All Fall Down (9 page)

“And?”

“He was a bastard. Cruel. Controlling. Critical. But that wasn't the worst part.” She met Melanie's eyes. “The worst was, he hadn't taken my independence and self-esteem, I'd given them to him. I'd allowed him that control over my life.”

“And you vowed, never again.”

“Exactly.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. “I'd dropped out of law school halfway through because he'd wanted me to. He needed a real wife, he'd said, not one who was so busy studying she didn't have time to attend to home and husband.”

Veronica folded her hands around her mug. “After I got my feet on the ground, the first thing I did was go back and finish my degree.”

“I'm impressed.”

Veronica shrugged. “It was huge on my part, I see that now. But then…it was like I had been infused with an almost supernatural power. Like the light that had gone off in my head had turned on the power. I felt unstoppable.”

“That's where we're different. When I left Stan, I was scared to death every step of the way.”

“But you had a child to worry about. I'm sure you were concerned your husband might try to take him away from you.”

I still am. It's happening.
“It does change things.”
She glanced at her watch, amazed to see it was nearly 11:00 p.m. “I should go.”

Veronica glanced at her own watch. “My goodness, it's so late.”

She drained the last of her latte and stood. Melanie collected her purse and followed Veronica to her feet. Together they moved through the café and out to the parking lot.

“By the way,” Veronica said as they approached their cars, parked side-by-side, “I stopped by the Blue Bayou for dinner Wednesday night. For that great blackened red fish salad they do and to get a look at your batterer and his girlfriend. He was just the way you—”

“He's dead.”

She stopped and turned to Melanie. “Dead? You're kidding, right? I mean, I was just there and—”

“It happened last night. An automobile accident.” Melanie jiggled her car keys while she spoke. “But there's a twist to the story. Turns out, Thomas Weiss was highly allergic to bees. He'd parked his vehicle behind his restaurant, near some fruit trees in full bloom. One or more of the bees must have flown into his car because he was stung while driving, several times. Witnesses reported his car weaving all over the road. They also reported seeing him flapping and flailing his arms, as if trying to shoo an insect away. He swerved across two lanes of oncoming traffic and crashed into a concrete embankment.”

“Was anyone else hurt?”

“No, thank God. It could have been much worse.” Melanie pursed her lips, thinking of what the medical
examiner had said. “Although the crash killed him, the bee stings alone would have. He was already in anaphylactic shock when he died.”

Veronica shuddered and rubbed her arms. “Fate's a strange thing, isn't it?”

“That's for sure. But for me, what was stranger was the girlfriend's reaction.”

“She was all broken up, I bet. Hysterical with grief.”

“All but wailing.”

“I all but wailed when my husband died, too. I'm sure she'll see the light.”

“That's generous of you. I have to say, I wasn't quite so understanding. I can't believe I thought she'd testify against him in court. You were right on the money about that.”

“I've been through it more times than I like to remember.” Veronica retrieved her car keys from her purse. “I had a good time tonight.”

“Me, too. Let's do it again.”

“Let's.” Veronica smiled. “How about next week, after class?”

“Sounds good.”

Lifting her hand in a final goodbye, Melanie went to her Jeep, unlocked the door and climbed in. She smiled to herself and started the engine. She had enjoyed the evening. How long had it been since she'd been out with a girlfriend? Sure, she saw her sisters, but that was different. They were family and they fit themselves into each other's everyday life.

Tonight had been purely social. And since her di
vorce, between her responsibility to Casey and her job, she'd had little time left for a social life.

She missed it, she realized. Going out with friends. Howling at the moon every once in a while. Dating.

Beside her, Veronica started her Volvo sedan. On impulse, Melanie lowered her window. “Veronica?” she called.

The woman looked over, then lowered her own window.

“How about lunch next Saturday? I'll see if Mia or Ashley can join us.”

“Sure. Sounds fun. I'll call this week and we can decide on a place and time.”

“Great. Talk to you then.” With a final wave, Melanie backed out of the parking spot, then headed out of the lot. Funny how things happened, she thought, turning onto the wide, tree-lined boulevards Charlotte was known for. Funny how one day a person can be a stranger, the next a friend. How it can happen, just like that.

She smiled again, this time at her own thoughts. However it happened, she was glad Veronica Ford had come into her life.

T
he blood pounded in Boyd's head, the beat primal, intoxicating. It mixed weirdly with the throbbing music pouring forth from the club's sound system—together, the two created a strange, heady brew.

Boyd snaked his way through the crowded room, cruising, scanning faces, at once searching and discarding. He didn't fear being recognized; he wouldn't see any of his business associates here, nor others from his social circle. This establishment catered to swingers. People on the sexual fringe. The hunters. And the hunted.

People like him.

Boyd continued through the club, catching the occasional whiff of perfume as he did. The need for sexual release tightened in his gut, like a fist curling around his internal organs, alternately squeezing and stroking. Punishing and arousing.

He drew in a deep, steadying breath. He had to be careful. He couldn't allow his appetite to drive him. Impatience caused missteps. Each woman was a risk. He had to be smart. Cautious. He was Dr. Boyd Donaldson, he had everything to lose.

His gaze landed on a blonde, older than he usually liked, but potent-looking despite her age. She met his
gaze boldly. They stared at one another for long moments, then her painted mouth tipped up in a knowing smile. A tingle raced up his spine, a bellwether of delights to come.

Returning her smile, he started toward her.

M
elanie disliked lawyers' offices. Intensely disliked them. The hushed atmosphere, the plush carpeting and leather furniture, the smell of lemon wax and dusty law books. Because of Stan. And because nothing good had ever come out of her visiting one.

She hoped to change history today.

Melanie let out a pent-up breath, one she hadn't realized she'd been holding. It was Stan's fault that she was sitting here on this beautiful Friday afternoon, palms damp, heart fast. He had followed through on his threat to sue for full custody of Casey. His lawyer had contacted her this past Monday, almost three weeks after her and Stan's original conversation on the subject.

During that time, she had allowed herself to hope her ex-husband had changed his mind. She, eternal optimist, had allowed herself to believe he had reconsidered. She had hoped that during their time at Disney he had realized Casey should be with his mother.

“Mrs. May?”

Melanie cringed at the title. “Yes?”

“Mr. Peoples will see you now.”

“Thank you.” Melanie stood and followed the secretary down a corridor lined with bookshelves, filled
with law books. One of Casey's preschool teachers had recommended this attorney. She'd had a friend who'd used him when battling her husband for custody of their two children—and she had won.

As far as Melanie was concerned, she couldn't have asked for a better recommendation; she had called Mr. Peoples that very day.

They'd spoken on the phone; he had seemed knowledgeable and pleasant enough. After filling him in on the situation, she'd given him Stan's attorney's name and number.

“Here you are,” the receptionist said, stopping outside an office Melanie presumed was Mr. Peoples's. “Sure I can't get you a cup of coffee?”

“I'm sure. Thank you.”

The woman rapped on the door, then opened it. The man behind the desk stood and held out a hand. He was the size of a mountain. “Mrs. May, John Peoples.”

She crossed and took his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

He indicated one of the two leather wingback chairs in front of his desk. “Have a seat.”

She did, clasping her hands in front of her.

“Let's get right to it, shall we?”

She nodded. “Did you have a chance to talk to my ex-husband's lawyer?”

“I did.” He folded his hands on the desktop in front of him. Melanie noticed that they were fish-belly white and pudgy. So pudgy that the flesh bulged out around his wedding ring.

“He has a very good lawyer,” the man said. “One of the best, actually. Very smooth.”

“I expected that, Stan being with one of the top firms in Charlotte.”

“I'll get to the point. Your ex-husband's going to be hard to beat.”

“Excuse me?” He repeated himself, and she shook her head, struggling for composure. It took her a moment to find the breath to speak. “You can't mean that?”

“I'm sorry, Mrs. May. I know that's not what you were hoping to hear. But I have to speak from my evaluation of the facts.”

He cleared his throat. She noticed how the collar of his shirt squeezed uncomfortably at his thick neck. How, she wondered, did he breathe?

“Let's look at those facts, shall we?” the lawyer said. “Your ex-husband can provide a more stable home environment for your son, one that includes a father and a mother. Nor does he have a job that could call him away at odd hours without warning. A job, I might add, that puts you in danger's way.”

Melanie stared at him. He sounded more like Stan's lawyer than hers, like he had bought Stan's shtick, hook, line and sinker.

She stiffened her spine. “I'm with the Whistlestop PD, Mr. Peoples. Do you have any idea how I spend my day? How uniquely undangerous it is? How routine? I coax cats out of trees and bust teenage shop-lifters. I listen to complaints from citizens irate over their neighbors' pets or parking habits. Give me a break.”

“What about the Andersen case?”

“That was a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence. In ad
dition, I'm no longer actively participating in that investigation.”

“Be that as it may, it's out there. And your ex-husband's lawyer is going to use it.”

She couldn't believe that the big case she had longed for might contribute to her losing Casey. Tears of frustration and despair stung the back of her eyes and she fought them off. She was a police officer and a single mother, she absolutely could not cry. She would not.

“Your ex lives in one of Charlotte's most prestigious neighborhoods, in a lavish home with a swimming pool. The schools in that district are ranked the best in the state.”

“But—”

He held up a hand to stop her. “Since your son starts kindergarten next year and you and your ex-husband live on opposite sides of Charlotte, a joint custody arrangement would be impossible. He refuses to relocate. I asked. And your job requires you to make your permanent residence Whistlestop, and unless you're willing to give up your job—”

“Give up my job?” She fisted her fingers, feeling cornered, helpless. “And do what? I'm a cop. I love what I do. It's what I studied and trained for. I'm not giving it up.”

Red crept up his fleshy neck. “It was only a suggestion.”

“Well, it was a bad one. Stan can move. A particular zip code isn't a prerequisite of his job.”

“As I said, he refuses.”

“And so do I.”

“Then a joint custody arrangement is impossible. If you lose this suit, you will be relegated to weekend visits with your son. Or perhaps, as your husband now enjoys, every other weekend.”

She began to tremble. “That won't do.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Are you?” She tipped up her chin, disliking this man with every fiber of her being. “Do I have to remind you that I'm Casey's mother? That I love him? That I'm an excellent, attentive and loving parent? Doesn't that count for anything?”

“Of course it does.” He attempted a reassuring smile, but it came off as condescending. “But your ex-husband's Casey's father. And, according to his lawyer, a good parent. Would you agree with that assessment?”

“Depends on your definition of a good parent,” she said, hating the bitter edge in her voice.

“Let me rephrase that. Do you believe your ex-husband loves your son? And that he believes he has Casey's best interests at heart?”

“Yes,” she whispered, a part of her wishing she could claim otherwise, “I do.”

The attorney cleared his throat again. “Perhaps you should ask yourself, considering that you're a single parent in a demanding and dangerous profession, if having your son only on weekends would be that much of a hardship?”

She met his cool blue eyes, not believing what she was hearing. “I'm sorry, what?”

“Perhaps you should ask yourself what's best for your son.”

As his words sank in, Melanie got slowly to her feet, shaking with the force of her anger. “I know what's best for my son. Being with me, his mother. How dare you suggest otherwise? How dare you suggest I simply give up?”

The lawyer's face mottled and he began to sputter some lame legalese. This time it was she who held up a hand, stopping him. “Did my ex-husband's
great
lawyer happen to mention how late Stan works at night? Or how often he's out of town on business? That even though he only sees Casey every other weekend now, he still plays a four-hour round of golf every Saturday?”

She paused to breathe. “It might not have occurred to you, but if he wins custody, he won't be raising Casey, his new wife will.
I'm
Casey's mother, Mr. Peoples. And I intend to raise him.”

“I'm sorry, I just—”

“You are sorry. A sorry excuse for a lawyer.” She took several steps backward. “Consider this attorney/client relationship terminated. I'm going to find a lawyer who not only believes I can win, but one who believes I should.”

 

By Sunday afternoon, Melanie was a wreck. She had left John Peoples's office the Friday before and drove home filled with righteous indignation. Spoiling for a fight, ready to take on Stan and an army of his high-priced lawyers.

However, as the hours had ticked past, her indignation had become self-doubt, then outright terror. Casey had been with his dad again this weekend, and her
empty house had mocked her, a reminder of what her day-to-day life would be like should Stan win custody of Casey.

She didn't think she would be able to bear it.

She had immersed herself in the things she usually did on the weekends Casey was with his father—puttering in her small garden, seeing a movie she had been eagerly awaiting, catching up on the chores that had piled up during the workweek. None of those had taken her mind off the custody suit. She had called her sisters, but Ashley was out of town on business and Mia was down with the flu. Veronica had also proved unavailable, preparing for a trial set to begin the next week.

So, Melanie had paced. And raged. And cried. It had been the longest weekend of her life.

Now, it was over. Or, should be. Melanie glanced at her watch and frowned.
Four twenty-two.
Where was Stan? He usually had Casey home before this. She wanted him home before this. It took the child time to get settled back into their routine, for them to catch up. Then came dinner, bath and bedtime—he had preschool the next morning.

Melanie drew in a deep breath, growing angry. But Stan didn't concern himself with things as mundane as baths or a bedtime routine. He never had. Not before their divorce, not since.

She began to pace. What did he know about a four-year-old's schedule? About making sure he got enough sleep or ate a well-balanced meal? What did he know about sniffles and fevers and trips to the pediatrician's office? Nothing.

She flexed her fingers. Damn him for even contemplating taking Casey away from her. Arrogant asshole. He knew nothing about her place in their son's life and heart. And damn that idiot lawyer she'd seen for making her doubt herself. For making her so afraid.

From outside came the sound of a car door slamming shut. Melanie raced to the front door and threw it open.

“Casey!” she cried, acknowledging that she had never been so happy to see anyone or anything as she was to see her son's smiling face at that moment.

“Mom!” He barreled toward her and threw himself into her arms.

She enclosed him in hers, hugging him so tightly and for so long that he wriggled against her grasp.

Even so, she hugged him to her a moment more, breathing in his little-boy scent, letting it momentarily chase away her fears. Finally, she loosened her grasp. “I missed you.”

He beamed at her. “I missed you, too.” He glanced over his shoulder at his dad, then back at her, all but hopping with excitement. “Guess what, Mom?”

She pushed the curls back from his forehead. “What, hon?”

“Dad got me a puppy.”

A sensation like ice water spilled over her. “A puppy?”

“Uh-huh.” Casey bobbed his head vigorously. “I named him Spot. Dad says he's a golden retriever.”

Under different circumstances she would have been amused and charmed by her son's choice of Spot for a golden retriever—not today, however. Melanie
shifted her gaze to Stan, standing beside his silver Mercedes sedan. Tall, dark-haired, movie-star handsome. Once upon a time just looking at him had taken her breath away.

A lifetime ago. Now when she looked at him, all she felt was anger.

“We played all weekend,” the child continued. “He likes to chase sticks and balls. And guess what? Dad even let him sleep with me!”

He paused as if expecting a response from her, and she forced a stiff smile. “That's great, sweetheart. I'm glad you're so happy. You're going to take very good care of Spot, I know you will.”

He puffed up with pride. “I fed him an' took him outside. And when he's a little older, I'll teach him tricks.” His smile faded. “Spot cried when I left. I wanted to bring him with me, but Dad said Spot's my special daddy's house friend.”

Melanie struggled to hold on to her temper. “I bought you a little something. It's in on the kitchen counter. Why don't you run and see what it is?”

After calling “Bye!” to his father, he raced into the house.

Melanie watched him go, then started toward her ex-husband, stopping directly before him. She saw herself reflected in his aviator-style sunglasses. “How could you, Stan?” she asked, tone measured.

He arched an eyebrow. “How could I what? Buy a gift for my son?”

“We talked about a puppy, we'd decided he was too young. We agreed that decisions as big as whether Casey was ready for a pet would be made together.”

He lifted his shoulders, unapologetic. “One of the partners' retrievers had a litter, he had one pup left. I saw the opportunity and took it.”

“You saw the opportunity and took it?” she repeated, so furious her voice shook. “We're not talking about some legal loophole here, we're talking about parenting our child.”

“You're overreacting, as usual. The dog's from championship stock, for heaven's sake. I couldn't pass him up.”

She stuffed her hands into her pockets to hide the way they shook. “I don't care if he's the Westminster Kennel Club champion, you should have called me.”

“I didn't. I'm sorry.”

Melanie would have been mollified by the apology if she thought he meant it. If he didn't look so damn smug. And if she didn't know him so well.

“Why don't you admit the real reason you bought the dog? Because you knew I couldn't compete. Because you wanted an ace in the hole with Casey, a reason he would want to live with you over me if the judge asked him.”

An emotion flickered across his expression, one akin to regret. “That's bullshit, Melanie.”

“Is it?” She made a sound of frustration. “I don't know why I expected you to play fair, but I did. For Casey's sake, I didn't think you would lower yourself to this kind of…of emotional blackmail. A puppy? Please, Stan…how low can you go?”