Indefensible (5 page)

Friday, 8:43 p.m.

K
ate glanced at her watch, hurrying past Randall's hunched form. She hoped he wouldn't see her, but if he did, she planned to make sure he didn't realize
she
had seen
him
. She headed into the Economy Shoe Shop. It was already full to the gills. She worked her way into its labyrinthine interior, scanning the crowd for Joanne's blond head. She was immediately absorbed into the throng.

“Kate, over here!” Joanne waved from the far corner, holding court at a large table. Kate slipped through the crowd and lowered herself into the only empty chair.

Her colleagues were well into a night of liquor and merriment. She looked around, hoping to catch a waitress' eye. She longed for a drink. Especially after seeing her boss.

“Kate, you know Paul Roberts from Fougere Thomas,” Joanne said. “And of course you know Curtis Carey. You two are on the same case, right?”

Same case, opposite sides. And Kate had the sinking
feeling she was on the wrong side. Kate had been assigned to work with Nina Woods, McGrath Barrett's newest rainmaker, on a defense for Great Life Insurance Company. Great Life was one of the clients Nina had brought with great acclaim to McGrath Barrett two months ago.

The matter was straightforward: plaintiff Mike Naugler was suing Great Life for injuries sustained from an accident. Kate was sure Nina Woods could handle this file with her eyes closed. But Nina wanted McGrath Barrett's celebrity associate on Team Woods.

Kate supposed she should be flattered. Nina Woods was a star by anyone's definition, the type of lawyer who sprinkled major billable hours in her path to the lucky hungry associates she brought along with her.

Kate forced a smile at the man who'd irritated the hell out of her this afternoon. “We saw each other today, in fact.”

Curtis grinned. It surprised Kate. She was expecting an arrogant, kind of smirky grin, but it was genuine if not liquored up. “Poor old Nina. Never thought the ice queen could turn so green.” His grin grew larger. “Nice rhyme, eh?”

Kate couldn't help but grin in return. Nina reminded Kate of the white queen on a chessboard, with her bright silver hair and her commanding face. Seeing Nina Woods be human had been disconcertingly refreshing.

When Nina had arrived that morning for the discovery hearing—where one side questioned the other about their evidence and testimony—Kate had just been absorbing the fact that she recognized the plaintiff. Mike Naugler was a patient at the same physio clinic she'd
attended to rehabilitate her arm and leg after the Body Butcher's attack. On more than one occasion, Kate had been in the bed next to his, separated only by a curtain. She'd heard all about his accident, his pain, his attempts to rehabilitate. Mike Naugler's injuries affected his ability to function, his ability to work, his interactions with his children.

Nina grilled the man relentlessly. Sweat had steeped dark patches into the cotton/polyester blend of Mike Naugler's Mark's Work Wearhouse shirt.

When they'd returned to the boardroom in the afternoon, a faint odor of perspiration mixed with desperation, anger and garlic from his lawyer's donair lunch permeated the room. Kate had taken copious notes, in contrast to Mike Naugler's counsel. Curtis Carey had retrieved the newspaper from inside his briefcase and perused it with an air of cocky indifference while Nina battered his client. Kate was sure that Curtis had prepared his client for this strategy but it had taken its toll on Mike Naugler.

At 2:48 p.m., Nina had paused. Taken a sip of water. Swallowed. Taken another sip of water. A light sheen of sweat had gleamed on her forehead. She had bent her head to Kate's and whispered, “I think I'm going to vomit.” Her face had paled dramatically in the past five minutes.

Nina had waved at the discovery reporter to stop the recording. She pressed her hand against her stomach. “I'm afraid I won't be able to continue,” she had said to Curtis Carey. “I must have eaten something that was off.”

She turned to her client. “There are only a few
questions remaining. Kate will take over.” With that, she had grabbed her notepad and rushed out of the room.

Curtis Carey had then unfolded the comics section. The fact that he'd read the world news when Nina was questioning his client, but had switched to the comics when Kate was conducting the discovery, irritated the hell out of her.

Between the hostile plaintiff, the insolent lawyer and the stack of research sitting on her desk when she returned to her office, it had been a hell of a way to end the workweek. Another glass of wine could not have happened soon enough. But she hadn't planned on enjoying it in the company of the first man who'd gotten under her skin today. She pushed the second man out of her thoughts. She hadn't expected to see him on her way here.

Curtis' eyes flickered over Kate's sundress. She had removed her cardigan when she entered the Shoe and now she regretted her flirty choice. His collar was unbuttoned and his tie probably stuffed in his briefcase, but everyone at the table still wore their work clothes.

The waitress appeared with Kate's wine. Curtis waved a twenty dollar bill, and she took it just as Kate protested.

He shook his head. “I owe you one. I was a bit of a prick this afternoon.”

She raised a brow. “How was Dilbert?”

“Not as good as Peanuts.”

That surprised a laugh out of her. She sipped her wine. “I've always had a fondness for Pigpen.”

“I'm a Snoopy guy all the way.” He raised his glass. “So, am I forgiven?” He asked the question with the
mischievous grin of a little boy. A dimple creased one of his cheeks, giving him a lopsided—but endearing—smile.
Too endearing,
Kate told herself.
I bet he's used this since kindergarten to get himself out of trouble.

Kate arched a brow. “This time only. I won't be so lenient again.”

His eyes met hers. A slow flush warmed her chest. She sipped her wine, raising the glass to her lips so quickly that the rim hit her teeth. When had he become so cute?

Maybe when she met him at the discovery this morning and he hadn't exhibited the usual fascinated curiosity for the woman who'd slain the Body Butcher single-handedly. Most new acquaintances would eye her suit and blouse as if they expected her to rip it off and reveal her spandex superwoman outfit underneath. Or they would back away ever so slightly, as if the thought of getting too close to a woman who had violently killed was too risky. Not Curtis. He treated her just like anyone else. Add the dimple to the package, and he was looking pretty damn good.

“What does Kate do on her time off?” His voice was low, meant just for her. She darted a glance at the other associates. Joanne was saying, “I heard that Nina told Randall that if he didn't…” Then Joanne's voice lowered. The other associates leaned in closer. Any other time, Kate would want to know about Nina Woods and her power plays, but not this moment. Not when Curtis Carey's gray eyes were fixed on hers. Waiting for her answer. She smiled. “I take my dog running.”

“Yeah?” There was no mistaking the appreciative
gleam in his gaze as he skimmed the bare shoulders, revealed by her sundress. “I run, too.”

She let her own eyes wander. Lanky, well-muscled under that crisp blue shirt, she bet. He could probably keep up with her.

Just like Ethan had. And where had that led her?

To heartbreak.

She drained her wineglass. Curtis wasn't Ethan. She had to remember that.

“I usually go for a run on Saturday morning,” Curtis said, his eyes intent on hers. “Do you want to join me?”

That startled a nervous laugh out of her. “But we're on opposing sides…”

“I won't pump you for information.” He placed two fingers against his heart. “Scout's honor.”

When he put it like that, she felt ridiculous objecting in the first place. And besides, he seemed like a nice guy.

Not like those losers who called her in the weeks after she killed Craig Peters. They'd asked her out on dates, either to be associated with her fifteen minutes of fame, or—this had made her sick—to convince her to reenact in the bedroom what she'd done to Craig Peters. She'd had to delist her phone number.

She shivered.

“You cold?”

She had the feeling if she said yes, he'd be offering to warm her up. She pulled her cardigan around her shoulders.

“Nope. Fine.” She smiled brightly. “I usually run at Point Pleasant around 9:00 a.m.”

His dimple creased even deeper. Kate felt a heat in her belly.

It had been too long since she'd had a man hold her close. She looked at Curtis' hands, one clasped around his beer glass, the other splayed casually on top of the table.

He had nice hands. Strong fingers.

She reached for her wineglass, then realized it was empty and raised her hand for the waitress. Another glass of wine was just what the doctor ordered, before she parched her thirst in a wholly inappropriate way.

She might find Curtis Carey hot, sexy and totally devourable—this minute—but that didn't mean she should jump into bed with him.

Right?

How would they feel on Tuesday morning? In the boardroom, questioning the medical expert hired by Great Life?

That could be very messy.

Or it could be one hell of a way to spend the weekend.

Her wine arrived. Curtis raised his glass in a toast. His gaze held hers.

Desire flared in a hot rush.

She looked away.

She knew what his eyes were telling her. What they were inviting her to do.

Alaska was waiting for her at home. So was an empty bed.

A scary bed.

A bed that let her exhausted body rest on it and then
tangled her in its sheets, holding her captive while Craig Peters slipped into her mind.

She drained her glass.

Curtis watched her.

She stood. “I'm heading home,” she announced to the group.

“Already?” Joanne asked. Her eyes darted between Kate and Curtis.

“I'm going running tomorrow.” With a faint smile, Kate walked away.

Friday, 10:20 p.m.

E
lise knocked on Lucy's door, hoping her eyes didn't look too reddened. She could hear her daughter's iPod playing on speakers from inside her room.

“Come in,” Lucy called.

Elise turned the old brass door handle and walked in. The bedside light was the only illumination in the room. Its muted glow cast Lucy's hair into molten gold. Lucy sat cross-legged on a white pine sleigh bed, dressed for sleep in a loose T-shirt emblazoned with her basketball team's logo and a pair of penguin-patterned pajama bottoms.

Her daughter was so beautiful.

All of Elise's protective instincts surged in her.

Lucy looked up from her journal entry, a frown of concentration still blurring her brows. “Hi, Mum.” Her blue eyes searched her mother's face. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yes,” Elise lied. “I'm sorry it was such a hard way to start our vacation.”

Lucy shrugged, but Elise knew her fight with Randall had deeply upset her daughter. A wave of fatigue hit her. She was exhausted by Randall's anger. She was disappointed that Jamie's advice had blown up in her face. She'd always thought he could cut through the suppurating flesh of an issue and get to the bone. But tonight his advice had only succeeded in making her feel worse.

She'd go to bed and get a good night's sleep. Then tomorrow morning she'd wake up early and make the kids a big pancake breakfast. They'd forget tonight ever happened and start their vacation properly this time.

She rested her hand on her daughter's shoulder. “Let's do something fun tomorrow, Luce. We could go down to the waterfront and take a boat cruise or something. And I owe you two that lobster dinner.”

Lucy's face lit up. “Yeah. Sweet!”

Elise grinned at her. “Now it's time for bed. You need to put away your memoirs.”

Lucy placed the ribbon marker precisely between the pages, which Elise noted were crammed with her loopy, generous handwriting.

“No peeking,” Lucy chided, stuffing the journal under her pillow.

“Of course not.” Elise meant it. “I would never pry. That's your private stuff, honey.”

Lucy slid her lean limbs under the sheets. Elise marveled at the perfect symmetry of her daughter's body. She was stretching out, her body morphing into a young woman's. Once again, Elise's protective instincts rose, honed recently to quivering alertness. Lucy was still a
child despite her changing body. She was just becoming aware of her effect on boys.

She reached over, turning off Lucy's iPod and her bedside light. “Have you taken out your contacts?”

“Yes.”

“Brushed your teeth?”

“Ye-e-s!” Lucy said with the righteous indignation of a child who had remembered this time.

Elise bent over and kissed Lucy's cheek. Her skin was so smooth. “Sleep well, darling.”

“I love you, Mum,” Lucy murmured.

Those words gave Elise more comfort than anything. She just needed to keep it that way. She walked through the darkness to the door. “Love you, too. See you in the morning.”

“Uh-huh,” Lucy said, already drifting into sleep. Her daughter had an uncanny ability to fall asleep at the drop of a hat that Elise envied.

She padded across the hall. Nick's room was in darkness, but she knew he'd be lounging on his bed, surfing his laptop. She hesitated outside his door. The urge to talk to him about his behavior with Randall was almost overwhelming. He couldn't provoke his father like that.

But he'd be quick to throw it all back in her face. And she knew her actions had been just as deplorable.

She put her hand on the brass doorknob. It was cool under her fingers. It seemed to her that Nick was holding his breath on the other side of the room.

What would she say to him?

Nothing that he hadn't heard a million times.

She could just picture his face when she opened the
door. The deliberately blank eyes. The sullen, unsmiling face. The reluctance to greet her.

Fatigue washed through her. She did not have the energy for yet another fight this evening.

There was time enough tomorrow. When the sun was up and their stomachs were full of her special blueberry buttermilk pancakes, the events of today could be discussed with calmness. Maybe she'd even joke about it with Nick to take the sting away.

Her fingers slid from the doorknob and she walked slowly to her own room.

She shed her clothes and threw on a light cotton nightgown in white with pale blue trim. Her breasts swayed heavily under the gown as she carried her overnight bag into the bathroom.

It took only minutes to get ready for bed. Most of her eye makeup had come off as a result of her weeping. She stared at herself in the bathroom mirror. Her blond hair, always wavy and full, was tangled around her face. Her eyes, puffy. Her skin, drawn.

This was not the way she wanted to live her life.

She took out her contacts, tossing them in the garbage, and caught her reflection in the mirror again.

Her face was satisfyingly blurred.