The Christmas Present

“I know. Rafael Cardoza.” Instinct had him meeting her palm with his own, though he regretted it the second he touched all that soft, smooth skin.

“Well, then, I assume you know why I’m here.” She glanced around. “Where’s Diego?”

“Upstairs. Working.” Rafa leaned down a little until his face was only inches from hers. “I want to make one thing perfectly clear. I don’t know why Richard sent you. I don’t know what he expected someone like you to be able to do for Diego.”

“Someone like me?”

“You know what I mean. You look like you spend more time in a salon than you do in a courtroom.” Even as he said them, he couldn’t believe the words had left his mouth. He was acting like a total bastard, but he couldn’t afford to be nice. Diego was too important for him to put the kid’s fate in the hands of a lawyer who didn’t know what she was doing.

“I can assure you I have seen my fair share of courtrooms,” she snapped. “And then some.”

“Yeah, well, excuse me if I’m not rolling in confidence here. You don’t exactly look like the type to care about what happens to a poor Hispanic kid accused of murder—even if he is innocent.”

She stiffened, her eyes darkening, and for a moment he would have done anything to take back the words. There was no call to speak to a woman like that. His mother would have had his ass.

But Vivian Wentworth, Esquire, handled his shit like a champ. She simply nodded and said, “Then it’s a good thing he’s got me, isn’t it?”

It was the first indication Rafael had that he might have underestimated her. But not the last.

CHAPTER TWO

OUTRAGE EXPLODED THROUGH her and, for the second time in less than an hour, Vivian understood what it was to want to do violence. She would like nothing more than to beat this smug, self-righteous idiot to a bloody pulp. Yes, he’d rescued her, but one act of kindness didn’t make up for the rest of his boorish behavior.

“I’m a very good lawyer, Mr. Cardoza, and I give one hundred percent to all of my clients, whether they’re pro bono or not.”

“I didn’t mention anything about you taking the case pro bono, Ms. Wentworth. Funny that that’s where your mind went automatically.”

Gritting her teeth, Vivian kept the smile on her face through sheer force of will. “Facts are facts.” She glanced at her watch pointedly. “And we’re already over an hour late getting started. I’d like to see my client now.”

“About that…”

She felt her shoulders tense a little bit more, and braced for the verbal blow she had a good idea was coming. He didn’t disappoint her. “Don’t push him. Diego’s really broken up about this whole thing, and I won’t put up with you running around, messing with his head.”

“Messing with his head?” She couldn’t keep the incredulity out of her voice. “Mr. Cardoza, your client is accused of murder and stands to spend most, if not all, of his life behind bars. Of course he’s worried—”

“I didn’t say worried.” The look on Rafael’s face was as sharp and deadly as an ice pick. “I said he’s broken up. His girlfriend and baby are dead and he’s devastated. I won’t put up with you making that worse.”

“I’m here to help Diego, not make things worse.”

“That remains to be seen, doesn’t it?” He tossed the words over his shoulder as he headed for the door.

She closed her eyes and took a few deep, calming breaths. Murder was against the law, she reminded herself with every exhale. If it wasn’t, she wouldn’t be here trying to deal with this utterly impossible, completely deplorable man. She counted to ten and waited for the urge to strangle him to pass. Or at least mellow.

A huge part of her wanted to quit before ever getting started. It wasn’t as if she didn’t have lots on her plate with the numerous divorce cases she was currently handling, as well as her work at the women’s shelter. Besides, it was bad enough having to battle the entire legal system for a kid accused of a vicious crime, without having to battle his prickly protector, too.

She sighed heavily. Quitting wasn’t really an option. Rafael obviously had some kind of pull with Richard or she wouldn’t be here. Her boss could spout off about helping the community all he wanted, but getting personally involved wasn’t his typical modus operandi. Like her mother—and most of the other rich people she knew—he just wrote a big check to charity twice a year in the law firm’s name and considered his duty done.

But this time he’d gone out of his way to take the case and to hand-select her for it. For whatever reason, Richard had felt that she was the best choice for this job, and she wasn’t going to disappoint him. She’d worked too long and too hard these past few years to get him to notice her as something other than Steven and Lillian’s daughter. Vivian would not blow this chance, no matter how ill-equipped she felt dealing with it.

She started down the hall after her reluctant rescuer. Hell would freeze over before Rafael Cardoza got the best of her, and the sooner he figured that out, the better off they both would be.

RAFAEL SMILED GRIMLY to himself as he escorted Vivian upstairs to one of the classrooms currently being renovated. Round one might have been a draw, but she wasn’t nearly as cool as she wanted him to believe. For one very brief second in his office, he’d seen fear flicker in those crazy, violet eyes. And while it had made him feel like a heel, it had also given him a small sense of satisfaction. She should be afraid, especially if it made her pay attention to her own safety. Nob Hill was a long way from here, in attitude and life lessons, if not location.

Silence stretched between them, the only sound the click-click of her ridiculous shoes as she climbed the old concrete stairs. It gave him a perverse kind of pleasure to keep her guessing about their destination, not willing to let her in on it until she asked.

As they reached the third-floor landing, he risked a side glance at her and wondered again how she was supposed to help Diego. The kid needed someone tough, someone who wouldn’t back down, and Vivian looked like a strong breeze would knock her over. How the hell was she supposed to stand up to all the crap circulating about this case?

How the hell was she supposed to stand up to the establishment when she was the establishment? Everything from her wardrobe to the way she walked screamed old money—and a lot of it.

Just then, the door to one of the classrooms flew open and Diego strode out, his simple black T-shirt spattered with yellow paint. “Rafa,” he said, his face lighting up when he saw them. “I’m just about done in here. You want to take a look?”

“Absolutely.” He patted the kid’s shoulder. “You did a great job with the other two.”

“Thanks.” He gestured for Rafael and Vivian to precede him into the room.

Rafa looked around the freshly painted space with satisfaction. “It looks good. Real good.”

He wasn’t lying, either. Diego had talent for making over rooms that seemed hopeless. He’d spent the last few days in here repairing the holes in the walls, painting and hanging up bulletin boards and whiteboards. He’d even sanded the floor, and the old wood gleamed under the fluorescent lights.

“Esme thought it’d look good in yellow,” Diego whispered, his face a mask of misery and fear. “She was right.”

The kid’s sorrow made Rafael want to punch something, preferably the scumbag who had killed Diego’s girlfriend and unborn child. “You’ll make a hell of a handyman.” He turned to Vivian. “Diego wants to start his own company when he graduates in a few months.”

“That’s wonderful,” she commented, with a sincerity that surprised him.

“Is that—” Diego stopped midsentence and put on the I-don’t-give-a-damn attitude that had gotten him into so much trouble to begin with.

Rafael grimaced as he watched the transformation, but said simply, “Diego, this is Vivian Wentworth. Ms. Wentworth this is Diego.”

Vivian reached a hand out and grasped the one Diego offered almost reflexively. “It’s nice to meet you, Diego. Rafael’s right—the room looks wonderful.” Her smile was warm, her eyes watchful, and Rafael couldn’t help the kick in his gut that came with the first real upward turn of those luscious, lopsided lips. He ignored it, focused on Diego instead.

“Thanks. Rafa’s been paying me to help him out.” The kid’s voice was stilted and frightened. Rafael wanted to wrap his arms around him—this scared, special kid who was still more boy than man—and keep him safe from this nightmare he was experiencing. “I was saving to pay—” He broke off, his throat suddenly working convulsively.

“For the baby?” Vivian’s voice was soft, persuasive. “And for Esme?”

Diego stared at the floor, unwilling—or unable—to look her in the eye. “Yeah. But that’s gone now.” His voice was flat, unemotional, despite his recent loss.

But she could see the pain in him. The harsh lines that bracketed his mouth and looked so out of place on his young face. The dark circles that shadowed his eyes. His careful body movements, as if one wrong move would shatter him. She remembered the feeling from when her older sister had died, and Vivian’s heart went out to him, this boy who’d been forced into manhood too soon.

As she looked at him, every instinct she had said he hadn’t done what he was accused of. Not this sweet, harmless kid with yellow paint on his fingers and heartbreak in his eyes. He couldn’t have brutally raped and murdered his pregnant girlfriend. Not when it was obvious he’d have preferred to die with them.

“I’d like to talk to you for a few minutes,” she said. “Find out exactly what happened that night.”

He nodded his head, cool and collected except for the tremor in his hands. “I told the cops—”

“I know,” she interrupted. “But I’m not the cops. I’m your lawyer and I’m on your side.” Against her better judgment, she reached over and laid a hand on his elbow. The kid just looked so lost.

Of course he’s lost, she told herself. It had only been two months since everything he cared about in the world had been wrenched away from him. Less than that since he’d been arrested.