Chapter 1
She fidgeted under the intense scrutiny of his deep brown eyes, smoothing her hands over her skirt and shifting in the uncomfortable chair.
"It IS you," he repeated, louder this time, crossing his arms over his chest and lounging on the edge of his battered desk. "I thought I'd never see you again."
She ducked her head guiltily. "I thought the same thing," she murmured. When she raised her eyes to meet his again, his expression was unreadable, unfamiliar to her. But then.she hadn't known him well enough before, and she'd been so foolish, too foolish to catalogue the million different ways his beautiful face expressed emotion. She picked at the file folder in her lap with her French-manicured nails as she pondered what to say next. What exactly should a woman say to a man when she comes face to face with him again three years after leaving without a single, decent goodbye? She couldn't think of anything appropriate so she smoothed her hand over the file in her lap once more and leaned forward, offering it to him.
His brown eyes seemed to be fixated on the large, almost gaudy diamond adorning her finger and the slim wedding band next to it. "You're married?" he asked needlessly, looking into her eyes briefly in surprise before taking the file from her hand.
Her voice sounded soft, strangled to her own ears as she half-nodded, half- shook her head. "Yes. I mean no. I'm filing for divorce," she told him, finally settling on the right answer.
Luis's long fingers closed the folder without glancing over its contents, and he held the folder back out to her. "I don't handle divorce cases," he said simply, walking around the desk and taking a seat in a black vinyl chair. The wheels squeaked and groaned as he settled in comfortably.
"Luis, if you'd just." she began, faltering at his closed-off expression. She started rifling through the folder, scattering papers and sending them floating to the ugly brown carpet below. "If you'd just." she couldn't speak over the lump of desperation rapidly forming in her throat and cutting off her voice. She heard the chair's wheels squeak again and felt his presence behind her. Tears pooled in her blue eyes, clinging to her lashes before falling and slipping down her cheeks. Her breath caught in her throat, and she choked in embarrassment as her hands fumbled around on the floor, gathering the papers and shoving them into a messy pile. Her hands paused in their frantic motions when the glossy edge of a photograph caught her attention, and she pulled it out from beneath the pile.
Paige's sweet dimpled face and almost black eyes were smiling up at her trustingly.
She traced her fingers over the long, red curls, squeezing her eyes shut as she remembered the same black eyes, wounded and hurt as they watched her being taken away three days ago. She couldn't fail her. She couldn't live with the memory of those heartbroken eyes.
A teardrop fell from her chin, landing on the picture.
She vaguely remembered crying in front of him before, crying in her tumbler of sherry when he'd come along with his sympathetic brown eyes and offered her a shoulder to cry on instead of a glass of alcohol to cry in.
It was the night they met, and they'd stayed up talking until the wee hours of morning beside an empty Boston Hotel swimming pool.
Luis knelt beside her, and his hand reached for the picture, studying it silently. "Yours?" he asked, holding the picture out for her.
She nodded her head slowly, clasping the picture to her chest as she rose on unsteady feet, unconscious of his supporting hand. "I only want my children. Nobody will help me get them back. You're my last chance, Luis," she whispered. "Please. Help me get them back."
"Children?" Luis queried, laying the folder on his desk. "How many?"
"Two," she answered without hesitation. "Paige and Alex." The knowledge of her children seemed to astonish him more than the previous revelation of her married or soon-to-be-divorced status, and something akin to accusation flickered quickly across his face, so quickly she wasn't wholly certain she hadn't imagined it.
"Children and a husband." he said, shaking his head lightly as he lifted a sheet from the file in his hands and scanned it. His dark orbs widened, and he drew in a sharp breath, snatching up the folder and thrusting it back at her.
The hope that had started to build, piece by tiny piece since he'd seen and reacted to Paige's picture, died within her, and she couldn't keep her face from falling with disappointment. He'd seen it. No doubt, he'd seen Richard's name and decided he wanted nothing further to do with her or this case. "Luis."
"I don't do custody cases," he informed her, not daring to meet her eyes as he turned his back on her. "I wouldn't be much help. No experience.I have too many clients right now to take you on."
Sudden anger sprang within her along with utter disbelief. If he was going to refuse her with lies, the least he could do was look her in the eyes while he was doing it. Her hand shot out, grabbing his forearm, and she jerked it back as he whirled around, obviously just as stunned as she at the electric current that crackled between them. "Exactly what kind of law do you practice? You don't handle divorce proceedings. You don't want to get tangled up in custody battles. You don't want to get involved. That's it, isn't it?"
The muscle in his jaw jumped as he stared at her, the sudden fire blazing in her blue eyes, and his mouth hardened into silence.
"You don't want to get involved with me again," she surmised, recognizing without being told or referencing the few expressions she'd catalogued from the short time they knew each other in Boston the flare of anger in his eyes, his stance. "You hardly have too many clients. By the looks of things, you're barely scraping by. If it's money you want," she spat, digging through her pocket book and tossing everything, every bill and credit card she had, at him, "I'll give it to you. I'll give you everything. I'll do anything."
"Give me one good reason why I should help you. I don't even know you," he said, clenching and unclenching his jaw. "You pop back into my life and expect me to help you, the lying, no-good daughter of Alistair Crane," he gritted out. "Give me one good reason I should help any of his when he's done nothing but take away from me and my family."
Sheridan's mouth dropped open in astonishment at the sheer hatred and venom directed toward her father, and her as an extension of her father, not just the woman who was too much of a coward to say goodbye. She felt the burst of anger die down with his condemnations, and tears of defeat stung her sore eyes once more. "Your reason," she cried, shoving the picture against his chest.
Luis stared after her as she stalked away, flinging his office door open and stumbling out of the doors into the flurry of snow without bothering to grab her cape.
Theresa dropped the phone in her hand and stared dumbly after her for a split second before rushing out behind her, forgotten cape in hand.
Luis listened as the tinkle of the bells faded, and he pulled the crumpled picture back and stared into the eyes of a child.
Guilt rolled in like a wave.
She fidgeted under the intense scrutiny of his deep brown eyes, smoothing her hands over her skirt and shifting in the uncomfortable chair.
"It IS you," he repeated, louder this time, crossing his arms over his chest and lounging on the edge of his battered desk. "I thought I'd never see you again."
She ducked her head guiltily. "I thought the same thing," she murmured. When she raised her eyes to meet his again, his expression was unreadable, unfamiliar to her. But then.she hadn't known him well enough before, and she'd been so foolish, too foolish to catalogue the million different ways his beautiful face expressed emotion. She picked at the file folder in her lap with her French-manicured nails as she pondered what to say next. What exactly should a woman say to a man when she comes face to face with him again three years after leaving without a single, decent goodbye? She couldn't think of anything appropriate so she smoothed her hand over the file in her lap once more and leaned forward, offering it to him.
His brown eyes seemed to be fixated on the large, almost gaudy diamond adorning her finger and the slim wedding band next to it. "You're married?" he asked needlessly, looking into her eyes briefly in surprise before taking the file from her hand.
Her voice sounded soft, strangled to her own ears as she half-nodded, half- shook her head. "Yes. I mean no. I'm filing for divorce," she told him, finally settling on the right answer.
Luis's long fingers closed the folder without glancing over its contents, and he held the folder back out to her. "I don't handle divorce cases," he said simply, walking around the desk and taking a seat in a black vinyl chair. The wheels squeaked and groaned as he settled in comfortably.
"Luis, if you'd just." she began, faltering at his closed-off expression. She started rifling through the folder, scattering papers and sending them floating to the ugly brown carpet below. "If you'd just." she couldn't speak over the lump of desperation rapidly forming in her throat and cutting off her voice. She heard the chair's wheels squeak again and felt his presence behind her. Tears pooled in her blue eyes, clinging to her lashes before falling and slipping down her cheeks. Her breath caught in her throat, and she choked in embarrassment as her hands fumbled around on the floor, gathering the papers and shoving them into a messy pile. Her hands paused in their frantic motions when the glossy edge of a photograph caught her attention, and she pulled it out from beneath the pile.
Paige's sweet dimpled face and almost black eyes were smiling up at her trustingly.
She traced her fingers over the long, red curls, squeezing her eyes shut as she remembered the same black eyes, wounded and hurt as they watched her being taken away three days ago. She couldn't fail her. She couldn't live with the memory of those heartbroken eyes.
A teardrop fell from her chin, landing on the picture.
She vaguely remembered crying in front of him before, crying in her tumbler of sherry when he'd come along with his sympathetic brown eyes and offered her a shoulder to cry on instead of a glass of alcohol to cry in.
It was the night they met, and they'd stayed up talking until the wee hours of morning beside an empty Boston Hotel swimming pool.
Luis knelt beside her, and his hand reached for the picture, studying it silently. "Yours?" he asked, holding the picture out for her.
She nodded her head slowly, clasping the picture to her chest as she rose on unsteady feet, unconscious of his supporting hand. "I only want my children. Nobody will help me get them back. You're my last chance, Luis," she whispered. "Please. Help me get them back."
"Children?" Luis queried, laying the folder on his desk. "How many?"
"Two," she answered without hesitation. "Paige and Alex." The knowledge of her children seemed to astonish him more than the previous revelation of her married or soon-to-be-divorced status, and something akin to accusation flickered quickly across his face, so quickly she wasn't wholly certain she hadn't imagined it.
"Children and a husband." he said, shaking his head lightly as he lifted a sheet from the file in his hands and scanned it. His dark orbs widened, and he drew in a sharp breath, snatching up the folder and thrusting it back at her.
The hope that had started to build, piece by tiny piece since he'd seen and reacted to Paige's picture, died within her, and she couldn't keep her face from falling with disappointment. He'd seen it. No doubt, he'd seen Richard's name and decided he wanted nothing further to do with her or this case. "Luis."
"I don't do custody cases," he informed her, not daring to meet her eyes as he turned his back on her. "I wouldn't be much help. No experience.I have too many clients right now to take you on."
Sudden anger sprang within her along with utter disbelief. If he was going to refuse her with lies, the least he could do was look her in the eyes while he was doing it. Her hand shot out, grabbing his forearm, and she jerked it back as he whirled around, obviously just as stunned as she at the electric current that crackled between them. "Exactly what kind of law do you practice? You don't handle divorce proceedings. You don't want to get tangled up in custody battles. You don't want to get involved. That's it, isn't it?"
The muscle in his jaw jumped as he stared at her, the sudden fire blazing in her blue eyes, and his mouth hardened into silence.
"You don't want to get involved with me again," she surmised, recognizing without being told or referencing the few expressions she'd catalogued from the short time they knew each other in Boston the flare of anger in his eyes, his stance. "You hardly have too many clients. By the looks of things, you're barely scraping by. If it's money you want," she spat, digging through her pocket book and tossing everything, every bill and credit card she had, at him, "I'll give it to you. I'll give you everything. I'll do anything."
"Give me one good reason why I should help you. I don't even know you," he said, clenching and unclenching his jaw. "You pop back into my life and expect me to help you, the lying, no-good daughter of Alistair Crane," he gritted out. "Give me one good reason I should help any of his when he's done nothing but take away from me and my family."
Sheridan's mouth dropped open in astonishment at the sheer hatred and venom directed toward her father, and her as an extension of her father, not just the woman who was too much of a coward to say goodbye. She felt the burst of anger die down with his condemnations, and tears of defeat stung her sore eyes once more. "Your reason," she cried, shoving the picture against his chest.
Luis stared after her as she stalked away, flinging his office door open and stumbling out of the doors into the flurry of snow without bothering to grab her cape.
Theresa dropped the phone in her hand and stared dumbly after her for a split second before rushing out behind her, forgotten cape in hand.
Luis listened as the tinkle of the bells faded, and he pulled the crumpled picture back and stared into the eyes of a child.
Guilt rolled in like a wave.