CHAPTER NINE
IT WAS OVER AN HOUR LATER before Vivian was able to escape from her mother’s clutches, and she was still reeling from the bombshell Lillian had delivered.
Was her mother right? Vivian wondered as she climbed into her car. Was that why the firm took so few pro bono cases? She tried to think of the last one she’d heard about them accepting. It had been a couple years back. A pretty cut-and-dry drunk driving case, if she remembered correctly. She wasn’t sure which lawyer had argued it, though. She remembered he’d lost because the evidence had been stacked against him.
Janssen. That was it. Janssen had argued it, she finally realized, as she pulled out of the mall’s parking lot. He was still with the firm.
Yeah, but he hadn’t made junior partner despite being at Stanley and Baker for fourteen—or maybe it was fifteen—years.
But that didn’t mean Richard was doing the same thing to her. She was a good lawyer, had won all but three cases in the years she’d been at the firm. She’d handled some of the top divorces in the city, had brought in a lot of revenue.
Ugh. She hit the steering wheel. This was crazy. When was the last time she’d believed the vitriol her mother spouted? So why was she letting it get to her now? The whole thing was ridiculous.
Yet a little voice in the back of her head that refused to shut up kept asking why a divorce attorney had been assigned a murder trial. It was a question she couldn’t answer.
By the time she got to the hospital, her nerves were stretched tight. The fact that she still hadn’t hashed things out with Rafael only stressed her out more. Part of her wanted to believe him when he said he was innocent, but another part of her was afraid. Afraid of making the same mistakes so many of the women she worked with made. Afraid of trusting him and getting hurt.
That fear didn’t negate the feelings he aroused in her, though. She’d lain awake half the night thinking about the feel of his lips on hers and wondering if any man who asked so sweetly if he could kiss her and held her so tenderly while he did so was really capable of rape.
Taking a few deep breaths, she struggled to get over her frustration and hurt so that she could do her job. After all, Diego was a hell of a lot more important than her mother’s careless nastiness or Vivian’s problems with Rafael.
But when she got to Diego’s hospital room, her frustration exploded into full-blown anger. Though she was ten minutes early, the cops were already there, and Rafael looked less than happy. It only got worse when the one closest to her glanced up and she realized she was looking at Detectives Turner and Barnes, even though they weren’t the ones who had caught the case when Diego had been admitted last week.
Ignoring all of them for a moment, she took in Diego’s bruised and battered form. If possible, he looked worse awake than he had while asleep, the misery in his eyes somehow making the bruises and broken bones look that much more horrifying.
She went to him, squeezed his uninjured hand. “How are you doing, Diego? You feeling up to this?”
“I think so.” His voice was low, his eyes averted.
“All right then. Let’s get this show on the road.” She sent him what she hoped was a reassuring smile, then pinned the men across the room with the most intimidating look she had in her repertoire.
“Hello, gentleman.” She kept her voice cool. “I trust you haven’t been here long, as I made it perfectly clear that you were not to speak with my client without me present.”
“He’s the victim, Ms. Wentworth.” It was Turner who answered her—as usual. “We just wanted to get a statement.”
“Interesting that they sent the detectives who arrested Diego for homicide to get that statement.”
“We were the only ones available this afternoon.”
“I bet. So I assume you have some questions, Detective Barnes.” She deliberately addressed the younger cop. “Let’s try to keep it brief, as my client’s been victimized enough recently, don’t you think?”
“It’s not like we’re here to beat a confession out of him,” Turner blustered.
“Well, that’s a good thing, isn’t it? As I don’t think there’s much left on my client to break.” She stared down her nose at the timeworn detective, before glancing at Rafael for the first time.
He nodded to her from his position on the other side of the bed, and she smiled at him before turning away. This was the first time she’d seen him since they’d argued the other night, and the impersonal look he gave her only made her more uncomfortable.
She made sure none of her inner turmoil came out in her voice when she spoke. “All right then, let’s get on with this.”
“So, Diego, did you get a look at who did this to you?” Barnes asked the first question.
“No. I don’t think so.”
“You don’t think so?” Turner took over.
“It’s kind of fuzzy. I remember it being dark.”
“But the doctors say you were attacked in the morning—it was light out.”
“Your questions sound an awful lot like accusations, Detective Turner,” Vivian interjected.
“I was just wondering why he had such a hard time seeing if it was daylight?”
“I think—I think they put a bag over my head. I remember having a hard time breathing, trying to rip something off my face.”
“What kind of bag?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Well, that’s convenient, isn’t it?”
“Watch yourself, Detective Turner.”
“So, how many guys do you think there were?” Barnes again.
“I’m not sure. Three, maybe four.”
“Is there anything you are sure of, Diego? Because if so, feel free to speak up anytime.”
“My client sustained a serious head injury, Detective Turner. If you would like, I’m sure I could get his doctor in here to discuss memory loss of traumatic events.”
“No, I think I get it.”
“Are you sure? I can ask when her rounds are.”
“I said it’s fine.”
Vivian glanced at Rafael, then wished she hadn’t. His arms were folded across his chest and it appeared he was having a difficult time keeping his mouth shut.
“Shall we move on?”
Turner nodded. “So, where were you when this happened?”
“Close to school. I’d stopped at Mamacita’s, picked up a bagel and an apple for breakfast, then I started walking up Leavenworth.”
“That’s close to where your girlfriend lived, isn’t it? Reliving the good old days?”
“That’s it!” Vivian snapped furiously. “May I remind you, gentleman, one last time, that my client is the victim here. You’re here to find out who attacked him, not to pump him for details on any other cases. And certainly not to taunt him.”
“Other cases?” Turner finally exploded. “He killed his pregnant girlfriend! If you ask me, this beat down barely scratches the surface of what he deserves.”
“Well, if that’s how you feel, perhaps you should send another detective out here to take his statement. I want the people who did this found, and if you won’t take the investigation seriously, I’ll find someone who will.”
“Is that a threat?”
“It wasn’t meant to be. Why? Are you afraid of something?”
“Hey, now…” Barnes stepped in. “Let’s stay on task.”
“Defending Diego is my task, Detective Barnes.”
“And why is that?” Turner’s eyes swept over her in an insulting manner. “What makes a woman like you defend pond scum like this? I’d expect better from you, Ms. Wentworth.”
He put an obnoxious emphasis on the Ms., one that, combined with his rude perusal, made her want to forget about playing nice.
“Don’t talk to her like that.” Rafael spoke up for the first time, his voice more threatening than she had ever heard it, and she could tell instantly that it got the cops’ backs up.
“I can handle this, Mr. Cardoza. Please let me do so.”
He didn’t say another word, but the frown he sent her way said he wasn’t happy. Not that she cared. She wasn’t particularly impressed with him for jumping to her defense, either.
“Do you have any other questions?” Once again she spoke to Barnes, who was by far the least offensive of the two.
“Definitely.”
“Then I suggest you ask them before I lose my patience.”
Turner turned back to Diego, a malevolent look on his face. “Are you sure you were on Leavenworth? You were found three blocks up on Polk.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. I know I was walking to school.”
“Really? You weren’t walking down Polk, scoping out the apartments there?”
“Why would I be looking at apartments?”
“I don’t know—lots of pretty girls over that way.”
“Detective!”
He ignored her. “Maybe you’re missing Esme and are looking for a new victim—er, replacement.”
“No!”
“Exactly what are you getting at, Detective Turner?” Vivian demanded.
Barnes answered for him. “We talked to some people who said they saw a guy who looked a little like Diego peeping into some windows near the corner of Polk and Turk.”
“So we were wondering if maybe this beat down wasn’t a result of your little voyeuristic habit?” Turner smirked. “Maybe you looked in the wrong window, pissed off the wrong brothers.”
The emphasis he put on the last word bothered Vivian, but before she could explore why, Diego cried, “I’ve never—I wouldn’t—That’s not true!” He was visibly agitated, grimacing with each expulsion of sound.
“Okay, that’s enough. My client’s tired, Detectives. We’ll have to pick this up another day.” Yeah, when hell froze over.
“We have a few more questions—”
“Well, that’s a shame, Detective Barnes, because it doesn’t look like they’re going to get answered today.” Without breaking eye contact with the officer, she handed Diego the button for the morphine drip that was supposed to help him control pain. He took it gratefully and began to press the button. A few moments later he drifted into an uneasy sleep.
“Goodbye, Detectives.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a business card. “And the next time you want to set up an appointment to speak with my client, you’ll need to do so through me.”
Turner stared at her for long seconds before finally reaching forward and taking the card. His fingers brushed hers, and they were as cold and clammy as his personality. “I’ll do that, Ms. Wentworth.” He glanced back at the bed. “Your client has a lot to answer for. Expect my call.”
Rafael stepped forward then, bristling with aggressiveness. The detectives responded in kind, and Vivian tried to step in before what little cordiality was left went south. “My client is the victim,” she repeated for what felt like the hundredth time.
“Your client is going down,” Turner responded. “And taking everyone around him with him. I’d watch yourself, Ms. Wentworth. That weapons charge didn’t come out of nowhere. This kid has a nasty habit of taking his temper out on women who can’t defend themselves.” His eyes cut to Rafael. “But then, he’s following in some pretty big footsteps on that front, isn’t he?”
The cop’s intimation was so obnoxious that she expected to have to hold Rafael back. But when she glanced at him, she realized he’d shut down—had turned completely emotionless at the reference to his prison time.
“We’ll be in touch,” Turner called from the hallway.
“I’ll look forward to it,” she answered, keeping her polite, fake smile in place. Inside she felt sick, as if the blow they’d aimed at Rafael had hit her as well.
The second the cops were gone, she turned to him. “Don’t listen to them.”
But he was already halfway down the hall, walking away from her—and the unspoken accusations that hung in the air between them—as fast as his long legs could carry him.
* * *
HE FELT AS IF HE WAS going to explode. As if his brain was on fire and he was going to spontaneously combust right there in the middle of Saint Francis Hospital.
“Rafael, wait,” Vivian called, but he didn’t slow down. He didn’t want to be around her right now, couldn’t stand to look in her eyes and see her contempt. And he sure as hell couldn’t stand the idea of talking with her about his past again.
He hated people like those cops, men who, at best, cared more about what they thought they knew than they ever would about the truth. Men who were inflexible about seeing the other side of the story.
It was two cops like that who had arrested him without evidence all those years ago, who had railroaded him right into prison, on the words of a vindictive girl, for a crime he hadn’t committed.
The fact that these two guys knew about his past—and had used it against him in front of Vivian—only made him more upset.
“Am I going to have to chase you through this whole damn hospital or are you going to be reasonable?” Her voice echoed down the hallway after him. “Rafael?”
He continued to ignore her, as he headed into the stairwell. Being reasonable wasn’t in his bag of tricks for the day. But about halfway down the second set of steps, he stopped dead, realizing that he’d left Diego alone and undefended.
Shit, he was a bigger basket case than he’d thought.
Knowing he had to go back up, he stood there for a minute and tried to compose himself. It didn’t work.
Vivian met him on the landing between floors, her eyes dark with unexpected concern.
Feeling more insecure than he liked to admit—not to mention embarrassed as hell that Vivian had seen those cops humiliate him—Rafael used the same defense he’d been using for his entire adult life: a good offense.
“Those guys were assholes. I didn’t like what they were saying about you and Diego. So sue me.”
“Rafael.”
“Vivian.” He mimicked her tone.
“We need to work with them.”
He laughed sarcastically. “They don’t want to work with us—and they never have. They’ve had it in for Diego from the minute they got him in their sights for Esme’s murder. You think it’s a coincidence that they got assigned this case?”
“Of course not. But that’s the point.” She was speaking in a furious whisper, and he had to bend his head to hear her words. She wore flats today instead of her usual skyscraper heels, which put her mouth about seven inches below his own, and her voice wasn’t carrying. “They’re looking for an excuse to make as much trouble for Diego as they can. Don’t give it to them.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, they don’t need an excuse to make trouble.” He bent closer, crowded her a little with his body, knowing it was a bad idea even as he did so, especially after the way she’d responded the last time they’d been alone together.
She stuttered over her answer as his shoulder brushed against hers. It made him wonder if she was afraid—or aroused.
“T-true, but it never pays to antagonize the guys with power.”
“I think I know that better than most.” He drew a finger gently down her cheek, testing her response.
Her voice trailed off for a second as her breath caught. Aroused then, not afraid. He liked that. “I’m still waiting for the report on them. Maybe there will be something in it we can use to discredit them. Remember, juvenile court is a whole different ball game.”
“There’s no guarantee Diego’s trial will be moved—wait until the press get wind of the hearing. They’ll vilify him.” Rafa grew bolder, ran the back of his hand down the silky smooth skin of her cheek to her jaw, then rested his palm against her throat.
“It’s on the juvenile docket, so the press won’t find out until it’s too late. Those names are kept confidential. You know that.”
“I wish I had your faith.” Her neck was so slender that his fingers and thumb were only inches away from meeting at the back.
Her heartbeat went crazy—he could feel her pulse pounding rapidly beneath his hand. But she didn’t tell him to stop, didn’t pull away, didn’t do anything but take a few shallow breaths and let him touch her.
His fingers curled and he stroked the fragile column of her throat again and again, transfixed by the differences between them. She was so finely built, so delicate, her skin as pale and pampered as a doll’s. His hands were huge in contrast, callused from years of gardening and fixing things around the center.
And yet there was something seductive—something erotic—about the picture they made together. Her so light, him so dark. Her so fragile, him so strong. But as she looked at him without flinching, those fierce warrior eyes all but daring him to do something, he couldn’t help wondering which one of them was really the strongest.
“People have already connected the dots, Vivian.” He kept his voice low, not wanting anyone to hear their conversation, not wanting anyone to interrupt. “They’ve just made the wrong picture.”
“So we’ll change the picture. Once we get to juvenile court, I’m going after the evidence. No way will they ever get Diego’s dismissed weapons charge admitted, so the pattern for means is gone. Motive and opportunity are already really shaky. I can do this.”
“You can’t, sweetheart. The picture’s written in indelible ink and the only chance we’ve really got is if we give them a whole new picture, one they’ll like even more than what they’ve currently got.”
He crowded her a little more until her legs tangled with his and she was leaning back against the wall, completely open to him. “What do—what do you mean by that?”
“I mean, we need to find out who really killed Esme. A cop friend of mine has already spent some time poking around the neighborhood with me, but it’s been hard going, since I’ve been dividing my time between Diego and the center. Now that he’s better, it should get easier.”
“What do you think you’re going to find?”
“Somebody saw something, Vivian. The neighborhood is filled with witnesses—I just need to find the right one.”
He pressed a glancing kiss to the corner of her mouth, reveling in the shiver that she couldn’t hide. He did it a second time, then a third, unwilling to stop unless she stopped him. She tasted so damn good and for the moment that was enough. He would make it be enough, because there was no way the two of them could work in the long run. The ex-con and the lawyer sounded just as absurd as the rich girl and the boy from the wrong side of the tracks. But when he held her, none of that seemed to matter. At this point he was more than willing to take whatever he could and let the future take care of itself. It always did.
He moved so that his cupped hands slid to the back of her head and he brought her forward, just a little, until her lips met his.
“Rafael,” she sighed.
“Let me kiss you. Just a kiss. I promise,” he answered, sipping from her mouth. God, she was sweet—sweeter than any candy he’d ever had. More delicious than anything he’d ever tasted.
“Just one kiss,” he said again, and when she made no move to pull away, he covered her lips with his own.
Because he wanted to devour, he forced himself to keep it light. Because he wanted to take, he concentrated on giving. And because he wanted her more than all the other women he’d had in his life combined, he clamped down on the need that was all but consuming him. He didn’t want to scare her away; with his past, he had to be careful.
Shifting angles slightly, he ran his tongue over her lower lip. Kept the pressure light as he toyed with her mouth, explored all the angles, learned about her in a way he hadn’t been able to the other night. Then, he’d been too wrapped up in the thrill of it, the passion that burned between them like lightning. But today, now, he wanted to get to know her, to understand the subtle flavors of her personality as much—or more—than he wanted to know the taste of her mouth.
But she moaned deep in her throat, tangling her legs with his as she pressed herself against him. He was lost in the unique flavors of her, in the overwhelming feel of her, in the open, honest touch of her tongue against his own.
His hands burrowed more deeply in her hair and he did what he’d sworn he wouldn’t—swooped in and took everything she had to give. And demanded more.
She gave it to him, her hands tugging him closer until her breasts were pillowed against his chest, her pelvis cradled by his own. His mouth raced down the silky curve of her jaw.
“Diego,” she reminded him as she tilted her head back to give him better access to her throat. “He’s alone.”
With a groan, Rafael pulled away and went about the painful process of shutting his body down.
Nice job, he told himself. Nothing like promising a simple kiss and then all but mauling a woman in a hospital stairwell before he’d ever taken her on a date. Cursing himself and the attraction that wouldn’t let him leave her alone despite knowing exactly how bad she was for him, Rafael started when Vivian stood on tiptoe to deliver one quick peck to his mouth.
As he looked at her, desire slammed through him all over again. She looked as if she’d been well and truly kissed—her mouth swollen, her makeup smudged, her red hair messed up from his fingers.
Shoving his hands in his pockets, he backed away a little. “You need to fix your hair or the whole floor will know what we’ve been doing.”
“Oh, of course.” She ran a hand over the rioting ringlets and did her best to get them under control. “Is that better?”
“I want to see you again.” Her gaze jumped to his. “I mean away from this, away from Diego’s case. I want to see you,” he repeated.
Even as he said the words, he expected her to turn him down. Yeah, they were attracted to each other, but how many women like her really wanted to date a convicted rapist, innocent or not?
But she simply nodded, and said, “Okay.”
Feeling like an idiot, knowing he’d regret it as soon as he was away from her and the incredible power she exerted over him, he said, “It’s my brother’s fortieth birthday on Thursday. We’re having a party for him at my parents’ restaurant—nothing fancy, just some family and friends. Do you want to go?”
Jesus, he hadn’t felt like this big of a moron since he’d asked his first girl out in junior high, but then, that was the last time a woman’s answer had meant this much to him. He was risking everything by asking her out—especially to a party with his family. What were they going to say when they saw him with another girl like Jacquelyn? What was he going to tell them—that she was different? That, for better or worse, she made him feel again?
“I’d love to come. What time?”
“I’ll pick you up at six-thirty. Will that give you enough time to get home and changed?”
“I’ll make sure of it. Thanks for asking.” She smiled, but he searched her face for signs of discomfort. He didn’t find any, which could mean that she really was okay with going on a date with him—or that she was a better actress than he’d thought.
The fact that the latter seemed much more likely put a crimp on the satisfaction her agreement had made him feel.
* * *
“VIVIAN, WHAT ARE YOU doing here?”
Vivian’s heart sank late the next afternoon as she saw her father standing in the middle of his favorite golf shop. She’d been planning on using the early court dismissal to finish her Christmas shopping, and had stopped here to pick up a new set of clubs for her dad. Obviously that wasn’t going to happen now.
“Oh, I had a few minutes and thought I’d stop by and check out what was new. The last time I played golf, my father beat the pants off me.”
“He did at that.” Her dad leaned down and gave her a brief kiss on the cheek, his silver hair gleaming in the store’s spotlights. “Is there anything special you’re looking for?”
“Something to make me a better golfer.”
His laugh was the same smooth, cultured one she remembered from her childhood. “Only practice will do that. Maybe if you slowed down a little on the pro bono work…” He eyed her meaningfully.
“Caught this morning’s broadcast, did you?”
“I think the whole city caught that broadcast. ‘Baby Killer Out of Coma, His Attorney at His Side.’ Seriously, Vivian. Is this the case you want to sink your career on?”
“I don’t think it’s going to sink my career, Dad. I’m determined to get Diego exonerated.”
“Oh, joy.” Her father steered her out of the shop. “Let’s get a cup of coffee, shall we?”
Vivian bit back a groan. “Cup of coffee” was code for “let me lecture you” and had been since she was a teenager. Coming on the heels of her mother’s comments the day before, she could only imagine what fun the next half hour had in store.
As she walked down the block with her father, she knew she could have made an excuse, could have put him off. But she wanted to know what he had to say, and if the things her mother had told her were true and this seemed the most expedient way to find that out.
After they were settled at a local coffeehouse, her father gave her a very serious look. “You know your mother and I love you and only want what’s best for you. Right, Vivian?”
“Of course.” Now wasn’t the time to argue that. “Why?”
“I think you should pull out of this murder case. It’s not your specialty, not what you’re good at. And your name is being ruined. No matter what the outcome is, your reputation is never going to be the same.”
“He’s innocent, Dad.”
“Says you.”
“Says the evidence.”
“Really? And your vast knowledge in criminal law has shown you this?” He sighed. “Come on, Vivian. If you want to rebel, stick to the battered women’s shelters. You don’t need to take it this far.”
Insult kept her silent for a few seconds as she tried to sort out what she wanted to say first. “Diego’s more than a case, Dad. He’s a scared kid facing life in prison.”
“Which is where he belongs if he killed his pregnant girlfriend. Do you really want to be responsible for letting another animal on the street? I thought you fought against men like this.”
“I do—if they’re guilty. Diego’s not. Besides, it’s not like I can get out of this case. It was assigned to me.”
“Exactly. You can’t tell me Richard actually expected you to win this. If he’d wanted that, he would have put one of the criminal attorneys on it.”
“They’re already carrying heavy loads. I had an opening.” It sounded like an excuse even as she said it.
“Come on, Vivian. You don’t believe that.” He took his time formulating the rest of his argument, sipping his coffee and watching people at the tables around them. When he finally turned back to her, his face was serious, his blue eyes hard. “You’re dragging the family name through the mud with this. We had reporters in the rose garden this morning, trying to get a statement from your mother. It needs to stop.”
“I don’t know what you expect me to say, Dad. I’m sorry you’re being bothered.”
“Bothered? You walk around looking like a bum, acting completely out of character, and you say that I’m bothered? People are whispering about us at the club, talking about what happened to Merry all those years ago. It’s just a matter of time before some reporter digs it up. And then where will we be? Your sister’s suicide and the abuse that caused it—will be on the cover of every local paper, as will the fact that her sister is choosing to defend the same kind of man. I won’t have it, Vivian. Not the scandal and not you involved with someone publicly accused of that kind of violence.”
“So it’s the public aspect that has you so bothered, not the violence, right? Because you never seemed bothered by Merry’s bruises before.”
“That was uncalled for.”
“That was uncalled for? You’re sitting here telling me how to do my job and how to live my life, and you don’t even care about me. All you care about is public perception of me, and in turn, you and mother.”
She stood up, grabbed her purse. “I’m sorry, Dad, but I can’t live my life worried about what other people think.”
“Don’t kid yourself. The law is nine-tenths perception.”
“No, Dad. The law is nine-tenths truth—and that’s an entirely different thing.”