Private Lives. Karen Young

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ me and my daughter. It’s difficult when parents can’t share the ups and downs of raising a kid. If you remove Jesse from Gina’s immediate orbit, you’ll have to shoulder most of the responsibility. It can get sticky, take it from me.”

      “I can handle that, too.”

      Ryan took in a long breath and tucked the yellow pad with his notes into the file. “I don’t know, Austin. Unless you can come up with specifics to taint Gina’s character or cast aspersions on her as a mother, this won’t be a cakewalk.”

      “Don’t give me that bullshit, Ryan. You could build a case against Mother Teresa in a courtroom. As for Gina’s faults, she’s got a million. It’s your job to sniff them out.”

      He had two options, Ryan decided, squinting beyond Leggett to the stunning view of Houston’s skyline visible in the floor-to-ceiling windows. He could tell this insensitive prick to get someone else to do his dirty work, or he could show up in court, take a fresh, personal look at Gina and decide in his own mind whether Jesse was better off with her and her unconventional live-in, or with Austin’s mom. In spite of the fact that he’d seen Gina in the office for several years, he knew very little about her. The judge might be someone who frowned on unmarried couples cohabiting, much less having children. But whether the judge would consider that a strike against her remained to be seen. Poor little kid. It was a foregone conclusion that Jesse wasn’t going to have a future with her daddy regardless of the ruling by the court. The sheets were barely cool in the bedroom he’d shared with Gina and Ryan suspected he was already on the scent of a new lover.

      “I’ll put something together about Gina and the witnesses,” Austin said, rising to go. “You can take it from there.”

      Ryan stood up. “Make it good.”

      Ryan handled three more appointments that day before finding time to open the folder containing the material Austin had furnished about Gina. He spent an hour reading Austin’s descriptions of the woman’s behavior over the years. Finishing, he groaned and rubbed both hands over his face. He preferred to avoid cases like this because of the courtroom carnage that resulted when couples decided to part. And once their lawyers got into the act, people who once viewed themselves as fairly well-matched were suddenly accusing each other of being evil incarnate. It had happened to him and Diane when they divorced, and Jennifer had been the victim. In spite of his efforts to provide some stability for his daughter, it had been traumatic for her. She’d been nine at the time. As for Diane, he’d been beyond caring about her then. Discovering her infidelity had killed his love for her outright.

      He fingered the notes he’d taken earlier. Skewed, of course, to Austin’s point of view. He was primed to play hardball and if the allegations he’d made to Ryan were true, there should be little difficulty painting Gina as unstable and unfit. On the other hand, was Austin telling the truth?

      Ryan paged over to the character witnesses. Louis Christian. The folder contained only a single sheet. Retired business consultant, the facts of his career going back fifteen or so years. Property records showed Christian’s house had been purchased three years ago, but Austin hadn’t been successful in ferreting out more details, not even a former address. Also missing was anything potentially damaging that might taint his testimony. A note from Maude Kennedy was clipped to the page. Christian respectfully asked to be deposed rather than to appear in court. Health reasons. With a shrug, Ryan scribbled a note to his secretary to call Maude and agree. If, after reading the deposition he noted anything that sent up a red flag, he’d force the witness to appear in person.

      Ryan set that folder aside and opened the next one with Elizabeth Walker’s name printed on it. He paused for a moment, trying to capture a fleeting memory, but whatever it was danced just out of reach. The top page was a photocopied author bio, courtesy of her publisher, Ryan noted. So she wasn’t just some hack writer playing at writing kids’ books as Austin said. She was multipublished and award-winning. He quickly scanned the basics: born in Houston, graduate of city public schools, a master’s degree from the University of Texas. Brainy and successful, he realized, noting the string of honors mentioned in the bio. Attached to the bio was a photo. Her face was a perfect oval with high, model-quality cheekbones and a mouth that was wide and softly appealing. Kissable. But it was her eyes that caught and held the viewer’s gaze. In the black-and-white photo, they appeared crystallike in clarity, wide apart, the brows naturally arched. The color would have to remain a mystery, but he found himself wondering…blue, gray, hazel? No mention of a husband, siblings, hobbies or other interests in her life. In fact, there was so little personal information that he was suddenly curious.

      Settling back he studied the face of Elizabeth Walker. A woman with a face like that could use it to her advantage. He wondered if she was that kind of woman.

      Turning the photo facedown, he picked up the next item, a newspaper clipping, again photocopied. And recent, too, he noticed, with a glance at the date. A feature article in the Sunday edition of the Chronicle. He didn’t recall reading it himself, but he often played golf on Sunday and sometimes only glanced at the features section of the paper. As he began reading, the vague familiarity he’d been unable to grasp earlier suddenly came into hard focus. He swore softly, reading more intently, his eyes now flying over the words. The publisher’s bio had skipped the juicy stuff, but the Chronicle reporter hadn’t. Ryan shuffled through the pages and came across another photo, one that had been used in the feature. She was pictured in her office sitting at her computer. Live plants with cascading greenery enhanced her work area. She was surrounded by bookcases, all volumes neatly shelved. Small art objects and mementos were tastefully placed around the room. He peered closely at her. This time, she smiled. Too fixed to be natural, he thought. Clearly it had been produced on demand by a photographer.

      He closed the folder and sat back, his frown as dark as the twilight swiftly falling over the skyline. Old pain stirred in his chest. Old rage. According to the article, Elizabeth Walker was the daughter of Judge Matthew Walker, a high-profile figure in Houston politics who’d died in a house fire in the late seventies. But it wasn’t that that interested Ryan. What he recalled about Judge Walker was more personal—Matthew Walker was the man responsible for his father’s death more than twenty-five years ago.

      Three

      “Let’s see if I understand you, Ms. D’Angelo.” Ryan Paxton gave the judge a small smile, two men sharing a male moment. “You claim you were physically abused by my client, not once, but several times during your…relationship?”

      “Yes, that’s right,” Gina said, her tone almost inaudible. Both hands were knotted together in her lap. Elizabeth, watching from the front row in the courtroom, felt Gina’s distress. She looked pale and frightened. If only there was a way she could go to her, put a hand on her shoulder, encourage her with a warm hug. Gina had been right. Ryan Paxton was a barracuda.

      A very attractive, confident, skillful barracuda. Gina’s words, but they were an inadequate description. Elizabeth simply hadn’t been prepared for the force of Ryan Paxton in person. He was younger than the mental image she’d conjured up. Not yet forty, she decided, closer to mid-thirties. Very impressive for the level of his success. He was Texas born and bred, of course, she knew it just from the look of him and the lazy drawl in his voice, although there was nothing lazy about his rapier sharp mind. His legs were long, his body well toned. His suit probably cost a couple of thousand dollars. When he moved around the courtroom—which he did a lot—it was with the rangy ease of a man who might have been born in a saddle. Likely a total misinterpretation, she thought with a quiet little snort. He was probably a lot more at home in Houston’s trendy Sierra Grille than either hunting, fishing or riding in Texas’s hill country.

      “Speak up, please,” the judge ordered sternly.

      The СКАЧАТЬ