“We’ve tried on our own. We’ve tried implanting your sperm in me as well as in vitro. So far, nothing’s worked. And I’m tired of the stress of trying. I don’t like the hormones they pump into me. I want to make love when we feel like it, not when my temperature changes to signal ovulation.”
“Adoption is not part of my future.” Voice tight, he looked out into the bay, refusing to face her, but she could hear the pain in his voice. Sam had a grand plan. College. Marriage. His own firm. Real estate ventures. Success. Children. In every case except the children, he’d checked every goal off his list with ease. Unfortunately, his career had taken a toll on their marriage. They were so busy working, they no longer spent as much time together. In the early years of their marriage Sam often swept her away for a weekend, treating her like a princess. She missed those days and yearned to recapture the closeness by giving him children.
“Why not adopt?” she asked.
Sam finally turned to face her, his eyes sad, his tone weary. He knelt beside her and took her hand. “If you can’t understand that I want a child from my DNA and yours, then I can’t explain it.”
“Filling out the applications commits us to nothing. The process takes months, sometimes even years. We can always change our minds later.”
“I don’t know.”
“Please, Sam. Consider this for me. For us.” She didn’t mention they might have to look outside the United States for a baby. “We might as well get on the list.”
Sam let go of her hand and bowed his head. Then he raised it and nodded, changing from argumentative to gentle acceptance. “All right. Whatever you want. But don’t expect me to give interviews to social workers. Not until after the trial.”
Relief washed over her, and her heart swelled with love.
Anyone else wouldn’t have understood how he’d fought so hard and then given in so suddenly. But Sam was prone to abrupt changes of heart. He often fought vehemently, using his lawyer skills, but then conceded with grace.
She searched his eyes, grateful and pleased by his change of mind. “You really mean it?”
“Sure.” He leaned over and kissed her forehead, then he picked up the adoption form and signed it. “If adoption is what you want, let’s do it.”
Chapter Thirteen
DANA, MANDY, and Lisa had all worked on the stockbroker’s divorce case last year. Mandy didn’t look forward to speaking to her client’s ex—and yet when it came to violent people all three women knew, the stockbroker topped her list. Mandy and Zack had driven to his office to speak to him, but he wasn’t there. His receptionist directed them to a local fitness center where the stockbroker spent his lunch hour. Mandy and Zack walked around the block and entered a gym full of men. She ignored the stares that made her feel unwelcome. The guys jumping rope, jogging on treadmills, and riding stationary bicycles weren’t showing any more skin than if they’d been on the beach. She’d seen no sign that said “men only.”
Zack walked up to the trainer at the front desk as if he had a membership. “I’m looking for . . .” Zack waited for Mandy to help him out with the name.
“Damien Reed,” she finished for him and tried not to stare at the tattoos on the man glaring at her. But it wasn’t easy since he had so many of them, a biker babe with a big bust on his meaty biceps, a giant cross with a fire-breathing dragon on his chest, and a skull and crossbones on one side of his neck.
The guy jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “The stockbroker’s fencing. He do anything illegal?”
Mandy let a friendly smile soften her face. “Why do you ask?”
“You look like cops.”
“We’re not.” Zack took her arm and led her away before she asked more questions. He spoke quietly in her ear. “Will Damien recognize you as his ex-wife’s lawyer?”
“We’ve never met. All communication went through his attorney.”
“Good. Let me do the talking.”
She rolled her eyes at the ceiling. “I’m the one who makes my living by questioning witnesses.”
She expected Zack to argue. Instead he laughed and shot her a charming grin. “All right, he’s all yours.”
Mandy’s first glimpse of Damien was of a man with a rapier in his hand, lunging at air as he moved forward in choreographed advances and quick retreats, then repeated the moves. He wore a mask to protect his face, but she could see his eyes and nose through a clear window. From the intense concentration of his stare at his opponent, she suspected he hadn’t yet noticed them.
While one on-target strike with his rapier might be lethal, he certainly wasn’t the same man who’d rammed her Beemer off the bridge. He was much bigger, his skin lighter than the man who’d attacked Dana at the airport. But even after the divorce, with a seven-figure income, he certainly had the bucks to hire muscle to come after the women at their firm. While she couldn’t judge his skill, his moves looked practiced, as if he might easily choose a knife to murder a woman.
“Sir. Are you Damien Reed?”
He removed his mask. “Who wants to know?” Sweat dripped down Damien’s bald skull, over a ridged brow and past a nose that appeared to have been broken and reset crookedly. Diamond studs, at least three carats each, winked from the lobes of his ears. No wonder his wife was terrified of him. A solid six feet five inches, with powerful shoulders and abs of granite, he had the body of a professional athlete, not the conservative medium build she’d been expecting. “I don’t give stock tips in the gym, lady.”
“That’s not why I’m here.” Certain he’d clam up if she introduced herself as his wife’s divorce attorney, Mandy made up a story. “My car was stolen last night, and since I live across the street from you,” Mandy lied, knowing from his file that he’d moved during the last two months and probably wouldn’t have met some of the neighbors in his new apartment complex, “I was hoping you might have seen something.”
He picked up a towel and slung it around his neck. “I didn’t see anything.”
“The police think my car was taken by my boyfriend early this morning, about 5 A.M.” She pegged the alleged theft to the time of Lisa’s murder. “My computer was in the car. Along with a spare set of apartment keys.”
“Change the lock.”
“I already have, but my laptop has e-mail information I’d rather keep private.”
“What’s your boyfriend look like?”
“He would likely have been wearing a suit. He’s thin. About five ten. Are you awake that time of morning?”
“Yeah. I was jogging. And I didn’t see him. What kind of car did you say it was?”
“A white Volvo.”
“Sorry. You might want to talk to Mrs. Potter, the lady in 4B. She’s already told me her son’s a cop, as if she’s afraid I’m going to steal her purse. She seems to know what’s going on in the area.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
Damien looked at her coldly. “Lady, why are you really here?”
“Excuse me?”
“Nobody tracks down a neighbor at the gym to ask if they saw someone break into their car. That’s the lamest story I’ve ever heard. If you wanted to know where I was early this morning, why didn’t you just ask me?”
“So were you really jogging?” At the flash of triumph in his eyes, she kept her chin high and held his gaze. But she appreciated Zack taking a step closer.
Damien ignored Zack and glared at her. “I jog every morning, Ms. Newman.”
Beside her, Zack tensed.
Ms. Newman? How had he known who she was? Had he had her followed? “You know who I am?”
“You see a man sweating in the gym, and you think he doesn’t have a brain? Why does my ex-wife want to know where I was this morning?”
She and Zack exchanged a glance, and Zack had the grace not to look smug. So much for making a
decent impression. She shouldn’t care what Zack thought anyway. “An attorney at our firm was murdered early this morning.” Mandy gestured to the rapier Damien held. “Her throat was cut.”
“So why are you here?”
“We’re trying to keep our clients and their cases out of the news. The more you can tell me, the better I can do that. I’m sure if I told the cops that you were good with a sword, it wouldn’t take them long to infer that you might not be averse to using a knife,” Mandy bluffed. She had no idea if the police would think any such thing. Although Damien being the killer was a long shot, the more she could get him to talk, the likelier it was he might slip and reveal something critical.
“Fencing’s a sport,” he insisted.
“So is sharpshooting. If we were talking about murder from a bullet wound, don’t you think the police would be interested in a hunter who had a motive? You must have hated us after your wife got more than she asked for in the divorce settlement,” she prodded.
Damien wiped his arm against his forehead, attempting and failing to mop up the sweat with his wristband. “This is for competition. It doesn’t even have a pointed tip.” He gestured to men behind him advancing and retreating up and down the gym floor. They wore masks and fencing suits. Those with opponents scored points against each other with electronic equipment that registered the hits in beeps. The sword edges looked sharp, but the tip had a tiny ball on the end that capped it. No one was hurt by the stabs—not even the ones that scored points. However, Damien Reed was good with a sword and had the brains to figure out who she was. He lowered his voice to a chilly whisper. “But if I were going to kill, I wouldn’t use a knife. Too messy. I didn’t kill Lisa.”
Mandy fought down a prickle of unease. “I didn’t say who died.”
“Lisa Slocum’s death is all over the news. So was the attack on you and Dana Hansen at the airport.”
Was he covering a slip? Or telling the truth? Was it odd that he recalled all their names and was so well informed? Or was he simply a news junkie? She couldn’t tell, but she certainly hadn’t heard remorse in his tone. “You don’t sound sorry.”
He ran his finger along the edge of his weapon. “I’ve never met your associate. But since she worked at your firm, I can’t say I’m all choked up over her death.”
“Can anyone corroborate your whereabouts this morning?” she asked.
“Try Mrs. Potter,” Damien sneered. “I can’t leave the place without the old biddy knowing.”
“Thank you.” Mandy started to turn away. She noted that Zack covered her back, waiting until she took several steps before following.
Damien raised his voice so that she couldn’t miss the angry edge. “And tell my ex . . . I’ll go easier on her if she comes home of her own accord.”
Mandy stopped, peered over her shoulder, lifted her chin and stared at Damien. Oh God. Had her client gotten back together with her ex? “Was that a threat?”
He didn’t reply, just shot her a sly smile and slashed the air with his rapier. Sheesh—no wonder his ex-wife had been frightened of him. But the woman was no longer Mandy’s client. Unless she hired Mandy again, there was nothing she could do.
Zack snorted as they walked away. “That went well, don’t you think?”
Mandy sighed. “I suppose you could have done better?”
“I would have used a more direct approach.”
“Easy for you to say now.” They walked outside into the bright sunshine. The bumper-to-bumper traffic along Dale Mabry Highway sent choking fumes their way. Famous for traffic, wall-to-wall concrete, and strip malls, the sprawl attracted shoppers, but there were so few trees that if it weren’t for the heat, sunshine, and humidity, they could have been in Any City, USA.
Once they reached the car she’d leased until the insurance company processed her claim, she opened all the windows to release the worst of the steaming heat. The steering wheel was hot, and she didn’t look forward to returning to Damien’s neighborhood to check with Mrs. Potter to verify his whereabouts.
But as much as she wanted to return to her law practice, she couldn’t—not until they found out who was hurting her coworkers. Looking for the culprit in her stack of files seemed an exercise in frustration. However, Mandy would not give up. Not with all their lives riding on finding out what was going on.
When a man in a parked car opposite them rolled down his window, she tensed. Zack’s hand eased to his weapon. But the smoker only wanted to let some fresh air into his vehicle, then flicked out his cigarette butt.
Before the assault at the airport, she wouldn’t have noticed the stranger in the parked car. But now little things spooked her. Soon she’d be flinching at the sound of a stranger’s voice.
She pulled into traffic, thinking she was more suited to working in her air-conditioned office, not pounding the streets for murder suspects. Until she recalled poor Lisa.
MRS. POTTER didn’t depict the professional Mandy had expected to find living in Hyde Park. One of Tampa’s oldest and most prestigious areas, the neighborhood was full of upwardly mobile professionals. With Damien’s apartment complex offering charming one- and two-bedroom garden-style residences featuring wrought iron gates and manicured lawns, he didn’t seem to be suffering financially since his divorce. Located a short walk from terrific shops, entertainment venues, specialty restaurants, and art festivals, the area was convenient to downtown Tampa and his Dale Mabry office. The white-haired, lanky lady who opened the door to 4B was dressed in a clingy T-shirt and yoga pants and had to be in her sixties. This time Mandy decided to let Zack work his charm.
He spoke politely. “Good afternoon, ma’am.”
She began to shut the door. “I’m not buying anything.”
“We came to ask about your neighbor, Mr. Damien Reed.”
“That maniac.” Mrs. Potter hesitated, then curiosity got the better of her. “What’s he done now?”
Zack smiled pleasantly. “We were hoping to confirm his whereabouts this morning at 5 A.M.”
“Who are you people?”
“I’m an attorney investigating a case.” Mandy handed her a business card.
Mrs. Potter glanced at the card. “Mr. Reed was out.”
“Jogging?” Zack asked.
Mrs. Potter snorted. “He was riding his damn Harley.”
“You’re sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. Every time he comes back or leaves, he wakes up the entire neighborhood.”
“So he was out?”
“Yes.”
Zack prodded for more information. “Do you know where he went?”
“I have no idea. He left around 2 A.M.” Mrs. Potter shut the door and clicked the lock, ending the conversation.
Zack frowned at Mandy, his eyes puzzled. “Why would Damien send us to talk to Mrs. Potter when he knew his story wouldn’t hold up?”
She shrugged. “You’re obviously accustomed to dealing with criminals covering their tracks—not vindictive husbands. Nothing can be more squirrelly than dealing with people after love turns to hate.”
Zack cocked his head as if considering her theory. “So Damien sent us on a wild goose chase out of spite?”
“Or damaged pride. Or depression that comes from anger. Or pain. People often don’t act rationally about matters of the heart. Maybe Damien just wanted to waste our time. Or get back at Mrs. Potter.”
“I was surprised he was callous enough to admit he didn’t care that Lisa was dead,” Zack told her, taking in the garden blooming with tiny white flowers and ferns which surrounded a stately magnolia. “But if he were guilty of killing her, it’s unlikely he would have admitted knowing about the murder.”
“It’s been on the news,” she reminded him.
“Still, in my experience most criminals are habitual liars and don’t ever
admit knowing anything.” They left the upscale apartment building and headed back to the car, which was for once parked in the shade under towering old oaks.
“Maybe he enjoyed the thought of sending us in circles. Or maybe he’s taunting us. The way he played me, pretending not to know who I was when he obviously recognized me, suggests he’s cunning. Not that stockbrokers are usually dummies.”
“He’s taunting us with the knowledge that he lied.” Zack spoke as if he was thinking out loud and gave her a sideways glance. “I thought the DEA had some tough characters to deal with, but even they don’t often terrify their own wives.”
“The guy’s twisted. He likes to mess with people, harass them.” They headed back once more to her car. “But that’s why I love going to court. He can’t bully the judge.”
Zack stopped at her car. “You like taking on scum like him, don’t you?”
“When I got through wringing Damien dry of his hidden assets, his wife was able to pay for her kids’ living expenses and maybe have enough left over for music lessons and summer camp. Raising her children alone can’t be easy, but his child support payments will help.” She opened the car door and got inside. “And for me, there’s satisfaction in justice.”
Chapter Fourteen
THE INVESTIGATION into the Dana-Lisa-Mandy cases was totally unsatisfying to Mandy. She and Zack had been unable to verify the stockbroker’s alibi, and the wife beater who was out on bail wasn’t at his last known address in Palm River. His landlord had evicted him for non-payment of rent. The neighbors hadn’t seen him. His mother had hung up on Mandy’s phone call.
“I’m ready to call it quits for the day,” Mandy admitted from the front seat of her car, as she drove out of the Palm River neighborhood, a mix of custom waterfront homes on the river and fixer-uppers that had foreclosure signs due to the tumbling prices of real estate in the bay area. Yet, with their huge yards and quiet streets, it was a safe place to raise a family . . . or a good place to hide from the law.
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