by Keeland, Vi
“How you doing? Do you have a kid named Storm here? I’m not sure if it’s his last name or first.”
“Who’s asking?”
“I’m his legal counsel.”
The old timer looked me up and down. “I’m guessing this is pro bono for some fancy firm.”
“Good guess. I take it he’s here?”
The cop picked up the phone and punched in a few numbers. “I got a pretty boy out here for Storm. Looks more expensive per hour than my ex-wife’s asshole divorce attorney I had to shell out for, so…no rush.”
The police weren’t exactly fans of defense attorneys. I shook my head. “You should try a more original hobby. Being miserable to all lawyers is pretty cliché. But regardless, I shouldn’t have to remind you that all questioning stops now. And I assume you’ve made the requisite good-faith attempt to contact the kid’s parent or guardian before asking him anything.”
“Are you sure you’re not related to the kid? You have the same winning disposition.” He motioned toward the other side of the room and went back to staring at his computer. “Make yourself comfortable on the nice wooden bench. I’ll call you whenever we get around to it.”
I sighed, but I knew arguing at a police station was generally pointless. So I did as told and parked my ass on the bench. A half hour later, I was engrossed in answering emails when I heard the station door open and close. I didn’t bother to look up until I heard the sergeant say Augustus Storm. He was talking on the phone again, while a woman stood in front of him at the desk.
Augustus, huh? I smirked. No wonder the kid stuck with Storm. It was hard enough to gain respect in this neighborhood without being saddled with a name like Augustus. I straightened my tie and stood, intending to walk over to the woman I assumed was the kid’s social worker. But one look at her profile and my step faltered.
I froze.
The side of her face looked awfully familiar…
As I stared, she again spoke to the desk sergeant, so I leaned in and paid close attention.
That voice.
I knew that sweet, feathery sound—the kind that could tell a person to fuck off without them even knowing it.
But it wasn’t until the sergeant pointed in my direction, and the woman turned, that I realized this woman had told me to fuck off—not in so many words but with her actions. Our eyes met and I smiled, though the sentiment wasn’t reciprocated. Instead, the woman’s eyes widened as I approached.
“Hello, Autumn.”
CHAPTER 3
* * *
Autumn
Oh crap.
The desk sergeant, completely oblivious to our reactions, waved his hand in Donovan’s direction. “Kid’s lawyer is over there.”
“Umm…yeah. Thank you.”
I took a few hesitant steps. Lord, he was even better looking than I remembered. Wow. Just…wow.
His eyes were a unique blue-gray color to begin with, but the sparkle currently emanating from them made it nearly impossible to look away.
I cleared my throat. “Hello.”
He held out his hand. “From the look on your face, I assume you didn’t expect to see me either.”
I shook my head. “Definitely not.”
His hand was still outstretched, and he pointed his eyes down. “It’s clean, I swear. Washed them in the men’s room a little while ago.”
I felt foolish avoiding contact, so I put my hand in his. Just like the first time, it hit with a spark. My pulse raced, and goose bumps dashed up my arm, over my shoulder, and straight to the back of my neck, making all the little hairs stand up. Except now it was even worse than the first time, because I knew what it felt like to have those hands all over my body—best sexual chemistry of my life, by a landslide, and we’d never even had actual sex.
It was almost midnight, and Donovan looked like he hadn’t yet changed from a long day of work, which meant he probably hadn’t sprayed on cologne since this morning, yet he still smelled sinfully good. He held my hand in his for longer than an acceptable business handshake, and his eyes stayed fixed on my face. The air around us seemed to crackle with that same electricity as the first time we met, and I had to look away to cool off. But diverting my eyes to our joined hands only made me notice the monogrammed initials on his black dress shirt and the expensive-looking watch wrapped around one very masculine wrist. This was most definitely a no-win situation.
I withdrew my hand and tucked it safely into my pocket. “You’re here for Storm?”
He nodded. “I am indeed.”
“So that means you work for Kravitz, Polk and Hastings?”
“Correct again.”
I mumbled under my breath, at least I’d meant to keep it under my breath. “I had no idea.”
He tilted his head. “How could you? It’s not like you left me a number so we could get to know each other better.”
I normally wasn’t a person who blushed, but I felt heat travel up my face. I looked away, needing to disentangle from the web I felt caught in. “Umm…did you get to speak to Storm yet?”
“No. They wouldn’t even tell me what he was brought in for.”
I sighed. “Fighting. Again.”
“I take it this isn’t his first rodeo?”
I shook my head. “Definitely not. He’s gotten into quite a few fights, and then one time he was picked up for shoplifting.”
Something shifted in the man standing before me. He still had the light in his eyes, it just didn’t feel focused on me in the same way anymore. Donovan put his hands on his hips as he slipped into lawyer mode. “How old is he?”
“He’s twelve, or he will be in less than a week.”
“That’s good. Thirteen is a magic number here in the City. So I’m glad he’s not there yet.”
I nodded. “But the judge threatened to move him last time. He lives at Park House, which is one of the better youth group homes. The judge said if he saw him back in front of him again, he would move him to a juvenile detention center. That can’t happen. It’ll only make things worse for him.”
The door leading to the area where all the cops sat in the back opened. “Storm!” someone yelled.
Donovan put his hand out for me to walk ahead of him.
At the door, the policeman lifted a clipboard. “Name?”
“I’m Autumn Wilde, Storm’s social worker.”
Donovan spoke from behind me. “Donovan Decker, legal counsel.”
We were led through the bullpen and down a long hallway. The officer opened the last door on the right. Inside, we found Storm handcuffed to a bench against the wall.
“Are the cuffs really necessary? My client is not even twelve,” Donovan said.
The officer shrugged. “Broke the nose of an adult. He’s considered dangerous.”
“I’ll take the risk. Uncuff him.”
The officer shook his head, but did as Donovan asked. Storm rubbed his wrists as soon as the cuffs were off.
“Thanks, pig,” Storm spat.
Donovan brushed past me and stood in front of his client, looking down. He pointed to the officer and spoke with a stern and steady tone. “Augustus, apologize to the nice officer.”
“But he…”
“Now.”
Storm rolled his eyes. “Fine. Whatever. I’m sorry you’re a pig.”
“Not like that, Augustus,” Donovan warned.
“Fine. Sorry.”
The officer looked at us on his way out. “Good luck with that.”
The minute the door shut, Storm stood and started to say it wasn’t his fault. Donovan simply raised his hand and shot him a warning look. Shockingly, Storm closed his mouth.
“Sit down and answer only the questions Autumn and I ask.”
Storm sulked, but he also shut up and took a seat at the table. Donovan pulled out a chair and nodded for me to sit in it.
“Thank you.”
I spoke to Storm as Donovan dug into his bag and unpacked his lawyerly stuff. “You know what the jud
ge said last time, Storm.”
“It wasn’t my fault. The dude started it.”
Donovan clicked his pen and readied a yellow legal pad. “Let’s start there. Does the dude have a name?”
“Sugar.”
“How about an actual name?”
Storm shrugged. “I don’t know. Everyone around the neighborhood calls him Sugar.”
“Fine. Tell me what precipitated you and Sugar getting into it.”
Over the next twenty minutes, Storm wove some elaborate tale that started with his bike being stolen and ended with him getting into a fight with an eighteen year old. I’d known him for three years now, so I knew better than to take him at his word when he was scared. And he was scared being at the police station, whether he would ever admit it or let me see a glimpse of that vulnerability or not.
Donovan made some calls, asking I have no idea who at midnight about a guy named Sugar, and then he left the room to speak to the police.
When he came back, he said, “I have good news and bad news. The good news is that I got them to keep you here for the night rather than ship you over to central booking. Since you’re a minor, you’ll stay in a holding cell by yourself. Then in the morning, they’ll bring you over to the courthouse for arraignment. But the bad news is they’re charging you with felony assault. You cracked the guy’s nose and deviated his septum. He’s going to need surgery.”
I shook my head. “Shoot. Alright, well, I guess we have no choice but to take it one day at a time.” I looked over at Storm. “I’m glad you’ll get to stay here tonight at least.”
A little while later, Donovan and I said goodnight to Storm. I hated to leave him alone, but this wasn’t our first time doing this, and it wasn’t like I had a choice. We promised to meet him at the courthouse and told him to try to get some sleep.
Outside on the precinct steps, I blew out a deep breath. “Thank you for coming. I don’t know what to do with him anymore.”
“Does he have any family?”
“His mother is an addict. When they found him, he was living in an abandoned building by himself. He’d been living in a car with her and her newest boyfriend until the boyfriend gave the mother an ultimatum—the kid went or he did. Storm left the next day because the car had heat, and he didn’t want his mother to be outside in the cold. He doesn’t know of any other family, and the mom says it’s just them.”
Donovan raked a hand through his hair. “That’s tough.”
“He’s a smart kid, too. Doesn’t do any homework or put in any effort and still gets good grades on all his tests. He also speaks Spanish and Russian pretty fluently, and he knows some Polish, too.”
“Three languages? Is his mother bilingual?”
“Nope. Mom is German, I think. But she doesn’t speak anything other than English. When I asked her about it, she said they bounced around Brooklyn a lot. When they lived in Brighton Beach, he went to school with a lot of Russian kids, and he just picked it up. Polish he learned when they lived near Greenpoint. Spanish he’s absorbed from various friends over the years.”
“Smart kid. His brain sounds like a sponge.”
“It is. Yet I can’t seem to get through to him.”
“Kids on their own don’t easily accept help or listen to people. But I guess I don’t need to tell you that.”
I nodded “I just hope he doesn’t get sent to a juvey detention center. Some of them are as tough on kids as a prison.”
Donovan nodded. “I know. I’ll do my best.”
I suddenly realized how quiet it was outside the police station. It was just the two of us, and that gave me the urge to flee as fast as possible. “Is there anything you need from me for the arraignment?”
“No, it’s just a formality.”
“Oh. Okay. Well, thanks again. I’ll see you in the morning, then.” I waved awkwardly and started to walk away.
But Donovan caught my hand.
“Not so fast…”
Shit.
I chanced a look up at him, and he silently raised his brows as if he was expecting me to speak.
“What?” I said.
“Are we just going to pretend that weekend never happened?”
I bit my bottom lip, praying it was a rhetorical question. When the silence stretched, I managed, “That would be great. Thanks.”
Donovan smiled. “Nice try, but not a chance.”
I sighed.
“I went back to that Starbucks every day for two weeks, hoping to run into you.” He paused and searched my eyes. “Since you snuck out of my place and didn’t leave me any way to contact you, I didn’t even know your last name until you said it to the police officer inside. Wilde…” He smiled. “It suits you.”
My heart squeezed a little. Almost a year had passed, and yet I still thought of him every time I passed any Starbucks. Only unlike him, I’d avoided going in the one we’d met at after our weekend together.
“Sorry…I, uh…”
His brows drew together. “Are you married?”
“God, no.”
“Did you…not have a good time? Because I thought you did.” He flashed a dimpled, crooked smile, which made my knees a little weak. “I thought you had multiple good times.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Yes, I did have a good time.”
“So then why the brush-off?”
“I just… I was looking for what we had. Not more.”
He seemed to digest that for a minute before nodding. “You could’ve just said that. I’m a big boy. I would’ve liked to have said goodbye. Maybe even made you some breakfast—given you some coffee, at least.”
I felt embarrassed and was glad it was so dark out. “Sorry. I, I’m not good at those things.”
Donovan rubbed his bottom lip with his thumb. That was one of the things I’d felt drawn to when we first met. He took his time and picked his words, rather than doing what most people do—spewing whatever thoughts immediately came to mind. Well, that and his broad shoulders, mesmerizing eyes, and bone structure that should’ve made him a candidate to be a fifth head carved on Mt. Rushmore. Screw presidents. That I’d go see.
“You’re sorry? So that means you feel badly about the way things left off?”
My face wrinkled. “Yes. That’s why I apologized.”
“Well, since you feel badly, I should let you make it up to me. So that we’re even.”
I chuckled. “And how exactly would I do that?”
“Have the coffee you skipped out on with me…now.” He nodded across the street. “There’s a twenty-four-hour diner a block over.”
It was tempting, but I knew it was a bad idea. I offered a conciliatory smile. “It’s pretty late. I should get home.”
Donovan forced a smile, though I could see he was disappointed. Honestly, I was, too. He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”
I nodded. “Goodnight, Donovan.”
I thought that was the end of it, and we both started to walk away, but after a few steps, he yelled. “Hey, Red!”
I stopped and turned around. Even though I had auburn hair, he was the only person who’d ever called me that.
“Court will only take about an hour. So it won’t be too late for coffee afterward.”
I laughed. “Goodnight, Mr. Decker.”
“Oh, it has been a good night.” He smiled. “And I’m looking forward to tomorrow.”
CHAPTER 4
* * *
Donovan
“You don’t speak unless the judge asks you a question and I give you the okay to answer. Understood?”
“Whatever.”
Spending the night locked up in a jail cell hadn’t done much for my client’s sunny disposition. While attitude from a client would normally have me up in arms, it was an effort to act pissed off with this kid. He reminded me so much of myself at that age that I found it amusing.
I cleared my throat. “Not whatever. Tell me you understood what I said and you wi
ll follow my rules.”
Storm rolled his eyes. “Fine. Speak when spoken to. I get it, alright?”
“That’s better.”
I pushed up my shirtsleeve to check the time on my watch. We still had a few minutes before the guard would call him for the obligatory lineup and march of criminals upstairs to the courtroom. Only attorneys were allowed downstairs to visit clients before arraignment, so this was the first time I’d been alone with him. I figured I might as well make good use of the opportunity.
“Your social worker—how long have you been working with her?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. A couple of years, I guess.”
“Everything good with her?”
Another shrug. “Her ass looks good.”
I pointed a finger at him. “Hey, don’t be disrespectful, you little shit.”
“What, you don’t like her ass? It’s nice and round.”
“First of all, she’s a lady, so you don’t talk like that. Second of all, I’m guessing she’s probably the only good thing you have in your life most of the time, so don’t bite the hand that feeds you. And lastly, you’re twelve.” I left off fourth of all, it isn’t nice and round; it’s more like an upside-down heart.
“Whatever. She’s cool. She can drive a truck.”
My brows furrowed. “Autumn can drive a truck? You mean like a pickup truck?”
Storm shook his head. “Nope. A big eighteen-wheeler.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because once we were at one of those dumb retreats Park House makes us go to upstate. A guy parked his rig blocking the entrance to the place. Him and another guy were talking. She got out of our car and asked him to move it, and he told her he was busy and he’d get to it. That pissed her off. So she asked him if the keys were in it. The guy laughed and told her to help herself if she thought she could drive a truck with eighteen speeds. She told us to stay in the car, and then she drove the truck a block away and parked it and came back.”
I don’t know what type of information I’d been fishing for, but it hadn’t been that. Though I’d take it. “What else do you know about Ms. Wilde?”
