Counsel (Counsel #1) (21 page)

"Believe me, I've considered every scenario, Mom, and the only one that sends me into a state of panic is the one where, by some stroke of luck, there’s a possibility that Angelique could one day return my feelings, and I failed to fight for her."

"As long as you're sure, sweetheart. We’ll support you in anything you decide."

Having said her piece Mom returns our conversation to the center and, as I knew she would, provides good insights into how we can make it work and what kind of ancillary services would benefit the kids and the families I want to help. As we prepare to leave, Mom hugs me tightly.

"Just think deeply about the ramifications of starting a relationship with Angelique; not only for you but also for her," she cautions me once more.

"Any discussion about a future for us is premature, Mom. She hasn't even decided if she’d like to be friends. She resents me."

"You just have to let her get to know you, Adam."

"If only it were that simple."

"Did you enter into the agreement willingly, Mr. Walsh?" Tess asks.

"I said no, but they torched my van. The next night, they threw a brick through my shop window with a note saying my shop was next, and then my house."

"Do you know who wrote the note?"

"I knew it was Fico because the next day he came to see if I changed my mind. I was worried about my family; what if they torched my house, what if my grandchildren were there? So I paid him."

"Why didn't you go to the police?" she asks.

"And say
what
? Fico would just deny it, and things would’ve got worse."

Tess is questioning Lorcan Walsh, the sixty-four-year-old owner of a small bakery; I'm merely here to observe and listen. Lorcan, like the two business owners interviewed before him, had been intimidated to pay protection money. Ironic, really, when the only protection they needed was from the men offering it.

Based on the information received from Lorcan and our earlier interviewees, I’ll be adding extortion and blackmail to the charges the Cordi brothers, Moretti, and Barnes will face. The trial for Moretti and his co-defendants starts on Wednesday of next week; we’re slowly, but surely, making progress in finally putting these criminals behind bars where they belong.

.

.

That night, when I get home, I place a call to Toby Lewis, the realtor who found the building that’s now my home. I tell him about my plans for the center and then discuss requirements and possible locations. He assures me that he'll start looking immediately, and just before ending the call, in a bid to avoid premature media speculation, I ask him not mention my name to any prospective sellers.

I can't help the sense of anticipation bubbling up in me. The idea for a community center germinated when I considered ways of constructively helping Angelique. My original idea was to open a ballet school for underprivileged kids, but the more I thought about it, the more excited I became at the prospect of doing more.

My primary concern, however, remains how to get Angelique to consider an offer of help. I hate that her most recent experiences, and her rightful wariness because of the role I played in her public humiliation, renders me incapable of simply offering help, one human being to another. I won't lie or hide my involvement in the center, but I’ve concluded that I can't be the one to offer her employment.

I’m still pondering my dilemma when my phone rings. I answer, anticipating it to be Cait out to hound me about details about my conversation with Angelique last night. Lisa Delaney's voice echoes down the line instead "You've been neglecting me," she playfully accuses.

"Hi, Lisa. I'm sorry, but I've been rather busy."

"Too busy for friends, Adam?"

"Too busy for just about everything," I reply, bristling at her interrogative tone.

"Apparently not
everything
. A friend says she saw you at Deuxave last night."

"Your friend probably did."

"So, you
do
have time to socialize." She tries to sound light-hearted, but I detect the underlying note of reprimand.

"What exactly are you trying to say, Lisa. I have a lot to do, and I don't have time for games."

"Oh, Adam, ease up, I was only joking; and as I remember, you like my games," she says seductively.

"Lisa, I really am busy…"

"Why don’t we have dinner?" she interrupts. "I'll cook. It sounds inconceivable, I know, but I
can
cook. We'll have a lovely dinner, enjoy some good wine, and I'll take care of
all
your needs. "

"Sorry, Lisa, I can't."

"Can't or won't?" This is too reminiscent of conversations I'd had with Jaclyn.
Then
, I felt guilty and tried to be a gentleman when what I should have done was disabuse her of any notion she held about things getting serious.

And look how that turned out! I remind myself. I refuse to fall into the same trap, and as much as I hate being discourteous to a woman, particularly one I’ve been intimate with, I fear I need to be blunt.

"I don't want to," I tell her." I'm sorry, Lisa, but I've been frank with you from the outset. We’ve enjoyed some mutually good times, but I don't think we should see each other in that capacity again. I like you, and I'd like to remain friends," I add more gently.

"Who was she, Adam?"

"What are you talking about?"

"The woman you couldn't take your eyes off. Madison Tate said she'd never seen you look at anyone the way you were looking at that woman."

"Madison Tate is an inveterate gossip. She saw me having dinner with some colleagues and my sister and her husband."

"Don't get angry, Adam. You should know that I really like you; well, I
more
than like you. We'd make such a good couple, and it would be a good move for both of us, don't you think?"

"I won’t apologize for getting angry, Lisa. What I do in my own time is my business and no one else's, not Madison Tate's… or yours, for that matter. I've not misled you; I told you from the start that I wasn’t interested in making a commitment, and you assured me you shared my sentiments. I would never have agreed to accompany you to dinner or go home with you afterward if I had even the faintest inkling that you wanted more. And for the record, I would
never
choose a partner to advance myself socially. I'm not the man for you, Lisa, you could have any man you want."

"What if the man I want is you?"

"Then I'm sorry to disappoint you. Now, I apologize if I sound rude, but I really am busy. Take care, Lisa."

"Just think about what I've said, Adam," she says. I hang up; irritated by the conversation and with myself for not seeing through her guile, and also at her for assuming she had the right to question me.

I wasn't about to give her or nosy Madison Tate the opportunity to spread gossip about Angelique. If I'm lucky enough to have her entertain any kind of relationship with me, we will, at some stage, have to face public scrutiny; but having the likes of Madison and her vacuous friends spread gossip wouldn't help at this fragile stage of getting to know each other.

I pour myself a glass of wine and move to my desk to work on plans for the center. I pack up some hours later, satisfied with what I've achieved, and for the first time in months, I go to bed feeling totally relaxed. The vision of Angelique’s tentative smile, the last image I see before drifting off.

The next morning, right on eight-thirty, Bec announces Tom’s arrival.

"Tom," I greet him politely on entering the conference room. He responds with a cool, "Counselor," and makes no effort to rise, so I don’t extend my hand.

"You requested this meeting, so why don't you get straight to the point?" I say, taking a seat across from him

"Surely you know why I'm here?"

"I have several opinions as to why you may have requested this meeting, but I don't care to speculate on them," I respond dryly.

"What have you decided about a retrial?" he demands.

"The DA and I have discussed the matter. We've agreed that I should give it further consideration. When I've decided, I'll talk to him again before we officially advise the courts and you of our decision."

"You can't keep Justin hanging with his life in limbo. He, like every defendant, is entitled to have a matter such as this dealt with expediently."

"You're absolutely right in your assertion that he be treated equally. He'll be notified of our decision within the
requisite
time just like any other defendant would."

"Cut the bullshit, Adam. Gerard Beazley isn’t going to make this decision; you’re his golden boy, after all. Or are you saying he's concerned about you being biased?"

"I'd think very carefully before casting aspersions. We take our responsibilities very seriously and won’t hesitate to take action against anyone who tries to defame the reputation of this office."

He glares balefully. "You should know that we don’t intend moving a motion against a new trial. We would, however, petition for the case to be tried before the same jury."

"I'm not surprised at either of those snippets of information; not that they’ll be influencing my decision in any way. If you have nothing further to add, I have a number of trials to prepare for. My assistant will show you out," I tell him, rising to my feet.

I could easily have shared the decision I came to early this morning, but I want to inform Bristly first, and I can't deny feeling a small degree of satisfaction at having Tom and Justin stew over the weekend.

The rest of the day flies by as Jodi and I continue to work on the Cordi trials. It's just gone two o'clock when I call for a break so I can run a much-considered errand. I’ve been wondering how I could contact Angelique. What I really want is to see her, but I don't think she's ready for that. I don’t want to regress from the first, tentative steps we've taken, so I decided to send flowers. And then, thinking it would be an easy task, I stupidly decided to choose them myself. So here I am, at the florist’s, bewildered by the variety on offer.

"Would you like some help," the woman behind the counter, thankfully, comes to my rescue.

"Please," I practically beg. She helpfully explains that certain flowers hold significance, and after I explain that the recipient is a friend, a very new friend, we agree that roses make too strong a statement. I refuse her suggestion of tulips or freesias because they just don’t seem special enough. As soon as she points out the delicate blush pink flowers, she tells me are called peonies, I know they’re what I want. Their delicate color reminds me of Angelique’s lovely complexion.

"Do they have a meaning," I ask.

"They’re said to symbolize riches and honor and were seen to be an omen of happiness to come."

"Perfect," I reply.

While Meg sets about extravagantly wrapping my offering, I struggle to write an appropriate message on the card she handed me. I think how ironic it is that I can so easily compose an opening and closing address, but wrestle with finding the right words to accompany a bunch of flowers. After much deliberation, I simply write,

Angelique,

To a good start; thank you for entertaining the thought.

Sincerely,

Adam Thorne

It seems pretty inept, inadequate really, but I didn't know what to say that would sum up my hope without scaring her off.

I initially planned to have them delivered to Angelique’s home, but felt it would be wrong to invade her privacy in the place where she’s entitled to feel most safe,
and
it would also be a gross misuse of official information. I then decided to send them to the studio, but when Meg asks for the delivery address, I tell her I’ll deliver them myself.

The bunch of flowers, in my mind, seems to grow bigger and more conspicuous with each step I take, and by the time I enter the studio, I’m wondering what the hell I'd been thinking when deciding to deliver them myself. Relief floods me when I spot the person I hoped to find.

"Mr. Murphy," I call out. His eyes narrow as I approach.

"If you're looking for Miss Angelique, she isn’t here," he says brusquely.

"I know, Sir, but I remember you saying she dances here most evenings. I had no other place to leave these, so I thought I could leave it…in case she turns up." I feel like a gauche schoolboy as he stares first at me, then the flowers, and back again.

"I didn't tell her about your last visit, lad," he finally says. "I should have, so I'm glad you decided to come out into the open. She doesn't need anyone else treating her like some dirty secret. She never says anything, that lass, but I know she's hurting."

"As I've said, Sir, I don't intend hurting her. I'd like to be her friend."

"Well, she needs friends…and at least you seem to have good taste," he remarks dryly, glancing down at the flowers.

"Do you think she'll be in today?" I ask anxiously. He smiles at my obvious discomfort.

"She'll probably be in after the last class finishes, so she doesn’t run into any parents. I hope you signed that card; I don't want to keep any more secrets from her."

"I did. Thank you so much for your help and your earlier discretion, Mr. Murphy."

"Call me Declan, and remember what I said about kicking your ass," he warns but smiles as he accepts the flowers.

Later that afternoon, I meet with Bristly to discuss Justin’s case. He gives no hint of his personal views as I explain my thinking on the matter. The only reaction I get is a tiny smile when I announce that I’ve decided against a retrial.

"May I ask what you would have done, Sir?" I ask.

"I wondered when you’d ask," he replies, his smile widening. "I would have come to the same conclusion, Adam. By deciding against a retrial, you've cut Defense off at every pass. You’ve avoided the invocation of double jeopardy, you’ve denied them the possibility of an innocent verdict, and if, as you say, they intended petitioning for the same jury, you’ve denied them the possibility of another mistrial. The numbers could have shifted either way in a new trial; this way, Wade will always be faced with an eleven to one guilty verdict. It’s almost as damning as being found guilty."

"Will you advise them tonight?" he asks when I nod at his summation.

"The deadline is Monday; I thought I'd wait until then."

"That's what I thought." He guffaws loudly. "It’s also what I would have done. Have a good weekend, Adam," he calls out as I leave.

.

.

It's Saturday evening, and my family’s gathered in my living room after dinner.

"I've decided to open a community center for underprivileged children," I announce once Mom and Cait have served coffee and tea.

"What the fuck…sorry!" Matt immediately apologizes at Mom’s disapproving look.

"You know about this?" Dad asks, noticing Mom’s lack of surprise.

"Adam and I discussed it briefly. Why don't you listen to what he has to say?" she diplomatically suggests.

I relay my plans and then sit back, waiting for comments. Dad breaks the silence first. "Don't you think you're too busy to take on something like this, Adam? Why not simply donate to a charity?"