Wanting to offer some comfort, Rhianna said, “I’m sure it wasn’t that she didn’t trust you. Maybe she was just trying to protect you by not telling you something.”
“Is that what you’re doing?”
“In a way, but mostly I’m trying to protect myself.”
“It’s about that man, isn’t it—the one you mentioned?”
“Yes.”
Bonnie seemed lost in thought for a few seconds, then she said, “Kate, Lloyd knows people. They’re not welcome in my home, but he stays in touch with them.” Strained embarrassment tightened her face. “If you need for someone like that to go to Denver with you and…take care of the problem, just ask.”
Rhianna laughed softly. “Are you offering me a guy called Joey with a big neck and some anger-management issues?”
Bonnie shrugged innocently. “Knuckle-draggers have their uses.”
“You’re a friend. But no. I can handle this by myself.”
A small petulant voice called, “Mommy? Soon, please.”
“I’m being summoned.” As Bonnie headed for the den, she glanced back. “The offer’s on the table. Remember that when you’re there. All you have to do is pick up the phone.”
Chapter Six
I can’t plead guilty.” Brigham was so outraged he dropped his silver toothpick. “I refuse to confess to a crime I did not commit.”
“Given the circumstances, the deal is a reasonable one,” Jules said with evenhanded calm. “You’re facing a rape charge. The DA is willing to reduce that to second-degree assault. That’s a class-four felony instead of a class-two. You’d serve eighteen months.”
“Prison? That’s out of the question.”
“Mr. Brigham, if you are found guilty as charged, you are looking at eight to twenty-four years. At a minimum you’ll serve a mandatory five.”
“But they’re not going to find me guilty,” the client declared with the confidence of a man who thought he could buy an acquittal.
To some extent he was correct. Jules had handled worse cases and gotten the charges dismissed. And if by some unhappy stroke of fate the jury did not see things her way, there was always the appeal process. Sagelblum had a 90 percent success rate in that arena.
“It’s your decision,” she said. “I am obligated to discuss the DA’s offer with you, that’s all.”
“Can’t you people get the trial delayed again?” Brigham seemed to be having a cranky Monday. He had arrived late for the morning meeting and had complained about the cookies served with his coffee.
“You were arraigned over five months ago,” Jules said. “Jury selection begins this week.”
Colorado had a speedy trial law that required felony cases to be in front of a jury within six months of arraignment. Sagelblum had already obtained a three-week delay. The firm did not fall back on such tactics in criminal cases unless they were not trial-ready, which would be unusual. They had built their reputation by getting involved early and preparing an aggressive defense that was all about getting ahead of the prosecution. Everyone at the district attorney’s office knew that with Sagelblum on board, the case would go all the way and they would have an expensive fight on their hands. In Brigham’s case, the continuance had been sought so Jules had time to get back from England and prepare for her role.
“It’s up to you,” she said. “Take a plea or take your chances.”
“You don’t think I should accept, do you?” Brigham sounded incredulous.
Jules hesitated. It was tempting to steer this client toward a plea. In Colorado most criminal cases never went to trial, and most men charged with rape were eager to plead guilty to a less-stigmatizing felony. Prosecutors were seldom hard-line unless the media turned a case into a fiasco as they had with the Kobe Bryant prosecution. Normally, a plea bargain was a win/win for all parties. The victim would not have to testify and face humiliation and trauma in a courtroom full of strangers. Judges with clogged calendars could process out offenders. The DA could keep bodies moving and guarantee a conviction.
There was only one problem. Fees.
Sagelblum made the big bucks by going to trial, not pleading their clients out.
“We’ve already succeeded in getting the charges reduced,” Jules said. They’d won a motion to dismiss the kidnapping charge. “If you can pay close attention during preparation and adhere very carefully to the testimony plan, I think we can be optimistic at trial.”
“When will she arrive?”
“Who?”
“Rhianna.”
“I have no idea.”
“Is there somewhere they usually stay—witnesses and so on?”
“I hope you are not contemplating making contact with Ms. Lamb. A restraining order was issued against you, Mr. Brigham. Violating it would be unwise.”
“You’re right. It would look bad.” His resignation sounded phony. “All I want is to apologize and let her know my feelings have not changed. I still want her to be my wife.”
Jules had a feeling the plaintiff would be unmoved by this sentiment. She said, “Let me give you some advice. If you walk out of court a free man, put Ms. Lamb out of your mind and don’t look back.”
“Mommy said exactly the same thing.”
“Let’s be honest.” Jules attempted an argument that would make sense to any self-respecting narcissist. “Some women simply don’t know what is in their own best interests. Don’t let this one ruin your life.”
*
“I’m not expecting anyone.” Bonnie looked up from her accounts reconciliation when the doorbell rang.
Rhianna rose from the sofa, where she’d been reading The Very Hungry Caterpillar to Alice. “Maybe it’s old man Entwhistle coming over to apologize for being a jerk.”
Bonnie snorted. “Don’t hold your breath.”
Rhianna swung Alice onto her hip and padded through the house to the front door, Hadrian trailing her. He couldn’t hear the doorbell anymore, but he still performed guard-dog duty when he realized someone was there. He barked a couple of times, a low, deep sound that would scare the hell out of anyone.
When she looked up at the security monitor, Rhianna broke out in a smile and called, “Looks like your husband finally figured out that he screwed up over your hair. He’s sent you flowers.”
She heard the sound of Bonnie’s eager footsteps as she unlocked the door.
“Kate Lambert?” The FedEx driver on the porch held out an impressive bouquet.
Rhianna supposed such a delivery would normally command an ecstatic response, so her horrified gasp shocked the guy. He took a step back and glanced down at his delivery board.
Bonnie rescued him with a loud squeal. “Oh, my Lord.” She stepped past Rhianna to sign for the delivery. “They’re stunning.”
Rhianna lowered Alice to the floor. Her legs felt like they were about to crumple beneath her. Bile rose in her throat. She thought she was going to vomit on the highly polished floor.
Bonnie tipped the FedEx guy and closed the door after him, cradling the flowers like a newborn. “I don’t even know what these are,” she gushed, poking at a huge peony. “They’re like roses, only so much bigger, and those petals! To die for. Whoever sent these sure has the hots for you!”
Rhianna stared at the heavy wooden door. There was still time to stop the delivery van from driving away. She could tell the driver to take the flowers back where they came from, along with a message that there was no Kate Lambert at this address.
Bonnie finally noticed her silence. “Are you okay? You’re really pale.”
“Let me see the card,” Rhianna said, praying, Please, God, don’t let them be from him.
Her shooting lessons had been going well, she thought distractedly. Maybe this was Percy’s idea of an incentive. She swept another quick look over the flowers. No. Definitely not. Fear tightened its grip on her gut, squeezing until she felt sweat ooze from her pores. Had he found her? Was it possible?
Werner Brigham came from money. That m
eant he could pay for someone to track her down. That was why she’d been so careful. Her lawyer had told her exactly what it would take to get Brigham out of her life. One of them had to die, or Rhianna Lamb had to vanish without a trace.
She stared down at the envelope and decided she was being ridiculous. It was addressed to Kate Lambert. Wasn’t that what she’d set out to do—to rebuild her life under a new identity? The flowers only proved one thing; she’d been successful. Someone thought “Kate” was a real person and had sent flowers to her.
Taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, she extracted the card from the envelope and gingerly turned it over.
I can’t stop thinking about you.
Jules
A cell-phone number was typed below.
“Who the heck is Jules and why haven’t I heard about him?” Bonnie was reading over her shoulder. “‘I can’t stop thinking about you!’ Oh, be still, my heart.”
Rhianna tucked the card hastily into the pocket of her shorts. How could this be happening to her?
Bonnie looked mortified all of a sudden. “They’re not from him, are they? The problem?”
“No. Jules is a friend.”
“A friend who blows serious money on a flower delivery and writes that in a card. Uh-huh.” Happy again, Bonnie set off toward the kitchen, holding the bouquet aloft so that Hadrian couldn’t chew on it. “We need to get these in water.”
Alice gripped the hem of Rhianna’s shorts and they both followed.
Bonnie lowered the flowers onto the counter and tenderly removed the cellophane. “Two vases, I think. There are so many.”
The flowers were truly gorgeous, and so romantic Rhianna felt a delicious thrill just looking at them. It almost didn’t matter that she had not given her last name to Jules, and that Jules had somehow found a way to track her down. Rhianna forced herself to think about that unpleasant fact. The woman had ignored her desire for anonymity and had deliberately invaded her privacy. What kind of person did that stuff? Rhianna knew only too well; she’d just escaped from one of them, and Werner Brigham used to send extravagant bouquets, too.
She stared down at the peonies, marveling over the baby-skin delicacy of their clumped ivory petals. A translucent blush of pink barely intruded on the budding inner core of each flower. Green straight iris stems peeped between the blooms, their dark purple tips just beginning to unfurl. The arrangement was set off with miniature rosebuds, all dark velvety red, none in bloom. It was hard to miss the symbolism. Jules had sent her a poem, written in flowers.
That was something Werner Brigham had never done. His opulent flower deliveries sent a message, and it wasn’t a subtle one. Huge sprays of Thai orchids, dozens of red roses reclining in a bath of baby’s breath, elaborate ikebana. They announced themselves as gestures from a man with money to throw away. There was no consistency, no thought of what might appeal to her. His choices were all about him.
Bonnie climbed the kitchen stepladder and passed a couple of large vases down from a high storage cupboard. “Arrange them out here if you want, then I’ll help you carry them to your apartment.”
“They’re kind of big for the apartment. Let’s keep them in the house.”
Bonnie gave her a long look. “Why don’t you invite Jules to come visit some time.” She had obviously attempted a casual air, but Rhianna could tell she was dying of curiosity. “Lloyd could take him fishing up the Colorado or whatever, so he wouldn’t be stuck here with us girls the whole time.”
Rhianna lifted Alice into her chair harness and secured the straps. She sliced an apple and set the pieces on a plate, arranged like a happy face, with a couple of raisins for eyes. Alice had a picky appetite and Rhianna had found the best way to tempt her was to make her meals fun. She could already imagine the adult Alice, fussy around the house, washing her hands often, spending too long reading the menu at restaurants.
The little girl was very particular about everything. Her food, her clothes, even the bows in her hair. She amazed both Bonnie and Rhianna by putting away her toys without being asked and requesting a washcloth whenever she spilled a drop of paint or food on herself. Bonnie worried that such behavior was unnatural, but Rhianna thought it was a whole lot better than having to care for one of those toddlers who behaved like a wild animal. That might have been a deal breaker.
“Bonnie,” she ruffled Alice’s golden curls on her way to the counter, “Jules is a woman.”
So far, Rhianna had not identified herself as a lesbian. She had asked the Mosses at their interview if they objected to gay or lesbian people working for them. The couple had been so outspoken in their disgust with homophobia and hypocrisy that she knew she didn’t need to disclose any more personal information than necessary. Her lawyer had told her that the less other people knew about her, the fewer pieces they could put together.
During the six months she’d worked for the Mosses, she had met many of their more senior employees, folks invited to the house for outdoor parties and barbecues. Several were gay men and Rhianna was pretty certain one of the women was a lesbian. The Mosses were clearly gay-friendly.
Bonnie repeated, “A woman?” It seemed to hit her then and she sounded a little miffed as she said, “You should have filled me in sooner! There I was inviting single males to our barbecues and bugging Lloyd to find someone decent…now you tell me I’ve been barking up the wrong tree the whole time?”
“In a word, yes.”
Bonnie got busy rinsing the vases and filling them with water. “You know, I wondered, because you never seemed interested in any of the guys. But I had no idea.”
“I’m sorry. I should have said something.”
“Why? I mean, I don’t go around saying ‘by the way, everyone, I’m a heterosexual.’ It’s no one’s business.”
“I would have told you from the start if I felt it might be a problem,” Rhianna said. “I mean…with Alice. A gay person looking after your child. Not everyone would be comfortable with that.”
“Well, they’re ignorant. Name me ten lesbians who’ve been convicted of child molestation, and I’ll name you a thousand heterosexuals.”
Smiling, Rhianna located a pair of shears and began to trim the stems and place the flowers in water.
“I mean it about your friend,” Bonnie said. “Invite her out here when you get back from Denver.”
Rhianna caught a flash of herself and Jules stepping out onto the patio as the sun rose behind the Black Mountains and spilled its bright gold beams across the jagged horizon. Nice idea, but she was pretty certain cozy, domesticated togetherness was not what Jules had in mind when she suggested they hook up occasionally. She was amazed all over again that Jules had bothered to send a romantic bouquet when she only wanted another casual encounter. A woman like her couldn’t possibly be short of dates.
“I’m not looking to get involved with anyone right now,” she told Bonnie. “But thanks. It’s really kind of you to offer.”
“Well, for entirely selfish reasons, I’m happy that you’re single, but I hope you change your mind about that before too much longer. No one is an island.”
Rhianna laughed. “Do you know how funny that sounds, living out here in the desert?”
Bonnie joined her laugher and trimmed a couple of iris stems. “I should get back to those accounts. I’ll put Alice down for her nap.”
After Bonnie carried her sleepy daughter away, Rhianna finished arranging the flowers and carried the vases one at a time to their respective destinations, the larger to the hall table near the front door, the smaller to her apartment. She set the modern crystal container down on her dressing table, then took the florist’s card from her pocket. Good manners dictated that she should call Jules to thank her. She also wanted an explanation. How had Jules managed to obtain the name and address Rhianna had not divulged to her? What else did she know?
She stared down at the phone number for a long time before she dialed. Although she’d mentally rehearsed a message to leave on
the voice mail, the sound of Jules’s voice shocked her so much that she couldn’t speak at first. All she could remember was that same warm, low drawl in her ear as they had sex for hours.
“Kate?”
A real person. She hadn’t expected that. “Oh, I thought I’d be talking to a machine.”
“I saw the area code on caller ID and figured it was you. It’s good to hear from you.”
“Well, I’m sure you must have expected me to call,” Kate said dryly. “To say thanks for the flowers.” Before she could get as far as a comment on the invasion of her privacy, Jules preempted her.
“I want to apologize for hunting you down when you didn’t share your personal details with me. You have every reason to be angry, and I’ll understand if you toss the flowers in the trash and hang up right now.” She paused and in a velvety tone said, “I promise, if you want to end this call, I’ll respect your choice and never contact you again.”
Rhianna stared at the flowers. Their faint sweet scent already pervaded her room. What did she really want? Her uncertainty surprised her. She had been so determined to keep to her plan, it had only occurred to her on the drive back from Palm Springs that she had no reason to refuse to see Jules again. Just because having sex had not freed her of her demons, she shouldn’t necessarily give up on the woman she had slept with.
She’d been stunned to awaken after their night together still feeling displaced in her own skin. Worse still, her body bore such plain testimony to the pleasure she’d experienced, it only made her numbness more acute. But perhaps repeat encounters might change that. Or perhaps she just needed to give herself more time.
No one made an overnight recovery from rape. Why should she be any different? She’d had intensive therapy for two months after the attack, and then she became fed up. All she wanted was to stop thinking about that night and move on. She wanted to build a new life in a place where no one knew anything about what had happened and the people she worked with treated her just like anyone else. She was fed up with the pity and embarrassment, with people falling silent when she walked into a room.
Dark Valentine Page 7
