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Sunny had no qualms about confronting the girl; she did that every day in her job. When she faced a jury, no one ever saw her blink—not even Wallace Day. And if she didn’t approach the girl, she might never see her watch again. On the other hand... Oh, no.
Sunny stopped in her tracks. No wonder the girl had looked so familiar. She was Bronwyn and Chris’s niece. She’d been a junior bridesmaid at their wedding, her father the best man. She was Griffin Lattimer’s daughter.
Did he or Bronwyn know she was a thief?
* * *
LATER THAT AFTERNOON, Sunny parked her father’s Bronco in a visitor’s space at the Palm Breeze Court Apartments. Bronwyn, incredulous about her niece, had warned her this wouldn’t be easy.
“Let me handle it,” she’d said. “Griffin can be prickly about his kids. There’s no telling how he’ll take your accusation.”
“It’s not an accusation. It’s a fact, Bron,” she’d replied.
Taking a deep breath, Sunny studied the complex. The low, stucco-sided buildings were arranged in horseshoe-shaped courts around broad streets lined with palm trees. The style, common to the area, didn’t appeal to her. From the high-rise apartment she’d shared with Nate, she could see the East River but not her neighbors. Here, the wide windows of each unit virtually invited passersby to look inside.
The front entrance to number 17A was painted colonial blue with gleaming nickel hardware and a matching knocker below the security peephole. The flowerpots on the porch held drooping annuals, and another planter held wilted white geraniums.
Sunny knocked. Twice.
From within she heard the music of a string quartet. She didn’t recognize the composer, but her taste ran more to classic rock. Sunny liked her music to make some noise.
“The kids are at the clubhouse,” a male voice called out.
The voice, which Sunny remembered from the wedding, belonged to Griffin Lattimer. She felt a twinge of regret for bringing him bad news and knocked again.
Finally, he swung the door open, blinking at the rush of sunlight.
Sunny blinked, too. She’d remembered that Griffin was an attractive man. He’d looked great in a tuxedo two years ago. Now he wore jeans with a black T-shirt, and his dark hair was longer. The style wasn’t intentional, Sunny guessed; it seemed as if Griffin needed a cut but didn’t have time to bother. He didn’t appear to have time for her, either.
Upon finding that his visitor was an adult, he tensed. His gaze slid over her before the flare of interest—if that’s what it was—quickly disappeared.
She held out a tentative hand. “Griffin, hi. Sunny Donovan.”
His eyes—with their clear hazel irises rimmed by a deep brown—looked exactly as she remembered, but they seemed even more remote. He didn’t shake her hand, and she wondered if she could manage this confrontation after all.
She forced a smile. “We met at Bronwyn’s wedding to my brother, Chris.”
“Hi,” he said at last but didn’t move from the doorway.
He’d seemed preoccupied at the wedding. He hadn’t said five unnecessary words to her, and he wasn’t any more sociable now.
Like Nate toward the end of their marriage. She was surprised he kept calling her, though she still wasn’t tempted to answer.
“May I come in?” She glanced behind her at the street. “I have something to tell you, but I’d rather say it in private. It’s about your daughter.”
Griffin looked toward the center of the complex, and Sunny could have bitten her tongue. She saw fear in his eyes and hastened to reassure him.
“Amanda is perfectly fine. But something happened today at school. I thought you should know.” She didn’t see how else to say it. “Amanda stole my watch.”
Griffin stared at her for a long moment before he stepped back, motioning her inside. Feeling more uncomfortable with every second, she eased past him. In the small foyer, Sunny explained that morning’s incident. “The watch was unusual, not expensive but different. Handmade.” She described the beaded band. “When I finished my talk it was gone.”
“Why would Mandi want a cheap watch?” His gaze skimmed her again in obvious disapproval. “I’d expect you to wear a gold Rolex.”
Sunny flushed but refused to be derailed.
“During my talk Amanda glared at me the entire time. She later asked a question clearly meant to embarrass me.” Sunny paused. “I didn’t expect her to remember me from the wedding, and I didn’t recognize her at first.”
A muscle twitched in his jaw. At least she was getting some reaction now.
“You’ve got the wrong girl.”
“No,” she said, “I don’t. Your daughter was seen wearing the watch.”
“By whom?”
“Me.”
He half smiled. “That’s pretty circumstantial, isn’t it, Counselor?”
Sunny stiffened. The one word seemed to draw a line between them. All she’d been trying to do was help. But if he wanted to see her as an opponent—a prosecutor interrogating him on the witness stand—rather than as a woman who simply wanted to keep his family from more heartbreak...then, okay. Fine. The gloves came off.
“No,” she said. “It’s eyewitness.”
“Your word against hers.”
His attitude made her see red. “Griffin, I could have taken this to the principal—for starters. But because you and I have met before and Amanda is my brother’s niece, I decided to keep this in the family. I suggest we ask Amanda to explain.”
“And I suggest you leave.”
Sunny looked toward the clubhouse area. All right. Change of tactics.
“Not before I speak to Amanda.”
He moved, faster than she’d thought possible, and tried to catch her arm, but Sunny evaded the contact.
Griffin’s voice was cool but harsh. “Why don’t you go back to ambulance chasing or whatever it is you people do, and leave us alone?”
Another wave of adrenaline surged through her. First, the Rolex comment and now, you people. She tilted her chin up to hold his gaze.
“Listen, Mr. Lattimer—if that’s the way you want it. I’m well aware you’ve lost your wife and you have more than a full-time job raising two children on your own. That does not give Amanda an excuse to steal anyone’s property.”
“My daughter is not a thief.”
“I’ve worked with lots of teenagers and young adults in court, and I know all the signs of trouble to watch for. Swift mood changes, uncharacteristic behavior, furtiveness, unwholesome friendships, depression...any of that sound familiar?”
His darkened gaze faltered. “Mandi is not unhappy.”
“Maybe you aren’t looking closely enough.”
“Maybe you’re butting in where you don’t belong. I asked you to leave.” He took another step toward her. “Now I’m not asking.” Before Sunny could react, he had grasped her upper arm. A light touch but still...
She tried not to panic. His fingers felt hot through the layers of her suit jacket and blouse sleeve, as if he were touching bare skin. She jerked free.
Still bent upon getting her out of the apartment, he opened the door. “I’ll talk to Mandi about the watch, but I can tell you right now, she had nothing to do with it.”
“It was on her wrist!”
“Yeah, well. Maybe one of her friends let her wear it.” He added, “Chris said you weren’t yourself right now. Let’s leave it at that.”
“Let’s not,” Sunny began but didn’t finish.
She had stepped outside, and the door shut behind her. Her arm pulsed from the lingering heat of his fingers.
Bronwyn had warned her. Where his children were concerned, Griffin Lattimer had a definite blind spot.
Whether or not she got her watch back, Sunny didn’t intend to see him again.
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_9ce0f168-fc66-547a-808d-439a288ad946)
GRIFFIN WAS STILL seething when he locked up that night. Where did Sunshine Donovan get off, telling him how to deal with his children? He cast a glance at Amanda’s room.
It was after eleven o’clock, and her light still glowed through the gap in the half-closed door. Then he heard her voice.
For a second Griffin hesitated. He picked his battles these days, but with an inner sigh he rapped a knuckle against her door. “Amanda?” When she didn’t answer, he knocked again.
“Go away,” she said.
That sulky tone of voice drove him nuts. It was almost as if she hated him.
“I need to talk to you,” he said.
“I don’t want to talk.”
Griffin pushed the door open. “Too bad,” he said, his mind made up.
Amanda was sitting on her bed, outside the covers. She wore blue pajamas, a bunch of pink-and-lime and green-and-purple pillows piled around her. Her favorite stuffed giraffe lay cuddled under her arm, and her cell phone was in her other hand.
“Hang up,” Griffin said.
Amanda’s expression was one of utter disgust, but with a put-upon sigh she obeyed. “See you tomorrow. He’s here,” she told someone at the other end of the line.
He waited for a long moment, trying to choose his words with care.
“I thought we had agreed. No phone calls after nine o’clock.”
“I couldn’t sleep. Neither could Dixie.”
Griffin almost groaned aloud. Ever since he and his kids had moved to Jacksonville, Amanda had acquired a strange new set of friends. Or, rather, one friend specifically. And she set his teeth on edge.
“Did you finish your homework?”
He didn’t have to ask. Her notebook lay on the desk across the room, unopened. On top, a stack of assignment forms appeared to be blank.
“I’ll do it later.”
“It’s almost midnight, Mandi. You need sleep.”
She huffed out another aggrieved sigh. “So, what am I supposed to hand in tomorrow? I thought my grades were important to you.”
Her tone reminded him about her low average last spring but again Griffin took time to respond, his worst instincts going off like fireworks inside. For the first time he wondered if Sunny Donovan had been telling the truth. Frankly, as soon as she’d accused his daughter, he’d been too angry to think.
Not a welcome reaction on his part, but he’d thought about Sunny all evening while the Patriots kicked Miami around the football field. That was just what he needed. A woman who thought his daughter was a thief. A woman whose coloring reminded him of Rachel, someone driven—like himself in his TV anchor days.
“Your grades should be important to you,” he told Mandi. “You’ll be in high school next year. Four years after that there’ll be college.” How was that even possible? Where had the time gone? “Yes, grades matter. And in this house—”
“It’s not a house. It’s an apartment. We don’t have a home anymore.” She had that disdainful look on her face that made Griffin want to throw something. Not that he would.
But getting into a fight about semantics didn’t seem wise.
“Look,” he said, “let me remind you. I’m the adult here. You’re the kid.” He started toward the nearest switch plate. “Lights out. Now.”
Halfway across the room Griffin stopped cold. Mandi’s whitewashed dresser—something she called shabby chic—was next to the switch. And on the dresser lay a watch.
His stomach sank in a dizzying rush.
The watch matched the description Sunny Donovan had given. Perfectly. There could be no mistake. He picked it up, ran his fingers over the colorful glass beads.
“Where did you get this?”
She sounded bored. “What?”
“This watch. It’s not yours.”
“It is now.”
“Meaning?”
“Um, Dixie gave it to me.” She was clearly buying time, making up some story as she went along. “She didn’t want it anymore.”
Maybe a friend let her wear it. He’d said so himself. With everything in him, Griffin wanted to believe her. Only he didn’t.
How many times had he heard that same tone of voice whenever Amanda was shading the truth? Right now she was plucking at some imaginary lint on her flower-patterned sheet, and her cheeks had turned an intimidating red. Her fingers trembled. She glanced at the photo album she kept on her nightstand. Next to it stood a framed picture of Rachel.
“Don’t lie to me, Amanda.”
She didn’t respond, and Griffin had no choice but to tell her about Sunny’s earlier visit. His daughter listened in stony silence.
“Why do you always think I’m guilty?” she asked when he’d finished. “It’s like you want to find something wrong.” Tears quivered in her voice. “You still like Josh, but you don’t like me.”
