Conviction of the Heart (16 page)

“Everything’s fine. Just checking in.” He nodded and started down the hall.

“Because if he needs anything, he can always call me. We’re neighbors, right? He needs a cup of sugar, whatever, he can always ask me.”

He stopped and looked over his shoulder at her, wondering if she’d get the hint. “Right, Mrs. Dailey.”

“It’s no trouble at all, Nick. Your father’s a nice man.”

Realizing he’d be trapped all day if he let himself engage, he gave the woman his best charming smile. “He sure is. I’ve got an appointment, so I’ll see you later. You take care now.”

Feeling only a little guilty that he’d cut her off, he walked away, his brisk steps not giving her time to change gears. The crazy old bat probably didn’t have anyone to talk to, and anyone who came along brightened her day. No wonder Joe practically barred his door.

Nick took the stairs down, avoiding the slow-moving seniors at the elevator. He’d clarified one thing during his talk with his father. He wanted a firm commitment from the woman he loved, the same kind his parents had shared. He was ready to make one.

Suzanne was capable of these commitments—he saw them with her clients, and with her daughters. The real question was, could she make that kind of commitment to Nick? Especially considering the way they’d left things that morning, when he’d stuck his nose where he had no business? Would she come around to that commitment after all?

He hoped so. He’d misstepped that morning, that was obvious. He’d have to approach it again. Take it like a suspect’s interrogation, whittling away at her composure, her reserve, until he broke through the wall to find out what she was hiding. Make her see that cooperation, working together had its benefits. For both of them. How many interrogations had he done over the years? Hundreds. Could one sweet redhead stand up against him? He couldn’t see it.

Should be a piece of cake.

Chapter Fifteen

Cases from work began to eat up a huge part of Suzanne’s time, not the least of which was the case she’d filed for Maddie Morgan.

Gregory Morgan hired a big corporate gun from downtown to handle the matter, probably someone who dealt with the family business. This worked in Suzanne’s favor, since her counterpart, Frank Rosenblatt, wasn’t particularly experienced in family law.

Though delayed several weeks by Rosenblatt’s legal maneuvering, the hearing for a permanent restraining order proceeded without the battle Suzanne had expected. On reflection, she realized it was just another part of the man’s game. Greg conceded the entry of the order, without admission of the acts alleged in the complaint. The law permitted him to do this. Such a choice would prohibit a finding of abuse on the record—a step many defendants chose to keep their records clean. Respectful, humble, he’d stood before the judge in the large county courtroom, soberly dressed in a well-tailored gray suit, as the attorneys negotiated and dictated the order the judge would sign.

The gallery was half-full, likely because so many protection orders had been on the docket for the day, but perhaps some were there because the city councilman was one of them. This wasn’t a criminal matter, so nothing would be permanent. As long as Greg abided by the order’s terms, it would quietly evaporate in a year after its term expired. That didn’t mean, of course, that the
Post-Gazette
and others wouldn’t find it a juicy tidbit.

After the Morgan case was handled, the judge took a recess. As he left the bench, Suzanne saw smug satisfaction cross Morgan’s face, and the look he gave Maddie, the one that said “You’ll be back!”

The only minor blessing was that Maddie hadn’t seen the look. Through the whole hearing, she’d stared into her lap, where her hands twisted and pinched each other, white with tension. Even in a $500 suit and shoes at least half that, the woman hadn’t had the courage to do more than whisper an answer to anything the judge asked her.

Suzanne stood as the courtroom cleared, doing the best she could to remain a physical barrier between the Morgans, despite her own distaste for the man. Frank Rosenblatt packed his papers into his briefcase without saying anything further to his client, ignoring Greg’s penetrating stare at the other table. Those eyes, so full of passion—be it obsession or hatred—had the power to frighten Suzanne. She didn’t want Maddie to have to deal with them.

“Call me Tuesday,” Frank murmured to his client, then after a nod to Suzanne, he left the courtroom. As soon as he’d cleared the door, Greg walked right up to Suzanne, perhaps a foot from her. Well within arms’ reach. It was all she could do not to shove him away.

“Don’t think you’ve won here, counselor. Our dance has scarcely begun. I’m going to take that bitch down. But that’s not all. You chose the wrong side in this case. I’ll destroy you, and yours. All of you.”

Even before she faced him, Suzanne could feel his presence, a red-hot ball of anger. Since she didn’t have Maddie’s expensive wardrobe to act as a shield, she’d have to wing it. She turned slowly and looked Greg Morgan in the eye.

“I’ve heard that speech before…where was it? Oh, yeah.
The Wizard of Oz
. ‘You and your little dog, too.’ As I recall, that character didn’t survive till the happy ending.”

His hand, closed into a fist, came open as she finished speaking, and for a moment she thought he was going to hit her right there in court. She didn’t flinch, though, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing he could get to her. She glanced inside the bar for the broad-shouldered bailiff, but he was occupied, flirting with the court clerk. By the time she looked back at Morgan, he’d stepped back from her with a wide smile.

“Someone’s not going to get out alive here. That much is true.”

He started to whistle then, and turned away, walking out of the courtroom as if he had no care in the world. Frozen, she watched till the door closed behind him. A little whimper behind her caught her attention, along with the shout of someone in the gallery. Maddie had fainted.

The bailiff abandoned his post at the clerk’s desk and hurried over, faster than she’d expected for a man of his bulk. “Clear the courtroom. Now!” he bellowed. A couple of sheriff’s deputies who’d attended the protection hearings came forward to move the onlookers away from the fallen woman. Suzanne helped the bailiff lay Maddie on the bench behind the table as the room fell silent. The bailiff left to summon help, and Suzanne pulled a chair over to sit next to her client. The clock over the door ticked several minutes by until Maddie opened her eyes, seeming a little surprised to find herself looking up at the ceiling.

“What—did he hit you? Did he hit me?” Mystified, Maddie’s hand went to her cheek as if checking for bruises. She pushed to a sitting position and glanced around, clearly expecting to see her husband nearby, but the wooden benches outside the bar were empty.

“No. He’s gone. Everyone’s fine. I think. Are you all right? The bailiff went to find a paramedic.”

“Oh! No, I’m fine, please don’t…” Flustered, Maddie got to her feet, too fast, apparently, because she fell back to the seat, her knees not holding her upright. “I don’t need anyone checking me.”

“Maddie, please calm down. I think maybe you should get looked at. Have you been to the doctor lately? You’ve lost weight, and you’re shaking like a leaf.”

“They’re just going to want to put me on pills. I don’t want to be on pills. Greg gave me pills all the time, and they made me…they made me so crazy.” She grabbed Suzanne’s arm. “No pills. Promise me, Suzanne, no pills.” Her eyes, dark and liquid with fear, beseeched Suzanne to listen.

“All right, honey. No pills.” She glanced up as the courtroom door opened and the bailiff came in, followed by two uniformed paramedics. “Just let them check you, all right? Then we’ll go down the hall and talk.”

Maddie reluctantly agreed. She tolerated the touch of the men as they took her blood pressure and listened to her heart, her gaze locked on some nameless point in her personal horizon. Her answers were monosyllabic. When they’d finished, one packed the equipment back into their case while the other asked if she wanted to go to the hospital. She declined.

“No more we can do here,” he said to the bailiff.

“Miz Taylor, judge wants his courtroom back,” the bailiff said. “Plenty of people waiting for the second half of the docket.”

She nodded. “Of course. Thank you all for your kind attention.” The paramedics stood up. “Maddie, can you make it down the hall to the conference room?”

Maddie tensed when she looked at the door. “Greg will be out there, won’t he?”

“I don’t think so. It’s been nearly forty-five minutes.”

“Why don’t I let you out the back hall, Miz Taylor? There’s a direct hall to the conference room from there.” The bailiff smiled with the warmth and sweetness of a Sistine cherub.

Suzanne glanced at his nametag. Since he’d moved to a more personal level, she should, too. “Thank you, Mr. Ramirez.”

“
De nada.
” The bailiff dismissed the paramedics, then offered Maddie Morgan his arm, half supporting her as they walked out the door that was usually reserved for jurors He led them down the back hall to the conference room. He made sure Maddie was seated and had a fresh pitcher of cold water within reach before he went back to his duties. Suzanne heaved a sigh of relief as she took a seat at the solid walnut table.

“We can stay here as long as we need to, so don’t worry,” she said.

Maddie nodded silently, her bitten-down nails scratching at the wax on the outside of her paper cup.

Suzanne looked over the new order, wondering whether Morgan hadn’t already violated it with his comment about how someone “wouldn’t get out alive.” Frank Rosenblatt would probably be able to convince the court that Greg hadn’t meant Maddie, so he didn’t violate the order. He could threaten Suzanne without crossing that line. Was it enough for Suzanne to press charges on her own? Probably not. The vague reference could be just someone spouting off under pressure. Just like the email and the pictures.

How would I explain to someone that look in his eyes, that hatred, that heat, that burning malevolence? It was something that had to be experienced.

The recollection made her shudder.

“He does that to people,” Maddie said in a voice like the breath of death.

Embarrassed that her thoughts were so easily read, Suzanne bit her lip and raised her shoulders in a small shrug. “I shouldn’t let him get to me. That’s what he wants.”

Maddie agreed with a nod. “But you know what? Now I can picture him pedaling away on a rickety old bicycle with a basket on the back, just like an old witch.” She actually smiled. “I think that vision’s going to help.”

Suzanne laughed, half-embarrassed. “It was the first thing that came to me. I probably shouldn’t have said it. But I’m glad it helps.” She poured herself some water. “So, how’s your new place?”

“You were right about the gated community. The men at the entry have a copy of the protection order, and they know not to let Greg in, even if he’s dropping off the children.” She sighed. “He just doesn’t give up, though. He sent me flowers at work. Roses. Lilies. Huge baskets of flowers.”

“That’s in violation of the order.”

“I know. He sent them to the nursery school where I’m working as a teacher’s aide. The other teachers find it charming—they tell me they wish their husbands were so thoughtful!”

“You should have told me. I could have reported him.” Suzanne growled, frustrated. The gesture wasn’t charming at all, but another sign of control, announcing to his wife, “I know where you are and what you’re doing.” Seemed to be a common theme with this man.

“And what would the judge have said? ‘You want me to punish the guy because he loves his wife enough to send flowers? That’s not a crime.’”

“But it is!” Suzanne’s face flushed with a rush of angry blood. She couldn’t protect a client who wouldn’t act to protect herself. “He could go to jail.”

“I don’t want him to go to jail, Suzanne. My son’s already rebelling. He wants to be with his dad. My daughter’s temperamental, too. They don’t like the changes.” As Suzanne started to interrupt, Maddie raised a hand to cut her off. “I know, I know. You said it would happen. Look, I just want Greg to leave me alone. That’s all I want. The less trouble I cause him, the less likely he’ll persist.”

Maddie’s expression was earnest. Suzanne knew she wouldn’t change her mind. She’d have to find out for herself. A man as determined as Greg Morgan had no intention of giving up so easily. Suzanne knew. Maddie would learn.

Maddie took a deep breath and stood up. “So you’ll go ahead with the divorce?”

“Of course. We can start discovery, find his assets. Now that we’ve got the permanent order, he’ll hopefully be less likely to act out.” Suzanne gathered her belongings. “Do you need a ride home?”

“I’ve got a car. I borrowed it from a friend, so Greg can’t take it from me.” Maddie’s smile faintly lit her face. “I’ll be fine, Suzanne. I’ll just hold onto that mental picture of the witch on the bicycle. With the music in the background.” She hesitated for a moment, cocked her head, then laughed. “Oh, yes, definitely with the music.” Maddie came around the end of the table to embrace Suzanne. “Thank you for everything you do.”

“You’re welcome.” Suzanne held back most of what she wanted to say. She couldn’t live Maddie’s life for her. “Call me next week, all right?”

“I sure will.” Maddie left the room. Suzanne stood in the silent vacuum created by her departure, wondering about Greg Morgan. Should she take steps to protect herself?

She could call the police.

She could call Nick.

She took out her cell, held it in her palm for a moment as she considered it, then slipped it back into her pocket.
Hell, no.

Suzanne had no intention of letting that man tell her how to run her life today or any day.

This one, she could handle on her own. Greg Morgan was just a sad little king who believed he was in charge of something. He’d find out he was wrong.

Chapter Sixteen