“Yes, ma’am, I did” He didn’t have to ask, or stop to think about it; he remembered that day all too well. It hadn’t been one of his proudest victories.

“Yes, well…” She had the look of someone who’d taken a bite that tasted nasty but was too polite to spit it out. No choice but to swallow it. “I’ve decided to take it.”

“I see,” Riley murmured, keeping both expression and tone neutral. “So…I’m to assume you are once again in need of an attorney?”

A smile quivered across her lips and was gone. “A good attorney. Isn’t that what you said?”

He allowed himself a chuckle at that “Yes, ma’am, I believe I did. So. You are in need of a good attorney. Well.” He leaned forward, inviting confidence. “That sounds serious. What sort of problem are you havin’, Mrs. Robey? You do know, if it’s anything related to that other matter-”

“It isn’t. At least…I don’t think it is. I don’t know very much about how these things work-legally. Just because you were against me in one case, that doesn’t mean I can’t hire you for something else?” A little crease of determination lodged itself between blue eyes that had suddenly gone bright and fierce.

A tiny shiver of anticipation worked its way down Riley’s spine. “Why don’t you tell me a little bit about the nature of your problem,” he said soothingly, “and then maybe I can tell you whether or not I’m goin’ to be able to help you out”

She drew a deep breath and nodded. He leaned back again, giving her the full force of an attentiveness so focused as to be almost hypnotic-another of Riley Grogan’s gifts. He would listen to and hear every word she said, along with every inflection and nuance, every hesitation and stammer, at the same time he would study her gestures and expressions, every twitch and quiver and blink. And he would forget nothing.

Her face, he decided, was interesting rather than beautiful, which he readily admitted was a subjective assessment, and dependent more on the current standards of beauty as set forth in television sitcoms, movies and fashion magazines than his own personal taste. No doubt her face would be considered too thin, the bones too sharply defined, her eyes too intense. And her mouth… ah, her mouth fascinated him, though not in the usual way, not the way of the lush, ripe-fruit, bee-stung lips that could just about be counted on to make his mouth water and his blood head south. Thin-lipped and intelligent, her mouth seemed never to be still, corners turning up in amusement or down in dismay, quirking sideways in irony, pursing in distaste, quivering and twitching, coiling around each word, molding and shaping it like a sculptor before revealing it to him with a caress of breath…

Astonished to find that his mouth had begun to water and his blood to head south, he gave his head a quick, hard shake.

She stopped instantly, looking nonplussed. “I’m sorry, was there something…?”

“No, I do apologize. I just had a thought. Nothing important-please, go on.”

“Well, you probably know some of this, anyway,” she said with the barely perceptible twitchiness characteristic of those who don’t much like talking about themselves. “About Hal-my husband-cleaning me out financially and then disappearing, and the divorce, and my moving to Georgia. Because of-” she coughed and colored slightly “-the other case.”

It was yet another reminder to him of the way her cheeks had burned with humiliation at their last meeting, and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “You said he has a gambling problem, as I recall.”

He watched her lips as they curled briefly into a smile, then softened with sadness. “Hal was-is-a compulsive gambler, Mr. Grogan. That’s an illness, you know, like alcoholism or drug addiction Living with a compulsive gambler is like living with a heroin addict. You can’t trust them or depend on them for anything, except to let you down. You learn to live with lies and uncertainty, violent mood swings and unexplained absences. You learn to live with worry and fear. You learn to live with the knowledge that the person you love will steal you blind, if you give him the chance, sell you and everything you own, plus his children and his mother, in order to get just one…more…stake.” She stopped there and looked away, her mouth restless.

Riley propped an elbow on the arm of his chair and leaned his chin on his hand, supporting it in a cradle made of his extended fingers. “And yet,” he said softly, “you stayed with him…for how long?”

“Ten years. He was-is-my children’s father,” she said on an exhalation, still not looking at him. “And as lousy a husband and, in most ways, a human being he was, he was a good father. He couldn’t hold a job, so more often than not he was the one who was home with the kids. They adored-they adore him. And he did try to get help. Especially toward the end. He’d joined Gamblers Anonymous and seemed to be doing better. That’s why it was so unexpected-” Her mouth quirked awry. “No-I should have expected it. I just said that, didn’t I? That’s what compulsive gamblers do-let you down. I still should have seen it coming.”

Riley tapped his lips thoughtfully with his little finger. “You keep referring to your husband-”

“Ex,” she corrected him with a bitter smile. “Please.”

He acknowledged that with a nod. “Your ex-husband…in the past tense. Do I assume that to mean you still haven’t heard from him?”

She sat forward, the frown-pleat deep between her eyes, focused and intent once more. “No, nothing. It’s been over a year.”

“I assume you’ve been to the police?”

Her lips curved, a tight little smile that left the frown intact. “Yes, well, they seem to think the most likely scenario is, Hal’s gambling finally got him way over his head with some dangerous people and he decided to take an extended leave for the sake of his health, and that he’s probably laid up on some tropical island somewhere, living off what he stole from me and the kids.”

“Well, I’d have to say I pretty much agree with that,” said Riley, moving the hand that had been supporting his chin in such a way that he could glance at his watch without being obvious about it. Fifteen minutes until his next appointment. “You have any reason to think otherwise?”

She shook her head. “Oh, I’m sure that’s what happened. It’s the only thing that makes sense. It seems to me it would take a great deal of money to make yourself disappear without a trace. And that’s what he took…everything I had, anyway.” She looked away again, but not before he saw the telltale movement in her throat that told of emotions ruthlessly suppressed.

Selfish bastard. Riley picked up a pen and began to manipulate it with quick and angry movements, venting with his fingers what he dared not say in words while he waited for her to continue. When she did not, he smiled and said gently, “Mrs. Robey, I’m sorry as I can be about what happened, but you still haven’t told me why it is you think you need a good attorney.”

“I’m coming to that.” For the first time, her voice took on a hard edge.

But she wasn’t there yet, not quite. First she had to take a deep breath, and then another, while she shifted around in her chair as if she was going to need a good solid support from which to launch this tale of hers. Riley felt a pulse begin to beat behind his belt buckle, an annoying little tick-tock of impatience.

“Anyway, I got the divorce and moved here-or rather, to Georgia, to be near my sister,” she said finally. “I just wanted to put it all behind me, start over, for the children’s sake as well as mine. And we’d been doing okay in spite of…one or two setbacks.” Resentment flared in her eyes and then was veiled when she closed them briefly. After a moment she went on. “Then, about… three months ago, I started getting phone calls.”

“Phone calls?” Now it was Riley who frowned. “You mean, from your husband?”

“No, no-I don’t know who it was. A man. Some men, actually. Different ones. At first, you know, they’d call late at night, when the children were asleep. They said they were friends of Hal’s and that they needed to find him. But there was something…I don’t know, just sort of scary about it. I told them I didn’t know where Hal was, but the calls kept coming, and they kept getting more and more threatening.”

“Threatening? How?”

“Oh, you know-vague things. ‘Tell us where your husband is, or you’ll regret it.’ Stuff like that. I didn’t take it too seriously, but still, it was…upsetting.”

Riley murmured, “I’ll bet.”

“But then…one day someone called when my kids were home. David-my nine-year-old son-answered the phone. I don’t know exactly what the man said to him-David won’t tell me-but I do know he was terrified. First he wouldn’t go to sleep at all. It was like he thought he needed to stand guard, or something. He’s been sort of like that since his father left, anyway-trying to be the man of the house, you know. Then when he did finally crash, he had nightmares.” She shifted in the chair, edgy with anger. “That was it-the last straw. So I went to the police.”

Riley nodded; it had been on the tip of his tongue to ask. “Good move. And?”

Again that tight, joyless smile. “They suggested I change my number. So I did. The calls stopped-for about a week. When they started up again, they were even more vicious than before. They-” her voice quivered unexpectedly; she shut it down and began again, this time in a lower tone “-they said they would take my children, and…hurt them…if that’s what it took to force Hal out of hiding.”

Pain reminded Riley to unclench his jaw. Tearing his gaze away from the woman’s mouth, from lips that were taut and vibrant as bowstrings, he forced them to focus on the terror in her eyes instead. “Mrs. Robey, I don’t know whether you need a lawyer or not, but I know you should be talkin’ to the police.”