His Father's Son Read online

  She turned away, walking across the balcony like someone in a dream.

  Cam stayed where he was, his breath coming hard and fast as he heard her say, “Hello. Oh, Dad. I do?” She gave a short laugh. “Yes. I guess I am. I was…running to catch the phone.”

  Cam watched as she turned on a lamp, flooding the room with light. She stood in a pool of liquid gold, twirling the phone cord around and around her finger.

  “I see.” She took in a long, deep breath, trying to quiet the unsteady drumming of her heart. “I’m sorry. I was looking forward to dinner tomorrow night. How long will you be gone?”

  She looked into the darkness, trying to see Cam on the balcony. He was swallowed up by the night. “Then I’ll see you when you get back. I’ll miss you. Have a safe flight.”

  She turned slightly, so that Cam could see her profile. “I love you, too, Dad.”

  She replaced the receiver, then stood a moment before walking to the door.

  Her voice was stronger. “My father has to leave in the morning for Dublin.”

  “I’m sorry. I know you were looking forward to seeing him before he left.”

  She nodded. “Well, at least his phone call was timely.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  She smiled. “It bought me enough time to come to my senses.”

  “Yeah.” There was no answering smile as he crossed the balcony, pausing at the open door way to touch a finger to her cheek. “You strike me as the sensible type.”

  She thought of the boyhood he’d described. The tough, angry kid who resorted to fighting to hide his pain. There was some of that boy now in his eyes. The heat. The passion. It frightened her even while it attracted her.

  “I can’t be rushed, Cam. I need time to think through what I’m doing. What we’re doing.”

  “We’re doing what comes naturally to a man and woman.”

  “To you, maybe.” She looked at her hands and realized they were trembling. “I don’t want to do something I’ll regret later.”

  He didn’t know why that should grab him by the heart and tug. But it did. And that worried him. He’d always enjoyed women. All women. And when the attraction ended, as it inevitably had to, he’d always been able to move on with no regrets.

  The thought of that happening with Summer was like a fist in the stomach.

  To cover his confusion he brushed past her and picked up the box of chocolates. “Yeah. I’d hate for you to have any regrets. You take all the time you need, Summer.” He held out the box. “Help yourself. I’m told they’re the next best thing to sex.”

  She chose a chocolate-covered cherry and took a bite, all the while studying his eyes. They looked dark, dangerous. Challenging. “Not a bad substitute.”

  His smile was quick and equally dangerous. “If you believe that, something’s been missing from your life.”

  “And you’d love to be the one to show me.”

  He gave a slight nod of his head. “You’ve got that right.”

  Forcing herself to relax, Summer selected another chocolate. “I think I’ll stick with something safe.”

  “Safe is boring. Sometimes you just have to jump off a cliff and see whether or not you can fly.”

  “This doesn’t sound like Stern Hayes Wheatley’s hotshot young lawyer talking.”

  “Maybe that guy isn’t real.” He set the box of candy aside and took her hand in his.

  She thought about pulling free, but it was too late. He’d already felt the quick jerk of her pulse. Just touching him, her hand was vibrating.

  “You’re shaking, Summer.”

  “You’re playing with my nerves.”

  “It isn’t your nerves I want.”

  “No. It’s my body.”

  “Such a perfect body.” He slid a thumb over her unsteady pulse. “But I’ve decided I want more.”

  “I don’t…”

  “It’s your heart I want, Summer.” He looked up and saw that her eyes were wide with surprise. But she was no more surprised than he was. Where had such thoughts come from? He couldn’t recall ever saying such a thing before. He’d never before wanted more than a quick tumble, a little fun, before moving on to the next challenge.

  Hearts weren’t supposed to be part of the game. His or hers.

  Her head came up in that way he’d come to recognize. Her tone turned frosty. “You know all the right words, don’t you, Cam?”

  “I try.”

  “Well, try this.” She stepped back, breaking contact. Her pulse rate was so unsteady, she wondered if it would ever return to normal. “I’ve never been careless with my heart or my love. I’m not about to start now. So don’t push. I need time. A lot of time. And if you’re a gentleman, you’ll give me the time I need.”

  “You want a gentleman?” He stepped closer and brushed a quick kiss on her cheek. Then, before she could react, he lifted her hand to his mouth and brushed another kiss across her knuckles, then turned her hand palm up, where he placed a kiss inside and closed her fingers to seal it inside.

  “Don’t be fooled by the clothes, Summer. Beneath the designer suit beats the heart of a rebel. I’m afraid that’s about all the gentlemanly behavior I can manage tonight.” He walked to the door. “Thanks for dinner. It was great.”

  As he started down the hall Summer yanked open the door to call, “Will I see you tomorrow?”

  He turned. There was a strange light in his eyes, though she wasn’t certain if was anger or amusement. “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On who you want to see. Your version of a perfect gentlemen? Or the real Cameron Lassiter? The choice is yours.”

  Summer listened as his footsteps faded. She closed the door and leaned against it, letting that scene on the balcony play through her mind.

  She had no doubt where it would have ended if they hadn’t been interrupted by the telephone.

  She honestly couldn’t tell if she was relieved or sorry. But she knew one thing. If Cam ever kissed her like that again, she wouldn’t have the will to resist. In truth, she wanted the same thing he did.

  At the moment she was feeling more confused than ever. And miserably unhappy.

  Chapter 9

  Cam rolled off the sofa and made his way to the kitchen, where he plugged in the coffeemaker. The decorator had arranged the appliances tastefully, to blend with the gleaming kitchen counters. Not a speck of dust marred the marble floor.

  He took no notice of his spotless surroundings.

  He’d wanted to be alone last night. And so he’d come to his new house. Aware that the bedroom set still hadn’t been delivered, he’d settled down on the plush sofa. Instead of sleeping, he’d passed the time reading Alfonso Johnson’s court transcripts. He’d wanted, more than anything, to find them clean. He wanted the man to be, in his own mind, guilty without a doubt, so that he could get back to work at Stern Hayes Wheatley without any more distractions.

  Instead he’d found vague questions forming in his mind while reading through the pages and pages of testimony. A police informant had fingered Alfonso Johnson as the triggerman in the robbery gone wrong. The informant, up on drug charges, had his sentence reduced after cooperating with the investigators.

  Cam knew how that worked. Over the years he’d found that more than half the informants would say whatever they were coached to say in order to get favorable treatment from the courts.

  Then there were Alfonso’s wife and mother, openly hostile to one another, each refuting the other’s testimony until the authorities had been unable to believe either one of them.

  When the coffee was ready Cam filled a mug and leaned a hip against the counter, deep in thought. It looked like he was about to do the one thing he’d been trying to avoid at all costs.

  He picked up his cell phone and dialed his mother’s number.

  “Hello.”

  How could anyone sound that cheerful so early in the morning?

  “Mom.” He could hear the cla
tter of pots and pans in the background and despite his grim mood found himself smiling.

  “Cameron. Did the bedroom furniture finally arrive?”

  “No. But the sofa’s not bad.”

  “You know you can always sleep here.”

  “I know. But I wanted some quiet time to read Alfonso’s court transcripts.”

  “I see.”

  He heard the silent question and cleared his throat. “I’ve found enough questions to want to look into his case further.”

  “Oh, Cameron.” He could hear the relief in his mother’s voice. And something more. Understanding. “I know how hard this is for you.”

  “Yeah, well, I figure if you can deal with it, so can I.”

  Her tone softened. “Your grandfather wonders if you’ll join us for breakfast.”

  Cam chuckled. “Not a chance. I’m far enough away this morning that he can’t bully me. But I’ll see you both for dinner some time this week.”

  “I’ll tell him.” She paused. “Has Tio’s social worker made a decision yet on whether or not he can stay with his grandmother?”

  “Not yet.” He grinned. “But I’m working on that, too. I’ll talk to you soon.”

  He hung up the phone and stood a moment, debating whether or not to phone Summer. He wanted to hear her voice. Hell, who was he kidding? He wanted her here with him. In his arms. In his bed.

  Annoyed, he walked to the shower. He had a full day ahead of him. The last thing he needed was the vision of Summer playing through his mind when he had to focus on work.

  “Kathy.”

  At the sound of Cam’s voice his assistant paused in the doorway.

  He gave an apologetic grin. “I know I’ve been pushing this morning, but I’m about to ask for more. Would you send a messenger over to the court to get the rest of Alfonso Johnson’s transcripts? I want everything, from his very first trial at the age of sixteen to the one that sent him away for life.”

  She nodded.

  “And I’d like you to phone the prison and request a lawyer-client meeting this afternoon.”

  When she was gone he shoved from his desk and walked to the window where he stared at the pretty paths lined with flowers and flowing with pedestrians without really seeing them. He knew that the prestige of his firm would get him the meeting he requested, even though such things were routinely denied, especially on such short notice. He had no qualms about using that influence when he deemed it necessary.

  Minutes later, when his assistant returned to say that the meeting had been arranged for three o’clock, he acknowledged without turning around.

  He hadn’t wanted to meet Alfonso Johnson. Now he would not only meet him, but be forced to look into the eyes of a man who’d been convicted of killing a police officer. An officer who had, like his own father, given up his life in the line of duty.

  The only reason he was willing to do so was that he had become convinced there was at least a slim chance the man doing time wasn’t guilty.

  Now to prove it to his own satisfaction. One way or the other.

  The sun had long ago set when Cam climbed into his car and started the long drive home. The only good thing about it was that rush-hour traffic had dissolved to a trickle. He had the highway practically to himself.

  He rolled his shirtsleeves and lowered the windows, allowing the evening breeze to fill his lungs. The thing that always bothered him the most about these prison visits was the fetid air. As though it had been sucked up by desperate men, then exhaled over and over, until every breath of stale air he breathed carried the taste of prison.

  As he headed closer to the city he picked up his cell phone and dialed.

  “Hello.” The sound of Summer’s voice had him visibly relaxing.

  “Tell me you’re sitting on your balcony, sipping champagne and nibbling chocolates.”

  “Close.” She laughed, a clear sound that went straight to his heart. “It’s iced tea. And I allowed myself only one chocolate.”

  “I’m not surprised. You always play by the rules, don’t you?”

  Hearing the weariness in his tone, her voice softened. “Where are you, Cam?”

  “On my way home from prison.”

  “You drove Tio to see his father today?”

  “Tio wasn’t with me. I went alone.”

  “I see.” Suddenly alert, she set aside her glass. “Want to tell me why?”

  “To please my mother, I finally read the transcript from Alfonso Johnson’s trial. Then I had my first face-to-face visit with him.”

  “That must mean that you think he’s innocent.”

  “Not at all. It just means I’m not entirely convinced he had a fair trial. There’s a difference, Summer.”

  “What did you think of him?”

  Cam thought about the jolt he’d experienced at their meeting. He’d prepared himself to encounter anger, bitterness, depression. He’d found all that and more. Alfonso Johnson was a simmering cauldron of hatred at the judicial system he felt had betrayed him. He’d seemed genuinely surprised when Cam suggested that he was look ing for legitimate reasons for requesting a new trial, but had offered little in his own defense.

  As the silence dragged on Summer said softly, “You’re tired. Why don’t you come over and I’ll fix a late supper.”

  Cam ran a hand through his hair. “Sorry. Not tonight. I’m hot and sweaty and I smell like prison.”

  “I don’t care about that, Cam. I want to hear everything.”

  He felt an unexpected jolt of pleasure. The truth was, he wanted to share his day with her.

  “I’ll stop by my place and shower and change. I can be there in an hour.”

  “As good as your word. One hour exactly. I like that in a man.” Summer was standing in the doorway of her apartment, looking cool and regal in a long gauzy skirt and midriff top the color of a fresh peach.

  Though she would never admit it, she’d been watching for him for the past twenty minutes.

  “I didn’t want to give you time to change your mind.” He started past her, then stopped and breathed her in. “You smell good. Like roses.”

  Her heart did a hard, quick dip. “And you don’t smell at all like prison.”

  “I showered. Otherwise you’d throw me out.”

  “Not a chance.” She was laughing as she led him toward the kitchen. “I need you to open this bottle of Chardonnay.”

  “Oh, I see. You’ll keep me around only as long as I can be useful.”

  “That’s right.” She handed him a corkscrew while she removed two stem glasses from a cupboard.

  “Is there a reason for this wine?”

  She held the glasses while he removed the cork and began pouring. “From the tone of your voice, I thought you might like to relax for a while on the balcony before you eat.”

  “Yeah.” He touched his glass to hers. “I’d like that. What I’d like even better is to just sit and look at you.”

  As she led him out the door, Summer decided it was what she wanted, too.

  “Now that you’ve had time to reflect, what do you think about Alfonso Johnson?” Summer sat back, sipping hot coffee. Over a leisurely meal on the balcony, she had carefully avoided any mention of Cam’s visit to the prison until she thought he was ready to open up.

  With each passing minute she had watched his energy return, and with it, his good humor.

  Cam went silent, remembering. “I saw the suspicion in his eyes when I told him I was searching for enough compelling evidence to obtain a new trial. As you can imagine, seven years in prison can help a man store up a lot of anger and doubt. He’s not ready to trust me.” Cam ran a hand over his eyes. “But that’s all right, because I’m not ready to trust him, either. We both have a long way to go. I told Alfonso that I needed him to begin writing down everything he could recall about that night. Names. Dates. Even the most insignificant details.”

  Summer rested her chin on her hands. “And he agreed?”

  “Not exactly. H
e said he’d think about it. I told him not to think about it too long. Justice is notoriously slow, especially in granting another trial to a man convicted by a jury of his peers. To make him more amenable I promised him that if Tio doesn’t miss any classes this week I’ll drive him up for a visit.”

  “How did he respond to that?”

  “He didn’t say anything.” Cam’s hands tightened on the stem of his wineglass as he thought about the flare of heat in the man’s eyes. It had been brief. No more than a second. But in that instant there had been such an air of hope mingled with the doubt.

  How would a man, imprisoned for years on a charge that might have been false, react if the courts refused to hear his petition? To save his sanity, a man in that situation wouldn’t allow himself to be tempted with the idea. It was self-preservation to reject it. But in the dark recesses of his heart, even a hardened prisoner like Alfonso Johnson would nurse a flicker of hope. But if Cam should fail, the anger, the resentment, would fester and become even more inflamed.

  He wouldn’t let himself think about that now. He’d taken that first step. But he knew, from experience with cases like this, that there would be miles ahead of him.

  At the mysterious smile on her lips he arched a brow. “Secrets?”

  She shrugged. “Maybe you should ask me about my day.”

  “Sorry.” He reached across the table and took her hand in his. “I’ve been boring you with all this.”

  “I wasn’t bored, Cam. I wanted to hear everything.”

  “And it felt good to share. Now tell me everything about your day.”

  Her smile grew. The touch of his hand on hers was exactly what she’d been craving. “I had planned on turning in my report on Tio today. I’ve decided to recommend, at least for now, that he be allowed to remain with his grandmother.”

  “That’s great, Summer.” He closed her hand between both of his and stared into her eyes. “I hope you aren’t doing this just for me.”

  She shook her head. “I’m doing it because it’s the right thing to do. Tio deserves a chance to know his father. And now that you think Alfonso may get a new trial, it’s even more important that father and son remain in close contact.” Her smile faded slightly. “But I’m afraid there’s a new twist in Tio’s case. There was a letter in the morning’s mail. A letter with no return address, though it bore a Washington, D.C., postmark. The writer claimed to be Tio Johnson’s mother, Jobina, seeking custody of her son.”