The Christmas Present

“Yes!” His voice got louder, more insistent, but she didn’t try to calm him down. Not now.

“Who saw you?”

“A bunch of people.”

“So why don’t you have an alibi?”

“I was up here working most of the time.”

“By yourself?”

He shrugged. “Yeah. Rafa gave me the job, but the center can’t really afford to pay a bunch of us, so I come in every day and work for a few hours. Do what I can.”

“And you didn’t leave?”

“No.”

“Didn’t take a break? Go downstairs and get some dinner? Go to the restroom? Nothing?”

“I went to the bathroom, but up here.” He pointed down the hall. “There’s a bathroom near the stairs.”

“What time did Lissa call you?”

“Around ten-thirty that night. She told me that I had to come right away.” He looked down at the table, shame in every line of his body. “I hassled her. Things were coming along really well here and I didn’t want to be interrupted.

“I was here, patching the walls, painting, thinking about an essay I had to write for school, while Esme was dying! How could I have been doing that, while some animal was hurting her?”

THERE IT WAS, Rafael thought, the question that had been haunting the kid for the last nine weeks. Well, that and who had actually committed the murder Diego was charged with. Rafa knew Diego hadn’t harmed Esme—he wasn’t capable of it, could barely bring himself to squash a spider, let alone brutally rape and murder the girl he loved.

“How could you have known, Diego?” When he spoke his voice came out gruff with misuse. It had been hard to sit here, keeping his mouth shut, while somebody else took over with Diego, but he knew enough about the system to know it was necessary. And for the first time since he’d gotten back to town and found out Diego had been arrested, he felt as if the kid had a chance.

For all of her fashion magazine looks and cool, cultured voice, Vivian Wentworth seemed to know her stuff. Her questions had been fair, incisive and structured to give her the whole picture of the situation. He could admire that, especially since it seemed to indicate that Diego would get the defense he deserved.

And the look in her eye—the one that had messed with his head back in his office?—he’d finally identified it. Behind the mascara and shadow, her eyes held the gleam of a warrior, one who didn’t like losing.

It was the same look he’d seen in the mirror any number of times since he’d decided to change this old warehouse into a teen center. The same look that had gotten him through all the fundraising and city council meetings it took to keep this place going. The same look that convinced his board to let him do things at the center his way.

It was nice to see that Vivian had some of that same fight in her. She was going to need it before this thing was over.

Rafael had a hard time trusting anyone—couldn’t stand being out of control enough to let someone else do what he couldn’t—but as he watched her with Diego, he thought he just might be willing to bet on Vivian doing what was necessary to protect the boy.

CHAPTER THREE

THE QUESTIONS WENT ON forever, until Diego’s eyes were drooping with exhaustion and even Rafael felt as if he’d been put through the emotional wringer. The only one who looked no worse for wear was Vivian, whose voice was as calm and compassionate now as it had been when she’d started questioning Diego two hours before.

As Diego went over details of his relationship with Esme for the second time, Rafael let his mind wander for a minute. Then was brought back to the present with a jolt as Vivian started gathering up the copious notes she’d taken.

“I think that’s all for tonight,” she said as she slipped the papers into her briefcase. “But I’d like to meet again in a couple of days, after I’ve had a chance to research some things.”

“Sure.” Diego stood, wiping his palms on his jeans before extending a hand to her. “Thanks, Ms. Wentworth.”

“You’re welcome, Diego. But we’re just getting started—there’s a long road ahead of us.”

“Yeah, but you’re the first person, besides Rafa, to really listen to what I had to say about everything. I really appreciate that.”

Vivian smiled, and Rafael was struck again by her sincerity. Though he hated to admit it, he might have been wrong about her. Maybe this was more than just a toss-off pro bono case to her. Maybe—

He cut his thoughts off with a grimace. It was early days yet and there was a lot to do before Diego even had a chance of getting out of trouble. Yet Rafael couldn’t help looking at Vivian differently as he escorted her downstairs.

“Where’s your car parked?” he asked, his voice rusty from hours of disuse as he’d sat back and let Vivian do her thing.

“I took BART.”

“Are you telling me you walked all the way from the BART station in this neighborhood? I thought you’d just parked on the next block or something. Are you crazy?”

As soon as the words slipped out he wanted to take them back. Not because he didn’t mean them, but because her back turned as stiff and unyielding as a fireplace poker. But damn it, was she insane? She was lucky Nacho and his gang were the only trouble she’d run into.

“No, Mr. Cardoza, I am not crazy. I was however, running late and didn’t have time to go home for my car. As I take BART to work every day, I was stuck with that option to get here. Believe me, I wouldn’t have been wandering the streets at dusk if I could have avoided it.”

Her explanation soothed him, despite it being delivered in the prissiest tone he’d ever heard. Or maybe because of it. Something about her cultured tones and incredible composure got to him—not to mention that fantastically crooked mouth with its too-full upper lip. Made him wonder what she’d sound like if he mussed her up a little bit…or a lot.

“Do you mind if I wait here for a cab?” she asked in a voice that suggested it wasn’t the first time she’d asked him the question.

He shook his head to clear it, then watched her root around in her briefcase for her cell phone. “You’ll be waiting all night. You won’t catch a cabbie within three miles of this place once the sun goes down.”

“Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure, yeah.” He paused, then did what he’d known he was going to do all along. “I’ll drive you home.”

Her eyes darted to his. “You don’t have to—”

“Yes, I do, and we both know it. So can the obligatory protests and let’s go.” He headed toward the back of the shelter, and the alley where he kept his bike, without waiting to see if she followed. It wasn’t as if she had any other option.

A quick stop by his office yielded an extra helmet, and then he was pushing the back door open. The cold December air rushed by him, making him shiver despite his leather jacket.

He glanced behind him. If he was cold, Vivian must be freezing in her thin suit. “Here,” he said, as he shrugged out of his jacket. “Put this on.”

She eyed the jacket uncertainly for a moment, then reached for it and slipped it around her shoulders. “Thanks. I appreciate it…. Where’s your car?”

He laughed, then nodded to the motorcycle parked a few feet away. “We’re not taking a car.”

“No car? But…” He watched her closely, taking perverse pleasure in the shock—and discomfort—that flitted across her face as she noticed the motorcycle for the first time. “We’re not riding that, are we?”

“Sure we are. Now take the helmet.” To her credit, she did as he told her. He chose to ignore the fact that it was probably due to her surprise rather than any desire to actually get along with him.

“Are you sure—” Her voice broke and she had to start again. “Are you sure this is the only way to get me home? I mean—”

He laughed, then swung his leg over his prize Harley. “Relax. It’s a million times easier than riding a bicycle.” When she still didn’t move, he glanced at her impatiently. “Get on.”