Toronto Collection Volume 3 (Toronto Series #10-13)

by Heather Wardell

  I made it out without attracting his attention, and on the subway I decided that I would look him up on the Internet the second I got home. I had to know whether he'd told me the whole truth or had lied to make himself look better. I didn't trust him now, but I'd trust him even less if he was jerking me around.

  But when I began unlocking my apartment door I heard, "Hey, Alexa," behind me and turned to see Jillian in a severe black business suit.

  "Hi," I said, wanting to turn back to my door and escape from her but not sure how I could manage that without being rude.

  "Look, I think we got off on the wrong foot yesterday. I'm a criminal defense attorney, and I've worked with some pretty dangerous people. They have powerful friends, and even more powerful enemies, so whether I win or lose a case there's often someone angry about the outcome. I tend to assume people I meet are dangerous until proven otherwise, but I shouldn't have acted like that with you. Could I take you out for dinner to apologize?"

  Out for dinner with a criminal defense attorney, like the grandfatherly man who had taken Christophe's case? Objectively I understood how they could defend awful people, since the justice system required that even the worst monster had someone to speak on his behalf, but emotionally it revolted me. I cast a longing glance at my door, but I did want and need friends in Toronto and maybe Jillian could be one. As long as we didn't talk about her work too much. "Sure. Where'd you have in mind?"

  Within fifteen minutes we were settled in a small restaurant not far from the building. She'd driven us there, rejecting my suggestion that we walk since it was a pleasant summer night as if I'd said we should run there naked, and once we got inside we were given a table in the back corner of the restaurant largely concealed by a huge plant.

  She rubbed her temples. "There. I like this place because they put up with me wanting to be out of the way and hidden."

  I smiled. "I like the plant. Like eating in a jungle."

  She laughed, and we studied our menus and placed our orders, then she said, "So, I need some advice."

  My immediate reaction was that she should ask anyone but me, since my life wasn't exactly functioning well at the moment, but I said, "I'll try."

  She smiled. "Don't worry, it's nothing personal. I've decided to write a book about some of my past cases and I'm not sure how to go about it."

  So much for not talking about her cases. "Well, what do you want the book to do?"

  Her forehead wrinkled. "I don't understand."

  "Are you planning to make people laugh by talking about weird cases? Or will you show where the justice system doesn't work, or how it did work for your clients? If you don't know what the book is supposed to do then you won't know how to write it."

  She considered this. "I guess..." Another pause. "I guess I want to make people understand why criminals deserve defense too. A lot of people don't get it, you know. They think we just find loopholes and let criminals go free. It's not true, though. We do important work."

  "I know," I said, not wanting to get into this. "I've read enough crime fiction for work to get that. I'd suggest you pick out a variety of cases to discuss, and for each one show how and why the defense was necessary." I wasn't sure I should, but I had to add, "Are you positive you want to do this, though?"

  She blinked. "Why wouldn't I?"

  "Writing a book is a lot of work, of course, and it's not necessarily going to be an easy sell. You being a lawyer would help since it gives you credibility but it might not have a huge base of potential readers. Not everyone's going to buy a book that says criminals deserve lawyers since a lot of people think they just end up getting off on technicalities. And if it does sell, you'd need to be prepared to maybe get a lot of media attention."

  Her face tightened. "I'm fine with that."

  I wasn't sure she was, since she had barely even wanted to be out in public today, but I let it go. "Then that's what I think you should do. Narrow it down to the best cases, the ones that are the most interesting and give you the best way to support your argument, and then write about each one. For now, just write an outline. When you have that done, you can try to sell it before writing the whole thing. Not to me, though," I added hastily. "My company doesn't do crime non-fiction."

  "No worries, I knew that." She nodded. "That makes sense. Thanks. I was thinking thefts would be a good place to start. I've got one past case where the guy broke into the same house five times in two months. He gave them long enough to replace the stuff and then he went back to swipe everything again. Actually said in court that if they didn't like it they shouldn't have kept replacing things."

  Before I could ask her how she could possibly defend someone with such a ridiculous attitude, she said, "Oh, and there's also one where a woman hated her neighbor, who loved her dog like it was a child. So she stole the neighbor's dog, and its dog house, and left them outside Toronto at a boarding school hoping the kids would adopt it and the staff wouldn't try to find out where it came from."

  I stared. "How did she ever think that would work?"

  Jillian laughed. "Because she didn't think at all. She just did. Hard to defend, obviously, but I got her a reduced sentence because her husband had been cheating with the neighbor and she lost her mind. So, which of those two would you start with?"

  "The dog," I said without hesitation. "The other one is interesting but the dog story sparks so much mental imagery. How'd she get the house into her car? Didn't the dog bark? Didn't the school have security cameras? A case that gives people vivid mental pictures keeps their attention."

  I'd known that fact as an editor, but it had sunk in far deeper when it was my case that caused those vivid images in people's minds. If the images hadn't been so clear and ugly, Jake wouldn't have recognized me.

  "Yup, that sounds like a plan. I was thinking of using three crimes in each category, so can you help me decide between a few more?"

  I did, glad that Jillian was focusing on an area that was nothing like what I'd endured. Thefts weren't pleasant, of course, but they didn't provoke painful memories in me.

  We spent a few more minutes discussing her book before she said, "That's great, thanks. I get why you're choosing the ones you're choosing, so I should be able to carry on by myself. Do you mind if I pick your brain if I get stuck?"

  I shook my head, but added, "I will be pretty busy at work, though, since I'm still figuring out how the Toronto office works. But if I can, I'll help."

  She smiled. "Good enough. As payment, let me tell you everything you need to know about our building."

  She did, explaining which residents to avoid because they'd keep you talking in the hall for half an hour and when was the best time to use the building's fitness center and how to get around the building manager, who she called "Slow Tony" because he took forever to do any work, to have his maintenance team fix anything that went wrong in my apartment. It was all great and useful information, and the way she told it made it hilarious, and by the time she took me home my cheeks hurt from laughing and I felt like I'd made my first real friend in Toronto.

  Alone in my apartment, though, I reminded myself to be careful about jumping too quickly into things. Yes, we'd had fun, but I'd been unsure of her at the beginning and I shouldn't completely lose that distrust just yet. I barely knew anything about her.

  Unlike Jake, about whom I now knew far too much.

  Or did I? Had he told me the truth?

  I settled onto the couch with my laptop and typed in a search for 'Jake Boyd charged', and after reading several articles I knew one thing for sure.

  Jake hadn't misled me at all.

  Putting aside the computer, I realized I was impressed. I didn't want to be, since he might well be a rapist even though the charges had been dropped, but I was. He'd told me everything, though he hadn't really needed to, in case I'd discovered it on my own and been more upset. I might never have looked him up, probably wouldn't have in fact, and then he would have been able to keep the whole thing a secret. Bu
t instead he'd told me.

  But now I knew, and I wasn't going to forget. I would make myself be civil with him, since sooner or later one of our coworkers would notice that we never spoke and it would be awkward, but that was as far as I'd go. He might have listened to a woman tell him no and forced himself on her anyhow, and that was something I could never forgive or forget.

  Chapter Eight

  The next morning, I made myself say a casual hello to Jake when I arrived at work. He looked surprised but returned the greeting with about my same level of energy, and I went straight to my desk and sent him an email.

  Jake,

  I would still like you to leave me alone, but we do need to be civil in the office. You don't have to skip going for coffee with everyone or anything like that but I don't want us to talk any more than necessary. I hope you understand.

  Alexa

  Within only a few moments he replied.

  I do understand. Thank you for being willing to be civil to me. I appreciate it more than you know.

  J.

  It was good we'd reached that level, because we ended up working together all day and into the evening. One of Howard's books was to be released in a few weeks and he and a publicist the author had hired were working on putting together a 'buy this book' package for over five hundred North American bookstores. The project was down to the stuffing envelopes stage and the publicist had suddenly found herself too busy to help so Rhonda had volunteered the assistance of everyone on staff.

  "Thanks again," Howard said as we ate the pizza he'd provided for an early dinner and a much-needed break. "I'd never get this done without you. I'll also never work with that publicist again."

  "No problem," Jake said. "Not like I have anything else to do."

  "Between sculptures at the moment?"

  Howard's voice was perfectly polite but there was the faintest whiff of condescension in it. Jake didn't seem to notice. "Nope, I have one on the go but it's just not getting anywhere. I basically sit and stare at it all evening. I can skip that for one night."

  I cleared my throat and said to the room at large, "What are you making?" I didn't want to talk to him but I was curious about his work. I'd seen the books he and Rosanna had produced together and he clearly had an amazing eye for art.

  He turned his head sharply, since no doubt my interest had surprised him, but didn't look directly at me. "It's a woman, life-sized, with a bird on each hand." He moved one hand to the height of his face and the other to his hip, both palm up. "Like that. I can see the whole thing but not her face, and without that I can't finish it."

  Before I could say anything Howard jumped in. "You're still on that one? It's been months, hasn't it?"

  "That's right," Jake said dryly. "Thanks for remembering."

  Howard gave him a punch on the shoulder. "Just suck it up and get in there, man. It's not going to sculpt itself. Take charge already."

  Jake gave a half-smile and did not say what he was clearly thinking, that if it were that easy he'd already have done it.

  Then he startled and said, "Look at that."

  We all turned toward the sidewalk where he was looking to see a tall man with vibrant blue-green eyes walking along holding hands with a short pretty blonde woman whose free hand held the leash of a big fuzzy orange cat.

  Rhonda laughed. "I've seen them before but not around here. They must be checking out new territory. The cat's adorable, isn't it? Seems to love walking on leash."

  "In New York," I said, "there's a guy who walks around with his cat on his head."

  Howard raised his eyebrows at me. "Come on."

  "It's true. It's a black-and-white cat and it sits up on his head happy as anything. Like a king on his throne."

  We laughed, and Rosanna said, "Do people react to it? They must. I would."

  I shrugged. "Not as much as you'd think. That's the thing about New York. It's so busy that people sort of ignore each other unless they can't. It's got that great big-city anonymity."

  "Give me a small town any day," Howard said, but I was looking at Jake. We'd accidentally made eye contact as I answered, and the sadness in his face made it hard to look away.

  He looked away first, and I knew that no matter what city I went to I would no longer be anonymous to Jake. He knew all about me, or lots anyhow, and I didn't like it.

  "Give me a cat any day," Rosanna said. "My building won't allow them and I hate it. I moved in right after my last one died six months ago, thinking it hurt too much to lose a cat I loved so I'd never get another one, but now I can't wait until my lease is up and I can move. My boyfriend told me I'd regret it and unfortunately he was right. I hate coming home to an empty apartment." She turned to me. "Do you have any pets?"

  I shook my head. "Never have." My mom was violently allergic to most fur-bearing creatures and Christophe hadn't wanted any. I wasn't really thinking about her question, though. I was too busy envying the casual way she said 'boyfriend'. After what had happened with Christophe I couldn't imagine ever being as relaxed and comfortable in a relationship as she seemed to be. Would I ever feel that... normal again?

  Rosanna sighed. "I miss my Tabitha. She was so cute. Brown tabby."

  "You named a tabby cat Tabitha?"

  She gave Howard a mock glare. "Yeah, so?"

  He held up his hands in equally mock surrender. "Nothing, nothing. Just a comment."

  "Well, keep it to yourself."

  We all laughed and got back to work. Rhonda left us a few minutes later for drinks with an agent visiting from New York, but even so in less than two hours all of the envelopes were stamped and stuffed.

  "Again, thanks so much, guys," Howard said as we gathered our things to go home. "I owe you big time."

  Rosanna and Jake headed for the door, and I followed but Howard said from behind me, "Alexa, could you hold on a second?"

  I turned back and he smiled past me. "We'll be right out. Just have to lock up."

  The front door clicked shut behind the other two and Howard turned his blue eyes on me and said, "Would you have dinner with me tomorrow night?"

  The suddenness of this surprised me, and I didn't know what to say.

  "I think I came on too strong on your first day, and I'm sorry. I'd like to get to know you better, though, and I do owe you for taking up such a huge chunk of your evening when you've probably got tons to do at home to get settled. Do you think you might enjoy dinner with me?"

  I did, actually. Over the course of the long day of work and all the chatting we'd done while stuffing envelopes I'd started to feel more relaxed with him. He seemed like he really knew where he was going in life. That was part of what I'd loved about Christophe, and apparently it still made me feel good about a man. I was interested in cautiously exploring those feelings.

  But should I tell him that I wasn't ready for anything more than dinner? Not now, and maybe not for a long time?

  No, I didn't need to. He wasn't asking for anything more, and if he did I'd tell him then. I wouldn't put myself in any dangerous situation and it would be fine.

  He raised his eyebrows. "Well?"

  I nodded.

  He smiled. "Excellent. I know just the place. Wear something a little extra-nice tomorrow, okay?" His eyes skimmed over me. "Not that you don't look good today."

  I smiled, trying to feel complimented as I knew he'd intended and not creeped out.

  *****

  When I got into my apartment, I tried to relax but I couldn't. The place didn't feel like a home. The apartment wasn't any more beige than it had been when I moved in but somehow the lack of color was bothering me more than before. There was no life to it.

  I went through my closet and found my brightest scarves, which I layered over the tops of the curtain rods and along the back of the couch and chairs. Those flashes of color did relieve the beige, but they didn't fix my mood. Even with my eyes closed so I could see no beige at all I wasn't happy, and that made it clear to me that my problem wasn't the color of t
he apartment so much as the feel of it. I was alone here, completely alone. Alone and lonely.

  Rosanna's wish for a cat to greet her when she got home came to mind, and I realized I felt the same way. I didn't like not having anyone or anything happy to see me.

  A quick Internet search found me a nearby pet supply store that had partnered with an animal shelter to display some cats awaiting adoption, so I could get one tonight if I wanted to.

  Did I, though? I didn't want to be alone any more, but a pet was a big step.

  I spent a few minutes scribbling in my notebook to get my thoughts a little clearer, then left the apartment and was soon walking the several blocks toward the store. Step by step I analyzed the pros and cons, mostly the same ones I'd already written in my notebook. I'd have someone to cuddle with when I woke up miserable in the middle of the night, but then some cats weren't the cuddling type so mine might not be either. I wouldn't be alone, but I also wouldn't be able to go away for a week without making arrangements for the cat. I'd no doubt fall in love with it, but then someday I would lose it and that would hurt.

  I'd just passed a small park by the road when that particular con occurred to me, and I went back and sat on a bench where I could soak up the setting sun's last rays and think.

  It would hurt to lose my cat someday, no question. But was it better not to have the enjoyment of it now to save myself the hurt later?

  If I'd known how badly things would end with Christophe, would I ever have started with him?

  I wriggled my shoulders to release tension at the thought. No, of course I wouldn't have. I would have if we'd just had a normal breakup, but once the cops break down the door it can't be called a normal breakup. If I'd known what he would do to me I would never have given him the chance.

  But I hadn't known. I hadn't had a clue. Maybe you could never really know what people would do, what they were planning and thinking. With how badly I'd misread Christophe, clearly I wasn't good at recognizing that stuff.