An Imperfect Process (4 page)

She wondered about his educational background—the exterminator she called every spring to rid her house of wasps was a Phi Beta Kappa in Russian history. Smith spoke like an English major. Which made carpentry a good choice, since a degree in English was not exactly a career path.

She opened the door that led to the front of the church, then halted in delight. The high-ceilinged original sanctuary soared above her with light pouring through the windows. For an instant she felt that every prayer, every song, the church had ever known was echoing through her. And underneath was a sense of deep connection intertwined with sharp alarm.

Clamping down on her reaction until she could examine it more closely, she said, "How lovely. This place... sings."

"You can feel it?"

She glanced at Rob. Hard to read expressions under that beard, but his eyes were intent. "If you mean can I feel that this was a much-loved house of worship, yes. I'm glad you saved it. No new building would ever have such richness." She advanced, feeling as if she were swimming in light. "Not right for me, though."

"What business are you in?"

"I'm a lawyer."

"A lawyer?"

She smiled wryly at the surprise in his voice. "People always have trouble believing that. My first week in law school, one professor called on me by saying, 'You, the barmaid in the third row.'"

"Isn't that considered harassment?"

"Probably, but at Harvard Law, the philosophy is to torment students into toughness. If you can't take it, too bad. I was warned that HLS is not a user-friendly school, but I didn't really appreciate what that meant until it was too late."

"In the case of that professor, it meant that he noticed you. Any man would."

To her surprise, she blushed. "Is that a compliment?"

"Definitely, in a nonharassing sort of way." He smiled and changed the subject. "Why Harvard? Because it looks so good on a resume?"

"That, and to prove I could do it." Her reply was absent because her attention was on Rob, who was standing in a swath of light. With the sun gilding his hair and emphasizing the breadth of his shoulders, he was a sight well worth admiring.

Suppressing thoughts of how long she had been celibate, she continued, "My mother says that even when I was a toddler, the surest way to get me to do something was to say it was a bad idea."

"Tenacity is a useful trait for a lawyer. What's your specialty?"

"I'm a litigator, currently working for a firm that does mostly corporate work. I'm thinking of opening my own office so I have more variety and fewer hours." She gestured around the former sanctuary. "Practicing law here might ruin the beautiful energy. And the building is too large, especially with the upstairs office space."

"Actually, the upper level is an apartment with an outside entrance. I'm staying there now, but if you wanted to live over the shop, I could find another place."

She drifted to a window, admiring the care with which the surviving stained glass had been combined with the clear glass panels. Rob was a man who liked doing things right. "That's okay, I don't want to be that close to my work."

"Will you stay with corporate litigation?"

She scanned the room, unable to stop herself from imagining it as a reception area. "Some, but what I really want to practice isn't law, but justice," she said slowly. "I want to give little guys the kind of representation that usually only big guys can afford. I want to rip some fat-cat throats out."

The unnerving light eyes regarded her thoughtfully. "That's a mission this old church would approve of, I think. A modern version of driving the moneylenders from the temple."

Why had she said so much to a stranger? "Perhaps. Or maybe I'm just temporarily insane with spring fever. Thanks for the tour, Rob. Even though this wouldn't be right for me, you've done a beautiful job."

"Thank you." He ushered her toward the back door. "If you change your mind, give me a call. Do you have the number?"

"Kate gave it to me." With a last wave, she climbed into her car and headed for downtown, her mind churning. To think that if Howard Reid hadn't canceled this afternoon's deposition to play golf, she would be terrorizing his expert witness rather than having all these unsettling new experiences.

* * *

Rob watched the burgundy-colored Lexus turn south on Old Harford Road, wondering if she had bought the car to match her hair. Even with a schoolmarm hairstyle and her sexy little body disguised in a severely cut navy suit, Val Covington crackled with physical and mental energy. She must be hell on heels in a courtroom.

How long was it since he had been so aware of a woman? Years. Four years, three months, and seven days, to be exact. Not that he was counting. He was glad that she appreciated the church's uniqueness, but it was just as well she wasn't interested in renting. If she were that near, she would be a temptation.

Yet he couldn't resist going up to his apartment and plugging "Val Covington" into a search engine. He got plenty of hits, mostly in the
Daily Record,
Baltimore's business and legal newspaper. She had won some high-profile cases and was a newly made partner at a top city law firm. Having met the lady, he wasn't surprised.

Nor was he surprised that she was considering her own office. Not only were corporate law firm jobs murderously demanding, but no amount of dressing the part could quite hide the maverick gleam in her eyes. He hoped she did decide to go out on her own and rip some fat-cat throats.

Preferably in a neighborhood far from this one.

* * *

Luckily Kendra wasn't at her desk when Val returned, since she would notice her boss's distracted mood. Safely in her office, Val closed the door and tried to concentrate on the most urgent of the briefs she had to write.

Usually work focused her mind, but not today. She gave up in exasperation and closed the file after fifteen futile minutes. Digging out her calculator, she began playing with figures, estimating expenses and cash flow if she opened her own office.

Making her best guess on the costs, it appeared that even after paying humongous taxes, the
Centurion
windfall would give her enough money to pay for start-up costs, then subsidize the business until it was established and could pay for itself.

And amazingly, that was based on a forty-hour work week. What a luxury that would be! She should be able to divide her time between paying clients and
pro bono
work and make enough for mortgage money, cat food, and her retirement fund. Having her own office meant she wouldn't be able to do the intellectually challenging work that required a team of lawyers, but working more closely with clients and their needs would compensate for that.

Her pulse quickened at the knowledge that she could really do this if she wanted to. Her hesitation came not from economics, but fear. The insecurities of her childhood had left her with a craving for logic and order, which was one reason the law appealed to her. Despite her frustrations with Crouse, Resnick, it was a known quantity, and lucrative. Abandoning that to become her own boss would be exciting but unpredictable, and she did not love for her life to be unpredictable.

Of course, there was a whole range of possibilities between staying at Crouse, Resnick and starting her own office. She could go to work for a corporation, or enter the government sector, which would be less demanding and still provide a steady, comfortable income. That kind of change would be safe and relatively easy.

And yet, when she had entered the old church sanctuary, she'd experienced such a sense of lightness. Exhilaration, even.

She stepped into her small washroom and stared into the mirror, knowing she was at a crossroads. One direction was familiar, safe, and exhausting. The other was unknown, enticing, and damned scary.

The mirror reflected back her lawyer costume: dark tailored suit, a discreet, tasteful gold chain around her neck and matching gold earrings, hair secured in a sleek knot at her nape. This was how she had gone to work every day for years. The image was very different from how she looked on her own time.

She jerked out her hairpins, then wet her fingers and ran them through her hair to restore the natural bounce of the energetic red mass. Little Orphan Annie on a bad hair day was how she described herself.

These red curls had been the bane of her childhood. The bright, carroty color had made her stand out in a crowd no matter how much she wanted to blend in with the other girls. With age the color had darkened to a less violent shade, but even so, she was doomed to go through life looking like a short barmaid who needed to lose a few pounds.

But she didn't have to go through life wearing tailored suits. The choice was up to her. If she wanted a new life, it was time to take a few cautious steps in that direction.

If only it were possible to fast forward through change and go directly to the next secure niche....

Chapter 3

It looked like Val was still out, but just in case, Kendra called, "Are you in there, Val? I've got the Mercantile files for you."

As Kendra set down the stack of folders, Val emerged from the washroom, her hair rioting around her head and looking much redder than it did when pulled back. Startled out of her usual composure, Kendra blurted out, "Girl, what have you done to your hair?"

"Nothing. After five years of working together, it's time you saw the unvarnished me." Val folded onto the sofa with one leg tucked under her, looking very unlike her usual professional self. "I'm thinking of going off on my own. If I do, would you consider coming with me as paralegal, office manager, and secretary? I could match your salary and the medical coverage, though the other benefits might not be as good."

Kendra closed the door to her office and sat down, even more startled than she had been by the hair. "You really want to leave here after making partner? You've just climbed on the gravy train. A few more years and you'll be set for life."

"This job is eating me alive," Val said bluntly. "I'm good at corporate work, but a lot of it is just an elaborate game. I get tired of playing games, especially when I sometimes wish I was on the other side." She hesitated, perhaps finding it difficult to reveal so much of herself. "I want to do justice, Kendra. I'll need to take enough paying jobs to cover the rent, but what I really crave is
pro bono
work I can feel good about. I want to take on the powers that be and give some little guys a chance. As corny as it sounds, I want to fight the good fight."

Her words jolted Kendra. Justice for the little guy. "You really mean that?"

Val smiled wryly. "Yes. The big question is whether I have the courage to actually do it."

Kendra was silent for a long time as she thought about the pain and injustice that had been bleeding her soul for years. It was almost too late to make a difference—but maybe not. Val was the smartest lawyer Kendra had ever met, and she had a real heart under that red hair and fast- talking tongue. Maybe... just maybe.. "If you leave, I'll come along if you'll take on a lost cause for me."

Val looked cautious. "I can try. What kind of case?"

"I want you to get a man off death row."

"Death row?" she said, surprise in her voice. "Someone you have a personal interest in?"

"Do you recognize the name Daniel Monroe?"

Val's gaze went vague as she consulted her incredible memory. "He killed a policeman some years ago. If I recall correctly, he assaulted a woman, the policeman intervened, and got pumped full of bullets for his pains. A nasty business."

"Yes, but Daniel didn't do it," Kendra said vehemently, trying to suppress her bitterness. "Seventeen years Daniel has been in jail. Every possible appeal has been filed and denied, and the State of Maryland is ready to kill an innocent man. You want to do justice? Save the life of Daniel Monroe."

Val's expression softened. "I gather he was a friend of yours?"

"More than a friend." Kendra's mouth twisted. "He's Jason's father." Jason, her tall, handsome, air force academy cadet son, who believed his biological father was long dead. Philip Brooks, the man Kendra had later married, had been a good father to Jason from the day he entered her life until a heart attack carried him off too soon, but it was Daniel's blood that flowed in Jason's veins. Daniel's life that had been destroyed for no damned reason at all.