Safe? With her? Russian roulette has better survival odds. “I think we’ve already proven that theory wrong, Tina. Now that you know some of my history, you already want to fix it.”
“As an attorney,” she clarified. “I can’t separate my job from my personal life—one of my professional weaknesses. Everything hits me right here.” She tapped her chest just above her heart. “Makes me win cases.”
“I bet you do.” He considerately set her on the bench. “I live in a fucked-up world, darlin’. My head and heart are never aligned, and I’m pretty sure you don’t need that kind of stress in your life.”
“Maybe you should let me be the judge of that.” She peeked up at him, her long, dark lashes and wide eyes unraveling him inside.
“Not today.”
“When?”
“If it ever changes, I promise you’ll be the first to know.”
Chapter 7
They arrived back at the clubhouse by late afternoon. Tina considered the day a reasonable success. Not only had she learned something about local wildlife, Vincent had confided in her, a step in the right direction if they were going to spend quality time together. And he’d kissed her. Her only disappointment was that it had been in a moment of weakness, not intentionally. Why didn’t he do it because he wanted to? Understandably his past played a large part in his hesitation. But she wasn’t convinced that was all.
She swallowed the lump in her throat, her hands shaking. Even if his ex-wife suffered from chronic depression, that didn’t completely absolve her from the abuse and infidelity, or from her cruelty in keeping her children away from their father. Tina abhorred parents who used their kids as weapons. Though she handled the occasional divorce case, the meat and potatoes of her law firm, she avoided them as often as possible. That kind of animosity crept its way into her heart every time, affecting her personally. Leave it to her more disconnected colleagues to manage those cases.
Last year she represented a drug-addicted mother attempting to regain custody of her three children from the state. Tina had stuck with her, trusted she was attending parenting classes and Narcotics Anonymous. They’d even connected on a more personal level. Not exactly as friends, but Tina cared more than she should.
Months later she received an unmarked envelope that contained recordings of conversations her client had had with her ex-husband, a violent convicted felon and gang member the court had ordered her to stay away from. Of course her client had been lying to her the whole time. Not only was she secretly hooking up with her ex, she was also actively doing drugs. Her children were placed in a permanent foster home, her client’s parental rights terminated. So whenever Tina encountered a similar story, she immediately questioned the validity of anyone’s claims. A professional survival instinct she’d learned the hard way.
“Where’s your head at?” Vincent asked as he opened his door.
Not interested in sharing her thoughts, she smiled. “On my shoulders last time I checked.”
“That mouth,” he observed, sliding out of the truck. He walked around to the passenger side and opened her door. “Guess it’s time to check on your vehicle.”
“Check on it?” What did he mean?
“Might as well share now. I believe your client vandalized the Escalade last night. I found it this morning—he keyed the word cunt on your driver’s-side door and smashed the taillights. I didn’t want to tell you before we left.”
Oh my God. What were the chances someone else randomly trashed her SUV? Zero. So the harassment had quickly grown into something more sinister. “Shit. I’m not even sure what to say. Call the police and file a report? My insurance agent will need a copy of the invoice for the work your shop completed and the pictures so we can compensate you.” Regardless of her calm demeanor, inside she felt angry and violated. That son of a bitch Kline needed to be held accountable.
“No police. And consider it a gift. I don’t want your money, Tina.”
“I’m trying to do this the right way, Vincent.” Of course if word got out about Kline, his PO would immediately have him arrested for a probation violation. As tempting as it sounded, the sword cut both ways. Punish Kline, and she’d suffer some consequences at work, too.
“Trust me,” Vincent said. “The department will send a rookie patrol officer out here, he’ll write down the details, file the report at the end of the day, and it will get lost in the slush pile. CCPD is understaffed and overworked. Let me handle this my way.”
Not fully convinced, she let Vincent guide her to the shop where her vehicle waited, not a trace of damage left. She stared at him, then back at her car.
“Had J.T. fix it.” He shrugged as if it didn’t mean anything. “One of the perks of knowing me.”
No, another example of his generosity. “Thank you. Just know I don’t freak out over stuff like that. I’m pretty grounded, Vincent. Another side effect of my career. Once you’ve studied crime scene photos a few times, you get desensitized.”
He scratched his chin. “Sorry you have to see things like that.”
“Me too,” she said. “Remember that case fifteen months ago when a seventeen-year-old shot and killed a kid outside Sunrise Mall over a pair of expensive tennis shoes?”
“Yeah.”
“My firm represented the defendant in the sentencing phase. I served as second chair—providing support and consultation for the lead attorney. The photos were heart-wrenching. Not my favorite professional moment.”
“Yet you persevere.”
“Part of the job requirements, I guess. If I didn’t want tough cases, I’d have chosen corporate law as a specialty. Right now I’m working on a proposal for Nueces County to handle pro bono cases for family court. If I land the contract, my time will be mainly focused on custody hearings, helping disadvantaged parents reunite with their children. I believe in second chances, Vincent.” In every way. Hopefully he understood—that it translated into them having another opportunity to connect. “In the United States, the courts are often willing to restore parental rights or grant custody to parents who have successfully completed mandated rehabilitation programs and demonstrated the ability to join society again.”
She gazed at him. The issue remained close to her heart—she was baring an intimate side she’d never revealed to another man. “A long time ago a beloved great-uncle lost custody of his three children. As he often did on Friday nights, he stopped for a couple of beers in the local bar after working a twelve-hour shift at the refinery. Instead of staying for the usual hour, he downed a shot and hurried home to surprise his wife. He caught her in bed with his best friend.”
Vincent grimaced. “Fuck.”
“He had his lunch box and revolver in his hands. He always kept his firearm in his truck, and would lock it up in the house at night. He shot his friend in the stomach. The guy died three weeks later in the hospital from a secondary infection. The police charged him with manslaughter and the case went to trial. Although the jury acquitted him of any criminal wrongdoing, the divorce judge stripped his parental rights. Whether or not you agree with the jury, what he did had nothing to do with his abilities as a parent. Uncle Christian committed suicide a year later.” Tears stung her eyes.
He gripped her hand. “So now you want to make sure defendants get quality representation in a system that favors certain kinds of people.”
She nodded. “I’m not condoning his choice, but he had plenty to live for.”
“I’m sorry he felt so helpless. I respect your tenacity, Tina. If you win the contract, your clients will be lucky to have you. How long have you been practicing law?”
She sniffled before she answered. “Officially? Two and a half years. I completed my undergrad in three years, then attended Georgetown University Law Center. I interned at a couple of D.C. firms and landed a lucrative offer after graduation. But I wanted to get away from the East Coast. The arrogance and competition didn’t feel right; I ended up stressed out every night and battled insomnia. I’d s
pent nearly every summer of my childhood on Padre Island. We still have a condo here. Let’s just say I had Texas on my mind. Within a month of applying to James and Bronte, I had an offer.”
“Brilliant and beautiful,” he said admiringly. “I remember Lily saying something about you graduating as salutatorian.”
“Yeah.” Tina licked her lips. “I’m kind of an overachiever who detests giving speeches.”
Vincent nodded. “It makes sense now. Your toast at the wedding was pretty lame—Lily’s mother nearly passed out when you mentioned riding into the sunset on Lang’s Harley.”
“I can’t believe you remembered that. Anything else?”
“You shoot darts like a pro.”
“And?” she pressed.
“Fishing for compliments?”
“On occasion.”
He leaned close. “I love the way you taste,” he rumbled behind a flawless smile.
The man knew how to take her breath away. Should she respond? “High praise coming from a monk.”
The color in his face rose. “You couldn’t be more wrong.” He pointed at her vehicle. “Satisfied with the paint on the door?”
Vincent had perfected the abrupt subject change technique. In order to keep the peace, she checked out the paint. “Looks great. Thanks again, Vincent. Not sure I’d want to drive around with that word on my door.”
“You’re welcome. Which brings us to the next topic of conversation…”
She arched a brow.
“Security.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it,” she said, trying to appear unconcerned. “I live in a gated community. As for work—until I have proof Kline did this, I’m stuck.”
“J.T. documented the damage. I’ll forward copies of the photos via email. If I were you, I’d start keeping a daily journal describing any encounters you have with him. Even insignificant conversations.”
“That’s a great idea,” she said, grateful for his advice.
“Imagine me counseling you. But I’ve dealt with his kind before. Several of the old ladies are dancers or bartenders; they attract crazies sometimes.”
“Pretty sure I’ll turn his case over to another attorney. After I have a chance to talk to him in private.”
Vincent grabbed her arm. “What?”
“In my office.”
“No,” he insisted. “That’s what phones are for.”
“And let him think he intimidated me enough to send me running with my tail tucked between my legs? Not a chance.”
“Don’t be foolish.”
“I’m not.”
“I disagree. You’re so fucking stubborn, anything I say won’t change your mind.”
“Not this time,” she confirmed. “However, I do promise to be careful.”
Vincent caressed her cheek. “Regardless of the way things have gone for us…” He cleared his throat. “If that son of a bitch hurts you, I’ll kill him.”
Damn. She’d upset him. The calm look on his face vanished and he gritted his teeth, quiet rage building.
“Some things are better left to men like me. Not the police.”
It pained her to think he’d risk his freedom to defend her against a piece of shit like Kline. On probation for the next year, if Kline violated his conditions, he’d go to jail. That’s where he belonged, worrying about dropping the soap in the gang shower in county lockup.
“I promise to call if he shows up at my apartment or anywhere else I go. But I have to talk to him at work. Will that satisfy you?”
“It’s a start.” He nodded. “Let’s grab your things from inside, then I’ll follow you home. I’d feel better if I checked your apartment out before you slept there again.”
Hmmm. A chance to get him alone at her place? She liked the idea very much. “Okay.”
Forty-five minutes later, Tina unlocked her front door. Vincent stepped inside first. He walked down the short entry, which opened up into a combo dining/living area. Double glass doors graced the back wall, overlooking Oso Bay. She opened the drapes, letting sunshine flood the space.
“See?” she teased. “Perfectly safe.”
He disappeared down the hallway. “Clear in here.”
Tina walked to the breakfast bar, where she kept her cordless phone and dinosaur of an answering machine. Call her silly, but it was a gift from her dear grandmother the year she left for college. Twenty messages? She pressed play. The first couple were from her mother and Alicia in the Bahamas. But the next eighteen were a combination of hang-ups and crude comments from Kline.
“Guess playing hard to get is your style, Valentina. Fucking prick tease.” A beep cut him off, and the next message started. “Curious what your cunt tastes like. Maybe a whiskey sour?”
She groaned and shut the machine off. “I can’t believe him…” she mumbled to herself.
“Pack a bag,” Vincent growled. “You’re coming back to the clubhouse.”
She turned around. “No. I’m not going to let a few lewd phone calls scare me.”
“Goddamnit, woman.” Clearly frustrated, he smacked the nearby wall. “Then I’ll spend the night. You have a fully functional guest room, though the closet is jammed with dresses and shoes.”
“You checked the closets, too?”
“Even under your bed.”
The idea of him crawling around like he was trying to find monsters for a frightened kid made her happy. “I like clothes.”
“Apparently.” He rolled his eyes. “Have any good movies and popcorn?”
“You enjoy movies?”
He nodded.
“I’m in the mood for Scott Eastwood. How about The Longest Ride?”
“Nicholas Sparks flicks? Hell no.”
“You’ve seen his work before?” she teased.
“After two wives and sisters does it come as a big surprise? If you ask me to watch The Notebook, I’ll smack you.”
She laughed hard, considering what other titles she could torture him with. “Pride and Prejudice?”
He exhaled and stomped across the living room, stopping in front of her Blu-ray rack. “Star Wars. Rocky. Star Trek. Deadwood. Like classic stuff?” He twisted around. “Deadwood?”
“My favorite show ever.”
He gave her an approving look. “Deadwood marathon night,” he announced as he plucked the box from the shelf. “Better change into something comfortable.”
If she possessed half a brain, she’d slip into her latest purchase from Victoria’s Secret and give him a reason to forget about the television.
Chapter 8
The next morning Vincent knocked on Tina’s bedroom door. He’d cooked breakfast—mushroom, tomato, and cheese omelets, toast, and sausage. The smell of fresh coffee permeated the apartment. Getting no answer, he tapped again, listening through the door for signs of life.
“Hello?” she called out, sounding sleepy and adorably pathetic.
He laughed to himself and opened the door. Heavy drapes kept any sunlight out and the extra-cold air conditioning made it feel like she slept in a cave.
Light from the hallway flooded the space. “Time to wake up.”
“It’s only seven. I sleep in on Sundays.” She covered her face with a pillow.
Reaching the bedside, he yanked it from her hands. “Early bird gets the worm.”
“Leave it to you to make bird references.”
He sat on the edge of the mattress. “Ever have breakfast in bed?” Maybe food would get her up.
She rested the back of her hand on her forehead and stared up at him. “Mom used to serve me pancakes in bed every Sunday.”
“What about coffee and omelets?”
“You raided my fridge?”
“Absolutely. I’m a three-square-meals-a-day type of man. By the way, I took the liberty of throwing out your expired yogurt and half-and-half—total science projects.”
She smirked. “I don’t spend a lot of time in the kitchen.”
“Obviously.”
Her
stomach growled. “Coffee sounds good.”
He arched a brow, doubting she could resist the maple-flavored sausage. “That’s it?”
“All right.” She yanked the covers halfway down and sat up. “Maybe some eggs.”
Vincent eyed the tight, pink T-shirt she wore, which showcased her pert breasts too well. He swallowed, forcing his gaze elsewhere. “Meet me in the dining room.” He stood suddenly, remembering her comment about staying away from horizontal surfaces together. Yeah, he wanted to fuck her.
“Running away again?” Tina rolled out of bed, her bottom half covered by only a pair of pink bikini shorts.
He sighed, unable to resist another lingering look. Long legs, shapely thighs that could probably squeeze the air out of his lungs. And those perfect tiny feet, a part of her body he hadn’t missed the other night when he removed her shoes in the clubhouse. “Walking and running are different, Tina.”
“Yeah?” She put a hand on her hip. “I appreciate everything you told me before, but it still doesn’t fully explain why we can’t just follow our instincts. Don’t you ever have sex?”
“Just going to keep challenging me until I give in? Is that the plan, pretty girl?” He stepped closer, able to hear her inhale her next breath. “Do you know how many girls have stripped in front of me?”
Her lips thinned with disapproval. “Am I supposed to be impressed?”
“Not exactly. Just wanted to make it clear I have thick skin. You’re beautiful, Tina—incredibly so. But the last time I let my little head do the thinking, it ended badly.”
“That’s just it,” she said, caressing his arm. “I’m not trying to force you into a relationship. Friends with benefits.”
He shook his head. “How about friends?” He extended his hand.
Silence followed, but he didn’t back down. Having Tina in his life on a more permanent basis appealed to him. Why wouldn’t it? She made him smile almost as much as his kids did. And that incorrigible personality, it kept him on his toes. Most girls went along with everything he said. This one challenged him at every turn, actually had a zest for life he hadn’t seen in a long time. But it was more than that. Underneath her confidence, he sensed a tenderness and vulnerability that attracted him more than her perfect face and body. She had heart.
Possession Page 5
