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that story, they had no option.”
    He leaned forward, the nasty smile now a nasty glare. “What about you, Ms. Walker? You obviously didn’t believe her story. Why didn’t you report it to the proper authorities?”
    “Márya was too afraid of Charlie.”
    “Wouldn’t she have been safer with Charlie in jail?”
    “Until he got out. How much do you know about family violence, Mr. Danby?”
    “Too much.” His curt answer seemed to surprise even him. “But that’s beside the point. As an officer of the court, you had a duty to see the crime was reported.”
    “Not if the victim and only witness refused to cooperate.”
    “It was your duty to persuade her to cooperate. You practice family law. You must have dealt with domestic assault before. Why was this case any different from those?”
    Rosalie had tried not to say too much about Márya’s legal situation, partly to protect her privacy, partly to deprive Morgan Danby of a potential weapon. But now she had no choice.
    “I’m surprised your P.I. didn’t discover that Ms. Mendelev’s immigration status was, shall we say, uncertain. She had a student visa, but your brother persuaded her to leave school. Once she was dependent on him, he told her they’d send her to prison for being an illegal. She was terrified of police and prisons. That’s why she stayed with him for as long as she did, and why she didn’t file for a protection order until he found her again here in L.A.”
    Morgan’s stomach twisted with disgust. Damn, but Charlie was scum.
    He’d been so sure Ms. Walker had lied to him, still wasn’t one thousand percent certain she hadn’t, but she was a better lawyer than he’d given her credit for. She’d have convinced any jury in the world beyond a reasonable doubt that Márya Mendelev had miscarried after one of Charlie’s beatings. If he wasn’t convinced, it was because his doubts weren’t reasonable. Or because he dreaded telling Lillian.
    Ms. Walker’s rigid posture showed how much his accusatory tone must have angered her. He wanted to apologize, but wasn’t sure how.
    Hell, he wanted to do a lot more than apologize. He wanted to bring back the smile she’d greeted him with. He wanted to watch those bare toes wiggle in her sandals.
    He was in deep trouble here.
    “Are we finished, Mr. Danby?” Rosalie’s anger added an extra degree of chill to the words.
    “There’s still the matter of your mother’s paintings.”
    She’d forgotten about them. “You don’t have them with you.”
    He smiled, but she ignored the illusion of interest in his eyes. He wouldn’t fool her again.
    “They’ve been sold,” he told her.
    “What?”
    “A woman came into the gallery while I was showing them to my friend, fell in love with them, and insisted on buying them both.”
    Rosalie ignored the little burst of pleasure at the idea of a total stranger loving her mother’s work and leaned back to give him an icy stare.
    “Neither you nor your friend were authorized to sell them.”
    “We explained that to the lady. My friend agreed to hold them for her until you can sign the appropriate contracts.”
    “What if I don’t want to sell them?”

Chapter Three
    “Then you’re a more spiteful person than I thought,” Danby replied. “Why deny this woman the pictures she wants, and yourself the pleasure of sharing your mother’s work, because you don’t like me?”
    He had a point.
    “How much did they sell for?” When he told her, she gave a low whistle. Selling even a few paintings at those prices would make a nice addition to Joey’s college fund. “I assume you have the contracts with you?”
    A few minutes later Rosalie had made Morgan’s friend the representative for the sale of her mother’s paintings and committed herself to delivering two dozen more to the gallery by the end of the week. Once the paperwork was done, she stood and held out her hand.
    “Thank you for helping me find new homes for my mother’s work. I hope