The Rebel Page 2

  And, oh, that made Amanda’s stomach burn. Ten years ago, her mother would have loved this project.

  A lot had changed in ten years.

  Movement from Amanda’s right drew her attention to Mrs. Hennings placing her napkin on the table. “I’m sorry to say, it’s past my bedtime.” Mrs. Hennings touched Mrs. Dyce’s shoulder. “I’ll call you in the morning and we’ll figure out a day for lunch.”

  “I’ll be at the youth center. Call me there.”

  “Will do.” Mrs. Hennings nodded at Lexi. “And I’ll have David call you about his new home. He needs help. Just don’t tell him I said that.”

  Lexi laughed. “Your secret is safe with me. And thank you. I’m excited to work with him.”

  Then Mrs. Hennings turned her crystal-blue gaze on Amanda. “My son has just moved back from Boston. Lexi will be helping him on the redesign of his condominium. I’d love to have him look at your artwork. He’s starting from scratch.” Her lips lifted into a calculating smile only mothers pulled off. “Whether he likes it or not, he’s starting from scratch.”

  And from what Amanda had heard from Lexi, when Mrs. Hennings made a request, you should not be fool enough to deny her. When it came to Chicago’s upper crust, Mrs. Hennings might be their president.

  “Of course,” Amanda said. “I’d love to. Lexi and I have worked together several times. Your son can come by my studio and look at some of my paintings. Or we could do a sculpture. Whatever he likes.”

  The older woman reached to shake Amanda’s hand. “Wonderful. I’ll have him call you.”

  * * *

  “OH, COME ON, David,” Mom said. “I know you can be charming.”

  David Hennings sat in the kitchen of his parents’ home, his hand wrapped around a steaming mug of coffee, and faced down his mother, a woman so formidable and connected the mayor of Chicago kept in constant communication with her. She might be able to sway masses, but she was still his mother and, at times, needed to be told no.

  Otherwise, she’d control him.

  And that wasn’t going to happen.

  “Mom, thank you for your never-ending encouragement.”

  She scoffed at his sarcasm. “You know what I mean.”

  Yes, he did. As much as he liked the usual banter between them, he didn’t want to hear about whatever scheme she had going. Not on a Monday morning when he had a to-do list a mile long, including meeting with the contractor renovating his new condo. Yep, after two weeks of living under his parents’ roof, because even he couldn’t be rebellious enough to break his mother’s heart by staying in a hotel, he needed to get that condo in shape so he could move in.

  As usual, Mom kept her piercing eyes on him and with each second she slowly, methodically chipped away at him. This look was famous in the Hennings household. This look could possibly bring down an entire nation. He blew air through his lips, part of his willpower going with it. “Have you talked to Dad about this?”

  “Of course.”

  Lying. He eyed her.

  “Well, I mentioned it. In passing.”

  David snorted. “I thought so.”

  After attending a fund-raiser for a fireman’s fund the night before, his mother had gotten it into her head that Hennings & Solomon, the law firm his father had founded, should have their investigators look into a cold case. An apparent homicide. All in all, David didn’t get what she wanted from him. All she knew about the case was what she’d overheard at the dinner table. One, some detective had a skull he couldn’t identify. Two, the detective wanted a sculptor to do a reconstruction.

  That was it.

  A reconstruction alone would be no easy task if an artist didn’t have training in forensics. And who knew what kind of credentials this particular artist had?

  David might not have been a criminal lawyer like his father and siblings, but he knew that much about forensics.

  Mom folded her arms and leaned one hip against the counter. “We can help. I know we can.”

  For years now, the two of them had been allies. Unlike his siblings, when David needed shelter, he went to his mother. He adored her, had mad respect for her. No matter what. Through that hellish few months when he’d destroyed his father’s dream of his oldest son joining the firm because David had decided civil law—horrors!—might be the way to go, his mother had pled David’s case, tirelessly arguing that he needed to be his own man and make his own decisions.

  And Dad had given in.

  It might have been butt-ugly, but the man had let David go.

  That was the power of Pamela Hennings.

  David slugged the last of his coffee because, well, at this point, the extra caffeine couldn’t hurt.

  “Okay,” he said. “You do realize I’m not a criminal attorney, right? And, considering I don’t even work at Hennings & Solomon, I’m guessing I’m not the guy for this assignment.”

  “Your father said Jenna and the other investigator, Mike what’s-his-name, are too busy. And you said you were bored. Since your new office won’t be ready for a couple of weeks, you can do this. We can do this.”

  Cornered. Should have known she had a counterattack prepped. So like his mother to use his own words against him after he’d complained the night before that the contractor doing the renovation on his new office was running behind. Had he known that, he’d have stayed in Boston another two weeks before packing up and moving home to open his own firm.

  “But I’m meeting with my contractor this morning.”

  “By the way, as soon as you’re done with him, you need to call Lexi.”

  “The decorator? Why?”

  Mom huffed and gave him the dramatic eye roll that had won lesser actresses an Academy Award. “Interior designer, dear. And what do you mean, why? I told you I arranged for her to work with you. Because, so help me, David, you will not be living the way you did in Boston with all that oddball furniture and no drapes. You, my love, are a grown man living like a teenager. Besides, Lexi’s significant other knows the detective from last night. When you talk to Lexi, get the detective’s name. He’ll help you. We’ll get Irene Dyce in on this, as well.” Mom waggled her hand. “She was at the fund-raiser last night and overheard the conversation. I’m about to call her to set up lunch and you can bet I’ll mention it. Between her and her husband, they know half this city. It’s doable, David.”

  He sat forward and pinched the bridge of his nose. By now he should be used to this. The bobbing and weaving his mother did to confuse people and get them to relent. “What is it exactly you want me to do?”

  She slapped a business card in front of him. “Talk to the artist. I got her card last night. I told her you were about to move into a new home and might need artwork.”

  “Seriously? You’re tricking her? And how much is that going to cost me?”

  “David Jeremy Hennings, just shush. I needed a reason to contact her again. And it’s not a trick if you hire her. Just have her do a painting or something. That’s only fair.”

  If he wound up buying something, his mother was paying for it. That was all he knew. Sighing, he picked up the card. Amanda LeBlanc. Nice name. Good, solid name. “Why do I need to talk to her?”

  “She told the detective she couldn’t do the sculpture. I think she’s intrigued, though. She might just need a push. And you, my darling, excel at the art of the push.”

  He held up both hands. “Mom, please don’t strain yourself with all these compliments. First I’m charming, and now it’s persuasive. This might all go to my head.”

  “You need to zip it with the sass. For God’s sake, you’re the intellectual around here. You love research and history and combing through information to reach a conclusion. This case would be perfect for you.”

  “I’m no investigator.”

  “But you don’t h
ave to be. All you need to do is get the ball rolling. Think of the people we have at our disposal. Russ is an FBI agent. I’m sure he’d help.”

  Now she wanted to drag his sister’s boyfriend into this. Great. Given David’s strained—as in they drove each other nuts—relationship with Penny, he and Russ hadn’t gotten off to the greatest of starts.

  Inspired, Mom boosted herself away from the counter and sat in the chair beside his. It’s over now. When she got charged up like this, there’d be no denying her.

  “David, I want you to think about this. You moved back to Chicago to be part of this family again.”

  “Mom—”

  “Shush. I love you, but you’ve always had an issue with feeling like the odd man out.”

  Damn, she’s good.

  “If you’d really like to be included in all those nasty dinner conversations about criminal cases, this is the way to start. So far, the firm’s quasi cold-case squad has solved two murders. Two, David. Do you know how many nights I’ve had to listen to your father, Zac and Penny rehash those cases?” She held up her hand. “A lot. This is your chance to finally be part of the conversation. And, frankly, I want this. For the first time, I get to be part of the conversation, too, and I like it. I’m not your father’s socialite wife anymore. I’m more than an appendage.”

  Academy Award winner Pamela Hennings. “Cut that out. You’ve never been an appendage. He’s terrified of you. Everyone knows that.”

  “Everyone knows I’m his wife and that, yes, we have a strong relationship, but I’ve never had a job, David. All the charity work and clubs, it’s all an offshoot of your father’s work. Not that I haven’t enjoyed it, but if given the chance at a redo, I’d have a career of my own. Doing what, I don’t know. All I know is that I’m suddenly someone who can help bring justice and it’s not because it’s expected of me. So buck up and do this for your mother.”

  Game over. She’d turned the entire thing around on him, playing up the guilt because she knew, when it came to her, he rarely said no. Damn. How the hell did she always do this? He ticked through the conversation, then burst out laughing.

  “What’s funny?”

  He grabbed his cup, rose from his chair and kissed her on the cheek. “Nothing. You’re brilliant. You’ve totally manipulated me into doing this. And I let you. Being around lawyers has rubbed off on you.”

  “You’ll do it?”

  “I’ll talk to the artist. Then I’m done. I’m not an investigator and have no interest in being one. I have a law practice to open.”

  Mom pushed up from the table and held her index fingers up. “That’s fine. Talk her into at least doing the reconstruction. You’re better at that sort of thing than I am. Once you convince her, I’ll handle it from there.”

  “I’m sure you will, Mom. I’m sure you will.”

  “And, by the way, dinner is at seven-thirty tonight. Zac and Emma will be here and Russ and Penny.”

  She ran her gaze over his clothes, starting at his long-sleeved henley. He knew she hated the Levi’s jeans and boots, but he wasn’t five anymore and didn’t need his mother dressing him. “Don’t start, Mom.”

  “Between the clothes and that facial hair, I have to ask that you not come to the table dressed like you escaped from prison.”

  Facial hair. She acted as if he had a hobo beard rather than the close-cropped one he favored. He snatched his favorite leather jacket, the one with the intricate stitching on the shoulders, off the back of his chair, and Mom’s lips peeled back. “Mom, this is a two-thousand-dollar jacket. Besides, my tux is at the dry cleaner’s.”

  “Don’t be fresh.”

  More than done with this conversation, he shrugged into his coat. “I’ve gotta go. You’ve convinced me to talk to this artist. I love you, but quit while you’re ahead.”

  Chapter Three

  Morning sun shifted, the light angling sideways instead of straight into Amanda’s studio, and she stepped back from the sculpture. She’d been messing with the lips of a cell-phone manufacturer’s CEO, bending the clay, tweaking and retweaking for two hours, and she still couldn’t get the mouth right. And worse, she couldn’t figure out why. As much as it irritated her, drove her to near madness, it didn’t matter. She’d keep at it. No matter how long it took. After the botched nose on the fireman, resulting in a shake-up of her confidence, she’d get these lips perfect.

  The changing sunlight through the loft’s oversize windows didn’t help, so she adjusted the six-foot lamp behind her, directing the light in a more favorable position. Light, light and more light helped keep her focused for the sometimes tedious hours spent in front of a sculpture. Changing shadows meant time slipping from her greedy hands. She glanced at the clock. Eleven thirty. She’d been at it six hours, two of them lost on bum lips.

  “Okay, girlfriend. You need to get it together here. Forget the nose. It’s one nose. It shouldn’t be a career-ending mistake.”

  Intellectually, she knew it. Emotionally, that faulty nose might do her in.

  The studio phone rang, filling the quiet space with its annoying blinging sound. Typically, she’d ignore the phone until her exhausted and sore fingers gave out for the day. But now, with the rotten lips, it was probably a good time to take a break. Grab a quick lunch and refocus. She scooted to her desk in the corner and snatched up the handset.

  “Good morning. This is Amanda.”

  “Good morning, Amanda. My name is David Hennings. You met my mother at an event last night.”

  And, hello, sexy voice of my dreams. Wow. The low-pitched resonance of that voice poured over her. With her dating history, he was probably five inches shorter than her and a total mama’s boy. “Hello, Mr. Hennings. I did meet your mother last night. She’s a lovely dinner companion.”

  For whatever reason, he laughed at that, the sound just as yummy as his voice.

  “That she is,” he said. “She told me she mentioned I was moving into a new place.”

  Seriously, he didn’t sound short. Or like a mama’s boy. If that even made sense because how could anyone know what someone looked like by the way he spoke? She had a vision, though. A good one, an exceptional one, of a tall man, fair haired and blue-eyed like his mother. And he’d wear suits every day. Slick, Italian suits that alerted the world to his blue-blood status. Yes indeed, she had a vision.

  “She mentioned you’d be working with Lexi, who is a friend, by the way. Would you like to set up an appointment and we can discuss what you might need?”

  “Definitely. I just spoke with Lexi. I could swing by. If you’re available.”

  “Now?”

  “If that works. Otherwise, we could look at tomorrow.”

  Apparently Mrs. Hennings was in a hurry. Amanda swung back to her sculpture and the stubborn lips. A break might help. Discussing new projects always seemed to cleanse the palate, help her look at existing work with fresh perspective and excitement. But she wasn’t exactly dressed to meet a new client. Knowing she had a full day of sculpting ahead, she’d yanked her hair into a ponytail and slipped on her baggiest of baggy jeans and a “Make Love, Not War” T-shirt a friend had given her as a joke. The hair she could deal with by removing her hair band. The clothes? Not so much.

  “Mr. Hennings, that would be fine. But I have to warn you, I’m working on a sculpture today and when I sculpt I dress comfortably. I didn’t expect to have a meeting.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’m in jeans. My mother is on a mission, Amanda, and if you know my mother at all, you know that if I tell her I didn’t meet with you because of what you were wearing, she’ll skin me.”

  “So you’re saying you’re afraid of your mother.”

  “I’m not afraid of my mother. I’m terrified of her.”

  For the first time all day, considering the lips, Amanda laughed. A
good, warm one that made her toes curl. Any argument she’d had to avoid meeting with him today vanished when he’d dropped that line about his mother. Simply put, she loved a grown man who understood his mother’s power. How that grown man handled that power was a different story. Heaven knew she’d dated some weaklings, men who not only were afraid of their mothers, but also let them dictate how their lives should go. That, on a personal level, Amanda couldn’t deal with. On a professional level, she didn’t necessarily care as long as her fee got paid.

  Besides, she liked David Hennings. She liked the sound of his voice even more. Call it curiosity, a mild interest in meeting a man with a voice like velvet against skin, but she wanted to check him out.

  “Okay, Mr. Hennings. You can come by now.”

  “Great. I’ll see you soon. And it’s David.”

  * * *

  INSIDE THE STAIRWELL of the hundred-year-old building on the city’s West Side, David climbed the last few steps leading to the landing of Amanda’s second-floor studio. He loved these old structures with the Portland stone and brick. The iconic columns on the facade urged the history major in him to research the place. Check the city records, see what information he could find on who’d built it, who’d lived here or which companies had run their wares through its doors.

  Structures like this had a charm all their own that couldn’t be duplicated with modern wizardry. Old buildings, this building, had a life, a past to be researched and appreciated.

  Or maybe he just wanted to believe that.

  He rapped on the door. No hollow wood there. By the scarred look and feel of its heavy weight under his knuckles, it might be the original door. How amazing would that be?

  The door swung open and a woman with lush curves a guy his size could wrap himself around greeted him. She wore jeans and a graphic T-shirt announcing he should make love, not war—gladly, sweetheart—and her honey-blond hair fell around her shoulders, curling at the ends. The whole look brought thoughts of lazy Sunday mornings, hot coffee and a few extracurricular activities, in a bed and out, David could think of.