“Five million dollars,” she repeated, thinking this was not what she wanted to be talking about. The awareness of where she wanted this conversation to go left her cheeks flaming. No matter they were in the middle of a murder-one case, not to mention a kidnapping and a ransom situation where she was to act as go-between. Her breath seared her nostrils with internal heat.
“It’s going to wipe Dale out, putting this amount together at short notice. Suggesting we get the police involved almost got me fired. Ditto for trying to talk them down. All he can see is, this is the only chance he has of getting his child back.”
“Marcus, we’ve got to talk.”
“What do you call what we’re doing now?”
“No, I mean …” She could not believe this was happening. But the hunger gnawed away at everything. She wanted to talk about what she wanted. Which was him. She wanted to know this man. She wanted to brand him with her love. Her impatience to move forward ate at the barriers she had spent years building, the silence and the reserve and the distance and the reasons why she could never love any man.
“Kirsten?”
There was only one way this was going to work. She didn’t know how she knew, but she knew it was not just true, but real. She had to talk. She had to tell him why she battled so against him, and even more, against herself. “Marcus, I have to tell you something.”
He caught the change. “Honey, what’s the matter?”
She wanted to curse him. To rage at him like she should at all men for their macho ways and their ability to hurt and crush and blind. But she couldn’t. Past wounds were no longer enough to bind her. The words rushed out like lava. “Everything I told you about myself is a lie. But that’s not for now. I don’t know if I can ever …”
She stopped to pant, squeezing the receiver so hard her ear felt mashed to a pulp. “I was raped.”
He moaned in the manner of one who did not know he had even breathed, much less spoken.
“I was seventeen. There were three of them. I was drugged. It was on a boat. But that doesn’t matter. After that I went a little crazy. Not right then. Later. But I did. I tried a lot of things, Marcus. None of them worked. Every time I was … with a man, all I saw was the smoke. And the stars.” She knew that would make no sense to him. But the further she went, the less she could say for whom she spoke. “So I stopped caring. I stopped feeling. I stopped everything. It was better that way. Safer. And it worked. Then you came along. And it doesn’t work anymore. I can’t stand this, Marcus. I can’t stand it. I can’t keep myself trapped away. I can’t …”
She slammed the phone down. Rose to her feet. Walked from the bed to the window to the door and back. Passing the mirror over the desk she caught sight of herself.
She was amazed to find her face drenched with tears.
The phone rang. She stared at it. The phone rang seven times. Then stopped. Kirsten could not unlock her chest. Her need for air was a burning fury, almost as strong as her desire to hear him speak to her. About love and healing and comfort and sharing. The phone started ringing again. If she could make her chest move she could reach for the phone. The phone stopped once more.
The silence. Not breathing, not really even thinking. Not letting anybody touch her in this sterile little cocoon. Trading one tight little cage for another. Going through life with no change. Nothing moving, especially not inside herself. Flying all over the globe, going through the motions of having a life. But held by the safety of empty silence. Just like now.
She did not lower herself so much as crash to the floor. Crawled across to the bed. Knelt there waiting. When the phone rang again, she made the grab before the first ring was through, not giving herself time to enter lockdown again.
Marcus started speaking. He said the words. She felt them cascade over her but she could not actually hear what he said. All she could make out was the tone, the message of concern and love and acceptance. It broke her entirely.
CHAPTER 41
When Marcus entered the courtroom early Monday, Hamper Caisse was seated in the first public row. Hamper gave a little double take at Marcus’ appearance. Marcus was too preoccupied to take much pleasure in turning the tables. The conversations with Kirsten and her revelations had left him utterly drained. He had also spent futile hours trying to track down Dale. Under any other circumstances, he would already be headed to Wilmington.
Judge Rachel Sears offered Marcus a tight smile of approval as he set his briefcase upon the table. “Are we alone this morning, Mr. Glenwood?”
“Apparently so, your honor.” Marcus turned to inspect his new foe. Opposing counsel’s table was occupied by a Health and Human Services lawyer. This one was white and male and had a slick nervous sheen to his skin. He wore a button-down Oxford blue shirt with a stained wool tie. Normally the HHS attorneys were the least prepared of all local counsel. They generally worked between fifty and seventy active cases at any one time. Their paperwork was notoriously shoddy. Family court judges usually granted them enormous leeway. If an HHS attorney requested a stay, that was generally enough for the court to require a medical assessment. Where children were concerned, most judges preferred to err on the side of extreme caution.
The HHS attorney opened with “Your honor, we have learned over the weekend that Erin Brandt has died. We are here to request that her child immediately be made a ward of the court.”
Marcus demanded, “Let’s get this straight. You’re pointing the finger at my client? You are? Or Hamper Caisse?”
The HHS guy kept his gaze locked on the judge. “Your honor, we have reason to believe that Dale Steadman has proven himself to be an unfit father. The father is under indictment for the murder of his former spouse. Plus there are numerous other issues that raise warning flags.” He fumbled with his own case and drew out three bound portfolios. “We have prepared a brief outlining our concerns.” He plunked a copy on Marcus’ table and walked forward with another.
The judge eyed his work with consternation. She flipped through the pages. She looked at him. “What is your caseload at this time?”
He struggled with the knot of his tie. “Hard to say, your honor.”
“Ballpark figure.”
“Around three hundred. Of which about fifty are active.”
“Three hundred cases.” She rifled through the pages. “How many staff?”
“Just me and my secretary.”
“And you put together a brief that runs to,” Judge Sears checked the top of the last page. “Two hundred and twelve pages?”
“We are aware that the child is about to come home, your honor.”
“Is that so? And just exactly how did you learn this?”
Marcus could hear the guy swallow from across the room. “It stands to reason, judge. The mother is dead, the child has nowhere else to go. We are asking that the baby be made a ward-”
“Hold that thought. First I want to get a fix on what’s brought us to this point.” She crossed her robed arms over the closed brief. “In all my time on the bench I’ve never seen anyone from HHS come in here so prepared. Normally I have to be satisfied if you’ve bothered to interview the neighbors to either side. When did you have time to prepare these documents?”
“Yesterday.” He swiped at his hair. “As I said, your honor, we are deeply concerned about this boy’s well-being.”
Judge Sears slowly repeated, “This boy.”
The lawyer almost turned to where Hamper had taken a choke hold on the railing. He caught himself just in time. “Did I say that? Sorry, your honor. I meant the girl.”
“Are you sure? What is the child’s name?” She halted his motion with a tightly aimed gavel. “Don’t you open that brief, sir. Anybody who’s gone to all this trouble over a weekend is bound to at least know how the child is called.”