“But he could have.”
“Listen to me. I understand that Dwayde’s scared about the possible outcome of his grandparents getting custody and that you’re feeling guilty and scared, too. But you hired me to be Dwayde’s voice in court. I’m good at what I do, so let me do my job.”
“I’m not questioning your ability, Dee. But I can’t stand around and do nothing.” I pace, fearing that despite my promise to Dwayde, I might not be able to save him, any more than I’d been able to save my mother or Papa T.
“I’m not suggesting you do nothing. You have a role as a witness in this case. And because of your close relationship with Dwayde, you’re in a good position to get him to open up about the Franklins. I think it’s possible he remembers more than he’s saying.”
That stops me in my tracks. Dee’s expression is deadpan. “Based on what?”
“I’m not at liberty to say. Whatever information I amass from my discussions with Dwayde is protected under client–attorney privilege, and anything from today’s visit is covered under a confidentiality agreement. So let’s just say I have a strong hunch.”
My gaze narrows and I search her eyes for a hint of what’s going on in that sharp, complex mind of hers. “What reason would Dwayde have for withholding information about the Franklins that might help the case?”
“I’m not sure yet. What did he say to you about the visit?”
I take the glass she offers and lean back against the counter across from Dee, sifting through the conversation from hours ago. “Not a lot. But from what I could gather, Charles Franklin giving him that shirt and saying it was his legacy set Dwayde off. He said he didn’t care about having their name or their farm. That he hated them all.”
She rolls her lip between her teeth in thought. “Did he actually say he hated ‘them all’?”
“Yeah, why?”
“You wouldn’t say ‘them all’ to mean two people.”
“I assumed he threw his mother into the mix. She was a real piece of work.”
“Did Dwayde tell you why he hated them?”
“No. He pretty much closed up after that. Victor and Isabelle couldn’t get anything more out of him either. Do you think they hurt him?” I clench my fist around the glass, my suspicions rooted in my own violent past.
“I can’t rule it out with 100 percent certainty,” Dee says. “However, I didn’t see anything today to suggest abuse of any kind. I’m crossing the line here, Mick. But I’ll tell you this as some measure of reassurance. Dwayde didn’t appear to be afraid of them. Angry and hostile, yes, but not frightened.”
That offers me little comfort. Abused children learn to lie and hide secrets well. I wish I’d been there to pick up on the vibes myself. “We know for a fact that Dwayde’s mother was abusive; can’t that be used as evidence against them?” I ask aware that I’m grasping.
She shakes her head, fueling my frustration. “The apple-doesn’t-fall-far-from-the-tree theory is not evidence. Joyce Franklin was a drug user. That, not her parents, may have accounted for her violence. Nothing points to them being guilty of abuse. From all reports so far, the Franklins are pillars of their community.”
“Yeah,” I scoff, “so was my old man.”
Her eyes lower to my right cheekbone, where the two-inch scar—unlike the scars on the inside—has faded. When they lift back up to mine, the warmth that I see there touches something buried deep beneath my anger and lust.
Hell, no.I mentally shake it off. I’m not going there. Dee was once my true love. My soul mate. The only woman I ever told my secrets to. But that was a long time ago, before she broke all her promises and broke my heart. If I give into any soft feelings for her, like quicksand, they will pull me under.
“Just because Joyce was violent doesn’t mean her parents were. I was taught to follow the evidence—that’s drilled into you at law school, but I have also learned not to ignore my instincts. I don’t believe Dwayde was abused by his grandparents, but I do think he’s hiding something.”
I drink my Coke, letting the icy contents soothe the burn in my throat. But with her eyes still warming me, a heat rises up from my gut and comes disturbingly close to my heart.
“You proposing we work together, Dee?”
“It’s obvious Dwayde trusts you,” she says, “so yes, I’m suggesting we work together on a professional level.”
“And on a personal level?” I ask, setting my glass down and advancing toward her. “Mick…”
My hand slides up her neck, testing the rapid beat of her pulse.
“Don’t,” she breathes, but the protest sounds as weak as my will to withstand her.
I lower my head and skim my lips along her bare shoulder. The fragrance of her soft, quivering skin seduces my senses.
“I’ve never gotten the smell of you out of my head…or the taste of you.”
