Conviction of the Heart

by Alana Lorens

  “You ever get tired of old Saint Nick, you come on round and see me, Miss Lawyer,” Washington said just loud enough for her to hear. “I’d take good care of you. Mmmhmm, I sure would.”

  She didn’t dignify his words with an answer, but walked back to the spot where Nick fumed. “Let’s get out of here,” she said.

  Nick’s earnest gaze searched her face. “Did he say anything? Did he threaten you?”

  “He’s just a kid with a crappy attitude. What did you do to tick him off, anyway?”

  “Some people just live angry,” he said.

  They walked back to the table, Hank and Dottie both insisting on a hug from Suzanne for old times’ sake before she could leave. As Nick helped her on with her coat, Suzanne spotted Greg Morgan making the rounds, smiling, shaking hands. When he reached the table with Nick’s three malcontents, the glad-handing seemed to last a long time, accompanied by quite a bit of intent conversation. Birds of a feather, now, weren’t they?

  Intrigued by that meeting, Suzanne walked out with Nick, noting his brooding silence. Halfway to the truck, she slipped her hand in his. “Want to talk about it?”

  He grunted and shook his head. “Not your problem,” he muttered.

  She squeezed his warm fingers. “All right. If you do, I’ll listen.” He didn’t reply and she concentrated on keeping up with his long strides. Guess we each have our off-limits areas…I can respect that.

  He came to her side of the truck first, unlocking the door with the fob button. When he pulled the door open, a blast of foul-smelling white smoke billowed out like a vent from hell.

  “Get back!” he yelled, yanking her arm before she could even move. She found herself by the rear end of the truck while he cursed up a storm of obscenities worthy of a third-tour Marine. Eyes burning, she choked on the air around them, turning away to try to clear her lungs.

  The smoke continued for fifteen or twenty seconds, then stopped. He stalked around to the driver’s door, opening it. The free flow of air cleared the putrid smoke from the cab pretty quickly, and Suzanne inched closer to see what had happened. The smell remained overpowering, and she covered her mouth and nose with her hand. “What was that?”

  Nick rummaged through the detritus on the floor, poking the mess with a pencil, coming up with tattered paper and a can punctured with holes. “Homemade smoke bomb.”

  She glanced left, then right. “Someone sabotaged your truck while you were inside? Right here in a public lot?”

  He tucked the pencil tip under a heavy-duty wire that led to the passenger door. “Here’s the trigger. I guess they expected me to be a gentleman and open your door first.”

  “I’ll call the police,” she said, only realizing afterward how ironic that statement was. “They’re handy, after all.”

  “No.” His denial was fast and sharp. “I’m not giving them the satisfaction.”

  “But—”

  “I’ll call you a cab.” He fumbled for his cell.

  “No. I don’t need a cab. I’ll…” She sniffed the air. “It’s not so bad. I bet it’ll air out in a minute. If you’re not going to have the CSI-types look for evidence—” She paused, expecting him to cut her off again.

  “I know who it is,” he growled.

  That raised her eyebrow. But she didn’t ask. “Why don’t you just drop me back at the lot and I’ll get my car?”

  Surveying the mess, he rubbed his forehead as though he encouraged his brain not to explode. He backed out of the doorway and gingerly opened the hood, studying the parts inside.

  Alarmed, she joined him, though she wouldn’t know what gadgets or wires belonged under a hood and which didn’t. It made her feel useful just to be there. “You don’t think they got in here, do you?”

  He hmmed and grunted. “Don’t see anything out of line. Let me clean out the cab.” He returned to the front seat and gathered all the bits into a plastic bag he’d had stuffed under the seat. A rag he had under there as well served to wipe the residue from the seats and dash. “There, counselor, I think we’re safe. I’d suggest you wait over there until I start it, just in case.”

  A homemade stink bomb was one thing; the potential of getting blown up starting the vehicle was a whole other animal. The thought sent a chill through her. “Nick, honestly, you should report this to someone before you get hurt.”

  He looked at her, his dark eyes intent and glittering in the reflection of the garage lights. “Before which one of us gets hurt? I think I know who did this. It’s the kind of juvenile prank officers rig for each other. But I suppose when we look at the clues, how Morgan knew where to find you that night at the Benedum, and when someone knew I’d be opening my passenger door first, ostensibly to let you in, there are other possibilities.” He looked over his shoulder at the entrance to the stairwell. “Best advice I have is to get the hell out of here before we come face to face with whoever it is.”

  Several protests came to her, but she silenced them at the look of deadly seriousness on his face. “All right. I’ll…I’ll wait over here.” She pointed behind a large SUV. He nodded and she took herself there, all her muscles clenched and tense, peering out around its hind end. When Nick put the key in, her breath caught and she thought for just a moment what she’d feel if she lost him. It pained her.

  A moment later, he turned the key, with no fireworks or other consequences. She watched him visibly relax, his eyes closed. Deferring to his expertise, or just his gut, she waited till he beckoned her to the truck. As bravely as she’d spoken before, she found that, climbing in, she half expected something to go off. She seated herself carefully. I can always take the dress to the cleaners if I have to. The important thing is to get out of here.

  That was clear in Nick’s expression, in his body language, in the way he gripped the steering wheel as if he could choke it. He watched straight ahead as he went through the exit booth, showing his badge to the attendant. He drove along Fort Duquesne Boulevard, staring out the windshield, with no seeming destination.

  “Where are we going?” she asked quietly.

  He gave an odd little laugh. “I suppose that depends which one of us they’re after. “

  You’re not paranoid if they’re really out to get you, isn’t that what the poster says? She sighed, picking at a loose piece of trim on her clutch. “You said you thought you knew who it was.”

  He glanced in the rear view mirror, then flipped on his turn signal for a left. “Yeah. Yeah. It’s some guys at work who are unhappy with their lives. Think it’s my fault.” He pulled smoothly into traffic on Commonwealth Place. “I don’t think there’s an issue, really. They knew where the truck would be, and I think they just took advantage, that’s all.”

  Indignation filled her like a rush of hot liquid. “That’s it? Big joke? Let’s prank the boss?”

  As she sputtered, he surprised her by laughing. “That’s the juvenile boy’s club for you, counselor. As you’ve pointed out on multiple occasions, we’re not the most sophisticated of professions.”

  Stung at first that he’d laugh at her, she finally realized he was laughing with her instead. She still found it hard to relax, recalling the intent discussion between Morgan and the officers Nick had been on edge about. “So it looks like I’m the one who has to watch your back tonight.”

  “Appears that way.” He took another left.

  “I can do that best at my place. Surely the kiddies won’t follow you all the way out there?”

  “Your girls?” he asked.

  “My mother took them outlet shopping in West Virginia this weekend.” He was at least being sensitive to the issue, and she made sure to appreciate it. At the same time, she was already imagining what might happen between them given some quiet and privacy. The quiver that ran down her spine wasn’t due to fear at all.

  “A very practical suggestion. Let’s pick up your car, so you won’t have to get it in the morning.” He drove a little further, took a right, and they hit the Liberty Bridge.
<
br />   Slowed down by Friday night Carson Street traffic, Suzanne wrested her thoughts away from impending moments between the sheets, anticipation already grabbing hold of her libido. “Trouble,” she muttered.

  “What?”

  “Trouble. Dating a cop…”

  “Cop? Dating a lawyer’s plenty of trouble on its own, thanks. Especially one with brass balls.”

  The expression made her blink, though it wasn’t the first time someone had applied it to her. “Why can’t a woman be independent? Surely you can’t think that every woman should be a doormat like poor Maddie Morgan!”

  “Of course not,” he said, adding, “And don’t call me Shirley.”

  “I—” Oh, he’d tagged her that time, with a well-worn line. She rolled her eyes and leaned back on the seat. Frustrating, confounding, baffling man. And don’t call me Shirley. The ridiculousness of the line, the nonchalant delivery, got to her at last and she started to laugh. By the time they got to her parking lot, they were both laughing, letting the tension of the evening release itself in a very natural way.

  “Cute. You’re very cute.” She wagged a finger at him.

  He winked. “Don’t you forget it.”

  He got out to check her car again, as she waited nearby, her eyes searching the cars passing by on Carson Street a block away. Now who was paranoid, hmm?

  When he was satisfied she’d be safe, he held the door, waiting just a few moments too long until she came close. But she was ready for him. She slid into his arms, his earlier transgressions forgiven, set aside in light of the events of the evening. When their lips met, invisible sparks of passion zipped through her, spiraling down through her body, where they collected, waiting for the opportunity to burst like firecrackers that would come once they were alone.

  When he spoke, his voice trembled. “I’ll be right behind you all the way, Suz. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  She just smiled. “I know you won’t.”

  Before he could tempt her to delay further, she got into her car and closed the door. Twenty minutes away from heaven. She could hardly wait.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The week before Thanksgiving began with Sandoval’s dinner and two days Nick spent at Suzanne’s house making her feel like a queen. From there, everything went downhill.

  Holidays always seemed to set off families in crisis, and the Morgans were no exception. The first call she received Monday morning was from Maddie Morgan. The woman’s voice was near hysterical.

  “Suzanne, please, you’ve got to do something! He’s gone!”

  “Who’s gone?”

  “Joshua. He didn’t come home from school on Friday.”

  “Friday? That was three days ago.” Suzanne tapped her pencil on her desk. What the hell was Maddie thinking? She’d waited three days to let anyone know. “Did you call the police?”

  “Of course I called the police.” Maddie blew her nose. “He’s with his father. They didn’t want to get involved.”

  Suzanne’s muscles tightened, rejecting that news. “We’ll get him back. There’s no custody order other than the Protection from Abuse order. That says you have custody. Greg’s in violation. He’ll go to jail.” She began scribbling notes to herself.

  Maddie whispered, “No,” so softly Suzanne could barely hear her.

  “No what?”

  “Greg can’t go to jail. He’d blame me.” Sobs came through the phone line.

  Suzanne stabbed the pencil into her desk blotter, breaking the tip. When would Maddie get it through her head that she wasn’t responsible for Greg’s happiness? “So if you don’t want me to enforce the order, what would you like me to do?”

  Silence greeted her question, delivered with a little more harshness than she’d intended. Suzanne immediately regretted her shortness.

  “Maddie, I’m sorry. Let’s think about our options, shall we?” She took a deep breath, counted to five. A calm approach was needed. “You want Joshua home, right?”

  “I…yes. No. I don’t know. He was…awful. He cursed at me, broke things. I want him home, but he doesn’t want to be here anymore. I can’t make him stay.”

  “The court order can.”

  “He says he didn’t agree to the terms of the order, so he doesn’t have to follow it.”

  Suzanne raised an eyebrow. Technically, the little snot was correct. He wasn’t a party. But an order was an order. “I can get him home, even via sheriff, if I have to. But if he’s determined not to stay, you’re just going to make yourself crazy trying to get him to live there.”

  More sniffling, then a determined honk. “I know. He misses his room, and the boys in the neighborhood. His dad promised him a sports car.”

  What insanity was this? “He’s not old enough to drive.”

  “I know that. But a shiny red sports car waiting for him in the garage....Greg will hold that over his head till he is old enough to drive. I’ll be lucky to even see him again.” Maddie sounded absolutely defeated.

  “What about Katie? What’s she say about all this?”

  “Oh, I’m not worried about her. She’s determined to stay here. She doesn’t even want to talk to her brother.”

  “Well, that’s something.” Suzanne sighed, swiveling her chair so she could see out the window. Snowflakes twirled past, floating gently down over the city. They weren’t big yet, maybe the size of dimes, but they were forecast for squalls that night. Better head out early. “You could push for a custody hearing, but that could open you up to an order saying Joshua should live with his father. You’re probably better off to have that PFA as a custody default. That way, if there’s any trouble or anything happens, you can always have it enforced.”

  “That’s it? Either I take him in on a violation and he goes to jail, or there’s nothing I can do?”

  “Any contempt of a PFA carries at least a $300 fine. But jail’s a possibility. Especially with his crappy attitude.” Even if Morgan cleaned up and talked pretty to the judges, Suzanne bet she could make him lash out. The anger in him shone like a red hot light just behind his fiery eyes, just under his expensive clothes. Just the right spark and he’d go off in front of the judge. He’d reduce his own case to rubble and lose it all. All it would take was the right catalyst.

  Maddie didn’t speak for several long seconds, then she said, “All right. We’ll let him stay there for now.”

  Might as well look at it from a hopeful angle. “Maybe he’ll realize that it’s not as great as he thinks it’s going to be.”

  “Maybe.” Maddie thanked her and hung up.

  Suzanne slammed the phone down, feeling useless. What an ass Morgan was! Taking Maddie’s child from her was just another stab at control. If she wanted her son back, she’d have to go home and drop her restraining order. Then he’d have her back under his thumb again. Only this time, he’d probably squash her like a beetle.

  Several other clients with troublesome cases checked in that week, fires brewing across the board. Holidays meant chaos in the world of the family law attorney. Suzanne was glad her Thanksgiving would be peaceful, spent with family, sharing turkey and stuffing by the big fireplace.

  Except for one thing.

  Nick.

  She hadn't taken a man home for a holiday dinner since she was married to the girls' father. Not that there had been many men, but she had never been this serious with one. The last time she’d allowed herself to consider permanence with someone so fast was John Taylor. She certainly didn’t think Nick and John were comparable in any way. But still…

  She held her cell phone in her lap all the way to Perrysville, just waiting—maybe daring—it to ring.

  Nick eyed her from the driver’s seat. “You know, your office is closed. People don’t have the right to nag you twenty-four hours a day.”

  Suzanne bit her tongue and listened to the girls’ chatter from the back seat about school and friends. She’d already taken one call from Maddie that morning while she was getting the last touche
s on the sweet potato casserole she was bringing to her parents’ dinner. Maybe it was her day off, but her old case, the one where her client had been murdered, jabbed at her conscience. She didn’t hand out her personal cell number to just anyone, only to those she thought might have a legitimate emergency. If someone needed her, she should be available.

  And she certainly didn’t intend to debate that point with Nick Sansone.

  Change the subject, that’s what she needed to do. “So, what game is on?” she asked.

  “Detroit and Atlanta,” Nick replied. “Should be a good game.”

  Riviera pouted. “Steelers would have been better. Grandpa will be ticked.”

  “I suppose then we’ll have to concentrate on interaction between people, instead of staring at the tube,” Suzanne said, a taste of tart on her tongue.

  “No way,” Hope said. “Football is an American right, like carrying a gun.”

  “Don’t blame your mother, girls. She just doesn’t understand.” Nick and the girls continued to compare rosters and quarterbacks and scoring per game for the season. Suzanne didn’t care, it was true. On the other hand there were plenty of Monday mornings, she’d been lost in motions court while the other attorneys’ primary topic of discussion was the Steelers’ game of the week. She always felt shut out from those conversations as the “old boys’ club” had time to bond even further. At least her daughters wouldn't end up in the same position.

  “The Bengals blew their best chance for a trophy, for sure,” Hope protested. “Traded off the best quarterback they'd had in years!”

  Suzanne gave up trying to follow the conversation and went on to mentally check-off the landmarks as they neared her parents' home. Her mother had been coy when Suzanne called to tell her Nick had agreed to come to dinner.

  “So, we get to meet the great detective,” Maureen had said. “It’s about time. The girls seem to think you might be thinking about marriage.”

  That made Suzanne gasp. “What? No way.”

  Maureen, of course, heard what she wanted to hear. “Good. They need a father.”