by Donna Fasano
Time dragged.
Damn! Move, man! The harsh command was nothing more than pure, self-preserving instinct, and he thanked heaven for blessing him with a healthy dose of it, which never failed to kick in just when it was needed. This time was no exception.
Lucas took several steps and set his briefcase, mail and messages on his desk. He said, “Yes, it has been a long…long time.”
“I know you’re very busy. The woman at the front desk told me so. But I was hoping you could give me some time. Just a moment or two.”
Grateful for a reason to break contact with her mesmerizing cobalt eyes, he snatched the opportunity to study his wristwatch. “I’m due in a meeting right now. And I’ve got clients coming—”
“Five minutes.”
“My day really is jammed, Tyne. But I’ll have Martha check my schedule. I’m sure I could fit you in within the next couple of—”
“Please, Lucas.”
He couldn’t dismiss the tone of those two small words, nor could he ignore the magnitude of emotion clouding her expression. He had no choice but to relent.
“Sit down,” he murmured. He closed the door of his office and then returned to perch himself on the corner of his desk. He steeled himself before asking, “What’s on your mind?”
She seemed to shrink a little as a thousand thoughts ran though her head. Seconds passed, and still she didn’t speak.
Lucas witnessed the phenomenon almost on a daily basis. The people who wound up in his office often felt as if they were carrying the world on their shoulders. He knew her anxiety would eventually discharge, and from the looks of it, he wouldn’t have to wait long.
Finally, she pressed her hand to her chest. “I can’t breathe.”
“Relax. Do you want some water?”
She shook her head, a lock of her long, platinum hair falling over her forearm. “No. I need to get this out. I promised you I’d hurry.”
He couldn’t keep his brows from arching a fraction. She hadn’t kept her promises in the past. Why would he expect her to now?
Tyne ran her tongue along her full bottom lip, hesitated another moment, then blurted, “I need a lawyer.”
Lucas closed his eyes and stifled a sigh. He could have guessed as much, of course. He’d worked hard to get himself into the privileged position of being able to pick and choose his clients. The last person he wanted to represent was Tyne Whitlock.
“A good lawyer, Lucas.”
Common sense told him Tyne wasn’t attempting to flatter him. She was speaking purely out of desperation.
“Look, Tyne—” Something made him stop. He sighed, and then he stood, taking his time rounding his desk and sitting down. The leather-upholstered arms of the chair were cool and smooth under his fingertips.
“I know some of the best attorneys in the city.” He plucked a pen from the cup on his desktop. “And many of them owe me a favor or two.” He reached into his inside jacket pocket, pulled out one of the business cards he always kept handy, and turned it over, poised to write. “Let me give you some names and numbers—”
“I don’t want just any attorney.” Her chin lifted. “I want you. Why else would I have come here?”
His gaze lowered to the small white card in his hand. With much deliberation, he set down the pen and the card, and then he looked her directly in the eyes.
Every muscle in her body appeared board-stiff.
“Listen to me—” he kept his tone calm “—when people find themselves in trouble with the law, or victimized, or wrongfully sued, or unjustly accused, they tend to get lost in a strange, I don’t know, franticness. A recklessness that they almost always regret. Believe me when I tell you that no situation is hopeless, and circumstances are rarely as desperate as they might be perceived. Whatever trouble you’re in, don’t let panic and fear haze your thinking.”
“You don’t understand.”
“I think I do,” he rushed to assure her. “I see it every day. Honest, hardworking people finding themselves in dire straits. And this unfamiliar territory throws them. They grasp at help from the first source that comes to mind.”
“But—”
“Just like that old adage warning that only a fool acts as his own lawyer, it’s also foolish to choose an attorney in haste. You and I have a past, Tyne, and even though all of that took place years and years ago, the fact remains that we have a history. I don’t believe I would be the best person to represent you in a court of law. You need someone who’ll be totally unbiased. Let me give you some names. I’ll make some calls for you myself—”
“Stop!” She lifted her hands and scooted to the edge of the seat. “You don’t understand. And I can’t make you understand if you won’t shut up for a minute.”
His eyebrows arched and the frustration in her statement had him leaning back a bit.
She frowned. “I’m sorry. Really, I am. I had to stew all day yesterday.” She fisted her hands in her lap. “I didn’t expect to reach anyone on a Sunday, but do you know that your firm doesn’t offer an emergency number on the answering machine?” She exhaled with force. “I’m a nervous wreck just being here. Seeing you. But all that aside, I shouldn’t have snapped at you. Please accept my apology.”
He didn’t react, didn’t move. He just waited for her to continue.
“The thing is…what you need to know…”
Once again, she grew terribly cautious, and Lucas found that extremely curious. What the hell was it she found so hard to tell him? What kind of trouble was she in?
She blanched, but then her spine straightened. “I’m not the one who needs a lawyer. I want to hire you, yes. But I’m not the one needing representation. It’s my son who’s in trouble.” A nerve at the corner of her eye ticked, but her gaze never veered from his as she added, “Our son, Lucas.”
CHAPTER THREE
It was rumored that Judge Marvin Taylor ate a pound of ten-penny nails for lunch every day—right after putting the hammer to at least a half-dozen delinquent teens every morning.
Because he specialized in corporate law, Lucas had minimal experience representing minors, and those cases had been forced on him when kids of clients had wound up in trouble. Shannon Reeves was a good case-in-point. In every instance, though, he’d been successful in having the charges reduced or dismissed simply by finding the right words to say to the right people in the DA’s office and by talking to the judge. However, the judge presiding over Zach’s case had refused his calls. The man wouldn’t even talk with Lucas about the charges his son was facing.
His son. The phrase made Lucas’s gut clench, and he turned his head to glance for what felt like the hundredth time at the grim teen seated next to him at the defense table. There was no denying the kid was his.
Lucas faced forward when the gavel struck wood.
“No, Mr. Hawk, I will not meet with you in chambers. I like to do business out in the open. Where everyone can hear and know what’s going on.” The Honorable Judge Taylor peered over his eyeglasses directly at Zach. “I do like for people to understand exactly what’s happening and why.” He pulled off his glasses, took a moment to buff them on his sleeve, and then perched them back on his nose as he returned his attention to Lucas. “There’s nothing you could say to me in there, Counselor, that can’t be said out here.”
So the man wasn’t only hard-hearted, he was also a jackass. Lucas stood. “May I at least approach the bench?”
It was a desk, really. The Juvenile Courtrooms were small, almost intimate, as public audiences were barred from proceedings involving minors.
The judge sighed, loud and long, and waved both lawyers forward.
“Thank you, Your Honor,” Lucas murmured. “If you’ll hear me out, I think you’ll agree that this case has some…special circumstances.”
The prosecutor from the District Attorney’s office was a woman just short of retirement whom Lucas had met with only once in another case involving a minor. He remembered her as being firm
but fair. Her smile bolstered Lucas, but the judge remained silent and stone-faced.
“Your Honor, I’ll get right to the point. Zachary Whitlock is my son.” He paused. “I met him for the first time this morning.”
The opposing attorney’s gaze widened, but Judge Taylor’s expression remained unmoved. Not much fazed Lucas, but he hadn’t expected indifference.
“I understand you have a reputation of being tough. Even on first time offenders. But I ask you to bear in mind that—”
“What you need to bear in mind,” Taylor countered, leaning forward and speaking loud enough for all to hear, “is that this young man is in my courtroom today because he broke the law. Special circumstances or not. Go back to your seats.”
Lucas felt stung as he made the short trek back to the table. Tyne’s troubled gaze locked onto him. He would have liked to offer her some encouragement; a smile, a nod, something. But he couldn’t find a reason to.
“Don’t get me wrong.” The Judge slid his gavel several inches to his right. “I’m pleased that you’re enjoying a family reunion. I sincerely hope something good comes of it. But that doesn’t change the fact that the fifteen-year-old sitting, well, slouching there—”
Zach shifted in his seat.
“—chose to associate with three known criminals. He chose to deface public property. He’s costing the tax payers money. I am sick to death of petty crime, and I firmly believe that every criminal act that goes unpunished only paves the way further into a life of unlawful conduct. If someone doesn’t give me a solid reason not to, I plan to punish this young man to the fullest extent of the law. Zachary Whitlock has admitted to behaving in a criminal manner. That is what we’re here to discuss. Isn’t that correct, Counselors?”
The Assistant State’s Attorney said, “Yes, Your Honor.”
“Yes, sir,” Lucas was forced to agree.
“Fifteen years old and hanging out with common criminals at midnight.” Judge Taylor leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Mr. Hawk, you say you just met your son for the first time this morning.”
“Yes, sir.” Lucas nodded. “We had breakfast at the coffee shop down the block.” Attempting to garner some sympathy, he added, “Although, we were too nervous to eat.”
Everyone except Tyne’s fiancé. The man had chowed down on a stack of pancakes as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Lucas might have felt a bit envious at that, if he hadn’t seemed so rock-stupid. But perhaps Lucas had been too quick to judge, and Rob had simply been too damned hungry to offer a single constructive idea regarding Zach’s problem.
“Tell me. What was your impression? Of your son, I mean.”
Lucas didn’t answer right away. He remembered the teen’s I-don’t-give-a-damn posture, his brooding air. Zach had scarcely said two words to him. Had barely looked at him, in fact, as Lucas and Tyne had quietly discussed the proceedings.
But the kid was on emotional overload. Who wouldn’t be? He’d met his father for the very first time this morning. He was also facing a courtroom and a judge and criminal charges. When a person was down in a valley as deep as Zach was, he had nowhere to climb but up.
“He has great potential.”
Taylor only nodded. “I’d like for Zach to explain what happened. Why were you out so late at night, son?”
“Excuse me, sir, if you would.” Lucas slid his fingers along the full length of his ink pen. “I instructed Zach earlier that, as his representative, I’d be doing most of the talking. He’s never been in this kind of situation before, and he’s feeling apprehensive.”
“I sympathize, Mr. Hawk. I do. But not enough to let you run my courtroom. I’d like to hear what Zach has to say for himself. He obviously thought he was man enough to go out and break the law. He needs to be man enough to explain himself. I’d like for him to tell me, in his own words, what he was doing. What was he thinking? Why was he consorting with delinquents?”
Zach looked at the judge, then looked away. He fidgeted in his chair. “I didn’ know.”
“You didn’t know what, son? That it was too late for you to be out? That spray painting graffiti on a building that doesn’t belong to you is wrong? That breaking the law has consequences?”
Lucas ground his teeth, hoping Zach kept his cool in the face of the judge’s taunts.
“I didn’ even know those dudes.”
The Judge nodded. “I see.”
“I just met ’em,” Zach continued. “They asked me if I wanted to hang out. Have some fun.”
“Do you have any idea how often I’ve heard the I-never-met-those-kids-before story?” The man tilted his head. “Why were you out so late in the first place?”
“I had a bad day. Had a fight with my friend.” The teen shrugged. “I felt like I was crawlin’ outta my skin. I needed to get out the house.”
“So you needed to get out of the house. And where was your mother?”
“Workin’.” Zach’s chin dipped and his tone lowered. “She’s always workin’.”
The Judge zeroed in on Tyne. “Is this true, Ms. Whitlock?”
“I’m a single mother, Your Honor. I have bills to pay just like everyone else,” she said, her voice tight. “I own a catering company. I fix food for parties. People have parties at night. If I want to pay the mortgage and utilities, buy food, clothes, I have to work at night.”
“Even though it means forfeiting your son’s safety and wellbeing?”
Tyne was clearly taken aback. “That’s not fair.”
“Oh, I disagree. It’s perfectly fair. You’re his parent. Zach should be your number one priority.”
“He is my number one priority. Why else would I work so hard? Six days a week, sometimes sixty hours a week. There’s no other reason except to provide a roof over his head and clothes on his back. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to provide for a child these days?” Tyne clamped both hands on the arms of her chair. “And I’d like it noted for the record that I usually only work two nights a week. Friday and Saturday. And my partners and I try to schedule things so that each of us has one weekend off a month.” She fumed. “Yes, I work long hours. But I have to earn a living.”
Lucas picked up the file in front of him and tapped it lightly on the table to get Tyne’s attention. He looked at her. Hard.
She took a deep breath, but her shoulders remained rigid. Then she muttered, “Do you have any idea how much sneakers cost these days?”
Judge Taylor ignored the question. He looked at the man sitting at the far end of the table to Tyne’s left. “And, if I might ask, who are you? And what’s your role in all of this?”
“Rob Henderson, sir.” He stood. “I’m Tyne’s, er…Ms. Whitlock’s fiancé. I was at her apartment the night all this went down. But I fell asleep, so I really can’t tell you anything.” He sat down, but then he bolted back to his feet. “Your Honor.”
Taylor studied Henderson for a moment, giving him far more notice than Lucas felt the man deserved. The judge told Rob to take his seat before swinging his attention back to Zach.
“So, son, let’s get back to that night. You met these dudes, as you called them. They asked you if you wanted to have some fun.”
“Yes.”
Lucas slid his foot over an inch and gave Zach’s shoe a light tap.
“Yes, sir,” Zach said to the judge. “They asked me if I had money.” The teen shrugged again. “I told ’em I did, and they said we should go tag some stuff.”
“’Tag some stuff’—” the judge rested his elbows on his desk and his chin on his fisted hands “—meaning to spray paint your name or your gang sign on dumpsters or fences or buildings or whatever, correct?”
“I’m not in a gang.” Zach quickly added, “sir.” He swallowed hard. “And the taggin’ was their idea, not mine.”
“But you admitted to buying the paint. The police report states the receipt was in your pocket.”
The teen lifted one shoulder and his voice went meek. “I was the onl
y one who had any money.”
Lucas could feel Zach’s shame, his defeat. “Your Honor, I’ve already explained that I just met Zach. That I don’t really know him. But he’s never been in any trouble before. I think it’s quite clear that he just got in over his head here. Those boys were older than Zach. I’m sure he felt flattered that they’d even talked to him.”
Taylor glanced at a document on his desk. “Officer Perez noted in her report that Zach mouthed off, and that he acted rudely.”
“That was posturing,” Lucas countered. “I’m sure he was doing that for the benefit of the other boys. You were fifteen once. Don’t you remember—”
“I never back-talked a police officer, Counselor.”
Lucas laced his fingers and rested his hands on the table top. “Sir, I have no idea what kind of parenting Zach has had up to this point. And I’ll admit that three unsupervised weekends a month would leave any teenager with way too much time on his hands.”
He remembered his own youth. Those long lists of never ending chores his uncle always had at the ready. Like any adolescent, Lucas had felt he was being treated with unfair harshness. But now he realized there must have been good motives behind his uncle’s madness.
“Good!” the judge said. “I’m glad we agree that Zach needs supervision. What we need now is a plan. A plan that will assure that Zach doesn’t show up in front of me again.”
Lucas placed his palms firmly on the table. “That’s not going to happen, is it, Zach?”
The teen adamantly shook his head. “No, sir.”
“Promises are all well and good.” Taylor looked from Lucas to Zach. “But I can tell you, son, that eight out of every ten minors who sit where you’re sitting come in here to pay me a second visit. And of those, an even higher percentage pay me a third visit.” His stern stare remained steady. “And the punishment is stiffer for each offense.” He picked up his gavel, slid his fingers down the length of it, his gaze raking over everyone sitting in front of him. “Like I said, we need a plan for this young man. Or I’m going to have to come up with one of my own.”
