All I Want Is Forever (17 page)

“So much for small talk.” He drew her into his arms and kissed her.

Talia attempted to push him away at first. Yet the taste of him, hot and strong, flowed down her throat like fine Creole hot sauce. His hands roamed up and down her sides until they finally rested on her hips. Derrick pulled her tight against him as though to em
phasize his need. She moaned low in her throat at the hardness through the fabric of his slacks.

“I want you now,” Derrick mumbled, his mouth still on hers.

“Hmmm,” Talia replied.

She could only babble when his hands roamed again, finding their way to her buttocks. In minutes they were undressing each other in a fever. They found their way to her bedroom. Without a word, she sank onto the bed and brought him down with her. They made love fast and furiously on the soft rose-colored comforter. Talia thrilled at the way the soft cover cushioned her as Derrick penetrated. Their thrusts were hard, quick, and pushed them both into trance, screaming for more. Nothing else mattered, only satisfying the wild hunger that dominated them. Derrick came first, with Talia tumbling into a powerful climax seconds later. The intense pleasure lasted forever, yet ended much too soon. His movements slowed until Derrick gasped and laid his head on her neck. Talia shuddered with one last jab of pleasure. She rubbed her lips on his forehead as she stroked his hair lovingly.

“What was all that about?” she whispered.

“I need you, Talia,” he replied simply.

His voice, full of emotion, shook her more than a long impassioned speech ever could. Her growing realization of how much she needed him terrified her. Need led to excruciating heartache, a hard lesson she'd learned early in life.

Talia stopped stroking his hair. “You know how much you mean to me.”

Derrick lay very still for ten seconds then lifted his head and stared into her eyes. “Do I? What do you want from me?”

His question wasn't a demand. Rather, it seemed a plea to explain. Talia blinked back tears because she
didn't know the answer. Derrick sighed and rolled away. He lay with one arm across his eyes as he spoke.

“There's no way to fix this, is there?” Derrick said.

“I don't see how.” Talia bit her lip. “Maybe we could have a commuter love thing. Fly to each other on alternate weekends.” She tried for humor in the situation.

“You want the best of both worlds.”

Derrick stood and strode into her bathroom. Moments later she heard the shower. Talia got out of bed. She placed a clean fluffy towel inside on the vanity counter. Then went into the kitchen. Twenty minutes later Derrick came in fully dressed.

“I'm going back to the office.” He waved away her offer of a glass of lemonade.

“You're mad at me again.” Talia sighed.

“I want more than you do. House, kids, toys all over my SUV, the works.” Derrick smoothed down his silk tie.”

“Honey, please—”

“I'm cool. I figured it out.”

His words went into her heart like a filet knife. “This place…” Her voice faded at the hard expression on his face.

“Don't even try it, Talia. Settling down with a trophy husband is safer for you.” Derrick did not raise his voice as he spoke.

“So, you took Psychology 101, and you know it all,” she snapped.

“I know you, baby.” Derrick took a deep breath and let it out as he pulled a hand over his face. “Just forget it.”

“Jarrod and I aren't picking out china patterns.” Talia laid her palm against his chest. “We only had dinner.”

“Yeah, and one day you'll realize you can have that D.C. life with him,” he said.

“What do you want me to say, damn it?” Talia let her hand fall.

“We could face anything together. But you don't trust me to take care of you.”

“I don't need you to take care of me. Just be here.”

“Oh right, on your terms. Well, maybe that's not enough.” Derrick's voice was weary. “I can't lie and pretend I'll walk away from you, Talia. I'm stuck.”

“You're stuck!” she repeated. “Makes me seem like quicksand.” Talia clenched her fists.

“To be honest, sometimes I feel like I'm sinking.” Derrick shook his head with his eyes closed.

Talia pressed the heel of one hand against her forehead. “I'm trying to handle so much right now.”

“Don't tell me to give you more time!” Derrick looked at her, his dark eyes flashing. “I've given you fifteen years.”

“We've had beautiful days and nights together,” she countered.

“So, it's not Jarrod?” He looked at her searchingly.

“I told him straight up how I felt months ago.”

“But it's not me either,” Derrick said in a flat voice.

“Let me handle Mama Rose and Monette. Then we can—”

“Yeah, never the right time or place. I gotta go.” Derrick walked away.

Talia followed him. “This is hard for me, too.”

He stopped, and Talia held her breath. Derrick didn't turn around immediately. She expected him to blast her with accusations and anger. Instead, when he faced Talia his expression was sad.

“You don't want to try, Talia. No, don't give me all the usual excuses.

“That's not fair. This isn't just about me,” she insisted.

“Uh-huh. Like I said, I'm going back to work. I'll
let you know what I find out about Monette's case.” Derrick unlocked the front door and left.

“Derrick, don't do anything—” She stopped when he kept walking.

He put on his sunglasses. Strikingly handsome, his brown face bore an indomitable expression. She wanted to tell him once more not to take chances, but he wouldn't listen. Derrick was hell-bent on doing what he thought needed to be done. She slammed the door hard enough to rattle the door facing. If Derrick didn't have sense enough to keep himself safe, she'd have to do it.

Larry tapped Derrick's shoulder. “Let's talk,” he said, and headed for his office.

“Sure.” Derrick exchanged a glance with Kelsey.

The administrative assistant raised her arched reddish brown eyebrows over wire reading glasses. “Barron called here three times today.”

The lanky man was seated at his desk. He waited until Derrick closed the door. “How much have you found out about Monette Victor?”

“She had one arrest before this big conviction, served a short sentence for possession. Got probation several times as a teenager. She hung out with some nasty dudes, mostly small-time thugs who—”

“I meant what do we know about her personal life.” Larry rocked back and forth in the chair.

“She went through rehab two, three times, drug of choice cocaine. Had three kids by the time she was twenty-seven. All of them ended up in foster care.”

Derrick felt a twist in his stomach at the memory of one of those children in particular. He remembered big brown eyes that mirrored longing and a need to be cared for. Larry's next question yanked his attention back with force.

“What about boyfriends?” Larry sat motionless suddenly.

“Not really.” Derrick maintained his matter-of-fact pose, but his invisible feelers were vibrating like crazy. “Is it important?”

“Just asking,” Larry said quickly. He cleared his throat and rocked his chair again. “What else?”

Derrick knew Larry well enough to know he didn't just ask questions for no reason. His process seemed random, then suddenly a pattern would emerge. At times Derrick would see it before his boss did.

“Got pregnant when she'd just turned fourteen years old. She was in foster care herself at the time. She liked to party, which is what got her into the drug scene when she was just a kid. She had a string of men run through her life from what I can tell.” Derrick was careful not to make his knowledge sound firsthand.

“What my grandmamma used to call a fast woman on her way to nowhere,” Larry said in a pensive tone.

“In this case right to prison unfortunately. Men sure like her.” Derrick sorted through his own thoughts. Pieces began to click in place, and a picture emerged.

“Yes.” Larry flipped open a file. “She looks like she'd be a pretty woman, even on this mug shot.”

Derrick followed his gaze. “Obviously she finally hooked up with the wrong men. A forty-year sentence is a high price for flirting.” He stared at Larry.

“Derrick, I'm always amazed at how
foolish
smart people can be.” Larry swung his chair around and gazed out of the window.

“Anything wrong?”

“I don't like cleaning up after other people, Derrick. Winn was a zealous and ambitious DA. Using informants can backfire.” He continued to stare out the window, but he wouldn't say more.

“What are you saying?”

Larry spun the chair around. “You're too bright not to figure it out.”

They gazed at each other for a time. The district attorney wore a grim expression. Derrick recognized a man between a rock and a hard place.

“You only suspect something is rotten. Just a whiff, but smelly enough to stay in your nose a long time,” Derrick said carefully.

“I don't like mandatory sentencing,” Larry replied. “It's bad law, period.”

“Yeah.” Derrick waited for him to go on.

Instead he sighed and sat straight. He smoothed down the front of his expensive cotton-and-linen-blend white dress shirt. “I'm going to send a report to the parole board and a copy to Winn. That will be the end of my involvement.”

“Okay.” Derrick stood.

He knew his boss well enough to read his signals. The subject was closed, for now anyway. Somehow, he knew they'd talk again. Larry would need someone to confide in soon. Derrick went back to his small office. He sat staring at another case file without seeing it. Kelsey appeared in his open door, hand on one hip.

“What's up?” She nodded toward Larry's office.

“Tension between politics and getting the job done,” he replied as he tapped his pen against the stack of papers.

“In other words SOS—same old you-know-what.” Kelsey grunted. “Barron is at the bottom of whatever is going on. He and that investigator he used, Jerome Hines, were a little too slick if you ask me.”

“Hmm,” Derrick said.

Kelsey continued talking and listed the many reasons she didn't like Winn Barron. Derrick heard her voice as background to his own thoughts. Possibilities
bounced around his mind like balls on a pool table. Larry's comments had set them in motion. He sat back in his chair and waited for them to settle into a position that would tell him which one to tap.

“I just hope Larry doesn't let that windbag pull him down.” Kelsey put a typed report in a file basket on his desk. “Here, check it for typos and give it back to me.”

“Uh-huh.”

She frowned at him. “You okay? I'm here talking to myself.”

Derrick snapped out of his reverie and picked up the report. “Sorry. What did you say?”

“Never mind. I'm going to lunch. Want anything?”

“I'll eat later,” Derrick mumbled.

When she left he picked up the telephone receiver. Derrick had checked out the bad guys involved in Monette's case until he knew them inside out. Now he decided to check on the good guys.

 

Talia took a deep breath and knocked on Jim Rand's office door. She was startled when he swung the door open immediately.

“Hello, Dr. Rand,” she said, and cleared her dry throat.

“Hello, Ms. Marchand. Come in. I'll be right with you.” He smiled boyishly, very different from the intense expert she'd met in Senator Jackson's office. She walked into the room. The walls were lined with bookcases. Papers and file folders were stacked on chairs, a round table across from his desk, and the floor.

“I know it looks a mess, but I can find everything like that.” He snapped his fingers.

“I'll bet you can.” Talia stared around her.

“Let me finish up one thing. Sorry to be so rude, but this can't wait.” He looked at her expectantly, an apologetic expression on his face.

“No problem.” She read the spines of books. “Are these real?” She pointed to a row of old books.

“Got those at an estate sale in the Garden District.” Jim's eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. “Bound copies of the city's laws handwritten in French, circa 1799. Please, sit while I finish up.”

“Sure.” Talia continued to read.

“You're welcome to take one down. This isn't a museum. I read them all the time.”

He waved permission to her as he went to the large desk. Seconds later he stood while making furious notes on a legal pad. A law student came in, and Jim issued succinct instructions. The pretty young Asian woman wrote down his instructions, then left. His phone rang twice. After answering it both times, he set his answering machine to pick up.

“So we won't be disturbed.” Satisfied his task was done, he sat back in his chair. His dark eyes mirrored a keen interest. “Now how can I help you?”

“I'm from Louisiana. I came down on a personal matter.” When his eyebrows went up, Talia continued. “The woman who raised me is ill, and I came home to take care of her.”

“I hope she's doing better.”

“Actually she is. In fact she's close to running circles around me.” Talia smiled briefly.

“Having you here probably made all the difference.” He wore a kind expression.

“Thanks. I've done research on this mandatory sentencing.” Talia realized she was floundering for a reasonable explanation for this meeting.

“Marti told me.” Jim seemed willing to be patient.

“Right. In fact, I've read a few of the articles you've written on the subject. They've really been a big help.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“Right, right. You're considered one of the foremost
experts in several criminal law areas.” Talia cast around for a way to go on.

“So this is part of your research?” Jim asked.

“I'm just wondering about the Monette Victor case. What made you decide to accept it?”

“The amount of attention paid to putting her in prison versus the circumstances of her alleged crime,” Jim said promptly. “Frankly, that's what caught my student's attention.”

“Really?” Talia forgot her unease.

“That was she who came in a moment ago. Lucy is one of five students on my poverty law team. Sharp young minds that don't miss much.”

“So if any of them smell a rat, you listen.”

“I make them present a solid case. And I'm tough.” His boyish smile flashed back, as if to belie the notion he could be tough at anything.

Talia returned his smile. “I'll bet you've been mistaken for a pushover more than once in your career. You even got the governor angry about your successes.”

“My students did a lot of good, hard work. I guide them,” he said sincerely without a trace of false modesty in his tone. “As for the governor, he's entitled to his opinion.”

She decided she liked Jim Rand. “You took him on and the state supreme court backed you up.”

“Eventually. Politics has a long reach, but the rule of law does prevail occasionally.” Jim wore a tight expression.

The governor had put pressure on the chief justice to rein in the law school's poverty law program. The chief justice ordered the team only to help the poorest of the poor. After several setbacks, Jim Rand and his lawyer had won. The chief justice had backed down in the face of protests from the state and national bar associations.
Jim Rand was nobody's fool or doormat. Talia liked him very much indeed.

“Power to the people.” She quoted the seventies slogan with a grin.

“Amen.” Jim's frown relaxed into a smile once more. “Now tell me about your interest in Monette's case, Ms. Marchand.”

Nobody's fool for sure,
Talia thought. “The attorney general seems to be making hers a test case so to speak. And I wondered why, aside from the fact that he prosecuted her.”

Jim rocked his chair gently without answering immediately, as though mulling over her explanation. “It's not all that unusual if a prosecutor feels strongly about one of his convictions.”

“Except he's not the DA anymore. What makes her so special? There was no violence, and no police officer was hurt. Why all the attention for a few grams of cocaine sixteen years ago? Seems odd to me.” Talia shook her head.

“He's running for office. The public feels strongly about drug dealers, and he has found a way to make headlines,” Jim offered.

“Doesn't add up. The election is two years away. The public and the media both have short memories. Monette isn't even a big fish,” Talia countered.

Jim's gaze sharpened as he focused on her. He became the seasoned litigator in an instant. “You'd make a fine law student, Ms. Marchand. You fell right into arguing your points just the way we train them.”

“Thanks.”

“Very good points, exactly the line of thought we've been following.” Jim nodded slowly. “Keep going.”

Talia leaned forward in her chair. “He's spending a
lot of time having Larry Perrilloux pull the records and report to him.”

“I know. There is nothing in the case that explains his level of indignation. No, that's not the right word.” Jim rocked his chair again.

“He seems determined to make sure she stays in prison, like he's on some kind of vendetta. And I don't think he wants headlines. I mean the press is preoccupied with events overseas and the budget crisis. I didn't even see a small mention of this issue.” Talia looked at him.

“Monette's trial didn't get that much press.” Jim rubbed his chin.

“Exactly. So why is he pulling out all the stops?”

“He's a politician pushing a hot button. I wouldn't characterize his actions as ‘pulling out the stops.'”

“Okay, call it an intense interest in Monette's case.” Talia tried to grab an elusive thread but missed. She tapped a fist on the arm of her chair.

“Unfortunately, my client is keeping secrets from me.” Jim's frown returned, only more intense.

“Bad move.” Talia pushed down a rise of anger. Count on Monette to make the situation worse.

“I tried talking sense to Monette, but she's slippery. Too slippery for her own good I'm afraid.”

Talia nodded. “Jailhouse jive. Always working an angle.”

“She's trying to survive the best way she knows how.” Jim's stern expression eased. “For some reason I think she's trying to protect me and someone else.”

Talia blinked rapidly and forced her hands to relax. “Why would she do that?”

“I wish I knew.”

“Her defense wasn't all that vigorous, and she didn't make for a credible defendant protesting her innocence.”

“Happens a lot, I'm afraid,” Jim said.

Talia sat back in her seat. “Did you interview the people who worked for Barron?”

“Yes. One investigator, Jerome Hines, pretty much recited everything already on record. We hit a brick wall.”

“Barron is pulling strings in the background. I've seen it enough in D.C. to recognize the signs.” Talia tilted her head to one side. “This is personal for him, I'd swear it.”

Jim fixed a penetrating gaze on her. “I get the same feeling about
your
interest.”

Talia gazed at him in silence, gathering her thoughts. The antique wall clock ticked away. “You could say it's very personal. Monette Victor is my mother.”

He stopped the rocking motion of his chair and sat very still. “Why didn't you tell me before now?”

“The truth?”

“Please.”

“I grew up in foster care. We're not what you would call close.” Talia looked away.

“You don't want people to know she's your mother,” Jim said in a quiet tone.