Private Lives. Karen Young
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was another thing she wanted to avoid. “And my fans won’t care—because they’re children.”
“How do you communicate with them, other than your books, of course? By e-mail on the Internet? Letters? What?”
“Letters mostly.” She could just drive off, but he’d unknowingly touched on something she was not reluctant to share. “And I answer them all, each and every one.” Her fan mail came from children, innocents who wrote from the heart. Elizabeth understood that need to communicate. She knew how it felt to write a letter when you still believed there was someone out there who would listen. And she knew how it felt to wait expectantly for a reply that never came.
“Kids send you letters,” he said, considering that with a half smile. “You must get some real cute stuff.”
She thought of the eight-year-old whose letter lay even now waiting for a reply in her in basket. The child’s younger sister needed a heart transplant. Would Elizabeth please tell the child’s parents that she would like to give her sister “half of her heart?” “Sometimes they aren’t very cute.”
He still blocked her leaving, standing with his weight on one hip, his left hand resting on the door frame of her car. She didn’t wait to hear what else he had to say about her career or her personality drawbacks. Instead, she reached for the handle of the door, forcing him to move back, and closed it smartly. “Goodbye, Mr. Paxton,” she muttered to his receding outline in her rearview mirror.
Ryan stood for a minute watching Elizabeth drive away. Okay, he’d satisfied his curiosity. He’d had a conversation with her out of the courtroom. Away from her pal and soul mate, Gina. He hadn’t made up the reason for seeking her out, not exactly. He knew, if left to his own devious devices, Austin would chew Gina up and spit her out, sans any financial settlement, no matter what the court decreed. And just to ease his conscience, he was going to give Curtiss Leggett an earful about his prick of a son. He might not be as black as the two women had painted him, but he wasn’t a boy scout either. So, Ryan’s motive in talking to Liz was honorable. Sort of. He also wanted to talk, one on one, with the daughter of the man who was responsible for John Paxton’s death.
He’d watched her for a few minutes at the coffee bar before approaching her. She was easy on the eyes, as gorgeous in person as her press photo. In fact, he’d had a hard time keeping his thoughts in line when he had her on the stand in the courtroom. He admired her loyalty, too. She was as fierce as a mama tiger defending Gina. Or possibly, it was the little girl, Jesse, who stirred the fires in her breast. Beautiful breasts. He’d had no trouble imagining the feel of them in his hands as he stood talking to her, even in that severe suit with the starched blouse underneath. But he didn’t intend to get caught up in any sexual fantasies about Elizabeth Walker. He had other, more compelling reasons for getting to know her better.
Her old man was dead, killed in a house fire just a day or two after his dad’s suicide. That much was public knowledge. But information beyond that about Judge Matthew Walker was extremely hard to come by. Maybe Elizabeth was a possible source. She’d been only five when he died, but she probably had his papers, his files, a record of the cases he’d been involved in at the time of his death. If she hadn’t destroyed them. Being a foster kid, her possessions might have been lost as she’d been palmed off to one anonymous family after another.
He felt a pang of sympathy, but for only a moment before shutting it off. Unlike Elizabeth, he’d had both parents until he was fifteen, two-thirds longer than she’d had anybody. Tough luck, but she’d managed. Pretty damned good, too. He admired her accomplishments. No, he wouldn’t waste sympathy on somebody who clearly didn’t need it.
Six
“Have you got a minute, Curtiss?”
Curtiss Leggett looked up from a seemingly vacant perusal of Houston’s skyline and motioned Ryan into his office. He swiveled in his chair so that he faced forward as Ryan quietly pulled the door closed behind them, ensuring privacy. “How’d it go?”
“Hetherington awarded joint custody to Austin and Gina. They’re to share holidays and vacations. They’re to work out an amicable plan together.”
Leggett grunted. “What about child support, palimony?”
“Her request was modest. Hetherington doubled it. Austin’s hit for about four thousand a month unless the two of them can come to an agreement for less.” Ryan frowned. “I thought he would have called you by now.”
Leggett’s laugh was brief and without humor. “He knows better than to bring up the subject of that woman with me. He should never have moved in with her. I know it’s the thing to live together now, but wouldn’t you think he’d choose someone of his own class? She’s trailer trash, that’s an apt description. I’ve been after him for years to send her packing.” He drew a disgusted breath. “I never could understand what he saw in her.”
“What about Jesse?”
Leggett turned his face, avoiding Ryan’s gaze. “Another mistake. Why the hell he didn’t make her abort is another mystery to me.” Shaking his head with more disgust, he said, “The whole thing has been distasteful to me from the beginning. I’m just glad to see the end of it. Of course, I’ll talk to Hetherington about reducing the money. Four thousand’s ridiculous. What does she expect, to be kept in the style of a real ex-wife? You’ve got to have a marriage for that. Steering clear of matrimony was Austin’s only smart decision.”
Ryan felt himself doing a slow burn. He’d felt no particular affection for Gina D’Angelo while representing her ex-lover, but she seemed a decent person. She’d made some bad choices in her life, but, hell, didn’t everybody once in a while? But she wasn’t trailer trash and she didn’t deserve the treatment Leggett father and son would no doubt cook up for her.
“Something else emerged during the hearing,” he said, wishing hard that he was on the golf course. He found he couldn’t sit down. He was too close to telling this bigoted old fart where to get off. “I know you were concerned about the firm’s reputation and any scandal that might grow out of the hearing…or out of Austin’s involvement with Gina.” He paused, giving Leggett a chance to be reminded that it wasn’t only Gina who was to blame for the situation. “There is some exposure, I think.”
Leggett was in the act of reaching for an elaborate humidor where he kept his stash of Cuban cigars. He stopped now, giving Ryan a keen look. “In what way?”
“Gina and her character witness, Elizabeth Walker, made some serious accusations about Austin. Do you have any knowledge of abuse in their relationship?”
“Abuse? Not sexual? Nothing about the little girl, eh?” He barked the questions out, like bullets.
“No.” Jesus, why would he even think that? Ryan watched him lift the lid of the humidor and select a cigar, taking his time. Did he know what was coming next? “They claimed Austin was often physically abusive, that he made a habit of beating up on her. That he had an ungovernable temper and when it went out of control, Gina was the victim.”
“Preposterous.” Leggett busied himself preparing his cigar. Looking at it, not Ryan, he meticulously clipped the end, moistened it by rolling it round and round in his mouth, then he picked up a sterling silver lighter. Now, holding the cigar in his teeth, he put the flame to it and puffed energetically until the immediate area around his head and shoulders was thick with smoke. Only then did he look up at Ryan, his eyes squinting against the acrid cloud. “What kind of evidence did they have for that?”
What kind of question was that? Ryan wanted to shoot the words back at him. It was as if Leggett accepted it for the truth, but lawyerlike was seeking a way out. “They didn’t produce any evidence,” Ryan told him. “That was the reason the judge went with the joint custody thing. If they’d had a hospital report or a police report, or if they managed to come up with an actual eye witness when Austin did what they claimed, it would have been much worse for him. As it is, only Elizabeth Walker, Gina’s friend and godmother