A diverting hour later, Cray turned to Burnett and said, "Drop by around eleven tomorrow and my assistant will ft you in, okay? Bring a package and we'll do a quick look at the site."
Burnett merely smiled his response, but CJ could almost hear his mental happy dance.
There was a delay about getting the check, and Burnett urged the two men to take their leave. "It's my treat—it can hardly make us even for the tickets. You've got a drive all the way up to Conifer, right? So you should go, and I'll make sure CJ gets to her car safely."
There were assurances all around that it had been a lovely evening. Once Cray and Alvin were out of sight, CJ slumped into her seat. "Really nice guys, but I'm beat."
"How'd I do?"
"You were terrific." She patted his arm. "Congratulations! You've got a live proposal tomorrow."
"If I think about it much I'll get nervous. I'm going to go ask about the check." Burnett slid out of the booth and headed for the reception desk.
Relaxed from the good company, CJ closed her eyes. She was tired, but the evening had been undeniably fun. The memory of Karita's touch returned. The world grew still again, marvelously quiet, made up of only the warmth and purity of Karita. It wasn't safe to think about her like this, she told herself, but it felt so good.
The quiet was shattered by a woman asking, "Cassie? Is that you?"
She sat upright, realized she'd not studied the layout for the nearest exit—she'd gotten lazy. She hoped it was offense and not fear that showed in her eyes as she said, "Huh?"
The other woman, at first glance, might have been a blood sister, but all the Rochambeaus were dumped out of one mold. The same glossy black hair, deceptively generous mouth and dark eyes, fringed with heavy lashes, stared back from CJ's mirror every morning.
"You're Cassie June, right? Don't you remember? My daddy and your daddy worked that utility stock deal."
Oceans roared in CJ's ears. She could hardly sort out the words through the panic that drove her heart rate into the stratosphere. Don't look for cops. Uncle Vaughn's half-brother's eldest—cousin Daria. They were the same age. She hadn't seen Daria since before that last con, the sting that had landed her in Fayette. Keep eye contact.
All she could think to say, aware that her palms were sweating, was, "I have no idea what you're talking about." Plan your escape.
Daria gave her a knowing look. "Neither of us has changed that much in twenty years."
Not nearly enough, CJ wanted to say. She at least had her father's nose and cheekbones, and her avoidance of the sun had left her skin tone several shades lighter. Most people, she hoped, wouldn't see her with Daria and jump to the conclusion that they were related. Plausible lies, keep it simple.
"Look, you've got me mixed up with someone else." How would an innocent person act in this situation? Get rude, make a scene—that would just get her remembered and give Daria reason to follow her or try to find her again.
It was a conscious effort to maintain eye contact and think, over and over that she wasn't Cassie June anymore, and therefore this woman really was asking about someone who didn't exist. "Unless you went to WSU? Though I'd remember if you'd been Gamma Pi."
Daria's certainty wavered, but she didn't give up. "Washington or Wisconsin State?"
"Washington." A trickle of sweat seeped from her armpit down her rib cage. Her scalp was damp and hot. Every protective instinct in her body was screaming at her to stand up, say "Excuse me" and walk out of the diner and out of Denver forever. Someone from the Gathering had found her. She'd been braced for this moment for years. Now it was here.
Deny, deny, deny, she thought, then run. That's the only way. If I bolt now she'll know she made me. If she can't get money out of me directly, she'll see if there's a reward, or she'll just turn me in for spite.
Daria leaned conspiratorially over the table. "Look, I won't blow it for you. He looks like he's got something going for him. But if you need a player…I'll be here tomorrow night around ten."
"I really have no idea what you're talking about." CJ gave Daria's outfit a scornful look, hoping the cruelest insult one woman could give another would finish the conversation. She didn't want Daria to hear her name or talk to Burnett. "And since I don't know you, I don't see the point here."
She grabbed her purse with annoyance while praying that sweat didn't drip down her face before she was out of sight. What had happened to the nerves of the coolest con her father had ever worked with, according to him?
Burnett was on his way back to the table.
"Ready, sweetie?" She rose to head him off, and linked her arm with his.
His puzzled look didn't help, but she couldn't blame him. "Sure, CJ."
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Daria mouth "CJ" and then smile, very slowly.
Her shoulder blades shuddered as she turned her back on Daria—she couldn't help it. Any moment she expected a slap, a push, a blow to the head. But turning her back on Daria was the most vulnerable thing she could do. She hoped it was what someone with nothing to fear would do.
"Are you okay?" Burnett asked, the moment they were outside the diner door. "You're shaking."
"That woman was a bit crazy is all. She kept saying she knew me. I figured it might scare her off if she thought I had a big, strong boyfriend."
"Do I need to work out?"
She managed a shaky laugh. "Oh, I think she was harmless, just weird." She realized she was walking quickly and slowed her pace. "I parked in the big garage. Where are you?"
"Same as you—made sense."
CJ listened for footsteps behind them, but heard nothing. Her shoulder blades twitched several times, as if they sensed watching eyes.
Burnett walked her to her car, and saw her off with a cheery wave and, "I'll have that package for Cray on your desk to take one last look at in the morning."
She waved back.
She didn't know if she'd be there in the morning. The quiet she'd felt, daydreaming about an unattainable woman, about exploring that amazing kiss and the feelings that had welled up inside her, was gone beyond reclaiming. Her life, her work, her meager dreams of a future where nobody cared about what had happened to Cassiopeia Juniper Rochambeau—all gone in the time it had taken for Daria to mouth "CJ" and smile with predatory certainty.
Chapter 9
"Thank God it's Friday." Brent breezed his way into the office and Karita was relieved to see he wasn't nearly as stiff with her as he had been for the last few weeks. Perhaps he'd met a princess—she certainly hoped so.
"I hear that." She clicked back from mute to pick up the conversation with the IT support line. "The Intranet is up, but the Internet is down. Yes? I did that. Our system cold boots at four a.m. and the Internet died around seven, apparently. No Google, no Yahoo, no Wikipedia. No LexisNexis, which is more the problem at the moment."
She listened to the service rep's speculations about the possible source of the problems, but focused on the bottom line. "Three is too late—we both know that means five. Can you tell me one o'clock so I can tell my boss eleven and someone really is here by three?"
Marty paused in the act of leaving an envelope on her desk.
"One o'clock it is. I'm going to hold you to that." Karita disconnected and gave Marty a guileless look. "Someone will be here by eleven."
"Have you always fudged times like that?"
"Only when it shelters your blood pressure from life's harsh realities." He snorted, and she distracted him by saying. "I have good news, though. You told me to remind you when the quarantine was up on that adorable Pomeranian, and it ends today at noon. Like I said, there's no credentials so you can't register her, and she's got a luxating patella, so you can't show her. But she's a total doll, quite smart, and far as I know only barks on command."
Marty's excited nodding turned into a wide, beaming grin. "That's great news. I'll bring my wife up to get her out tonight then."
"I'll let Nann know to expect you." She turned her head sharply a
t the sound of a raised voice, and unfortunately knew immediately who it was.
"Are you fucking stupid? What shit hole of a law school did you go to? Get that crap out of my sight and bring me something that shows you have a brain!"
Marty sighed, but said nothing. They both ignored the next, similar outburst, until Karita could stand it no longer.
"Marty, everyone who works with her needs your help. Good people have been chewed up and spit out. What happens if she tries that tone with a client—or a judge?"
He leaned over the desk and dropped his voice. "I can't fire my brother's widow. I know some people want me to, but I can't do it."
"I'm not saying you should fire her, much as I think she deserves it." Though she wanted to see Susan nailed to something, she abruptly realized what an elf with no magic would do—she took a page from Emily's book. "Help her. You're the only one who can make her get some counseling. There are times I want to see her treated the way she's treated other people, but that just perpetuates it."
He sighed more heavily, then winced at the sound of another outburst. He didn't look at Karita again as he straightened his shoulders and headed for the rear of the office suite.
The argument abated and the hushed tones of serious business resumed. Karita stretched out her neck, grateful that all the tenderness from the altercation at the shelter last week had subsided. She was just relaxing after fielding a furry of incoming calls when the local messenger service delivered an envelope marked for one of Marty's biggest cases. Her standing instructions were to deliver anything related to it directly to him without any delay.
She hesitated outside his office for a moment, recognizing both voices even through the thick door, and not sure if Marty telling his brother's widow she needed anger management counseling was the one exception to her instructions. Face it, she told herself, this is a damned-if-you-do and damned-if-you-don't situation. Their voices grew quiet for a moment and she decided to go ahead and knock.
Marty did sound annoyed when he called out, so she opened the door slowly, pushing the envelope through first Then she put her head in and said, "It's Wilson v. Coors."
"Thanks. Bring it on in."
She let his door swing shut behind her and crossed the lush gray carpet to set the envelope on his desk. She did not look at Susan but she could feel the rage around her in the air. As mean as Susan had been to Pam, she couldn't help a pang of sympathy. Susan must be miserable, all the time.
She turned to leave, then jumped slightly when Susan spoke.
"I really don't like it when people talk about me behind my back." Her eyes were dilated with anger. All at once Karita saw the tightly stretched skin trying to hold a world of pain inside, and failing. One light tap with a feather and Susan would shatter.
"Sue." There was a definite edge of warning in Marty's voice. "Don't take anything out on Karita. She's the only person who isn't telling me to get rid of you."
"How can you say that right in front of her?"
Karita froze in place, not sure if she should continue to head for the door or stay.
"Because I trust Karita's discretion and her motives, but you're right—"
"Well, I don't trust her motives, not at all." Susan glared at Karita. "Don't give me that innocent look. I saw you talking to her yesterday. Just because you don't understand how I could do that, in a weak moment when I was lonely and vulnerable, well that is no reason to persecute me. I can just guess the stupid lies you told Marty about me. You should keep your fucking mouth shut."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Karita protested. "I didn't say a word about any of that."
"And now you're lying to cover up your homophobic vendetta—"
"What are you two talking—"
"I'm gay, Susan. And I didn't say a word about Pam to Marty. Not one word."
A long silence fell and Karita realized after a moment that her mouth was open. Aghast, she fumbled for words.
"I'm so sorry, Susan, I didn't mean to do that!"
Susan's face was deathly pale with only two bright, feverish spots of color in her cheeks. Maybe, Karita thought, she realized what her own anger had set in motion.
"Sue, did you sleep with an employee? Just tell me the truth."
She nodded.
The anger now radiated from Marty's side of the desk. Karita gave him a pleading look, but he wasn't focused on her.
"That is completely unacceptable. Completely and utterly unacceptable professionally and morally. You are a partner in this firm and you exposed all of us to liability and then am I to understand that you fred the employee? Have you any idea?"
"Marty, I didn't know what I was doing. I miss Abe so much!" Tears began to flow.
"I miss him too, Sue. I have missed him every day these past two years. That's the only reason you're still here. Look at me."
Susan gulped and then gave Marty her attention, her chin still quivering. Part of Karita wanted to believe it was an act. She'd seen crocodile tears often enough. Her instincts, though, said that Susan had no real idea how she felt about anything. She'd blotted it all out. Some people used alcohol or drugs, exercise or sex, but Susan had chosen anger.
"This is what you're going to do. You're going to counseling. You should have gone when Abe died. And you're going to get therapy about your sexuality, while you're at it."
Shocked, Karita said, "Marty, you can't get cured of being gay by therapy."
He gave her a look that made her want to step back. Okay, not her place, but before she could voice an apology he said, "I know that."
He looked at Susan again. "Whatever it is, if you're gay, bisexual, if you were just curious, whatever it is, Abe loved you and I love you and I want you happy with yourself. If you decide you don't want to be a lawyer anymore, fine, whatever. But you're not going to take it out on everyone around you while you wallow in your misery and drag this firm down with your appalling lack of judgment. Am I clear?"
Susan nodded as she again burst into tears.
Karita fetched a tissue from the box on the credenza behind Marty. She passed it to Susan, then said quietly, "I think I should go."
"Karita," Marty said equally quietly, though his intonation was heavy, "I hope my trust in your discretion isn't misplaced."
"No, Marty, it isn't. This won't leave the room." Honesty was the best policy. "I'm friendly with Pam, but I will not discuss this with her."
She closed the office door firmly behind her and only then felt the hammering of her heart. She'd just come out to her boss and outed someone else at the same time. She had thought doing something like that would lead to disaster. Instead, it didn't seem possible that things so messed up could be resolved so easily and quickly. Some other shoe had to fall, didn't it?
Her nerves were twitching up and down the lengths of both arms and legs. She made her shaky way back to the lobby. Okay, so Friday was off to one heck of a start. At least it would end with the most fulfilling time of her week, at the shelter working side-by-side with Emily. Rocking babies, soothing frightened women, making sure their clients felt that there was someone who cared, who valued them.
Her mind ping-ponged between the fulfillment of her work at the shelter and the knowledge that she had just jeopardized her job. Marty had seemed okay with the idea of Susan being gay, but that could be all for show. Even though she liked him, it didn't mean he couldn't be a closet homophobe. She knew it was possible to love someone who was totally devoid of empathy— thanks so much for that lesson, Mandy.
The office felt cold, so she recalled warm things. The curl of a baby's fingers around her thumb, the heat of Emily spooned to her back, the rush of sensation when she'd kissed CJ—that hadn't been just heat. That had been magic.
What was the point of dwelling on it? She scolded herself for recalling the kiss again when pursuing anything else would just get her hurt.
She reclaimed her seat at her desk and deliberately did not think about who else would be at the shelter working
tonight. She fielded several calls, signed for another package and wondered if she'd have to find someplace else to work. Just because getting fred for being gay was wrong didn't mean it wouldn't happen. Marty deserved a chance, she told herself, before she borrowed trouble. She'd not given him that chance when he'd hired her because she had been so worn down by Mandy's hatefulness and lack of empathy. She would wait, not think about kisses and women who were frogs, and see.
She didn't have to wait long. When she got back from a short coffee break she found a sticky note on her headset. Tears immediately sprang to her eyes.
Marty had written, I have a niece I think you'd like.
One thing CJ knew for certain—she couldn't carry almost forty thousand dollars in cash around with her. The bundles of fifties weighed less than four pounds, but it would be her karma that she'd get mugged, or someone would steal it from the car. She had no choice but to leave it at home, in the safe, unless she truly intended to leave town and not return.
She rolled over in bed, still awake at five a.m., and went over her choices again. The smart thing to do was to run. She felt as if Daria, now that she had the scent of frightened quarry, would pop out from behind every tree or from around every corner, one hand out and the other on a phone with the Kentucky State Police tipline on the speed dial.
She needed to leave CJ Roshe behind. She'd been a fool to use her real initials when some of the people she was running from had functional brains. In the days before integrated law enforcement and other government databases, it hadn't been that hard to walk out of the Kentucky Division of Juvenile Justice facility and register for community college in far away New York under a different name.
Only a little patience and finesse had been required to get an ID card, and at the time, New York didn't even require a photo. A little money here, a well-told lie there had netted her a Certifcate of Live Birth stating she'd been born at home—the truth. Only an inspired detective could figure out CJ Roshe didn't exist. She wasn't sure anyone could figure out that Cassiopeia Juniper Rochambeau had become CJ Roshe. Nobody but people from the Gathering could connect those dots. There was one code in the Gathering: Anything that could be turned to proft—was. If knowing that Cassie June hadn't stuck around for the transfer from Fayette's juvenile facility to the adult population could be turned into money, that was just smart thinking.
The Kiss That Counted Page 13
