Match Made in Court

Naturally, Linnea felt compelled to chatter. “I think my favorite animals are the otters. Do you remember that time we saw one playing in the stream at the zoo?” she asked her niece, who didn’t answer. To Matt, she said, “He kept sliding down, then going back up and doing it again. It was so cute. But I like the giraffes, too, and the lions. And, oh, when there’s a baby gorilla!” Flipping the sandwiches, she stroked Hanna’s hair with one hand. “Did you see the gorillas today?”

Hanna shook her head.

“We didn’t get that far,” Matt said. “She didn’t even really look at the animals we did get to.”

Oh, dear. “I’m sorry you didn’t have fun,” she said softly to her niece. “Oops! The soup is boiling.”

She dished up three bowls and had Hanna carry saltine crackers to the table. Then she brought the grilled cheese sandwiches on plates, lifted Hanna into her seat and sat herself.

It felt … strange having a man here. Except for her dad, no man had ever eaten here in her kitchen with her. Tess dropped by casually once in a while, but never Finn.

Anyway, Linnea suspected her brother hardly ever ate lunch unless he was entertaining a client or talking on his cell phone or texting at the same time.

Matt seemed to fill the space in a way Linnea knew she didn’t. It was partly physical; he was a large, solidly built man with broad shoulders. But it was also a matter of temperament. She could feel his tension, as if the very air crackled with it. Those gray eyes were both impassive and dark with what she felt sure was an incipient storm.

Of course, his tension wound Linnea tighter than a rubber band ready to snap, which, coupled with Hanna’s withdrawal, didn’t make this lunch an undiluted pleasure.

Hanna ate half a sandwich and a few spoonfuls of soup, then, to Linnea’s relief, asked to be excused. “Can I watch TV?” she asked, after a wary glance at her uncle.

“Why don’t you take a book and lie down instead?” Linnea suggested. “You look tired, kiddo.”

She’d been letting Hanna watch entirely too much television. She always curled up at one end of the sofa, clutching a throw pillow as though her stomach hurt, and stared at the screen as if mesmerized. Mesmerized, or not seeing it at all, Linnea wasn’t sure which. It had become Hanna’s refuge, which didn’t strike Linnea as entirely healthy.

She could tell now that her niece wanted to argue, but after a moment she gave a reluctant nod and trudged from the kitchen. Matt didn’t say anything, but he watched her go with that same brooding expression. When Hanna didn’t even look back, a muscle twitched in his cheek, and Linnea wondered if his feelings were hurt.

From her seat she could see the hall. She waited to say anything until Hanna went in her bedroom and shut the door. Then she looked at Matt.

“Was she just shy?”

“She wouldn’t talk to me. Is that shy?”

“Well, of course it is,” Linnea said in bewilderment. “What did you think?”

Very coolly, he said, “I wondered if someone had been talking to her about me. She almost acts as if she’s afraid of me.”

“Someone?” Then she got it, and her mouth dropped open. “You mean me? Why would you think …?”

“Perhaps your brother.”

“I really doubt that Finn—” She couldn’t tell him that she didn’t think Finn actually talked to his daughter that often.

He raised an eyebrow, giving his face a saturnine cast that made her wonder if he’d read her mind. “Finn?”

“I doubt he gives that much thought to you.”

“Then what’s going on? Hanna and I have always been good friends.”

“You haven’t seen her in a year. That’s forever for a child.” She hesitated. “And things have been hard for her at home. I suspect Tess and Finn were fighting a lot. Hanna hasn’t seemed very happy to me lately. She’d already … withdrawn. Become clingy when she was with me.”

Matt frowned. “Tess hasn’t said anything.”

“Would she have?” Linnea weighed how much to say, then thought, What does it matter now? “Hanna wasn’t like them,” she explained. “She’s quiet, and sensitive, and she shrivels when voices get raised. I’m not sure even Tess understood that she didn’t react the way either of them would have to … anything.”

His mouth flattened. “Then suddenly she’s being told that her mom is dead.”

“There were police in the house, and then I took her and she hasn’t even talked to her dad since.”

To his credit, he was listening. “Your parents?”

“They adore her.”

He waited.

“Dad is always gentle with Hanna. But it wouldn’t surprise me if Mom is saying more than she should to a child Hanna’s age. She’s pretty worked up on Finn’s behalf. She and I—”

Gaze suddenly intense, he prodded her again. “You what?”

“We had an argument today. She’s not happy that Hanna is spending time with you. Mom always defends Finn, you see. It won’t surprise me if she calls to tell him.”

“It doesn’t sound like he gives a good goddamn.”

“No, he does love Hanna. In his own way. And also—” She stopped, wondering why so many private thoughts were attempting to spill out today.

Matt’s eyes narrowed. “She’s his. That’s what you’re trying to say, isn’t it?”

After a moment, she nodded.

He surged to his feet. His chair clattered back, rocked and almost fell over. “Not anymore, she isn’t. I intend to get custody.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “What?” she asked faintly.

“You heard me.” His voice was as flinty as his gray eyes. “I’ve already retained an attorney. Finn murdered my sister. When he did that, he forfeited all rights to Hanna.”

“Just because he’s been charged—” Oh, how weak that sounded. And why was she defending the brother who had actively made her childhood miserable?

“Charged?” Matt snorted. “What’s he claiming?

That she crawled under the coffee table and banged her head on it?”

“Under?” Her confusion must have been plain, because after a minute he straightened the chair and sat.

“You haven’t heard the whole story?”

“No.”

“Her skull was shattered. The hair and tissue weren’t on the top edge of the table, where they would have been if she’d fallen. They were on the lower edge.” He slid a hand along the table in demonstration. “The bastard picked it up and slammed it into her head.”

“Oh, God,” Linnea whispered. “Mom doesn’t know that.”