Consequence (18 page)

He tipped his head at Ethel. “Ma’am, I’m
Chief Alec Boone of Chance Township.”

Before the officer could say anything else,
Diara watched as the double doors opened again, this time by the
most intense man she’d ever seen. Black hair, black eyes, tall with
killer shoulders and gorgeous lips. All this in an Armani suit. He
took her breath away, and he was walking straight towards her and
Ethel.

What is someone like him doing in a small
town like this? she wondered.

He gracefully side-stepped Boone and held his
hand out, palm lifted to greet Ethel. “Mrs. Jefferson, I’m Attorney
Robert Hall. I’ve been asked to speak with you about your case,” he
said.

Ethel lifted her hand and Robert held it
tenderly, as if it were a bird.

“It’s nice to meet you young man,” she said,
“but I don’t need an attorney. Although, I do appreciate you coming
out late at night,” she added.

A smile lightened Robert’s face as the
gracious lady spoke.

“I’ve been asked by the judge to assist,” he
explained. “Our public defender’s wife is having a baby right now.
I’m here as a courtesy only, ma’am.”

Robert released Ethel’s hand and turned to
Diara. His eyes widened as he assessed the stunning woman before
him. “It’s nice to meet you, too, Miss ….” He paused, waiting for
an introduction.

“Diara Larouche,” she said, slightly
disappointed when he didn’t seek to shake her hand. “My grandmother
is tired, Mr. Hall. Is there someplace she can rest?”

Boone stood in the background watching the
interaction without a comment, but Diara’s remark made him grimace.
The request was made as if she expected a cushy hotel room be
provided. Before he could respond about the jail’s accommodations,
Robert Hall spoke.

“Mrs. Fontenelle will be staying at a nearby
facility. I’ve already petitioned Judge Johnson and a room with
adequate security has been readied at the Eaton Nursing Home. An
Eaton patrol officer will stand guard,” Robert said, directing this
last comment to Boone.

“This is the first I’ve heard of moving the
pris … Mrs. Fontenelle,” Boone protested, then stood down. “But I’m
sure you’re right. She’ll be more comfortable and secure
there.”

Diara turned shining green eyes towards
Robert, gratitude swelling her heart. “I have a small bag in my car
for Granny. Some clean clothes and such. May she keep it with
her?”

Robert deferred to Boone.

“I’ll need to check it first,” Boone
said.

“I’ll be right back with it,” Diara said,
then slipped through the exit.

Boone turned towards the Eaton police officer
who escorted Ethel from Lowell. “Jared, why don’t you finish
processing Mrs. Fontenelle so she can be moved?”

The officer placed a hand on Ethel’s elbow.
“This way, ma’am.”

She dipped her head. “More photographs and
fingerprints? Certainly, lead the way young man.” She peeked over
her shoulder at Robert. “This is not as exciting as it looks on my
soaps,” she quipped.

Robert shook his head at the old woman’s
spirits, then turned to Boone. “Thank you, for not making a fuss
about this. The judge had a phone call from Mrs. Fontenelle’s
son-in-law today. His wife had a heart attack, followed by
emergency surgery after the Lowell Police Department arrested her
mother. Given the defendant’s age and cooperative status, and the
hardships her family’s experiencing, he thought it was the right
thing to do.”

Boone’s cheek twitched. “I concur.”

Not for the first time, Robert was impressed
with Boone’s stoic and professional demeanor. “By the way,
congratulations on your pending nuptials,” Robert added. “Judge
Johnson told me.”

Boone blinked slowly, then mumbled
“Thanks.”

Diara closed the door to her grandmother’s
private room. It was after one o’clock and she had finally gotten
Ethel tucked into bed. In a chair in the hallway, an Eaton police
officer thumbed through a paperback. He would sit there throughout
the night, until relieved in the morning by another guard.

As she walked towards the lobby, she rubbed
her temples. She was tired. She’d talked to her father before Ethel
went to bed and both were heartened to hear of Cerise’s progress.
They even spoke with her for a few minutes. Guillame was thankful
his talk with the judge had resulted in better treatment of Ethel,
and reinforced his motto, “It’s easier to catch flies with honey,
Diara.”

“You’re right, Dad,” she said. “I will be
courteous.”

She walked towards the door, heading for the
parking lot and her car. After that, she didn’t have a clue. She
pulled out her mobile phone, hoping she could find a hotel nearby.
Using the voice search options, she waited as a short list of
hotels and motels in the Eaton area loaded on her cell’s tiny
screen.

“If you don’t mind the suggestion, I have a
spare bedroom. You are welcome to stay with me.”

Diara’s head whipped up and she found herself
a foot away from Robert Hall. She’d been focused on her cell phone
and hadn’t noticed the attorney. He stepped aside, trying not to
crowd her.

She didn’t reply at once, as she struggled
with the choice. Obviously, the man was trustworthy. A judge sent
him to her grandmother’s rescue, and the local police respected
him. The thundering in her ears delayed her response. Looking into
his dark eyes heated her blood, and she wondered if she would be
trustworthy. The man was drop-dead gorgeous and even though it was
the last thing she should be thinking of, he oozed sex appeal.

Snap out of it, she told herself.

“Thank you,” she said aloud. “I’d be grateful
not to have to hunt a bed tonight.”

Robert’s face blanked and his first thought
was, she would never want for a bed.

Diara followed the sleek Audi sports car
through dark residential neighborhoods, but she was too tired for
second thoughts. When he stopped in front of a traditional white
house, she laughed. He was an enigma, for sure. The hunk in the
Armani suit and foreign sports car lived in a classic, two-story
Colonial.

She pulled in behind his car and turned off
the engine. She reached into the back seat for her handbag and
small suitcase, as Robert opened her door.

Motion detectors turned on the porch light, a
beacon in the late, frosty night. Diara held her jacket together
with one hand, close to her throat, while she wheeled her case up
the lighted brick walkway. Robert was on the front stoop, punching
numbers into a keypad next to the door. It clicked and he pushed it
open, standing aside so Diara could enter the dim foyer.

Simple on the outside, the house was stylish
on the inside. Black-and-white marble tiles led from the door to a
graceful set of stairs, which arched toward an expansive
hallway.

“Are you hungry? Thirsty?” Robert asked.

When Diara shook her head, he placed a hand
on her suitcase handle. “Why don’t I show you to your room, then?”
He proceeded up the stairs, carrying her suitcase.

Pleased with his gracious manners, Diara
climbed behind him, admiring the lush carpet on the stairs, the
attractive sconces lighting the way and the watered silk paper on
the walls. “You have a lovely home,” she said.

“It’s been in the family for awhile,” he
replied.

“Oh, you live with your family?” she asked,
mentally kicking herself for not checking his ring finger.

“My sister, Katrina. She’s asleep, I’m sure,
but she’ll be pleased to meet you in the morning. My father has a
place in the mountains. He’s prefers to be off, by himself.”

Robert reached the top of the stairs and
stopped at the second door. He opened it and reached inside to turn
on the light. “This is the guest room,” he said. He followed her
inside and placed the suitcase on the floor next to the king-sized
bed. It was a luxurious suite. The bedding and curtains were ivory,
trimmed with royal blue and gold, a lovely contrast to the heavy,
dark furniture. Diara eyed the bed with longing.

Robert walked to the edge of the room and
opened a door. “Your bathroom.”

Diara smiled gratefully.

He looked at his watch. “I’ll say goodnight,
then. It’s almost two o’clock and I’m sure you’re exhausted. The
judge has scheduled the arraignment for the day after tomorrow, so
you’ll be able to sleep late. He wanted your grandmother to be
rested before meeting with her.”

“He sounds like a wonderful person,” Diara
said, sitting on the bed with a sigh. “I am grateful, for my
grandmother’s sake, as well as my own.”

“He’s one of the best,” Robert said, watching
Diara relax. “Well, good night. If you need me, I’m next door, by
the stairs.”

As he closed the door behind him, Diara
couldn’t help but smile. “Need you,” she whispered, lying back on
the downy bedspread, closing her eyes and imagining Robert Hall’s
lips.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

By six the next morning, Diara was ready to
leave. She showered, re-packed her suitcase and used her mobile
phone to locate a hotel on the edge of Eaton. The sound of her
small suitcase thumping down the stairs brought Robert from the
kitchen.

“Good morning,” he said. “I thought you were
asleep. I hope I didn’t wake you.”

Diara couldn’t help the assessment, which
began at his bare feet, climbed his jean-clad legs and hips,
measured his broad chest beneath a white V-neck T-shirt, paused at
his unshaven chin before resting on his eyes, a rich mahogany
brown. He hadn’t styled his black hair and it twisted in unruly
angles. He was unkempt and casual compared to the immaculately
dressed, well-groomed man of the previous night. Last night he was
devastating. Today, he was adorable.

“Umm, I, uh,” Diara stammered.

“You’re not leaving yet, are you?” he asked.
He held up a paring knife and orange. “I’m making breakfast.”

He watched until she released the suitcase
handle, then turned and walked back into the kitchen, speaking over
his shoulder, confident she’d follow.

She did.

The room was massive with white cupboards and
copper accents. The appliances were copper coated, also. He opened
the bottom drawer of the sub-zero refrigerator and pulled out a
bottle of champagne. “This morning, mimosas are on the menu.”

He patted a stool near the kitchen island.
“Why don’t you sit here and help me?”

Diara smiled at the invitation. To decline
would be callous, especially in the face of his generosity.

She sat and swiveled. “What would you like me
to do?”

Robert placed a bowl of orange halves in
front of her and pointed to the juicer. “You take care of these,
I’ll take care of this,” he said, hefting a bottle of champagne.
Diara recognized the juicer model; she had the same kind at her
apartment. She fed the fruit through the system and within a
minute, had a pitcher full of pulpy juice.

Robert twisted the wire off the wine bottle,
then pushed on the cork. The pop was subdued, the bottle lip misted
slightly. Not a drop spilled.

He winked when she arched her eyebrows in
appreciation. A slow blush painted Diara’s cheeks.

“Is your sister here?” she asked, trying to
divert his attention from her.

“She didn’t come home last night, after all,”
he said, pouring the sparkling wine into crystal flutes. He raised
his eyes over the glasses and caught her gaze. Diara’s mouth formed
a silent “Ohhh!” when she caught his drift.

She squirmed at the thought of spending the
night alone with him, even though she’d been dead to the world. A
tornado could have blown off the roof and she wouldn’t have
woken.

Robert covertly watched as the flush mounted
her cheeks, fascinated by the way she tugged the corner of her lush
bottom lip between her teeth. She had delectable little canines.
She’d caught her long, dark red hair into a band, letting it dry
naturally. As she turned toward the pitcher of orange juice, the
morning light through the large bay window bounced off her fresh,
scrubbed face. Her eyes were lighter green than the night
before.

“What’s your ethnicity, if you don’t mind me
asking?” Robert said.

She snorted. “Well, if you’d asked me two
days ago, I’d have said African American and French Canadian. But
today, you can toss Irish into the mix.” She tilted her head,
studying him. “What about you?”

“American and Filipino. Navy brat,” he said.
“Well, by American I guess European ancestry.”

“I’m positive there’s a bit of European in
the African American bloodline,” Diara said. “Pretty sure there
weren’t many pure Africans living in America when Granny was born.
Her grandparents were slaves in Virginia before the Civil War.”

“Your name is unique,” he said, dropping a
cherry into the mimosas before handing her a glass. Her fingers
brushed his as she accepted the drink.

“It means ‘Precious Gift’ in Swahili,” she
said.

Robert lifted his glass and touched the rim
to hers in a silent toast. The crystal rang clear. He watched as
Diara lifted her glass and drank, his eyes pinned on her tongue as
she wiped the pulp from her lips.

Diara’s blood heated in response. She closed
her eyes in frustration. Now wasn’t the time to flirt and she
certainly shouldn’t flirt with Robert Hall, her grandmother’s
attorney. She placed her glass on the counter and stood up. “I need
to be going. I’m sure Granny will be awake and wondering where I
am.”

He shook his head. “I called the nursing home
a half-hour ago. She’d had a restless night and asked for a
sleeping pill. They said it would probably be a few more hours
before she wakes up. I’m sorry; I should have told you right
away.”

Diara grimaced. “Well, I’ve imposed too long.
I’ll head out there and wait in the lobby until she wakes up. I
made a reservation at a hotel, but check-in isn’t until three
o’clock.”