Читать книгу Man Of The Family - Leigh Riker - Страница 11

CHAPTER TWO

AS IF IT were her first day in court, Sunny gazed at her sister-in-law’s classroom filled with middle school students. She’d only been home for a week. Why had she let Bronwyn talk her into taking part in Career Day?

Sunny had never been much of a speech maker. Funny, for a woman who earned her living by performing in front of a jury. But in a courtroom, before making a motion to the judge or examining a witness, she had plenty of time to prepare.

Now she shuffled her notes. And rubbed at the ache in her lower back. Her dad’s sofa bed was living up to its reputation.

What could she tell these kids about her dedication to a legal process that had recently failed her? She still believed wholeheartedly in the law, but the Wallace Day verdict had shaken her confidence.

Bron’s students had listened raptly to the minor league ball player now squeezed behind a desk in the front row, and to the bulky city police officer next to him. Would they listen to her?

As if in answer, a pair of spitballs sailed across the room, and all at once she knew how to begin.

“Good morning,” she said. “It seems we have some future felons in our audience today.” She leveled a look at two lanky boys in the rear who were obviously the culprits. “No more missiles, gentlemen,” she said with a smile and a pointed glance at the police officer.

A few kids laughed. The boys turned red.

Sunny set her watch on the teacher’s desk in front of her. She had twenty minutes to sway this jury, and the oversized timepiece with its thick band of multicolored glass beads would keep her on track. Sunny had bought it one weekend down in SoHo. She liked to wear it as a contrast to her usual prim business suits—today, a subtle navy blue pinstripe.

“So you want to be a lawyer,” she said and heard a few snorts from the class. “I hope in the next few minutes you’ll discover how exciting a career in law can be.”

From the back of the room Bronwyn gave her a thumbs-up, her bright hair turned to copper in the sun that flooded through the windows behind her.

Sunny took a deep breath. She surveyed the students, distracted by a girl with dark blond hair and what looked to be a permanent frown, then hit her stride. This was what she did best. By the end of her presentation, the knot in her stomach had loosened. She checked the watch.

“We have a bit more time. Any questions?”

The faces looked uniformly friendly now, except for that girl in the center row who slumped in her chair, and for an instant Sunny froze. That sweet, heart-shaped face reminded her of Ana Ramirez, lost forever because of Wallace Day. Yet this girl seemed familiar in another way, too. Wondering why, Sunny leaned against the desk and chose a towheaded boy, who posed the first question.

“How much money do you make?”

“Not nearly enough.” The boy smiled, but the girl didn’t. “Seriously, as a government employee, I don’t get the big bucks like a defense lawyer, but I make a good living.” She named a figure range typical of lawyers coming out of school to take their first jobs, then a larger span for established attorneys. “My advice would be to aim for Law Review if you want to command a higher starting salary.”

“What’s Law Review?”

Sunny explained the importance of third year and the prestige attached to the journal, especially at the top law schools. “I was editor at Harvard. Anyone else?”

The girl’s hand shot up.

“Aren’t all lawyers crooks—and liars?”

“A common misconception,” Sunny answered to mild laughter from the other students. The classic joke ran through her mind. What do you call a group of lawyers at the bottom of the ocean? A good start. “I won’t deny there are some bad apples out there, but for the most part, lawyers are decent people who happen to love debating fine points of the law.” She smiled. “And winning.” Although that sometimes meant going over the top when you lost.

The lunch bell rang, ending Career Day’s morning session. Sunny thanked the kids for their interest, and a smattering of applause followed. Not bad for a woman who’d slept twelve hours a day for a week and refused to take any phone calls—including Nate’s—except, finally, at her mother’s insistence, Bronwyn’s.

“You need to get back in the saddle,” Bron had claimed. “Talk to my class. They’re bound to be easier than that jury in New York. You can’t sit in your parents’ house waiting for the cuts to heal.”

That had been enough to make her say yes. She couldn’t continue to fret over Nate either, about what they’d once had, what might have been. She had to pull herself together sometime, and the classroom forum had made a simple start. Satisfied, she gathered her note cards, which she hadn’t consulted as much as she’d expected to.

As the room emptied and the students filed past, a few kids even stopped to thank her until Bron ushered the last child from the room toward the cafeteria. The cop and the ball player had already left.

In the hallway Bronwyn linked her arm with Sunny’s. “Fabulous. Thanks for coming.”

“I enjoyed it myself.” To her surprise, she had. Sunny stifled a yawn. “Guess I’ve had enough excitement for one day. Time for my afternoon nap.”

Bron’s amber-brown eyes softened. They didn’t know each other well—they’d met after Bron and Chris became engaged when Sunny had been living in New York—and Sunny looked forward to becoming better acquainted. So, apparently, did Bronwyn. “I’m happy you’re home,” she said. “Let’s get together soon.” Her smile turned sly. “I’m dying to know what kind of settlement you got from the evil Nate.”

Without answering, Sunny said goodbye and continued down the hall to the front entrance before she remembered her watch. It was still on the desk in the classroom. Threading her way through the noisy students eager for lunch, she noticed the same girl from Bron’s class. Her long hair swinging, she walked several feet behind the other students, then turned away to say something to a friend.

When they passed, she and Sunny bumped shoulders. Sunny glanced down and found herself staring at the girl’s fine-boned wrist. She wore an outsized watch with a band of blue, cream and green glass beads. Sunny’s watch.

For an instant they exchanged looks. Sunny could have sworn the girl smiled in triumph. Why would she take the watch? With a look at her own bare arm, Sunny stepped toward her, but the girl turned her back to hustle her friend around a corner and into the lunchroom.

Sunny had no qualms about confronting the girl; she did that every day in her job. When she faced a jury, no one ever saw her blink—not even Wallace Day. And if she didn’t approach the girl, she might never see her watch again. On the other hand... Oh, no.

Sunny stopped in her tracks. No wonder the girl had looked so familiar. She was Bronwyn and Chris’s niece. She’d been a junior bridesmaid at their wedding, her father the best man. She was Griffin Lattimer’s daughter.

Did he or Bronwyn know she was a thief?

* * *

LATER THAT AFTERNOON, Sunny parked her father’s Bronco in a visitor’s space at the Palm Breeze Court Apartments. Bronwyn, incredulous about her niece, had warned her this wouldn’t be easy.

“Let me handle it,” she’d said. “Griffin can be prickly about his kids. There’s no telling how he’ll take your accusation.”

“It’s not an accusation. It’s a fact, Bron,” she’d replied.

Taking a deep breath, Sunny studied the complex. The low, stucco-sided buildings were arranged in horseshoe-shaped courts around broad streets lined with palm trees. The style, common to the area, didn’t appeal to her. From the high-rise apartment she’d shared with Nate, she could see the East River but not her neighbors. Here, the wide windows of each unit virtually invited passersby to look inside.

The front entrance to number 17A was painted colonial blue with gleaming nickel hardware and a matching knocker below the security peephole. The flowerpots on the porch held drooping annuals, and another planter held wilted white geraniums.

Sunny knocked. Twice.

From within she heard the music of a string quartet. She didn’t recognize the composer, but her taste ran more to classic rock. Sunny liked her music to make some noise.

“The kids are at the clubhouse,” a male voice called out.

The voice, which Sunny remembered from the wedding, belonged to Griffin Lattimer. She felt a twinge of regret for bringing him bad news and knocked again.

Finally, he swung the door open, blinking at the rush of sunlight.

Sunny blinked, too. She’d remembered that Griffin was an attractive man. He’d looked great in a tuxedo two years ago. Now he wore jeans with a black T-shirt, and his dark hair was longer. The style wasn’t intentional, Sunny guessed; it seemed as if Griffin needed a cut but didn’t have time to bother. He didn’t appear to have time for her, either.

Upon finding that his visitor was an adult, he tensed. His gaze slid over her before the flare of interest—if that’s what it was—quickly disappeared.

She held out a tentative hand. “Griffin, hi. Sunny Donovan.”

His eyes—with their clear hazel irises rimmed by a deep brown—looked exactly as she remembered, but they seemed even more remote. He didn’t shake her hand, and she wondered if she could manage this confrontation after all.

She forced a smile. “We met at Bronwyn’s wedding to my brother, Chris.”

“Hi,” he said at last but didn’t move from the doorway.

He’d seemed preoccupied at the wedding. He hadn’t said five unnecessary words to her, and he wasn’t any more sociable now.

Like Nate toward the end of their marriage. She was surprised he kept calling her, though she still wasn’t tempted to answer.

“May I come in?” She glanced behind her at the street. “I have something to tell you, but I’d rather say it in private. It’s about your daughter.”

Griffin looked toward the center of the complex, and Sunny could have bitten her tongue. She saw fear in his eyes and hastened to reassure him.

“Amanda is perfectly fine. But something happened today at school. I thought you should know.” She didn’t see how else to say it. “Amanda stole my watch.”

Griffin stared at her for a long moment before he stepped back, motioning her inside. Feeling more uncomfortable with every second, she eased past him. In the small foyer, Sunny explained that morning’s incident. “The watch was unusual, not expensive but different. Handmade.” She described the beaded band. “When I finished my talk it was gone.”

“Why would Mandi want a cheap watch?” His gaze skimmed her again in obvious disapproval. “I’d expect you to wear a gold Rolex.”

Sunny flushed but refused to be derailed.

“During my talk Amanda glared at me the entire time. She later asked a question clearly meant to embarrass me.” Sunny paused. “I didn’t expect her to remember me from the wedding, and I didn’t recognize her at first.”

A muscle twitched in his jaw. At least she was getting some reaction now.

“You’ve got the wrong girl.”

“No,” she said, “I don’t. Your daughter was seen wearing the watch.”

“By whom?”

“Me.”

He half smiled. “That’s pretty circumstantial, isn’t it, Counselor?”

Sunny stiffened. The one word seemed to draw a line between them. All she’d been trying to do was help. But if he wanted to see her as an opponent—a prosecutor interrogating him on the witness stand—rather than as a woman who simply wanted to keep his family from more heartbreak...then, okay. Fine. The gloves came off.

“No,” she said. “It’s eyewitness.”

“Your word against hers.”

His attitude made her see red. “Griffin, I could have taken this to the principal—for starters. But because you and I have met before and Amanda is my brother’s niece, I decided to keep this in the family. I suggest we ask Amanda to explain.”

“And I suggest you leave.”

Sunny looked toward the clubhouse area. All right. Change of tactics.

“Not before I speak to Amanda.”

He moved, faster than she’d thought possible, and tried to catch her arm, but Sunny evaded the contact.

Griffin’s voice was cool but harsh. “Why don’t you go back to ambulance chasing or whatever it is you people do, and leave us alone?”

Another wave of adrenaline surged through her. First, the Rolex comment and now, you people. She tilted her chin up to hold his gaze.

“Listen, Mr. Lattimer—if that’s the way you want it. I’m well aware you’ve lost your wife and you have more than a full-time job raising two children on your own. That does not give Amanda an excuse to steal anyone’s property.”

“My daughter is not a thief.”

“I’ve worked with lots of teenagers and young adults in court, and I know all the signs of trouble to watch for. Swift mood changes, uncharacteristic behavior, furtiveness, unwholesome friendships, depression...any of that sound familiar?”

His darkened gaze faltered. “Mandi is not unhappy.”

“Maybe you aren’t looking closely enough.”

“Maybe you’re butting in where you don’t belong. I asked you to leave.” He took another step toward her. “Now I’m not asking.” Before Sunny could react, he had grasped her upper arm. A light touch but still...

She tried not to panic. His fingers felt hot through the layers of her suit jacket and blouse sleeve, as if he were touching bare skin. She jerked free.

Still bent upon getting her out of the apartment, he opened the door. “I’ll talk to Mandi about the watch, but I can tell you right now, she had nothing to do with it.”

“It was on her wrist!”

“Yeah, well. Maybe one of her friends let her wear it.” He added, “Chris said you weren’t yourself right now. Let’s leave it at that.”

“Let’s not,” Sunny began but didn’t finish.

She had stepped outside, and the door shut behind her. Her arm pulsed from the lingering heat of his fingers.

Bronwyn had warned her. Where his children were concerned, Griffin Lattimer had a definite blind spot.

Whether or not she got her watch back, Sunny didn’t intend to see him again.