On Thin Ice (9 page)

No, he wanted her begging for mercy. Begging for him.

He shrugged, pretending indifference. “Sure. Consider it forgotten. Let’s hit the road.”

Before he reached the door, it opened and a woman tumbled in. Lank blond hair hung to her shoulders. Bruised, battered, wearing a ragged T-shirt and threadbare blue jeans, she stood like a homeless waif in the middle of his doorway. Marcie, he realized with a sinking feeling. From the looks of her, she hadn’t managed to get rid of the lowlife bastard who lived with her, either.

Her words rushed out before he could stop them. “Mr. Sinclair, I’m so glad you’re here. I know I should’ve waited, but the receptionist didn’t believe me when I told her you were my lawyer. I’ve seen the look before, and I knew she’d keep me sitting there forever before she even told you I was here.” Her eyes beseeched him to understand. “So I snuck in when she left her desk.”

“It’s okay, Marcie,” he said, bringing her inside and closing the door behind her. “What’s wrong?”

She twisted her hands together and paced. “I tried, I did, but he wouldn’t listen. See what happened when I told him?” On the verge of tears, she pointed to her black eye and bruised cheek. “What am I gonna do?” she wailed.

Crap. Frowning, he stuck his hands in his pockets. Just what he didn’t need right now. Turning to Gabrielle, he said, “I’ll take care of this and then we’ll go. It won’t take long.” He waited for her to leave, but she didn’t. She stared at him and Marcie with a speculative gleam in her eye.

“Take your time.” She waved a hand in the air. “I’m in no rush. I’m Gabrielle Rousseau,” she told Marcie, offering her hand. “One of Mr. Sinclair’s colleagues.”

“You’re a lawyer too?”

Gabrielle smiled. “That’s right. But don’t let me interrupt. Go on.”

Devlin interrupted. “Ms. Field might not want—”

“Oh, I don’t care,” Marcie said. “Just tell me what to do so I can get rid of Mark. You said if I didn’t, I don’t stand a chance of getting the kids back. I want my babies, I miss them.” Tears coursed down her cheeks. “And Mark’s getting meaner by the day.”

Devlin winced. If anyone deserved to have a good cry, Marcie Field did. Even though he was accustomed to women’s tears by now, they still made him uncomfortable. “We can get a restraining order issued on him.” Not that it would do much good with scum like Mark White, he thought.

Gabrielle helped Marcie to a chair. Devlin leaned back against his desk and dredged up what he remembered from the last time he’d talked to her. “He still fencing for the pawnshop?”

“Says he isn’t,” Marcie answered morosely.

“But you think he is.”

“Yeah. He’s too flush not to be.”

And too high, Devlin bet. “Okay. The first thing you need to do is go to that shelter I told you about.” He held up a hand at her protest. “Until we get White in jail, you can’t stay at that apartment. Do you want him to kill you next time?”

“If I don’t get my babies back, I don’t care what he does.”

“Come on, Marcie, you know that’s not true. Just try it. I’ll tip the cops about him and the pawnshop. They’ll pick him up. He won’t make bail, I’ll guarantee that.”

“And then?”

Hope gleamed in her eyes. Good, Devlin thought. That meant she hadn’t been totally beaten down. “Once we’re sure White’s out of your life, we’ll find you a job. It’s going to take a while, but we’ll get your kids back.”

A few minutes later, after extracting a promise to go immediately to the shelter, he saw her to the door. Devlin slipped her a couple of bills, his attempt to do it on the sly foiled when she threw her arms around him and blubbered.

Women. He should have known.

Devlin Sinclair, white knight?
Gabrielle asked herself. In his car, the Beamer that screamed yuppie lawyer, on their way to their first appointment, she glanced over at him. Eyeing his profile, she noted the stubborn line of his jaw. He didn’t want to discuss his client, but she didn’t want to talk about Franco. She needed at least a few more minutes to pull herself together.

“I’m a little confused about your role in Marcie Field’s life. If she’s the one being abused, why does she need a defense counsel?”

He answered readily enough. “Different case. Her ex made her out as an unfit mother and took full custody of the kids. No visitation. I was her lawyer. She moved to Dallas after the trial.”

“You lost her case?” Her eyes widened.
There
was a surprise. She didn’t think Devlin ever lost.

He shot her an irritated glance. “It happens. The bastard paid off half the city. Marcie Field didn’t have a prayer.”

“You’re still trying to help her.”

“Can we get back to the case at hand? Sabatino, remember him?”

She accepted the change of subject because he gave her no choice. Yet the idea of Devlin Sinclair actually having a heart still shocked her. What else went on behind the scenes that he preferred to keep silent? “Who’s the first interview?”

“Caleb Bailey. You know, the guy who was originally the prosecution’s witness. Sabatino allegedly extorted protection money from him.”

“Until he changed his mind and refused to testify against Sabatino,” Gabrielle said. “Now I wonder what made him do that?” she added sarcastically.

Devlin shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. We need to see if he’ll be a credible witness for the defense.”

Late that afternoon, on the way back to the office, Gabrielle pondered the events of the day. Caleb Bailey, and every other witness they had interviewed that day, was useless. Not a decent one in the bunch. Bailey had been so frightened, he shook, and Gabrielle doubted he’d be any better in a courtroom. Worse, if anything. While it didn’t break her heart not to find any reputable witnesses for the defense, she knew Devlin would come up with something.
Why did he have to be so good?
Her lip curled in a snarl of irritation.

Franco deserved to be in jail,
she thought.
Should have been a long time ago. It would do the world a favor if—

“Hey, are you in there?” Devlin asked, one hand on the wheel, the other touching her arm.

She jerked in surprise. “Sorry. I was thinking.”

He cast her a considered look. “I said we’ll try the police reports next. Maybe they screwed up on something.”

Get him off on a technicality? It wasn’t a new tactic; she’d used it herself. The problem was, she didn’t want Franco to get off. “I’ll start going over them tonight,” she offered.

“No hurry. Tomorrow will be soon enough. We’ll keep the teams looking for more witnesses, though. Some miracle might turn up.”

With Franco’s luck it would, Gabrielle thought. Back in the office a short while later, she couldn’t concentrate on anything. Trying to work was a lost cause, but she couldn’t generate a lot of enthusiasm for going home, either.

She’d just about decided to leave when Nina stuck her head in the office doorway. “Hey, Gabrielle, check out Alfonso’s with me. Half an hour, okay?”

“Thanks, Nina, but I—”

“You can’t turn me down. One drink—I’ve got a date later. Wait until I tell you about this guy.”

Nina and her men, Gabrielle thought as her friend disappeared before she could answer. Alfonso’s. After the day she’d had, she could use some relaxation.

Gabrielle had intended to leave
the bar as soon as Nina’s date showed up, but she couldn’t force herself to go home and face the silence. Or the memories she knew would swamp her once she let down her guard. Even her music, she knew, wouldn’t provide solace that night. Seeking distraction, she glanced around at the clientele of the well-filled bar, an oddly soothing proliferation of professionals. One of her colleagues’ favorite hangouts, it attracted bankers, doctors, CEO’s, and other assorted upscale types. And no doubt a Mafia hit man or two, disguised as something else, she reminded herself sourly. Still, being there kept her mind going instead of stalling on finding a solution to disaster.

Her life, the disaster. Franco’s conviction would solve everything. Or if not everything, a large portion of it. They would put him away for years. But how to accomplish that? Short of turning over evidence to the prosecution . . . despite her initial disgust at the thought, the idea took root. Logs, records, address books. She and Devlin had a number of them that the prosecution would never see. An anonymous tip—

No! She couldn’t do it. Unethical, certainly. Illegal too. She was bound by law and her professional oath to protect her client. And if she quit the case, there went her only power over Franco. The power to see him freed . . . or convicted.

Could she do it? Gabrielle asked herself. With a gulp, she drained her wine, then signaled to the bartender for a second one. Could she really commit an act that would get her disbarred?
Only if someone finds out,
a little voice reminded her. That was pure fright speaking, she knew, but just now she was all tapped out of courage.

If no one knew and she made certain that Franco stayed behind bars, all her problems would vanish. She shook her head sharply, biting her lip. No, she couldn’t do it. Risk disbarment, risk her career? But if she didn’t—

“Buy you a drink?” a male voice asked.

Gabrielle turned her head. A man she’d never met before stood beside her, smiling. He didn’t really look like Franco, other than having the misfortune of being dark-haired and dark-skinned. Lacking the energy to be polite, she chose the quickest route to getting rid of him.

“Get lost.”

He didn’t take the hint. He pulled up a stool and parked his fanny on it like he meant to stay forever. “What’s a pretty lady like you doing here all by your lonesome?”

Now that’s original, she thought. “Drinking. Alone,” she said, and turned her head. The man kept talking but she blocked the sound out, her thoughts returning to the cause of her misery. If Franco was convicted due to her machinations, that made her no better than him. She shuddered and downed half her wine. No better than Franco.

Did she have another choice? Of course she did. There was always a choice.

Gabrielle decided to choose to forget about it. She was halted at a dead end, anyway. Though just for a night, she told herself, and raised the glass to her lips.

After her third glass of wine, the tingling sensation the alcohol gave her reminded her of the feeling she got every time a certain attorney touched her. She’d succeeded in pushing Franco to the back of her mind, but Devlin Sinclair was a whole ’nother story. What would happen if she quit worrying about his angles and schemes and just . . . did what she wanted to do? Sober, she would have called it a stupid idea, but right now it held tremendous appeal.

A hand fell on her shoulder. Hadn’t she run that guy off yet? She swung around and snapped, “You want to lose that hand?”

“Not particularly,” a deep, familiar voice said. “Touchy, aren’t you?”

“You.” Gabrielle blinked and attempted to focus. It was Devlin, with an, eat-your-heart-out smile lilting on his mouth. He looked hazy. And delicious. Every single one of her nerve endings jumped in anticipation. Temptation.

“In the flesh,” he said, and pulled up the empty stool beside her.