Between Love and Duty

She waited politely. “No?” she said after a moment. “Since you’re so interested, you might want to do so.”

“I intend to.”

“Good. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have customers.”

He didn’t know whether it was more insulting to think that she was lying about the existence of those customers, or that she wasn’t.

Either way—she was gone. “Bullheaded woman,” he muttered, hanging up the phone.

Duncan didn’t like being bested by a pretty, feminine little thing who made her living selling, of all damn things, tutus.

Maybe not little, he conceded. She had the look of a dancer. Slender, small-breasted, graceful and long-legged, with the swanlike neck and unusually erect carriage he’d expect of one. In appearance, she was just plain feminine, with that mass of glossy hair the color of hand-rubbed maple wood, a sweet face and eyes of the darkest blue he’d ever seen.

All that, and the personality of a police dog on the job. Outwardly well behaved, sharp-eyed and ready, at the slightest excuse, to go for the throat.

He’d have expected as much if she’d been a defense attorney. But the proprietor of a dance shop?

Duncan might have been amused if he hadn’t been so pissed. She’d made up her mind, all right. He suspected she had from the beginning, whatever she said to the contrary. She had every intention of handing Tito back to his father, whose main virtue seemed to be a lack of any history of domestic violence calls. Never mind that he’d stabbed a man to death in the parking lot of a tavern at two in the morning.

From the ache in his jaw, Duncan could tell he was grinding his teeth again. Swearing aloud served to relax his jaw. Maybe he’d recommend the technique to his dentist for other patients.

The rest of him hadn’t relaxed one iota. He continued to brood when he should have been working.

At first sight, he’d had the passing thought that he might like to take Ms. Jane Brooks to bed. No more. He didn’t care what color her eyes were, or how much he’d liked her long-fingered, graceful hands. He didn’t object to social workers on principle, but he did object to idiots who believed in blood ties at the cost of common sense. He didn’t have to feel a whole hell of a lot to enjoy taking a woman to bed, but he drew the line at one he held in contempt.

He swiveled in his chair and pulled out his computer keyboard. If Jane Brooks had kept him in the loop, he might have shared his intentions with her. As it was, she might be surprised by some opposition.

In his present mood, he hoped she was.

CHAPTER THREE

“THANK YOU FOR YOUR recommendations, Ms. Brooks.” The Honorable Judge Edward Lehman peered at Jane over the top of his reading glasses. The judge had already greeted Hector Ortez, Lupe and the Department of Social & Health Services caseworker present in the small courtroom along with the recorder and bailiff.

Hector had been released a few days before. The decision had been made to hold this hearing immediately, before he had a chance to reestablish his relationship with his daughter and son on his own. Jane had had to hustle to finish all her interviews so quickly and put together a report for Lehman, but she was satisfied with the result if less than thrilled with any of Tito’s options. She’d tried very hard not to consider Captain MacLachlan’s outrage when she interviewed Hector at the correctional institute, but his voice and scathing gray eyes had stuck with her whether she liked it or not.

Now the judge continued, “I’ve received an additional opinion that I hadn’t anticipated… Ah.” He looked past her. “Captain MacLachlan.”

With a sense of inevitability and rising aggravation, Jane turned her head to see Duncan MacLachlan entering chambers. Speak of the devil. Or was it think of the devil. The smallish space immediately shrank. He wore a crisp blue uniform today, as if he’d wanted to emphasize his position in the law enforcement community.

“Your Honor,” he said with a nod.

Jane supposed the two men knew each other. Well, so what. She knew Judge Lehman, too. He was her favorite of the several family court judges with whom she’d dealt. She shouldn’t leap to assume the two men were comembers of some kind of old boys’ network.

“Apparently no one is represented by an attorney today,” the judge observed, continuing after everyone shook their heads in agreement. “Ms. Salgado, do you speak English?”

“Sí. Yes, but not…” Lupe hesitated.

“Fluently? Perhaps we need a translator.”

“I’m happy to translate anything Señora Salgado doesn’t understand,” Jane offered.

He determined that Jane was acceptable to Lupe as an interpreter and they moved on. He questioned her first. Was she able to keep Tito in her home if necessary? How did she feel about her brother returning to the custody of their father?

She explained that Tito could stay with her if necessary, but that it was difficult, given that she had three young children of her own, that she worked nights, that he had to sleep on the sofa.

“Yes,” Jane translated faithfully, “I am happy if my brother can live with Papa again. I have tried to make sure they saw each other often enough so that they still know each other.”

She heard a sound from her right that she strongly suspected was a snort from Captain MacLachlan, pitched low enough to escape being heard by His Honor.

The judge transferred his gaze to Tito’s father, a short, sturdy man who she suspected might have Mayan blood. There was something about his face—the breadth of his cheekbones—perhaps, that made her think of statues she’d seen at a traveling exhibit of Mayan antiquities at the Seattle Art Museum.

Interestingly, Hector spoke better English than his daughter did. He’d been in this country longer, he explained; initially he had left his family behind in Mexico and come up here for work, then brought them when he could. He was an automobile mechanic. Lupe was his oldest child, and she’d found the language difficult and had left school when she was fifteen.

“I have already talked to the man I worked for, and he wants to hire me again,” Hector told the judge. “He liked my work.”

“So you do have employment.” Lehman made a note. “Where are you currently living?”

He was staying with a friend, sleeping on the floor. The apartment was small and cramped, he admitted; two men shared it, and another was currently living there, as well. He would get an apartment or small house once he’d received his first few paychecks, but no one would rent to him until then.

Jane all but quivered, waiting for another snort—which didn’t come. Apparently Captain MacLachlan had more self-control than to indulge himself a second time.

The judge talked to Hector at some length, and finally seemed satisfied. He flipped through papers in the file open before him and peered at one for a moment, then looked up.

“Ms. Brooks, appointed by this court as Guardian ad Litem to represent the interests of Tito, believes those interests may be best served by living with you, Mr. Ortez, once you’ve found steady employment—which it sounds as if you’ve done—and established a stable living environment, which may be weeks to months away. She feels it would be best for Tito to remain close to his sister, as he’s been living with her for so long now, and to stay if possible in the same school. Ms. Hesby, do you disagree?”

The caseworker shook her head. “I’m fully aware that Señora Salgado has done her best, but I, too, believe Tito would benefit from more attention from a parental figure than she has been able to provide.”

The judge addressed Hector. “Will you be living here in Stimson?”

“Yes,” Hector said firmly. “This was my home before. My job is at Stan’s Auto Repair on Tenth Street. Tito could walk there from school.”

“Very good.” He looked toward Duncan, which gave Jane an excuse to swivel slightly in her seat and do the same. “Mr. Ortez, are you aware that Captain MacLachlan has been mentoring your son?”

Jane thought there was some tension in Hector’s nod even though he was smart enough to keep his thoughts hidden.

“The captain has expressed concern about the possibility of Tito living with you. He feels your conviction for a violent crime makes you an unsuitable role model for a young boy.”

Streaks of red now slashed across Hector’s high cheekbones. “I was defending myself only. I didn’t mean to kill anyone. I don’t usually fight. I’m not that kind of man.”

Duncan said, “And yet you didn’t deny, even in your trial, that you had stabbed Joseph Briggs. That he’d made you, I quote, very mad.”

Hector’s brown eyes were hot now. “I served my time. I shouldn’t lose my family, too.”

“Can you keep your temper with a teenage boy who doesn’t think he has to listen to his father?”

Hands planted flat on the table, Hector half rose. “I have other children. Ask Lupe! I have never hit my children.”

“But you had a wife then.” Duncan’s tone was barely shy of badgering. “You earned the money and she raised the children. Isn’t that right, Señor Ortez? But now you find yourself a single…”