CHAPTER FOUR
SHE WAS putting her things in order when she heard the knock. She’d already told Stacy to go home. Out of habit, she avoided keeping her staff longer than appropriated their work time.
“Stacy, what are you still…”
Her throat constricted and her heart leapt to her throat. She wasn't prepared for the impact he had on her. Even now, her heartbeat which had slowed just a second ago was thudding so loud in her ears.
She knew next to nothing about this person, and they were alone in her office after shed sent the last of her staff home.
Not a very wise thing to do, Samantha.
He hovered at the door as if uncertain whether to enter or not. Never again would she stay on longer than the last staff leaving. If she were to be in trouble right now, the security at the gate may not hear her scream.
Shaking her head. Things like that didn't happen to her. In fact, she was almost sure Mark was not that kind of person. But as a caution, she picked up her bag.
“If you're closed for the day, then, I'll just go.” He said uncertainly, looking at the floor.
Whatever doubt that lingered in her mind disappeared. But she didn't move forward as she should. Even from the distance, she could feel the pressure in her pulse move more rapidly than she could have thought possible. He was a stranger, she shouldn't be feeling such irrational pull for a man she barely knew.
“We can talk outside.” She said conscientiously. He nodded and stepped out as though he'd just been handed a green card.
She sighed, both in relief and exasperation. She never knew how to react around him and could never guess what he'd do next. Like when he'd kissed her. That didn't seem like he'd planned it. The look on his face afterward had made her feel like the instigator.
Picking up the file that had kept her this long. She followed him out, locking her office behind her.
She met him at the reception area. Very wise of him to choose somewhere more open and closer to the rest of the world.
He was standing impatiently but not irritably. He wore a suit still today. Black. And he didn't look like a teacher or one who did odd jobs for extra money. He looked like he belonged in the professional world.
She handed the blue folder to him. He eyed it suspiciously before taking it. Then opened it and skimmed through in less than a minute, his face completely expressionless. When he finished, he handed it back to her, his expression giving nothing away.
What did she expect? That he'd just agree and that would be it?
“What time will you get off tomorrow” His voice gave nothing away.
Blinking twice, “Uh, I'm not sure. I have a case in court.”
“What time?” This time, there was enough irritability injected in his tone that she paused to consider before supplying an answer.
“5:30pm.”
“I'll be here tomorrow. 5:30pm”
He left her staring dumb-founded after his retreating back.
Really, what had she expected? She could take a whole course and not understand him. One minute he was angry and shooting daggers and the next, he was acting like nothing happened. What complications that make up one man!
∞ ∞ ∞
She was exhausted. That much was evident. And angry. That, she hid very well. She could never allow herself to show angry. But this particular case had slipped from her because she’d been too distracted to listen to counsel that her client was not being completely truthful. In fact, 70% of the story her client had told was a lie. Absolute lie.
How she’d felt embarrassed when the prosecuting officer had shown clear evidence of all the crimes her client was not only accused of but was found guilty of. If only she’d had all of those evidence, she would have bluffed her way through. She couldn't work with a client who didn't trust her.
Never again would she let herself get carried away by personal dilemma that shed mess up a job. Shed allowed herself to get distracted enough to lose a case. It was with sheer dignity shed left the courtroom with her self-respect still clinging.
The prosecuting officer had asked her what was on her mind. More than one person had repeated the question to her. If only she could tell them.
That lesson was learned a long time ago when she lost her first case. Her father had called her and given her a thorough talking-to, her mother, a complete dress down. Now after six years running her own firm, shed lost a second case.
Having realized her client had lied to her, shed given up and handed the case to another lawyer with the last shreds of her dignity still in place.
First thing the next day, she would send the part payment to the lawyer now handling the case.
True, she could win any case but what she didn't like was a client who didn't tell the truth. Every lawyer dreaded meeting such a client. She knew how many guilty persons whose cases had been won because they trusted her to do her job and told her everything, including some details shed have otherwise wished differently.
The prosecuting officer had told her to confront her client, but she didn't want any part of it anymore. Somehow, she hoped the woman was jailed for a long time to come.
Not very friendly thought but she didn't care. She wasn't exactly feeling friendly at the moment.
If she hadn't been too engrossed in thought, she probably would have noticed the deep frown on Mark's face from behind Stacy's desk or the look he sent to Stacy who was sitting at the visitors' seat. But both jumped up immediately.
Mark was at the door before she reached it, taking her bag from her limp hands as he ushered her into her office.
She turned at the entrance towards Stacy who was a step behind. “Please, clear out my car. I don't want to see any file on Rita Okoye at all.” Then she let him lead her in.
Plopping down on the seat, she closed her eyes. Her body felt like noodles. She tilted the chair backwards and closed her eyes.
Marks hands were taking off her shoes, then she felt the gentle massage. His hands were soothing and instead of the tingles and hot feeling of want, that he always made her feel, she felt languid. If only he would do that to her stiff shoulders too.
The soft moan escaped before she realized.
His hands were suddenly no longer massaging her feet. Chancing a glance, she saw he was no longer kneeling but standing and staring down into her. In anger, and something else.
Wisdom had her pulling her chair up, and she sat up, feeling the ache in her neck more pronounced than earlier. Rest would do it. She wouldn't ask him for help in massaging her tensed shoulders and equally aching back.
“Have you been waiting long?” Attempting to lighten the mood through conversation.
“No.”
His monosyllabic response wasn't what shed expected, and he didn't look like he wanted a conversation. His tone was chilling. And he didn't inspire communication of any kind at the moment.
She didn't meet his gaze and felt pinned to the spot with his towering over her in his full height.
Her hands became clammy as she became fully aware of him. The air warmed with unspoken desire begging for release. She deliberately kept her eyes on the floor. His gaze poking holes into her and literally sweltering her.
It was in that state Stacy knocked once and entered with an armful of files. She hoped none of them belonged to Rita Okoye. She may likely burn them if she laid eyes on any.
Stacy laid the files on one side of the table and stepped back. “Is there anything else, ma'am?”
Before she could reply, Mark's voice came in a strangely authoritative tone. “Go home, Stacy.”
Stacy's gaze swung to him in shock and then, back to her. Samantha herself wasn't sure what had suddenly made Mark feel assertive. This was her domain. He had no right to insert his authority in her turf.
But not in front of her staff.
And so, more coolly, she said, without lifting her head. “Please, go home, Stacy.”
Hesitantly. Stacy finally left, and she raised her head up at his.
“What was that all about?”
His look deflected her weak attempt at being stern. “You don't look capable of doing any more work today.” Then he turned his back on her, “Get your things.”
He left, leaving her wondering what in heaven’s name shed gotten herself into for the millionth time since meeting him.
Right, he was though. She was not feeling compelled to do anymore work today.
Favoring the flats over the heels, she grabbed her bag, locking the office behind her. When shed had a good night’s rest, she would think of what was what. At the moment, home called to her.
By the time she appeared out front, he was nowhere in sight. It was just as well he'd gone. She couldn't bear seeing him at the moment. She’d go home, have a nice dinner and take a well-deserved nap and probably wake up 12noon tomorrow. Probably forgo the jog tomorrow too.
She saw the car light flash twice and blinked, looking to see the occupant and blinked again. Too tired she'd been not to have noticed the Hummer jeep parked beside her car when she’d pulled in. But more surprising was to see Mark at the driver’s seat, his expression blurry through the windshield.
Tentatively and curiously, she walked over the passenger side as he wound down the window.
“What... How…”
He didn't smile. His expression was hard. “It's' my boss'.” At her disbelieving look, he sighed but his tone nonetheless remained the same I got a new job. “I'm picking up something for him.”
Strange that she believed him, but she wasn't about to let him off so easily and continued to stare at him like she couldn't and wouldn't believe a word he uttered.
His jaw set, and she took pity on him and smiled.
”Get in, please.”
She glanced at her watch. “Can we talk tomorrow instead?”
'Too busy tomorrow. Just get in.' Reluctantly he added, “Please.”
“Mark,”
“I'm not keeping you.” Sounding angry, “Let me drive you home.”
Ridiculous that she felt like laughing. Instead, she forced an edge into her voice. “I can drive.”
He turned and looked at her. She almost squirmed. “My car…”
He didn't have to do anything to have her give in. With just a look, he shattered her resolve to stand her ground.
She shrugged. “I guess I can take a cab out tomorrow.”
Samantha sighed and sank deeply into the seat. It was a comfortable feeling that brought a half smile to her face and made her want to sink into sleep just briefly. At least till he arrived at her home.
Mark Grinder was definitely not a person to play with. For one thing he was easy to trust; he had a personality that bespoke absolute trust. On the other hand, he was commanding in a take-charge manner, that makes you want to depend on him to handle things just right.
Both characters in one man was charming except shed never had any reason to think of such before.
One indulgence, she supposed, she could be allowed, at least this once. She never had to do so before and it really wasn't so bad. But she knew she’d have to do serious thinking now and make major decisions as soon as shed rested.
Maybe instead of thinking of marriage, she should have thought of friendship first. He would so make a wonderful friend to have.
“Please don't fall asleep on me,” His voice was a murmur, “I don't know the way to your house.”
Quite reluctantly, she sat up, realizing they were a way to the area where she lived. He had a good memory to remember her vicinity.
After giving him the address, she shook the feeling of sleep aside. They were just two minutes away from her house.
Her thank you was cut off when he inclined his head to the dashboard and her heart fell, recognizing the file for what it was. His expression was unreadable. Not an easy person to deal with.
Her surprised gatekeeper opened the gate for her at her first knock, and she entered, clutching the file tightly in her hand and gave an incoherent explanation about her car when he asked.
Right before the gate closed completely, she saw Mark drive away.
Curious enough as she was, she didn't bother with food or rest first, but sat at the edge of her bed and opened the file. When she got to the last page, she closed it and picked up her phone to call the one person she should have called when it had all started.
∞ ∞ ∞
He'd been so glad to have a short reprieve from his boss. He'd have time to attend the classes he'd missed and file those documents piled high on his desk. That is, before his boss arrived from his vacation.
Lately, he had been doing a lot more thinking about where he'd go from this job. He never had the illusion that he'd be with the government when he went to school to study law. He imagined owning several law firms and growing to become judge someday. Not that he was complaining about his job.
The past few weeks have been hectic. Sometimes he felt like taking a breather, not that he would be denied, of course, but he could imagine the number of calls the Chief judge would give him at intervals to run errands, if not outright asking him to come to the office. It would be a wasted leave anyway.
He would have love to take off just by himself for a few days and sort out some things, probably go check on his parents also, see how his father’s health was. All that flew out the window when he got the call days ago. Thinking back, he should have avoided the call and returned it several days later.
The phone rang in his pocket before he sat down. He couldn't help the grimace that had slipped out when he saw the caller ID. It emitted a groan from him. Of all calls he was expecting, this, he'd prayed he wouldn't receive. The call was the reason he was still standing in the sun at 2pm, in front of Justice Mohammed's house.
∞ ∞ ∞
He'd been outside the gate since 11am. The gate had been locked against nonmembers of the household. Not surprising. The gate keeper had told him of the rule; Judge Muhammad did not entertain visitors at his home. He was very strict about that. And so, Mark sat under the shade of one of the fir trees outside and almost hiding the huge building which provided enough shading to ward off the worst of the heat.
His mood hadn't elevated since the Chief Judge had called him a week ago. And he'd probably and up missing today's class as well. He'd been so happy when the Chief Judge had told him he would be spending the next one month in Peru for official purposes. He'd thought he'd been able to make up for the classes he'd missed.
Then the call had come in before he could settle in for the day.
“Good morning, Sir.”
“Good morning, indeed. You have to be here to know the time difference.”
Mark ignored the insult. “How was your flight, Sir?'
“Beautiful, my boy, just beautiful.” With just a hint of mirth.
Mark had come to know what that tone was. The Chief Judge had not spent the night alone. He shook his head.
“Mark boy,”
Mark winced. He could never get used to being called boy.
“I have a small errand for you.” Of course. Already putting the time frame he'd used to run it and get ready for class later that afternoon.
“... Justice Muhammad Ibrahim is handling a case in two weeks. The hearing is the last Saturday of this month.” There was a short pause.
Mark thought he had an idea where this was heading, but he clamped his mouth shut.
“In the last drawer at my desk, there's a folder with the name credit unit on it. My PI got that information. I want you to go through it meticulously, then gather evidence against the prosecutor. You'll find all the basic information you need there.”
There was a considerably longer pause before the judge continued, “The office of the Admin will give you Judge Mohammed's home address. After you've gathered the evidence, you mail me a copy, then send a hard copy to Judge Muhammad.”
A sudden nauseous feeling began to assail him as he listened to the chief Justice. Small errand, he'd said.
“You must go to him yourself, Mark boy.” Definitely a very small errand. Mark mused. “Is it clear enough?”
Mark shook his head in disbelief but answered, “Yes, sir.”
Almost as an after-thought, “Boy?”
Mark stifled the urge to drop the call “Yes, sir?”
Justice Muhammed is not a very friendly fellow. Remember that.
And now, a week later after the Chief Judge had given him the go-ahead to send what he'd gathered so far, he was halfway from melting in the heat. For despite the shade offered by the beautiful ornamental trees that were lined in perfect order outside the house, he was sweating profusely, and in the company of a camera man lurking around, obviously looking for a juicy story to feed his ambitious ego.
At 3:15pm when the gate opened to someone driving out from the compound, the gate keeper noticed him and taking pity on him, invited him to wait in the security house. Explaining that the only way to see the Judge was to approach him immediately he drove in, otherwise, once he entered into the house, it would be impossible to see him. The car that had gone out earlier returned with a boy from school.
He dozed off at a point because he awoke at the sound of the horn outside the gate, praying that it was the judge. It was already dark out and his entire body was screaming in protest at the uncomfortable position he'd rested his head when another car got to the gate.
“That's him.” The security told him as the gatekeeper opened the gated and a Prado Jeep drove in accompanied by two police vans.
Mark was intercepted by the security who jumped down from their trucks before he could reach the Judges car.
“Sir,” He called as Judge Muhammad stepped out. “Sir, please, a moment.”
The Judge didn't even turn to acknowledge him. Well, he'd been warned. Then, one of the security officers elbowed his stomach. The pain that shot through his loins had him doubling over and clutching his stomach to reduce the pain as he fell on his knees. The pain, so blinding as another officer hit him from the back with his gun. He felt the excruciating pain along his spine, and ached backward. Nothing in his difficult life had been quite as painful as the merciless beating he got.
The last coherent word he uttered was a prayer under his breath as an idea occurred to him.
“There's a rumor that you've been compromised, sir. And I know who started it.”
Before the next expected blow came, the Judge turned. He signaled that they stop and Mark struggled to his feet, the pain blinding as his head swam. He shut his eyes and the pain lessened.
The Judge was staring at him now, his mouth in a thin line but otherwise, his face was bare of expression.
He swallowed the bile that rose to his throat down and tried to speak. His voice was croaky. Clearing his throat, he willed his quavering body to calm.
“A reporter has been loitering outside your gate since I got here this morning.” Now he could understand the rumors better. This man was as hard and unfeeling as a man could get. It was his last case that had brought those rumors that he'd been compromised.
“And why did you decide I care for this information?” The judge asked.
Somehow, Mark knew he'd gotten through. “The Chief Judge sent me.”
His brow shot up slowly. “The Chief Judge is a pig. Suddenly, he remembers me because I'm presiding over his son's case.”
Bingo. Mark could like this man. The Judge looked him over, “So he got a new errand boy. I wonder why skirts don't last long as his personal assistants.”
The Chief Judges reputation with young girls has already common knowledge. How his wife and children handled it was a pity.
“You seem like a smart boy.” The Judge assessed. Then stretched out a hand.
Clumsily, Mark took a step forward, eyed the guards who looked ready to box him and wisely stretched his aching arm to Justice Mohammed without a step further. The Judge took it and handed it to his assistant, a miniature-looking man Mark was noticing for the first time.
Marks sigh of relief was audible even before the Judge turned to his security.
“Take care that that reporter does not disturb my home again. He turned and walked towards the house.”
Mark was joyous as he headed towards the gate, still holding on to his stomach with his other hand resting on his back. The security had already preceded him out, and he began to feel sorry for the reporter if he was still there. But this was Abuja, everyone hustled and bustled for themselves. Besides, it saved him from further beating, didn't it? His only prayer was that the reporter would not be out there by the time the security showed up.