanda vanished from the door.
Before she returned, Mr. Torres entered with his phone pressed to his ear. He murmured greetings to them as he settled into a chair, and a look of relief passed over his handsome face as he sank into the cushions. “Yeah, I’ll have to get back to you on that,” he told whoever he was on the phone with. “Got to consult with a new client now, though. Bueno.”
Yolanda breezed into the room carrying a platter with a pitcher of ice water and half a dozen glasses on it. As she carefully set the platter on the table, Torres asked, “Is Kenton still here, by chance?”
Kenton? Why is that name familiar? Blake stared at her hands, folded together on the table, and tried to answer her own question.
“Yes, sir, but I saw him packing up for the night. Do you want me to catch him?”
“Please do. I need to consult with him.” Torres looked at Blake and explained, “I defended your ex-husband on a DWI several years ago, and I need to make sure that representing you won’t be looked at as a conflict of interest for any reason. Kenton Rhodes is one of the best in all the Eastern states at procedural questions like that.”
Even as Torres finished explaining, the man who must be Kenton Rhodes entered the room. Tall, long strapping legs, and a tailored gray suit and lavender tie.
About the time she finished staring at his tie, she realized he was staring at her too, gray-faced as if he were looking at a ghost. When she raised her gaze to his face, she understood why. His light brown skin, his curly black hair, those eyeglasses exactly like the ones worn by the actor who played Amy Winehouses’s boyfriend in the music video for “You Know I’m No Good”… She knew that face from literally hundreds of photographs taken by her private detective.
This is the man who adopted my son.
“Kenton?” Torres waved a hand in front of the man’s face, and at last the man looked at his law partner. “What do you say? Any problem with me representing Ms. Bertrand, do you think?”
“I…I’m sorry, I was distracted.” Kenton Rhodes seated himself in the other chair next to Torres. He listened intently as Torres explained about having once defended Lang Bertrand from a DWI charge, but at the same time he pulled a phone out of his pants pocket, tapped a few keys, and glanced at Blake again before putting the phone away again.
“So?” Torres finished his explanation for a second time and regarded Kenton curiously. “What’s the verdict?”
“No problem with you representing her. If the case ends up involving Lang as well as Blake, though, you’ll either need to represent both of them or work in partnership with Lang’s attorney. Otherwise, if Lang went to prison and Blake walked, Lang could accuse you of selling him out.”
Torres nodded. “Got it. Okay, man, go on home to your boy. Tell him Uncle Rico said hi.”
“You bet.” Kenton Rhodes stood up, and Blake noticed that he was taller than six feet, maybe even six-four, with longer legs and broader shoulders than average.
She watched the man her son called “dad” go, hesitating just a moment in the door to look back at her again before disappearing down the corridor. It took her a few breaths to realize that Torres was asking what sort of food she’d like delivered.
#
Blake couldn’t tell Torres much about the property she was suspected of burning down. She’d asked Charles to round up all the information about the place and the deal for it that he could find. That amounted to a file consisting of a single note: acquired by Lang Bertrand, January 2008.
“You and Lang often did business separately, while married?” Torres asked, as Yolanda typed essential information from the conversation into a file on her laptop.
“We had such different interests, it just made sense. I wanted a ripple effect—transform key properties, and thereby transform the surrounding communities. He wanted to be the biggest fish in every pond.” Blake shrugged. “Our finances were combined, but our business projects were mostly separated.”
Torres nodded. “Since the restaurant was awarded to you in your divorce, have you had any dealings with the grounds or management?”
“I didn’t even know it was mine. Lang and I had a lot of property to be divided between us when we divorced. Slightly more than a billion dollars’ worth. Charles and I haven’t finished going through the settlement, recording what’s mine and what’s Lang’s.”
“Now, if we can just prove that, and/or prove you were elsewhere when the restaurant burned down, the district attorney won’t bother you anymore.” Torres asked more questions as they ate the Chinese food they’d ordered, working out what his strategy for clearing Blake’s name should be.
It was late when Blake and Suki emerged from the old Spanish building, and when Blake powered on her BlackBerry, she discovered several messages waiting for her. Vickie and Vanessa both wanted updates, of course, as did Edith and Blake’s mom.
There was also a text message from Kenton Rhodes.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
June 15
Miami, Florida
“Wait for me,” Blake told the taxi driver, when she pulled into a parking space at the Hialeah apartment complex, where Kenton Rhodes lived with Blake’s son. “I don’t think I’ll be long.”
“As long as I’m paid for my time, you can take all night,” the driver replied. The woman turned on the cab’s interior lights and picked up a newspaper to read while waiting.
Since the bodyguard had better night vision, Suki preceded Blake into the apartment complex playground. There were stars out, but no moon.
True to his word, Kenton sat in a swing. He wasn’t swinging, just gently rocking back and forth. After getting home from work he’d changed into long khaki shorts and a basketball T-shirt. He was wearing those eyeglasses Blake couldn’t help thinking of as nerdily sexy. In fact, even with only dim starlight to see him by, she found herself admiring the well-defined muscles of his arms and legs and the scholarly aura he presented even in casual clothes.
“Hi, Ms. Bertrand,” Kenton said, dragging his feet to bring the rocking swing to a stop. “I know it’s late. I promise not to keep you out long.”
“It’s okay.” Blake settled into the swing next to his. Suki, meanwhile, climbed the slide as if gravity meant nothing to her, and seated herself cross-legged at the top.
Kenton took his smartphone out of his shorts pocket and tapped a few keys, then showed the display to Blake. A photograph of Lionel holding his French horn grinned at her. “This is my kid,” Kenton said, and after Blake nodded he studied the boy’s face. “You know, Ms. Bertrand, I’ve seen your face for years, but until today I never noticed how much my son’s face looks like yours.”
“Please call me Blake.” I know he wants to know, but how the hell do I tell him? All these years I’ve planned to contact Lionel when he’s eighteen, but I never imagined talking to the man who raised him…
“You came to the All State Band concert.” Kenton still looked at his picture of Lionel. “You saw my boy. We all got a good look at him during his solo.” Now Kenton turned his head and leveled his thoughtful gaze at Blake’s face again. “He’s who you came to see, isn’t he?”
Blake nodded again. It hurt to return Kenton’s gaze, so she looked at her feet instead. She wore her usual Gucci sandals, and her sandaled feet next to Kenton’s on the sandy Miami soil made her think of romantic moonlit walks on the beach. You’re done with all that, girl, remember? Lang and Brett are proof you’ve got no sense about relationships.
/> “I know you’ve got every right to tell me to mind my own business,” said Kenton, “but I need to ask you this, and I hope you’ll answer and tell me the truth. Are you Lionel’s birth mother?”
Ah, there it is. Blake shut her eyes and whispered, “Yes.”
Neither of them said anything more, for how long Blake couldn’t be sure. She opened her eyes again eventually, and found Kenton watching her. A patient compassion mellowed his face. Blake realized that Kenton was waiting for anything else she might be willing to tell him, but he’d ask no more questions.
She stared at her feet again, because if she kept looking at him watching her with such kindness she’d probably cry. “I was raped. I was so afraid that if I kept my baby I’d remember that terror and pain every time I looked at my child. That’s why I gave him up.” If I admit the rest, will he do something like get a restraining order against me? She took a breath and braved the confession. “I’ve regretted that ever since.”
“That’s understandable. Lionel is a great kid.” Kenton reached out and patted Blake’s shoulder. “Whoever the oxygen-wasting sack of shit is that raped you, I promise your son is nothing like him.”
Blake couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. She buried her face in her hands and moaned, and felt strong arms fold around her. Kenton held her until she was all cried out, and for the first time since she was a little girl, Blake didn’t care that a man saw her crying.
“Thank you,” she whispered, when she pulled away from him. She didn’t want to, but she knew it had to be done.
“No, thank you.” Kenton smiled, and Blake noticed his eyes were shining with tears too. “My wife and I were so happy together with him.”
Blake remembered Johnny Capps telling her, a few years ago, that Lionel’s adoptive parents had divorced. She’s who Lionel will always think of, when he thinks of the word “mom.” Not me. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes again, and she stood up and looked across the playground at the parking lot, seeing if the taxi was still there. It was.
“Can I contact him when he’s eighteen? I’ve always wanted to do that.” Blake hesitated, then added, “I have a lot to offer him, and I’d like to.”
“Sure.” Kenton stood too, and stretched from feet to fingertips of his upraised arms. “And thank you for telling me. He’s asked about his biological parents, but I didn’t know anything to tell him. Now I do.”
Panic swept through Blake, and she whirled to fix her stare on Kenton. “Don’t tell him he’s a rape baby, Kenton. I beg you.”
Kenton regarded her for a few breaths, head tilted to one side. At last he took off his eyeglasses and said, “I don’t think I’d do the boy any favors if I pretended such things don’t happen. But I’ll wait until he’s older to tell him that part, at least. Or you can tell him. For now, I’ll just let him know I found out that his birth mother is a smart, successful businesswoman who looks forward to meeting him in a few more years.”
Blake felt torn, but Kenton made a valid point. She nodded and said, “I guess I’ll be in contact in about four more years, then.”
As she followed Suki back toward the waiting taxi, she heard Kenton call after her, “We’ll look forward to that day, Blake.”
#
June 16
Miami, Florida
She spent a nervous day in her condo on Fisher Island, hoping for a progress report from Torres. Preferably one with good news.
Just before 4 P.M., she got her wish. Her BlackBerry rang, and the caller ID told her it was Torres calling. No sooner had she pressed the Talk button than Torres started speaking.
“Blake, hi, Yolanda has been a busy girl today, and it’s paid off. Four people who traveled first class with you from New York to Miami recognized you as Blake Bertrand. That puts you airborne when the restaurant fire started, so the district attorney will have to agree you can’t have started the fire yourself. We also examined your financial records all the way back to your divorce, and we didn’t find any mysterious payouts or withdrawals that could mean you hired an arsonist. I’m going to talk to the DA before office hours close for the day, and you should be free to go back to New York as soon as you like.”
“That’s excellent news, Mr. Torres.” Blake felt muscles she didn’t even know she had begin relaxing.
An hour later, Blake and Suki and Matt were at the airport buying tickets for the next flight to New York, and Vanessa was hastily making out a schedule for filming the rest of The Takeover. The Delta was somewhere over Tennessee when Blake remembered Kenton Rhodes holding her while she cried, and she wished she could tell the pilot to turn around.
#
June 17
New York, New York
Back in New York, Blake still had some mentoring sessions to finish. Vanessa’s plan called for those to be done Wednesday, along with filming Blake presenting the third week’s challenge. The second week’s elimination was still being decided. Thursday would be the only day the contestants received to work on their second challenge, which was to research competitors in the business each was interested in opening and identify some beneficial way to make their own product different. Friday Blake would eliminate a second contestant and mentor the remaining ten. The Takeover would then be back on schedule.
One of her second week’s leftover mentoring sessions was with Gabby Truitt, Lang’s girlfriend. Per the randomly selected order, Gabby’s appointment was the last. Blake welcomed the girl into her office and explained the revised schedule Vanessa had put together. Unlike everyone else, Gabby protested.
“We’re supposed to have from Wednesday through Sunday to do each week’s challenge! This is too much to do in only one day. I don’t think it’s fair that some of us get one day to do this research shit, while other people have had since Wednesday of last week. Just because you went to Florida and got arrested—”
I expected someone to say something about that. I should have known it would be Gabby. Lang has probably been “coaching” her on what to say to me. Blake remembered some times when Lang had coached her, and found herself pitying the girl sitting across the desk from her. She doesn’t seem so bad. Young and too easy to manipulate, like I used to be, that’s all.
Blake waved for the cameraman to stop recording, and forced herself to stay calm. “I wasn’t arrested, Gabby. I was questioned and let go.”
“Yeah, whatever. It still isn’t fair for some people to have a week and other people a day.”
Blake motioned to the cameraman to start recording again. “You’re right. It’s not fair. But guess what? Things go wrong sometimes in business, and sometimes your partners have unexpected obstacles or even abandon you. A successful entrepreneur tries to foresee complications and plan for them, and always climbs back on if the horse throws them.”
“Maybe that’s easy if you’ve been in business awhile and know what can go wrong. But when you’re new—”
“When you’re new, you watch what your competition is doing and learn from their mistakes as much as possible, so you make fewer of your own. You should have been learning all you could from the most successful production companies before I gave you an assignment to do that.”
Gabby’s mouth was curved downward in a pout worthy of a two-year-old. Blake took a breath and said, “Now, listen, here’s what I’d suggest you do…”
#
June 19
New York, New York
After the filming of Blake’s announcement that Brittany Nelson was the second contestant she’d decided to eliminate, Blake conducted four mentoring sessions before noon. She was exhausted and ravenously hungry. Rather than go out for lunch, she asked Antonio to go get something from one of the street food vendors and they’d eat in her office.
“What’s the password I should listen for this time?” She heaved herself out of her chair and realized her butt was numb from so much sitting. Hang in there, tush, you’ve got six more hours of sitting to do today.
After a moment’s thought, Antonio sa
id, “If a bear market shits on Wall Street—”
“Oh, get out of my office.” Blake laughed in spite of herself. “And stop hanging around Matt so much. Your sense of humor is getting to be like his.”
He tipped his Ray-Bans to her and swept out of her office. Blake shut and locked the door behind him. She began doing some stretches to work the stiffness out of her muscles. As she started feeling better, someone knocked on her door.
“Password?” she called, grabbing her toes and holding for ten seconds.
“I didn’t know there was one,” said Brett’s voice.
“Well, there is when my bodyguard is away.” She stood straight and tried to think of a polite way to ask the question, but she was too weary from the day’s frantic pace. “What do you want, Brett?”
“I was just thinking you’ve had a hell of a week, so maybe tonight is a good time for me to take you out to dinner to thank you for my job.”
She hesitated to answer, giving the idea some thought. By dinnertime she’d be ready to collapse into bed, but then again a relaxing meal with… Well, she wasn’t sure she could call Brett a “friend,” but he at least understood what it’s like to be under police suspicion. It was true, what he said—it had been a hell of a week.
“Okay. Where should I meet you, and when?”
“Do you like clam rolls?”
“I don’t know, but I like most seafood.” I’d kill for clam rolls. It was one of her favorite foods. Her father used to take the family to a spot at City Island where they made the best ones outside of Massachusetts.
“Well, how about Littleneck? It’s a New England clam shack in Brooklyn. Say, eight o’clock?”
Blake did some quick calculating. She’d finish the mentoring sessions at seven, and Friday night traffic in the city would mean an hour was just enough time to travel from the studio to the restaurant by taxi. Technically Antonio’s shift should end at three, and Suki’s should begin then. If she asked Suki to bring a change of clothes, she could be reasonably fresh for dinner.