“He owns a home, sir, on a cliff overlooking the ocean in La Jolla. He’s resided there for five years and it is his only residence.” Juliet spoke as though her client owned a portion of heaven and could therefore be trusted.
The actual facts didn’t sound like much to Blake, but it was all he’d given her to work with. She’d do everything she could. And she was the best.
“He is also the sole owner of a very successful company here in San Diego, with more than one hundred employees and subcontractors all over the state. And while he has no local family, sir, he has no family anywhere else, either, to whom he might be tempted to return.” Her voice didn’t rise or get dramatic, yet maintained a note of conviction.
“Mr. Ramsden has many, many acquaintances and friends in this city, sir, including the mayor, with whom he was scheduled to have breakfast this morning. San Diego is where he was born and raised. Other than an educational stint abroad, encouraged and, in part, funded by his father, he has never left this city for more than the duration of a family vacation. His life is here, sir. I believe that, in light of these ties to his community, Mr. Ramsden should be released on his own recognizance, sir. I can personally guarantee that he will be present and ready to face charges at eight-thirty in the morning on the twenty-third of July.”
Blake stared.
She was a woman. Beautiful. Soft. Compassionate. And she was a barracuda, daring anyone to disagree with the obvious. Blake imagined she’d intimidated many people over the years.
He didn’t figure Thomas for one of them.
The judge looked him over. Put on his glasses again. Read something in front of him.
“Very well, Counselor, I will take your word that Mr. Ramsden will appear as ordered. Please advise your client that he is not to leave the state. And Ms. McNeil, if he does not appear back in this court on the date and at the time designated, you’d better not ask this court to take your word for anything—ever again.”
“Thank you, Your Honor.” Juliet didn’t crack a smile.
Blake did.
JULIET SET ASIDE the entire weekend to spend with her daughter. From the time she picked her up from school on Friday—as she did most afternoons unless she had a late day in court, when Duane Wilson’s wife, Donna, did the honors—until she dropped the child back at school on Monday morning, she was going to lavish every bit of attention she had on Mary Jane McNeil.
And sometime during that sixty-five-hour period, she was going to tell her daughter about her newest client.
She wasn’t sure it was the right, the best or the fairest thing to do. She just knew she couldn’t keep the appointment she had with Blake Ramsden on Monday morning to discuss his case and come up with a plan unless she’d come clean. Mary Jane had been willing to fight to protect her mother’s honesty.
Juliet had no choice but to do the same.
She’d intended to tell her little girl on Friday night, but after dinner out at a local hamburger joint—Mary Jane’s choice—the child had been taken with a fit of the giggles that had set the tone for the rest of the evening. They’d rented a silly movie, spilled popcorn in Juliet’s bed while watching it and done each other’s hair, and Juliet had painted Mary Jane’s face.
It had been just what the doctor would’ve ordered, had he been asked, Juliet decided early Saturday morning, staring at the smooth and beautiful features of the child sleeping so peacefully beside her. Mary Jane’s curls spiraled around her head like a dark halo. The little girl’s rounded nose and full sweet lips almost brought tears to her eyes.
God, give me the words to tell her about Blake in a way that makes it okay for her.
She’d said this same prayer several times during the previous night, holding the child against her while she slept. She’d do anything for Mary Jane. It was just damn tough, sometimes, to know the best thing to do.
Give her a court of a law, an intimidating judge, a dishonest prosecutor, a wrongfully accused murderer, and she was fine. Give her a fifty-pound child with springy curls and eyes just like her own, and she had no idea what to do. There’d been no degree to get in motherhood. No Mary Jane manual.
And Juliet had never been comfortable with just winging it.
The phone rang and she panicked until she realized it was her home phone, not her cell. Blake Ramsden didn’t have access to the unlisted number.
She reached over her still-sleeping daughter for the receiver on the nightstand.
“Hello?”
“Jules? Did I wake you?”
Juliet stretched. Grinned. “No, but I’m still in bed,” she told her twin. “Mary Jane’s here, too.” The three McNeil women, together, at least in a sense. Her day was complete and it had only begun.
The little girl moaned, turned over.
“I need to talk to you.”
Juliet’s smile faded. With one last look to make sure that Mary Jane hadn’t awakened, she slid out of bed.
“What’s up?” she asked softly, tiptoeing out of the bedroom with the cordless phone and down the hall to the kitchen. Normally Mary Jane could sleep through an earthquake—except, of course, for those few times when Juliet needed the child to stay asleep. She seemed to have some kind of sensor that alerted her to those.
“I…I…” Marcie hiccuped.
“Marce? Talk to me.” Juliet’s voice was firm, but it hid a heart full of fear. If Hank had hurt her…
“You aren’t sick, are you?” She held her breath until she knew. Anything else they could handle.
“No.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive.”
Okay. Her sister was talking. One-answer questions seemed to be the trick. “Is it Hank?”
“No.” The word broke on another hiccup.
“If he did anything…”
“He didn’t.” Marcie’s words were quick. Too quick?
“He doesn’t know…”
“Know what?”
“Jules?” Marcie’s generally controlled tone rose in a wail.
Juliet sank to a chair at the kitchen table, staring out at the ocean. There had been times in her life when that view had been the only thing that saved her. Its vastness and strength, its vitality, and its unwavering existence always helped put life in perspective. “Yeah, Marce, I’m right here.”
“Are you busy?” At seven o’clock on a Saturday morning?
“No.”
“Can I fly down?”
Juliet’s stomach knotted. “Of course. You got a flight or you need me to call for one?”
“I’ve got one.” She named a flight that left San Francisco in a little under three hours.
That was good then. If her sister was capable of making flight plans, things couldn’t be all that bad. Could they?
“You going to make me wait until you get here to tell me what’s going on?”
“Nooo…” Marcie’s hiccup strayed to a sob. “Oh, God, Jules, I can’t believe, after everything…”
“What?”
“I