CHAPTER THIRTEEN
FOR THE FIRST TIME that she could remember, Vivian woke up with a hot, hard, male body wrapped around her. Sunlight was just beginning to filter in through the crack in her drapes and when she turned her head, she found Rafael was still asleep.
His eyes were closed, his tough mouth relaxed, and she realized he looked more vulnerable than she’d ever seen him. She ran a palm over the rough stubble of his jaw and simply enjoyed the feeling of being next to him. Being with him.
Last night had been…She stopped, unable to find the words to describe it. It had been incredible, she decided. Wonderful, magnificent, amazing. Not that she’d had a lot to compare it to, as she’d had only two lovers in her life, and both had been chosen more for their unthreatening, soothing manners than for their sexual prowess. But a girl knew quality when she found it, even if it was packaged differently than what she was used to.
Because while being with Rafael had been a lot of things—wild, fierce, emotional—the two things it hadn’t been were unthreatening and soothing. She’d never been backed against a wall before, never had a man look at her like she was his whole world.
He made her vulnerable in a way that worried her. When he made love to her he paid attention to everything, every shift in breathing, every squirm, every sigh, until he knew her body as well as she did.
She still wasn’t sure how she felt about that.
She tried not to let it go to her head, tried to convince herself that it was just the sex that had her feeling so in tune with him, but her heart didn’t want to listen, and she cuddled closer to Rafael. Smoothed a hand over his brow. Dropped a kiss on his soft, relaxed lips. And hoped, desperately, that she wasn’t making the worst mistake of her life. If this turned out badly, she didn’t think she’d ever be able to open herself up again. Didn’t think she’d ever be able to trust again. She was already taking a terrible risk, trying to believe him about his past. If it turned out she was wrong, she didn’t know if she’d ever be able to forgive herself. Or him.
He stirred beneath her, stretched, and then his eyes popped open as if he’d just realized whose bed he was in. Her heartbeat started racing and she held her breath, waiting to see how he reacted to being with her as daylight slowly streamed through the window.
But he only smiled and wrapped one big hand around the back of her neck. “Good morning,” he murmured as he drew her to him.
“Good morning.” She started to ask if he wanted breakfast, to tell him he could use the shower first. To say any number of things, but then his lips found hers and she was lost, any and all words flying right out of her head.
As she sank into him, Vivian realized this kiss was different than any that had come before. Even through her whirling head and pounding heart, she felt the tenderness in the kiss. The sweetness. The belonging.
This wasn’t the kiss of a couple of careless nights, or even a one-or two-week relationship. This was the kiss of a lover who cared about her, who wanted the best for her. Who wanted her. Relief swept through her, along with a warm rush that felt a lot like love, and she gave herself over to the kiss. To her lover.
To Rafael.
It was one of the hardest things she’d ever done—deliberately choosing to be vulnerable to him—but he’d been completely honest with her. She couldn’t be anything else with him, couldn’t hold back and hope he wouldn’t notice.
With a soft groan, he rolled over so that he was on top of her. “What time do you have to be in court?” he murmured as he trailed his lips down her throat.
For long seconds, she couldn’t think, only reveled in the feel of his lips moving slowly over her body.
“Vivian?” he prompted when she didn’t answer. She was glad to hear in his voice the stress his restraint was costing him. It would have been awful to feel this open without knowing that he was as moved by her as she was by him.
“What?” she gasped, arching beneath him as his mouth did something truly wicked to the curve of her shoulder.
“Court?” he reminded her, and moved even lower. His lips skimmed over her breast and she squirmed, looked at the clock in desperation. Then smiled—it was only six-thirty.
“I’ve got three hours before I have to leave,” she whispered.
She felt his mouth curve into a wicked smile against her breast. “That just might be enough time.”
* * *
THREE AND A HALF HOURS later, Vivian battled her way through a throng of reporters on her way up the courthouse steps to the juvenile courtroom of Judge Alyssa Chambers. Vivian’s heart was beating heavily as she issued a string of “No comment,” her already taut nerves stretching to the breaking point as she nearly tripped over a photographer.
“Come on, guys. Give me a break. I’ll have a statement for you later, I promise.”
She might as well have been talking to the wall for all the attention they paid her. The butterflies in her stomach grew bigger at the thought. She had to win today, or Diego would once again hang in the court of public opinion. After the news broadcast she and Rafael had caught earlier that morning, she knew none of them could afford that.
The reporter had smiled smugly at the camera right before two pictures from the case flashed across the screen. They were bloody images of Esme hacked to death, and would have gotten the station in huge trouble for showing them—if they hadn’t already been leaked on the Internet. The station had followed the pictures with the news that the boy accused of these crimes was now trying to get his case moved out of adult court to the juvenile system.
All hell had broken loose, and when Vivian called the SFPD to file a complaint, she’d been given the same statement the reporters had—they were taking the investigation of the leaked photographs seriously and would come out with a statement once they knew more.
Yeah, right. In the meantime, Rafael had had to hire a security guard to watch Diego’s hospital room, to keep away the angry mob of people trying to crucify him.
It had been a hell of a morning.
But she had to put all that aside and concentrate on the case. She knew Judge Chambers casually, had spoken with her numerous times at various fundraisers through the years and had always been impressed by how sharp and compassionate she was. Vivian had been thrilled when she’d pulled her for Diego’s hearing, hoping that just maybe the kid would get a fair shake.
But hope wasn’t enough. She had to win here today and get Diego’s case transferred to juvenile court or they were in trouble. With all the press, she was seriously beginning to doubt if she had a chance of finding twelve impartial jurors to try him in adult court.
Having only fifteen minutes to make her case wasn’t making her feel any better. Judge Chambers had scheduled half an hour on the docket for this preliminary hearing, which meant Vivian had to hit the highlights.
On the positive side, her opposition was working under the same circumstances.
As court was called to order, she risked a glance at the prosecutor sitting at the table next to her. Assistant D.A. Gallagher was known for his tough attitude and unwillingness to plea-bargain. She’d never run up against him in a courtroom, but a couple of her friends had and he’d been merciless.
That he was also known for his aspirations to the bench made things worse. The publicity surrounding this case was just the sort that might get him there—if he won.
“Ms. Wentworth.” The judge’s smooth, cultured tones filled the courthouse. “I understand that your client is still in the hospital, following a particularly brutal attack.”
“Yes, Your Honor, he is.”
“Do we need to reschedule? I checked before I came in and I have an opening in three weeks if that would give him enough time to heal.”
“I believe we can proceed, Your Honor, if it’s all right with you. I think we’d all like to know exactly what we need to be prepared for.”
The judge studied her for a few seconds and then cleared her throat. “All right, then. Let’s go ahead.”
She turned to the prosecutor. “Mr. Gallagher, would you like to start us off?”
“Certainly, Your Honor.” His voice was calm, relaxed, but Vivian had the feeling she had rattled him with her request to keep going. She’d bet a month’s salary that he’d come in here prepared for her to reschedule, which was the number one reason she hadn’t. With a prosecutor this shrewd, she’d take any and every opportunity she could to throw him off his game.
It quickly became obvious that she hadn’t shaken him up enough, however, as he went about vilifying Diego.
“Your Honor, this crime is particularly heinous—the murder of a young girl and her unborn baby by the girl’s trusted boyfriend. By the unborn baby’s father. If ever there was a case to be tried in adult court, this is the one. Diego Sanchez was acting like an adult when he impregnated his girlfriend, and he was acting like an adult when he murdered her to get out of having a baby he didn’t want.
“The M.E. has said there were no hesitation wounds on the body, no signs at all that Esme’s killer wasn’t completely reconciled to causing her death. In fact…”
Vivian took notes as Gallagher droned on about how moving Diego to juvenile court would be a travesty of justice. His voice was low, persuasive, as he fought for his case, and the knot in her stomach grew. Her one saving grace was that his arguments, while sound, were unoriginal, and she’d prepared for each and every one of them.
When it was her turn to speak, she took a couple of deep breaths and prepared for the argument of her life. “Your Honor, Diego is sixteen years old—well within the age bracket to be tried in juvenile court in California. And while I know the D.A. is convinced this case belongs in adult criminal court, I don’t understand his rationale.
“The juvenile court system is set up specifically for cases like Diego’s. He’s a good kid, with a good record. He’s never been in trouble at school—even after his mother died of cancer. He’s never been involved with a gang or drugs or any other kind of street violence that might justify an adult trial.”
She glanced at her notes. “In San Diego vs. K.M.P., the state Supreme Court says very clearly that juvenile court is the last bastion of defense against a generation of lost youth. As such, every effort should be made to keep a minor in the juvenile court system unless there are irrefutable grounds to try him as an adult.
“Heniousness of the crime, as Mr. Gallagher argues, is not enough grounds. The court set up three criteria that must be met before the juvenile system is allowed to wash its hands of the youth. First, he must be deemed unfit for rehabilitation because of life experiences or repeated patterns of behavior. Yes, Diego’s had a rough life, but he’s managed to rise above that again and again. He has no repeated pattern of behavior, no record of escalating crimes. This case—with its less than sturdy evidence—is the only crime this child has ever had to stand trial for. So the first burden of the state hasn’t been met.
“Second, he must be evaluated by a psychologist who determines that he knowingly and willingly committed the crime. The prosecution has made no effort to have Diego evaluated—the only psychologist he has seen is the one the defense provided, and Dr. Stuart’s report says the exact opposite.”
“Do I have a copy of this report, Ms. Wentworth?”
“You do, Your Honor.” When the judge gestured for her to continue, Vivian said, “And finally, it must be deemed in the juvenile’s best interest to be tried in adult court. While some cases—and some defendants—would definitely benefit from having their day in adult court, Diego’s case is clearly not one of them. Due to the volatile nature of this case, finding an impartial jury will be almost impossible. Photos have been leaked, reporters are following every development of the case, and between the police department’s statements and those from the D.A.’s office, the public has been whipped into a frenzy against my client.
“As you know, Diego has already been severely beaten and the perpetrators are still at large. The teen center where he works has been vandalized in relation to this case. The system in place to keep Diego safe is failing, and it is up to this court to keep it from breaking down completely.
“From the moment he was arrested, Diego has been treated like an adult, and it hasn’t worked for him so far. The police questioned him without a lawyer, parent or legal guardian present. They kept him in an interrogation room for seven hours, refusing to allow him to rest or use the bathroom. They went out of their way to treat him like a violent, adult offender when he’s never been convicted—or even accused—of any crime.
“In Smith vs. the State of New Jersey, the Supreme Court ruled that juveniles must be protected by rules above and beyond adult offenders. They must not be questioned on their own. The police must not use interrogation techniques on them that the court deems ‘threatening’—such as isolation, exhaustion, physical threats or emotional cruelty. The officers threatened to ‘make his life miserable’ and ‘kick his ass’ if he didn’t confess. They even went so far as to tell him they would drop him off in front of the victim’s house and ‘let her brothers get a crack at him.’” Vivian paused, went over her last argument in her head and prayed that it was good enough to save Diego.
“Diego is a good kid who meets none of the criteria for adult court. The police have little evidence against him, and what they do have is far from conclusive—a statement from a half-blind neighbor and his DNA at the crime scene and in the victim’s body. She was his girlfriend of two years and pregnant with his child, so the fact that they had sex sometime close to her death is perfectly understandable. Diego has already suffered more than any child should have to. To move his case to adult criminal court is to allow the further victimization of my client, who, with the deaths of Esme and his unborn child, has already lost more than anyone should have to.”
Vivian’s legs were trembling by the time she’d finished her opening statement. It had been years since she’d been forced to make an argument in criminal court, and it was a whole different ball game than divorce court, especially since she’d come to care so much for Diego.
More than a little nervous, she studied the judge’s face for any hint of which side she was leaning toward. Usually Vivian was pretty good at determining that, but Judge Chambers played things extremely close to the vest, and Vivian had absolutely no idea what the woman was thinking. The tense posture of the prosecutor implied that he felt exactly the same way.
“All right. Thank you both. I’ll have a decision this afternoon, so why don’t we plan on meeting back here at three-fifteen.” She rose unexpectedly, which had both lawyers scrambling to their feet. “I’ll see you then.”
* * *
RAFAEL WAS LEADING A MATH study group when Vivian breezed through the front door of the center.
“We did it, Rafael!” she cried as she threw her arms around him. “The judge agreed to try Diego as a minor!”
For a moment, he was frozen as he tried to make sense of her words. Surely he hadn’t heard correctly. Surely she hadn’t just said—
“Rafael, did you hear me?” she all but crowed. “Diego’s case is being transferred to juvenile court.”
A couple of the kids in the rec room cheered and their excited voices finally snapped him out of his disbelieving stupor. Grabbing Vivian’s elbow, he propelled her down the hallway to his apartment and away from prying ears.
“How?” he demanded. “How did you do it? I honestly didn’t think you had a chance in hell.”
“Court precedents. Barnes and Turner’s mishandling of the case. We also got a sympathetic judge, which always helps. When she gave her decision, she talked about how she wasn’t ready to throw a kid away without knowing why. Are you ready for the best part?”
“Yes, of course.” He felt his palms grow wet as he waited, unsure of what could be better than the news she’d already delivered. He couldn’t wait to tell Diego. Couldn’t wait to sweep Vivian up in his arms and thank her for everything she’d already done.
“She flat out told the D.A. that she wasn’t impressed with the evidence, that at this point it seemed more flash than substance.” Vivian paused for a breath. “Can you believe that? She’s ripe for a dismissal motion, which I’m going to be drafting tonight. Of course, she said those things to give the D.A. a warning. He’s going to be scrabbling for evidence in the next few days, looking for something absolute to put Diego away with.”
“He’s not going to find it.”
“No, but that doesn’t mean he’s not going to be shaking a bunch of trees, much like we are. So get prepared, and get Diego ready.”
“For what?”
“I’d be shocked if Turner didn’t try to hassle him again, all in the guise of investigating the beating, of course. Plus, with everything going on in the press, it’s going to be really dangerous for him for a while.”
“I won’t let Turner near him.”
“Good.”
Rafael pulled her into his arms, kissed her thoroughly. “Thank you so much for everything you’ve done for Diego. For me.”
Her laugh was light, happy. “Don’t thank me yet—we still have a trial to get through.”
“Yeah, but you’ve evened the playing field.”
“I sure did.” Her voice was ripe with satisfaction. “And now I’m going for a home run.”
He laughed. “Touchdown.”
“What?”
“You’re mixing your metaphors. When you’re talking about a playing field, you’re going for a touchdown.”
“Whatever!” She giggled, sounding happier than he’d ever heard her. “Touchdown, home run, goal—they’re all the same as long as I can keep Diego out of jail.
“But I’ve got to get back to the office. I have a client coming in at four-thirty. I should have called, but I wanted to tell you in person.”
“I’m glad you did.” He lowered his mouth, kissed her again.
“Me, too.” It was her turn to kiss him. “But I really do have to go. I’ll come by in a couple hours and we’ll celebrate. Pick up some ice cream or something and bring it to Diego at the hospital. Maybe this will cheer him up.”
She was gone with another quick kiss and a wave, and Rafael was left staring after her like a lovesick fool, which completely freaked him out.
Last night had been the best of his life. Vivian was an incredible lover, the best he’d ever had. And the fact that she was also a wonderful woman with a great capacity for giving to others was another huge plus.
He drained the beer he’d been holding in one long gulf and then shoved a hand through his hair as he tried to sort out his mixed-up feelings. She was the perfect woman for him but he wasn’t sure if he was ready for her. Wasn’t sure if he could let her in.
Call him old-fashioned, call him narrow-minded, but he just couldn’t get his mind around her money any more than he could deal with her being a part of the cultured elite he’d run up against with Jacquelyn. He’d already let Vivian in further than he’d planned, already trusted her with more of himself than he’d given another woman. But was it going to be enough?
Sure, she’d seemed fine with his parents—the other night she’d seemed to be having a great time with his friends and family—but that didn’t mean she wanted to bring him into her own rarefied world. Jacquelyn had been content to go places with him, too, as long as no one she knew was going to be there.
As long as she didn’t have to explain him to her daddy.
But Vivian wasn’t like that, Rafael told himself. She wasn’t cold or heartless or any of the other things Jacquelyn had been. She was smart and strong, and she stood by what she believed in. He only hoped it would be enough.
But wishing wasn’t going to get him anywhere. When he added everything together, he couldn’t get around the feeling that things were about to explode. Trust didn’t come easy to him, and how was he supposed to trust her when she couldn’t give him the benefit of the doubt?
They were caught in a vicious cycle, and he had no idea how they could get beyond it.
Furious, miserable and more confused than he’d been since the cops had shown up at his door all those years ago, Rafael reached for the phone to call Diego. Maybe delivering the good news would put him in a better frame of mind.