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She waited politely. “No?” she said after a moment. “Since you’re so interested, you might want to do so.”
“I intend to.”
“Good. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have customers.”
He didn’t know whether it was more insulting to think that she was lying about the existence of those customers, or that she wasn’t.
Either way—she was gone. “Bullheaded woman,” he muttered, hanging up the phone.
Duncan didn’t like being bested by a pretty, feminine little thing who made her living selling, of all damn things, tutus.
Maybe not little, he conceded. She had the look of a dancer. Slender, small-breasted, graceful and long-legged, with the swanlike neck and unusually erect carriage he’d expect of one. In appearance, she was just plain feminine, with that mass of glossy hair the color of hand-rubbed maple wood, a sweet face and eyes of the darkest blue he’d ever seen.
All that, and the personality of a police dog on the job. Outwardly well behaved, sharp-eyed and ready, at the slightest excuse, to go for the throat.
He’d have expected as much if she’d been a defense attorney. But the proprietor of a dance shop?
Duncan might have been amused if he hadn’t been so pissed. She’d made up her mind, all right. He suspected she had from the beginning, whatever she said to the contrary. She had every intention of handing Tito back to his father, whose main virtue seemed to be a lack of any history of domestic violence calls. Never mind that he’d stabbed a man to death in the parking lot of a tavern at two in the morning.
From the ache in his jaw, Duncan could tell he was grinding his teeth again. Swearing aloud served to relax his jaw. Maybe he’d recommend the technique to his dentist for other patients.
The rest of him hadn’t relaxed one iota. He continued to brood when he should have been working.
At first sight, he’d had the passing thought that he might like to take Ms. Jane Brooks to bed. No more. He didn’t care what color her eyes were, or how much he’d liked her long-fingered, graceful hands. He didn’t object to social workers on principle, but he did object to idiots who believed in blood ties at the cost of common sense. He didn’t have to feel a whole hell of a lot to enjoy taking a woman to bed, but he drew the line at one he held in contempt.
He swiveled in his chair and pulled out his computer keyboard. If Jane Brooks had kept him in the loop, he might have shared his intentions with her. As it was, she might be surprised by some opposition.
In his present mood, he hoped she was.
CHAPTER THREE
“THANK YOU FOR YOUR recommendations, Ms. Brooks.” The Honorable Judge Edward Lehman peered at Jane over the top of his reading glasses. The judge had already greeted Hector Ortez, Lupe and the Department of Social & Health Services caseworker present in the small courtroom along with the recorder and bailiff.
Hector had been released a few days before. The decision had been made to hold this hearing immediately, before he had a chance to reestablish his relationship with his daughter and son on his own. Jane had had to hustle to finish all her interviews so quickly and put together a report for Lehman, but she was satisfied with the result if less than thrilled with any of Tito’s options. She’d tried very hard not to consider Captain MacLachlan’s outrage when she interviewed Hector at the correctional institute, but his voice and scathing gray eyes had stuck with her whether she liked it or not.
Now the judge continued, “I’ve received an additional opinion that I hadn’t anticipated… Ah.” He looked past her. “Captain MacLachlan.”
With a sense of inevitability and rising aggravation, Jane turned her head to see Duncan MacLachlan entering chambers. Speak of the devil. Or was it think of the devil. The smallish space immediately shrank. He wore a crisp blue uniform today, as if he’d wanted to emphasize his position in the law enforcement community.
“Your Honor,” he said with a nod.
Jane supposed the two men knew each other. Well, so what. She knew Judge Lehman, too. He was her favorite of the several family court judges with whom she’d dealt. She shouldn’t leap to assume the two men were comembers of some kind of old boys’ network.
“Apparently no one is represented by an attorney today,” the judge observed, continuing after everyone shook their heads in agreement. “Ms. Salgado, do you speak English?”
“Sí. Yes, but not…” Lupe hesitated.
“Fluently? Perhaps we need a translator.”
“I’m happy to translate anything Señora Salgado doesn’t understand,” Jane offered.
He determined that Jane was acceptable to Lupe as an interpreter and they moved on. He questioned her first. Was she able to keep Tito in her home if necessary? How did she feel about her brother returning to the custody of their father?
She explained that Tito could stay with her if necessary, but that it was difficult, given that she had three young children of her own, that she worked nights, that he had to sleep on the sofa.
“Yes,” Jane translated faithfully, “I am happy if my brother can live with Papa again. I have tried to make sure they saw each other often enough so that they still know each other.”
She heard a sound from her right that she strongly suspected was a snort from Captain MacLachlan, pitched low enough to escape being heard by His Honor.
The judge transferred his gaze to Tito’s father, a short, sturdy man who she suspected might have Mayan blood. There was something about his face—the breadth of his cheekbones—perhaps, that made her think of statues she’d seen at a traveling exhibit of Mayan antiquities at the Seattle Art Museum.
Interestingly, Hector spoke better English than his daughter did. He’d been in this country longer, he explained; initially he had left his family behind in Mexico and come up here for work, then brought them when he could. He was an automobile mechanic. Lupe was his oldest child, and she’d found the language difficult and had left school when she was fifteen.
“I have already talked to the man I worked for, and he wants to hire me again,” Hector told the judge. “He liked my work.”
“So you do have employment.” Lehman made a note. “Where are you currently living?”
He was staying with a friend, sleeping on the floor. The apartment was small and cramped, he admitted; two men shared it, and another was currently living there, as well. He would get an apartment or small house once he’d received his first few paychecks, but no one would rent to him until then.
Jane all but quivered, waiting for another snort—which didn’t come. Apparently Captain MacLachlan had more self-control than to indulge himself a second time.
The judge talked to Hector at some length, and finally seemed satisfied. He flipped through papers in the file open before him and peered at one for a moment, then looked up.
“Ms. Brooks, appointed by this court as Guardian ad Litem to represent the interests of Tito, believes those interests may be best served by living with you, Mr. Ortez, once you’ve found steady employment—which it sounds as if you’ve done—and established a stable living environment, which may be weeks to months away. She feels it would be best for Tito to remain close to his sister, as he’s been living with her for so long now, and to stay if possible in the same school. Ms. Hesby, do you disagree?”
The caseworker shook her head. “I’m fully aware that Señora Salgado has done her best, but I, too, believe Tito would benefit from more attention from a parental figure than she has been able to provide.”
The judge addressed Hector. “Will you be living here in Stimson?”
“Yes,” Hector said firmly. “This was my home before. My job is at Stan’s Auto Repair on Tenth Street. Tito could walk there from school.”
“Very good.” He looked toward Duncan, which gave Jane an excuse to swivel slightly in her seat and do the same. “Mr. Ortez, are you aware that Captain MacLachlan has been mentoring your son?”
Jane thought there was some tension in Hector’s nod even though he was smart enough to keep his thoughts hidden.
“The captain has expressed concern about the possibility of Tito living with you. He feels your conviction for a violent crime makes you an unsuitable role model for a young boy.”
Streaks of red now slashed across Hector’s high cheekbones. “I was defending myself only. I didn’t mean to kill anyone. I don’t usually fight. I’m not that kind of man.”
Duncan said, “And yet you didn’t deny, even in your trial, that you had stabbed Joseph Briggs. That he’d made you, I quote, very mad.”
Hector’s brown eyes were hot now. “I served my time. I shouldn’t lose my family, too.”
“Can you keep your temper with a teenage boy who doesn’t think he has to listen to his father?”
Hands planted flat on the table, Hector half rose. “I have other children. Ask Lupe! I have never hit my children.”
“But you had a wife then.” Duncan’s tone was barely shy of badgering. “You earned the money and she raised the children. Isn’t that right, Señor Ortez? But now you find yourself a single…”
Judge Lehman cleared his throat loudly. “Captain, Mr. Ortez, you may recall that this is a courtroom, not a forum for open debate.”
Flushed, Hector sank into his chair. Duncan MacLachlan’s expression didn’t change. Jane could swear, even so, that he was basking in satisfaction because they had all—the judge in particular—seen the flare of rage on Hector’s face. The captain glanced at her, and there it was in his eyes, unmistakable. He thought he’d introduced enough doubt in the judge’s mind to swing the decision away from Hector.
“Captain, you’re aware, I’m sure, how difficult it can be to find appropriate foster care placement for a teenage boy. Particularly if we insist that he stay within this school district.” Judge Lehman’s voice was ever so slightly sardonic. “Have you considered becoming licensed so that you could offer a home to Tito?”
It was all Jane could do not to applaud—or to laugh out loud. Instead, she turned a pleasantly interested face to Duncan, whose eyes had narrowed.
“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” he said. “You’re aware, I’m sure, of how long and erratic my working hours can be.”
The judge nodded. “I assumed as much. Very well. At this point, I believe our goal should be to reunite Tito Ortez with his father.”
A broad grin broke on Hector’s face. Duncan stiffened.
“However, I’d like to see the transition take place slowly. For the present, Tito shall continue to live with his sister. Mr. Ortez, I’m granting you generous visitation rights. However…” He paused, leveling a look over the glasses that had slid down his nose. “For the present, all visitation will be supervised. Ms. Brooks, are you available to do that supervision?”
She’d done that once before, in a contentious custody case involving two preteen children. “Evenings and weekends,” she said, ignoring MacLachlan’s incredulous stare.
The judge did the same. “Good. Mr. Ortez, I’m going to rule that you can see Tito only when Ms. Brooks is present, or in your daughter Lupe’s home when she is present—if, for example, you were to join your family for dinner. However, I ask that you not spend the night in your daughter’s home.”
Jane murmured a translation to Lupe, who listened intently.
“Do you understand?”
Hector nodded somewhat unhappily. He was no longer smiling.
“Tito cannot live with you until you have a suitable home in any case. This will give you an opportunity to build a relationship with your son. Let’s reconvene in one month and at that point I’ll speak to Tito, as well. I’ll consider then whether you might be allowed unsupervised visitation or even whether Tito feels ready to live with you.” He lifted his gavel and brought it down on the table with a brisk whack. Without ceremony, he gave a friendly nod, stood and strode from the room.
The bailiff guarded the door through which the judge had disappeared. The recorder paid no attention to anyone remaining in the room. After a moment, Jane pushed back her chair and stood, followed shortly by the others. Lupe and Hector hurried out, speaking in low-voiced Spanish. The caseworker waited for Jane and they chatted as they followed. Jane was very conscious of Duncan MacLachlan behind them.
She excused herself, said goodbye to Jennifer Hesby and slipped into the ladies’ restroom, hoping she’d find herself alone when she emerged.
No such luck. Duncan was leaning against the wall waiting for her, his expression baleful.
He pushed away from the wall. “How can you kid yourself this is the right thing for Tito?”
“Children need their parents. Any social worker or psychologist will tell you that, for a child, maintaining a relationship with a parent is critical....”
“We’re not talking about a relationship.” He’d advanced far enough to be standing entirely too close to her. Aggressive. In her face. “This is a kid who has already demonstrated reckless behavior. You’re talking about leaving him to the sole guidance of a man just released from prison after serving a term for a violent crime. Take off the rose-tinted glasses, Ms. Brooks.”
She was damned if she’d retreat even a step. She met his angry stare with one as bland as she could make it. “I don’t believe that any man’s character is determined by a single act. I understand that you see enough of those single acts to…” She sought the right word. “To sour you. The fact remains, Hector Ortez has served his debt to society. He deserves a fair chance, and for Tito’s sake I’m going to help make sure he gets one.”
His eyes glittered with fury, surely out of proportion to their discussion. “For Tito’s sake? Fairness to Hector has nothing to do with his kid! Tito needs someone who sticks to the straight and narrow. Someone who doesn’t lash out every time he gets pissed. Someone who can set a good example and hold him accountable if he screws up.”
She thrust her chin out a little farther. “Hold him accountable? Like you did? You cut him a break instead. Isn’t that what you said?”
Plainly, he didn’t like that. His shoulders went rigid. “You think what I did was wrong.”
“Actually, no, I don’t. I think what you did shows heart. You didn’t judge Tito by one act. So why can’t you do the same for his father?”
“Tito did something stupid. Hector murdered a man in cold blood.”
“A man who was trying to kill him.”
“Who had threatened him,” he corrected. “You can’t tell me there weren’t alternatives. Would you have grabbed a knife and stabbed the guy if you’d been in that spot?”
Of course she wouldn’t have. “His judgment was affected by alcohol.”
His face was inches from hers now, his lips drawn back to show his teeth. “Hector hasn’t had a drink in three years because he couldn’t get one. You trying to tell me you have faith he won’t drink at home? That he’ll always be sober when he’s dealing with Tito? Have you ever seen what a kid looks like after his drunken father beats on him?”
She swallowed, then knew immediately he saw it as a sign of weakness. Of course she’d seen the aftereffects of parental abuse, but no, she didn’t see the children until later, when the outward bruises had healed. But did he really think she didn’t weigh risks? Damn it, she couldn’t let him bully her; she couldn’t.
“I don’t think anyone is perfect,” she said, and felt weariness. If only she could feel shining faith in someone. Anyone. “I do believe Tito’s father is his best hope.”
MacLachlan swore and finally—finally!—swung away from her. She held herself straight, resisting the temptation to sag with relief. He swung around as quickly to face her, but this time he was five or six feet away.
“Expect company, Ms. Brooks, when you supervise those visits. You want your solution to work. I don’t trust you to recognize that it isn’t. I’ll expect to be kept apprised of each and every appointment. Is that clear?”
Anger rolled over her, starting with a hot glow beneath her breastbone and spreading with stunning speed. “Certainly,” she said. “If Judge Lehman instructs me to include you, I’ll do so. Otherwise… If Tito doesn’t invite you, it isn’t happening. Is that clear?”
They glared at each other. After a moment, she gave a sharp nod, turned and walked out of the courthouse, refusing to hurry.
She was a little surprised, as she unlocked her car, to hear herself growl. A passing man, carrying a briefcase, gave her a startled glance. She was probably blushing as she got into her car and bent to rest her forehead on the steering wheel.
She couldn’t remember when anyone had made her as mad as he did.
The only gratification that she could find—and it was tiny, barely a seed of pleasure—was a suspicion that she made him as mad,and that the experience was no more common or welcome for him than it was for her.
THREE DAYS LATER, Duncan found himself stalking along in the wake of Hector and Tito Ortez and Jane Brooks. Jane was chattering to Hector as if they were best friends. Hector responded occasionally with a nod or comment. Tito, to his credit, was the only one who seemed aware of the weirdness of the situation. Slinking along, trailing his father by a step or two, he was halfheartedly kicking his soccer ball. His head was bent, his thin shoulders hunched. He had, earlier, given Duncan one desperate glance and nod.
He and his father were apparently going to play soccer in the field at the middle school. Duncan didn’t like anything about this father/son happening. He especially didn’t like the father. He was annoyed that Hector had chosen an activity that was one of the things Duncan usually did with Tito.
Most of all, he did not want to be physically aware of Jane Brooks. In the three days since the court hearing, Duncan had made up his mind that he wouldn’t be. She was attractive. So what? She irritated him. He didn’t like her. Dislike trumped a pair of great legs or breasts that would nestle like small birds in his hands. A throat so long and pure he could only imagine how it would taste to his open mouth. An elegant back and subtle curve of hip. A perfect ass…
He tore his gaze from just that and let loose a string of silent profanities. He didn’t make a habit of letting his dick do his thinking and he wasn’t going to start now. The fact that he was semiaroused because he was following her from the middle school parking lot and she walked like a dream was no excuse.
When they reached the sideline, Jane stopped, letting Tito and his dad go on toward the soccer goal and well-worn ground in front of it. Gaze fixed grimly on the duo, Duncan stopped a few feet from her.
Hector stole the ball from his son, raced ten yards and kicked it resoundingly into the goal. His teeth flashed white as he grinned at Tito, who was staring in astonishment. Hector gesticulated; Tito said something, maybe asked a question. Within minutes they were talking, then playing in earnest.
Without even looking at him, Jane said, “Lighten up.”
“What?”
“I can feel you. You’re a thundercloud.”
“I can think of things I’d rather be doing this morning.”
“Then do them,” she said tartly. “Please.”
