Conviction of the Heart

by Alana Lorens

  But that police officer had no right to pass judgment on her.

  She hated being so torn. No wonder she usually kept her distance from interested men. If only Nick wasn’t so damned appealing…

  Her mother bustled about with a clean rag in hand, wiping up messes that Suzanne couldn’t even see. “Now I’ve just put a macaroni casserole in the oven for lunch, honey, so tell me you’ll stay.”

  “Mom, I’ve got so much work to—”

  “No,” she said, raising a finger. “You have to eat, and work can wait. Besides, the girls tell me you have a young man.” A smile inched onto her mouth. She sat in the chair opposite Suzanne, eyes sparkling. “Tell me about him.”

  Suzanne felt the furrow between her eyebrows dig deep. First off, she’d hardly describe Nick as a “young” man, and second, he was hardly “her” man, and third… She eyed her mother. “Mom,” Suzanne said, her tone calculated to discourage further inquiry.

  Her mother’s face radiated innocence. “I know. You're a big girl now and you know how to take care of yourself. And it’s none of my business.” Suzanne nodded. “That being understood, when are we going to meet this detective of yours?”

  “He’s not ‘my’ detective, Mom. He’s…” How would she describe what had gone on between the two of them? Her mother wanted to hear that there was something promising in these beginning steps of their relationship, but Suzanne’s current mood would prevent any further meetings…no matter how well they’d melded between the sheets. They surely hadn’t approached the meet-the-parents stage, by any definition. “Nick Sansone isn’t the kind of man that I could make any sort of commitment to, all right?”

  Her mother chewed her lip, but it was her father who commented from the doorway behind her. “Well, no wonder. He’s a Dolphin fan.”

  Suzanne rolled her eyes and turned to face her father, who was also dressed in long-owned, comfortable clothes, black slacks and a blue plaid flannel shirt, always worn over a clean white t-shirt. A former steelworker, he was decidedly unconcerned with his wardrobe. But that clean white undershirt was mandatory. “Dad. It’s a game. You can’t judge a man’s character on what team he likes in a sporting event.”

  “Bite your tongue, girl. The Steelers reign supreme here.” He pronounced the word “Stillers,” like most Pittsburgh natives. “Your man is clearly delusional.” He crossed to give her a brief hug on his way to the coffeepot.

  “He’s not ‘my’ man!” On the other hand, she thought, “delusional” might just define that attitude.

  “Don’t get yourself worked up, honey,” her mother said, more gently. “He’ll get over the Miami thing. Bring him to dinner some night, and your father will set him straight.”

  Recalling Nick’s explanation for his fandom, Suzanne found it hard to believe that any outsider would change his mind. More to the point, she considered appropriate retribution for a couple of young ladies who couldn’t keep a secret from their grandparents. She’d be ready to inflict it once she got them home.

  “The girls think he’s wonderful,” her mother said, her broad farm-wife face lit up with satisfaction. “Maybe by Thanksgiving you’ll feel comfortable bringing him to dinner. We’d look forward to it.”

  Her father joined in, his gruff voice usually a comfort to Suzanne, but this time it rubbed her like sandpaper. “’Bout time you found someone new. Woman isn’t meant to carry the load alone. Need a man, that’s what I always say. Thirteen years is a long time to waste, in my book.” He raised his coffee cup in emphasis and wandered back to his overstuffed chair in the living room.

  A slow burn filled Suzanne. “I’ve hardly wasted my life, Dad. Women don’t need a man,” she said. “I’ve managed just fine without one.”

  Her mother beamed. “Of course you have, dear. You always have been just amazing in every way. But, a man can be a wonderful thing to have, whether you need him or not.” She stood up and started cleaning again, with that expression that meant she was happy as a clam. “Do ask him for Thanksgiving, hmm?”

  “Mmm,” Suzanne replied without the slightest intention of meaning “yes.” She held the chilled glass against her lips, letting it block any further comment. This perpetual discussion never had a resolution. Each time, she tried to shut it down before it degenerated into hurtful comments. She hated the feeling of inadequacy the talk sparked in her, and she hated being mad at her parents for their interference in her personal life. Most times, she succeeded. Not always.

  This time she was spared further effort by the arrival of her daughters, who came through the back door in a burst of chatter and chilly air.

  “Mom!” Riviera said, shoving a quart jar into her hand. “We made applesauce!”

  “Great,” Suzanne said. She examined the jar, the contents flecked with dark brown specks of cinnamon. It was still warm. She glanced up at Hope, eyebrow cocked, her jaw tight, trying to decide how to put her daughters’ wagging tongues to rest.

  Hope’s intent gaze switched from her mother, to her grandmother, to her mother again. “You told!” she said to her grandmother.

  “Yes, I did, just to let your mother know how much we care about her. Now go get your things packed, and we’ll have lunch in just a few minutes.” She herded them across the room and down the hall toward the guest room.

  Suzanne put down the jar and sighed. Good intentions did tend to take people on some pretty long roads. A deep breath restored a bit of calm and half a smile to her face. No sense in getting riled over speculation about a certain police lieutenant.

  Who knew?

  If she was lucky, she wouldn’t see Nick Sansone again, at least in other than a professional capacity. Thanksgiving was six weeks off. Their lives could change completely, or even end between now and then. If whoever thought it a fine idea to stalk Suzanne and her family kept up his antics, a lot of lives might change. The only way to find out for sure was to take things a day at a time.

  Her mother bustled back into the kitchen, already reaching for plates to set the table before she got to the cupboard. “Now who’s ready for some macaroni and cheese casserole?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Joe Sansone seemed glad enough to see Nick, though he was a little surprised when he opened the door of his apartment. Nick felt exposed there on the welcome mat, several of his father’s neighbors peeking out to see who had a visitor. Pop dressed as he did every day, in his pressed navy blue pants, blue undershirt and a wool sweater. Today his sweater was red, and his hair still trimmed according to police regulation.

  “Everything okay, Nicky?” he asked, brown eyes deeply crinkled at the corners under bushy gray eyebrows.

  “Sure, Pop. Can’t I come to see my old man?”

  “On a Saturday morning? Without calling?” The old man looked across the hall and gestured Nick inside. “Don’t give Mrs. Dailey an eyeful.”

  “Mrs. Dailey’s spying on you?” Before his father firmly closed the door, Nick checked out the thick-bodied older woman wrapped in a pink bathrobe over her purple polyester slacks.

  His dad grunted and turned away, going for the remote control to the television, which he’d left on the arm of the chair. He put on some news channel and turned up the volume. “She’s probably listening right now.”

  Nick chuckled. “I think she’s harmless, Pop.”

  “You don’t know that woman,” he said. “She’s got her mind set on marriage.” He waved his hand in the direction of his kitchenette. “Coffee’s on. Get yourself a cup. Get me one while you’re at it.” His father finally grinned and retreated to his recliner, the brown vinyl one he’d bought to celebrate his retirement five years before.

  Nick poured them both a cup of the steaming brew and came to take the easy chair next to his father. “Pitt’s playing this afternoon.”

  “Mm-hmm. That’s not what you came to tell me.” His father’s bright eyes studied his son, making Nick feel like he’d brought home a bad report card.

  “I was just out, Pop. Thought I
’d come by to see if you needed anything.”

  “Trouble at work? Being part of Command’s a bitch sometimes.”

  “No, nothing at work.” Nick thought for a moment about his issue with the Three Amigos, but he thought he had that pretty well under control. Once the two troublemakers were on the vice patrol, he’d have some time to defuse their discontent.

  “So what then? Oh wait, I know. It’s the woman.” His father smiled with an air of mystery.

  “Woman? What woman?” Now who was spying on who?

  “The one you took to dinner at Mama Rosa’s.”

  Concetta was a tattletale. Nick rolled his eyes. He should have known word would get back to his dad. “I don’t suppose taking the Fifth would help me at this point.”

  He chuckled. “It’d just prove you had something to hide, Nicky.”

  “Nothing to hide, Pop. Just… nothing to tell. Dinner doesn’t exactly—”

  “Don’t even try it, boy. Your old man’s been watching your face a lot of years. I know when you’re full of it. Just lay it out straight. She’s more than just dinner. I can see it.”

  Nick sighed. He didn’t even want to get into the problem of the stalker. He just wanted some reassurance that his own pursuit of Suzanne Taylor was well-founded. “Yeah, yeah. All right. She’s something special. She’s a lawyer.”

  His father’s eyes sparkled over the rim of his coffee cup. “Oh, I see. Moving into the country club set, are you now?”

  “Very funny.” His tone made it clear he didn’t find it amusing at all. “She’s dedicated to her work. She helps a lot of women, victims of abuse.”

  “Plenty of that in this town. Used to hate those calls.”

  “We all do. She’s really good at it.” Nick shifted in his chair, his mind flashing back to courtroom moments when he’d first seen Suzanne, then to the more private scenes from his house. Best tuck those away.

  “Did you mean that she’s a workaholic?”

  “What?” Had he said that? He replayed the words he’d used.

  “Usually ‘dedicated to her work’ means a woman who doesn’t have time for a home and family, Nicky.”

  “Not at all. She’s a single mother, actually. Two daughters, teenagers.” He felt a smile hiding behind his lips. The girls were distinctly different, but both reflected their mother’s personality.

  “Mmm,” his father said.

  “’Mmm’? What does that mean?” Nick found it hard to keep irritation from his voice. Why was it that he thought talking to his father would help him clarify what he wanted to do? He hadn’t really expected a full-scale interrogation...maybe a little pep talk. That was all. Nick rubbed his forehead.

  “That means…” Joe chewed his lip a moment, then shrugged. “That means you’re a big boy now, Nicky. You know what you want.”

  “I want what you and Mom had.”

  His father nodded. “Me and your mom fell in love when we were both just out of school, when we were young and had our whole lives in front of us. No ties, no kids, no jobs. We could grow together that way. I can’t imagine what it would be like to take two grown people who’ve already got all their priorities set and try to fit their lives together.” He emptied his cup and set it on a coaster on the table next to him. “But things are different these days.”

  “Sure are.” Nick shared a sheepish grin with his old man, and pushed himself up and off the chair.

  “And they don’t make ’em like your mother anymore.” Joe chuckled and changed the channel to the pregame sports show on KDKA.

  “Probably not, Pop.” Nick took his cup to the sink, then came back to man-hug his father. “You need anything, something from the store?”

  “I’m fine. Went to the grocer earlier today. Harry’s coming tomorrow. Thought we’d take a run out to Fort Pitt before winter sets in, make sure they’ve got everything socked away. They don’t want our old bodies volunteering out there in the snow and ice. Think we might break or something.” The older man’s jaw set at a stubborn angle.

  “They’re just looking out for you.”

  “Damn lawyers.”

  Nick couldn’t help a twitch, but his father just kept looking at the television. “Oh, I don’t mean your girlfriend, Nicky. She’s a woman. Can’t be much of an ambulance chaser, you know? High heels and all.” He chuckled, mostly to himself.

  “Very funny. Very funny. Maybe you should head out onto the nightclub circuit, now that you have all this free time, Pop,” Nick growled and headed for the door.

  “You take care, Nicky.”

  His dad was still laughing as Nick closed the door behind him. Mrs. Dailey’s door swung open as the Sansone door latch clicked, her frizzy-haired head poking around the frame.

  Angela’s years of training in manners kicked in, even as Nick cringed. “Hi, Mrs. Dailey,” he said.

  “Hello, Nick. Everything all right with your father?” Pale blue eyes blinked behind thick-lensed glasses. The smell of cooked cabbage came from her open doorway.

  “Everything’s fine. Just checking in.” He nodded and started down the hall.

  “Because if he needs anything, he can always call me. We’re neighbors, right? He needs a cup of sugar, whatever, he can always ask me.”

  He stopped and looked over his shoulder at her, wondering if she’d get the hint. “Right, Mrs. Dailey.”

  “It’s no trouble at all, Nick. Your father’s a nice man.”

  Realizing he’d be trapped all day if he let himself engage, he gave the woman his best charming smile. “He sure is. I’ve got an appointment, so I’ll see you later. You take care now.”

  Feeling only a little guilty that he’d cut her off, he walked away, his brisk steps not giving her time to change gears. The crazy old bat probably didn’t have anyone to talk to, and anyone who came along brightened her day. No wonder Joe practically barred his door.

  Nick took the stairs down, avoiding the slow-moving seniors at the elevator. He’d clarified one thing during his talk with his father. He wanted a firm commitment from the woman he loved, the same kind his parents had shared. He was ready to make one.

  Suzanne was capable of these commitments—he saw them with her clients, and with her daughters. The real question was, could she make that kind of commitment to Nick? Especially considering the way they’d left things that morning, when he’d stuck his nose where he had no business? Would she come around to that commitment after all?

  He hoped so. He’d misstepped that morning, that was obvious. He’d have to approach it again. Take it like a suspect’s interrogation, whittling away at her composure, her reserve, until he broke through the wall to find out what she was hiding. Make her see that cooperation, working together had its benefits. For both of them. How many interrogations had he done over the years? Hundreds. Could one sweet redhead stand up against him? He couldn’t see it.

  Should be a piece of cake.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Cases from work began to eat up a huge part of Suzanne’s time, not the least of which was the case she’d filed for Maddie Morgan.

  Gregory Morgan hired a big corporate gun from downtown to handle the matter, probably someone who dealt with the family business. This worked in Suzanne’s favor, since her counterpart, Frank Rosenblatt, wasn’t particularly experienced in family law.

  Though delayed several weeks by Rosenblatt’s legal maneuvering, the hearing for a permanent restraining order proceeded without the battle Suzanne had expected. On reflection, she realized it was just another part of the man’s game. Greg conceded the entry of the order, without admission of the acts alleged in the complaint. The law permitted him to do this. Such a choice would prohibit a finding of abuse on the record—a step many defendants chose to keep their records clean. Respectful, humble, he’d stood before the judge in the large county courtroom, soberly dressed in a well-tailored gray suit, as the attorneys negotiated and dictated the order the judge would sign.

  The gallery was half-full, likely becau
se so many protection orders had been on the docket for the day, but perhaps some were there because the city councilman was one of them. This wasn’t a criminal matter, so nothing would be permanent. As long as Greg abided by the order’s terms, it would quietly evaporate in a year after its term expired. That didn’t mean, of course, that the Post-Gazette and others wouldn’t find it a juicy tidbit.

  After the Morgan case was handled, the judge took a recess. As he left the bench, Suzanne saw smug satisfaction cross Morgan’s face, and the look he gave Maddie, the one that said “You’ll be back!”

  The only minor blessing was that Maddie hadn’t seen the look. Through the whole hearing, she’d stared into her lap, where her hands twisted and pinched each other, white with tension. Even in a $500 suit and shoes at least half that, the woman hadn’t had the courage to do more than whisper an answer to anything the judge asked her.

  Suzanne stood as the courtroom cleared, doing the best she could to remain a physical barrier between the Morgans, despite her own distaste for the man. Frank Rosenblatt packed his papers into his briefcase without saying anything further to his client, ignoring Greg’s penetrating stare at the other table. Those eyes, so full of passion—be it obsession or hatred—had the power to frighten Suzanne. She didn’t want Maddie to have to deal with them.

  “Call me Tuesday,” Frank murmured to his client, then after a nod to Suzanne, he left the courtroom. As soon as he’d cleared the door, Greg walked right up to Suzanne, perhaps a foot from her. Well within arms’ reach. It was all she could do not to shove him away.

  “Don’t think you’ve won here, counselor. Our dance has scarcely begun. I’m going to take that bitch down. But that’s not all. You chose the wrong side in this case. I’ll destroy you, and yours. All of you.”