too trusting. What if I'm an ax murderer?"
"If you are, I hope I remember the moves from my self- defense class." She crossed to the door. "But you don't look particularly crazed, and if you're around some of the time, it might discourage other ax murderers."
A pragmatic lady. He followed her down the hall and into the former sanctuary. "What goes in here?"
"Kendra's office, so she can keep an eye on the door, plus a sitting and gathering area. Maybe knee walls or portable cubicle dividers to give her some privacy. Her choice." Val moved into the center of the sanctuary, her gaze going to the stained-glass roundels. "I love this building so much. How can justice not be done here?"
"Justice is good," he said softly. "Mercy is better."
"So we're back to capital punishment." Her gaze was uncomfortably acute. "You're an interesting man, Rob Smith."
"And the Chinese made interesting into a curse." He pulled a set of keys from his pocket. "Time to sign the contracts and make you the official tenant. Then you can come and go as you please."
She grinned. "Don't forget that I'm supposed to give you a check."
He snapped his fingers in mock surprise. "Oh, yeah. Money. I need to work on the business end of being a landlord. I'm better with studs and Sheetrock."
She whipped out a business card and handed it to him. "If you need a lawyer, let me know. For landlords, special rates."
They both chuckled, and to his relief, the mood lightened again. Signing the contracts took only a few minutes, after which he left Val to survey her new empire. Yet as he drove in toward the center of the city, he couldn't shake her from his thoughts.
For years, he had passed through the world like a ghost, interacting mostly with things instead of people. Val Covington made him real.
It was a damned uncomfortable feeling.
Chapter 5
After Rob left, Val measured rooms and made notes, but her mind was churning. If he was right about how many innocent people were being sent to jail—and she suspected that he didn't make many mistakes—she had discovered a subject she could feel passionate about.
Though grateful for Rob's investigative skills and desire to help, she wondered if more help would be needed. Maybe journalism students? At Northwestern University, a journalism professor and his students had done investigations that cleared so many men on death row that the Illinois governor put a moratorium on executions. But students would require some supervision, and she simply didn't have the time. She would give Rob a chance to show his stuff before she sought more volunteers.
In the meantime, she had Crouse, Resnick work to finish. More briefs. Clients paying top dollar for her full attention. But today was Saturday, and she was entitled to have her own life for a few hours. That meant pricing equipment for her new office, then kicking back over dinner with a friend.
After visiting an office furniture warehouse and a computer superstore, she headed for home, thinking again about her landlord. Definitely one of a kind. She would love to know more about his background, but wasn't quite rude enough to ask. She grinned. When she knew Rob better, then she would be rude.
Their relationship was developing fast, albeit in unconventional ways. She was still surprised at her impulsive suggestion that he maintain his office in the church, but it was true that she had space to spare. It would be nice to have him around.
Okay, Val, admit that you're attracted. She liked his mind, liked his solid, practical skills, liked that he cared about the fate of a condemned man he had never met.
Not to mention that either he radiated sex appeal, or she had been celibate way too long. Maybe both.
She realized that she was humming a song her mother sang as a lullaby, "If I Were a Carpenter," and smiled. How appropriate, for under the lilting words and melody it was a song about class. She was a Harvard-educated lawyer and Rob was a carpenter,
"If you are, I hope I remember the moves from my self- defense class." She crossed to the door. "But you don't look particularly crazed, and if you're around some of the time, it might discourage other ax murderers."
A pragmatic lady. He followed her down the hall and into the former sanctuary. "What goes in here?"
"Kendra's office, so she can keep an eye on the door, plus a sitting and gathering area. Maybe knee walls or portable cubicle dividers to give her some privacy. Her choice." Val moved into the center of the sanctuary, her gaze going to the stained-glass roundels. "I love this building so much. How can justice not be done here?"
"Justice is good," he said softly. "Mercy is better."
"So we're back to capital punishment." Her gaze was uncomfortably acute. "You're an interesting man, Rob Smith."
"And the Chinese made interesting into a curse." He pulled a set of keys from his pocket. "Time to sign the contracts and make you the official tenant. Then you can come and go as you please."
She grinned. "Don't forget that I'm supposed to give you a check."
He snapped his fingers in mock surprise. "Oh, yeah. Money. I need to work on the business end of being a landlord. I'm better with studs and Sheetrock."
She whipped out a business card and handed it to him. "If you need a lawyer, let me know. For landlords, special rates."
They both chuckled, and to his relief, the mood lightened again. Signing the contracts took only a few minutes, after which he left Val to survey her new empire. Yet as he drove in toward the center of the city, he couldn't shake her from his thoughts.
For years, he had passed through the world like a ghost, interacting mostly with things instead of people. Val Covington made him real.
It was a damned uncomfortable feeling.
Chapter 5
After Rob left, Val measured rooms and made notes, but her mind was churning. If he was right about how many innocent people were being sent to jail—and she suspected that he didn't make many mistakes—she had discovered a subject she could feel passionate about.
Though grateful for Rob's investigative skills and desire to help, she wondered if more help would be needed. Maybe journalism students? At Northwestern University, a journalism professor and his students had done investigations that cleared so many men on death row that the Illinois governor put a moratorium on executions. But students would require some supervision, and she simply didn't have the time. She would give Rob a chance to show his stuff before she sought more volunteers.
In the meantime, she had Crouse, Resnick work to finish. More briefs. Clients paying top dollar for her full attention. But today was Saturday, and she was entitled to have her own life for a few hours. That meant pricing equipment for her new office, then kicking back over dinner with a friend.
After visiting an office furniture warehouse and a computer superstore, she headed for home, thinking again about her landlord. Definitely one of a kind. She would love to know more about his background, but wasn't quite rude enough to ask. She grinned. When she knew Rob better, then she would be rude.
Their relationship was developing fast, albeit in unconventional ways. She was still surprised at her impulsive suggestion that he maintain his office in the church, but it was true that she had space to spare. It would be nice to have him around.
Okay, Val, admit that you're attracted. She liked his mind, liked his solid, practical skills, liked that he cared about the fate of a condemned man he had never met.
Not to mention that either he radiated sex appeal, or she had been celibate way too long. Maybe both.
She realized that she was humming a song her mother sang as a lullaby, "If I Were a Carpenter," and smiled. How appropriate, for under the lilting words and melody it was a song about class. She was a Harvard-educated lawyer and Rob was a carpenter,
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