Falling for Rachel Read online

  “The probation and community service. A responsible adult to look out for him. All the damages paid.”

  “You might not be doing him any favor, Muldoon.”

  “He’s my brother.”

  That she understood perfectly. Rachel cast her eyes skyward as the first drop of rain fell. “I’ve got to get back to the office. If you’ve got the time, you can walk with me. I’ll make some calls, see what I can do.”

  A bar, Rachel thought with a sigh as she tried to put together a rational proposition for the hearing that afternoon. Why did the man have to own a bar? She supposed it suited him—the big shoulders, the big hands, the crooked nose that she assumed had been broken. And, of course, the rough, dark Irish looks that matched his temper.

  But it would have been so much nicer if she could tell the judge that Zackary Muldoon owned a nice men’s shop in midtown. Instead, she was going to ask a judge to hand over the responsibility and the guardianship of a nineteen-year-old boy—with a record and an attitude—to his thirty-two-year-old stepbrother, who ran an East Side bar called Lower the Boom.

  There was a chance, a slim one. The DA was still pushing for names, but the shop owner had been greatly mollified with the promise of settlement. No doubt he’d inflated the price of his merchandise, but that was Muldoon’s problem, not hers.

  She didn’t have much time to persuade the DA that he didn’t want to try Nick as an adult. Taking what information she’d managed to pry out of Zack, she snagged opposing counsel and settled into one of the tiny conference rooms in the courthouse.

  “Come on, Haridan, let’s clean this mess up and save the court’s time and the taxpayers’ money. Putting this kid in jail isn’t the answer.”

  Haridan, balding on top and thick through the middle, eased his bulk into a chair. “It’s my answer, Stanislaski. He’s a punk. A gang member with a history of antisocial behavior.”

  “Some tourist scams and some pushy-shovey.”

  “Assault.”

  “Charges were dropped. Come on, we both know it’s minor-league. He’s minor-league. We’ve got a scared, troubled kid looking for his place with a gang. We want him out of the gang, no question. But jail isn’t the way.” She held up a hand before Haridan could interrupt. “Look, his stepbrother is willing to help—not only by paying for property you have absolutely no proof my client stole, but by taking responsibility. Giving LeBeck a job, a home, supervision. All you have to do is agree to handling LeBeck as a minor.”

  “I want names.”

  “He won’t give them.” Hadn’t she gone back down and harassed Nick for nearly an hour to try to pry one loose? “You can put him away for ten years, and you still won’t get one. So what’s the point? You haven’t got a hardened criminal here—yet. Let’s not make him one.”

  They knocked that back and forth, and Haridan softened. Not out of the goodness of his heart, but because his plate was every bit as full as Rachel’s. He had neither the time nor the energy to pursue one punk kid through the system.

  “I’m not dropping it down from burglary to nighttime breaking and entering.” On that he was going to stand firm, but he would throw her a crumb. “Even if we agree to handle him as a juvie, the judge isn’t going to let him walk with probation.”

  Rachel gathered up her briefcase. “Just leave the judge to me. Who’d we pull?”

  Haridan grinned. “Beckett.”

  Marlene C. Beckett was an eccentric. Like a magician, she pulled unusual sentences out of her judge’s robes as if they were little white rabbits. She was in her midforties, dashingly attractive, with a single streak of white hair that swept through a wavy cap of fire-engine red.

  Personally, Rachel liked her a great deal. Judge Beckett was a staunch feminist and former flower child who had proven that a woman—an unmarried, career-oriented woman—could be successful and intelligent without being abrasive or whiny. She might have been in a man’s world, but Judge Beckett was all woman. Rachel respected her, admired her, even hoped to follow in her footsteps one day.

  She just wished she’d been assigned to another judge.

  As Beckett listened to her unusual plea, Rachel felt her stomach sinking down to her knees. Beckett’s lips were pursed. A bad sign. One perfectly manicured nail was tapping beside the gavel. Rachel caught the judge studying the defendant, and Zack, who sat in the front row behind him.

  “Counselor, you’re saying the defendant will make restitution for all properties lost, and that though the state is agreeable that he be tried as a minor, you don’t want him bound over for trial.”

  “I’m proposing that trial may be waived, Your Honor, given the circumstances. Both the defendant’s mother and stepfather are deceased. His mother died five years ago, when the defendant was fourteen, and his stepfather died last year. Mr. Muldoon is willing and able to take responsibility for his stepbrother. If it please the court, the defense suggests that once restitution is made, and a stable home arranged, a trial would be merely an unproductive way of punishing my client for a mistake he already deeply regrets.”

  With what might have been a snort, Beckett cast a look at Nick. “Do you deeply regret bungling your attempt at burglary, young man?”

  Nick lifted one shoulder and looked surly. A sharp rap on the back of the head from his stepbrother had him snarling. “Sure, I—” He glanced at Rachel. The warning in her eyes did more to make him subside than the smack. “It was stupid.”

  “Undoubtedly,” Judge Beckett agreed. “Mr. Haridan, what is your stand on this?”

  “The district attorney’s office is not willing to drop charges, Your Honor, though we will agree to regard the defendant as a juvenile. An offer to lessen or drop charges was made—if the defendant would provide the names of his accomplices.”

  “You want him to squeal on those he—mistakenly, I’m sure—considers friends?” Beckett lifted a brow at Nick. “No dice?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  She made some sound that Rachel couldn’t interpret, then pointed at Zack. “Stand up…Mr. Muldoon, is it?”

  Ill at ease, Zack did so. “Ma’am? Your Honor?”

  “Where were you when your young brother was getting himself mixed up with the Cobras?”

  “At sea. I was in the navy until two years ago, when I came back to take over my father’s business.”

  “What rank?”

  “Chief petty officer, ma’am.”

  “Mm-hmm…” She took his measure, as a judge and as a woman. “I’ve been in your bar—a few years back. You used to serve an excellent manhattan.”

  Zack grinned. “We still do.”

  “Are you of the opinion, Mr. Muldoon, that you can keep your brother out of trouble and make a responsible citizen of him?”

  “I…I don’t know, but I want a chance to try.”

  Beckett tapped her fingers and sat back. “Have a seat. Ms. Stanislaski, the court is not of the opinion that a trial would be out of place in this matter—”

  “Your Honor—”

  Beckett cut Rachel off with a single gesture. “I haven’t finished. I’m going to set bail at five thousand dollars.”

  This brought on an objection from the DA that was dealt with in exactly the same manner.

  “I’m also going to grant the defendant what we’ll call a provisionary probation. Two months,” Beckett said, folding her hands. “I will set the trial date for two months from today. If during that two-month period the defendant is found to be walking the straight and narrow, is gainfully employed, refrains from associating with known members of the Cobras and has not committed any crime, this court will be amenable to extending that probation, with the likelihood of a suspended sentence.”

  “Your Honor,” Haridan puffed out, “how can we be certain the defendant won’t waltz in here in two months and claim to have upheld the provisions?”

  “Because he will be supervised by an officer of the court, who will serve as co-guardian with Mr. Muldoon for the two-month period. And I
will receive a written report on Mr. LeBeck from that officer.” Beckett’s lips curved. “I think I’m going to enjoy this. Rehabilitation, Mr. Haridan, does not have to be accomplished in prison.”

  Rachel restrained herself from giving Haridan a smug grin. “Thank you, Your Honor.”

  “You’re quite welcome, Counselor. Have your report to me every Friday afternoon, by three.”

  “My…” Rachel blinked, paled, then gaped. “My report? But, Your Honor, you can’t mean for me to supervise Mr. LeBeck.”

  “That is precisely what I mean, Ms. Stanislaski. I believe having a male and a female authority figure will do our Mr. LeBeck a world of good.”

  “Yes, Your Honor, I agree. But…I’m not a social worker.”

  “You’re a public servant, Ms. Stanislaski. So serve.” She rapped her gavel. “Next case.”

  Stunned speechless by the judge’s totally unorthodox ruling, Rachel moved to the back of the courtroom. “Good going, champ,” her brother muttered in her ear. “Now you’ve got yourself hooked good.”

  “How could she do that? I mean, how could she just do that?”

  “Everybody knows she’s a little crazy.” Furious, he swung Rachel out in the hall by an elbow. “There’s no way in holy hell I’m letting you play baby-sitter for that punk. Beckett can’t force you to.”

  “No, of course she can’t.” After dragging a hand through her hair, she shook Alex off. “Stop pulling at me and let me think.”

  “There’s nothing to think about. You’ve got your own family and your own life. Watching over LeBeck is out of the question. And for all you know, that brother of his is just as dangerous. It’s bad enough I have to watch you defend these creeps. No way I’m having you play big sister to one of them.”

  If he’d sympathized with her predicament, she might not have been quite as hasty. If he’d told her she’d gotten a raw deal, she probably would have agreed and set the wheels in motion to negate it. But…

  “You don’t have to watch me do anything, Alexi, and I can play big sister to whomever I choose. Now why don’t you take that big bad badge of yours and go arrest some harmless vagrant.”

  His blood boiled every bit as quickly as hers. “You’re not doing this.”

  “I’ll decide what I’m going to do. Now back off.”

  He cupped a hand firmly on her chin just as she poked it out. “I’ve got a good mind to—”

  “The lady asked you to back off.” Zack’s voice was quiet, like a snake before it strikes. Alex whipped his head around, eyes hot and ready. It took all of his training to prevent himself from throwing the first punch.

  “Keep out of our business.”

  Zack planted his feet and prepared. “I don’t think so.”

  They looked like two snarling dogs about to go for the throat. Rachel pushed her way between them.

  “Stop it right now. This is no way to behave outside a courtroom. Muldoon, is this how you’re going to show Nick responsibility? By picking fights?”

  He didn’t even glance at her, but kept his eyes on Alex. “I don’t like to see women pushed around.”

  “I can take care of myself.” She rounded on her brother. “You’re supposed to be a cop, for heaven’s sake. And here you are acting like a rowdy schoolboy. You think about this. The court believes this is a viable solution, so I’m obligated to try it.”

  “Damn it, Rachel—” Alex’s eyes went flat and cold when Zack stepped forward again. “Pal, you mess with me, or my sister, you’ll be wearing your teeth in a glass by your bedside.”

  “Sister?” Thoughtfully Zack examined one face, then the other. Oh, yes, the family resemblance was strong enough when you took a minute to study them. They both had those wild good looks that came through the blood. His anger cooled instantly. That changed things. He gave Rachel another speculative look. It changed a lot of things.

  “Sorry. I didn’t realize it was a family argument. You go ahead and yell at her all you want.”

  Alex had to fight to keep his lips from twitching. “All right, Rachel, you’re going to listen to me.”

  She had to sigh. Then she had to take his face in her hands and kiss him. “Since when have I ever listened to you? Go away, Alexi. Chase some bad guys. And I’ll have to take a rain check on that movie tonight.”

  There was no arguing with her. There never was. Changing tactics, Alex stared down Zack. “You watch out for her, Muldoon, and watch good. Because while you’re at it, I’m going to be watching you.”

  “Sounds fair. Come by the bar anytime, Officer. First one’s on the house.”

  Muttering under his breath, Alex stalked away. He turned once when Rachel called something out to him in Ukrainian. With a reluctant smile, he shook his head and kept walking.

  “Translation?” Zack asked.

  “Just that I would see him Sunday. Did you pay the bond?”

  “Yeah, they’re going to release him in a minute.” Zack took a moment to reevaluate now that he realized she’d been kissing her brother that morning, not a lover. “I take it your brother isn’t too thrilled to see you tangled up with me and Nick.”

  She gave Zack a long, bland look. “Who is, Muldoon? But since that’s the court ruling, let’s go get started.”

  “Get started?”

  “We’re going to pick up our charge, and you’re going to move him into your apartment.”

  After spending the better part of a decade sharing close quarters with a couple hundred sailors, Zack gave one last wistful thought to the dissolution of his privacy. “Right.” He took Rachel by the arm—a gesture she tried not to resent. “I don’t suppose you’ve got any rope in that briefcase of yours.”

  It wasn’t necessary to tie Nick up to gain his cooperation. But it was close. He sulked. He argued. He swore. By the time they’d walked out of the courthouse to hail a cab, Zack was biting down on fury and Nick had switched his resentment to Rachel.

  “If this is the best deal you could cut, you’d better go back to law school. I’ve got rights, and the first one is to fire you.”

  “Your privilege, LeBeck,” Rachel said, idly checking her watch. “You’re certainly free to seek other counsel, but you can’t fire me as your court-appointed guardian. We’re stuck with each other for the next two months.”

  “That’s bull. If you and that crazy judge think you can cook up—”

  Zack made his move first, but Rachel merely elbowed him out of the way and went toe-to-toe with Nick. “You listen to me, you sorry, spoiled, sulky little jerk. You’ve got two choices—pretending to be a human being for the next eight weeks or going to prison for three years. I don’t give a damn which way you go, but I’ll tell you this. You think you’re tough? You think you’ve got all the answers? You go inside for a week, and with that pretty face of yours the cons will be on you like dogs on fresh meat. You’d be willing to deal then, pal. Believe me, you’d be willing to deal.”

  That shut him up, and Rachel had the added satisfaction of seeing his angry flush die to a sickly pallor. She gestured when a cab swung to the curb. “Your choice, tough guy,” she said, and turned to Zack. “I’ve got work to do. I should be able to clear things up by around seven, then I’ll be by to see how things are going.”

  “I’ll keep dinner warm,” he said with a smirk, then caught her hand before she could walk away. “Thanks. I mean it.” She would have shrugged it off. His hand was hard as rock, calluses over calluses. He grinned. “You’re all right, Counselor. For a broad.” He climbed into the cab behind his brother, sent her a quick salute as they pulled away. “She’s right about you being a jerk, Nick,” Zack said easily. “But you sure as hell picked a lawyer with first-class legs.”

  Nick said nothing, but he did sneak a look out the rear window. He’d noticed Rachel’s legs himself.

  When they arrived at Nick’s room ten minutes later, Zack had to swallow another bout of temper. It wouldn’t do any good to yell at the kid every five minutes. But why in the hell had he pic
ked such a neighborhood?

  Hoods loitering on street corners. Drug deals negotiated out in broad daylight. Hookers already slicked up and stalking their prey. He could smell the stench of overripe garbage and unwashed humanity. His feet crunched on broken glass as they crossed the heaving sidewalk and entered the scarred and graffiti-laden brick building.

  The smells were worse here, trapped inside, where even the fitful September breeze couldn’t reach. Zack maintained his silence as they climbed up three floors, ignoring the shouted arguments behind closed doors and the occasional crash and weeping.

  Nick unlocked the door and stepped into a single room furnished with a sagging iron bed, a broken dresser and a rickety wooden chair braced with a torn phone book. A few heavy-metal posters had been tacked to the stained walls in a pitiful attempt to give the room some personality. Helpless against the rage that geysered inside him, Zack let loose with a string of curses that turned the stale air blue.

  “And what the hell have you been doing with the money I sent home every month when I was at sea? With the salary you were supposed to be earning from the delivery job? You’re living in garbage, Nick. What’s worse, you chose to live in it.”

  Not for a second would Nick have admitted that most of his money had gone into the Cobra treasury. Nor would he have admitted the shame he felt at having Zack see how he lived. “It’s none of your damn business,” he shot back. “This is my place, just like it’s my life. You were never around, were you? Just because you got tired of cruising around on some stupid destroyer doesn’t give you the right to come back here and take over.”

  “I’ve been back two years,” Zack pointed out wearily. “And I spent a year of that watching the old man die. You didn’t bother to come around much, did you?”

  Nick felt a fresh wash of shame, and a deep, desperate sorrow that he was certain Zack could never understand. “He wasn’t my old man.”

  Zack’s head jerked up. Nick’s hands fisted. Violent temper snapped and sizzled in the room. The slightest move would have sparked it into flame. Slowly, effortfully, Zack forced his body to relax.