“Not today.”
“When?”
“If it ever changes, I promise you’ll be the first to know.”
Chapter 7
They arrived back at the clubhouse by late afternoon. Tina considered the day a reasonable success. Not only had she learned something about local wildlife, Vincent had confided in her, a step in the right direction if they were going to spend quality time together. And he’d kissed her. Her only disappointment was that it had been in a moment of weakness, not intentionally. Why didn’t he do it because he wanted to? Understandably his past played a large part in his hesitation. But she wasn’t convinced that was all.
She swallowed the lump in her throat, her hands shaking. Even if his ex-wife suffered from chronic depression, that didn’t completely absolve her from the abuse and infidelity, or from her cruelty in keeping her children away from their father. Tina abhorred parents who used their kids as weapons. Though she handled the occasional divorce case, the meat and potatoes of her law firm, she avoided them as often as possible. That kind of animosity crept its way into her heart every time, affecting her personally. Leave it to her more disconnected colleagues to manage those cases.
Last year she represented a drug-addicted mother attempting to regain custody of her three children from the state. Tina had stuck with her, trusted she was attending parenting classes and Narcotics Anonymous. They’d even connected on a more personal level. Not exactly as friends, but Tina cared more than she should.
Months later she received an unmarked envelope that contained recordings of conversations her client had had with her ex-husband, a violent convicted felon and gang member the court had ordered her to stay away from. Of course her client had been lying to her the whole time. Not only was she secretly hooking up with her ex, she was also actively doing drugs. Her children were placed in a permanent foster home, her client’s parental rights terminated. So whenever Tina encountered a similar story, she immediately questioned the validity of anyone’s claims. A professional survival instinct she’d learned the hard way.
“Where’s your head at?” Vincent asked as he opened his door.
Not interested in sharing her thoughts, she smiled. “On my shoulders last time I checked.”
“That mouth,” he observed, sliding out of the truck. He walked around to the passenger side and opened her door. “Guess it’s time to check on your vehicle.”
“Check on it?” What did he mean?
“Might as well share now. I believe your client vandalized the Escalade last night. I found it this morning—he keyed the word cunt on your driver’s-side door and smashed the taillights. I didn’t want to tell you before we left.”
Oh my God. What were the chances someone else randomly trashed her SUV? Zero. So the harassment had quickly grown into something more sinister. “Shit. I’m not even sure what to say. Call the police and file a report? My insurance agent will need a copy of the invoice for the work your shop completed and the pictures so we can compensate you.” Regardless of her calm demeanor, inside she felt angry and violated. That son of a bitch Kline needed to be held accountable.
“No police. And consider it a gift. I don’t want your money, Tina.”
“I’m trying to do this the right way, Vincent.” Of course if word got out about Kline, his PO would immediately have him arrested for a probation violation. As tempting as it sounded, the sword cut both ways. Punish Kline, and she’d suffer some consequences at work, too.
“Trust me,” Vincent said. “The department will send a rookie patrol officer out here, he’ll write down the details, file the report at the end of the day, and it will get lost in the slush pile. CCPD is understaffed and overworked. Let me handle this my way.”
Not fully convinced, she let Vincent guide her to the shop where her vehicle waited, not a trace of damage left. She stared at him, then back at her car.
“Had J.T. fix it.” He shrugged as if it didn’t mean anything. “One of the perks of knowing me.”
No, another example of his generosity. “Thank you. Just know I don’t freak out over stuff like that. I’m pretty grounded, Vincent. Another side effect of my career. Once you’ve studied crime scene photos a few times, you get desensitized.”
He scratched his chin. “Sorry you have to see things like that.”
“Me too,” she said. “Remember that case fifteen months ago when a seventeen-year-old shot and killed a kid outside Sunrise Mall over a pair of expensive tennis shoes?”
“Yeah.”
“My firm represented the defendant in the sentencing phase. I served as second chair—providing support and consultation for the lead attorney. The photos were heart-wrenching. Not my favorite professional moment.”