Conviction of the Heart

by Alana Lorens

  Table of Contents

  Conviction of the Heart

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  A word about the author...

  Thank you for purchasing this Wild Rose Press publication.

  Conviction

  of

  the Heart

  by

  Alana Lorens

  Copyright

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Conviction of the Heart

  COPYRIGHT © 2012 by Alana Lorens

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com

  Cover Art by Kim Mendoza

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Crimson Rose Edition, 2012

  Print ISBN 978-1-61217-251-4

  Digital ISBN 978-1-61217-252-1

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  For the spirit and heart

  of all those who empower, counsel and work

  with domestic violence survivors…

  Keep up the good fight.

  Chapter One

  Suzanne Taylor eyed her gold link watch. Six o'clock already. She'd be the last one home again.

  Guilt swirled through her midsection. Her mother nagged her about leaving the girls home alone so late. “Too many bad things they can get into out there. Predators! On Dateline last week…”

  Suzanne groaned at the thought. If she had to hear about the pervs on Dateline one more time, she’d consider moving out of Pittsburgh, away from her parents. Far away.

  Annoyed with her life and the solo practice of family law, she grabbed her soft leather briefcase and shoved a handful of files inside. She’d have to finish at home. One file in particular that she wanted, she couldn’t find in the ever-undulating stack of clutter on her heavy wooden desk. The desk she’d inherited from her grandmother's Indiana farmhouse. For the clutter, she could only blame herself.

  “Eureka!” she muttered as she finally located the paperwork and put it in the case, buckled it up. Her hand hit the switch, and the book-lined office went dark. She shouldered her purse and headed through the still-lit secretary’s office for the door.

  As her hand hit the door handle, it twisted under her fingers, and the solid wooden door came toward her, slamming into her foot. She yelped. A gasp sounded on the other side of the door, and a tear-streaked face poked around the edge.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry! Oh, my gosh, are you all right?” the woman asked.

  The woman wore no makeup, and her hair was a disheveled mess, but her jacket and skirt were pricey—Suzanne had admired that set at Coldwater Creek a week before.

  “I’ll live,” Suzanne replied wryly. “I was just leaving.” She gestured to the clock, which now read six-fifteen.

  “No! Please, you can’t!” The slender woman seized her hand, dark eyes wild, like a panicked horse. “I don’t have much time. He’s going to kill me!”

  “Who’s going to kill you?”

  “My husband. I know it sounds crazy, but I know it. I know it.” The conviction in the woman's voice seeped into Suzanne’s bones. She believed what she was saying. “I know it’s late, but Nick said you’d help me. He said you were the best.”

  “Nick?”

  “Nick Sansone. He’s a policeman we know from the community center. I called him from a pay phone outside the grocery store, and he said you would help me.”

  “Oh, he did?”

  Nicholas Sansone had been a witness in one of Suzanne’s cases several months before. She had caught him looking at her with something that might have been attraction. And though it could have been accidental, the detective with the huge dark eyes and shoulders that looked as if they had the benefit of hours at the gym had seemed thereafter to cross her path frequently in the Courthouse corridors. He hadn’t asked her out, but there had been times she thought he was going to, and she’d purposely given him “chilly.” Suzanne didn’t date cops. Cops had a way of landing in trouble. She didn’t need trouble.

  But she wouldn’t hold it against this woman in obvious distress. Suzanne stepped back, inviting her in. “What makes you think he’s going to kill you?”

  The woman scanned the hallway with a nervous glance, then came in and closed the door behind her. “He went out of town this morning. He took his gun with him, so I couldn't hide it, but I found the number to the funeral home on his dresser. The card had my birth date and social security number.” She leaned back against the door frame, one hand over her heart, breathing rapidly. “He's planning something, and I’m not meant to survive.”

  Suzanne glanced at the clock again and sighed. “All right, sit and I’ll grab a pen—”

  “No, I can’t. Not now. I’ve got to be home by seven. He’ll call.” Her hand fluttered, fell back onto her chest. “If I don’t answer, he’ll punish me.”

  “Punish you?” Suzanne’s brow puckered. As an attorney working in family law, she’d dealt with domestic violence cases before. After fifteen years, there was little that shocked her. Never made it easier to hear, though.

  The woman struggled to rephrase what she’d said. “I mean, he’ll be mad. I don’t want to make him mad. Not when he…” Her voice faded and trembles wracked her body. She nearly fell.

  “Come on,” Suzanne said, dropping her case. The last thing she needed was a lawsuit if this woman collapsed on her doorstep. She slipped an arm around the woman’s shoulders to guide her to the nearest chair, “I understand what you’re saying. How can I help you?”

  “I have a doctor’s appointment on Friday morning. He’ll expect me to be gone for two hours. Can I come back then?”

  “He’ll still be gone?”

  “He’s at some national conference in St. Louis, not due back till Saturday afternoon. But he set people to watch me.” That panicked look again. “He’s very important.”

  Suzanne snorted. “Importance doesn’t give anyone the right to terrorize their wife.” She reached for a yellow pad off her secretary’s perfectly organized desk. “Are there children?”

  “Yes. A boy and a girl.”

  “Has he been violent toward them?”

  A long hesitation. The woman’s tongue flicked out to wet her lips before she spoke. “He broke Katie’s wrist last year.”
<
br />   Suzanne caught her breath and made a note. “We can get you a protection order that would make him leave the house, if you want to stay there, or we can get you to a safe place with your kids. Do you want to file for divorce?”

  “I…I…don’t know.” Those long-fingered hands fluttered again, settled in her lap, twisting against each other for comfort.

  Suzanne never understood why a woman stayed with a man who had injured her child. She believed in the right of a woman to be autonomous, independent, and never forced to depend on a man for anything.

  But the world didn’t always work that way.

  As a chunk of auburn bangs fell into her eyes, Suzanne tucked her hair behind her ear with irritation. She was due for a haircut. Somehow, she’d have to make the time. She rattled off a quick list of documents she wanted to see.

  “Bring those to me Friday morning. Come as soon as you can. We’ll be quick.”

  “God bless you,” the woman said, breaking into tears of relief. She took Suzanne’s hand again, and for a moment, Suzanne thought she’d actually kiss it, but she got herself under control. “God bless you!”

  “What’s your name?” Suzanne asked, leaning backward over Donna’s desk for her calendar.

  “Maddie. Madeleine Morgan.” The woman took a handful of tissues from a box on the nearby table and dabbed at her face.

  “Maddie Morgan?” Suzanne nearly dropped the planner. Everyone in Pittsburgh knew that name. “You mean your husband’s Gregory Morgan? The city councilman?”

  The woman bit her lip.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to sound that way.” Suzanne backtracked as fast as she could. Disbelief had flooded her voice, she was sure. The Morgan name was in the papers at least once a week, usually more. She’d met Councilman Morgan half a dozen times at charity or city events. He’d always seemed so…nice.

  Experience had shown, however, often those were the ones worth watching out for. Violence could lurk, well-concealed, behind a charming façade. Especially one with money and position.

  The clock chimed six-thirty, and Maddie jumped to her feet with a little shriek. “I’ve got to go, now! He’ll be calling.”

  “All right, all right. Friday morning. I’ll be here by eight-thirty.”

  “Thank you, Miss Taylor. Thank you so much. Thank you!”

  Her fervent words following her out the door, Madeleine Morgan was gone, light footsteps tapping down the hall to the stairs to take her down one flight to Carson Street.

  Suzanne picked up her case and her purse again. This woman’s story, even the brief part she’d shared so far, resonated with others in Suzanne’s memory. Some of her brethren might have pooh-poohed the woman’s fears, but not Suzanne. Not anymore. A cold wave of nausea washed over her. She’d lost one client to a psychotic husband already. The murder might have been three years before, but Suzanne hadn’t forgotten one detail. She hadn’t believed that man was serious. He’d proved her wrong.

  She wouldn’t make that mistake again. She wouldn’t lose another one.

  She’d lay everything on the line to protect Maddie Morgan.

  Chapter Two

  There he was again.

  Nick Sansone.

  Waiting for her, in ambush, like a guerilla assault team, when she approached the elevator in Pittsburgh’s City-County Building. Since she practiced family law, and he was a police detective, they weren't often in the same building. The criminal courts took place in the old red granite “castle” next to the stone former jail building. City-County was the home of the civil courts. No reason for him to be here.

  But here the lanky detective stood, in the busy first floor lobby. His suit was dark gray, his tie a conservative print with maroon diamonds, and his shoes were spit-polished to a perfect shine.

  “Counselor,” he said with an easy grin. “Starting early today, I see.”

  Put him off. Don’t let him engage. “Tough job being a homewrecker, but someone’s got to do it,” she said.

  It might be corny, but it was better than the usual jokes about lawyers and sharks. Or lawyers and bottom feeders. Or lawyers and…about anything one could think of that was disgusting. Cops seemed to know them all.

  “Now, I’ve seen you in action, Ms. Taylor. I know that’s not your modus operandi at all.”

  Her cheeks flamed. “Don’t try to flatter me with your fine command of Latin phrases, Detective.”

  “Not flattery at all! Spoken with true admiration, I assure you. I’ve observed enough of my colleagues raked over the coals to know a shark when I see one. And you’re not.”

  A tight smile was her only response as the elevator doors opened. They both walked in, along with half a dozen other people chattering, involved in their own lives. She debated bringing up Maddie Morgan, but it wasn’t her habit to discuss her clients with others. If she needed information from Sansone, she could certainly ask him after the meeting on Friday.

  “Who’s the unlucky man today?” he asked, gaze warm with amusement.

  “You assume it’s a man?” Suzanne clutched the handle of her briefcase more tightly. “I don’t only represent women, Sergeant.”

  “Lieutenant.”

  “I’m sorry?” She eyed him with a little frown.

  “Lieutenant. I’ve been promoted since we last met.”

  The elevator doors opened at the floor below the one she wanted. Jostled by people behind her wanting to get out, she was shoved closer to him to allow them to pass. Close enough for her to get a full inhale of his aftershave, something spicy with a hint of citrus. It was her immediate new favorite. Damn him.

  She put intentional distance between them as soon as the others left the small space, said nothing until the doors slid shut again. “Congratulations, Lieutenant. I’m sure it’s well-deserved.”

  “I hope so. My granddad would certainly be tickled. I’ve been waiting to celebrate, thanks to a hellish schedule at work. Interested?”

  “In celebrating with you?” She squeezed the handle tight again, so tempted. Her reaction to him was something she couldn’t control; the way she expressed it certainly was. She didn’t intend to allow him to see one bit of it.

  Echoes of her mother nagging that she worked too much and never had any fun floated through her mind. It’s only a date. What could a date hurt?

  She shoved her mother’s complaints into a dark corner of her mind. “Fun” didn’t pay the bills. “Fun” didn’t make it possible to survive as a single mother. Work did that.

  Besides, he was a cop. Better to protect her heart.

  The elevator doors opened again, the metallic “ding” announcing their arrival.

  Saved by the bell. She stepped out of the car and managed a social smile. “I don’t know how long I’ll be today, Lieutenant. I’ll have to pass.”

  The disappointment on his face pained her. It wasn’t just some casual invitation then. He must have really meant it. The doors closed, and she turned away toward the courtroom where she was calendared to be, her throat choked with mixed feelings. She didn’t forget his wounded expression for the rest of the morning.

  ****

  Late that afternoon, Suzanne’s custody case concluded, past the closing of the courthouse itself. The hallways were empty, the sun burning in through west-facing windows. Two rambunctious preschoolers, the subjects of her case, released from the prison of courtroom decorum, burst into giddy action, footsteps echoing as they twirled in the vacant corridor.

  As the combatants staggered out into the hallway, her client, having been granted custody, impulsively hugged her, while the father glared from twenty feet away, conferring for a moment with his own attorney. Suzanne disentangled herself, adrenaline starting to wear thin after the day of cat and mouse, question and answers, emotions and tears. “Will you be all right getting downstairs?” she asked.

  The woman smiled. “He won’t dare try anything now.”

  “All right. Drive carefully. Remember to call me if you have any problems.” />
  She waved at the children as they skipped away with their mother, then gave a nod to the attorney on the other side, a classmate of hers from Pitt. Good friends outside the courtroom. Inside, both had acted quite reserved toward one another, even antagonistic from time to time, for the sake of their clients and their case.

  She waited after they’d all left, breathing the quiet in deeply, eyes and brain not focused on anything in particular for a few moments. The only thing she worried about was that angry gleam in the eye of her client’s husband. Understandable that people got upset, even violent, when their lives were crumbling around them. Custody hearings were emotional battles, draining the combatants and counsel alike.

  She took a deep breath, blew it out slowly. Her colleague had no doubt talked to the husband, calmed him down. All she needed to do now was decide what to do with her evening.

  Suspecting she’d run late, she’d arranged for her girls to spend the night at her parents' house in Perrysville, several miles north of the city, so she had no concern about them being home alone.

  Free at last.

  Considering the possibilities, she headed for the elevator, her footsteps loud in her own ears. It wasn’t the first time she’d gotten out of court after hours. With any luck she’d avoid the worst of the early evening traffic. The ride to the lobby was quick, not interrupted by floor-by-floor tedium. She shoved open the heavy door to the outside, assailed with the noise of five o’clock traffic along Forbes Avenue. Three blocks west, her car waited in the parking garage, then she’d be on her way.

  “Hey, woman! Where do you get off stealing people’s kids from them? Huh?”

  The shout came from behind her. She turned to see Jack Wachowski, the father from upstairs, lurking behind one of the pillars at the top of the stairs. He’d lost his overcoat and tie somewhere between the courtroom and outside. His graying hair was rumpled. He’d never been an attractive man, but the wild look in his eyes made him almost frightening.

  A quick glance reminded her the doors were closed. And locked.

  “Mr. Wachowski, I really shouldn’t speak to you while you’re represented by counsel.” While ethically true, the statement was actually a maneuver to buy time.