Swept Away

“Yes, honey. If I hadn’t prayed for self-control, I’d have gone straight up to him and said or done something stupid.”

Thank God it wouldn’t be a jury trial, and with luck, the judge would be a forty-year-old ladies’ man. “I’ve seen him on TV, but I never got the impression that he was irresistible.”

“Same here, but Mr. Henderson in person is an all ’nother cut of cloth. Those eyes! And, Lord, that million dollar charisma. Whew!”

Veronica leaned back in her chair, picked up a pencil, twirled it, put it down and shuffled some of the papers on her desk. Restless and impatient. “All right. I get it. That only means I’ve got work to do and plenty of it. He’s used to getting his way, no doubt.”

Laughter spilled out of the woman sitting beside her desk. “If he told me what his ‘way’ was, I’d see that he got it.”

At Veronica’s icy stare, Enid threw up her hands. “Just kidding. Just kidding. See you later.”

Veronica watched her leave. She trusted Enid, but she didn’t care to do battle with a male heartthrob. Competence she could handle, but she didn’t relish being the generator for a man’s ego trip. She read and reread the information in Natasha’s file. The agency hadn’t made a single mistake with the girl. Who knew why an eleven-year-old would run away. A sudden chill stole into her. A child wouldn’t run away from a warm, loving and happy home, would she? If indeed that was what had happened. Lord forbid Natasha had been a victim of foul play.

She mused over the problem and, on impulse, asked her secretary for Schyler Henderson’s phone number. She couldn’t plan if she didn’t know precisely what the charges were.

“Schyler Henderson. Good morning.”

His warm, caressing tones gave her a mental picture of a perfectly proportioned male lying supine on a bed of dewy grass with a warm breeze kissing his bare skin. She reined in her thoughts.

“Hello, Mr. Henderson. This is Veronica Overton.”

“What may I do for you, Ms. Overton?”

So he didn’t engage in small talk. She held the receiver away and stared at it. She respected professionalism. She told him she’d learned of his charges through the media.

“It seems to me that if you were seriously concerned about our placement practices, you would at least have spoken with me before you made your public grandstand.”

“I considered it, but since I didn’t know you or how you operated, I decided against it.”

“Well, I want you to know that I had no idea Natasha wasn’t in that home until one of my staff told me about your press conference.”

“Ms. Overton, that home is unsuitable. The child has disappeared, and no amount of discussion will change that. The only way we’ll stop this…these tragedies is nip them at the source.”

“That home has served more than a dozen children over the years without one unpleasant incident. Furthermore, my agency has an impeccable record, and we provide the only service of its kind to West Baltimore. If you destroy us, what can you put in our place?”

“I’m not out to destroy your agency. We need it; you and that agency have been a good thing for this community. But we must protect and preserve every child, every little life, Ms. Overton. No mistake is tolerable. My aim is to make sure that our children get the best possible service. From the information available to me, it appears that Natasha Wynn didn’t get that so, much as I’d rather not move against you, I have to do what I believe is right.”

Schyler hung up, got the file and read it through again, assuring himself that he hadn’t misrepresented the woman or her agency. Still, an uneasy feeling settled in him. He’d never met her, but he knew her reputation and he was loathe to sully it. Women, and especially African-American women, had a hard enough time getting executive jobs and receiving the support they needed after they got them. He didn’t want to knock her down, but when he remembered his own travails in first one foster home and then another, he had to stay his course for the child’s sake. He called the district attorney’s office to lodge his complaint.

Brian Atwood answered the phone. “Man, Overton has a spotless record. You asking me to dethrone that icon?”

Schyler sat down, put his feet on his desk, crossed his ankles and leaned back in his swivel chair. “I know who she is, and I don’t want to hurt her, but it’s my job to act when a child is endangered.” He could imagine that he’d worried Brian, the coward of their college class.

“I hope you know what you’re doing, man. She’s rock solid.”

Fishing with Brian could be fun, but working with him tried his patience. “Was rock solid. I’m sending the file over by messenger.”

“Okay,” Brian said, a tad slowly, Schyler thought. “I’ll get back to you.”

Three hours later, Schyler lifted the receiver hoping his caller was not Veronica Overton and breathed deeply in relief when he heard Brian’s voice. “What do you think?”

Brian didn’t hesitate. “I’ll check this out and if I find cause, I’ll bring charges.”

A week later, AFTC’s charges against Veronica’s agency were aired in Family Court.

Schyler strode into court, certain of his grounds but unhappy about the damage he might inflict on a woman of commanding stature and singular achievement. She had rescued Child Placement and Assistance from irrelevancy and made it a force in the community. He knew about her, had heard her on radio and seen her on television, but he’d never met her. A half-smile settled around his mouth. She always sounded so correct, perfect, like Miss Betts, his fourth-grade teacher. He hadn’t liked Miss Betts, he recalled, because she never gave him credit for what he did. Sometimes, he wished she could see him now. He’d grin at her and show her his thumbs up sign, the way he always did when she was mean to him. He laughed to himself, because he knew he was procrastinating. Much as he hated it, he had to present this case.

He walked away from his side of the aisle, greeted an acquaintance and shook hands with him, still postponing the inevitable. Then he sat at the table provided for him and looked across the narrow aisle that separated him from Veronica Overton, intending to bow graciously, and did a double take. Right straight to the marrow of his bones. An arrow with his name on it. She’d looked at him and his heart had taken off and sped unerringly to her. Get ahold of yourself, man. This spelled trouble, because she’d reacted to him as surely as he had to her. Quickly, he focused his attention on the papers in front of him. She’d been looking at him again and had diverted her gaze when he caught her at it. He ran his fingers through the thick black wavy hair that disputed the purity of his African heritage. Now, what was that all about?

Veronica glanced up just as the tall, distinguished-looking man entered the far side of the chamber. Schyler Henderson. A giant of a man. At least six feet five inches tall, though trim as an athlete. She’d never realized he was so tall and, for reasons she refused to examine, imagined that he’d dwarf her five feet ten inches. Not that she wouldn’t like it; she enjoyed being with a man who made her feel soft and feminine. She settled her gaze on him. She wouldn’t say he was a knockout, but…He looked at someone in front of her, smiled, and long strides brought him to within a few feet of where she sat. His smile claimed his whole face as he shook hands with the man before going to the table reserved for him and sitting down.

The bottom dropped out of her belly, and she knew what Enid meant about blood flowing backward. She stared at his back while something leaped within her, quickening her insides. She couldn’t move her gaze from him. He sat alone, without a lawyer, leaning back, as relaxed as a marathon runner at the end of a race. She brought herself under control and breathed. Lord, she’d never seen such eyes.

The judge called the proceedings to order, and Brian Atwood read the charges. She marveled at her ability to sit quietly through it. Her agency’s lawyer refuted the charges, and she strummed her fingers on her knee. Such a waste of time and money. It hadn’t occurred to her that Schyler would be the one to argue on behalf of Advocates for the Child. She bristled at the assurance with which he read the brief he’d written as a friend of the court.

“No matter what CPAA’s reputation is, it cannot be allowed to endanger our children. The tragedy of Natasha Wynn has sullied the commendable reputation that this agency established during the previous three years. But saving a hundred children does not excuse the loss of one.”

Angry at him as Veronica was, he fascinated her. And thrilled her. She watched, spellbound, as he strolled from one end of the bench to the other, a consummate actor.

He spread his hands as though helpless. “Of course, Your Honor, we can pat them on the back and say, now you be good little boys and girls and don’t do this anymore. Sure, and we could be right back here a month, two, three or a year from now with another tragedy.” He looked over at her and smiled. “We wouldn’t want that, Your Honor.” To her surprise, he called her to the stand.

Veronica took the stand. “Thank you for the opportunity to speak on my behalf, Mr. Henderson. Not many of us can claim to have achieved perfection in every aspect of our lives as you so obviously have, so you’ll forgive me if I don’t blow my own horn and let the agency’s record speak for itself.”

She could see that she’d stung him, but he was only momentarily nonplussed. “When we’re dealing with people’s lives, we’d better be perfect,” he replied, his tone gentle and his manner respectful.

She refused to allow him the last word. “Since you know that, Mr. Henderson, I’d think you’d have gotten your facts straight before you took an action that could destroy my life.”

A look of distress flashed across his countenance, and she got a sense that he regretted the entire affair, but he quickly replaced it with an expression of confidence and asked the judge for a ruling against CPAA.

The judge, apparently having heard enough, announced that he’d render a decision within ten days and dismissed them.

Veronica marched out of the chamber, head high, without a glance in Schyler’s direction. He’d had the temerity to accuse her agency. She couldn’t think of any torture good enough for him. As the crisp March air hit her face, enlivening her skin, invigorating her, his long shadow paired with hers, and she didn’t doubt that he’d maneuvered it so that they’d leave the building together.

She didn’t look at him. Deliberately. She didn’t want any of his magnetism, though it seemed to radiate from him even when she wasn’t looking at him. “I’m surprised you’d care for my company, Mr. Henderson. It taxes my credulity to think you’d allow yourself to be seen with such an irresponsible person as me, a menace to the well-being of Baltimore’s children. Sure you haven’t mistaken me for someone else?”

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “This isn’t personal, Ms. Overton. I’ve admired your work, but this tragedy requires restitution.”

She stopped walking and looked up at him. “And you don’t care who pays. Is that it? You don’t even know that there is a tragedy. She’s missing, but for all you know she could be safe. Where there’s no body, there’s no murder; any detective will tell you that. Make a name for yourself at somebody else’s expense, please.”

He faced her, towering over her, either unable or not caring to hide the sensual awareness making itself known through the prisms of his remarkable gray eyes. “I’m not a crusader, Ms. Overton. I’m trying to protect children because they can’t do that for themselves. I’d never set out to hurt you. You…you’re…” He looked into the distance, protecting his thoughts, and when he looked back at her, she couldn’t mistake the compassion his eyes conveyed for anything but what it was. He did dislike hurting her.

He stared down at her, his gaze unfathomable. A half-smile formed around his sensuous mouth. Then he winked. “See you next week.” And he was gone.

Schyler’s steps slowed when he approached the restaurant where he’d told Brian they could meet for lunch, as his mind grappled with the enigma that was Veronica Overton. Once there, he ordered a hamburger with french fries, coleslaw and a dill pickle, and a chocolate sundae for dessert.

“Aren’t you hungry?” Brian asked, as he watched Schyler pick at his food.

“I don’t know. I just don’t feel that spurt of adrenaline, that excitement that I usually get on a case. I don’t feel like making the kill. Maybe I ought to turn this job over to somebody else and stick to engineering.”