A Conflict of Interest (7 page)

“Damn,” Maria said, using about three syllables.

“Exactly. Aidan and I will stop by for you at eight o’clock.” Queen of the timely hang-up, Beth clicked her phone off before Maria could say no.

Beth probably knew best. Having lived here all her life, she had less problem reading this town and the people who made up its quirky population.

Feeling stronger for having a plan shoved on her, Maria set down her phone and picked up the stack of bills. She laid aside the urgent ones to deal with first.

Several envelopes down, she came to the official letter from the review board. It covered more specifics than their initial desist-treating-patients letter. It covered all the possibilities—suspension, loss of license, the publicizing of her transgressions to other communities in the country as they deemed necessary to protect health and welfare.

The words jumbled and rearranged themselves. Maria inhaled, dragging air into her lungs.

Courage flooded back when she least expected it. She crumpled the plain white piece of paper into a tight ball.

They needn’t have wasted a stamp. She’d understood her life was at stake with their first missive, that they would be quizzing her clients and all the local dignitaries to discover the depth of her depravity.

Maria headed for her closet to examine her low-maintenance, low-wow-factor wardrobe. Tonight, she should wear something scarlet, tight and minuscule.

Too bad she didn’t own anything like that.

T
HE LIBRARY,
built soon after the Civil War to house a collection of books contributed by every family then in town, glowed by the light of candles and pale paper lamps. The fundraising committee had decorated the conference room upstairs to make it look like a private study in one of Honesty’s wealthier homes.

After dinner, waiters had swept the tables to the sides of a parquet dance floor.

Maria couldn’t claim she’d done herself much good with her efforts to smile and dance and talk comfortably while she wondered who, among those she’d danced with or spoken to, was accusing her of what. She hadn’t felt this way since her father had walked out and her mother had embarked on a life of seeking a man at any cost, but those days were long past. They weren’t coming back, and they’d given her excellent coping skills.

Which she put to use, evading the mayor’s large feet and his moist, balding head, which was about level with the plunging neckline that had seemed like such a rebellion. The dress wasn’t scarlet or minuscule, but it was tight and the most provocative garment she owned. She’d never expected to brazen out her own alleged sex-capades.

The next song was too new for the mayor, and he suggested they vacate the floor. She thanked him and made a beeline to the serving table to ladle herself a large glass of punch. If only she could have packed a flask of rum into her slinky gown. Brazening was hard work.

She took her drink to the most crowded part of the room, the edge of the dance floor. Like any other staid fundraiser reluctant to “shake her moneymaker,” she sipped from her crystal glass.

If the D.J. could see at all through the sudden, thick cloud of disapproval, he’d recognize that his spinning moments were limited if he didn’t find another Tony Bennett selection, and fast.

“Dance with me, Maria.”

She turned, her body already betraying her with a jump in her heartbeat and a distracting warmth that made her feel light-headed.

Circles beneath Jake’s eyes appealed to her greatest vulnerability. She moved toward him. He lifted his arms, and she tried to step back.

Why couldn’t they ever meet on her terms?

“Dance with me.” He gave her no choice. She was in his arms, swaying onto the floor, trying to slow her frantic pulse, before she could even utter a “huh?”

“This isn’t the way you dance to hip-hop,” she said, trying to force some air between them.

At almost the same time, the D.J. realized his mistake and found more Tony B.

“Relax,” Jake said. “You’ve been doing a great job.”

“I have no job.”

“You look happy and innocent, and you’ve danced
with most of the town worthies. Without even making their wives jealous.”

“I’d really enjoy hating you.”

“Maybe I’m a little jealous.”

“What?” She stared up at him, aware of her own shrill tone and the heads turning toward them. Best to laugh it off. “I was looking for a drink, but you’ve clearly found plenty.”

“I was looking for you,” he said, his tone an irresistible mix of dark mood and confession. “I don’t remember the first time I started looking for you when I came to a party, but I always thought I was too old for you, and then I—” He stopped long enough that she looked up. A muscle jumped near his temple. “Every time I came near you, you ran away.”

“Because of Leila,” she said without thinking.

“My daughter believes I don’t know how to get involved. Little does she know.”

Maria let him steer her around the floor. She couldn’t answer without giving more of Leila’s secrets away.

Jake lowered his head. “Are you innocent and happy, Maria?”

The threat posed by the review board whisked through her mind, but she refused to give in to fear. “I am innocent. Happy? I will be after I clear my reputation.”

“I’d like to help you.”

“Any more help from you, and I’ll be living in a box on the town square.”

He laughed. His breath brushed her ear and her throat. Hot. Tempting. She shuddered and Jake pulled her closer. Sinking against him would be so easy. So damn good.

Instead, she freed her hand from his to press both palms against his chest. “You need to let go a little.”

“And ruin everyone else’s show?”

His chest was as firm as well-toned, male muscle could be. His lips, surprisingly full, disturbed her every time he leaned down to hear what she said.

“I was fine until you showed up.” She had to think about her feet to keep them moving or she might have frozen in Jake’s arms. “I was hoping to convince these people I’m not a sick, desperate woman who’ll drag any male into her bed.”

Jake’s mouth set. She’d clearly pressed a button.

“I didn’t do it,” Maria said.

“I can see you’re trying to face down the scandal, but I’d rather you didn’t joke about the whole Griff thing.” He moved closer again, threading one hard thigh back between hers. Her breasts flattened against his chest, and she had to remind herself to breathe. “Please,” he said.

Please?

“Why are you acting like this? People must be staring.”

“I want to,” he said. “I’ve wanted to since I met you, but you ran away every time I saw you. I didn’t know it was because of Leila.”

“I hope to treat Leila again one day, so this is wrong.”

“You’re not a member of the court. You don’t have to recuse yourself.” As he spoke, his breath ruffled her hair, and she clutched at his shoulders to keep from falling. He was aroused, and he made no effort to hide it.

“You can’t see the conflict of interest?” she asked.

He backed up a little. She missed the thrust of his leg as he led her toward the center of the floor.

She didn’t dare look away from the worsted black material of his suit. Surely everyone in the room could see how vulnerable he made her feel.

“Do you want me to leave you alone?” he asked.

“I want to say yes.” She struggled to be rational, even as her body betrayed her. “I should be staying far away from you. You still suspect I’m guilty.”

“I never said that.” She watched conflicting emotions—guilt, desire and other feelings she couldn’t identify—play across his face. “But I probably would have made that call if I’d known you were seeing Leila.”

“Let me go.” She pulled away from him.

“You don’t want to go.” He slid one arm around her back so far his hand wrapped around her waist. She’d dreamed of his body against hers, longed for the heat and the hardness that made her reckless. Now she wondered about Jake’s motivation.

“I was supposed to do my duty.”

“Duty is out of fashion, isn’t it?”

“Not when it means protecting my daughter.”

“From me, Jake.” Anger at the injustice brought a rush of blood to Maria’s cheeks. “You’re wondering if you have to protect her from me, and yet you want me to help you. Would you even trust me if I suggested a plan of action?”

“Leila trusts you. Not me. Not Kate.” He twisted his shoulders. “Maybe we’re not much of a mother and father.”

“Stop. I can’t talk about her.” Jake’s daughter felt he had no right to her emotions because he and his ex-
wife had hidden theirs for so long. Her parents’ secrets made her doubt every assumption she’d ever made about her own life.

“I’m going to lose Leila,” Jake said, his hands tightening again. “Really lose her. You know what I mean.”

Maria’s anger evaporated. She knew she shouldn’t say another word. She would be breaking every rule of her profession. But she couldn’t ignore the naked fear in Jake’s eyes when she had the power to help him.

“Leila isn’t suicidal,” she said.

Wrapping both arms around her, Jake lowered his head to hers. Empathy and need were coupled in a dance as confusing as the steps Maria took. She and Jake moved slowly, listening to Tony croon through the sound system as if he were in the room.

Losing herself in the dream, Maria slid her arms around Jake’s neck. It was only natural to seek the heat at the nape of his neck, where his black hair whorled in silk waves. It was like making love without the final commitment.

“Thank you,” he finally said.

“She only wants to—” Feel, was what Maria wanted to say, but just in time, she remembered she was letting emotion jeopardize Leila’s trust and her own future. She slid her hands back to Jake’s shoulders, restless as responsibility raised its head. “I’ve told you all I can.”

“Give me something I can do.”

She curved her hands around his face, lying to herself as she tried to believe she only wanted to make him hear her. “Patient confidentiality applies.”

Jake turned her toward the edge of the dance floor. They stopped dancing as they reached the dense crowd.
At a sharp glance from one of the hospital directors, Maria kept her head down and depended on Jake to lead her to safety.

A mistake. He startled her, opening a balcony door.

“It’s cold.” She held back, not caring about cold but very aware of a healthy fear of going outside alone with Jake.

“You and I need privacy.” Jake turned her, dancing her in front of him as he urged her toward the curving stone wall.

“Are you using me to get at Leila?”

“Maria, I understand the many uses of a court order. I could find a way to get my daughter’s records, without taking advantage of your feelings for me.” He crossed his arms over her chest.

She arched, trying to put some distance between them.

“You think I’m holding you this close because I don’t want you?” His mouth was at her ear again. As she trembled, he caught her lobe lightly between his teeth. His lips closed and he sucked, and her whole body relaxed into the shelter of Jake holding her.

Yes, he did want her.

He turned her in his arms, and his hands were not gentle. Curving his fingers beneath her chin, he tilted her head and stared into her eyes.

Tension built and stretched. If he lowered his head, everything would change. It might make her life so much better, or so much worse. She caught his forearms, uncertain whether she was pushing him away or holding him close so that he couldn’t rethink what came next.

Just as the strain grew so taut she wanted to scream,

he bent and kissed her once, hard. And then again. She shook, clinging to his hands. He pulled her arms around him, and his mouth grew demanding, searching.

In the dark and the cold, she felt as if she’d left her body, and yet her body’s needs were driving her into danger. She savored the sweet heat of Jake’s mouth, the demand in his hands as he stroked her, writhing her hips in a suggestive, lean-against-me, make-love-to-me rhythm.

Her imprudent mother must have given her more than green eyes. She must have passed down the will to be reckless when safety mattered most.

“Tell me it’s just a kiss, Jake, to tide me over until life feels better.”

He only laughed, as he learned her face with his mouth, as his hands revealed secrets her body had been keeping. “Are you afraid of what the feeling could mean?”

She felt a chill that had nothing to do with the weather. He hadn’t denied that the kiss meant little to him. She pushed at his stomach, sighed at the strength of his muscles flexing against her, yet somehow managed to thrust him away. “Sure, you want me, but you want to help Leila more. You have to listen to her,” Maria said, dazed. “I mean, ask her to talk first, then listen.”

“What?” He wiped his mouth, and she imagined pulling his palm to her lips. He tasted so good.

“Leila,” she said.

“Leila.” He smoothed Maria’s hair behind her ear. “I love Leila. I want to help her. But do you really think I’m here because I want the key to my daughter?”

“Aren’t you?”

“I only talked about Leila because you mentioned her. I got distracted because I am afraid for her,” Jake said.

Maria shrugged. “Maybe that investigation’s a good idea. I don’t seem to be a good therapist tonight.”

Jake turned toward the door, but stopped, running his index finger around the inside of his collar. “I didn’t get what I want. And neither did you.”

She was still trying to breathe when he eased the door shut. She laughed, because she didn’t know herself, and laughing was the only option that offered her a mask. She started toward the door, but her dress caught in the spindly branches of a short potted tree that shook snow onto her feet.

She’d never been so cold.

I
T WAS THE SNOWIEST
November on record. The Tuesday morning before Thanksgiving, snow flew as if someone had busted open a feather pillow and started shaking it from the sky.

Jake knocked on the door of his daughter’s house just before noon. No one answered, but inside, someone turned off the throbbing music that had rattled his own home when Leila lived there.

Jake knocked again.

The house remained as quiet as a grave. It would have been more convincing if the little sedan she’d creased against the corner of the drive-through pharmacy weren’t nosed to the curb.

Jake knocked one more time.

Leila yanked the door open. “What do you want?”

“Conversation,” he said. “Join me?”

“I said I’d call you when I was ready.”

“I can’t go along with that, Leila. Something went wrong between us. You needed me, and I wasn’t around. I assumed you’d talk to me if the divorce bothered you.” He rubbed his temple. “That’s a lie. I assumed you’d be mad and I’d notice if you couldn’t get over it.”

“It’s not just the divorce.”

“What else?” Nonspecific questions made him wary. They made any subject fair game.

“Did you and Mom ever love each other?”

He stared at his daughter, who could only be hurt by the truth, but Maria’s words came back to him.
Listen to her.
He couldn’t listen if she wouldn’t talk. He had to persuade her that talking to him was safe, even if he had to start with a hurtful truth. “I loved your mother once.”

“I’m not stupid.” She looked at her feet. “You stopped loving her how long ago?”

“It wasn’t overnight. You’re old enough to understand how complex relationships can be.”

“Maybe I don’t want to talk after all. Leave me alone, Dad.”

Another door slammed in his face. What the hell had happened to him? And why? One moment he’d been on the bench in court, minding his own and the people’s business, and the next, his daughter never wanted to see him again, and he was putting on a public show with a woman who didn’t necessarily want him near.

He’d started this mess. If he was going to get his own life back, he had to find a way to talk to his daughter. He had to make sense of what was happening with Maria. And he had to find out the truth about Griff Butler.

He did what he should have done weeks ago. He pulled out his cell and dialed the sheriff’s number.

Tom Drake’s assistant answered. “He’s not here right now, Judge Sloane. May I have him call you?”

“If you would. Do you have my number?”

“I’ll take it off the caller ID. Is this about a particular case?”

He’d added enough fodder to the local gossip. “No. I’d just like a word with Tom.”

T
HANKSGIVING SPECIALS
were already running on Wednesday when Maria wove a path through ceramic turkey platters and foil autumn leaves to meet with a human resources manager for Canon’s Department store.

An air of holiday anticipation reached even the waiting room where Maria filled out her application. People hurried in and out of the office ahead of her. Some were applicants, others were employees with questions. All wore infectious smiles.

Recently unused to smiles, Maria got distracted and made a mistake on her application. She crossed out the wrong graduation date under College Information and wrote the correct year.

Would her interviewer assume she was careless? Or was approaching financial ruin making her paranoid?

The office door opened and a man came out. “Miss Keaton?”

She stood, a little anxious but hopeful. The day before Thanksgiving wasn’t a bad time to interview. She offered her hand. “Good morning.”

The man shook it. “I’m Kevin Herbert. Come inside. May I have your application?” He pointed to a plush chair across from his desk. “Have a seat. I’ll need a minute to go over your app. Usually, my assistant collects these for me and I take a few seconds to read them and gather my thoughts, but today…”

She muttered something—who knew what?—and
hoped she made sense. Smiling, he sat in his own chair and smoothed out her application on his desk.

Maria concentrated on not glancing at the scratch of ink.

“You wouldn’t stay long in this job,” Mr. Herbert said.

“I would.” She’d lie until her nose shot through the wall of the next room to get a paycheck. “I wouldn’t waste your time if I didn’t want the position.”

“The ‘position’ is sorting towels in the Home and Bath department. Occasionally, you’d have to ring up a customer’s purchases.” He flipped the application over and studied her education and experience. “And why would a therapist want to sort towels and run a cash register? Trying to get inside the mind of one of your patients?”

Sarcasm always started an interview right. “I need the job.”

“Might as well tell me why you’re slumming.”

“Slumming?” His attitude sucked. “Is that how you think of your employees?”

“Of course not, but a doctor who can make your kind of salary doesn’t wake up one day with a yen to do retail.”

“I’m suspended right now,” she said.

“Suspended?” He sat back, a smile curving his mouth as if he thought she was pulling his leg. “Like in school?”

She swallowed. The man heated his office like a sauna. And his amusement would turn to contempt if she explained everything. At first, she tried to couch the facts to present her side of the story, something she hadn’t been good at in court.

But game playing still wasn’t second nature to her, so she started bluntly. “Have you heard of Griff Butler?”

“That kid,” he said. “The one who went to trial, but his doctor…”

He pieced the puzzle together in front of her eyes. As he leaned forward, his good-natured smirk faded. “You’re that doctor?”

“So I should go?”

“You’re in trouble because of what that kid said?”

“I’m being investigated.”

“And my wife says you were making out with that judge guy at the library fundraiser. Not that we were invited. She just heard.” Mr. Herbert stared in silence, but he didn’t hesitate long. He set her application back on his desk then pushed it toward her with the tip of his finger. “I’m sorry, Miss Keaton. I lose enough business to those fancy new places over in Old Honesty. I can’t afford to hire someone who’s in trouble with the law.”

“Not the law,” she said.

“I don’t care where the gossip comes from. Maybe I didn’t know your name, but even I knew about you. My customers are more interested in the daily whispers than I am.”

“Maybe you’d get new customers who’d come in just to look me over.”

His smile actually held regret, which was a nice improvement on suspicion. “I hate to make your problems worse.”

It was only the latest of three similar interviews. Trying to explain further seemed pointless. “Thanks for seeing me.”

“Hope it works out.”

“I
KNOW YOU,”
the stocking manager at the grocery store said. “I can’t believe you’d think I’d hire you.”

No need to explain this time. “I can’t make much trouble setting canned goods on shelves.”

“Not here, you won’t be. I’m sorry I don’t have time to be more P.C., but tomorrow’s Thanksgiving. This is one of our busiest days.”

He crumpled her application and sailed it into a big dirty waste can. Then he looked her up and down. Ah. He’d heard about the fundraiser, too. She might consider the consequences the next time she decided to writhe on a stranger in front of a roomful of people who considered her a harlot.

This guy might not look like a pervert, but he didn’t mind eyeing her as if he could have her right there on the oversize produce scale.

“I always heard people like you beat it out of town when they got caught. You’d find a better hunting ground in a different place.”

Running the bastard down with a shopping cart wouldn’t change his mind about hiring her. She marched into the front of the store, trying to remember she’d once had some dignity.

She almost skipped her appointment at the
Honesty Sentinel.
But she’d begged for the time on this Wednesday of all Wednesdays, and they had a delivery route open. According to the ad and the man who’d finally taken her name and assigned her a time to come in, all they needed from her was a car and a valid driver’s license.

She approached the
Sentinel
building fighting her fair share of shame and doubt. She couldn’t afford
pride. Her savings had begun a disappearing act. The only way out was a job. Or ten.

She found the newspaper’s personnel office. Filling out the application took mere minutes because they all seemed to be set up the same way, and she’d filled out so many in the past several days.

“Sit in one of those chairs,” said the assistant who’d handed her the app. “Mrs. Fellner will call you when she’s ready.”

Maria sat in a beige vinyl chair and waited, her fingers twisting like a nest of snakes. A few minutes later, Mrs. Fellner opened her office door and came out, reading the page her assistant had given her. She took a look at Maria and then went back to the application.

“You’re older than we usually get.”

“I’m reliable, too.”

“You understand this job means early hours? People want to read the news over their morning coffee.”

“I’ll be here whatever time you want me.”

“For your route, the papers are dropped at the corner of Oak and Lafayette at four forty-five. Let me see your license.”

Maria handed it over, even though the assistant had copied it and stapled the copy to the application.

“Be at Oak and Lafayette in the morning.” Mrs. Fellner passed her license back. “You know tomorrow’s Thanksgiving?”

Suddenly, she had plenty to be grateful for. “Uh-huh,” she said, too stunned to offer more eloquent thanks.

“The current delivery boy will show you your route. Stop at Lisa’s desk to finish your paperwork.”

“Thanks.” Maria offered her hand.

“Oh, yeah.” Mrs. Fellner, already on the way back to her office, came back. She pushed her glasses up her nose and finally looked Maria in the eye. Maria quaked with a touch of dread. But no. The other woman shook hands. “Good luck. Don’t make anyone call me because his paper’s late.”

“I’d pull them off the press myself, if I had to.”

“Y
OU’LL BE FINE,”
Tommy Laycock told her the next morning after he’d tossed a paper into the center of a little Cape Cod’s door.

“Nobody ever complains about you hitting their houses?” He had a precise arm and aim.

“Sometimes, the dogs fly out of the doggie doors and chase me down the street.” He patted the tufted console between them. “I don’t have me any cool wheels like this. I have a bike.”

“I may be looking for one soon.”

He heehawed with earsplitting spontaneity, but it was a welcome sound. “You’re lucky. We used to have to leave envelopes for payment. Some people even stiffed me once a week with that stupid envelope. Then, about eight months ago, the paper finally started billing them from the office.”

“So I don’t have to collect money.”

“Or break any arms.” He flexed his hands, gave his knuckles a quick crack.

“Why are you quitting, Tommy?” His personality seemed like such a fit.

“I joined the band and we practice in the morning before school. There’s a girl in my class. She plays the
tuba. I’m not saying she looks good in that thing, but when she takes it off…”

“Never mind.” It was the last conversation she needed to have with a kid. “Thanks for showing me the houses.”

“You think you’ll remember?”

“Sure. I wrote them all down.” She dropped him back at Oak and Lafayette.

“Bye, Dr. Keaton,” he yelled as he unlocked his bike.

She waved, surprised he knew her name. For a second she was tempted to ask if Tommy knew Griff. Common sense rescued her in time. She didn’t need to know if the kid was all right. He was someone else’s problem now.

At home, she washed the ink off her hands and fell facefirst onto the sofa, sleeping for the first time in weeks as if she weren’t anxious about her next meal. A paper route didn’t go a long way toward security, but it was a crack in the door.

Later, as bright sunlight crept across the sky through her family room window, she opened her eyes. And licked her dry lips. She’d slept for hours.

Coffee. Coffee would start her second try at a morning well. Attempting a lousy whistle, she got busy, putting together her meager Thanksgiving dinner. A chicken breast in the oven. Potatoes, both sweet and Yukon Gold didn’t cost much. Neither did fresh green beans or bagged dressing mix.

The phone rang while she was cutting onions and indulging in a good old reluctant cry. She wiped her hands on a towel and grabbed the phone.

“Hey,” said her sister, Bryony.

“Huh?”

“How ya doing?”

“I’m fine, Bryony. Do you need something?”

“Need something?” Bryony sounded mystified. “Oh, I get it. You mean, why am I calling?”

In the privacy of her own home, Maria blushed. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Nah, don’t worry about it. I’m fine. I’m really doing well. Lots of children’s parties. Clowns are even in demand at adult functions these days, except they usually want me to be my evil incarnation.”

“I’d have nightmares for a month.”

“I know, but it’s all good to me. I thought you might be lonely today.”

“I am, but I couldn’t face—”

“Mom and me? But we wouldn’t interrogate you. We both know you couldn’t do anything wrong.”

“I feel bad. I wasn’t nice to you a minute ago.”

“I don’t get how this all happened, but nobody’s going to believe you’d hurt a kid. They’ll look at your records and talk to your other patients.”

“Clients.”

“Whatever. They aren’t going to lie about you.”

“Some of them are pretty unwell. What if the suggestion that I’d do something wrong gives them an idea that appeals to their illnesses?”

“You’ll deal. Don’t borrow that trouble.” Bryony took a deep, loud breath. “Let me send you some money.”

“No.” Never going to happen. She’d beg in the street before she took a handout from her mother or her sister.