Conviction of the Heart (2 page)

A tight smile was her only response as the elevator doors opened. They both walked in, along with half a dozen other people chattering, involved in their own lives. She debated bringing up Maddie Morgan, but it wasn’t her habit to discuss her clients with others. If she needed information from Sansone, she could certainly ask him after the meeting on Friday.

“Who’s the unlucky man today?” he asked, gaze warm with amusement.

“You assume it’s a man?” Suzanne clutched the handle of her briefcase more tightly. “I don’t only represent women, Sergeant.”

“Lieutenant.”

“I’m sorry?” She eyed him with a little frown.

“Lieutenant. I’ve been promoted since we last met.”

The elevator doors opened at the floor below the one she wanted. Jostled by people behind her wanting to get out, she was shoved closer to him to allow them to pass. Close enough for her to get a full inhale of his aftershave, something spicy with a hint of citrus. It was her immediate new favorite.
Damn him.

She put intentional distance between them as soon as the others left the small space, said nothing until the doors slid shut again. “Congratulations, Lieutenant. I’m sure it’s well-deserved.”

“I hope so. My granddad would certainly be tickled. I’ve been waiting to celebrate, thanks to a hellish schedule at work. Interested?”

“In celebrating with you?” She squeezed the handle tight again, so tempted. Her reaction to him was something she couldn’t control; the way she expressed it certainly was. She didn’t intend to allow him to see one bit of it.

Echoes of her mother nagging that she worked too much and never had any fun floated through her mind.
It’s only a date. What could a date hurt?

She shoved her mother’s complaints into a dark corner of her mind. “Fun” didn’t pay the bills. “Fun” didn’t make it possible to survive as a single mother. Work did that.

Besides, he was a cop. Better to protect her heart.

The elevator doors opened again, the metallic “ding” announcing their arrival.

Saved by the bell.
She stepped out of the car and managed a social smile. “I don’t know how long I’ll be today, Lieutenant. I’ll have to pass.”

The disappointment on his face pained her. It wasn’t just some casual invitation then. He must have really meant it. The doors closed, and she turned away toward the courtroom where she was calendared to be, her throat choked with mixed feelings. She didn’t forget his wounded expression for the rest of the morning.

****

Late that afternoon, Suzanne’s custody case concluded, past the closing of the courthouse itself. The hallways were empty, the sun burning in through west-facing windows. Two rambunctious preschoolers, the subjects of her case, released from the prison of courtroom decorum, burst into giddy action, footsteps echoing as they twirled in the vacant corridor.

As the combatants staggered out into the hallway, her client, having been granted custody, impulsively hugged her, while the father glared from twenty feet away, conferring for a moment with his own attorney. Suzanne disentangled herself, adrenaline starting to wear thin after the day of cat and mouse, question and answers, emotions and tears. “Will you be all right getting downstairs?” she asked.

The woman smiled. “He won’t dare try anything now.”

“All right. Drive carefully. Remember to call me if you have any problems.”

She waved at the children as they skipped away with their mother, then gave a nod to the attorney on the other side, a classmate of hers from Pitt. Good friends outside the courtroom. Inside, both had acted quite reserved toward one another, even antagonistic from time to time, for the sake of their clients and their case.

She waited after they’d all left, breathing the quiet in deeply, eyes and brain not focused on anything in particular for a few moments.
The only thing she worried about was that angry gleam in the eye of her client’s husband. Understandable that people got upset, even violent, when their lives were crumbling around them. Custody hearings were emotional battles, draining the combatants and counsel alike.

She took a deep breath, blew it out slowly. Her colleague had no doubt talked to the husband, calmed him down. All she needed to do now was decide what to do with her evening.

Suspecting she’d run late, she’d arranged for her girls to spend the night at her parents' house in Perrysville, several miles north of the city, so she had no concern about them being home alone.

Free at last.

Considering the possibilities, she headed for the elevator, her footsteps loud in her own ears. It wasn’t the first time she’d gotten out of court after hours. With any luck she’d avoid the worst of the early evening traffic. The ride to the lobby was quick, not interrupted by floor-by-floor tedium. She shoved open the heavy door to the outside, assailed with the noise of five o’clock traffic along Forbes Avenue. Three blocks west, her car waited in the parking garage, then she’d be on her way.

“Hey, woman! Where do you get off stealing people’s kids from them? Huh?”

The shout came from behind her. She turned to see Jack Wachowski, the father from upstairs, lurking behind one of the pillars at the top of the stairs. He’d lost his overcoat and tie somewhere between the courtroom and outside. His graying hair was rumpled. He’d never been an attractive man, but the wild look in his eyes made him almost frightening.

A quick glance reminded her the doors were closed. And locked.

“Mr. Wachowski, I really shouldn’t speak to you while you’re represented by counsel.” While ethically true, the statement was actually a maneuver to buy time.

“Don’t need a mouthpiece to deal with you.” He put his right hand in the front pocket of his suit jacket.

In a move born more of instinct than intent, Suzanne raised her solid-sided black briefcase so it blocked her torso. If he was going to take a shot—

“Suzanne!”

The interruption drew her attention, as well as that of Mr. Wachowski. Coming up the steps from the sidewalk, almost as though he were riding a white steed, was Nick Sansone. He ascended to the step where she stood, then took one more step, so he was almost directly between them. His trained eyes flicked between her to the man on the stairs above her and back.

“Everything all right here?” he asked.

Where had he come from?

Suzanne eyed Wachowski. His pale blue eyes never released her gaze, but she thought she saw doubt in them now. What did he have in his pocket? It could be a gun. It could be a wallet full of family photos. She cleared a throat that had tightened beyond speech and took a deep breath. “I think everything’s fine. I believe Mr. Wachowski was just leaving.”

Wachowski studied Sansone, jaw working as he decided what to do. Nick wasn’t in uniform, but something about him conveyed an air of authority. Even Suzanne could feel it. Nick must be over six feet tall, those five or six inches’ difference always forcing her to look up at him, putting her at a disadvantage.

What was he doing here—just when she needed him?

The other man coughed and took his hand out of his pocket. It was empty. “Yeah. Yeah, I was just going home. It’s been a damned long day.” Wachowski looked at her a long moment, then turned and walked away, taking a diagonal path away from them down the steps. He didn’t look back.

Suzanne breathed a sigh of relief. Nick didn’t miss it.

“So there
was
more here than met the eye,” he said, scrutinizing her face. “What did he have in his pocket?”

Was there any point in ignoring him? No doubt the man was an expert interrogator. He might even be better than Suzanne herself. “Honestly? I don’t know.”

“Did he make any threats?”

“No.” She looked down at the traffic passing by, something concrete and normal. Not like angry litigants with potential weapons. Or attractive police lieutenants.

“I can have someone investigate if—”

“It’s fine,” she said, an edge in her voice pitched to the end-of-discussion level. “We were in court all day. We’re both tired. Can we leave it at that?”

He searched her face for more clues, apparently finding none. “All right. You know him, I don’t.” His alert stance relaxed, just a little, but his eyes were warm with concern for her.

Why was he worried about her? Annoyance provoked her sharp tongue. “You’re here late,” she said.

“So are you.” His attention moved away from her, and he watched the street below them, particularly in the direction Mr. Wachowski had gone.

“Two people, after hours in the courthouse, at the same time. Heck of a coincidence.” She started walking down the steps.

He followed her. “Not really. I was waiting for you.”

An imaginary grasshopper twitched to life in her stomach. “You need a divorce lawyer?” she asked without turning around. She didn’t want him to see her expression.

“Not at all. I was just heading down to Mama Rosa's for some lasagna,” he said. “I thought you might need dinner, too. Interested in Italian tonight?”

“I was planning to go back to the office. So much to do.” A tiny voice in her heart berated her for putting him off. She even had a babysitter in place. What was the harm?

“You have to walk the dog?”

“No.”

“Expecting more trouble?”

“No!” She stopped and turned around to face him. “I can handle myself, Lieutenant. Thank you so much for your interest.”

Then, as the traffic light at the corner changed, the noise level diminished for just a moment, but it was long enough for both of them to hear her stomach growl like a wild tiger on the prowl. She stared at the concrete steps, wishing she could disappear right through them.

“Put my mind at ease, counselor. No hassles, I promise. Just dinner,” he said softly.

She took a deep breath and surrendered to the hands of fate. “Just dinner.”

Chapter Three

He couldn’t believe she’d actually agreed to a date. Well, not a date. Dinner.

But he wanted to consider it a date.

He’d watched her for some time. It was more than just his natural attraction to redheads. He found something more compelling in her behavior, her demeanor. He found her different from the rest of the ambulance chasers he encountered in his work.

During their midwinter case, he witnessed her inner fire and passion for what was right, whether or not it fell squarely within the law. She never let opposing counsel walk over her. She even used humor as a tool to pry open judges’ hearts to let her pleas inside.

When the case concluded, he wanted to see her—unprofessionally—but she created a distinct distance between them that dissuaded him. He tried to put her out of his mind. She kept re-appearing. Every so often, he caught a glimpse of her in the court buildings, or in her favorite lunch spot in the inner courtyard of the old castle, and those feelings would bubble up again. He couldn’t forget her.

Not that he hadn’t tried. Brother officers used his fascination with the standoffish attorney to rib him without mercy. A lawyer and a cop? Might as well be oil and water, one working to get bad people locked up, and the other working just as hard to set them free again. It didn’t matter that she worked in a different specialty. His associates lumped them all together as a waste of educated flesh. It could never work. Just asking for trouble. Who needed trouble?

Nick wasn’t convinced.

Determined, he cultivated the judge’s secretaries, many of whom had a soft spot for him. If she was scheduled to appear, they let him know. He’d put himself in the way of finding her, to ask her out.

And now, she’d finally said yes.

Mama Rosa’s was a cop hangout, a place with good Italian food and checkered red and white tablecloths and candles on the table after dark. He arrived first and took his usual table, chewing over whether he should have taken her somewhere fancier. She was probably used to more upscale places, restaurants with three forks in a setting. He was the kind of guy who ate with his elbows on the table.

He’d offered to drive her, but she wanted her own car. Although it appeared the man with the mysterious pocket had left the scene, he wasn’t convinced it was safe to leave her. She’d finally allowed him to walk her to her car in the lot. He’d told her how to get here. But a half-hour later, she still hadn’t arrived.

Maybe I should have insisted.

Maybe she wasn’t coming.

He adjusted his posture, at a loss to explain why his seat wasn’t as comfortable as usual. He loosened his tie, then took it off, shoving it in his pocket. He unbuttoned his top button. Perhaps she’d find the casual look appealing, looser. Maybe she’d relax. It sure as hell made him feel better.

He leaned forward on his chair, sitting on the edge, just short of a fidget. Concetta, one of the older ladies who’d been serving at Mama Rosa’s as long as Nick could remember, stopped by the table to ask if he needed anything. “You’re watching the door awful close, Nicky. Your boss coming? Or a woman?” She studied him, dark birdlike eyes boring into him.

“Is it that obvious?” He allowed a laugh, finding it came with a wash of relief. Suzanne owed him nothing. If she didn’t come—

Then she stepped through the door.

She’d shed her brown jacket. Her yellow dress, sleeveless, exposed more of her skin than he’d ever seen. He thought she’d lost her professional pumps, too, brown sandals on her feet instead.

More stunning was the shoulder-length red mane she’d released from whatever semi-magic pinning procedure women used to twist their locks into knots. Loose around her shoulders, her hair was beautiful.

“Oh, ho!” the waitress said. Something in her voice triggered his notice. He looked away from Suzanne, tracking Concetta’s quick exit. What was she up to? She scurried off into the back. A moment later, a group of curious faces popped up at the pass-through window from the kitchen.

Great. An audience. Just what I need.
Intent on his original purpose, he stood up to greet Suzanne. “Counselor. I thought perhaps you’d gotten lost. Or that your…admirer…had returned.”