Читать книгу A Defender's Heart - Tara Quinn Taylor - Страница 13

CHAPTER THREE

SHE’D ALMOST KISSED HIM. Or let him kiss her.

It had been a conditioned response. She knew that. But she was still disappointed in herself. If she was going to be happy, to quit worrying about making poor choices and letting herself down, to stop being paranoid about people using her and about being unable to use her skills on a personal level, she had to manage to be around Cedar and not capitulate to whatever he wanted.

To anything he wanted.

He wanted her. The knowledge was a boost to the pride he’d injured when he’d put her low on his list of priorities. But she wasn’t proud of herself for having felt a thrill of gratitude that at least she’d mattered to him for more than how she could help him reach his goals. For more than the asset she’d been to his career and his unending drive to win.

He hadn’t won her, and he wasn’t going to.

The only reason she’d agreed, before he’d left the other night, to see him again—to meet him for lunch to discuss some business matter he had—was to prove to herself, and to him, that the incident in the kitchen had been an anomaly. A natural reaction to seeing a lover again for the first time since their intensely painful split. The pain had faded, the hurt feelings and blame dissipated, leaving room for good memories to slip in. Good memories were healthy. She welcomed them.

However, she wouldn’t be swayed by them. Because she knew that memories were all they were. A few good times in between all the bad. They weren’t significant, didn’t represent a way of life. Or possibilities. They were merely the bag that lined the trash can.

Trying to scroll through the bad memories, she faltered, finding far more good ones that outweighed the disappointments—regularly missed occasions, perennial lateness, a constant lack of returned phone calls... Until that last case, the last week, the last day.

While most of Cedar’s clients were wealthy businessmen who were charged with white-collar crimes, during the last year they’d been together, he’d taken on two high-profile criminal cases. She’d never been completely sure why. He’d earned a reputation by then; Cedar Wilson commanded the highest price, but he did what it took to get the job done.

The change in him had been gradual, as winning began to matter more than justice. More than right and wrong. Or even his clients. Maybe that was why she hadn’t seen it coming, because it had happened slowly, over time.

Or maybe because, at home, he was still the man who struggled with insecurities. A grown-up version of the young boy who’d never been good enough to deserve personal acknowledgment from his famous father, the singer Randy Cedar-Jones. He’d called him after every case, telling him—through voice mail—about every victory. Without taking offense when there was never a response.

At home, he was a man who touched her tenderly. One who cooked beside her, who slept beside her, who woke her with a smile and a cup of coffee every morning.

As she dressed for lunch on Monday, she reminded herself of all the hard-earned lessons of the past year. And of the happiness she’d felt the night Charles had proposed to her.

Something Cedar had never done—despite years of conversations about “someday.”

He hated seeing her in leggings, so she wore a pair of pink ones with black cactus shapes on them, topping them with a figure-hugging black tunic and short black boots. Not the professional he’d be expecting to see.

Not even how she’d normally dressed. The leggings were a gift from Raine, who’d become an online distributor for them. Heather had never actually worn them before.

Cedar had left shortly after the toasts on Saturday night, but not without a word in her ear about that day’s meeting. He’d said it was strictly business. And really important.

She felt he’d been telling the truth, so she’d agreed to see him.

She would let Charles know about the meeting just as soon as she knew what it was about. Then she could reassure him about her lack of involvement in this “business matter” before he had a chance to get nervous about the contact.

Cedar was already seated at a table by the window of a local eatery when she arrived. In one of his signature designer suits—this one in tones of gray, his put-at-ease choice—his thick dark hair a little longer than he used to wear it, he’d have stood out from the crowd even without the advantage of his six-foot-two height.

The restaurant was one they’d favored during their time together, not only because of the talented chef, but because of the ocean views. Heather couldn’t get enough of the water that kept rolling to shore, century after century. She wasn’t sure if Cedar had ever given the Pacific’s grandeur a second thought.

Charles had. He respected the ocean’s power. Its unending energy. He’d engaged in long talks with her about it as they’d walked, hand in hand, along the beach, watching the tide come in and go out.

“New outfit,” Cedar said, as he stood to pull out her chair and then, as she sat, took his seat again.

She knew he didn’t like it and was satisfied with her choice. But then she said, “Raine gave it to me. I have to wear it so when she asks me if I did, I can tell her yes.”

She was making excuses. Felt like she was sliding backward. She had no reason or need to please Cedar.

“I like it,” he told her. “It looks good on you.” The sexy grin on his face, the warmth in his straightforward dark brown gaze, didn’t give even a hint of untruth.

She didn’t like the outfit. That was the truth. She’d worn it to spite him. It hadn’t worked; she didn’t like that, either.

“But then, anything looks good on you,” Cedar added, picking up his menu. “Or nothing.”

Her feminine parts filled with heat.

And she was ashamed.

* * *

HE WAS A damned fraud. A man who’d created situations to fit what he knew people needed so he could get what he wanted. He’d vowed to himself he’d stop. And here he was...still orchestrating the situation.

The gray dress pants, white shirt, gray jacket and gray-and-white tie were proof of that. Although he’d gotten rid of most of his closet full of hand-tailored dress clothes, like an alcoholic pouring his stash down the drain, he’d held on to a few things. And he’d deliberately worn some of them that morning because he knew they’d be what Heather would expect to see. They’d put her at ease. He’d worn them purposely, to manipulate her comfort level.

Like he was the same man who’d used his lover to get the information he needed to manipulate a win.

His last win.

He’d ordered her sweet tea and his own black coffee. She glanced at both as she sat down, but said nothing. She immediately went for the tea, though. Took a long sip.

Sweet tea was her weakness.

He used to be, too.

“You said you had business to discuss,” she said, not even looking at the menu. He’d figured they’d order first. Maybe even wait to broach his discussion until after they’d eaten. She’d been on his mind pretty much nonstop since he’d left her parents’ house two nights before.

She was making a mistake, marrying Charles. Not because she wasn’t marrying him—not that he’d ever asked—but because there was no passion between her and the dentist.

If anyone knew and would recognize Heather’s passion, it was Cedar. He’d been prepared to see her sharing it with another man.

That hadn’t happened. Which meant nothing in terms of him. It meant only that she was making a mistake with her dentist.

Probably not a conversation starter at the moment.

“I have a favor to ask,” he said, looking around for Molly, the waitress who’d taken their drink orders.

Heather held her purse in her hands. “I’m not going to—”

“Please, hear me out,” he interrupted before she could walk out on him. No matter how much he deserved it, he wasn’t up to having her leave him again. The first time had just about killed him.

Killed the old him, anyway. It had left him a shadow of a man, one who lived to make amends—not to be happy.

“The favor, it isn’t for me.”

“Of course it’s for you! Couched in a client’s need, perhaps, but it’s about your win. I’m not going back down that road, Cedar.”

He swallowed. Pursed his lips so they wouldn’t open until he had himself in check. He refused to share his truths; he couldn’t play with her emotions that way. The turns his life had taken were personal. His alone. They weren’t to get her back. Or even to show her that he’d become a better man. He was a man who’d lost his way, and that was a burden he would carry forever. Telling her he was trying to change could serve his own good and that was the old him—serving his own good.

He wanted to ask her how she’d been. To know that she really was over him. That she didn’t still carry in the depths of her heart all the pain he’d caused her by putting his need to win above everything else. That there were no lasting consequences in her life because he’d lost sight of what mattered most.

And yet...he suspected her dentist was one of those consequences.

Suspected she was settling for safety because she couldn’t bear the idea of being hurt so badly again.

He didn’t want that to be the case.

Didn’t have time for more amends at the moment.

But this was Heather. If his actions had pushed her into a passionless relationship, if he’d driven her to a passionless life, he’d have to do whatever it took to undo the damage.

He’d figure that out. Take appropriate action if necessary. But first...

“I’m convinced a young woman is in trouble, that she’s protecting a man she thinks loves her. She might have done some things that could put her in prison, but...”

Heather shook her head. “I’m not helping you free another criminal who should be serving time. I understand that United States law allows everyone the right to a proper defense. I believe in and uphold our laws. But I will not be party to working the system in the name of preserving someone’s rights. I won’t be used again, Cedar. Thank you for the lunch invitation, but I won’t be staying.”

She stood, her purse slung over her shoulder.

“She’s not my client.” He had no clients.

Heather took one step and stopped. He stood up, too, facing her. “She’s the victim of a former client. I need you to help me get her to tell us the truth, Heather. Help me nail this guy before he kills her.”

“How exactly are you going to nail him?”

“I’m going to take whatever evidence we can get out of her and go straight to the police.”

She dropped back into her seat, and he slowly lowered himself into his.

“Isn’t that a conflict of interest?” She eyed him warily, and it stabbed him to know she didn’t trust him at all. He wasn’t surprised. He’d known. Like the ass he was, he’d betrayed her. But sitting there, seeing the evidence of the fallout...it hurt.

He’d never cheated on her. Never even wanted to. But he hadn’t been trustworthy. He’d never out-and-out lied to her. He’d just manipulated the truth to get what he wanted.

“It would be a conflict of interest if he were still a client.”

“Even a former client... He has protection under the law from anything he might have told you. You could lose your license, and any competent attorney will get him off...”

“Let me worry about my license.” At the moment, it was little more than a piece of paper. One he’d gladly burn if it would make things right. He knew he’d put criminals back on the street to bolster his own reputation. And he knew he had so much to do before he could even think about practicing law again.

He wasn’t sure he’d ever trust himself to do it.

Because while it was absolutely true that everyone deserved a good defense, in the end, he hadn’t been about his client’s rights. Or the spirit of the law. He’d become all about his own win. At almost any cost. Just like Heather had said the day she’d walked out on him.

The day she’d found out he’d used her to obtain testimony that would keep an abuser out of prison—knowing that her career choice was based on her own personal need to avenge the death of her aunt, her mother’s sister, who’d lied to law-enforcement officials to protect the man she loved.

“The woman I’m trying now to help never testified for me. The prosecution called her. Not me. And my client wasn’t up for abuse. I was defending him on unrelated charges, which means this is extraneous to anything my client said to me—or to client-attorney privilege. However, I think I could give you enough information to help you ask the right questions to get him on abuse.”

He was a top-notch manipulator. And she had the gift of being able to tell when someone was lying to her. Unless she was blinded by emotion...

That was the reason she’d thrown at him to explain her inability to recognize his duplicity. The fact that he’d never actually lied to her was irrelevant.

To his immense shame, he’d deliberately misled her to get her to do things he’d known she wouldn’t do if he’d asked.

“He’s beating her. And, he might be involving her in his drug trade. I never found anything to prove that, but I wouldn’t be surprised. She obviously feels indebted to him, in a subservient kind of way, and if we don’t intervene, she could end up dead.”

Heather watched him for too long. She ordered the Cobb salad he’d known she’d order when the waitress came to the table. And she waited patiently while he asked for his usual fish tacos without jalapeños.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked.

“I...know her.”

“You dated her.”

He hadn’t, but didn’t deny it. He couldn’t pour his soul out to her. It could soften her toward him and that would serve his own selfish good.

“You slept with a client’s woman.”

“No! Of course I didn’t.” He couldn’t let her erroneous negative assumptions go that far. He’d done a lot of things. Infidelity wasn’t one of them. Not with her and not with any other man’s woman, either.

“You’d like to.”

Not at all.

“I don’t want to sleep with her. Never did. I just need to do this, Heather. I need to make this right. Will you help me?”

“If you’re playing some trick to get me to think you’ve changed, that you’re some kind of new man...you might as well give it up, Cedar. I’m not getting back with you. Not for one kiss. One night. Or a lifetime of them. I cannot fathom even entertaining the thought.”

Her words took away his appetite and a whole lot more. “I understand.”

She watched him. He withstood the silent interrogation.

“She’s at The Lemonade Stand, Heather.”

He knew the mention of the unique, resort-like women’s shelter in town would reel her in. She and her parents had been longtime supporters of the facility. But even as he spoke the truth, he cringed, too. Using that knowledge felt like a well-oiled tactic. Something he would’ve done deliberately in the past, simply because he knew it would work.

“She says her abuser is a family friend, and that she won’t press charges. She wants help but is afraid of the repercussions—with good reason. My personal opinion is that she’s using the Stand as a hideout to buy herself some time for her bruises to heal and to figure out what she wants to do. If things are left as is, I’d bet my life’s earnings that she’ll end up back with Dominic. This might be our only chance to help her.”

“Dominic?”

The man he’d set free by tricking Heather into getting to a truth his client wouldn’t give him. Dominic’s alibi for phone calls to the police had to do with domestic violence, not the drug trafficking for which he’d been standing trial.

It was the case that had blown him and Heather apart.

She dropped the fork she’d been toying with and stood up.

“If I do this...it has nothing to do with you. It would be for the girl. And only if, after I speak with her, I think there’s any merit to what you’re saying.”

“Fine.”

“If, on the other hand, I find out you’re working me...trying to get information that’ll protect your privileged and far-too-rich client from some other crime, I will go after your license myself.”

A year ago, the idea would have panicked him. He’d have protected his career at all costs. Had done exactly that.

And in the process, he’d lost something far more valuable. More vital than he’d ever known.

“Understood.”

He understood another truth, as well. If he was going to help Heather, if he was going to save her from the emotional consequences he was responsible for, then this case was his chance to get close enough to her to do that. He was, one by one, going through his client list, following up with everyone he’d helped set free, and doing what he could to protect those who might be hurt because of his actions...

And it occurred to him that by getting her to help him, he’d have a chance to help her. He had no idea how. The plan was just coming to him. But after seeing her again, seeing the lack of passion, hearing the superficial conversation the other night...knowing how much she’d changed...he had to do something.

He was walking a fine line here. Having other motives, while also telling her the truth—the worst kind of manipulation.

But if he saved Heather from a possible life of unhappiness caused by him, he’d choose to walk that line every time.