Chapter 3

Wednesday found Ryan waiting for Consuela and Belinda before he ordered breakfast. When they came through the door, Belinda shook free of her mother's hand and raced through the tables to him. Her last two steps included a little hop to launch herself into the air for him to catch her.

"'Linda!" her mother scolded when she caught up. "You know you're not supposed to do that."

"It's okay, Mommy," the four-year-old explained. "Mister Ryan catched me."

That settled it as far as she was concerned. She went on to another topic.

"I'm going to sit on his lap today and eat brea'fus," she announced.

"Honey, I know he catch... he caught you... but what if he hadn't seen you coming or something? Besides, you don't even know if Mister Ryan wants you to sit on his lap or eat breakfast with us."

Belinda looked into Ryan's face for a quick instant and then turned back to her mother.

"He does," Belinda said succinctly. There was no doubt in her voice. Ryan cleared his throat.

"It's true, but to make it official," he said, "Miz Robertson, would you and the charming Belinda care to join me to break your fast?" he said lightly. He and the woman shared a chuckle as they arranged themselves around the table they had this morning.

Belinda did sit on his lap for a good part of the meal, sitting up to eat morsels from his plate or hers, and then lying back to rest contentedly against his chest. Toward the end of the meal, she got restless. When one of her playmates came in with her parents, Belinda scrambled down to go visit. It left Ryan and Consuela alone for the first time.

Things were suddenly and unexpectedly awkward. Neither could find the proper opening.

"You don't remember me, do you?" Consuela asked unexpectedly.

Ryan cocked his head and looked closely at her. He studied her for a long moment. Her long, raven hair framed the finely molded features of her face. Her fair skin was flawless. She wore, and needed, only a small amount of makeup... only a little mascara on her eyelashes and lip gloss on her lips. Actually, her dark eyes didn't need anything more to make bring out their loveliness. Her lips were full and... he'd already admitted it to himself... very inviting. He knew when he stood, the top of her head was right at his chin; she was probably five feet and maybe six, seven inches tall. She had a slender body with generous curves at the breast and hips, and her legs... from what little he'd caught in quick peeks... were excellent... no, they were outstanding.

"Consuela," he said finally, "if I've seen you before, I'm reasonably sure I would remember it. I'm not in the habit of forgetting beautiful women," he said with finality. None of his words gave any hint of anything but a serious answer to a serious question.

Consuela colored slightly, both from his close examination of her before he spoke and the words he used.

"Well, it was only twice, and both were very quick," she said. "At the bank where your wife works?" she prompted. "A long time ago, the girl next to me cashed a check for you once while your wife stood with you. That was before I got transferred to Mr. Michael's section.

"Then, Carrie waved at me another day when you were there and you turned around to see who it was. Remember that? A year and three months, maybe year and a half ago?"

Ryan shook his head. He tried to place the woman sitting across from him in the bank setting, but failed completely.

"I'm sorry," he said. "If I was with Carrie, I probably was talking to her or listening to her... or trying to... or something," he said lamely.

"So you do forget women on occasion eh?" Consuela grinned to take away any sting in her words.

"I had to have been badly distracted at the time," Ryan protested, chuckling at the same time. "If I was with Carrie she would have been working hard to occupy all my attention... back then anyway."

"I know," Consuela said. She looked Ryan in the eyes for a bit. She thought she seen something when Carrie's name came up.

"How is Carrie these days?" she asked suddenly.

She nodded her head when a wall slammed down behind his eyes.

"You know then," she said in a sympathetic tone. Ryan frowned. Consuela shrugged.

"I was... I left there two months ago. Everyone at the bank... even all the customers who've seen them together... know what's going on."

Ryan snorted softly and shook his head. His eyes were clouded and troubled.

"They're not even trying to hide it huh?" She shook her head.

"They did for a while but most of us could see what was happening. From what I hear from a couple of friends who are still working there, it's gotten more and more..."

"Obvious?" Ryan suggested.

"Worse. Brazen was the word I was going to use," Consuela replied. "For what it's worth... I'm sorry. Everyone down there thinks Mr. Michaels is a real ass. No one knows what Carrie sees in him."

"Yeah, I'm sorry too," Ryan said quietly. "I've suspected it for about three months and I've been collecting proof for the past couple of weeks," he told her. "I think I have enough now to hang the both of them," he added. Consuela looked at him in surprise.

"An interesting choice of words," she said finally. Ryan could see an excitement building quietly. Her eyes were bright, she was breathing quicker. She glanced quickly around to check on Belinda.

"I... I didn't leave my job in San Antonio exactly the way I... implied I did," she said finally. "I left because I filed a sexual harassment complaint against Sean Michaels and... it went up all the way to the main headquarters in Chicago," she said.

Ryan waited. He'd been waiting since Monday for Consuela to open up. He'd known there was something.

"After a while... a few months... the complaint came back down. The Chicago office said the complaint had not been substantiated and they couldn't act on it."

Consuela's face flushed with anger at the memory. Her dark eyes flashed lightning.

"After that, I got a couple of bad performance reports. Three times, the accounts I was handling had minor... and very temporary... balancing problems and they wrote me up," she said bitterly. "A little research and they all came into balance but that didn't seem to matter. They didn't do anything to anyone else for differences that had to be researched, but of course, me... me, they slam."

Consuela shifted in her seat for a long moment, fuming at the way she been treated. It had humiliated and infuriated her at the same time. Ryan nodded encouragingly to get her to continue.

"They shifted me over to the investment banking division for a while, but a woman came back from her maternity leave and all of a sudden, there was no slot for me. After a while, they made it clear I would have to go back to working as a window teller. Not only that, I would be working every weekend and I was going to be moved eventually to a special late shift they were setting up so they could advertise the drive-through was open late. They knew I had a young daughter and there was no way I could take those hours."

Consuela's voice was strained. She was frustrated and mad. She looked around and forced a smile when she caught Belinda's eye and the little girl waved.

"They let me go easy, I guess," Consuela continued. "I'll give them that. Nothing was ever said, but it was plain I could quit and they'd give me good references. If I stayed, I'd see my daughter so seldom she'd forget what I looked like... and if I pushed the complaint, I'd be blacklisted and never work in a bank again."

She was breathing deeply; she couldn't sit still. Her fingers twisted and twinned about themselves in her lap. Consuela's pain and anger were ghosts sitting at the table with them. They joined the ones Ryan brought in every morning with him. All of them were so real they could have reached out and touched them.

Consuela shut her eyes tightly, willing herself to be calm. It took a while but the trembling slowly eased. Her face relaxed; her shoulders slumped.

"Hi, Mommy," the little voice came as a shock. Neither of them had noticed Belinda coming back to the table. "Mommy?" Belinda asked worriedly. "Are you crying?"

Consuela's eyes had snapped open at Belinda's first words. Now she leaned down and opened them wide to show her daughter there were no tears. She forced a gentle smile onto her lips.

"No, honey," Consuela said. "I just had them closed to think a little bit," she explained. Belinda looked doubtful, but she let it pass.

"Tasha and her Mom and Daddy are eating so I came back," she told her mother.

"And I'm glad you did!" Ryan exclaimed. He swept the little girl up in his arms and pulled her onto his lap. "Now..." he said, "I'm still not quite sure where it is that you're ticklish."

Belinda began squirming on his lap, already anticipating being tickled. Her tiny hands flew up to her neck to protect the sensitive flesh there. Ryan's hands darted to her ribs and tickled the small child for a few seconds. When Belinda dropped her hands, he shifted to her neck and Belinda shrieked.

"'Linda!" Consuela said quickly. "You can't..."

"It was my fault," Ryan interjected.

"I know better, don't I, Belinda? Give me a hug and I'll quit," he told the little girl. She didn't want him to stop but she knew what she was supposed to do. She wrapped her arms around Ryan's neck and hugged tightly.

"I have a confession to make," Consuela announced. The noise from the children racing through the large plastic tubes overhead was almost deafening. She had to lean close to Ryan to make herself heard without shouting.

Ryan had suggested the McDonalds out by the Interstate after asking them to dinner. He'd known Belinda would love the playroom. She'd barely been able to sit still long enough to eat her three chicken nuggets and a couple of french-fries.

This was the first time Ryan had seen the mother and daughter except over breakfast, and also the first time they'd been together twice in the same day. Wednesday was turning out to be a day of firsts.

Ryan looked at Consuela for a bit, digesting what she'd said.

"You'd been wanting to tell me about Carrie and also about your sexual harassment complaint since Monday?" he guessed. Consuela's eyes widened, and then narrowed again.

"You knew?" she asked in a tight voice. He could tell it wouldn't take much to light up a temper that was easily sparked anyway. He'd only known her three days and he knew that much about her already. To save himself, he shook his head.

"I knew there was a reason Trish sat you at my table," he said carefully.

Trish was the head waitress and hostess at the café who'd taken Ryan under her wing at the café. Trish had taken the time to talk with Consuela and Ryan for a long while when they paid their breakfast bill this morning. It had been a nice exchange.

"I hoped it was because of my masculine beauty at first... but then I got a look at myself in the mirror," he said. His tone was light and cheerful.

"That left only that you'd asked her to put you with me because you wanted to talk to me about something... or wanted something from me, once I eliminated a couple of less savory possibilities. They just didn't fit who you are," he said quietly.

"I figured you'd get around to it sooner or later... and in the meantime, I was having more fun with you and Belinda than I've had... in so long I can't remember the last time."

The woman flushed faintly. It looked good on her.

"That's part of it. I guess I should have just come out and told you when I recognized you Monday," she mumbled.

She tried to get mad because Ryan had guessed she had a reason for seeking him out the last couple of days... but it wasn't happening. He was so disarming with his candor she couldn't summon even a tiny kernel of anger.

"I didn't mind," Ryan assured her. "I enjoyed your company... I already told you I did." He looked at her speculatively. "What is it you think I can do for you?" he asked. Consuela took a deep breath.

"Well, we didn't get to everything this morning. I don't just have a sexual harassment complaint anymore. I have a suit I filed in Federal court three weeks ago. I was wondering... I was hoping... I could get you to testify to... the fact that Sean Michaels is having an affair with your wife," she said.

"My attorney doesn't know about you yet, but she's told me in the past if we could show Mr. Michaels has continued to do the things he tried to do with me, we have a chance to..."

She threw her hands up in the air, giving up the explanation. She looked at Ryan for a moment.

"Me too," she added diffidently. Ryan's eyes scanned hers. A blank, confused look came over his face while he wondered what he'd missed.

"I enjoyed... me and Belinda have enjoyed having breakfast with you too," Consuela offered by way of explanation.

Ryan's features cleared and he smiled.

"I'm glad," he said quietly. There was a small silence.

"If it will help for me to tell what I know about the affair... sure," he said, returning to the original conversation. "I'm not up on lawyer things but I'll testify to anything I can," he told her.

"You know for sure?" Consuela said in a low, intense voice. "You can say you know Michaels is... is... that he's..."

"Actually having sex with my wife?" Ryan asked. Consuela nodded, too embarrassed to speak.

"Oh, yeah... I can testify to that," Ryan assured her. Consuela sat quietly, her eyes holding his. Hers were filled with a sudden sympathy.

"Maybe not," she said hesitantly. "Maybe you shouldn't... it might not be a good thing... there'd be questions... and..."

Ryan smiled. It was the predatory smile of a shark nosing in for the kill.

"Consuela, my marriage is over. Our vows were broken before... they've been shattered now. My marriage was over the minute she began a relationship with Sean Michaels. I've been collecting evidence to show a court to prove her infidelity. I'm going public with it to show God and everybody what she's done... what she's doing. I'm getting a divorce from Carrie to make everything official, but it's been over for a long time.

"I've spent the last few months watching her and letting her burn the love I used to have for her out of my soul. I don't care for her now, and nothing can embarrass or humiliate, me anymore than she already has. I'm going to lower the boom on her and her... friend... and I'm going to do it hard."

Consuela looked at Ryan, seeing something in him she'd not noticed before. His blue eyes had gone an icy shade of blue as his anger built. She believed him. He was going to make a believer of Sean Michaels too. She smiled slowly.

"It takes a lot of strength to do what you're going to do, Ryan. I think you are one hombre Mr. Michaels should never have messed with," she said softly.

Ryan was startled at the comment. It broke his concentration and his rage ebbed away. He smiled at the beautiful woman sharing his table. As he looked, her face changed.

"You have proof, you said?" she demanded. "You have pictures or something?" Ryan nodded.

"I've got video tape of them together, tape recordings of cell phone conversations, and other tapes of her talking to girlfriends in her car about her lover... heck, I got a bunch of things," Ryan told her. "I know the cell phone conversations can't be used for much... maybe not the tapes from the recorder I put under her car seat, unless she gets on the stand and denies the conversations ever took place. Then they can be used to impeach her, I'll bet.

"The videos? Well, the videos I have of her hugging and kissing that asshole inside the bank, on the city streets, and I've got them walking arm in arm with him into our house... those can be used. I'm almost certain the ones of her and Doofus in our bed are legal too. I think I have a perfect right to videotape things that go on inside my house. They're pretty... graphic... as they say.

"Oh, wow..." Consuela whispered. "Oh goodness, I'm sorry. It's so sad you had to see things like that, but you've got her good, don't you?"

Ryan chuckled.

"Oh, yeah," he said, drawing out the last word to emphasize his satisfaction. "Got him too," he added.

"I haven't seen a lawyer yet, but I have my own suit to file, you know. I re-read Carrie's contract and there's a morals clause right there in big black letters on the second page. It's not even in the fine print. I don't see how there would not be a clause just like that in Michaels' contract too. That should mean the bank is... uh... liable if they don't enforce their own rules and regulations, right?"

Ryan thought for a moment.

"I... like I said, I don't do lawyer stuff... but I think we can help each other out on these things. You can testify in my civil suit that... what do they call it? Uh... something about establishing a pattern of conduct or something like that? Hmmmmm... and how about not taking action to... uh... well... stop it. What are the legal words for saying that, I wonder?"

He grinned and made a mental note to call a lawyer and run these things by him or her. For the first time in a while, he saw a way he might be able to keep his little contractor firm afloat after his wife took her pound of flesh in the divorce proceedings.

Texas family law was structured so that property settlements were affected by such things as adultery on the part of one of the spouses. He'd already been counting on that and now there was an even better chance of getting enough cash from a settlement to buy out whatever percentage Carrie's share of the business was.

Thursday was a disappointing day in the café. Ryan was there, as the locals had come to expect, but Consuela was not. It was because, as Ryan knew, Consuela had to go in early to open up the small town bank where she was the assistant manager. The crowd of regulars thought it was sad he was sitting alone, but they really should have noticed he'd brought a book to read while he waited for his omelet. He wouldn't have done that if he'd thought he'd have company for breakfast.

The book was a western by Louis L'Amour. Ryan loved westerns. They were about a day when a man could make a place for himself through sheer force of will, courage, and an attitude of being unwilling to accept a slight at the hands of another. It worked for L'Amour's heroes again and again. In this novel, one of the minor players was a young married woman who had taken a lover--a bad man who was good with a gun. Her farm boy husband had tried to use his gun on the bad man, but he'd had no chance. The simple farmer died a painful death when the wife's lover shot him.

Ryan identified with the farm boy. Regardless of the consequences, he'd taken up an unfamiliar tool, a pistol, to defend the marriage and his personal honor. It hadn't been smart, but Ryan could see where the man hadn't been willing to live with the alternative. Ryan understood the man; he understood him well.

The omelet was especially good that morning. Trish had given the high sign to the cook to include extra amounts of the mushrooms and sausage that Ryan especially liked. He was being given privileges some long-term regulars still didn't get. A few people noticed the fat omelet and knew the head waitress and hostess had given Ryan her seal of approval.

At her suggestion, Ryan and Consuela met Thursday night at a Golden Corral restaurant a little further out of San Antonio. The chances of contact with anyone they knew were slim. They'd agreed this was better than being seen together. After all, he was still a married man and people wouldn't understand they were planning two lawsuits against a multi-national banking institution, its regional headquarters in San Antonio, and a number of its senior officers.

Ryan commented on the fact that Consuela asked questions and talked while waving her fork around like a symphony conductor's baton. It was her Latina heritage, she said. Her grandmother had been raised in a small village in the south of Mexico. She needed her hands in order to speak properly. Ryan teased her, saying if her hands were tied behind her, it would be the same as putting a gag in her mouth. She thought about it for a moment, then stuck out her tongue at him. He laughed out loud. He couldn't remember when he'd last done that.

She was surprised, in turn, by the fact that his great-grandfather had been a full-blood member of the Comanche nation. She studied his face closely, remarking the only contribution she saw from that side of the family that she saw was his high cheekbones. His blue eyes and blond hair certainly came from somewhere else. They'd ended by deciding contributions from the Scots and the Irish overwhelmed most of the genes in both their ancestries.

Consuela asked if Ryan knew there were more than a few Irish Dance schools around San Antonio? Did he know they held an annual Feis, a contest, in one of the downtown hotels? Ryan did not. Consuela told him he should go next October. He said he would if she would go with him. She said she would.

There was a pause while they both paid attention to their plates.

"Will the videos and stuff be admissible in court... even in divorce court?" she asked finally. Ryan shrugged.

"I'm sure a good lawyer will find a way to get them introduced somehow," he replied after a while. "If not, I'll make copies of the DVDs and mail them to her family and all our friends as Christmas presents," he added with a grin.

"I thought you said you had video tapes," Consuela remarked idly, after finishing a bite of Caesar salad.

"I did... I do," Ryan replied. But I bought a really fast computer a couple months ago for the office and I loaded a program on it to convert movies from a digital camera to a DVD... uh... format." He saw her confusion. "Oh. First I had to play the VHS tapes and record from the VCR to my digital camcorder," he explained.