The Christmas Present

by Tracy Wolff

  “Community…” Things began to sink in as she walked toward him. “Oh, you’re with—”

  “Helping Hands.” He nodded, placing his palm gently on the small of her back as he guided her down the sidewalk. Any other day she would have shrugged him off, but her knees were still knocking together and the support felt good.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked as he propelled her toward the center.

  “I’m fine.” Her voice was a little higher than she would have liked, but the nervous adrenaline coursing through her made her regular tone impossible.

  “Are you sure? I can call an ambulance.” He glanced at her. “It might be a good idea to do that anyway.”

  “No, really. I’m good, just a little shaky.”

  They continued walking in silence for a few moments and Vivian struggled to compose her thoughts. She didn’t usually need to be rescued, and it pricked her pride that he thought she was so fragile that she required an ambulance to keep from freaking out.

  But pride or not, she owed him a thank-you. Clearing her throat, she said, “I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t—”

  His low sound of exasperation surprised her. “Yes, you do.”

  “I’m sorry?” She stopped dead to avoid slamming into him as he suddenly turned to face her.

  “Look, you’re young and attractive and walking down this street wearing clothes worth more than I make in a month. We both know exactly what would have happened had I not shown up when I did.” He stepped in front of her, pulled open a door and waved for her to precede him.

  “I didn’t plan it this way,” she protested. “It just happened.”

  He snorted, clearly unimpressed. “Famous last words.”

  Annoyance was rapidly starting to replace her gratitude, but because he’d saved her from getting raped—maybe even killed—she bit her tongue as she stepped inside the building.

  The front room was huge, the walls painted a sunny yellow and interspersed with various murals that ranged from the amateurish to the surprisingly sophisticated. Whatever she’d been expecting, this mixture of color, comfort and smiling faces wasn’t it.

  Overstuffed sofas and chairs were scattered around the room and a huge television took up part of one wall. A few teenagers sat around it, playing a video game. Others were gathered around the pool and foosball tables that sat in the center of the room, while still others were draped comfortably on a couple of the sofas, talking and passing an iPod back and forth between them.

  A huge Christmas tree stood in the corner of the room, decorated with sparkling lights and hundreds of homemade ornaments, some of which looked almost professionally done. There were other hints of Christmas around the big room—wreaths on the doors, poinsettias near the front desk, and what looked like mistletoe hanging in one of the tall archways.

  She shook her head, more than a little intrigued. As far as teen centers went, this one was a lot more inviting than most. It also looked as though it was a lot better funded, and its patrons were remarkably well-behaved.

  “Hey, Rafa, I kicked your butt, man.” One of the kids near the TV called to her rescuer. “I’m already two thousand points above your record.”

  Rafa laughed. “Enjoy it while you can, Marco. You know it won’t last.”

  “Yeah, we’ll see. Soon you will bow before the master.”

  “Don’t hold your breath. I forgot to renew my CPR certification this year.”

  The kids around Marco snickered, but he merely shrugged good-naturedly. “You’re all talk, man.”

  Rafa paused to watch as the boy maneuvered a famous skateboarder through one incredible stunt after another. “Nice job, Marco,” he commented as a huge grin replaced the frown he’d been wearing since the moment she set eyes on him. “You might have me, after all.” He turned away, then called over his shoulder as he headed down the hall. “For a day or so.”

  Vivian stared after him in amazement, unable to make her feet move for long seconds after he’d walked away. The man’s smile was a lethal weapon—it lit up his face from the inside out and showed her a side of her rescuer she hadn’t dreamed existed. She started to follow him, her stomach once again uncomfortably shaky.

  Maybe that perpetual scowl of his wasn’t such a bad thing, after all.

  RAFAEL GLANCED BEHIND HIM at the woman trailing him down the hallway to his office. She had to be the lawyer—who else would be walking down the most dangerous street in San Francisco dressed like that and looking for his community center? She was late and would have been even if Nacho and his band of moronic maniacs hadn’t hassled her. But then, Rafael shouldn’t be surprised. Experience had taught him that women like her were never on time, even if a young boy’s life hung in the balance.

  Maybe especially then.

  As he opened the door to his office, his upper lip curled with a disgust he didn’t even try to hide. Diego needed a real lawyer, someone who understood him and where he came from. What he didn’t need was this slick Barbie doll version, who spent more attention on her clothes and makeup than she ever would the poor, pro bono client her law firm was forcing her to help.

  When he’d called in the favor owed to him by one of the center’s board members, he’d expected Richard Stanley to send an experienced trial attorney. Someone who was acquainted with his kids’ way of life. Someone who was willing to dig in for a fight, and didn’t look like she was born with a glass of champagne in one hand and a designer handbag in the other.

  Instead, Richard had sent this…cupcake, and now Rafael had absolutely no idea what to do with her.

  “The bathroom’s through there.” He gestured to a door behind him and to the right. “If you want to clean up.”

  “Oh, right, thanks,” she murmured, obviously still a little dazed from her close call. Unless the blank eyes were part of her normal demeanor, in which case Diego was in a lot more trouble than he’d originally thought. And that was saying something.

  “I’ll just be a minute.”

  Rafael nodded as he picked up the phone and dialed the local precinct. He figured he’d have plenty of time to call the cops and check on the kids—women like her didn’t know the meaning of “just a minute.” She’d be in there checking out her appearance for a while.

  Not that there was anything wrong with how she looked, despite her close call with Nacho. Rationally, Rafa knew that part of his anger at her stemmed from her total lack of regard for herself.

  Everything about her was a come-on. From her long, long legs and her do-me heels to her slender curves and chili pepper red hair, she screamed for attention. Add to that skin as pale and creamy as his mama’s flan and her made-for-sex mouth, and the woman was a walking wet dream for the wolves roaming the Tenderloin’s dark streets.

  Still, despite the fairy princess looks, something about her bugged him. Something that wouldn’t fit into the mold he imagined she fit—

  The door to the bathroom swung open and she stood there, as beautifully put together as she would have been for a charity ball. It irked him, had him slamming the phone down on the third ring.

  He would call Jose later—have the detective run by and scare the hell out of Nacho and his band of merry morons. The boys weren’t going anywhere. Rafael shook his head. It wasn’t as if they had anywhere else to go. Right now, he had enough to deal with between the lawyer and Diego.

  The lawyer cleared her throat as she walked carefully into the room, her back ramrod straight and her limbs flowing sensuously with every step she took. No wonder the boys on the street had been all over her—she looked like a goddess and walked like a ballerina. Was there some school rich girls went to that showed them how to walk like that or was she just a natural?

  “I want to thank you for rescuing me. I’m grateful—”

  “I don’t need your gratitude.”

  “I know. But that doesn’t mean I don’t feel it.” She reached into her briefcase. “I’d like to do something to say thank-you. Maybe make a donation t
o—”

  He shoved the bag back down. “I don’t need your money, either.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “Sure you did.” He made sure his smile cut like glass. “But there are some things in life that can’t be bought. I’m one of them.”

  Silence stretched between them, and his nerves started to twitch before she finally broke it.

  “All right then.” She held her hand out. “I’m Vivian Wentworth.”

  “I know. Rafael Cardoza.” Instinct had him meeting her palm with his own, though he regretted it the second he touched all that soft, smooth skin.

  “Well, then, I assume you know why I’m here.” She glanced around. “Where’s Diego?”

  “Upstairs. Working.” Rafa leaned down a little until his face was only inches from hers. “I want to make one thing perfectly clear. I don’t know why Richard sent you. I don’t know what he expected someone like you to be able to do for Diego.”

  “Someone like me?”

  “You know what I mean. You look like you spend more time in a salon than you do in a courtroom.” Even as he said them, he couldn’t believe the words had left his mouth. He was acting like a total bastard, but he couldn’t afford to be nice. Diego was too important for him to put the kid’s fate in the hands of a lawyer who didn’t know what she was doing.

  “I can assure you I have seen my fair share of courtrooms,” she snapped. “And then some.”

  “Yeah, well, excuse me if I’m not rolling in confidence here. You don’t exactly look like the type to care about what happens to a poor Hispanic kid accused of murder—even if he is innocent.”

  She stiffened, her eyes darkening, and for a moment he would have done anything to take back the words. There was no call to speak to a woman like that. His mother would have had his ass.

  But Vivian Wentworth, Esquire, handled his shit like a champ. She simply nodded and said, “Then it’s a good thing he’s got me, isn’t it?”

  It was the first indication Rafael had that he might have underestimated her. But not the last.

  CHAPTER TWO

  OUTRAGE EXPLODED THROUGH her and, for the second time in less than an hour, Vivian understood what it was to want to do violence. She would like nothing more than to beat this smug, self-righteous idiot to a bloody pulp. Yes, he’d rescued her, but one act of kindness didn’t make up for the rest of his boorish behavior.

  “I’m a very good lawyer, Mr. Cardoza, and I give one hundred percent to all of my clients, whether they’re pro bono or not.”

  “I didn’t mention anything about you taking the case pro bono, Ms. Wentworth. Funny that that’s where your mind went automatically.”

  Gritting her teeth, Vivian kept the smile on her face through sheer force of will. “Facts are facts.” She glanced at her watch pointedly. “And we’re already over an hour late getting started. I’d like to see my client now.”

  “About that…”

  She felt her shoulders tense a little bit more, and braced for the verbal blow she had a good idea was coming. He didn’t disappoint her. “Don’t push him. Diego’s really broken up about this whole thing, and I won’t put up with you running around, messing with his head.”

  “Messing with his head?” She couldn’t keep the incredulity out of her voice. “Mr. Cardoza, your client is accused of murder and stands to spend most, if not all, of his life behind bars. Of course he’s worried—”

  “I didn’t say worried.” The look on Rafael’s face was as sharp and deadly as an ice pick. “I said he’s broken up. His girlfriend and baby are dead and he’s devastated. I won’t put up with you making that worse.”

  “I’m here to help Diego, not make things worse.”

  “That remains to be seen, doesn’t it?” He tossed the words over his shoulder as he headed for the door.

  She closed her eyes and took a few deep, calming breaths. Murder was against the law, she reminded herself with every exhale. If it wasn’t, she wouldn’t be here trying to deal with this utterly impossible, completely deplorable man. She counted to ten and waited for the urge to strangle him to pass. Or at least mellow.

  A huge part of her wanted to quit before ever getting started. It wasn’t as if she didn’t have lots on her plate with the numerous divorce cases she was currently handling, as well as her work at the women’s shelter. Besides, it was bad enough having to battle the entire legal system for a kid accused of a vicious crime, without having to battle his prickly protector, too.

  She sighed heavily. Quitting wasn’t really an option. Rafael obviously had some kind of pull with Richard or she wouldn’t be here. Her boss could spout off about helping the community all he wanted, but getting personally involved wasn’t his typical modus operandi. Like her mother—and most of the other rich people she knew—he just wrote a big check to charity twice a year in the law firm’s name and considered his duty done.

  But this time he’d gone out of his way to take the case and to hand-select her for it. For whatever reason, Richard had felt that she was the best choice for this job, and she wasn’t going to disappoint him. She’d worked too long and too hard these past few years to get him to notice her as something other than Steven and Lillian’s daughter. Vivian would not blow this chance, no matter how ill-equipped she felt dealing with it.

  She started down the hall after her reluctant rescuer. Hell would freeze over before Rafael Cardoza got the best of her, and the sooner he figured that out, the better off they both would be.

  RAFAEL SMILED GRIMLY to himself as he escorted Vivian upstairs to one of the classrooms currently being renovated. Round one might have been a draw, but she wasn’t nearly as cool as she wanted him to believe. For one very brief second in his office, he’d seen fear flicker in those crazy, violet eyes. And while it had made him feel like a heel, it had also given him a small sense of satisfaction. She should be afraid, especially if it made her pay attention to her own safety. Nob Hill was a long way from here, in attitude and life lessons, if not location.

  Silence stretched between them, the only sound the click-click of her ridiculous shoes as she climbed the old concrete stairs. It gave him a perverse kind of pleasure to keep her guessing about their destination, not willing to let her in on it until she asked.

  As they reached the third-floor landing, he risked a side glance at her and wondered again how she was supposed to help Diego. The kid needed someone tough, someone who wouldn’t back down, and Vivian looked like a strong breeze would knock her over. How the hell was she supposed to stand up to all the crap circulating about this case?

  How the hell was she supposed to stand up to the establishment when she was the establishment? Everything from her wardrobe to the way she walked screamed old money—and a lot of it.

  Just then, the door to one of the classrooms flew open and Diego strode out, his simple black T-shirt spattered with yellow paint. “Rafa,” he said, his face lighting up when he saw them. “I’m just about done in here. You want to take a look?”

  “Absolutely.” He patted the kid’s shoulder. “You did a great job with the other two.”

  “Thanks.” He gestured for Rafael and Vivian to precede him into the room.

  Rafa looked around the freshly painted space with satisfaction. “It looks good. Real good.”

  He wasn’t lying, either. Diego had talent for making over rooms that seemed hopeless. He’d spent the last few days in here repairing the holes in the walls, painting and hanging up bulletin boards and whiteboards. He’d even sanded the floor, and the old wood gleamed under the fluorescent lights.

  “Esme thought it’d look good in yellow,” Diego whispered, his face a mask of misery and fear. “She was right.”

  The kid’s sorrow made Rafael want to punch something, preferably the scumbag who had killed Diego’s girlfriend and unborn child. “You’ll make a hell of a handyman.” He turned to Vivian. “Diego wants to start his own company when he graduates in a few months.”

  “That’s w
onderful,” she commented, with a sincerity that surprised him.

  “Is that—” Diego stopped midsentence and put on the I-don’t-give-a-damn attitude that had gotten him into so much trouble to begin with.

  Rafael grimaced as he watched the transformation, but said simply, “Diego, this is Vivian Wentworth. Ms. Wentworth this is Diego.”

  Vivian reached a hand out and grasped the one Diego offered almost reflexively. “It’s nice to meet you, Diego. Rafael’s right—the room looks wonderful.” Her smile was warm, her eyes watchful, and Rafael couldn’t help the kick in his gut that came with the first real upward turn of those luscious, lopsided lips. He ignored it, focused on Diego instead.

  “Thanks. Rafa’s been paying me to help him out.” The kid’s voice was stilted and frightened. Rafael wanted to wrap his arms around him—this scared, special kid who was still more boy than man—and keep him safe from this nightmare he was experiencing. “I was saving to pay—” He broke off, his throat suddenly working convulsively.

  “For the baby?” Vivian’s voice was soft, persuasive. “And for Esme?”

  Diego stared at the floor, unwilling—or unable—to look her in the eye. “Yeah. But that’s gone now.” His voice was flat, unemotional, despite his recent loss.

  But she could see the pain in him. The harsh lines that bracketed his mouth and looked so out of place on his young face. The dark circles that shadowed his eyes. His careful body movements, as if one wrong move would shatter him. She remembered the feeling from when her older sister had died, and Vivian’s heart went out to him, this boy who’d been forced into manhood too soon.

  As she looked at him, every instinct she had said he hadn’t done what he was accused of. Not this sweet, harmless kid with yellow paint on his fingers and heartbreak in his eyes. He couldn’t have brutally raped and murdered his pregnant girlfriend. Not when it was obvious he’d have preferred to die with them.

  “I’d like to talk to you for a few minutes,” she said. “Find out exactly what happened that night.”