by Alana Lorens
Even before she faced him, Suzanne could feel his presence, a red-hot ball of anger. Since she didn’t have Maddie’s expensive wardrobe to act as a shield, she’d have to wing it. She turned slowly and looked Greg Morgan in the eye.
“I’ve heard that speech before…where was it? Oh, yeah. The Wizard of Oz. ‘You and your little dog, too.’ As I recall, that character didn’t survive till the happy ending.”
His hand, closed into a fist, came open as she finished speaking, and for a moment she thought he was going to hit her right there in court. She didn’t flinch, though, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing he could get to her. She glanced inside the bar for the broad-shouldered bailiff, but he was occupied, flirting with the court clerk. By the time she looked back at Morgan, he’d stepped back from her with a wide smile.
“Someone’s not going to get out alive here. That much is true.”
He started to whistle then, and turned away, walking out of the courtroom as if he had no care in the world. Frozen, she watched till the door closed behind him. A little whimper behind her caught her attention, along with the shout of someone in the gallery. Maddie had fainted.
The bailiff abandoned his post at the clerk’s desk and hurried over, faster than she’d expected for a man of his bulk. “Clear the courtroom. Now!” he bellowed. A couple of sheriff’s deputies who’d attended the protection hearings came forward to move the onlookers away from the fallen woman. Suzanne helped the bailiff lay Maddie on the bench behind the table as the room fell silent. The bailiff left to summon help, and Suzanne pulled a chair over to sit next to her client. The clock over the door ticked several minutes by until Maddie opened her eyes, seeming a little surprised to find herself looking up at the ceiling.
“What—did he hit you? Did he hit me?” Mystified, Maddie’s hand went to her cheek as if checking for bruises. She pushed to a sitting position and glanced around, clearly expecting to see her husband nearby, but the wooden benches outside the bar were empty.
“No. He’s gone. Everyone’s fine. I think. Are you all right? The bailiff went to find a paramedic.”
“Oh! No, I’m fine, please don’t…” Flustered, Maddie got to her feet, too fast, apparently, because she fell back to the seat, her knees not holding her upright. “I don’t need anyone checking me.”
“Maddie, please calm down. I think maybe you should get looked at. Have you been to the doctor lately? You’ve lost weight, and you’re shaking like a leaf.”
“They’re just going to want to put me on pills. I don’t want to be on pills. Greg gave me pills all the time, and they made me…they made me so crazy.” She grabbed Suzanne’s arm. “No pills. Promise me, Suzanne, no pills.” Her eyes, dark and liquid with fear, beseeched Suzanne to listen.
“All right, honey. No pills.” She glanced up as the courtroom door opened and the bailiff came in, followed by two uniformed paramedics. “Just let them check you, all right? Then we’ll go down the hall and talk.”
Maddie reluctantly agreed. She tolerated the touch of the men as they took her blood pressure and listened to her heart, her gaze locked on some nameless point in her personal horizon. Her answers were monosyllabic. When they’d finished, one packed the equipment back into their case while the other asked if she wanted to go to the hospital. She declined.
“No more we can do here,” he said to the bailiff.
“Miz Taylor, judge wants his courtroom back,” the bailiff said. “Plenty of people waiting for the second half of the docket.”
She nodded. “Of course. Thank you all for your kind attention.” The paramedics stood up. “Maddie, can you make it down the hall to the conference room?”
Maddie tensed when she looked at the door. “Greg will be out there, won’t he?”
“I don’t think so. It’s been nearly forty-five minutes.”
“Why don’t I let you out the back hall, Miz Taylor? There’s a direct hall to the conference room from there.” The bailiff smiled with the warmth and sweetness of a Sistine cherub.
Suzanne glanced at his nametag. Since he’d moved to a more personal level, she should, too. “Thank you, Mr. Ramirez.”
“De nada.” The bailiff dismissed the paramedics, then offered Maddie Morgan his arm, half supporting her as they walked out the door that was usually reserved for jurors He led them down the back hall to the conference room. He made sure Maddie was seated and had a fresh pitcher of cold water within reach before he went back to his duties. Suzanne heaved a sigh of relief as she took a seat at the solid walnut table.
“We can stay here as long as we need to, so don’t worry,” she said.
Maddie nodded silently, her bitten-down nails scratching at the wax on the outside of her paper cup.
Suzanne looked over the new order, wondering whether Morgan hadn’t already violated it with his comment about how someone “wouldn’t get out alive.” Frank Rosenblatt would probably be able to convince the court that Greg hadn’t meant Maddie, so he didn’t violate the order. He could threaten Suzanne without crossing that line. Was it enough for Suzanne to press charges on her own? Probably not. The vague reference could be just someone spouting off under pressure. Just like the email and the pictures.
How would I explain to someone that look in his eyes, that hatred, that heat, that burning malevolence? It was something that had to be experienced.
The recollection made her shudder.
“He does that to people,” Maddie said in a voice like the breath of death.
Embarrassed that her thoughts were so easily read, Suzanne bit her lip and raised her shoulders in a small shrug. “I shouldn’t let him get to me. That’s what he wants.”
Maddie agreed with a nod. “But you know what? Now I can picture him pedaling away on a rickety old bicycle with a basket on the back, just like an old witch.” She actually smiled. “I think that vision’s going to help.”
Suzanne laughed, half-embarrassed. “It was the first thing that came to me. I probably shouldn’t have said it. But I’m glad it helps.” She poured herself some water. “So, how’s your new place?”
“You were right about the gated community. The men at the entry have a copy of the protection order, and they know not to let Greg in, even if he’s dropping off the children.” She sighed. “He just doesn’t give up, though. He sent me flowers at work. Roses. Lilies. Huge baskets of flowers.”
“That’s in violation of the order.”
“I know. He sent them to the nursery school where I’m working as a teacher’s aide. The other teachers find it charming—they tell me they wish their husbands were so thoughtful!”
“You should have told me. I could have reported him.” Suzanne growled, frustrated. The gesture wasn’t charming at all, but another sign of control, announcing to his wife, “I know where you are and what you’re doing.” Seemed to be a common theme with this man.
“And what would the judge have said? ‘You want me to punish the guy because he loves his wife enough to send flowers? That’s not a crime.’”
“But it is!” Suzanne’s face flushed with a rush of angry blood. She couldn’t protect a client who wouldn’t act to protect herself. “He could go to jail.”
“I don’t want him to go to jail, Suzanne. My son’s already rebelling. He wants to be with his dad. My daughter’s temperamental, too. They don’t like the changes.” As Suzanne started to interrupt, Maddie raised a hand to cut her off. “I know, I know. You said it would happen. Look, I just want Greg to leave me alone. That’s all I want. The less trouble I cause him, the less likely he’ll persist.”
Maddie’s expression was earnest. Suzanne knew she wouldn’t change her mind. She’d have to find out for herself. A man as determined as Greg Morgan had no intention of giving up so easily. Suzanne knew. Maddie would learn.
Maddie took a deep breath and stood up. “So you’ll go ahead with the divorce?”
“Of course. We can start discovery, find his assets. Now that we’ve got the permanen
t order, he’ll hopefully be less likely to act out.” Suzanne gathered her belongings. “Do you need a ride home?”
“I’ve got a car. I borrowed it from a friend, so Greg can’t take it from me.” Maddie’s smile faintly lit her face. “I’ll be fine, Suzanne. I’ll just hold onto that mental picture of the witch on the bicycle. With the music in the background.” She hesitated for a moment, cocked her head, then laughed. “Oh, yes, definitely with the music.” Maddie came around the end of the table to embrace Suzanne. “Thank you for everything you do.”
“You’re welcome.” Suzanne held back most of what she wanted to say. She couldn’t live Maddie’s life for her. “Call me next week, all right?”
“I sure will.” Maddie left the room. Suzanne stood in the silent vacuum created by her departure, wondering about Greg Morgan. Should she take steps to protect herself?
She could call the police.
She could call Nick.
She took out her cell, held it in her palm for a moment as she considered it, then slipped it back into her pocket. Hell, no.
Suzanne had no intention of letting that man tell her how to run her life today or any day.
This one, she could handle on her own. Greg Morgan was just a sad little king who believed he was in charge of something. He’d find out he was wrong.
Chapter Sixteen
Nick found his schedule over the next few weeks constituted a barrier to time with Suzanne. His days were easier due to his problem children spending time with the vice squad, but end of year also meant budget crunch and late nights choosing what hours, personnel, and programs he could do without.
He had made a few efforts to contact her, but they’d all been rebuffed by an ever-present voicemail system. His personal schedule didn’t allow him the kind of time he’d like to have to pursue her more aggressively. How could he get this relationship back on track?
His answer came in an opportunity from the police department itself. After a thirty-year career, Division chief Raymond Sandoval would celebrate his well-deserved retirement with a banquet. Most of the brass around the county would attend, along with political officials, family and friends. It was the kind of event that most business people chose to get their faces out in the social circle. There would also be so many people that Suzanne wouldn’t have to feel she was on the spot with him. A perfect occasion to see Suzanne, and to be seen with her.
All the same, he didn’t bother to call first before he drove to her office over a lunch hour to ask her to accompany him. She shouldn’t have a chance to say no before he could use his best bad-boy grin to persuade her. When he arrived, the secretary grinned and waved him in. He stuck his head inside Suzanne’s office door. “Do you have a moment?”
Her eyes widened and she got slowly to her feet, her face unwelcoming. “What are you doing here?”
“I have a favor to ask.” He stepped in and closed the door.
She came out from behind the desk, a vision in a soft knit sweater in shades of brown and rust and a slim pair of brown slacks. “I’m not sure I can help you with the city budget, or your personnel issues.”
He held up a hand to cut her off. “I’ve got plenty of aspirin and antacids for that.”
“I don’t envy you at all. So you’re not here to borrow a calculator. What can I do for you?” She sat down on one of her love seats and gestured for Nick to do the same.
He cleared his throat as he shrugged off his leather jacket and sat down. Small sofas didn’t make sense to him. A good sofa was at least six feet long and let a man put his feet up. This was…abominably short. He sat forward, on the edge of the seat. Humor seemed the best approach. “I wondered if you’re a fan of rubber chicken.”
Her eyebrow went up.
“Ray Sandoval’s retiring, and I need to make an appearance at the shindig. Banquet. Whatever.”
She continued to study him, intent, like a scientist seeing some new sort of cell through a microscope.
“It’s probably not really rubber chicken. They booked the Renaissance. Menu there’s pretty good.”
“A whole evening with a room full of cops and liquor. Now there’s a recipe for fun.” Her green eyes warmed slightly from cut emerald. He had a chance then. He felt his shoulders relax, and even smiled.
“Isn’t it? Look, I hate these things, but I’ve got to show up. I thought maybe since we hadn’t had much time together, at least we’d get free dinner and a couple of drinks and then we could slip out and find something more interesting to do.”
“More interesting?” Speculation in her eyes. And a flash of heat, quickly concealed. Oh, yes. That would be interesting indeed. “Who did you say might attend?”
“There’s an open invitation to anyone in the police ranks, but usually it’s the higher-ups, couple of county officials, someone to make a proclamation, you know, Ray Sandoval Day, or whatever.”
“And when is it?” She went to her desk, pulling a thick datebook from her left-side drawer.
“About a week from now. November 20th. The Saturday before Thanksgiving.” When he said “Thanksgiving,” she bit her lip and closed the book with a snap. “Something wrong?”
“Wrong? No.” She returned to her seat near him. “Looks like the Saturday is clear. I’m sure it would fulfill some civic duty or other for me to attend.”
He ignored the lack of warmth in her tone. If fate saw a way, perhaps that heat he’d glimpsed could be encouraged into a small fire. “Then it’s a date. Good. One worry off the plate.”
“I’m sure we both have plenty of those.”
“Still fighting with Councilman Morgan?” He debated mentioning Greg Morgan’s visits to the precinct, but decided she had enough to worry about on that score. He’d protect her from further harassment. If he could.
“That’s between me and my client, don’t you think?”
Whatever he’d done, she clearly hadn’t forgiven him yet. “Of course. I was just…” He straightened his shoulders. “Maybe when the budget’s done, I can take you and the girls to a Steelers game.”
“Maybe.” Her tone was less than enthusiastic.
He studied her for clues. Was she unhappy about attending a sports event, or worried about protecting her girls? How much safer could they be than with a thoroughly-trained police detective who carries a gun? “If you don’t think I’m a threat,” he prodded.
Her eyes widened but she didn’t offer a response.
“Any more emails? Pictures?” It still burned him that she hadn’t let him follow up on the packet she’d received. It’s not like he could make her do it. He had to let this one go until she was ready. With any luck, Morgan would back off. Not much percentage for him in escalating this fight, as a public figure, was there? The councilman seemed to have plenty in his private life he didn’t need brought into the light.
“Nothing.”
Her voice was firm, but she didn’t look him in the eye. Damn it, the woman was stubborn! He hadn’t done anything wrong. Why wouldn’t she let him in?
He took a deep breath, then blew it out slowly. “All right. If you need help with that, you know who to call.”
She nodded.
A moment of silence stretched out between them, then they both came to their feet, not looking at each other. “Guess we should get back to work,” Suzanne said.
She stood close enough that he could smell her perfume, something spicy and layered. Memories of the night they spent together flooding in. He reached for her without thinking, pulling her close to him, her head against his chest. He half expected her to shove him away, but she didn’t. She didn’t put her arms around him, either. It was enough for him. His lips curved into a smile, and he closed his eyes, wanting the moment to last an eternity, but a few beats later, Suzanne’s secretary knocked discreetly on the door frame.
“Sorry, boss, but your one o’clock is here.”
“Thank you, Donna,” Suzanne stepped away from the tall detective, her eyes a little softer, and a smile twit
ching at her lips. “I’ll see you next week.”
“You bet.” Feeling a little like he was on top of the world, Nick grabbed his coat and headed for the door. He didn’t look back, but he did give Donna a little salute.
The encounter kept his attitude sunny the entire afternoon, even through the hot glares of Clara Malron, the only one of the three sergeants not on temp duty with Vice. The chain of command being what it was, though, there wasn’t much besides glaring that she could do. Nick could set his mind in more positive directions.
****
Suzanne usually didn’t like those kinds of events, the grip-and-grin retirement gift presentations, the false line-up of speakers who dragged out something nice to say about the man or woman who was stepping down. It often seemed to her like the slimier the retiree was, the more flowery the accolades.
She’d met Sandoval a couple of times over the years she’d practiced in Pittsburgh, and didn’t have much respect for him. At the scene of a domestic disturbance, if he found a bruise on the woman’s cheek, while the man ranted that the woman had attacked him first, Sandoval would tell the woman if she wanted to press charges, he’d have to take them both in, and the kids would go to foster care. Not a solution in Suzanne’s book. Way to support victims of domestic violence, guys.
He wasn’t the only one who used this method to avoid dealing with conflict, of course, which was one reason Suzanne didn’t have much use for the police generally. She didn’t have any more to do with them than she had to.
Which made her attraction to Nick that much more confusing.
So why bother going with him?
She’d thought about Nick’s words, his perceived criticism regarding her girls and the emails, and finally realized he hadn’t been intruding on her prerogative at all. His attitude had less to do with his opinion of her parenting and more to do with that narrow-eyed paranoid cop outlook that every one of them seemed to have. He had spoken out because he really cared. That should be a good thing.
It was a good thing.