Madeline sat at one end of a long wooden table with two women on the other side, an older woman and—“Jaime?” He sank onto a chair opposite.
She nodded, but it felt like a regal acknowledgment rather than an admission that they’d met before—and just had a conversation in the parking lot.
The older woman glanced between them, and Jaime gave a reluctant sigh. “Savannah, this is Chandler Bolton, my neighbor. Chandler, Savannah Daniels is one of the best civil attorneys in the state. Ms. Ange will be well served.”
“And your role?” He didn’t mean for the words to sound hard, but he didn’t like her tone.
“Consultant.” She returned her attention to Madeline. Her face softened as she tapped her pen against her notepad. “Your friend was telling us what happened.”
Madeline looked at him in alarm. “Is Tiffany all right?”
“Building a tall Duplo tower under the watchful eye of the receptionist.” He settled against the chair. “What do you need from me?”
“Tell us about your dog.” Savannah, who could only be ten or so years older than his ancient-feeling thirty-one, leaned forward, elbows resting on the table as she focused on him.
“He’s been trained as a comfort dog.”
“Meaning . . .” The word lingered as pens hovered above legal pads.
Chandler filled them in on Aslan’s training and preparation to be available for the traumatized. “He helped unlock Tiffany’s words during her interview.”
“Hmmm.” Jaime settled back and eyed him. “How exactly did he do that?”
“By being there.” Madeline’s voice was small. “He sat next to my baby and loved on her until she broke down. He made her feel safe.” Tears slid down her cheeks.
He tried to keep his focus on the conversation, but as the crying continued he felt more uncomfortable with each second. Chandler wanted to find the guy and make him pay before he could inflict this pain on anyone else.
CHAPTER 14
MONDAY, OCTOBER 8
The office had emptied now that the mother and child had left, taking Chandler with them. Savannah stayed in her chair, and Jaime did the same.
“Thanks for coming, Jaime.” Savannah considered her with that caring scrutiny she had.
“I’m glad you called. Is Caroline here?”
“No, she left her car here while she ran an errand.” Savannah waved the question aside as she continued to study Jaime. “You sure you can handle helping with Tiffany’s case?”
Jaime nodded. “As it happens, I have plenty of time. I need to talk to you about why.” Jaime pulled the bar charges from her purse and handed the letter to Savannah. “I need your professional opinion.”
Savannah took the letter. “An ethics charge?”
“Yes.”
“Give me a second to read it.”
Jaime tried to still the energy bouncing through her legs as she watched Savannah read the letter. It felt like each second stretched to an hour. Why hadn’t her mentor already evaluated it? Savannah excelled at executive function, processing information and decisions before most people could scan a document. The silence stretched till Jaime felt the need to speak.
“Do you think this is serious?”
Savannah peered over the papers at her. “Really, Jaime. Give me a minute to finish.”
“You’re the fastest reader I know. The fact you aren’t already telling me what to do means this is serious.”
“Then don’t ask my opinion,” Savannah drawled. Not a pronounced Southern accent, just enough to let people know she was a transplant. She settled back against her leather executive chair, and Jaime was surprised she didn’t kick her feet on top of the desk.
Jaime resorted to counting the ceiling tiles. She could be patient. When she had to. And this seemed like the perfect, terrible definition. She’d started counting the rows of colors in the carpet when Savannah finally leaned forward.
“We can fight this, but it’s going to take time.”
“Savannah, I need to work.”
“It’s a paid leave, right?”
Jaime frowned. “For two weeks.”
“Then think of this as a sabbatical.”
“But I don’t want to take time off like this.”
“You get to.”
“Argh.” Jaime tried to stare a hole through the stupid paper as if destroying it with X-ray vision would somehow erase the words and right her world. No one understood how much she needed her job to know her life had purpose and meaning.
Savannah leaned forward with the same sympathy she’d used when talking Jaime off the ledge during the brutal days of legal research and writing. “You’ll get through this.”
“Thank you.” The words fell flat. Things didn’t go right for her. Life was a struggle for survival. Had been since she was eight. She closed her eyes. Pushed back the images and reminded herself, “I have a voice.”
“Of course you do.” Savannah quirked an eyebrow as she studied Jaime.
“Sorry. Whom should I hire to help me?”
“Don’t want to use your own voice on this?”
“No.”
“Good. You know the old joke . . . An attorney who hires herself . . .”
“. . . has a fool for a client.”
“Exactly.” Savannah handed the letter to Jaime. “Photocopy this for me in the other room. I’ll get to work on your response. I just need some details from you.”
Before long Jaime was explaining the entire trial. “It was one of those times when I knew my client was guilty.”
“Did it give you any pause?”
“What do you mean?”
“Did you do less than your best? Not pursue witnesses, investigate less rigorously?”
“Absolutely not.” Jaime crossed her arms and stared at Savannah. “You know me better than that.”
“This panel doesn’t.” Savannah leaned forward and stared intently at Jaime. “You have to convince them you didn’t shirk your ethical obligations.”
Jaime thrust back her shoulders. “I exceed them because I believe the hope that people are innocent until proven guilty.”
“Why do you call it a hope?”
“For every innocent person I defend, I know four or five clients did what they were charged with. It’s just a question of whether they did what the Commonwealth’s Attorney claims. Our system doesn’t work without someone like me making sure all accused, regardless of whether they are innocent or guilty, have a fair opportunity to defend themselves.”
“Why you?”
“Because someone has to give the innocent a voice and hold the system accountable for the guilty.” The words erupted from her in a volcano of passion. “If the prosecution could act without restraint, our system would fail and no one would find justice.”
“Good.” Savannah’s lips tipped up at the edges. “Remember that as we fight through this. It won’t be easy.”
“Thank you.” Jaime cleared her throat. “What do you need from me right now?”
“A list of what happened at the trial. Everything you did. Why you did or didn’t do it. Remember, the people on this review board are a mix of two attorneys and one non-attorney. We have to show you did exactly what every reasonable defense attorney would do at the investigation stage.”
That was all. It sounded simple, but Jaime knew it was anything but. The reality was each trial required its own strategy and approach. It was too easy to armchair quarterback and see things that shoulda, coulda, woulda been done differently. This complaint could end the career she’d carefully built case by case. “Would you be worried in my position?”
“I’d find the best attorney I could and leave it to him or her to make something happen.” Savannah settled against her chair. “The question is what do you want?”
“I want my career back.”
“Then we proceed.” She reached toward her computer keyboard and hit a few keys. “I’ll be in touch.”
“One more thing. The Commonwe
alth’s Attorney has pressed charges against my uncle. I think he’s been served, because he called my dad on Saturday.” The words slipped out, and Jaime wanted them back.
Savannah paused. “What do you mean?”
“Now was the time to see if charges were even possible.”
“You’ve known since law school there is no statute of limitations.”
“I had to get strong enough.” Jaime glanced at her fingers that trembled in her lap. “What if Dane’s somehow involved in these charges?”
“I don’t see how that’s possible. Not if the charges were just served.”
Jaime nodded, any words of explanation stuck in her throat. “Thank you.”
And Jaime left, because that was all she could do.
When Chandler returned to work after the appointment at the law firm, Beth waved him down. “Perfect timing. There’s a call for you on line two.”
“Thanks.” Really, he wasn’t thankful. He needed a couple hours to tackle the piles of work waiting on his desk before he could put this Monday behind him.
“I can take a message if it helps. It’s been one of those months.” Beth’s gaze speared him in place.
“It’s okay, I’ve got it.” A minute later he was in his office where he grabbed his phone and clicked it on as he walked around his desk. “This is Bolton.”
“It’s me again.” The voice was vaguely familiar but indistinct.
Chandler pulled the phone from his ear and then put it back. “I’m sorry, but who is this?”
“We talked Friday.”
Chandler settled onto his chair and pulled a scrap of paper in front of him for notes. “What can I do for you? Are you ready to set up an appointment?”
“Talking doesn’t solve anything.”
“You might be surprised. I’ve watched relief spread across the faces of men as they talked.”
The man snorted. “I thought you were military.”
“I am.” Always would be. You couldn’t give years to the country and not have it change you permanently.
“How do you sleep at night?”
“On a bed with pillows.” That answer was more flippant than he’d intended. “I’ll admit there are still nightmares, but they’re easing.” And he had to believe that would continue.
“Must be nice.” A click followed by silence telegraphed that the man was done talking.
Chandler set the phone down and took a couple quick notes.
He couldn’t do anything with what the man had said. There were too many questions, but the man had called twice, on back-to-back business days. He was reaching out for something but didn’t seem to know what. That would make helping him difficult but not unusual. The military didn’t foster an environment that encouraged discussing weakness. If it did, maybe it would be easier for those returning to the States to articulate the events they’d experienced. Leaving an experience buried deep only increased its hold.
He slipped the note into a folder he labeled Pending Matters. He then set that file on top of another new one, this one filled with research on the new military scandal. The calls were continuing to come in, not just in this office but in the three hundred Vet Centers across the country. The needs were deep and raw, predominantly women who had learned someone they trusted had betrayed them in an intimate way. Chandler funneled those calls to the skilled women on his team. They had the heart and words to connect at the deep levels. It would be inappropriate for him to try. And even if he felt qualified, many of the women who were calling wouldn’t easily trust a man.
The sexual abuse scandals filling the headlines were new and old at the same time. Words and investigations wouldn’t end the activity. The deviants would simply find another place to hide.
All he could do was the next thing.
The challenge was understanding what that was and how to best serve those in pain.
CHAPTER 15
TUESDAY, OCTOBER 9
The apartment felt small, the walls closing in on her as Jaime lay in bed with no reason to get up. It had been years since she’d lacked a reason to launch from bed on a weekday morning.
Yet now, nothing.
And if she were honest, her reaction inside the elevator yesterday had freaked her out.
Would she sense Dane everywhere with something as simple as a scent serving as a trigger?
She might not be strong enough to handle that.
Just thinking those words made anger boil inside her.
She didn’t want her world to shrink to the space of her apartment while she waited to see what would happen with the ethics charges.
She threw back the covers and slid her feet into slippers before heading into the living space. She grabbed the remote on her way past the TV and turned it on as she took the fifteen steps to the galley kitchen.
Simba stretched from his perch on the tiny shabby chic table and then moved to the edge and stuck out a paw toward her as if he wanted to bat her nose.
“Hey, buddy.” She grabbed his paw and pulled him next to her. Her hand ran along his soft spine, and he nuzzled her fingers.
“Wish you could keep me company while I work out.” Having Caroline as a roommate, even temporarily, highlighted how isolated she’d become. A run on a treadmill in the building’s fitness center would help her manage her stress and boredom.
Jaime was fifteen minutes into a workout when the door opened and Captain America walked in. She stumbled on the belt and then steadied herself on the arms of the machine, praying he hadn’t noticed.
He headed toward the weights, then caught her gaze in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors. “I haven’t seen you here before.”
She tried to keep her voice steady and her posture erect as he changed course and stepped onto the treadmill next to hers. “I thought when your dog attacked my cat, you’d figure out I live here.”
“It wasn’t an attack, Jaime.” He turned on the machine and got it moving at a quick clip.
He grinned at her as his legs ate up the treadmill’s speed. He wasn’t that much taller than her five foot nine—probably just over six feet—but he sure made it look easier than it felt to her. There had been a time exercise outdoors had been her salvation. She blew a strand of hair that had slipped from her headband. Of course, he had to come in when she was unshowered and on the verge of doing more than glistening.
Not that she cared.
She pushed the speed up a few ticks. Now she was at a fast walk but not quite a jog, as he loped along. She glanced at his reflection in the mirror. He looked comfortable and ready to settle in for a long run.
Guess she might as well make conversation. “How often are you here?”
“I run at least five times a week. Do it here if it’s not nice enough to run outside.”
That explained the Captain America physique.
“Mind if I turn on the TV?” he asked, not sounding at all out of breath.
“Sure.” She wouldn’t stay much longer, not when his presence pushed her off balance. He didn’t need to know how short her time had been. Next time she’d bring a magazine to cover the control panel. And monstrous headphones so she could slip them on and look unavailable. Just in case.
He clicked to a news station, and she tried to ignore it. The last thing she needed was talking heads yapping about nothing.
This was ridiculous.
No man, in person or on the screen, was going to deter her from her plan.
She bumped the pace up.
She might be on hiatus, but her life was far from over. And she was not going to let her concerns about this man whom she barely knew change what little she could accomplish for the day. She could use this leave to focus on her fitness and help Savannah with Tiffany’s case. In fact, she should knock out the material Savannah had asked for. She smiled. That would give her day needed purpose.
The treadmill belt picked up speed, and she jogged to keep up. She glanced at Chandler’s readout. How could he go so much faster than she was and make it
look easy? Long legs were unfair. That’s all there was to it.
She glanced at the TV, where two men in suits relaxed while ogling a pretty blonde in a too-short skirt reading some prepared script for a local morning show. Video of several men in military uniforms rolled, and Jaime’s steps hitched. She flailed for the handles and double-timed her pace.
“Turn it up.” She didn’t want to know, but then she saw her uncle’s face. Or was it just someone who looked like him? She shuddered but wanted to know what they were saying.
“What?” Chandler clicked a few buttons, and words popped up on the screen.
“I need to hear what they’re saying.”
He clicked a few more buttons, but the story had ended by the time she could understand what they were talking about.
“That what you need?”
“Never mind. You can turn it down now.” It wasn’t his fault the story was over. But as her hands trembled on the treadmill’s handlebars, she wished she could deep breathe her way out of the building tension.
“Anyone ever tell you you’re bossy?”
“All the time.” Yet few knew that being tightly in control was what held her life together. Because as appealing as Chandler Bolton might be from a distance, she knew that up close he would find her lacking.
What was happening between her ears? He really wanted to know, because the signals she sent were crazy. A mix of come-hither and stay-thee-far-away.
As he watched, she hit the stop button on the treadmill and slowed down before hopping to the side.
He hadn’t seen her in the workout room before; she seemed unfamiliar with the equipment. And why was she leaving so soon . . . Did she want to get away from him that much?
It wasn’t Aslan, since the dog was upstairs in the apartment. And Chandler knew he wasn’t misreading her cautious interest. He wanted to know what was behind that hesitation, because he didn’t think it was directed at him. Their interactions had been insufficient for her to decide he wasn’t worth the effort.
His phone vibrated, and he glanced at the screen. Rianna? Why was his ex contacting him? He hadn’t spoken with her since the divorce was finalized a year ago.
Delayed Justice Page 9
