ROMANCING MO RYAN (6 page)

The courthouse stood like a tall, stone monument within a hundred yards of the river’s edge, and she arrived at the door of Mo Ryan’s office with her notebook and pen tucked inside her hobo bag, and her confidence buried even deeper.
 
Would he remember her, or that night they spent together? Or would he give what they call in politics some plausible denial: I remember your name, but I don’t remember you?

The office of the senior judge, criminal courts division, was two doors down from a broom closet.
 
A fitting location, Nikki thought.
 
She knocked on the door and, when no response was forthcoming, walked in.
 

It was his secretary’s office, an office almost as big as the small apartment she rented.
 
The secretary, however, had apparently stepped out, as her large hollow desk seemed metaphorically in tune with how Nikki felt at that moment in time.
 
She looked ahead, and there was his inner sanctum.
 
Montgomery Ryan, Supervising Judge
it read.
 
She walked up to the door and knocked.
 

She looked down, at her cardigan and her skirt.
 
Were those old biddies right?
 
Was she dressing too provocatively for a journalist?
 
But she answered her own question.
 
She dressed in a way that was comfortable for her.
 
And if she wanted to unbutton an extra button on her blouse, she would.
 
If she didn’t, she wouldn’t.
 
She kept her cardigan just as it was, and knocked on the judge’s door again.

Just as it was at his secretary’s door, there was no response to his door.
 
So Nikki, being the judicious reporter that she was, walked on in.

And there was Mo Ryan, walking back and forth behind his desk like some wounded animal, moving in one direction and then reversing course harshly, quickly, his every movement appearing to make him more agitated, his thoughts seemingly buried deep inside as if he were wrestling with himself.
 

He was an odd sight to behold, to say the least, so different than the Mo Ryan she met in Cleveland two years ago.
 
But Nikki didn’t delay.
 
She closed the door firmly behind her, certain that the sound of the door slam would make him aware of her presence and he’d slow his behind down.
 
But he didn’t even skip a stride.
 
He was too wrapped up in his own little world.
 
A bomb could have exploded and he would have missed it.
 
Nikki shook her head.
 
Not only were his views crazy as hell, but so was he.
 
She wasn’t getting any breaks.
 

“Judge Ryan?” she finally called out.
 
To her relief, those words alone stopped him on a dime and he looked at her.
 
The intensity in his face as he turned her way, a face that seemed spooked, not by her presence, but by unseen threats far more menacing than she could ever pose, caused her to shudder.

And she didn’t think he recognized her.

“Yes?” he asked, his face frowned and irritated.
 
“What is it?”

And for the first time in Nikki’s entire life, she didn’t know what to say.
 

“Well?” he asked.
 
“What do you want?”
 

She remembered those eyes.
 
She remembered those bright blue, oval shaped eyes that seemed to penetrate hers; eyes that didn’t seem to embody the views of the man, because they were too soft, too caring, too damn sexy!
 
And his arms.
 
She remembered those powerful arms that stayed around her all night long.
 
She was naked and in his bed, but as soon as he found out that she was a virgin, he didn’t touch her that way again.
 
And they call this wonderful, caring man of her memory Judge Maximum?
 
It seemed so inexplicable to her.

Mo Ryan had so much on his plate that he didn’t know if he was going or coming.
 
He had to preside over a sentencing hearing in a couple hours, another death penalty case, and he was still arguing within himself about what his ultimate ruling should be.
 
Although there was something vaguely familiar about Nikki, he was too preoccupied to figure out what.

“If you’re an out-of-town attorney here for a court appearance you’re in the wrong place,” he said.
 
“Are you here for a court appearance?”

Still no words would leave her lips.
 

“Young lady?
 
Did you hear me?
 
Are you here for a court appearance?”

Nikki still couldn’t speak.
 
She just stared at him from across the room.

“Now look,” Mo finally said.
 
“Either tell me what you want or get out of my chambers. Where is my secretary anyway?
 
And I mean get out now.”

What?
 
The way he spoke to her, using that same condescending tone she’d heard her entire career, woke her out of her trance-like stare and she suddenly had a lot to say.
 
“I’ll be glad to get out,” she said, walking further into the room.
 
“But you did agree to an interview.
 
I’m from the Gazette.”

He looked at her more intensely when she spoke, his tired eyes looking over her body and then her face as if she were an object on display.
 
And the longer he looked at her, it seemed to Nikki, the less irritated his expression seemed to be.
 
Did he remember her? She couldn’t be sure, especially since the fact that he wasn’t irritated with her anymore seemed to irritate him even more, and he pulled out his desk chair.
 

“You’re late,” he said.

“You just got out of court,” she replied.
 
“You’re late.”

Again he looked at her, at her chest and then her face, for what seemed like an incredibly long few seconds.
 
Then he motioned for her to sit down.

She walked over and sat in the chair in front of his desk, crossed her legs, and pulled out her writing pad.
 
She was literally shaking, but kept it together.

His desk phone began ringing before he could sit down, and he quickly picked it up.

“Ryan,” he said.
 
And then he listened, and listened, his eyes seemingly looking Nikki up and down as if he was drinking up every inch of her.
 
Nikki didn’t know if he was assessing her as some man would do a woman they found attractive, or if he was assessing her because he remembered her.
 
She tried to ignore it either way, but those gorgeous eyes of his were too hard to ignore.
 

Because he was still a sight to behold.
 
He was still that tall, tanned, muscular man with those unforgettable baby blue eyes, with that thick crop of chestnut brown hair, with that sexual energy he exuded without even trying to be sexual at all.
 
His jaw was square and wide, elevating his face from stern to sexy, and his smooth forehead overlooked thin eyebrows, a strong, straight nose, and warm, inviting lips.
 
Whenever he talked his lip seemed to curl at the tip, and dimples would appear like sudden indentations on his cheeks.
 

When the phone call ended, and he slowly replaced the phone onto its hook, an odd expression was on his face.
 
He looked at Nikki again.
 
She was certainly appealing.
 
She had that smooth, mocha-brown skin he always found attractive, and perfectly formed lips.
 
Although she was smaller than his personal preference in a woman, she still had some nice curves and the kind of large, firm breasts he could feast on all night.
 
And her face was a plus. It was small too, and narrow, but was all eyes; all big, brown, gorgeously expressive eyes.
 

And that was when it hit him.
 
She was not some random reporter like all the others that had interviewed him in the past.
 
He knew her.
 
In the barest sense of the word, he knew her.
 
It was those big, expressive eyes.
 
It was that vulnerability veiled behind that toughness.
 
It was that body, and those breasts.
 
It was
Nikki
.
 
It was Nikki Tarver.
 
His heart rammed against his chest.

And instead of sitting behind his desk, he walked around the desk and took a seat in the chair beside hers.
 
Only he turned the chair to face her, which made her so uncomfortable that she thought her voice would quiver if she spoke.

He was extremely well dressed, she noticed as he sat down, no slouch in his posture at all.
 
He wore a dark blue Italian suit, tailored to perfection against his muscular body, a pair of wing tip Ferragamo shoes, and a dark red tie that highlighted his soft skin tone.

Mo’s eyes stayed on her as he sat down.
 
He was still too stunned to speak.

Nikki noticed his distress, and she suspected she knew why he was suddenly so distressed.
 
But she kept it professional.
 
She kept going.

“As I’m sure your office was informed, our series is all about local heroes.
 
It’s all about people who do all they can to help their fellow man.
 
Our board decided that you were one of those people, and my editor asked me to interview you.
 
I just need to ask a few questions,” she added, and then looked at him.
 
“If you’re ready?”

His heart was still hammering.
 
He had thought she was completely out of his system.
 
It took months, and all kinds of nightmarish trials that distracted him and kept him up nights, but he thought her memory had faded to a point where it was only a vague recollection.
 
Not because that week he spent with her wasn’t memorable.
 
It was.
 
In every way it was.
 
But for his sake, for the sake of all of those men and women who came before him seeking justice, he had to get her out of his system.
 

He thought he had succeeded.
 

He thought wrong.

But like Nikki, he, too, was a professional.
 
He kept it together.
 
“What would you like to know?” he asked her.
 

Nikki swallowed hard, prayed her voice didn’t quiver.
 
“From what I’ve read you are one of the few judges who almost always impose the maximum possible sentences.
 
Your nickname is Judge Maximum because of that harshness.
 
What our readers would like to know is this: if you’re so heroic, why don’t you ever show compassion for the people who come before you?”

Mo Ryan looked at Nikki as if he could not believe she would ask such a question.
 
“Why don’t I what?” he asked.

“Why don’t you show compassion for those poor men and women who come before you seeking, not only justice, but mercy as well?”

He stared at her, his heart hammering.
 

She stared at him, her heart pounding.
 
But she was determined to stay on point.
 
“You haven’t answered my question,” she said.

“You haven’t told me your name,” he replied.

Nikki continued to stare at him.
 
“You know my name,” she said.

Mo swallowed hard.
 
She was always so direct with people, always uninterested in anybody’s bullshit.
 
She hadn’t changed a bit.
 
“How have you been?” he asked her.

She thought about this, as, he also remembered, was her way.
 
“Not good,” she admitted.

His heart dropped.
 
“Why not?” he asked her.

A faintness came across her face, a kind of
you don’t tell me your sad stories, I won’t tell you mine
acceptance.
 

“Tell me,” he said.

“There’s no one thing to tell.
 
It's just the general direction my life has taken, that’s all.
 
It’s not been a good turn.”
 
Then she looked at him.
 
“What about you?
 
How have things been going for you?”

Mo moved his head side to side, as if it had gone either way.
 
“Not good,” he said, and they both chuckled.

“Neither one of us seemed to have set the world on fire,” Nikki mused with a smile.

“Not at all,” Mo replied.
 

And then they just sat there, allowing the conversation to stall.
 
Remembering what it was they had remembered about each other.
 
It was too much to digest for both of them, and neither knew what they wanted to do about it.

For Nikki, it was a matter of timing.
 
She was just trying to jumpstart her sinking career and the last thing she needed right now was the distraction of a man who’d already told her there was no future there.
 

But for Mo it was the fear factor.
 
It was the belief that Nikki could never be like all of the other women in his life.
 
Those women gave him good conversation, good sex, and no commitments.
 
After sex they went to their homes or he went to his, and he rarely gave them a second thought.
 
He’d had only one encounter with Nikki, an encounter that wasn’t even a
fait accompli
, but not only did he give her a second thought, he couldn’t get her off of his mind for nearly a year!
 
She wasn’t like those other women.
 
He feared that he’d become so committed to Nikki, so devoted to her, that she’d do as his deceased wife had done, as every woman he’d ever become devoted to had done, and break his heart.

“Where are you living?” he asked her.

“Off Timuquana, near the air base.

“Alone?”

Nikki hesitated.
 
“Yes.”

“But you have a young man in your life?”

Again Nikki hesitated.
 
“No,” she said.

Mo frowned. “Why not Nikki?”

“Why not what?”

“Why don’t you have somebody to help you out?
 
To be there for you.
 
To take care of you?”

What was his problem, Nikki wondered?
 
He was behaving as if he was offended that she was alone.
 
“I take care of myself,” she said.

And it was only then did Mo realize that he had gone too far.
 
But Nikki did that to him.
 
From the moment he first met her two years ago, he always felt that surge of protectiveness whenever she was in his presence.

But Nikki couldn’t turn it off that easily.
 
She felt a need to explain.
 
He had hit a raw nerve.
 
“It’s my choice to live alone,” she said.

“So if a wonderful young man comes along, perfect for you, you wouldn’t be interested?”

“That hasn’t happened so I can’t tell you what I’d be.”

Mo stared at her.
 
She got the feeling that her answer disturbed him.
 
For some reason his reaction only made her feel combative.
 
“What about you?” she asked him.
 
“Your wife died, what?
 
Almost four years ago now?
 
Do you live alone?”

Now it was Mo’s time to hesitate.
 
“Yes,” he said.

“But you have a girlfriend, right?
 
That perfect person perfect for you?”

Nikki could see a shade of sadness come into his eyes.
 
“No,” he admitted.

“So don’t criticize my leaky-ass boat when you’re in one, too.
 
All right?”

Mo smiled.
 
The kid had guts.
 
“Yes, ma’am,” he said.
 
And he decided it was best to move on.
 
“I believe in responsibility,” he said to her.

Where did that come from
, Nikki wondered.
 
“Excuse me?”

“You asked about my compassion.
 
I show no compassion, as you call it, because I believe a man, or woman, has to be responsible for what they do.
 
They have to pay for their sins.”

Pay for their sins?
 
What an odd way to put it, Nikki thought.
 
Suddenly she wondered if he was talking about the defendants that went before him, or himself?
 
“So you believe in justice only, with no regard for the situation?”

“The situation is the crime itself.”

“But that can’t be all it is,” Nikki declared.
 
“It has to be context too.
 
A mother who steals food for her starving children committed a crime, yes.
 
She stole food.
 
But the situation required her to steal.
 
The way you seem to look at it, you’d declare she’s just as guilty as the man who breaks into somebody’s house and steals a computer.”

Mo remembered her fire.
 
He was glad to know she still had it.
 
“I look at it the way the law requires me to look at it.
 
And, yes, based on the law, she’s as guilty as the burglar.”

Nikki didn’t like his answer.
 
Phil had said his views sucked, but once she found out it was Mo Ryan, the man she thought of as generous and kind, she didn’t believe it.
 
Now she wasn’t so sure.
 
“But what about the circumstances?” she asked him.
 
“Her children were starving.”

“Then she should not have put her children in a position where they could starve.”

Nikki could hardly believe it.
 
He couldn’t possibly be that hard.
 
“But what if it wasn’t her fault?
 
What if she was abused as a child and ran away from home?
 
What if she never could get an education because the trials of life never eased for her to pull it together?
 
What if she was born in poverty and that’s all she knows?
 
She’s blameless in this.
 
Doesn’t she deserve some compassion?”

The look on Nikki’s face, the sincerity in her massive eyes, cut Mo short.
 
He uncrossed his legs, and leaned forward.
 
“Yes,” he said.

“But how can you say . . .” Now Nikki was thrown again.
 
“You said yes?”

“Yes, Nicole, I said yes.
 
You’re correct, she deserves compassion.”