Always.
She was done giving him space. Knowing Katie, if he refused to let her in Saturday night, she’d keep bringing over lasagna—his favorite meal—and keep leaving it on the porch, until every stray in the neighborhood was sick of it.
His sister was back in his life, and damn if he wasn’t looking forward to seeing her again.
She’d been exhausted, though. Running on fumes. Coming from volunteering at her latest homeless shelter. And clearly troubled about something besides him.
Probably the missing patient she’d mentioned…twice. The one he’d refused to lift a finger to help find because it would have meant seeing her again. Yet the second he’d called her, she’d dropped everything and rushed over, with Stephen in tow as backup.
But Stephen who?
There weren’t a lot of legal advocates in town. Martin could understand why—killer hours and crappy money. The man seemed decent enough, but there was something about him that Martin didn’t trust.
Creighton was a player. The kind that knew how to use people to get what he wanted. The question was, what did the good lawyer want with Katie?
CHAPTER SEVEN
“INS IS WAITING IN YOUR OFFICE,” Neal said over Stephen’s cell the next morning. “They seem to think our MIA client might not be as legal as all our carefully filed paperwork says he is.”
“No kidding.” Stephen was stuck in gridlock, just a few blocks from the office. “A water main break on Courtland has traffic rerouted all over the place. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Have any luck with Ms. Rhodes?” Neal wanted to know.
“Jury’s still out.” Neither Neal nor Curt would let him live down heading for the shelter instead of the bar last night, despite his insistence that the detour had merely been about the Digarro case. “I may have earned a bit of the nurse’s trust.”
As if all he saw when he looked at Kate was a nurse.
He was only a block from the hospital. She’d said she’d be working today. And he wasn’t going anywhere else, anytime soon. What would it hurt to touch base with her?
“Tell the INS I have a last-minute meeting with a client,” he said. “I’ll get back to them later today.”
“They’re going to love that. Have fun with your client.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Stephen hung up on his boss’s chuckle.
The man had laughed more in the last year than in the entire time Stephen had known him before, and it only got worse when Jenn was coming to town. Stephen had been hard-pressed to understand the drastic shift in the man’s attitude toward life. Work. Everything.
Except, damn if he wasn’t smiling himself as he neared the hospital. Because he wasn’t just stopping to let Kate know that the pressure to find the Digarros had just kicked up a notch.
He was stopping to see Kate, period.
“HE’S A TIGER IN THE COURTROOM,” Marsha Taylor said about Stephen as she and Kate shared a rushed snack of stale muffins and fresh coffee in the staff break room. “Donald says Stephen Creighton’s boss doesn’t litigate. But Neal Cain has a badass rep for pretrial negotiation. And Creighton’s evidently the last person a prosecutor wants to see across a courtroom. Forget the slick suits and Ivy League manners. Sounds like your lawyer and his boss have an ax to grind with someone, and the legal system’s taking the brunt. The more desperate the client, the harder they bust balls.”
Marsha’s husband was a deputy D.A. on the kind of fast track that left Marsha living the life of a widow for six, sometimes seven, nights a week. Kate had called her last night and casually asked for the skinny on the overzealous but surprisingly attentive Stephen Creighton. Donald Taylor, who struck his own kind of imposing figure inside and outside the courtroom, sounded impressed.
“Did he say how long Stephen’s been working in Atlanta?” Kate persisted.
“Since graduating from Emory Law.” Marsha wiped cinnamon from the corner of her mouth.
“Expensive.” Emory was a six-figure commitment.
“Family money.” Marsha broke off the top of another muffin.
She only liked the tops, and Kate preferred the soft, spongy bottoms. Theirs had been a match made in coffee break heaven, ever since they’d pulled their first double shift together.
“That makes sense.” Kate sipped her coffee, ignoring her friend’s look. The same meaningful stare Marsha had been giving her all morning. “No way does a nonprofit legal advocate make enough to afford that man’s clothes.”
“And just how good a look have you gotten at those fancy suits of his?”
Kate wadded up a muffin wrapper and tossed it at her friend. “Good enough.”
“It might be worth looking a little closer.”
Kate shrugged.
She hadn’t mentioned how wonderful Stephen had been with Martin last night. How he’d made sure she arrived safely and gotten Martin on his feet without mishap, then faded away so she and her brother could talk. When she hadn’t been able to sleep later, her thoughts had drifted back and forth between him and her brother. She’d almost called Stephen’s office early that morning—just to thank him again, of course.
Marsha handed over the muffin bottom.
“Rumor is, he has nothing to do with his wealthy family,” she continued. “And he spends more of his own money helping his clients after their cases are settled than that center he works at will ever collect in fees. That’s all the dirt Donald had. If you want to know more, you’re going to have to dig it up yourself.”
Kate choked at her friend’s suggestive expression.
“What?” Marsha was all innocence. “From what I saw when he was here yesterday, digging could be a whole lot of fun.”
“Yeah, like I have tons of time for that.” She had a double shift to work, the Atlanta homeless community to hassle and a homemade Italian dinner to shove down her brother’s throat tomorrow night. “Fun’s going to have to wait a while.”
Marsha glanced over Kate’s shoulder. “Maybe fun’ll come looking for you.”
Kate started at the knock on the break room door. She turned to see Stephen peering through the glass inset.
Marsha, ever helpful, motioned him in.
“I’ll leave you two alone.” She pointed to the counter behind Kate on her way out. “The coffee’s over there, counselor.”
Stephen turned to watch Marsha go, then pivoted back.
“Hope I didn’t interrupt anything.” His hands were buried in his trench coat pockets.
“No.” Kate stood and swept the crumbs off the table. “Just taking a break.”
“Did everything work out with your brother last night?”
“We’ll see.” She dusted her fingers over the trash can, then rinsed her and Marsha’s coffee cups in the sink.
Stephen waited until she looked at him.
“The INS is over at my office right now—” he stared at the tops of his perfectly polished loafers “—looking for information about the Digarros’ whereabouts. I thought you should know.”
“Oh, God.” Kate settled back into her chair. “What have I done?”
Stephen sat beside her.
He hesitated, then settled his hand over hers.
“You haven’t done anything,” he said, “but worry about a sick kid, just like you seem to worry about everyone else. I shouldn’t have been so hard on you the other day. You were doing your job.”
“And now the Digarros are on the run, Dillon’s not getting the treatment he needs and they may be deported.”
His fingers felt good, rubbing against hers. Really good.
“All the INS is doing at the moment is investigating,” he hedged.
“But you’re pretty sure they’re going to find something.”
“Yes.” His hand squeezed hers. “We’re covered at the office. But I don’t expect the immigration papers Manny showed us to check out. Or his last known address. The INS will run it all through their computers. If there’s a discrepancy, they’ll take a harder l
ook. And as long as Manny stays in Atlanta, there’s a chance they’ll find him.”
“I don’t see how he could have left yet.” Kate tried to breathe through the weight of knowing she’d set this disaster in motion. “Dillon’s too weak to travel by bus, even if they had the money. They don’t own a car. I’m not even sure they have a place to stay. No one’s seen them in any of the public shelters.”
Stephen didn’t offer empty encouragement or a meaningless “it’ll be all right.” The fact that he wasn’t promising a quick fix made him seem…safe. Just like he’d felt safe to her last night, by her side and helping her with Martin.
Stephen’s free hand rubbed at the corner of her eye, wiping tears she hadn’t known were there.
“We’ll find a way to fix this,” he promised.
Her breath caught.
We suddenly sounded so right.
“If it’s okay with you,” he said, “I’d like to talk to your brother about looking into Manny’s past. See if we can figure out who he might have contacted in the city when he realized he needed to hide.”
Stephen was asking her if it was okay. According to Donald’s “dirt,” he wasn’t the type of man to ask permission very often.
“Would you leave Martin alone if I asked you to?” What he said next shouldn’t mean as much to her as it did.
“It would be a mistake.” He smoothed her bangs back, his eyes shutting and slowly opening when she shuddered beneath his touch. “I saw how much you two care about each other. Your brother would help if he knew you were this caught up in finding the Digarros. But, yes, I’ll back off and look for some other way, if that’s what you need. I’ll put a private investigator on it, and see what he can find. Just tell me which way you want us to go.”
Kate blinked.
How many times had she told her ex she’d needed to be treated as an equal in their marriage, capable of deciding what was best for her, even if he didn’t understand or agree. Robert hadn’t been able to do that.
But Stephen, the ace litigator, a master at playing whatever angle served his purposes, was laying his cards on the table and allowing her to choose if he folded or not.
He was saying us.
We.
“Kate?” he prompted.
“I…I don’t think Martin will agree to help. I’m not even sure if he can…”
“But it’s okay with you if I try?”
Kate nodded, only then realizing that Stephen’s palm was cupping her cheek.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” She tried to move away.
“It’s hard for me, too.” His thumb smoothed across her cheekbone.
“What?” she whispered.
“This need I have to trust you.” His expression hardened. His gaze dropped to her lips. “I’m not an easy man, Kate.”
“No, you’re not.” She ran her tongue over her bottom lip.
He flinched, and his eyes locked with hers. There was heat there, tempering the hardness.
Anyone could walk in, or walk by and glance through the door’s window. But all she could think about was feeling more. Inching closer.
“Do you trust me, Kate?” Stephen asked, doing some inching of his own.
God knew she did. And only He knew why.
“Yeah,” she replied, the truth settling deep.
“Yeah,” he whispered, a second before his lips pressed against hers.
Get closer.
Feel more.
Make the ache inside stop.
Or make it worse. She didn’t care which.
Stephen’s tongue grazed her lips, his body tense. He cupped the back of her neck, silently asking permission. When she angled her head, closed her eyes and deepened the kiss, they each groaned.
He took complete control.
There were no other words for the way he devoured her. Then, as her nails bit into his arms, his hands moved down her back, cupped her bottom and slid her closer to the edge of her chair, until her thighs were cradled between his.
She should be protesting. It was too fast. She was out of her mind.
But he was the one to pull away first.
His hands rubbed gentle circles up her arms, leaving her shivering. He gentled his kiss, his chest billowing in and out with the effort it took to back off. Kate clenched his forearms, not ready to let him go, and leaned into his next kiss, pressing for more. She swallowed the low, needy sound he made.
A crash in the hallway sent them springing apart to stare at each other.
Stephen cleared his throat and stood.
“So.” He dug his hands into his coat pockets. “Um…Your brother. I’ll try to speak with him this afternoon, if it’s okay with you.”
“He…” Kate stood, too. “I think he’s at the academy every weekday. Um—”
The break room door opened. Marsha poked her head in.
“Robert’s looking for you.” She glanced back and forth between them, as if she could feel the tension still crackling through the room. “I told him you were busy with something important.”
“My ex-husband, he’s a surgeon here,” Kate felt compelled to explain. She shook her head. As
if Stephen cared. “Yes, it’s okay with me if you want to ask Martin for help. But I think you’re wasting your time.”
“And I think you’re underestimating how much he cares for you,” Stephen countered. “After what I saw last night—”
“Let me know how it goes,” she interrupted.
With a glare, she begged Marsha to keep quiet.
“I’ll be in touch.” Stephen stepped past Marsha and disappeared into the hall.
“Last night?” Marsha asked.
“It was nothing.”
“Doesn’t sound like nothing, if the man’s already met the brother you haven’t said boo to since he moved back to town.”
“It’s a long story.” Kate fished her stethoscope out of her pocket and followed in Stephen’s wake.
Marsha kept up.
“So, is it nothing?” she quipped. “Or is it a long story?”
Shaking her head, wishing she knew herself, Kate kept walking.
“THE MEDICINE’S NOT HELPING,” Dillon’s father said, even though Dillon had been trying to hide how much he hurt.
The medicine Papa’s friend at the new shelter had gotten wasn’t as good as the hospital’s. It made Dillon feel sleepy. That helped. But everything still hurt.
He hadn’t been able to swallow the soup the man had brought down to the basement for lunch. Instead of finishing it, Dillon had lain down. If he lay still, it felt less like he had to throw up. And when he closed his eyes, the overhead light didn’t hurt his head as much.
Papa patted the car Dillon clutched close, then covered him with another blanket. Papa had been out all day, working—doing whatever job he’d found, so they’d have enough money to run soon. He wasn’t sure if he could go out again tomorrow. Someone had been asking for him around town. Asking at all the shelters.
But the manager here was a friend, a friend of a friend from back home. They were safe for a while. He’d keep their secret.
“I’m going to have to take you back to the hospital.” Papa rubbed Dillon’s shoulder. His eyes were wet.
“No. I’m fine.” They couldn’t go back. People would be looking for them, and not just the police.
His father nodded. Dillon closed his eyes again.
He wasn’t fine.
He’d never been fine, and no one could make him better for good. So Papa had taken his scary job back in Bogotá, to make sure Dillon had his doctors. Then they’d had to run.
He’d said things would be better in America. There’d be no one pounding on the door, demanding to see Papa. No guilt and fear on Papa’s face when he had to go see his boss—the man who would kill Papa if they ever went back, or if they were found in Atlanta because Dillon was too sick to run again.
He slid his hand under his pillow and clutched the hospital bracelet they’d cut off last
night. The name of the hospital was on it. He had looked it up in the phone book today, when no one was watching. He’d memorized the phone number. Nurse Kate would be there.
She’d worked at the last shelter they’d stayed at, too. He’d found that number and memorized it. Papa would never trust Kate again, but Dillon knew she would help him get better if he called her.
His own eyes were wet now. He squeezed them shut.
Papa had to get out of Atlanta, whatever it took.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“KELLY!” STEPHEN DROPPED the folders he’d been sifting through back to the desk. “The Hastings file, please. Or were you planning to shove it at me through the courthouse window?”
Kelly, blond and leggy and efficient enough for her legal skills to garner more attention than her killer body, calmly glided to his side and handed him the fifth file he hadn’t been able to find that afternoon. Almost as if she’d been hoarding the goods, the conniving office diva.
Stephen had admired her spunk from the moment he’d interviewed her. She had the kind of grit any good litigator needed to survive in a courtroom—and she was only a night-school semester short of her bachelor’s degree. Then it was on to the law school courses she’d ace, just as she did everything else.
“Keep bellowing at me—” she turned on her heel without breaking eye contact “—and I’m sure I can find somewhere unexpected to shove whatever you want next.”
“You love your job,” he called after her retreating figure—a petite body nearly every man who came into the office lusted after. One Stephen rarely noticed.
Tall, sleek and athletic women were more to his taste. Kate Rhodes, to be precise.
“I like paying my rent, and I learn something around here from time to time.” Kelly rounded her desk. “As long as you keep things interesting, I’ll stick around for a while.”
“You’re great at building team morale.” Neal stepped into Stephen’s office. He was waiting for Jenn to arrive, then the two of them were taking off.
“Everyone gets their work done and shows back up the next day. Kelly knows the score,” he said on a raised voice, just to needle her some more.
All the attorneys they’d hired as the center’s casework had begun to stack up valued their jobs and dug deep when needed.
Because of a Boy Page 8
