She was furious and broke everything off, swearing she would never trust him again. Not once did she visit him in jail, though she thought of him plenty, especially when her baby was born.
When Daniel was released, one of the first things he did was come to visit his son. He had the right, so she allowed it. He seemed steadier, and truly sorry for not being there when she needed him. He purely adored his baby boy. When Daniel got a job and made promises, she began to think that maybe this time they had a future. The church was reserved and she had even bought her wedding dress.
Instead, her world shattered in smashing doors and police accusations. Knowing he was innocent, she fought as hard as she knew how to see him free, but it was no use. The law wanted revenge, and Daniel was the sacrifice.
The first time she visited him after the sentencing, he told her flatly to think of him as dead and get on with her life. She must tell Jason when he was older that his daddy had died young in an accident...and how much Daniel had loved him.
She left the Pen with tears pouring down her face, her heart breaking even as she accepted that he was right. Getting on with her life hadn't been easy, of course. No money and a baby and a bad case of the blues. She found a state program that gave her support and child care along with job training to keep her from starving. She wrote Daniel now and then, and sent him pictures and drawings the boy made as he grew older.
Then she met Philip Brooks, fifteen years older, as steady as he was kind. He adored her and Jason, and she realized it was possible to love again. She told him about Daniel early on. A lesser man would have been jealous, but not Philip. He sympathized, and never objected to his wife keeping in touch with a man on death row.
With Daniel's permission, Philip adopted Jason so they all had the same name. She was proud of that--a real family, just like when she was small and her parents were alive. Philip never let her down, except when he went and died three years earlier.
After his death, Kendra began visiting Daniel in person. The first time, she was shocked to see a bald, scarred thug with massive shoulders and a scowl that could melt stone. She knew a man had to be tough to survive in prison, but this was a stranger. Then he had smiled, and she knew he was her Daniel still.
One of the guards said quietly, "Time's almost up, ma'am."
Kendra pulled herself out of her reverie. "Okay, Danny boy. I don't talk to Jason, and you cooperate with Val. Deal?"
"Deal." With a rattle of his shackles, he raised one large hand and pressed it on the plastic wall that separated them. She kissed the center of her palm, then laid her smaller hand against his. She could feel his warmth through the plastic, but not touching, never touching.
"Will you sing me a song?" he asked. "'Amazing Grace'?"
"If you like." This was their custom, and even the guards seemed to enjoy it. She closed her eyes and reached inside to the place where songs lived, then began to sing. The words were soft at first, but as the spirit moved her voice strengthened until it filled the small room with faith, hope, and solace. In song she could touch Daniel as she couldn't physically.
"...was lost, but now I'm found..." After the last note faded, she opened her eyes. The guards were nodding solemnly and a glint of tears showed in Daniel's eyes.
Pretending not to see, she managed a last smile as she rose. Then she pivoted and walked from the room, head high, because she had promised herself she would never let him see her cry.
It was a promise she had kept. So far.
Chapter 8
After the picnic broke up, Val returned to her car, delighted at the way the afternoon had turned out. Anita had been enthusiastic about the matchup since Val and Lyssie both wanted it. Val winced a bit when she thought about where she would find the time to build a relationship with the girl, but she would manage. That's why she was changing her career direction, after all. To have a life.
Before driving away, she checked her cell phone, which had been off, and saw that she'd had a call. Rob's number. She punched it in, thinking she was on a roll today. When he answered, she said, "Hi, Rob, it's Val. What's up?"
"I've finished going through Monroe's files and wanted to set up a time to get together with you for that strategy session."
Her good mood dimmed as she thought about her schedule for the coming week. No way could she fit in a long meeting with Rob. But it couldn't wait. "It will have to be this evening. Can you make it on such short notice? If so, come for supper so we can make use of every minute."
"That would be nice, but you don't have to cook. I can pick up some carryout."
"No need. Are you vegetarian, vegan, low-fat, low salt, low carb, lactose intolerant, have food allergies, or any other special dietary requirements?"
"I eat anything." He chuckled. "It sounds like you feed a lot of people."
"As many as possible. I have plenty of recipes that can be done quickly, and a sizable freezer. How about six o'clock?"
After he agreed and signed off, she thought about dinner. Nothing too elaborate--this wasn't a date, after all. But she had her share of domestic pride. She would pick up some fish and serve it with a packaged rice pilaf and a salad. As she drove home, she admitted to herself that it was pretty primitive to want to impress the man with her cooking ability. Their relationship was business.
But she hoped he liked a nice piece of grilled tuna.
∗ ∗ ∗
Dinner turned out well, if she did say so herself. Rob arrived bearing a bottle of excellent chardonnay, then ate like a man who didn't get much home cooking. He finished the meal with a happy sigh. "I've decided that you must not sleep, which is why you get so much done."
She laughed as she cleared the table. "That's kinder than saying I'm hyperactive, which I've been accused of. Do you want coffee while we go over the case?"
"Please."
By the time she returned with the coffeepot, he was spreading folders and notes across the dining room table. "Here's the list of people I plan to interview," he said. "Obviously, the three eyewitnesses whose identification convicted Monroe are the most important. It would be great if they're having second thoughts about their identification."
She scanned the list, nodding. "Darrell Long isn't going to be possible. Though it's not in the file, I understand that he died in a shooting almost ten years ago. Armed robbery, I think."
Rob came alert. "Armed robbery? In the transcript, he and Cady were both described as clean-living community college students and church members. I suppose Long might have taken a turn for the worse in the years after his testimony convicted Monroe, but it could be useful if he was less reliable than the jury was told."
"If we could prove that Long and Cady were lying about being so wholesome, it might persuade the governor that there's sufficient doubt to commute Daniel's sentence to life imprisonment," she agreed. "I don't think we'll get far with Brenda Harris--she's the woman whose assault led to the murder. You probably noticed that at first she was uncertain that Daniel was her attacker, but once she made up her mind, her opinion was cast in concrete. She wouldn't budge on the witness stand."
"I want to find out what the lighting conditions were like where the assault took place. By her own account, the attack and shooting were so quick that she might not have had a clear look at her attacker." Rob frowned, his thick brows drawing together. "You've probably thought of this, but it seems to me that a major angle hasn't been explored. If Monroe is innocent, who did kill Officer Malloy?"
Val felt the tingle across the back of her neck that came with an important idea. "I hadn't thought much about that, but you're right. A man who would attack a woman and have a gun ready to shoot was no innocent. He might be sitting in a cell now himself. But how would you locate such a suspect after all these years?"
"If the real shooter is as large as Monroe, that would narrow it down, but it will still require a lot of looking. I'll start by talking to some of the city detectives from that period to see if they remember any street dudes who fit
that description. I also want to go through the complete file, not just the highlights version." He gestured to the stack of papers Val had given him. "Maybe something buried in the complete file will be of use. Maybe there are people who lived in the neighborhood who might have something to say."
"All good ideas, but will you have time when you have a business to run?"
Rob gave a faint, humorless smile. "I'll find the time."
Once again, she felt the power of his personal interest in saving Daniel Monroe. She almost asked why, but decided not to pry. Better to wait and hope that he would tell her voluntarily. "Shall we go down the fist of witnesses and outline the questions we want answered?"
"Okay." He pulled out a lined tablet for note-taking. "When I know what to ask, I need to talk to Monroe again. He might have some ideas how to proceed. I need to talk to Kendra Brooks, too. Maybe she had neighbors who could verify that Monroe never left the apartment."
"It's pitiful how little investigation was done at the time. Since the police thought they had their man, they sure didn't put any time into looking further." She smiled wryly. "On the plus side, we've got lots of things to look at because so little was done."
"You're really reaching for a silver lining there. But maybe you're right and we'll find the rabbit in the haystack."
"A metaphor mixer. But in this case, that's better than talking about smoking guns." Getting serious, Val pulled out her yellow-lined tablet. Despite all the high-tech devices available, at this point in a case she wanted a tablet and a blue felt-tipped pen so she could develop her thoughts on paper.
For over four hours, they discussed the case intensively, analyzing the information they had and brainstorming possible areas of investigation. She also explained the legal options. Maryland was a fairly liberal state that performed few executions, but the governor wouldn't intervene in a case unless there were really solid reasons to believe that they risked killing an innocent man. Especially not in an election year. They would have to find extremely compelling evidence.
Rob was a natural problem solver with a pragmatic approach to running down possible leads. Val found it stimulating to bounce ideas back and forth with him. Damned sexy, in fact. She had always had a weakness for smart men.
She realized she was losing concentration when she found herself admiring the way light glinted from his dark blond hair. And such beautiful strong hands...
Smothering a yawn, she said, "Time to call it a night. I think we've done as much as we can for now. The next step is old- fashioned digging for information."
"Sifting tons of sand in the hopes of finding a nugget." He squared his files, then packed them in a battered canvas tote bag. "I may be a little rusty, but the Marines taught me well. I already have leads on some of the people I want to interview. It's a start."
As she stood to escort him to the door, she said, "You've done more than military police and carpentry, haven't you?"
She expected him to avoid the question, but after a hesitation, he said, "I used the Marine educational benefits to learn something about computers and worked in the field for a while." He got to his feet and slung the tote bag over one shoulder.
"Would you care to add computer troubleshooting to your other work?" Val asked hopefully. "A lot of our work is done on computers, and when the system goes down, we get hysterical."
"If that happens, I'll take a crack at solving them, but no guarantees. These days the hardware and software combinations are so complex that no one fully understands them."
"That's what I'm afraid of," she muttered.
They drifted to the door, the cats coming awake and ambling after them. Damocles liked Rob, which wasn't unusual since Damocles liked everyone, but Lilith did also, and she was usually shy with strangers.
Rob took hold of the doorknob, then paused, his strikingly light eyes focused on Val's face. She came to full alert as the atmosphere changed.
"This isn't the right time or place," he said haltingly. "There might never be a right time or place. Yet I keep thinking about a...non-business relationship with you."
So she hadn't imagined that tug of awareness and attraction between them. But it was clear that Rob wasn't about to jump her bones. In a complicated situation, he was simply letting her know he was interested. Any negative reaction on her part and he would drop the subject, perhaps forever.
What did she want? The reasons for keeping her distance were legion. He was her landlord, they were working together on a critical case, and she knew very little about him. Plus, her track record in choosing men was not great.
Weighing against that was her attraction, and her loneliness. It had been too long since she had met a man who intrigued her so much. She would be a fool to throw this possibility away.
She raised her hand and stroked his beard, enjoying the texture and tickle of it. Sexily male. His mouth was strongly shaped, a soft contrast to the beard when she brushed her fingertips across his lips.
He touched her hair, twining a springy red lock around his finger. "I love your hair. It's so completely alive, just like you are."
"Countercultural hair. It makes a political statement just by existing." The brush of his fingers on her hair sent tingles through her. What did she want? A partner. A man who could be a trusted friend and lover--the kind she had dreamed of but never found. Rob was in many ways a mystery, yet he had depth, kindness, and intelligence. To hell with the potential complications.
Rising on her toes, she kissed him. His stillness ended and he kissed her back, his hands going to her waist to draw her close. Warm lips, textured beard, a faint, pleasing bittersweet tang of coffee on his tongue.
At first the kiss was tentative, two strangers exploring, but attraction crackled when Val slid her arms around his neck. Her breasts tingled as they pressed into his chest and her blood began to dance with the animal chemistry that addled adolescents. She leaned into him, murmuring, "This is probably a really bad idea."
"No question about it." He began kneading her back, his strong hands caressing and energizing her tired muscles as his kiss deepened.
She tugged him over to the sofa and they went down in a sprawl of arms and legs. Her legs bracketed his as she lay across his hard-muscled working man's body. She felt like a teenager necking on the front porch after a date. She had forgotten how delightful such sessions could be.
No, "delightful" was too frivolous a word. They were communicating on a deep non-verbal level. Under the distracting tides of passion, she sensed a vast, almost frightening need at the center of his being, a hunger he was rigorously controlling. She yearned to dive into those depths, explore his mysteries.
Common sense reasserted itself barely in time. She was reading way too much into a kiss. Reminding herself that she was trying to change her life and relationships, she broke away from Rob, sliding from his lap to the other end of the sofa. "This really is a bad idea," she said shakily.
He checked his instinctive reach toward her and took a deep breath. "I know you're right, but remind me why."
She looked away, struggling to order her tangled thoughts. "I don't know anything about you, Rob, except that you're interesting and attractive. I don't know where you were born, what you've done with your life, why you feel such a powerful desire to help Daniel. You're the mysterious dark stranger, except that you're not dark."
Without moving a whisker he became distant, his expression turning to stone. After the length of a dozen heartbeats, he got to his feet. She thought he was going to walk out. Instead, he began pacing the room, tense with stress and indecision. She sat very still, wondering what internal demons he was battling.
"I don't want your soul," she said quietly. "But I need to know more about what makes you tick. Though I've made my share of mistakes about men, I try not to make the same one twice. This works both ways. You might want to know more about me."
"Harvard Law Review," he said promptly. "Youngest partner ever at Crouse, Resnick. Your father is Bradford Wester
field III, a senior partner at a top New York law firm, and you have two blond half sisters with perfectly straightened teeth. Your mother, Callie Covington, is a textile artist and board member of the American Visionary Art Museum. You are utterly loyal to your friends, a soft touch for stray animals, and your not-so-secret vice is hot fudge sundaes."
She stared, thinking he had just proved his credentials as an investigator. "How did you learn all that?"
"Mostly from the Internet. Some from Kate Corsi when I called her about your interest in renting the church. Of course, the things she said about you were pretty innocent. She would never talk about the really interesting stuff."
"Thank heaven for that. Old friends know way too much about each other to dare dishing dirt." Val wondered if he was trying to change the subject away from himself. He looked as if he would rather be anywhere in the world except here.
But he hadn't run away yet. "Not that there is anything terribly interesting about me. I've always been too busy with school or my job to get into much trouble."
His pacing stopped at the fireplace and he stared into the gilt-framed mirror as if not recognizing the reflection. "I've been hiding for four years," he said brusquely. "But if we want to have any relationship beyond the superficial, you need to know the truth."
Val felt as if ice water had been poured over her. "Are you a...a fugitive from justice?" The name Robert Smith sure sounded like a pseudonym.
"Nothing criminal on my part, though for a couple of years I saw way too much of the justice system. I walked away from my old life because...because..." He stopped again. She hardly breathed, not wanting to spook him.
When he spoke again, he took a different tack. "Do you recall hearing about an environmental terrorist who called himself the Avenging Angel?"
"Jeffrey Gabriel, self-righteous destroyer of projects built on coastal wetlands," she said promptly. "Started with simple arson and moved into fire bombs. Four people died in his fires and a dozen more were injured, along with millions in property damages. He was torching developments for something like eight years before they caught up with him in Texas. I saw him on television. He had the coldest eyes I've ever seen."
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