Chapter 9

 

Matt thought about stopping by his mother's favorite jeweler before he went to court the next morning but then decided not to. He was already running late as it was. And, alone in a jewelry store, he would probably opt for something traditional, like a simple diamond solitaire. He had a feeling Susannah would want something a bit more original for her engagement ring.

Not that she'd actually given him a yes yet; not the unqualified, unequivocal yes he wanted from her.

She'd said, "Yes, but we're such different people."

She'd said, "Yes, but let's see how just dating goes first."

She'd said, "Yes, but we really shouldn't rush into it."

She'd said, "Yes, maybe it would work."

She'd said, "Oh, yes, Matt, I love you, too."

Matt was whistling as he entered the courthouse, remembering the passionate circumstances that had engendered her breathy admission and what had come after it. She was his, whether she knew it or not. And he was hers, too. He'd been hers, he realized, since that first crazy, mind-boggling, toe-curling kiss in her office. They were made for each other and, despite politics or life-style or anything else she might come up with, they were destined to be together.

"Matt. Hey, Matt."

Matt slowed, turning to see who had called him, and then stopped. "Cal," he said, holding out his hand in greeting. Cal Westlake had been the man who'd steered him to The Personal Touch in the first place. Wonder if I should ask him to be best man? "Cal, how're you doing, buddy?"

"Not nearly as good as you, apparently," Cal said, looking askance at his normally reserved colleague. By tacit agreement, they resumed walking down the long corridor. "I guess you've already seen this morning's Chronicle?"

"No, I haven't." He usually skimmed through it over morning coffee after he got to the office, but this particular morning he'd had other things to do. Like make love to Susannah once more before he took her home. He hadn't even been by the office, yet, but had headed directly to the courthouse. "Why?"

"They've endorsed your campaign. I thought that's why you were in such a good mood."

"No, I haven't seen it yet." Unaccountably, his mood dampened a little. "I'll have to pick up a copy during court recess."

"Here." Cal took the folded newspaper out from under his arm and handed it to Matt. "Be my guest."

"Thanks." Matt stopped, motioning toward a set of doors with the folded paper. "This is where I'm headed."

"Catch you back at the office later, then," Cal said and started off down the hall. "Oh—" he stopped and turned back around "—I almost forgot."

Matt paused, his hand already lifted to push open the heavy door. "Forgot what?"

"That dating service I told you about for your mother?" Cal said, walking backward down the hall. "The Personal Touch?"

Matt nodded.

"Seems their touch is real personal, if you know what I mean. I heard through the office grapevine that the place is under investigation."

"Investigation?" Matt echoed.

"Prostitution," Cal said succinctly. "Seems the matchmaker is pimping for teenage runaways on the side."

* * *

Susannah spent the morning feeling like a manic depressive, frenetically alternating between giddy joy at being loved and in love, and darkest despair because she knew, deep down inside, that, in the long run, nothing would ever come of it. Nothing could ever come of it, no matter how they made each other feel. Being together all night long was one thing. Being together for the rest of their lives was something else entirely.

They were just too different. Strange bedfellows, as she had tried to tell him before.

Matt was a traditionalist.

Susannah went out of her way to do things differently.

Matt had wholeheartedly embraced his family's upper-class life-style and values.

Susannah had turned her back on hers.

Matt was a middle-of-the road Republican.

Susannah was a liberal Democrat.

Matt believed in working within the system.

Susannah believed in challenging it at every step.

Matt was a prosecutor whose job was to put wrong-doers in jail and keep the streets safe for decent folk.

Susannah was a crusader bent on finding ways to help people find a way out of whatever trouble they were in.

Matt saw things in black and white, right and wrong.

Susannah saw infinite shades of gray and myriad extenuating circumstances.

But what it all boiled down to, really, was that Matt was destined for a brilliant career in politics, and Susannah would never, ever be a proper political wife.

He might try to deny it, to convince her—and himself—their differences didn't matter, but Susannah knew they did. Harry Gasparini knew it. Councilman Leeland knew it. When it came right down to it, the voters would know it, too.

Oh, she knew it might not matter to Matt right now, not in the beginning when they were still so besotted with each other and anything seemed possible. She strongly suspected he didn't really want to be a district judge, anyway. But if not now, next year or the year after. And if not district judge, then councilman, or state senator, or mayor. His eyes had certainly lit up when she'd spoken the words governor of California. And after that, who knew? As Harry had said, Matt had what it took to make it all the way to the White House if he wanted to—but not with her at his side.

"Excuse me, Susannah?"

Susannah looked up from the pad she'd been doodling on, grateful for the interruption. "Yes, Judy?"

"Teri Bowman is here for her interview."

"My goodness," Susannah said, jumping up from her chair. "Is it ten o'clock already?"

"Almost."

Susannah smoothed her hands down the front of her tapestry-brocade vest, tugging on the flared peplum hem to settle it into place over her hips as she came around the desk. She always made it a point to meet her clients in the reception area and escort them into her office. It made them feel more like guests.

"How's computer class going?" she asked pleasantly as Judy stepped back from the door to allow her to exit.

Judy shrugged. "If I don't completely flub the final next week, I'll end up with at least a B+."

"You'll do fine," Susannah assured her, reaching out to pat Judy's arm. She deliberately kept the gesture brief, quickly taking her hand away to hold it out to her new client. "You must be Teri Bowman," she said with a welcoming smile. "I'm Susannah Bennington."

"Ms. Bennington."

"Susannah, please. We're very informal around here. You've met Helen and Judy, haven't you?" she asked, smiling at her assistants. "Good," she said when the woman nodded. "Then we can get started." She gestured toward her office. "If you'll just step into my office, we can—"

The phone rang, cutting her off.

Both Judy and Helen reached for the receiver.

"The Personal Touch," Helen said as she lifted the receiver to her ear. "How may I help you?"

Susannah hesitated, waiting to see who it was. Even though Matt had said he would be tied up in court all day, she was halfway expecting—hoping—he would call. She hadn't heard his voice in almost three hours.

"Excuse me?" Helen said into the receiver. "Who did you want to speak to?"

Susannah suddenly knew by the older woman's expression that it wasn't Matt on the phone. Helen wouldn't get upset over a phone call from Matt.

"No," Helen said to the caller. "There's no one here by that name. Yes, I'm sure. No, I told you," she said, her voice rising with agitation, "there's no one here by that name." She slammed the phone down.

"Another call for Isabel?" Susannah asked with a grimace. Lately, they'd had a rash of unsavory massage-parlor-type callers asking for a woman named Isabel.

Too agitated to speak, Helen only nodded.

"Since the calls upset you so much," Judy offered, "maybe I should be the only one to answer the phone from now on when I'm here." Her expression hardened. "It takes more than a phone call to shock me."

"No," Helen said. "No, that's all right. I can handle it. It's part of my job, and I can handle it. Really," she said, looking up at Susannah. "I don't need to be protected. I'll be fine."

"All right," Susannah said. "If that's what you want." She turned and smiled at her new client. "Shall we?" she said, gesturing toward the open door of her office. "Before we get started," the two women in the outer office heard her say to Teri Bowman just before she closed the door, "I'd like to explain what that was all about...."

* * *

"You think what?" Susannah demanded, staring at Matt from across the width of her desk.

"You heard me. Judy Sukura is up to her old tricks."

"I don't believe it."

"Ask her," he challenged.

"I don't need to ask her," Susannah said, "because I know she isn't." She shook her head. "She wouldn't."

"Then how do you explain her meetings with Eddie Devine?"

"Meetings with..." Susannah stared at him, aghast. "She wouldn't meet with Eddie. She hates Eddie."

"She's met him twice right outside this building."

"Those weren't meetings. Not the way you're suggesting. Eddie accosted her. He—" She broke off. "How do you know that?"

"It doesn't matter how I know," Matt said, brushing her question aside. The particulars of a case under investigation were never up for discussion outside the DA.'s office until the case went to court. "All that matters is that she was seen meeting him."

"But those weren't meetings. Eddie accosted her on the street when she was coming out of The Tea Cozy."

"How do you know that?"

"I saw them. Both times. I was standing by the window and I saw them."

"Did you also happen to hear what was said?"

"I didn't need to, because Judy told me what was said."

"Which was?"

"That she wouldn't do what he wanted. That he couldn't make her do it."

"It being?"

"Well..." Susannah hesitated. "Going back to work for him. I think. She didn't say exactly, but I know that's what she meant."

"Hearsay," Matt said coolly. "Inadmissible in a court of law."

"Well, this isn't a court of law," Susannah snapped. "And I'm not on the witness stand," she added indignantly. "And I certainly don't appreciate you firing questions at me as if I were."

"You're right." Matt turned toward the closed door to Susannah's office. "The one who should be answering a few questions is Judy."

"No." Susannah jumped up from her chair. "Don't you dare." She ran around the desk, placing herself between him and the door. "I will not have Judy upset by a lot of unfounded suspicions. Especially not now. She's got finals coming up next week."

"Would you rather have her turning tricks in your office?"

"What a disgusting thing to say. Judy isn't turning tricks in my office or anywhere else."

"You don't know that for a fact."

"I do know it for a fact. For heaven's sake, Matt. When would she have the time? She works here all morning. She goes to school in the afternoons and most nights. And the nights she's not in school, she's in therapy."

"Are you sure she actually goes to school? To therapy?"

"Of course I'm sure. They're both conditions of her parole."

"People break parole all the time."

Susannah shook her head in exasperation. "Her teachers would notify her parole officer if she was cutting classes. So would her therapist. Believe me, Matt, Judy isn't turning tricks."

"Maybe not personally," Matt agreed. Apparently, the matchmaker is pimping for teenage runaways. "Maybe she's recruited Heather, and other girls like her, to do the dirty work."

Susannah just stared at him, unable to believe what she was hearing. He'd met Judy. He'd met Heather. How could he think either one of them would do what he was suggesting? How could he just believe the worst of them like that?

"You're way off base here, Counselor," she said icily. "Judy isn't turning tricks and she hasn't recruited Heather to turn them for her. End of discussion."

"Dammit, Susannah, you can't just bury your head in the sand. There's a reason The Personal Touch is being investigated. And Judy Sukura is part of that rea-"

"Investigated?" Susannah interrupted, shock and incredulity evident in her voice. "The Personal Touch is being investigated?"

Matt bit back a curse. He hadn't meant to tell her that. Strictly speaking, he shouldn't have told her. It was unethical to discuss a case under investigation with anyone outside the DA.'s office, even if you weren't working on it yourself. But maybe it was for the best. Maybe she'd listen to reason if she knew how serious it was.

"The Personal Touch is under investigation as a possible front for prostitution."

Susannah just stared at him, openmouthed with shock.

"I haven't had a chance to check it out thoroughly because I've been in court all day but, according to what I know so far, you and Eddie Devine are suspected of using the dating service as a cover for running a string of underage girls. Runaways, like Heather."

"Do you believe that?"

"No, of course not," Matt said, insulted that she would even think that of him. "Don't be silly. I know you don't have anything to do with it."

"But you think it is going on and you think Judy's involved in it."

"Yes," he said honestly. "I think Judy's involved in it up to her eyebrows."

"And Heather? You think Heather's involved in it, too?"

Matt hesitated, remembering the teasing sway of the girl's hips as she'd preceded him up the stairs, the sexy pout she'd turned on him. See anything you like? she'd said. "Maybe," he admitted reluctantly.

"How about Helen?" she said then, goading him. "Is Helen involved?"

"Susannah." He reached out to put his hands on her shoulders. "I know you're upset, but—"

She backed away from him, taking herself out of his reach. "Upset doesn't even begin to cover it," she said with dangerous calm. "I'm incensed. Enraged." She curled her hands into fists. "I'm so mad I could spit. Dammit—" she blinked furiously, fighting back hot tears of rage "—how could you, Matt? How could you believe that garbage about Judy and Heather? How could you believe I'm so stupid I wouldn't know if something like that was going on right tinder my nose?"

"Not stupid," Matt said gently. "Naive."

"Oh, excuse me. Naive," she sneered, her inflection making a curse of the word.

"Now, Susannah," he began placatingly, but she cut him off.

"All it took was just a hint of... of—" she groped for a word "—impropriety and everyone's instantly presumed guilty. Without question. Without a doubt in your mind. Guilty as charged."

"Now, wait just a minute, Susannah. I never said you were guilty of anything but—"

"—but being naive. I know." As far as she was concerned, calling her naive was just a polite way of saying she'd been stupid—and she didn't like either word. "I knew it wouldn't work," she said, as much to herself as to him. "Right from the minute we met, I knew it. And then I went ahead and let myself get involved, anyway. I let my—" She broke off and turned away from him, blindly reaching out to fiddle with the placement of a glass paperweight on her desk. "I think you'd better go," she said, fighting the urge to hurl it against the wall. "Before one of us says—" or does "—something we'll be sorry for."

"This isn't over, Susannah. It isn't something you can just sweep under the rug and ignore, hoping it will go away. It won't go away." He put his hands on her upper arms and turned her around. "And, just so we're clear, neither will I. So don't think you're going to use this as an excuse to break it off between us."

Susannah kept her head turned away. "Don't you have to be back in court this afternoon?" she said, refusing to look at him.

Matt stood there for a second, holding her in front of him, his hands on her arms, wondering whether to shake some sense into her or kiss her senseless. Either one would have been highly satisfying at that moment. But she was right, he did have to be back in court.

"Susannah." He shook her lightly when she continued to ignore him. "Susannah, look at me."

Grudgingly, she lifted her gaze to his.

"We'll finish this discussion later tonight."

"No, we won't," she said mulishly. "I have a client party tonight. I'll be very busy."

"All right, tomorrow, then," he said with exaggerated patience, as if she were a fractious child. "In the meantime, I don't want you to do or say anything to anybody. Don't talk to Judy or Heather about any of this. And if Eddie Devine should come around again, for God's sake, don't try to confront him. He could be dangerous. Is that clear?"

"Are you speaking as a concerned friend and lover?" she asked snidely. "Or is this an order from an officer of the court?"

Matt wondered which one she'd be more apt to listen to. "As the man who's going to marry you," he said firmly. Then, ignoring her stiffness, he pressed a quick, hard kiss on her mouth before he left.

Susannah threw the paperweight at the closed door and burst into tears.

* * *

"I know we had an agreement, Heather," Susannah said. "And I really hate to ask you to do this, but do you think you could help out at the party? Helen went home early with a sick headache, or I wouldn't ask you."

"Can't Judy do it?"

"She'll be here right after her computer class. But since this is our first evening dance party I'd really like to have an extra hand."

"What would I, like, have to do?"

"Nothing too taxing," Susannah assured her. "Greet people at the door and then pass the hors d'oeuvres on a tray. You'll be finished by nine-thirty. Ten at the latest. And I'll pay you five dollars an hour."

The flash of mercenary interest in Heather's eyes was quickly overshadowed by a teenager's instinctive caution. "Like, what's the catch?"

"You have to wear a dress."

"A dress?"

"You can borrow one of mine if you want to."

"Yeah?" Her expression brightened. "Cool. Which one?"

"Any one you want. Within reason."

"Yeah?" Heather said again. And then she tilted her head, eyeing Susannah consideringly. "You all right, Suse?" she asked. "You look a little down?"

"I'm fine," Susannah lied.

But Heather wasn't so easily put off. "Fight with the ambulance chaser, huh?"

Susannah shrugged.

"Helen said she heard you guys 'having words' this afternoon. And there's, like, a dent in the plaster next to your door. What'd you throw at him?"

"A paperweight," Susannah admitted. "But I missed."

"Too bad," Heather commiserated. She hesitated, clearly wanting to say more, also clearly uncomfortable about it.

"What?" Susannah urged.

Heather shrugged. "I, ah, guess this means he's not going to help me with my case, huh?"

"No, of course not," Susannah assured her. "Whatever happens between Matt and me has nothing to do with you. He's already filed a report with the juvenile authorities on your behalf. He isn't going to rescind it just because he and I had a disagreement."

"Yeah?" Heather said hopefully.

Her petition for emancipated-minor status was vitally important to her, no matter how hard she pretended it wasn't. She'd started running away from home when she was twelve, when her father's physical abuse—and her mother's downtrodden acceptance of it—had finally became too much for her to handle. Each time she'd been returned by the juvenile authorities until the last time, when she'd threatened to kill herself if they made her go back. She now faced living in an institutional environment or with a foster family until she turned eighteen. But she'd been on her own too long to easily accept someone else's authority, even for two years. She'd been about to run away again when Susannah told her about the possibility of becoming an emancipated minor. The chance that it might actually come to pass was the only thing that kept Heather from disappearing into the streets again.

Susannah crossed the room and took Heather's face in her hands. "I promise you," she said. "No matter what happens between me and Matt, he'll do everything he can for you."

She hoped like hell she'd just spoken the truth.

* * *

At seven-thirty that evening everything was ready for the party. The champagne was cooling in a small silver tub on the sideboard. The hors d'oeuvres were temptingly arranged on silver trays. Vintage Frank Sinatra alternated with Tony Bennett on the music system. And Heather Lloyd was wearing a dress.

It was one of Susannah's simpler dresses, a short-sleeved, scoop-necked French challis with tiny ivory flowers scattered over a chocolate-brown background. A row of tiny pearlescent buttons ran from the neckline to the ballet-length hem. Heather wore them undone to mid-thigh with ivory leggings underneath to save her from immodesty and her heavy black boots to preserve her independence. She'd left the pentagrams and crosses off her ears without being asked, replacing them with small delicate studs also of her own design.

"You look charming," Susannah said, meaning it sincerely. Heather was young and pretty enough to look charming in practically anything she wore.

"And you look really hot," Heather replied, eyeing Susannah's long purple dress with undisguised approval.

It was perfectly plain and perfectly fitted, long-sleeved and slightly off the shoulder, with a touch of Lycra to make it cling to every slender curve from shoulder to midcalf. Her ankle-strap high heels and sheer panty hose matched it exactly, creating a long, unbroken line of color. A pair of amethyst and crystal drop earrings Heather had made for her and her wild red hair were her only accessories.

"Are you, like, expecting the ambulance chaser, Suse?"

Susannah shrugged. "No," she said. But it never hurts to be prepared, just in case. "I just had the urge to dress up a little tonight. It always makes me feel better when I'm depressed."

"You still, like, upset about the fight you guys had?"

Susannah shrugged again and went to answer the front door.

By eight o'clock the party was in full swing. The champagne was flowing. The hors d'oeuvres were fast disappearing. The mellow, crooning voice of Frank Sinatra had been replaced by Big Band dance tunes. And a spry gentleman of seventy-one was teaching Heather the swing step.

Judy arrived at eight-forty-five, dressed in her usual unrelieved, sophisticated black.

"How's it going?" she asked Susannah as she stowed her schoolbooks in the kitchen and donned a ruffled white apron.

"Even better than I'd hoped," Susannah said, giving her a hand as they replenished the hors d'oeuvres trays. "Teri Bowman and Harold Whitley are hitting it off, just as I thought they would. And Sarah Moore has had two invitations to dinner already." She smiled brightly, pleased with the success of her idea. "I knew she'd be a hit with the fellas if I could just get her to loosen up a little."

"Looks like Heather's a real hit, too," Judy commented with a wry smile.

Susannah laughed softly. "I know. You could have knocked me over with a feather. I didn't expect her to be quite so enthusiastic about helping out. But she's been a big help."

"Well," Judy said, picking up the refurbished platter of hors d'oeuvres, "it looks like the party's a success, then," she said over her shoulder as she left the kitchen.

"A big success," Susannah echoed, wondering why she wasn't more elated.

But she knew why. The party might be a rousing success but what good was that if her business got closed down on some trumped-up prostitution charge?

Or, maybe, she admitted to herself as she watched Judy move among the guests with her silver tray—just maybe—the charges weren't trumped up at all. When the party was over and all the guests were gone, she was going to have to force herself to ask some hard questions.

* * *

At nine o'clock the doorbell rang.

"Heather, would you get that, please," Susannah called over her shoulder, busy refilling champagne glasses for her guests after a particularly strenuous cha-cha had rendered them all in need of refreshment.

"Sure thing, Suse," Heather said, disappearing through the arched doors into the foyer. She was back a second later. "Ah, Suse?" she said, sticking her head around the edge of the parlor door. "Could you com'ere a minute?"

"Who is it?"

"I really think you, like, need to come out here."

Still holding the champagne bottle in one hand, Susannah headed for the door. "Yes?" she said, smiling at the man standing in the doorway.

He flashed a badge at her. "Ms. Susannah Bennington?"

"Yes?" Susannah said, the beginnings of alarm snaking up her spine. "What is it? Is someone hurt?"

"No, ma'am." He slipped the badge back into his coat pocket and produced a folded sheet of paper, all in one smooth move. He unfurled the paper with a practiced snap of his wrist. "I have a warrant to search the premises, ma'am."

"A search warrant?" Susannah echoed. "Why?"

"Vice." He stepped inside, beckoning behind him for his backup. Half a dozen uniformed officers suddenly swarmed into the room. "You and everybody in the house are under arrest."