by Dara Girard
Dana looked, too, and frowned. “Someone should call her a cab and get her home.”
Hannah turned to where her friends were staring and saw an attractive older woman fall out of her chair onto the ground. Hannah set her drink down and then started toward her.
Natasha grabbed her sleeve. “Where are you going?”
“She could be hurt.”
“Or just drunk,” Dana said.
“I’ll be back in a minute.”
“Let someone else handle it.”
Hannah yanked her arm free. “I’ll be right back.” She rushed over to the woman, who looked to be in her fifties and was elegantly dressed. She smelled like expensive perfume and alcohol. “Are you all right?”
A waiter appeared at Hannah’s side and shook his head as if he were watching a bad summer rerun. “She’s fine, miss. Don’t worry. We’re used to dealing with her.”
Hannah didn’t like his tone or the look of disgust in his eyes. “I’ll deal with her now. You don’t need to worry anymore. Tell your manager that.” The waiter hesitated and then left. Hannah returned her attention to the woman. A pathetic figure with her hair mussed up. “Ma’am, can I help you?”
The older woman glanced up at her with watery red eyes. “He was married. And all this time I thought he might be The One.”
“Is there someone I can call for you?”
“I’m a stupid old woman.” She covered her face. “I just want to die.”
“No, you don’t want to do that,” Hannah said in a soft voice. “Come on, sit up. Let me call you a cab.”
Natasha came up to her. “Hannah, leave her,” she said. “I heard the maître d’ calling her son. You don’t need to get involved in this.”
“I don’t want to leave her by herself.”
“There are a whole bunch of people here. You don’t have to babysit her. Prop her up on one of the couches and—”
“Thanks, but I’m taking her outside,” Hannah said, ignoring the disgusted glances of the other patrons. The woman deserved better than their scorn.
“Hannah!”
“Natasha, I’m sorry, but I have to do this.” And she did. She remembered when her father was learning to walk again and how he’d tripped and fallen. People just looked at him, making assumptions about the tall African on the ground. They judged him without even knowing his story. Hannah remembered the pride he had being able to finally walk again without having to use a walker to steady himself. She remembered hearing strangers making comments that he probably couldn’t hold his liquor or that he was just a drunk. This woman was someone’s mother, and she needed protection and Hannah would provide it. Sure, she didn’t know why the woman drank and she hoped she would stop one day, but tonight she needed a friend and that would be Hannah. She knew how miserable she’d felt at the park until The Stranger had arrived, and although she now knew who he was, she’d never forget how he’d made her feel that day. And she wanted to give that feeling of comfort and hope to someone else. To let the woman know that even if for a moment she wasn’t alone.
“Are you crazy?” Natasha asked.
“Are you thinking about the liabilities you’re taking on right now?” Dana queried.
“Yes, bye and thanks for the dinner. We’ll talk later.”
Hannah took the woman’s slender hand and led her outside. The woman was surprisingly steady on her feet and leaned against the wall of the restaurant as though she hadn’t been a tipsy drunk a few minutes ago.
“What’s your name, dear?” she asked, her voice a little slurred but still clear.
“Hannah.”
“A sweet name, like you. You can call me Doreen.”
“Okay.”
“Could you take me to this address?” she asked, handing Hannah a card. “I don’t want to get a cab and I know they’ve probably called my son, and he just doesn’t understand things. I don’t want him to get mad.” She lowered her voice. “I get scared when he’s mad.”
Hannah sensed true fear in the woman’s voice. Was her son a monster? Was that why she drank? “All right. Come on.” Hannah grabbed ahold of the woman’s arm and walked a short distance behind the restaurant, and then helped the woman into her car. She jumped into the driver’s seat and then looked at her new companion. She seemed to become more lucid as time passed, but she was still heavily influenced by something. Once they arrived at the address listed on the card, Hannah drove up to the guard at the gate. She was going to introduce herself when the guard glanced inside and pushed back his hat, revealing a big shiny forehead and thin brows. He released a long whistle. “Harper’s going to blow a gasket when he sees her. How much has she had?”
“Enough.” Harper? Was that her son’s first name?
“Get her into bed fast. I can try stalling him for you if he comes through anytime soon,” the guard said and then waved her through.
Once inside the gated community, Doreen led Hannah to her condo, and Hannah sighed. “You know, this is really dangerous letting a stranger help you like this.”
“But you’re not a stranger,” Doreen said with surprise as innocent as a child’s, making Hannah glad she was the person with her and not some scam artist. “You’re a sweet young woman helping me escape my son’s temper.”
Hannah took the keys from Doreen, opened the front door and turned on the lights.
“Good,” Doreen said with relief. “He’s not home yet.”
Get her into bed, that’s what the guard had said, and then she could leave. “Let me take you to your room.”
The condo was massive compared with the ones Hannah had seen. It had two levels, lots of windows and a gorgeous stone fireplace in the center of an immaculately furnished living room. Doreen led her to the left, where they entered her personal suite. She had her own bedroom, bathroom and kitchenette and an alcove.
Hannah helped Doreen change into a silk peach-colored nightdress that hadn’t come off the rack in any store Hannah knew of. Her bedroom was palatial, with a large vanity mirror and decorations that suited a fairy princess. She helped Doreen into bed and tucked her in, relieved that her son would find her sleeping in her bed so that she’d be saved from his wrath. “Sweet dreams.”
“I haven’t paid you yet.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Suddenly, Doreen widened her eyes and gripped her sheets like a child instead of a woman in her fifth decade. “You’ll stay for a while, won’t you? There’s some food in the fridge if you’re hungry.”
“Yes,” Hannah lied to ease her worry. “I’ll stay for a while. Now go to sleep.”
“Good.” Doreen rested her head back and closed her eyes.
Hannah turned to the door and then paused when her gaze fell on a framed photo sitting on the dresser. It was a photo of a little boy and a gorgeous man who looked vaguely familiar. The boy did, too. Hannah picked up the photo and studied it. The boy looked about seven. He stood smiling beside the big man at a barbecue.
“That’s my son, Amal,” Doreen said. “And his father. My ex.”
Hannah nearly dropped the photo. Amal? Her son was named Amal? She quickly set the picture down. “I didn’t mean to pry.”
“It’s the last photo of them together before my ex ran off.”
Hannah edged toward the door, not wanting to know anymore. “I’d better go.”
“You said you’d stay awhile.” Doreen eagerly pointed to another photo on the dresser. “That’s my Amal now. Isn’t he handsome?”
“Yes.” And he knows it, Hannah silently added. “Now go back to sleep.”
“He’s a good man.”
“I’m sure he is,” Hannah said just to be agreeable. Doreen was a changeable woman. At one moment she feared her son and the next moment she adored him.
Martha had called Amal�
��s mother ridiculous, but Hannah found her rather sad. She could see him being devoted to her, but that was none of her business. She went to the door. “Good night,” she said. She wanted to be gone before he came home.
“Night, dear,” Doreen mumbled.
Hannah crept out of the room and gently closed the door. She was halfway down the hall when she heard the front door open and slam shut.
Chapter 6
“There’s no use hiding, Mom,” Amal said in a voice that could have woken everyone in the complex, fury filling every word. “I got a call from the restaurant and from Carl at the gate.”
Hannah froze as the footsteps came closer, her heart seeming to beat at every pounding step.
“Did you think I wouldn’t find out? I thought we’d agreed...” Amal came around the corner and then halted when he saw her. Rage turned to shock and then rage again. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I—I—” Hannah stopped and lifted her chin, determined not to be scared of him. “I drove your mother home.”
He took a menacing step forward. “You drove my mother home? You couldn’t call a cab? Are you so hard up for cash you need to be a chauffeur, too?”
She took a step toward him, her eyes flashing. “Yes, that’s right. I saw this woman falling-down drunk in a restaurant,” she said, satisfied when she saw Amal wince, indicating she’d hit her mark, “and I thought to myself, ‘Yes, this would be a great way to make money instead of enjoying the cocktail party my friends had thrown for me.’ I should’ve left her there on the ground so that everyone could’ve laughed at how pathetic and silly she looked. Besides, I didn’t know she was your mother. I just felt sorry for her. Excuse me.” She stormed past him.
He grabbed her arm. “I’m sorry.”
Hannah sent a pointed glance to his hand on her arm, but he didn’t let go. “Me, too.”
“Where is she?”
“I just put her to bed.”
He sighed and released her. “I’m sorry.”
“I know. You just said that.”
Amal softly swore and pushed past her.
Hannah spun around and followed him. “She’s sleeping.”
He swung the door open. “No, she’s not. She only pretends to.” He switched on the light and walked to the bed, turning down the photo of him with his father before standing in front of it. “Mom, what did you take, and don’t play games with me.”
His mother instantly sat up in bed, wide-awake, and flashed a beaming smile. “Oh, you’re home. Hannah, have you met my son, A—”
“What did you take?” Amal interrupted.
Her smile faded. “I had one drink.”
He folded his arms. “And?”
She wrung her hands. “Don’t be angry.”
“And?”
Doreen held up her thumb and forefinger. “And one tiny, teeny-weeny pill.”
“You promised me you’d stop.”
Her lower lips trembled. “He was married. I’d met him online and we’d been talking for weeks, and I finally get to meet him and he’s married.” She burst into tears.
Amal turned on his heel and left the room.
Hannah raced after him. “You can’t just leave her there crying.”
“She’ll stop in a few seconds.”
“Don’t you care?”
“I’ve taught myself to stop.” Amal walked into the foyer, reached into his jacket and pulled out his checkbook. “How much did she say she’d pay you?”
“I didn’t do this for the money! No wonder she acts this way, having to live with such a cold, ruthless and heartless son. I’m not surprised she takes pills and drinks.”
Amal’s eyes darkened while his voice grew low and soft. “No, she does that because she doesn’t want to face life. She wants life to be one big fairy tale, and when it isn’t she resorts to drinking and taking pills.” He pointed at Hannah. “I’m a good son and I’ve experienced more nights like this than you could ever know.” He walked into the kitchen and rested his hands on the counter, his head held down. “There was the Middle Eastern tycoon who scammed her out of thirty-thousand dollars, the Dutch doctor who bilked her for forty, the handsome Greek who had two other women on the side.” He lifted his head and stared at her. “But the best was the Nigerian prince who had lots of money but couldn’t access it because of a major coup and just needed her bank account to transfer his funds into. My mother lost a total of over one hundred thousand dollars before I was made aware of the dealings she had entered into with this unscrupulous thief. Oh, but you would already know something about that, right?”
Hannah gritted her teeth at the barb but didn’t reply. She was well aware of what was called a 419 Nigerian scam. The 419 scams worked by gaining a person’s trust and, through skillful social marketing techniques, bilking naive individuals, like his mother, into believing they were helping and would make more money if they just provided some of the investment funding. But she wouldn’t be provoked.
“You can think of me any way you want at the office, in the park, but my home is off-limits to you or anyone. So don’t you dare come into my private space and judge me when you know nothing.”
“I know you like broken women.”
“What?”
“Is that what attracted you to Jade? You thought you could save her?”
“You’re my lawyer, not my psychologist.”
“And maybe not even that,” Hannah said in a light tone, glad to be able to catch him off guard.
“What do you mean?”
“I had an interesting chat about you with Martha Walker. She made me a very tempting offer.”
“And will you take it?”
“That depends on you.”
Amal folded his arms. “What do you want?”
“Respect would be nice. A thank-you would be even better instead of accusations of being a mercenary or some Nigerian scam artist.”
He sighed. “Thank you, Hannah.”
“You’re welcome.” She headed for the door.
“Watch out for the Walkers. They have claws.”
She opened the door. “Says the man with a large pair of his own.”
* * *
Amal kicked the door. He shouldn’t have lost his temper, and now he could lose her. He’d never had to apologize this much to one person, but he knew he needed to—he just didn’t know why. Amal wasn’t afraid of many things, but the prospect of losing Hannah scared him. He dashed out the door and ran after her as she marched to the elevators. “Hannah, wait.” For one brief moment he thought she’d keep walking and ignore him, but she stopped and slowly turned.
“Look,” he said. “I’m sorry about everything—especially the Nigerian scam artist thing. That was stupid of me to say.” He stopped when he reached for her, and she recoiled from his touch. That was a first for him. Women never did that. But he had no business touching her anyway, and he couldn’t understand his desire to. He rubbed the back of his neck and then shoved his hands in his pockets, looking like a schoolboy caught breaking a window with his baseball. “I need you to understand something.”
“Yes?” Hannah said, pursing her lips. He found the motion distracting because soon he was focusing on her mouth. Her beautiful mouth painted a nice purple hue that made him think of grapes. Ripe, juicy, sweet grapes...
“Amal?”
He jerked back to attention. “Huh?”
“You were about to explain something....”
“Yes.” He cleared his throat. “About my mother.”
“You don’t need to explain her to me.”
“Yes, I do. I don’t want anyone judging my mother or me or my relationship with her. It’s more complicated than at first glance. I know she appears like some old, rich kook, but she’s not. Give
n the chance she can be bright and funny and—”
“I know,” Hannah cut in with a fierceness that surprised him. “I didn’t judge her. When I saw her all I wanted to do was help.”
Amal tilted his head, curious. “And when you found out she was my mother?”
“Honestly?”
He nodded.
“I swore.”
He laughed. “At me or her?”
“At myself.”
“That’s a safe answer.”
“I know.”
“At least let me give you something to drink before you go.”
Hannah rested a hand on her hip. “And if I say no?”
“Why would you say no?”
“I have a lot of reasons.”
“How about I give you a reason to say yes.”
“And that would be?”
“With me you’ll never have to wonder what you’re missing, and I’m great company when I choose to be.”
Hannah gestured toward the hall. “Lead the way.”
“You’re not going to argue?”
“It’s been a long night. Consider yourself lucky.”
“I do.”
Moments later they both sat at stools against the large island in his kitchen with two glasses of red wine.
“You look very lovely this evening,” he said.
“You just noticed?”
“No,” he said in a low voice, making his admiration clear.
“I was celebrating with friends.” She tapped the stem of her glass. “See, I’ve got this fabulous, lucrative new case, but the problem is my client.”
Amal raised his eyebrows in exaggerated curiosity. “And what’s wrong with your client?”
“He’s a bit too arrogant for my taste.” She took a sip of her wine and then set it down. “He likes to be in control, and he can be deceitful.”
“Does he have any good points?”
“I’m still searching.”
He winced. “Ouch.”
“I do like how he cares for his mother.”
He lowered his gaze. “So he’s a mama’s boy.”