“I guess you were right, Rebekkah. That sermon tonight was for both of us.

“You pray for me and I’ll pray for you,” André went on, “and we’ll believe that God can bring a reconciliation about. How’s that?”

Rebekkah nodded. “Better be careful what you pray for, André.”

André smiled. “Oh, I am. Believe me, I am.”

And he was certain he was going to be praying for God to help him find more time to spend around this woman….

CHERYL WOLVERTON

RITA Award finalist Cheryl Wolverton has well over a dozen books to her name. Her very popular HILL CREEK, TEXAS series has been a finalist in many contests. Cheryl grew up in Oklahoma, lived in Kentucky, Texas and now Louisiana, but she and her husband of twenty years and their two children, Jeremiah and Christina, consider themselves Oklahomans who have been transplanted to grow and flourish in the South. Readers are always welcome to contact her via: P.O. Box 207, Slaughter, LA 70777 or e-mail at Cheryl@cherylwolverton.com. You can also visit her Web site at www.cherylwolverton.com.

In Search of a Hero
Cheryl Wolverton

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Jesus looked at them and said, “With man this is impossible, but with God all things are possible.”

—Matthew 19:26

Mom—It’s been 12 books and you’re still reading them and even tickled with all of the overseas copies. Thank you for your support. I love you.

Anita, you had no idea how wonderful Titan could be. Now you’ll have to watch for your new baby, Katie, in a book! I love you.

To my other siblings, Deb and James, thanks for telling me you like my books!

To my family, Steve, Christina, Jeremiah and the unofficial family Darrell Stevens (who might as well be family the way he lives over here—grin) and in-laws Phyllis, Me Maw, John, John II, Michelle, Ross, Diana, Leigh and Randy.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Epilogue

Letter to Reader

Prologue

The information was out in the open again.

She had been told it wouldn’t be found, that it was buried for good. With her help, they’d managed to cover everything up.

Why had she done it?

She should have let them take their chances, but at the time, it had seemed like the right thing to do. The right way to go.

Hanging up the phone, she turned, sighing and heading toward the stairs. “What am I going to do? This will ruin everything!”

She didn’t see the shadow of a person she passed on her way upstairs.

Chapter One

The sweltering heat of the humid Texas night clung to André Watson as he lounged on the bench in Colundra Park in the downtown city of Hamilton. He waited for the meeting his contact had set up.

He wondered just how out of the ordinary he looked in the khaki pants and dark green polo shirt. Especially at this time of night.

Twisting his arm, he again checked his watch. Nearly ten.

Two years ago André had thought by this time he’d be married, settled down and on his way to having children with Sarah. Sarah whom his father had deceived, Sarah who had hit rock bottom and ended up at her brother-in-law’s house, Sarah who had married Justin and had a seven-year-old niece-step-daughter and now, through modern miracles, had her own child on the way.

He’d lost Sarah, left the family business and started out on his own, a business dedicated to helping the poor, the needy, not the rich class like his father did. Two years ago seemed like a lifetime.

A lifetime in which he had catered to the rich, not the poor—which was why he sat here now at nearly ten on a Friday night. Had he not started his own business after his father had ruined his engagement to Sarah he would be at home now, watching TV, getting ready to go to bed for the night and maybe play a round of golf in the morning…

So many things had changed. Looking back, he wondered how he’d been so shallow and empty and not seen it.

He would never have been caught dead out this time of night to meet a contact. And not in this part of the town.

André glanced at the overhead light, one of many that dotted the cement path winding its way through the huge park. He again told himself he was doing the right thing. He’d let go of Sarah, wishing her well with the man who had stolen her heart. He’d even, to a point, admitted the only reason he’d dated Sarah was he’d been in love with the idea of settling down and having children. He’d been searching for something to fill his emptiness—he’d just been searching in the wrong area. Sarah hadn’t been for him.

He’d even forgiven his stepbrother who, though he hadn’t worked full-time in the business at that time, had sided with his father over the firing of Sarah.

What he couldn’t forgive was his father’s actions or get over the hurt his father had caused by refusing to admit that what he’d done was wrong.

A sluggish wind whispered through the bushes, moving the humid air around in the suburb that was well outside the Fort Worth Dallas area. It did nothing to cool him off as he shifted impatiently.

Tailor-made suits had given way to khakis and jeans as he’d moved into the slums to represent the less fortunate. It seemed like another lifetime—a lifetime his father enjoyed reminding him of as he insisted André get over his snit and come back to work for him.

But André refused, for many reasons, the least of which was his father wouldn’t admit he had been wrong. So here he sat, waiting in the semidarkness, sweat trickling down his back, wishing the hundred-degree heat would finally break and bring some relief to the area.

He was waiting on a contact that had information on something that would really interest him, or so he’d been told. What it was he couldn’t imagine, but many contacts in the past had come through for him, especially the one he was waiting on, so he wouldn’t leave until the tardy man showed up. The slight sound of sneakers on cement caught his attention, drawing his gaze to his unhurried contact.

“Hey, man, you been waiting long?”

André heard the drawl of Billy Redford as he came idling up. Tall and slim, Billy wore pants that were way too big, held up with a belt cinched in around his middle, and a tank top that had seen better days. The cap on his head was turned, the bill pointed down and to the right—always the same direction, same color, same tilt to the hat. Billy dropped down on the bench next to André.

“What do you think, Billy? We were supposed to meet thirty minutes ago,” he said impatiently. It was too hot to be impatient, he realized, and glanced across the park, willing himself to relax. Billy had good information. He usually did. Getting upset wouldn’t hurry the man. More than likely it would slow him down.

Few people could be seen wandering the park. In the distance he heard the occasional horn or someone’s loud laughter that broke through the night. Other than that, it was eerily quiet. Most couples, and singles for that matter, traveled into Fort Worth for the evening on a Friday night.

“I got caught up, man. You know you didn’t have to wait. A man with the color of your skin this time of night could just get himself into major trouble out here, ya know?”

“I live in this neighborhood now, Billy. I doubt because I’m Caucasian anyone is going to pick me off.” Of course, that wasn’t necessarily true, André thought, but he wouldn’t admit that to Billy. He wanted to help in the lower income area. He ignored the voice that said he still had bitterness toward his father that had partially been responsible for landing him where he now practiced.

Billy never met André’s eyes, his gaze constantly roving as he reached under his shirt and pulled out a manila folder, dropping it between them. That’s how Billy was. He was never still, always moving, his gaze never settling on one thing. Tall, slender, black, he was at least five years André’s senior.

And he was right. André needn’t have waited, except he had nothing at home waiting for him, no one there to welcome him, nothing at all. “Yeah, well,” André countered, “you said it was important. Your client was sure I’d want this.”

André lifted the folder to look in it, but Billy stopped him. “Where’s my payment?”

“I see the goods, you get paid,” André replied mildly, thinking they went through this every time Billy brought him information. It was standard practice.

Billy released the envelope. “I think you’ll find some interesting stuff in there.”

“Reading the mail again?” André murmured as he opened the papers to peruse just what was in them.

“Nah. But I have ears.”

“This life is gonna get you in trouble one day, Billy. You need to go legit,” André said and then sat forward as he realized what the papers covered.

“My money?” Billy prompted.

“Who gave you this stuff?” André demanded, his gaze going to Billy, his heart starting to hammer loud in his ears.

“Hey, that ain’t part of the deal, man,” Billy protested. “I can’t reveal my sources. I just deliver the goods and get paid.”

“This is different.” To André, at least, it was. This was about him, about his father, about the past.

“Not to me it ain’t,” Billy muttered. “I tell on my sources, I don’t get the business.”

André forced himself to calm down and pulled an envelope from his back pocket “Tell your contact I want to meet him.”

“I’ll do that,” Billy said, snatching the envelope. Just as quickly it disappeared from his hand under his shirt. Billy hurried off, leaving André sitting there holding the information that might just prove that his almighty father wasn’t perfect. That he could make mistakes. Of course, if it was true, it could also ruin his reputation, but all André could think about was the fact this might finally make his dad see things differently. It might finally make him admit he could be wrong.

But how?

André continued to sit there and stare at the information until an idea bloomed in the back of his mind, an idea that he didn’t really cotton to at first as it crawled up and presented itself, but an idea just the same. It was an idea that, as he forced himself to look at it and examine it objectively, might really work.

If André could only get his dad to go along with him.

And if the information wasn’t simply a pack of lies. Either way, this was something that couldn’t be ignored, and whether André liked the idea or not, it was a way to find out if this information was the truth.

His dad would probably love his plan.

André wasn’t sure how he felt about it.

But to see his family name like this, in these papers, and the consequences it would cause if it were true…

He had to do it.

Chapter Two

“Your father is busy. Is there something I can help you with?”

Rebekkah Hawkley stood poised by the elevators, ready to deter André Watson from going into his father’s office, if at all possible. She hated it when André showed up. He always put Drydan in such a foul mood, and then she had to work with an angry man for the rest of the day.

“Hello, Rebekkah,” André murmured with a smile, turning on the charm that usually got him past the secretaries in the building. Had Wanda not contacted Rebekkah, André would probably have made it all the way past Shirley and Mary and be in there right now, once again arguing with his father about some silly case.

The smile he had could warm anyone to his way of thinking if they weren’t careful. She’d seen him use it on jurors before. Tall, slender, golden hair like his mother, Margaret DuMoiré Watson, André had had it all, until he had a falling out with his father.

“Hello, André,” she replied and waited to see what he would say next.

She’d heard the story of what happened with his father. Supposedly, Drydan had fired André’s fiancée worried that André had taken time off to avoid seeing Sarah for some reason. Some sort of problem between the two had rocked the foundation of their relationship, according to office talk.

Drydan worried about his son and had thought he was helping him. But André had reacted in anger, leaving the practice, breaking Drydan and Margaret’s heart. The only good thing that had come of it was that it left an opening for an up-and-coming lawyer—her—and had gotten Drydan’s stepson, Michael, more involved in the business. He wasn’t a lawyer, but he did assist in research and such for Drydan—he had for nearly seven years now, since he’d come to live with the Watsons. After the falling out between André and his father, Michael had gone to work full-time for his father.

“Tell me, Rebekkah, are you still gofering for my father?”

Rebekkah’s eyes narrowed. André was great at distractions. He got to know his opponent and knew how to attack. That’s what made him a good lawyer. Unfortunately, it had made him cynical in many ways, too, she believed. “You know I don’t gofer for anyone, André. I’m a lawyer in my own right, and your father respects that.”

André snorted. “Yeah. Just like he does me.”

“You know he only wants you back in the business,” Rebekkah argued. “That’s why he’s always on you to get out of the inner city.” Sighing with exasperation she asked, “Why do you come here to cause Drydan problems? Your constant attacks wear him down.”

André at least, had the grace to shift uncomfortably. In khaki pants and light blue shirt with the sleeves rolled halfway up, André even looked good when he was uneasy. That unsettled her, as well. He shouldn’t look so good. However, she was glad she’d scored a point and ruffled that calm exterior. It gave her a feeling of control, something she rarely felt when André Watson was in the same room.

Or she thought she had scored a small triumph until he continued. “You’re naive, Rebekkah. You can’t believe everything Pastor Jacob says about forgiveness. Sometimes things have to be taken into our own hands.”

Sadly, she shook her head. So much for thinking she had unsettled him. He still thought of her as the green kid at the firm, the one who didn’t know what Drydan was really like. “You’re too bitter, André.” Stubbornly she added, “I think I’ll have a talk with Jacob Sunday and mention he should take a small amount of time to preach forgiveness again.” She paused significantly then added, “If you agree to show up, that is.” It concerned Drydan that André rarely went to church. At least Drydan seemed to have changed and cared more since he lost André to his own practice.

André shrugged. “Talk to Jacob?” he asked mildly. She knew he saw right through her lie. She had never been able to bluff André. She’d known him impersonally for nearly six months, and yet he still had the capacity to drive her crazy. He was a good man except for the blind spot he had about his father. “I go sometimes,” André said, absently waving off her comment.

He was a good man except for his blind spot about his father and church, she amended.

Abruptly André’s tone changed. “Believe it or not, Rebekkah, I’m not here to argue with my father but to work on a case we have to reopen.”

Rebekkah gaped at André trying to determine if she’d heard the man right. Finally, when she recovered her voice, she asked, “You’re going to work for your father?”

“Isn’t that what I just said?” he murmured, that smirking little smile appearing as his head tilted down toward her slightly and his eyebrows transformed into that certain angle as he gave her a superior look.

Using the time to smooth her peach jacket and straight skirt, Rebekkah regrouped. “I don’t believe it.”

“Why don’t you come with me to Dad’s office and you’ll find out if I’m telling the truth.” He baited her knowing how she had planned to turn him down the hall in another direction, to another office, anywhere but Drydan’s. However, what would he do if she called his bluff?

“You don’t think I will, do you?” She hated the way this cool, calm golden boy always rattled her.

Slipping his hands in his pockets, he said, “I’m hoping you will.”

She studied him, trying to discern the truth behind the neutral gaze he leveled at her. Was he serious? Did he really plan to come to work for his father again? Or was this simply a trick to see his dad? She couldn’t remember a time both hadn’t ended up in an argument.

Why couldn’t André accept that his dad had changed since the day his son had left? Though Rebekkah hadn’t known him well then, she did know that losing Andréashe had caused a wound within him. A wound that couldn’t heal because they couldn’t talk out the problem. She knew André still wasn’t over Sarah. She’d heard through the grapevine how he avoided places she frequented. He told everyone he was over it, but his hate toward his father supported a different story. Which brought her back to André’s motivations. Was he really interested in just talking this time?

There was no telling how long they would have stood in a face-off if they hadn’t been interrupted.

“Well, well, if it’s not the prodigal brother returned, not to rejoice, however, but to slink into the fold like a wolf hunting more prey.”

Rebekkah winced at Michael’s words.

“Well, hello to you, too, brother,” André drawled.

There was certainly no love lost between the two brothers, Rebekkah thought, exasperated with how this meeting had changed into a confrontation of kin. At least this fight wasn’t on André’s side, Rebekkah reminded herself wearily. Michael didn’t care at all for Drydan’s son, who seemed to always get preferential choice over the stepson. André acted as if he had no idea that it bothered Michael at all.

“How are you doing, Michael?” André smiled benignly at the other golden boy in the office, as Rebekkah thought of him. Michael looked much like André in color and build. The only real differences were the square jaw and the dark brown eyes instead of the deep piercing silver gray ones that André had. There was no doubt both were Margaret’s children. The smoother lines of André’s facial structure, aristocratic nose and silver gray eyes came from Drydan.

“Actually, I was doing great until I heard you had come here to harass your father again.”

Rebekkah noted how some of the employees down the hall seemed to be migrating toward them—obviously to see a family feud in progress. Rebekkah decided to put a stop to it right here and now. Part of her job was to keep Drydan happy. Knowing his employees were getting an eyeful in his firm wasn’t going to bring that about. “He’s here to help his father, he says, Michael. Why don’t we go talk with Drydan?” she offered, turning to André and drawing his attention to her.

“I thought you’d never ask,” André replied and gave her a sweet smile.

Michael showed his disgust with the curling of his lip.

“Michael,” she said, “I need that report on the Keller Water Treatment Facility and how that case turned out—in detail. I’m going to trial in a few weeks and have decided to use the Muller versus the City of Keller case as precedent. Can you do a workup for me?”

Michael hesitated then nodded curtly. “Sure thing, Rebekkah.” Leveling one last disgusted look at his stepbrother, Michael turned and left.

“Looks like he’s as happy as ever,” André murmured as he started down the long carpeted hall toward his father’s office.

“He’s just gotten used to working full-time here, André. He’s settled in,” Rebekkah said quietly. They passed the tall mirrors and portraits of others who had once worked in the office, as well as doors that led to secretaries and legal assistants. Though they were a small firm by many standards, they were the largest firm outside the Fort Worth firms. Cherry-wood tables with floral arrangements dotted the hall as they approached Drydan’s office. “I imagine Michael worries that you’ll come waltzing back into the firm, and he’ll no longer be the number one son.”

André sighed. “I don’t think of Michael like that. True, I didn’t know him most of my life until his father died and he moved in with us, but I’ve always accepted him.”

Rebekkah strolled along beside André, her worry over André’s desire to confront his father shifting to André’s situation with his brother. “I know you have. I think it’s something Michael will have to work through. Be patient.” With a nod they passed the private secretary’s desk.

“Trying to comfort me?” André asked mildly, pausing outside Drydan’s office door.

Rebekkah bristled. Turning to meet his gaze, she replied, “No way. You have too many women around here that would love to do that. I’m simply pointing out the Christian thing to do.”

André chuckled. “The Christian thing. Something you aren’t going to let me forget, are you, Rebekkah, love?”

She reached for the handle of one of the double doors then smiled sweetly—too sweetly. “Not a chance. It gives me great pleasure to remind you daily about forgiveness.” Turning, she pushed the door open, a smile on her dark face. “Drydan, your son is here to see you.”

Chapter Three

“André what brings you here?” Drydan studied his son carefully, the wariness showing plainly on his face.

André noted Rebekkah come into the office with him, closing the door after she was in. He knew his father didn’t need moral support, but he had to hand it to Rebekkah. She was loyal.

“Hello, Father. We need to talk.”

“If you’ve come to argue, son—” Drydan began.

“Not at all,” André said, and crossed the carpeted floor to drop into a plush maroon brocaded chair in front of his father’s desk. André had grown up in these offices. From the time his father had been an associate until he’d bought out the major shares and run the entire law firm, André had played in these halls. His only desire had been to one day be at his father’s side, cleaning up the world for good people to live. As he’d grown up here, he’d learned all about the business. They had lawyers that specialized in all kinds of things. André had decided early on he wanted to work with civil law. And he had seen that dream come true. He had enjoyed it…most of the time. Except when his father started to insist things be done a certain way, that they could only take high-profile cases and on and on. In actuality, leaving had given him freedom he hadn’t had at Watson and Watson.

“André said he had a proposal to discuss with you,” Rebekkah prompted as she moved beside André and seated herself in the other chair.

She really was a pretty young woman, her black hair hanging straight and curling slightly under on the ends. She was tall, willowy and slender, and her dark brown eyes and smooth complexion reminded him of a pampered socialite instead of a lawyer. Rebekkah was very careful of her appearance. Reluctantly, he returned his attention to his father. Though he was here and planned to bring up something that he hoped would eventually force his father’s hand, he couldn’t help the feelings deep within that reminded him this was his father, the man who had raised him.

His life hadn’t been bad like it had for some of his clients, who often told him their stories. His father simply insisted on complete control. This was unacceptable in many ways. A small part of him, the part that had grown up loving his father, warned him that if he hurt his father in retaliation for all his father had done, he would hurt himself, as well.

But he had to do it. It had to be done. His dad had to admit this time he’d gone too far. If he could do that without that eternal hurt then fine, otherwise… Pushing that from his mind André shifted and said, “I do, Dad. Remember the Kittering Lumber suit several years back that this firm handled?”

“The Alaska case,” Drydan said. Sitting back in the tall leather chair, he crossed his gray-clad legs. The charcoal gray suit was tailored to his tall figure, and he looked daunting in it, the way he sat just so as if in deep thought. It was a pose André knew well, one his father had grown accustomed to taking when discussing a case. “A group of townspeople was trying to prove the lumber plant was causing cases of cancer.”

“A lumber plant causing cancer?” Rebekkah asked, curiosity rife in her voice.

André allowed his gaze to touch Rebekkah’s. “They treat the wood there. Chemicals were involved. I handled a lot of the work on that case.” André forced his gaze away from Rebekkah and back to his father. André noted he enjoyed looking at her. In church, whenever he went, he’d thought it was simply because she sat nearly directly across from him. However, here she wasn’t sitting across from him. Here she was sitting next to him, showing interest in a case he’d once worked on. Most women wouldn’t care what the case was about, but she did. He saw it in her gaze as it went from his father to him and back. He found that interest challenged him to explain more. However, his father jumped in.

“So what does that have to do with us now?” Drydan asked impatiently. “We proved the group was wrong and our clients had not poisoned the lake in that area. Things ended great, and we still have them as our clients today, bringing in quite a bit of money for us, because of that win.”

André turned to his father. “Word has reached me that someone doctored information. And it seems that there are people out there getting ready to reopen the case.”

Drydan harrumphed. “Nonsense.”

“My sources are fairly certain of this. They warned me that this company and all involved in it are a possible target for suit in a cover-up.”

Drydan paused. The gray-haired man wearing the custom-tailored suit, the man who usually chewed up the competition and spit them out, paused and studied his son. “It’s a ridiculous charge,” he argued, but there was hesitation in his voice.

“You know that and I know that, Dad, but you’re the one who taught me that reputation is important. A high-profile case like this reopening could cause irreparable damage to the company.”

“So why come to me about this? I would think you’d love to see this company go under.”

André stiffened. Here it came. He and his dad couldn’t sit down without it turning into an argument. His dad wouldn’t accept him since he’d left the business. He had to poke at André to provoke him until they ended up arguing. “You know that’s not true, Dad. I only want you to admit you were wrong about firing Sarah.”

“She lied to you.”

André’s lips tightened as the old feelings surfaced, as bitterness rose. “She didn’t lie, she simply hadn’t told me the truth—at first.”

“Same thing,” Drydan said with a wave of his hand.

André’s temper heated even more at that simple dismissal of his feelings.

“I think we should stick to the problem here,” Rebekkah broke in.

Drydan nodded, and André knew now why Rebekkah was there. She was there to run interference over anything his father might not want to get into. Give her a point for initiative. “Right you are, Rebekkah,” Drydan replied.

Though André would like to finish this and somehow force his father to admit he was wrong, he reminded himself to stick with what he was doing. If he could get his dad to admit he was wrong about this case, then maybe… “I worked on that case, Dad. It’s my reputation as much as yours on the line here. I thought perhaps we could work together on this, go back over the information that was presented and check out everything on our end before the case is reopened so we can nip this in the bud.”

“They won’t find anything,” Drydan said, then paused. “But that might be a good idea. Just, um, what did your contact give you to bring you running over here?”

That was his dad, always the lawyer. “An interoffice memo from Kittering Lumber insisting that nothing be said on the subject, and it just so happens to mention Marcus Langley in it as putting out those orders.”

“He is the owner. There’s nothing unusual about that.”

“True, but couple that with the fact that there is a newspaper article saying Marcus knew nothing about what was going on up there. If I remember correctly, he swore that under oath. But this memo was written before the trial. I’m not sure, and it’s flimsy, but someone has decided to go back and revisit the site. My contact also said there is new evidence that has turned up that will prove Kittering’s parent Company, Langley International, did indeed assist in a cover-up.”

“Like what?” His father’s eyes cut sharply to him, intense with his need to know every detail.

“I don’t have that information. The contact only said to go back over the old records and to search deeply before our career ended up ruined.”

Actually, it had said before André’s career was ruined, but his father didn’t know it had been so personal. “What I want to do, Dad, is go back over the old cases, prepare a review on them. I’d like to see what we can find from then until now.”

“Does this mean you’ll be coming back?” his dad asked.

André hesitated. “I’m not giving up my own practice. You could have someone here work with me as a liaison. Someone who can be a go-between.”

“I’d rather you come back here, son.”

“I need to be out on my own,” André argued quietly.

His father’s lips tightened in anger. Then he nodded curtly. “Rebekkah can work with you on this. I’m adding you back on the payroll while you do this, though.”

“Dad…”

“That’s nonnegotiable. If you’re going to help clear up whatever this is then you’re on the payroll.”

Well, that compromise was better than André had hoped for the outcome of this meeting. He had thought his dad might refuse outright unless he came back to work for them. “Thanks, Dad.”

Drydan stood. “Thanks for bringing this to our attention,” he said.

André stood, as well, and headed for the door. “Guess this just might prove you aren’t always right, Dad,” he said.

Drydan flushed.

André continued before his father could comment. “I’ll find all the information I can and get started tomorrow.”

Rebekkah, who had been relatively quiet until now, called, “You will need to check with me about my schedule. I’m in court tomorrow. Perhaps the next day.”

André paused and turned. His eyebrow went up. Surprised, he worked to curb a smile. Though it had been a while since he dated, he knew a rebuke from a woman when he heard one. He should apologize for his presumptuous attitude. She was probably miffed about the shot he’d taken at his father. But instead he baited her. “I can work on it tomorrow while you’re in court.”

“Nonsense,” Drydan said. “If she’s the liaison I want her there with you working.”

Patience, André admonished himself. “Until then,” he said and started toward the door.

“I’ll let you know what time,” Rebekkah called.

Again, André paused, almost at the door. Turning, he met her smug gaze and smiled slowly. “Over dinner, because I’ll be busy all day Tuesday.”

When her smile collapsed and burgeoning surprise showed, he decided he’d scored his point. With a wave, he walked out the door and headed down the hall.

Rebekkah was forceful by nature, but she was going to learn when it came to being a lawyer she was way out of her league with him. He had a job to do and he’d do it.

Chapter Four

Brighton’s was the perfect restaurant for a meeting. Quiet, dark, a place where they could talk and it wouldn’t get out of hand.

Rebekkah liked that.

A lot.

It had taken five calls, four messages and two secretarial meetings before the two worked out their schedules. She could be as stubborn as he could about who would be in charge of this meeting.

Rebekkah felt she’d won. She swung her stocking-clad legs out of her car. Once standing, she shut the door behind her, wondering if André had arrived yet.

He’d wanted to meet at a local café. She’d nixed that idea, wanting to meet at the office over Chinese food—to which he’d said no.

Tan heels clicked across the dark asphalt as she headed toward the front door.

Of course, she’d known he wouldn’t agree to the office. But at a place like this, she was certain he wouldn’t pull any surprises—just what she’d hoped for.

Preparing for their first conversation since the one in Drydan’s office, she had donned her tan linen suit that had darker brown threads woven through it, had pulled back her hair and brought her notebook with briefs on the case. She wanted Andréto know she was there strictly for business.

Why she let him bother her, she wasn’t sure. But every time they were around each other her hackles went up.

As she approached the front of the building, she found her nemesis waiting.

He was dressed to kill, she thought despairingly. Wearing dark brown trousers with a lighter sports jacket, he looked all male.

Rebekkah winced as she realized what the problem was. She was attracted to this man.

She thought him too handsome for his own good.

Great. Physical attraction, she thought, disgusted. At least that was as far as it went. Of course, she didn’t know him well enough for anything else, her mind reminded her—yet.

And that was the way it would stay.

“Good evening, Rebekkah. Shall we?” He motioned toward the door.

This was one thing she could do—court cases. Pulling her mind to that, she nodded. “I’m ready.”

As she passed him, he murmured, “I’m sure you are.”

Turning as they entered, she asked, “What do you mean by that?”

Eyebrows inching up, he said, “You’re the type to do your homework.”

Forcing herself to relax, she nodded.

The maître d’ seated them, and the waitress took their orders. All was quiet before she spoke again.

“I trust you’ve had a good week?”

André smiled. “Never better. I really am beginning to enjoy my business in the inner city.”

“Most people spend their life trying to escape there,” Rebekkah said coolly. “I find it hard to believe you’re enjoying work that pays next to nothing and small-time cases.”

André tilted his head. “Is that how you see it, Rebekkah? That the little people aren’t worth the work? I’m surprised.”

Rebekkah had the grace to blush. “I—” She cleared her throat and continued, “I apologize, André. We once again have gotten off on the wrong foot. Actually, I’ve seen few lawyers who like working in the inner city. Most prefer a challenge that a bigger company represents—as well as the job security. I simply meant it’s hard to believe after working with your father you’d find pleasure living from hand to mouth like that.”

André continued to smile, his hands steepled in front of him as he studied her. “Do you peg all people like this before you get to know them or just me?”

Realizing she had no control over this conversation and wasn’t going to gain control, she shook her head. “Again, I apologize.”

André shook his head slightly. The candlelight brought out the golden tones in his hair and caused his eyes to twinkle with what looked like merriment. “Relax, Rebekkah. You came in here tonight prepared to do battle. I’m not sure why, but let’s call a truce while we’re together. Okay?”

Rebekkah hesitated. “I suppose I’m worried you’re going to hurt your father again.”

André’s smile became strained. “I promise you, Rebekkah, I have no intention of hurting my father. I simply want him to admit he was wrong in breaking up my engagement. But, since we have to work together, I suggest we avoid that subject as much as possible. After all, if I’d wanted to hurt my father, I could have found a much easier way than coming to him with what I’d learned.”

Rebekkah sighed and admitted he was right. Waving a hand, she nodded. “I’ve heard a lot about you, actually,” she confessed.

“My father, I presume, has already flayed me alive?”

Rebekkah shook her head. “Actually, no, André. He’s proud of what you’ve accomplished. But since we are avoiding that subject,” she said softly, “what I meant was in court. I’ve heard you’re competent and usually get what you set out to do.”

André nodded. “I prefer civil cases, though I did assist my father in other areas as needed. I’ve backed off a lot of what I did when I first passed the bars.”

“What you were doing when you were involved in the Kittering case?” Rebekkah asked.

André nodded. “I used to be a trial lawyer,” he admitted.

“I’ve researched the case and come up with a brief outline.”

“It was a simple enough case,” André said, nodding his thanks as the waitress brought their tea and salads. He showed no discomfiture that she had researched a case he’d worked on or that she wanted to get right down to business. “A big company accused of not sticking to the EPA standards and poisoning the land around them. We proved the company was indeed within the bounds of the law.”

“You proved that the poor people who had hired their lawyer didn’t get a very good lawyer,” Rebekkah countered. “Devil’s advocate here,” she added at his sudden scrutiny.

“Ah…well, perhaps.” He played along.

“Enough that it might actually help them win the case if it’s reopened in an appeal?”

André frowned. “Kittering had allegedly caused problems in the Alaskan wilderness with the fishing and water. There was proof that the number of fish the area produced was down. But then, the population was up and many more tourists had visited the area in the previous two years. There were minute amounts of their chemicals in the water, but nothing near what the EPA insisted Kittering keep their levels below.”

“But what about the wildlife?”

Rebekkah said a quick prayer before picking up her fork and taking a bite of salad. André followed suit.

He had elegant hands, not the hands of a worker, but long gentle hands, she noticed. She thought of this Sunday when he’d shown up at church, when his friends had handed him their baby for a moment and how careful he had been. André was different from others she had met. And she knew many other male lawyers. Most were concerned about their careers and climbing the corporate ladder. Many played fast and loose. Rebekkah had clawed her way up that ladder, reveling when Drydan had taken her into the firm, even though she suspected it was to fulfill a minority quota.

She had a chance, at least.

And she wasn’t going to blow it. Yet here sat André, a man raised in elegance, shrugging over his career, calm over the fact this case, if reopened, might damage his reputation and that of his family.

How he could be so at ease, she had no idea.

“If I remember correctly,” André finally said, “there was never any direct proof that the deaths of those animals could be attributed to the drinking of the water—which was what the original lawsuit was about—the water contamination that was causing illnesses to so many in the area.”

“Yes, but what if they’ve found a connection?” she asked. “I’ve gone through all the information I could find on the case. Your client was adamant that they had no idea of the pending lawsuit, thus could not have covered it up.”

“On the day the Langley representative testified, it clearly indicates he didn’t visit the site until after the lawsuit. And then he went up with the intention of finding out the truth,” André said.

Rebekkah took another bite of her salad, frowning. “Is it possible someone forged the interoffice memo to make it look like the company was guilty when they weren’t?”

André set his salad plate and fork aside. “I suppose so. We won’t know until we see it. However, if someone did do that, then they’d surely know it would easily be proven a fake.”

When the waitress appeared with their seafood they both fell silent.

Once she was gone, André continued. “I think it best we go on the assumption this is true and that someone is indeed going to visit the site for some new proof that we don’t know about. I’d like to get to the bottom of this, too, find out if these people lied to us before we represented them.”

“If they did, and it comes out, whether you knew or not, it’s still going to hurt your father terribly.”

André nodded. “It will do that.”

“However, the poor people who’ve lost so many loved ones and fallen ill will have their proof.”

Again, he nodded. “Which would be a good thing for some of them. I saw many at the time who were simply money-grubbing people who saw a chance to get rich. That was one reason I got out of being a trial lawyer. I got burned out really quick seeing the baser nature of people and their greed.”

“Not all poor people are money grabbers,” Rebekkah said softly, her fork pausing by her plate.

“I agree. But we’ve represented many who were. Surely, Rebekkah, you’ve seen that in your experiences with my father’s company.”

Rebekkah’s glance left André speechless.

André wouldn’t let her escape, though. Reaching out, he caught her hand, which lay still on the table.

The warmth jolted her gaze to his. She froze, staring.

He didn’t say anything, just continued to hold her hand.

“Yes, I’ve seen that in your father’s business and in other businesses, as well,” she finally admitted. “But I’ve seen the poor ones, as well, those who couldn’t afford a lawyer and desperately needed help, the ones who weren’t greedy and sought out help only to be turned down because they had no money.”

“Which makes me wonder why you aren’t more supportive of where I work,” he murmured softly.

Realizing what she’d said, she pulled her hand back on the pretense of blotting her lips with the napkin. “If a person works, they can go places and not stay in the world they were born in. Many in the inner city just want to stay there.”

André went back to eating. “Which means you really want to see me help them on their way, I suppose.”

Rebekkah laughed. “You’re good at twisting things around, André.”

“And for a trial lawyer, Rebekkah, you can certainly jump from subject to subject.”

The tension relieved, she smiled. “Simply to keep you confused.”

“Oh, you do that without any problem,” André said.

And she did, André thought, watching the way the woman blinked before smoothing all emotions from her soft complexion.

“So tell me, Rebekkah, what made you want a job like the one at Watson and Watson,” André asked, deciding they’d discussed enough business for the night. He wanted to get to know his new partner better since they would be working together.

“I don’t understand,” she replied carefully. He thought most of her answers were careful, except to him. He’d noticed almost immediately he had the ability to rattle her easily. And he took advantage of it, too. “I mean, fast-paced, high stress, long hours.”

“Oh.” She smiled. The smile changed her features from beautiful to breathtaking. She really was quite a remarkable young woman. He had no idea how she’d stayed single so long, unless it was her sheer doggedness to climb the corporate ladder—something André realized wasn’t worth it when he’d lost Sarah.

“I like the challenge. I love my job. It gives me a chance to challenge my mind and the laws. It also has the possibility of advancement, bigger cases and such.”

“You want to make a name for yourself,” he confirmed.

“I want to make sure I have a firm foundation to stand on and job security.”

“Trusting God helps,” he said.

She frowned. “Figures you’d quote things like that to me.”

“I can’t let you do all the quoting, now, can I?” he asked, enjoying the sparring.

“I saw you were in church Sunday,” she countered.

“I was there, yes. But you didn’t answer my question. Do you trust God to take care of you?”

“I believe a person has to put forth an effort, but yes, God will take care of me.”

“Then it really boils down to you’re running from or to something.”

He’d struck gold with that, if the flash in her eyes was any indication. He wouldn’t push it, though. At least now he had an idea why she seemed so determined to please his father and make a name for herself. “I’ve run, too, Rebekkah,” he said simply. “I still am in some ways, I imagine. But that’s what life is about, trials.”

Tilting her head, she studied him. “Why do you really miss church, André?”

Steepling his hands in front of him, he smiled. “I’m backsliding, or so you say, Rebekkah.”

“I’m wondering if there isn’t more here than meets the eye.”

He grinned. “Maybe you should find out.”

Her cheeks reddened slightly, amusing him. Time to let her off the hook. He found teasing Rebekkah Hawkley too enjoyable. He didn’t want to make her uncomfortable. “Can you get the transcripts together so we can go over them some evening?”

Clearly relieved to be on the subject of work, she pulled out her notebook and flipped through it. “That’s going to be a tall order, but, yes, if you’d like.”

“I’d like it very much. Let’s meet somewhere quieter next time, more private, where we can spread out. Ideas?”

Rebekkah’s brow furrowed, and she nibbled her lip before tentatively offering, “My place?”

He knew she expected him to say no and then they’d haggle like they had over this restaurant. Instead, he nodded. “Sounds fine.”

He hid his smile as she gaped at him. “How about tomorrow night after church?”

“You’ll be at church?”

“If you agree to the meeting afterward,” he replied, smiling. He normally went to a much smaller church on Wednesday night, but he found he enjoyed talking with this woman. There was so much he didn’t know about her. He’d barely scratched the surface and he found himself compelled to dig deeper, get to know her more. Missing one Wednesday night wouldn’t hurt. His friend could take over the class for that night.

“What if I’m busy?” she challenged.

“But you won’t be, will you, Rebekkah? Because you want me to be in church.”

She chuckled. “It’s not my job to see you show up.”

“Nope. But it just might go a long way to helping me heal with my father, hey?”

She groaned.

He chuckled. “If you can’t meet Wednesday, Rebekkah, then any day is fine. I’ll still show up Wednesday night. How’s that?”

“Why?” she asked, true puzzlement on her face.

“Because, Rebekkah Hawkley, you intrigue me, and though I have an engagement on Wednesdays I’ll cancel it just to spend time with you.”

He’d done it again. The woman was gaping. Quickly recovering herself, she replied, “Wednesday is fine for a meeting. I go in late on Thursdays, running errands, so actually that would be the best day.”

He nodded. “Great.” To himself he added, Go ahead and think by agreeing to the Wednesday meeting that you can pretend I didn’t just say I was interested in getting to know you better. However, I’m not going to let you forget.

Crossing swords with Rebekkah was turning out to be quite fun. He found he was looking forward to peeling back another layer of the prickly woman and getting to know the female beneath.

For the first time since leaving his father’s firm, he found his interests lay in the direction of pleasure and amusement instead of revenge.

What an odd, odd world, indeed.

Chapter Five

André was on the case.

With Rebekkah Hawkley.

He’d seen the sparks between the two.

There was more there than simply a case.

This could be used to his advantage.

It would definitely keep André close to the firm.

He would be able to watch the two, know what was going on, hear what was said.

And if they got too close, he’d also be able to make sure the truth didn’t get out.

It was up to him.

And no matter what, he’d see the secret was safe.

“How can I help you?” Rebekkah asked, seating herself in front of Drydan’s desk.

Drydan sat, surrounded by paperwork, gruff and busy. He finished writing something on a notepad and then pushed it aside.

Glancing up, he leaned back in his chair and rested an elbow on the armrest. “How’d the meeting with my son go last night?”

Rebekkah tucked her feet under the edge of the seat and smiled. “We discussed the case and agreed to get together after church tonight to go through the records.”

Drydan scowled. “He’s actually going to church?”

Rebekkah’s smile stayed fixed, though she didn’t feel like keeping it there. “I am getting the feeling there’s a lot more to your son than meets the eye.”

Drydan nodded and seemed to deflate right in front of Rebekkah. “Oh, there is. Believe me. I think the boy has finally decided on a path, and it doesn’t include me.”

Rebekkah took a deep breath. “Perhaps if you give it time…”

Drydan shook his head. “I have. And where has it gotten me? He’s opened up his own practice, works daily to prove how wrong my firm is and specifically how wrong I am.”

Touchy area, Rebekkah thought uneasily. Still, she had become close to Drydan since he’d hired her. Out of all the people she’d ever met, Drydan was more like a father figure to her than anyone else. Though she knew it was touchy, she just had to broach it. “He’s still hurting over losing Sarah.”

“Bushaw.” Drydan used his favorite word when he disagreed with others. “He was in love with the idea of marrying and settling down. It’s obvious. When it came out that Sarah was infertile, if he’d really loved her he wouldn’t have taken off like he did. I simply did him a favor by firing the girl.”

“You know that’s not true, Drydan,” Rebekkah reprimanded lightly.

Defensive, Drydan glared at her. “I was certain she was only out to get his money. At the time I felt it was the right thing to do.”

“Have you ever considered you were wrong?” Rebekkah asked softly.

Drydan shoved his chair back. He shot to his feet and stalked across the room to open a small icebox. Rebekkah waited as he pulled out a bottle of water. Distractedly he twisted off the cap and snagged a glass, which he filled. After tossing a slice of lemon on top of his drink, he only took time to slam the door of the fridge before turning.

“I don’t know.” He finally answered Rebekkah’s question. “You know things have changed since André left. I’ve had time to reconsider my actions, to see many of the areas I’ve messed up in, but André could have trusted that I wasn’t purposely out to destroy his life.”

“Perhaps he is old enough to make his own decisions, Drydan.”

Drydan took a swig of his drink then shrugged. “I know that, but…”

“But you can’t let go?”

He scowled. “I don’t have much choice, do I?”

Rebekkah decided to try a different tack. “Why don’t you tell him that you’ve changed? Tell him about what happened in church and that you’re consciously working to improve your business practices. Tell him that you made a mistake and if he’s amenable, you’re willing to try to start over.”

“Religion is personal,” Drydan argued. “If he can’t see the change in me, then why tell him?”

“Because he’s not working here and not around you enough to see what has taken place in your life,” Rebekkah countered. She stood and moved across the room to where Drydan stood. Resting a hand on his arm, she said, “I know you hired me simply to fill a quota, Drydan. But you’ve given me a chance. You’ve helped me and taught me things that I couldn’t have learned anywhere else. And during that time I like to think we’ve become…well, friends of a sort.”

“You know I think of you more like a daughter than an employee,” he muttered gruffly and then, unable to stand the show of emotion, he crossed the room and started rifling through papers again.

“Well, yes. And I feel the same way. That’s why I have to tell you, Drydan, that you gave me a chance, and I think this thing between your son and you has the ability to heal. But both sides are going to have to give.”

“I’m willing to give,” Drydan retorted.

“I know you are,” Rebekkah soothed. “But maybe not in the areas where he needs you to give.”

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