The Child Comes First (8 page)

“Yeah,” she said, making it a multisyllable word, to imply he'd just said something entirely obvious. “His wife left him.”

He gaped at her. “But they just had a baby. The kid can't be more than a few months old.”

“Uh-huh. So. Maybe she found something better. Or maybe
he
did.” She shrugged and went back to swirling her ice around and around.

He shifted back from the table, flummoxed. “Maybe she was sick of him focusing on his career to the exclusion of his family,” he suggested quietly.

She laughed out loud, exposing her perfectly aligned, sparkling white teeth. “Like you've ever focused on anything but your career. Like you ever
would.
Greg's wife knew he was goal-oriented when she married him.” Megan leaned toward him, exuding sexuality. “Just like I know that same fact about you.”

Was she telling him she'd put up with it, accept it, if he were to nudge their relationship toward marriage? Suddenly he realized she had every reason to expect him to take things in that direction. He'd always known she'd be an ideal mate for someone with his ambitions—beautiful, educated, enterprising, ruthless. Married to her, Simon knew he'd attain the highest echelons of his chosen profession. Megan would accept nothing less.

He could have her. Tonight, or for a life together. She'd made that clear in many subtle ways that he'd barely noticed until just now. So many men wanted her. He would be the envy of them all. Capturing Megan would be a social and professional coup. And Glen would approve, might even reward him by making him a partner.

“Let's get out of here,” he said, suddenly impatient to get to his mission for the evening. He didn't want to think about the future, only the next few hours.

She smiled knowingly, sure of herself. “Let's,” she agreed. “Your place or mine?”

“Yours,” he said, just as he always had. “I'll follow you home.” And they left the restaurant together.

As he drove his Mustang behind her Audi TT, he had to try not to notice the pretty chalk drawing sitting on the passenger seat. Tiffany had an artistic talent beyond her years and she'd made this picture just for him. He hadn't yet decided what he should do with it. She'd said it was a picture of her happy place. And it was clearly a depiction of the home where he'd grown up. The drawing reminded Simon of where he'd come from. Whenever he looked at it, he was overcome by an inexplicable yearning to go back in time so he could live contentedly in that home once more. Yet, he was certain he didn't actually want that lifestyle again. Too prosaic, too middle-class, too ordinary. He'd always craved success and wealth and the finer things the world had to offer. He'd pursued them tenaciously.

He parked his car at the curb, glanced down at Tiffany's picture and scowled. What would Megan think of Tiffany? Worse still, what would Tiffany think of Megan?

That Megan was pompous and vain and mean-spirited, no doubt.

Suddenly, he had no interest in going inside. Not even for mindless sex.

He got out of the car and made his way to where Megan stood on the sidewalk. “I can't go in with you,” he admitted, trying his best to inflect disappointment into his voice. “I just don't feel right. Maybe something I ate, maybe the flu. I don't want to take the chance of making you sick.”

She pouted and cajoled and promised she would make him feel better. This just made his stomach hurt for real. What was he doing? he asked himself. Why not just go up, get laid and leave in a few hours? But his stomach knotted and he left a disappointed Megan watching from her fashionable stoop as he slipped back into the welcoming embrace of his classic car.

Halfway to his mother's home, he realized he didn't want to go there, either. They were having a girls' night and he was too restless to join them. So he drove home instead, and once there, he roamed the rooms of his apartment. He admired the antiques and looked at the paintings his art dealer had persuaded him to buy. Despite the expensive furniture and abundant trappings of blossoming wealth, the place seemed antiseptic. Sterile.

He missed Tiffany's laughter and her chatter and the detritus of youth that pervaded the home in Ellicott City, where his mom and Tiffany were having their girl time.

Worse than that, he missed Jayda's scent, the softness of her voice, the honest sensuality of her kiss. As he thought of what he should do about his attraction to her, he went through the routine of hooking his cell phone to the power cord on the kitchen counter. Then he realized he'd had it on silent during dinner and now there was a new voice-mail message. He pressed the keys to play back the call.

And there she was. “Hi, Simon. This is Jayda. Call me.”

I
T HAD TAKEN A LOT OUT
of Jayda to simply pick up the phone and make the call. She'd wanted to make things right after the way they'd parted earlier that day. What a letdown when Simon hadn't answered, especially given that he'd be gone for a few days. His secretary had reminded her he'd be flying to Boston in the morning. By the time his voice-mail message at home had run its course, she'd had only enough steam left to leave a six-word message. She'd hung up before she remembered she hadn't given a number at which she could be reached.

She was still at work, of course. Where else would she be? Would he know that or would he expect her to be home—or hanging out with friends or maybe on a date? She laughed ruefully at the idea of a date. That was likely where Simon was, but she was working despite the late hour.

“Why are you still here?” asked Marla. She stood framed in the doorway of Jayda's tiny office, her purse slung over her shoulder and some files held close to her chest.

“I had this kid I needed to deal with. Trouble doesn't always wait for normal working hours. Didn't you already go home once?”

“Yeah,” Marla said. “But I left some case notes behind that I need for the morning.” She indicated the folder in her arms. “I just dashed in to get them, so I wouldn't have to rush out of the house so early tomorrow.”

“Well, I'm heading out, too.” Jayda powered down her computer and picked up her purse. “I'll walk out with you.”

“Which one of your kids has you worried now?” Marla asked.

“Thomas George Redman III. Funny how being named after his father and grandfather didn't help him with self-esteem. He's still behaving like a thug and trying to prove himself to the wrong crowd.”

“That's what some of them do,” Marla agreed. “How's Tiffany?”

Jayda instantly became wary, though she tried not to show it as she locked the office door behind her. She had avoided talking about Tiffany to Marla on purpose, in the hope the woman wouldn't realize how much time she was spending on her case. “She's fine, I guess.”

“You got her out of the detention center. How'd you find a foster home for her?”

“Perseverance,” Jayda said with a nonchalant shrug. As the two of them walked down the corridor, she heard the phone ringing on the desk she'd just abandoned and wished she could go back to find out if it was Simon returning her call.

“Well, you seem to have her situation in perspective,” Marla said. “How's that attorney you got for her? Is he as pompous as he always seemed when he was winning all those criminal cases?”

Jayda hid her surprise. Simon wasn't pompous—far from it. He was nice. A guy who loved his mother and cared about his clients. Maybe a little arrogant, but no more than you'd expect from any trial lawyer. “He's not that bad,” she said casually. “He's taking Tiffany's case seriously and that's all I really need from him.”

“Well, that's good.” Marla paused as they were about to leave the building. “Do not fall for that guy.”

Jayda froze. “What makes you say that?” she asked.

Marla shrugged. “Because I can't help noticing how long it's been since you've gone out with someone. We've noted before that Montgomery is a handsome guy. You're human, and it's clearly been awhile since you got yourself some good…Well, you know what I mean. You might be vulnerable to his wiles.”

Jayda laughed. “His wiles?”

Marla laughed, as well. As they got to the parking lot, she shook her index finger at Jayda playfully. “You know what I mean. And if you don't right now, you will soon enough. Simon Montgomery has a reputation. Be careful.” With that warning, Marla walked off toward her car.

Too late.

 

H
E'D CALLED HER AT HOME
and he'd called her at work. Twice each. He'd wanted to reach her before he left for the airport. Glen Boyden had asked Simon to take personal charge of the interviews for Craig Dremmel's upcoming trial. He hated to stall Tiffany's case to make the time for this trip, but there'd been no real choice. Dremmel was a paying customer.

Jayda hadn't answered her phone or returned his messages. He logged on and sent her an e-mail, explaining where he'd be staying in Boston and telling her that he'd call her again when he got back to Baltimore. In frustration and annoyance, he packed for the trip. Then he went out for a walk around the block, even though it was the middle of the night. On his way back inside, he stopped at his car and retrieved Tiffany's picture. He brought it into his impersonal condo, dug through a desk drawer until he found a roll of tape and positioned the drawing on his stainless-steel sub-zero refrigerator. It was a little crooked and that made him smile. Maybe now he'd be able to sleep.

The bed looked lonely and he had the oddest yearning for the room he'd been sleeping in at his mother's house, the one he'd grown up in with the narrow single bed. Not once since he'd left Ellicott City for college had he felt a single pang of homesickness. Until now. What the hell was wrong with him? He thought about taking his temperature—maybe he really
did
have the flu. But he didn't own a thermometer.

Hot tea. That's what his mom had always given him to stave off insomnia during his teenage years. Celestial Seasoning's Sleepytime. He wondered if he had any of the stuff in those $20,000 custom cabinets his interior designer had talked him into because “they were the only ones worthy of such an amazing kitchen.”

When he looked, he found a small, dog-eared box stashed in the back, probably given to him by his mom. It was sitting forlornly behind a coffee grinder and a lone box of granola. He lifted it out, and for the first time in this grand condo he bypassed the complicated coffeemaker, boiled water, and made himself some Sleepytime Tea. As he sat on a stool at the granite breakfast bar, the aroma reminded him of home. They should use this scent for air freshener or something, so that people could have that homey smell all the time. He breathed in deeply and thought about his life, about his mom, about Tiffany. And he thought about Jayda.

 

W
HEN HE FLEW BACK TO
Baltimore from Boston three days later, he knew it was too late in the evening to call Jayda, even though he wanted to. Besides, both her phone message and her reply to his e-mail said she wanted to talk to him in person. He briefly considered going over to her apartment, but he resisted the urge. He couldn't be sure of the reception he'd get. Hell, he couldn't even be sure she'd be there or that she'd be alone. So, he did the next best thing and drove straight out to Ellicott city to see his mother and Tiffany. He'd missed them while he'd been away, and he longed to spend some time at home. For some reason, his condo no longer merited that designation. When he got there Tiffany was asleep, but he tiptoed into her room to leave the present he'd purchased for her. Quietly, he tucked the complete DVD set of
Boston Legal
next to her in bed and she stirred. Her eyelashes lifted, and the instant she saw him her sleepy face brightened with happiness.

“You're home. That's good,” she said with a huge smile. Her puppylike enthusiasm reminded him that this was what life was all about—being close to the people you love.

He nudged a lock of hair behind her ear. “I'm home,” he agreed.

She caught sight of the DVD box and turned onto her back to hold it up so she could see what it was. “Yes!” she exclaimed.

“I thought about a doll but knew you'd like this better.”

“Dolls are stupid,” she said.

“And now you need to get back to sleep.”

“Big day tomorrow,” she said as she turned to her side once again, DVDs cuddled under her chin.

He'd see Jayda tomorrow, and that made it a big day. He still didn't know what she'd wanted with him, back when she left that cryptic message on his answering machine. Curiosity had been eating away at his patience ever since. It would also be a big day because they were giving opening arguments to the jury. He looked forward to getting Tiffany's case under way. The sooner they began, the sooner she'd be acquitted and able to resume her life. As always, when he thought about what would happen to her after the trial, he wondered who would look after her. Who would make sure she brushed her teeth? Who would listen to her wax eloquent about the latest episode of
Law & Order?
The possibility that no one would do these things brought a dull ache to his chest that he didn't fully understand.

He pushed aside the vague sense of unease and got ready for sleep himself. Climbing into the narrow bed, he had his notes with him and now he reviewed his points for the jury one last time. When he turned out the light, he tried to recite his opening argument from memory, but another thought kept getting in the way—Jayda would be with him in the courtroom in the morning. Falling asleep took hours. But his dreams made the wait worthwhile.

She was there, bright and early, waiting for Simon at the defense table. “I know you tried to return my call before you left for Boston. Sorry we didn't catch up with each other,” she said in a rush. “I need to tell you about something I learned about the case the other day.”

Tiffany and Simon's mother were making a restroom stop, so there was no one else to focus on. Jayda just stood there, shiny and clean and as pretty as always. And she smelled great. Not a heavy perfume, but something light and delicate. He fought off the urge to inhale deeply. “Okay,” he said as he set his briefcase on the table and turned to face her. His hope that she'd called for personal reasons evaporated.

“I figured there was nothing you could do about this until you got back from your trip, so I knew it could wait. But it's good news. One of the other foster mothers from the neighborhood told the police she thinks she saw a man watching Hester Amity's house a few days before Derek Baldridge died. She isn't sure, but she thought maybe he wanted to see one of the kids. The cops don't have the manpower to follow up, but I thought we should check it out. Maybe this guy is the one who hurt Derek.”

He looked at Jayda, noting the hope in her eyes. What normal social worker could retain that kind of optimism? None he knew of. He hated to see her eagerness trampled, but he had to respond honestly. He owed her that much respect.

“Jayda,” he said softly. “The woman ‘thinks' she saw a man—she isn't sure? She speculates he was there to see a kid. Which kid? Did she see the man with Derek? Can she give us any information so we can find this guy?” He watched the light fade from her expression and he wished he didn't always have to be so blunt. But it was part of his job—there wasn't always time to be kind.

In a more somber tone, Jayda said, “I thought you could talk to her, see if you could find out anything useful. If there's any chance of determining who really caused Derek's death, we could save Tiffany.” Her features had taken on a stubborn expression.

“We'll save Tiffany,” he said, trying to match her determination. “And I'll talk to the woman, if you want me to. But don't get your hopes up about this being our big break. It's not like
Perry Mason.
Cases such as this one take a long time, requiring a staggering amount of circumstantial evidence. The prosecution has to prove that Tiffany had malice, intent and means. We only have to introduce reasonable doubt into the minds of the jurors. We do that by presenting lots of possible alternatives, but there's hardly ever a smoking gun.”

She nodded, looking down at her feet. Her disappointment was obvious, and Simon had the sudden urge to comfort her with a hug. Where had that come from? Maybe from all the hugs Tiffany had given him so far. She'd taught him that hugging was a powerful way to share happiness and gratitude, a method of giving comfort and showing affection. Who would have guessed he could learn something like that at his age—and from an orphaned child on trial for murder? He still found himself resisting the lesson; still tried to keep himself from feeling too much. He'd figured out long ago that losing parents at a young age could make a person shut down emotionally. While he knew he ought to work on that, learn to open up more fully to people and feelings, he'd never had much success. And keeping his sentiments in check had worked for him so far. But Tiffany was beginning to wear him down, and it scared the hell out of him.

Of course he didn't hug Jayda, and instead he focused on setting out his notes neatly. He knew his opening argument by heart, but he always kept notes handy just in case his mind went blank. Tiffany and his mother came into the courtroom then, and Jayda's smile returned as soon as she saw them. The little girl readily took her place in the chair next to Simon's.

“I want to apologize for how I acted about you going to Boston,” she said, looking him directly in the eyes.

“I understand where some of that was coming from,” he said to her. “Apology accepted.” She'd thrown a full-blown tantrum when he'd told her about his trip. She'd even shattered a glass on his mother's tile kitchen floor. But Simon had decided that Tiffany needed something from him other than punishment in that moment. He'd found an inner strength that kept him from wanting to shake some sense into her. Instead, he'd scooped her into a bear hug and promised he'd be back. Over and over, he'd promised—until it became a chant. He'd hated leaving his mother to sweep up the glass while he sat in the kitchen chair with Tiffany, but he'd known the child needed him more than his mother did.