by Cara Putman
“Hola?” A boy’s voice came across the phone.
“Is Señora Rodriguez home?”
“No. She at work.”
“Can I leave a message?”
There was silence, but she waited.
“Can you call? Leave message?”
She smiled at his charming tone. “Yes, I can. Gracias.”
A minute later she called again, and this time left her work and cell phone numbers along with a short message. Now if the woman agreed to meet, she’d have progress to report to Gerard Monday.
She pulled up a legal search engine and confirmed that the basic jurisdictional restrictions of the Tucker Act hadn’t changed. Despite a search for fresher cases that might have changed the status of the law, the Tucker Act excluded wrongful death cases from the Court of Federal Claims. The venue statutes indicated that when the federal government was the defendant she could file where the plaintiff resided.
That meant she needed a novel theory. One she believed in when telling a judge he should let the case proceed.
Her cell phone rang, and she glanced at it. A number her phone didn’t recognize showed on the screen. “Hello?”
“Miss McCarthy? This is Señora Rodriguez.”
“Thank you for calling. We talked briefly yesterday. I’m the attorney working your son’s case and need to meet with you. Would today work? I can come to you.”
“My son meets a friend for ice cream in Alexandria. He will be occupied and safe.”
“Perfect.”
Occupied and safe? What an odd way to phrase it. They arranged details, and a minute later Hayden hung up with an hour before she’d meet Mrs. Rodriguez. On the other side of the meeting, she’d have a better idea what was next.
CHAPTER 5
SATURDAY, APRIL 1
Andrew dug his hands into his sweatshirt pouch to protect them from the bite of wind sweeping off the Potomac. When Maricel Rodriguez asked him to spend time with Jorge, he willingly agreed. His Saturday was miraculously free of appointments, a fact that doubtless would change as his father’s campaign swung into action.
Jorge had requested ice cream.
Andrew smiled. He used to be that teenage boy, wanting all the junk food he could nab. He stopped in front of the red brick and green creamery.
Jorge probably needed the comfort food as he and his mom adjusted to the United States. Then maybe he would stop looking over his shoulder all the time. What would a kid so new to the area—to the country—have to be afraid of . . . other than settling in to his new home?
Tourists strolled along the streets of Old Town, enjoying the deceptive sunshine. Less than a block away, the park that edged the Potomac waited, and the blocks up King Street led to all kinds of shopping and eating options.
Andrew people watched as he waited. About the time he decided to grab a cup of coffee for a hand warmer, Jorge strolled up, with his mom a few paces behind.
Jorge lifted his hand in a small wave. “My mama comes. Must meet her attorney.”
Andrew frowned. “Why? What’s up?”
“Something she won’t talk about.” Jorge glanced at the display window at the front of the shop. “Is this where we eat?”
“Yep.” Andrew clapped the boy on the back. “Be sure to get a waffle cone.”
“Sí, señor.” Jorge grinned at him. “I need tres scoops.”
“Three scoops it is.” Good thing he’d stopped at an ATM.
Jorge’s mother quickstepped toward them. A short woman with brown curls and warm brown eyes, she seemed to hold herself tightly together, as if a strong wind would toss her into the river. She was dressed impeccably, though. Andrew knew she could walk into any of the shops his mother favored and find herself at home. The image didn’t quite fit that of recent immigrants, and yet the Rodriguezes faced many of the same challenges and heartaches as those who arrived with fewer resources.
“I see you found your amigo.” A smile touched her lips but not her eyes. She reached into her jacket pocket. “Here is money to buy your treat, Jorge. I wait here for my appointment.”
Andrew lightly pushed her hand away. “This one is on me.”
“On you?” Her brows drew together, and she tilted her head.
“Today I’ll pay. Next time Jorge can, but today is my treat.”
Her shoulders relaxed a fraction of an inch. “Gracias. I will return as quickly as I can.”
“Come on, Jorge, let’s get you that ice cream.” After he had his blueberry yogurt in a waffle cone and Jorge his scoops of chocolate, chocolate chip cookie dough, and cappuccino, they headed toward seats by the front window.
“That must be the abogoda.” Jorge took a bite, leaving a trail of brown ice cream on his nose and cheek.
Maricel was still waiting on the sidewalk in front of the shop, and walking toward her—Hayden McCarthy.
Andrew watched the interaction between the two women. Hayden smiled, yet held herself rigidly, and Maricel responded with newly stiffened posture. “Have they met before?”
Jorge shrugged. “Mama doesn’t tell me about the abrogados. Says I focus other places.”
She had a point. But Andrew wanted to know what was going on. He hadn’t known the Rodriguezes long, but he wasn’t about to let an attorney take advantage of them—not even his cousin’s best friend. In his experience, attorneys wanted one thing: power.
And that had nothing to do with the best interests of their clients.
The trill of mingling birdsong wrapped around Hayden as she stood in front of Mrs. Rodriguez. When she was a child, she’d loved the way her dad identified each call, but all she knew was she liked the sound.
She observed the elegantly dressed woman. This was a struggling, out-of-place immigrant? If she had the resources her clothing indicated, why couldn’t Miguel immigrate legally? This small woman in front of her might make Hayden look like a giant, but she radiated a confident core. Mrs. Rodriguez would make a success of her life in America . . . without her oldest son.
It didn’t add up.
But it wasn’t a conversation to have in the middle of a busy street.
“Mrs. Rodriguez, we’re a couple blocks from my office. We can talk there in privacy.”
The woman folded her arms across her chest and tipped her chin. “No.”
“We must talk so I can understand your case. If we do it here, we lose important protections.”
“Maybe I change my mind. Maybe I let my son rest in peace.” Her posture was tense, and her gaze darted around the pedestrians walking past.
“Are you all right, Mrs. Rodriguez?”
The woman shook her head and frowned, then returned her focus to Hayden. “I see a ghost, but he is gone.”
Hayden whipped around, but saw nothing unusual on the crowded streets. It was impossible to know if someone watched them.
“It will be quieter and private at my office.” Hayden reached out to touch Mrs. Rodriguez’s elbow, and the woman flinched. “Please, I want to help you.”
The woman’s chin trembled. “Miguel, he didn’t deserve this.”
“I know.”
She squared her body toward Hayden like a boxer awaiting the next punch. Then she nodded as if she had come to a decision. “I will go with you, but I must tell Mr. Andrew first.”
“Mr. Andrew?”
“My son’s friend. They have ice cream inside.”
Hayden nodded. “Of course. I promise not to keep you a moment longer than necessary.”
“Jorge is all I have left. I must keep him safe.” Mrs. Rodriguez opened the door and marched into the narrow storefront, Hayden following. “Mr. Andrew, I go with Miss McCarthy. You stay with Jorge?”
Hayden looked up, and her gaze collided with Andrew Wesley’s. He was “Mr. Andrew,” the Rodriguez boy’s friend?
“Andrew. Nice to see you.” She extended a hand.
“Hayden.”
Jorge and his mother looked back and forth between them as they spoke, clearly surprised t
hat they knew each other.
“Do you want me to come with you, Mrs. Rodriguez?” Concern flashed in Andrew’s eyes, but hardened to something else when he turned to look at Hayden. “You don’t need to do this alone.”
“I must.” Mrs. Rodriguez gestured toward the overflowing waffle cone in his hand. “You will be occupied with those.”
Andrew nodded. “Where will you be? I can bring Jorge when we’re done.”
Mrs. Rodriguez looked at Hayden. “I do not know.”
“Elliott & Johnson,” Hayden said. “A couple blocks up King on this side of the street.”
Andrew nodded. “I know where that is.” He looked at her as though he thought she might hurt the older woman.
“Your ice cream is about to drip.” Hayden pointed. Something in her couldn’t resist pushing his buttons. “She’ll be fine.”
“Sure.” He ground out the word between clenched teeth and pulled a card from his back pocket. “Here. Call my cell if you need anything, Maricel.”
Hayden touched his arm, and he straightened as if she’d shocked him. What had happened to the warm, approachable guy she’d met the other night? “We should only be an hour.” She waited until his gaze collided with hers. “We’re on the same side, Andrew.”
“We’ll see.” His look said he doubted it.
“Maybe the ice cream will sweeten your disposition.” Hayden winked at him and then waved her hand toward the door. “After you, Señora Rodriguez.”
Did I just wink? As she and Mrs. Rodriguez walked away, Hayden wondered where on earth that had come from. Fortunately, Andrew didn’t know her well enough to understand how out of character it was. She forced her thoughts from him. Men didn’t affect her. Period. She didn’t have time for them if she wanted to make partner at the firm that demanded her all and never thought she gave enough.
Andrew rubbed a hand across his head.
Well, that was one way to be a jerk.
He hadn’t meant to take her head off, but something in him had risen at the thought that she’d take advantage of the Rodriguezes. Neither Jorge nor his mother had shared the reason they’d immigrated, and he hadn’t pressed. He’d learned early at New Beginnings that sometimes the only thing his families retained was their story. It was something to be treasured and shared willingly, not coerced. Would Hayden twist and poke until Maricel told her things the older woman preferred to hold close?
That ignored the fundamental question: Why did Maricel need an attorney anyway?
Maricel Rodriguez was strong, but a fragile something hinted at hard times in the past. Hard times she had risen above.
Jorge was studying him with serious eyes.
“Let’s finish our ice cream like we’d planned.” Andrew smiled, but Jorge didn’t return it.
Instead, the young man sank deeper into the small bistro chair and dutifully licked, eyes constantly on Andrew as if assessing the likelihood of another eruption. It was a look Andrew had seen in kids who had a reason to expect violence. It pained him to have caused it.
Andrew sighed and settled onto his chair. “Look, Jorge, I’m sorry. I don’t often lose my temper unless I think someone is threatened. Lucky for you, I care about you. Not so lucky, I chose the wrong way to show it.”
“Is all right.”
“No, I know better, and I’m sorry.” He took a bite of the blueberry ice cream, and then licked a few dribbles. It was too good to let any escape. “So how was school this week?”
As he listened to Jorge share about his week, Andrew prayed for a chance to apologize to Hayden as well.
A loud mariachi band ringtone resounded, and Jorge jumped. His gaze darted around and his complexion seemed to pale.
Andrew placed a hand on his shoulder. “Everything okay?”
Jorge set the remains of his cone on a napkin and then wiped his hands on another. He made an effort to look calm, but his trembling hands betrayed him. He tugged a small flip phone from his pocket and glanced at it before sliding it back.
“Jorge?”
“It is nothing. Just my padre.” The boy tried to smile, but it was a pathetic effort.
Clearly he wanted to drop the subject, so Andrew let him, but not before he filed the incident away in his mind.
CHAPTER 6
SATURDAY, APRIL 1
Hayden led Mrs. Rodriguez through quiet hallways to a small conference room. It was perfect for the low-key meeting she wanted.
“Please have a seat.” Hayden set a legal pad, the case file, and a pen at a seat on one side of the table and waited for her client to sit on the other. She’d been here before, with nervous clients who needed reassurance. “Can I get you some water? A Coke?”
“I’m fine.” The woman perched on the edge of the leather chair.
Hayden grabbed two bottles of water from the microfridge tucked under a countertop and handed one to Mrs. Rodriguez before twisting off the cap on hers. She sank onto her seat and assessed her client, noting the fine lines around the woman’s expressive eyes and lips. The clothes were better than any Hayden owned, and the ring on her right hand looked like a genuine two-carat diamond. What had led Maricel to the United States, and why now? Hayden needed a way to peel back the layers surrounding this woman to identify the heart of the matter.
“Mr. Campbell is my attorney.”
“Yes, but he has many, many clients. He asked me to run this case, so it is pushed hard and fast in a way that serves you. He gave me your case yesterday, and I’ll work closely with you to seek closure for your son.”
“Are you good?” The question was clipped, hard, clear.
Hayden leaned forward and placed her elbows on the table. “Señora Rodriguez, I am very good. I won an unwinnable case Thursday. That’s why I received your case Friday. I cannot guarantee an outcome, but I can guarantee my best efforts.”
“You must understand. My husband . . . he is a hard man. Brutal. We cannot fail.” Maricel’s dark eyes glistened with unshed tears.
“Your husband?” Hayden blew out a slow breath as she tried to interpret what the woman hadn’t said. “Has your husband hurt you?”
“Sí. That is why I am here, with Jorge. It is why Miguel wanted to come. But it is not far enough.” The woman looked away, and her words trailed off. “It is never far enough.”
“We could get a restraining order against your husband. It will keep him away.”
“Nothing will achieve that but winning.” Mrs. Rodriguez cleared her throat and brought her gaze to Hayden’s. “We must win.”
How could she respond to the steel behind such an impossible demand? And why would winning a case make the man go away? “Do you believe your husband was involved in Miguel’s death?”
“I don’t know.” Maricel looked at her with fear-filled eyes. “But we must win.”
“I can’t ethically promise that.” Hayden slid the legal pad and pen in front of her. “But to win, I need to understand your story. All of it.” She’d start with the heart of the case. “Who do you think killed Miguel?”
“Your government.” But the woman didn’t sound convinced, and her eyes didn’t meet Hayden’s.
“It’s possible.” But unlikely. It wasn’t good policy to kill foreign nationals when they were in your protection. Hayden doodled as she considered how to proceed. “Who else might be involved?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I got an attorney. I need answers. I need to know what happened to my son and vindicate him.” Maricel’s voice cracked, and a tear slipped down her cheek. “You don’t understand. Miguel was a good boy. He never was trouble. He always did what people asked and more. I cannot imagine him getting into trouble that killed him.”
“How did you learn he was dead?”
“A call in the middle of the night from his padre.” She shivered. “It was the last call I expected.”
“His father does not live with you?”
“No.”
“Are you divorced?”
Mrs. Rodriguez stif
fened. “He paid a priest and had our marriage annulled.” She wiped another tear away. “Two children. Five years. And annulled.” She sniffed. “Bribes can accomplish any injusticia.”
“Lo siento.”
“Me too.” She squared her shoulders. “So Miguel is dead. In some Americano facility. It makes no sense, but that is all I am told. It is not enough.”
“Do you know which facility?”
“In Texas.” She waved a manicured hand in the air. “I gave the information to attorney.”
Hayden let the silence linger a moment, hoping her client would fill in more information than resided in the file. “Texas is a big state.”
“You work for a big firm.”
“Not so big really.” Hayden rubbed the base of her neck and considered her next question. “Why didn’t Miguel emigrate with you?”
Mrs. Rodriguez sighed, a sound both desperate and empty. “He does not live with me.”
“Was he with his father?”
She nodded. Hayden waited for Mrs. Rodriguez to expand on this violent husband who wasn’t in the picture, but had one of the children. Finally Hayden tried again. “What is his name?”
“Miguel.”
“No, his father.”
“Daniel Rodriguez.”
Hayden made a note to investigate Miguel’s father, but with a name that common, she doubted she’d be successful. “Did Miguel want to come?”
“It was all he talked about. He wanted to see this free land that jailed him.” She wiped her eyes. “My boy had dreams. Believed he could change the world. Now he never will.”
“When did Miguel come to the US?”
“Weeks before he died. Not long.”
“Do you know the day?”
“I’m not sure. I was not with him.” Mrs. Rodriguez’s voice rose with each word.
Hayden placed a hand on the woman’s arm, a gesture that had calmed her earlier. This time, Maricel barely noticed. “I ask so I can help. Who knows the answer?”
“I don’t know. It’s why I came. You get the answers.”
