by Debbie Burke
At age thirteen, he knew immediately, from that moment on, Rochelle would direct his life until the day he died.
“That’s a long friendship.” Tawny’s words brought him back to the present.
“Yeah.” He smiled, again showing the dimple. “We dated through high school. Then, we went off to different universities and kind of drifted apart. You know how that goes. New people, new places.”
Embarrassment crossed Tawny’s face. “Actually, I lived my whole life in the same dinky town,” she said quietly. “I barely finished high school, got married right away, and had babies.”
Steve had already noticed her obvious lack of education. If any other employee in the firm wrote and spelled as badly as Tawny did, Rosenbaum would have fired her ass. That’s what first tipped Steve off to their relationship. Tillman never tolerated unprofessionalism, yet he constantly overlooked Tawny’s gaffes.
Then Steve had reviewed a client interview she’d prepared. Despite her sloppy-looking report, she had hit on the salient points of the case. She might be undereducated but she was smart.
He went on: “We stayed friends anyway. I practiced in Seattle for six years. When business here in Billings got more than Tillman and Kemp Withers could handle, I moved to Montana, joined up.”
“What’s going on with Kemp these days? I haven’t seen him.”
“Medical leave. Prostate cancer. It’s metastasized. He’s probably not coming back.”
A shadow fell over her demeanor. She twisted a gold wedding band. “That’s what my husband died of.”
Still mourning, in spite of her relationship with Rosenbaum. Another detail to file away. “Sorry for your loss.”
“Thanks.” Her shoulders squared as she shook off the memory. “Kemp being gone must make the work burden heavier for you and Tillman.”
“We keep up,” Steve answered.
Actually, Kemp’s absence had planted the seed for the takeover in Steve’s mind. Kemp was almost seventy, not pulling his weight anymore. Yet the practice grew each year. There was plenty of money to build a luxurious life with Rochelle once Rosenbaum was out of the way.
Rosenbaum made the headlines but Steve brought in the real income. His boyish demeanor contrasted with the seedy looks of his clients and he played that to the hilt. Jurors, especially older women, figured if that charming, handsome attorney represented the dirtbag, the client might not actually be the dirtbag he appeared to be.
And dirtbags paid in cash, making it easier to skim. A good deal of money from them never went into the partnership bank account.
Steve sipped Scotch and changed course. “The class action suit Tillman’s working on takes a lot of time, but one of these days, it should pay off.” A headline maker, yeah, but Rosenbaum wasted too much time crusading for his precious righteous causes. “You still interviewing new clients on that?”
Tawny nodded. “A few weeks ago, I talked to a nice couple in Malta. Their twenty-two-year-old son planted a little weed for him and his buddies. The feds confiscated their ranch, claiming they’d been trafficking marijuana on the land. Now the parents can’t sell their cattle or make a living. Pretty awful that the government can take people’s property without even a trial. They’re treated like they’re guilty until they prove themselves innocent and, by then, they’re broke. What kind of justice is that?”
Rosenbaum was a sucker for sob stories. He’d front the money for the case then maybe get it back in payments over the next ten years. The only reason he could go off tilting at windmills on his noble crusades was because of the steady revenue Steve’s clients brought in.
“Nothing Tillman likes better than a righteous cause,” he said.
A flicker of concern crossed Tawny’s luminous brown eyes. Steve must have allowed too much sarcasm to slip into his tone.
Then he remembered—her case had been one of those righteous causes.
“And it’s a damn good thing,” he added, leaning closer with his most ingratiating smile, “or I might not be sitting here with you. And that would be a shame.”
Her momentary flash of doubt faded.
Good save. A little collagen would fill in those laugh lines and make her face younger, although she didn’t look bad at all for her age.
“That suite you’re in, Tillman keeps it on tap for out-of-town dignitaries.” He winked. “Like you.”
“I’m hardly a dignitary.”
“He sleeps there himself when the volcano is erupting at home.”
A crinkle marked her brow. “I don’t know how they live in the same house.”
“Yeah, it’s kind of crazy.” Even though Steve had offered to buy a new place for the two of them, with bedrooms for the kids, Rochelle refused. She would never give up until she wrenched the estate from Tillman.
Steve had sworn to get it for her. Even if he didn’t fathom her reasons, he had to keep his promise to the woman who ruled his life. If he failed, he feared he might lose her, a thought too devastating to imagine.
He finished his drink and waved for another. “Guess your vacation is off. What are you going to do now?”
Tawny shifted in her seat and shrugged but didn’t meet his eyes. “Whatever Tillman needs.”
“Going back to Kalispell?”
“Not sure.” She set her glass down. “I better go. Thanks for the drink.” She started to rise.
Steve laid a light hand on her arm, not pushing, just a friendly gesture. “Wait. Let’s have dinner, OK? I wind up eating alone too much.”
She hesitated, half-standing. “I already ate.”
“Then just keep me company.” He raised the voltage of his smile. “I’ll spring for dessert.”
She grinned. “You found my weakness.”
As he motioned to the server for menus, she sat down again. Good. Keep her talking. Figure out a new plan that worked around Mimi’s suicide attempt, yet still destroyed Tillman Rosenbaum.
Chapter 8 - Boomerang
The following morning, Tawny drank coffee and waited in Bernie’s, the 1950s-style diner in the Northern. She’d checked out of the suite, although there was no bill because of Tillman’s house account there. Her foot tapped the packed duffel on the floor and she fidgeted with silverware on the retro boomerang-pattern tabletop. That’s what she felt like—a boomerang, trying to hurl herself away but constantly being yanked back.
Tillman should have arrived by now.
Last night, he’d called to tell her about another fight with Rochelle. Not surprisingly, his ex hated the idea of Tawny staying in her house with her children while the parents were at the retreat with Mimi. But, unable to recruit anyone else on short notice, Rochelle begrudgingly agreed.
The door opened and Tillman strode in, trailed by his three reluctant kids, a trifecta of moodiness, angst, and rebellion. Tawny had chosen a table for two, not expecting he’d bring them to the farewell breakfast.
“Good morning!” She forced cheerfulness but no one responded.
Tillman leaned down to kiss her. Despite his dour expression, his lips felt soft and warm against hers.
He yanked an adjoining table over to join the one she already occupied then dragged up chairs for the kids. They plopped down opposite Tawny, staring at the black and white checkerboard floor. Tillman sat beside her. Under the table, he squeezed her thigh.
Mimi wore a dark gray hoody and ripped designer jeans with silver studs. She still looked as pale and breakable as an eggshell as she hugged herself. In the middle, Judah planted elbows on the table, grabbed a menu, and buried his nose in it. Arielle fidgeted, crossing and uncrossing the gangly legs she hadn’t grown into.
“What do you want to eat?” Tillman put on his half glasses to read the menu.
Arielle said, “Nothing. I don’t feel good.” The tense set of her mouth and the slightly yellowish skin tone made Tawny wonder if she was hungover again.
Tillman stared down his nose. “Order what you want or you’ll eat what I order for you.”
“I’m not hungry,�
�� Mimi mumbled.
He opened his mouth to scold her. Tawny bumped his leg. He gave her the side eye but stayed silent.
“Banana French toast with whipped cream,” Judah said. “And bacon and sausage. And eggs over easy. And hot chocolate with marshmallows.”
“And a double order of fries with that, too,” Arielle added.
Judah punched her arm.
“Ow. Quit it.” Arielle thrust her jaw out. “Dad, make him stop.”
Tillman’s deep voice rumbled. “Knock it off.”
The server took their orders. Then Tillman leaned toward the kids. “All right, there’s no cell service for fifty miles around this place where Mimi, your mom, and I will be. So don’t expect to call me every five minutes to referee your boxing matches. Got it?”
Panic welled in Tawny at the thought of being responsible for his children yet unable to contact Tillman. “How do we get hold of you in an emer—” She stopped herself and rephrased, “In case we need something?”
“There’s a satellite phone. When we get there, I’ll call you with the number.” He pulled out his wallet and thumbed through bills. “Here’s a credit card and a thousand in cash.” He folded the money into Tawny’s hand.
Judah thrust his open palm across the table. “How much do I get?”
Tillman glared at him. “You’ll get a broken nose if you give Tawny one minute of trouble, understand?” He bent close to her ear and whispered, “If you need more, there’s twenty-five in the wall safe behind my law books.”
Twenty-five dollars? Her puzzlement must have shown because he grimaced. “Twenty-five grand. The combo is the date we met. You remember that?”
She looked up at him in surprise.
His shoulder lifted slightly. “The day everything changed.”
Her insides went mushy. Tillman wasn’t sentimental. Except when he was. She’d have to look back at last year’s calendar to figure out the date of their first appointment. But she’d never, ever tell him she didn’t remember.
Arielle piped up, “I don’t need a babysitter.”
“Is that so?” Tillman said. “Without a driver’s license, how are you getting to school and your orthodontist appointments? Hitchhike?”
Arielle hunched her shoulders and tore her napkin in strips.
“Why can’t Consuelo stay with us?” Judah asked.
Tillman huffed. “I already told you. She’s got to take care of Fausto. Suck it up. You’re damn lucky Tawny agreed. Otherwise I’d hire a retired prison warden who’d chain you to your beds and feed you nothing but watery gruel.”
Judah giggled until Arielle elbowed him.
What am I doing here? Tawny thought.
Breakfast arrived. Tawny could barely swallow her scrambled eggs. Sausage was out of the question. She watched Tillman wolf down a giant omelet, while Mimi rearranged strawberries on a pancake without eating a bite. Judah followed his father’s example, gulping food from three large plates arrayed in front of him.
Tawny caught Arielle sneaking a look at her. Tawny smiled, hoping to rebuild the fragile bridge of friendship they’d begun while braiding her hair. But the girl went back to tearing her napkin and dropping shreds in a puddle of raspberry syrup.
The diner door opened. Rochelle entered and stopped dead. If she’d been a car, her tires would have squealed. Her scorching glare zeroed in on Tawny then immediately swept over her children. She swooped forward to scoop away Judah’s plate of French toast and tossed it onto a vacant table. The plate skidded to the edge, stopping a half inch short of falling to the floor.
Meanwhile, the boy stuffed a last big bite into his chubby face before she managed to yank the fork from his hand.
“Why are you permitting him to eat like that?” she demanded of Tillman.
He rolled his eyes but didn’t answer.
She fisted hands on hips. “We’re going to be late. You were supposed to bring Mimi right home from the hospital. Now we’ll miss orientation.”
Tillman slowly unfolded from his seat, looming over his ex. “For sixty grand, they’ll damn well run orientation for us whenever the hell we get there.”
She whipped away from him and faced Mimi. “Are you ready?”
Tawny thought the girl cowered for an instant before she pulled herself to her feet and stalked out of the diner.
Rochelle started to follow but paused. She hissed at Tillman, “If you want to ride with us, you’ve got three minutes then we’re leaving.” She caught up to Mimi.
Through the diner window, Tawny watched mother and daughter face off on the sidewalk beside Rochelle’s BMW, parked at the curb. The anger in their voices penetrated the plate glass. Acid seared Tawny’s already-raw stomach.
Tillman watched them also, vibrating with anger. He dug in his pants pocket and pulled out a jumble of keys. “Here.” He thrust them at Tawny. “You take the Mercedes. The office and house keys are on the ring too. The kids can show you how to work the alarm.” He moved between Arielle and Judah and pulled them up from their chairs. One arm around each child, he hugged them tight. “Do what Tawny tells you. I love you. More than anything.”
Both kids wiggled against his grasp, like disobedient puppies.
For the briefest instant, Tawny thought he might cry. Then harshness returned to his face. He released them. “I mean it. Don’t give Tawny any of your shit.”
Arielle flopped in her seat. Judah retrieved the plate of French toast that Rochelle had confiscated.
Tawny rose and stared up at Tillman in disbelief. Was he really going to leave her like this? In an unfamiliar house, with an unfamiliar vehicle, no directions, not even a list of emergency phone numbers. She had no idea where the kids went to school, what their schedules were, if they needed medications, or had allergies, who their pediatrician was. Worst of all, dammit, no way to call him except on a satellite phone that she didn’t yet know the number for. “You can’t…I don’t know…what if…?”
He rested one hand on her shoulder for a long moment, those dark, intense eyes boring deep in her soul. “As long as my children are with you, I know they’re safe.” In a voice between a whisper and a gasp, he murmured, “I’ll owe you until the day I die.”
****
Frank Grand watched Tawny Lindholm exit the diner. He’d parked around the corner behind a delivery van to be less noticeable. She hefted a duffel into the rear of Rosenbaum’s G-Wagon. The two younger children argued at the passenger door over who got to ride shotgun. The boy won and, with a smug grin of triumph, climbed into the seat. The daughter made a face, baring her wire-strung teeth at him.
Frank recalled a playground fight when he was about eleven. His opponent’s vicious braces had flayed open the skin of his knuckles. When Frank had yelped and cradled his bloody hand, the boy laughed and lunged forward, grinning through dangerous teeth, daring him to take another swing. Frank had pulled the sleeve of his sweatshirt over his other fist and belted the kid, this time knocking a front tooth loose. He remembered the thrill that coursed through him as the boy howled, mouth gaping open, blood pouring down his chin, the tooth held in place only by a thread of wire.
The memory reminded him to stay cautious when handling Rosenbaum’s daughter with her braces. Grab her from behind, slap duct tape over her mouth immediately, then secure the cloth hood over her head.
The Mercedes pulled away from the curb. Frank waited for several cars to pass before he slipped in behind, out of sight.
Chapter 9 – 7/21/12
“Seven, twenty-one, twelve.” Judah punched the code into the alarm panel at the Rosenbaum house. “Mom says she’ll never forget it because that’s the date she filed for divorce.”
Tawny watched the boy swing open the front door, her heart aching at the idea of the divorce as a cherished anniversary. Judah seemed matter of fact. Maybe she was imagining sorrow where there was none.
Judah went on, “There’s a keypad at the back door and at Dad’s entrance too. Same code works all of them. If you f
uck—” He mock-crouched, as if he expected Tawny to swat him, but she just pursed her lips. “I mean, if you mess up, push nine, nine, nine. That resets it. And if you set it off by mistake, you gotta call the security company right away or they’ll charge Dad for false alarms and that really pisses him off.”
Tawny pulled her cell from her pocket. “What’s their number?”
He rattled it off as she entered it in her contact list. “Oh yeah,” he added, “you gotta tell them the secret word. If you say anything different than the real word, they figure a burglar’s holding a gun to your head and they send the cops.”
“That’s reassuring,” Tawny muttered. “What’s the secret word?”
“Dad’s favorite, litigation.”
She chuckled. “Guess I can remember that.”
The kids gave her a tour into the parts of the mansion she hadn’t seen before. Seven bedrooms, eight full baths and three powder rooms, plus formal and informal great rooms, the dining room, a library, and solarium. Tawny mused that keeping up the housework must feel like painting the Golden Gate Bridge—by the time Consuelo finished, it was time to start over.
They wound up in the kitchen, where Judah tore open a bag of chips and started munching.
“What would you guys like for dinner?” Tawny poked in a pantry nearly as large as her whole kitchen at home. Cans of tomatoes and beans gave her an idea. “Chili?”
“Sure!” Judah answered.
She had the feeling pretty much any food, any time would be acceptable to him. In the freezer, she found a package of ground meat and took it out to thaw. “Are there any friends you’d like to invite over?” Maybe hanging with their buddies might ease the upheaval.
Arielle and Judah sat on bar stools across the counter from her. His shrug looked indifferent until he turned to Arielle. “You’re dying to have Richard Weintraub over, aren’t you?”
“Shut up,” she snarled.
“Who’s Richard Weintraub?” Tawny asked.
Judah answered, “The rabbi’s son.” His voice went falsetto, a bad imitation of his sister. “He’s soooooo hot.”
Arielle punched him. They traded swats and slaps until Tawny came around the counter and pulled them apart. “OK, forget it. No friends. Just the three of us. Now, do you guys have homework to do before school tomorrow?”
