Killer Career (2 page)

“Allow me.” He lifted it and handed it to his assistant.

She would not let a school-girlish crush get the better of her. Julie
nodded and turned her attention to the siren. The overripe assistant,
in well-rounded script, slowly etched the information on the paper.

The woman proffered the credit card, which Julie grabbed and threw
into her purse. Beating a hasty retreat, she wended her way past the
enrollment line. No doubt, the women here were busily speculating
over the relationship between the brunette and Jensen as well.

She shook her head and exited, stepping briskly into the parking lot.
Her heels echoed hollowly on the asphalt as she lectured herself on
her foolishness. The sooner she came down to earth the better.
I
will not go off the deep end for any man. Being silly has not gotten
me where I am today,
she muttered to the empty lot. She looked
around to make sure no one had heard her. She really had to get a
grip.

She knew the reason for her off balance. She’d greedily inhabited
the writing world for an entire day, and it was hard to re-enter the
real world. Going home meant doing what she’d come to dislike, yet
she couldn’t break away just yet. Through long hours and hard work,
she and Dade had built up their workers’ compensation and real
estate law practice from nothing to a solid success. She valued his
friendship too much to leave him in the lurch. Something would have
to be worked out, but right now was not the time to decide. Her eyes
swept the parking lot for her car. She spied the midnight blue Audi
in the center and headed in its direction. Once inside, she collapsed
onto the seat. The conference had been great, but it felt good to be
alone with her thoughts.

She turned the key in the ignition, backed up, then braked.

Darn. She’d been so distracted by the workshop she’d forgotten to
get those autographed copies of
Hopeless
. She not only wanted
one for herself, but had counted on buying one for Dade’s
thirty-second birthday tomorrow. It was too late to figure out
something else.

Julie glanced toward the lengthening shadows of the building. She
probably had time, but did she care to face Jensen again? At the
thought of her butterfingers in letting the card slip from her hand,
she grimaced.
Hopeless
-- a fitting word for her silly
fantasies.

She squared her shoulders. He was human, nothing more. She climbed
out of the car, clicked the doors shut and tromped back through the
parking lot, her toes pinching in protest. Not for anyone but Dade
would she endure this.

She returned to the same spot only to discover the line had
disbanded. It couldn’t be already over. She had to buy the book.

The sound of excited voices made her turn. She followed the direction
of the noise. To the left, down a short hall, stood a group of
people. She skirted the fringes of the crowd to find Jensen seated
behind another long table with his assistant beside him. She was in
luck after all.

Dozens of empty boxes lay at his feet. As Julie stood watching, a
gray haired woman in back of her piped, “Get to the end of the
line, Missy.”

Julie flashed an apologetic smile and retreated, only to discover an
ear-ringed, Mohawk-haired teenager standing in front of her. She
smiled inwardly. Jensen attracted all kinds.

When Julie finally made it to the front, she spied with relief a
short stack of books still on the table.

The mystery writer looked up, hazel eyes glinting. “Julie, right?”

She nodded, pleased he’d remembered her name. Hopefully, he didn’t
remember her clumsiness in handing over the charge card.

“Oh, and could you autograph another, this one to Dade?”

He frowned. His piercing eyes bore into hers. “Husband or
boyfriend?”

Was that a note of accusation?

“My law partner,” she said, determined not to sound defensive.

Jensen lifted his eyebrows. “That’s all?”

His eyes connected with hers. Unflinching, she stared back.

“What’s his last name?”

“Dade will do.”

Jensen autographed the books then held them out to her.

“Thank you.”

“The pleasure is all mine.”

Heat rose to her face. In her confusion, she almost swiped the books
from the man’s hands.
I’m not a teenybopper. What’s the
matter with me?

Back at the car, curiosity overcame her. What had he written? She
flicked on the overhead light and opened the top book.

“Julie, my dear, are you willing to take a chance? Yours always,
Tyler Jensen.”

Her heart skipped. Had he read her mind? Could he tell she was
attracted to him? How could he not when her face must have flashed
three shades of red.

* * *

By the time Julie stepped through the hallway of her brick ranch
home, the small Tiffany lamp set on timer for nine already cast its
dim glow on the dark sheen of the console table. She set the books
down on the table and slipped off her heels. That was better.

She barely had time to luxuriate in the sensation of the cool tiles
beneath her freed toes, as she dashed past the living room where the
timed cranberry colored lamp shed its soft light onto the plump
flowery cloth chair and sofa.

Books in hand, she searched the pantry for the wrapping paper she’d
purchased a few weeks before. She found it hiding beside the wax
paper and foil.

Armed with scissors and tape from the odds-and-ends drawer in the
kitchen, she quickly wrapped the present on the counter. The browns
and greens of the paper looked distinctively masculine. The gold bow
added just the right touch. One project completed.

Her unwrapped book lay beside Dade’s. She forced her eyes away. She
didn’t have time to read. She must leave the land of writing and
enter the land of law.

With conference euphoria plunging, she slipped into her office. With
a sigh, she opened the leather catalog case she’d rolled beside the
cherry wood desk Friday evening. Reaching inside, she withdrew
Miller’s papers.

This particular case was set for trial on an emergency petition at
the Illinois Workers’ Compensation Commission. She felt guilty
about cutting her preparations so close. Her client, Adam Miller,
deserved her best representation.

The opposing attorney, Roland Barabat, refused to pay compensation
benefits without a fight. Barabat’s arrogance was typical of the
man. She and Dade had had constant run-ins with the attorney. This
case shouldn’t even have made it to trial, but tell that to
Barabat.

Miller was a factory worker for Krol Industries. At the end of the
day, he’d punched the time clock and headed to his car in the
company parking lot. There he slipped on a patch of ice and broke his
arm. Since the accident had occurred on specified company grounds,
like it or not, his employer was liable.

She hated it when an employer cheated an employee of his rightful
due. Such injustices happened to the unwary, but not to her clients.

Julie reviewed the medical records, paying close attention to the
history of the accident as it had been reported by her client to the
hospital emergency room staff and later to the treating doctor. Thank
goodness the reports jived, tying Miller’s condition to the
occurrence.

With everything clear in her mind, Julie typed notes on her laptop
computer and backed them up on the micro drive. She’d go over it
again on the train in to work.

She was more than ready for a fight. Barabat wouldn’t know what hit
him. She’d teach him not to tromp on the little guy.

Way past midnight, when she was turning back the covers of her bed,
guilt hit her. If she gave up her law practice to write, what would
become of the little guys she might have helped?

* * *

The man made her heart race, though his face remained hidden. It had
to be Jensen. Julie lay beneath him in delicious ecstasy, as he
slowly and thoroughly pleased her. Although it was their first time
together, he knew exactly where to touch and what to do.

It felt glorious, but she knew it was wrong. She pushed him away.
“You have to go,” she said. “I can’t do this.”

In a flash, he disappeared.

Julie lay awake frustrated and thinking.
I’m so hung up on love
and commitment I can’t even enjoy a dream without suffering a moral
dilemma.

Just as well. Though the mystery writer got to her in more ways than
one, that’s as far as it would go. The graphic nature of his books
and the reality of the vamp leaning over his arm at the conference
were signposts he wasn’t a forever kind of guy.

The alarm rang, jarring Julie from her reverie. Time was short. She
had decorations to buy and put up. She’d have to hurry to make it
to the office before Dade. He’d flip for sure, but that was all
right. Although he’d put on a show of disapproval, she knew that
deep down he’d eat up all the fuss.

She hastily dressed, gulped down a bowl of multi-grain cereal,
grabbed the copies of
Hopeless
off the coffee table by the
door and placed them in the catalog case next to the gigantic Miller
file and her laptop computer. The books reminded her of a decision
she’d need to make soon.

Julie shrugged off the thought. She wanted Dade to enjoy his
birthday, so for now she’d not mention her growing doubts about
remaining in the practice.

Chapter Two

The sun shone brilliantly in a baby blue sky. Infant breezes ruffled
Julie’s hair and patted her cheeks, lightening her mood as she
rolled her clanking catalog case down the sidewalk. Her neighbor’s
dog darted from behind the bushes and barked a greeting.

“Good morning, Jimbo.” She stopped to bend down and pet him.

The animal’s tail beat furiously, making Julie smile. Jimbo came on
as ferocious to the general population, but reserved his affections
for a select few. His mistress, the elderly Sarah Pritchard, was
first in line. Jimbo would die for her. The feeling was mutual. The
woman doted on the nondescript black-and-white canine as if he were a
precious child.

“Jimbo, time to come in,” Sarah called out from the adjacent
doorway.

The dog abandoned Julie and bounded back to his mistress. “Good
boy, good boy,” Sarah praised Jimbo.

Julie wished she could own a dog that wagged its tail and greeted her
when she came home, but it would be cruel to subject an animal to her
erratic schedule. For now she’d have to settle for being a part of
Jimbo’s extended family, which was in itself a good thing.

Continuing her four block trek to the downtown Arlingdale commuter
station, Julie took deep breaths of the blooming lilac and
honeysuckle potpourri. She gazed appreciatively at the willows and
elms sporting their light green buds as they waved in the breeze.
This early June day was much too pleasant to waste, but board the
train she must.

Once seated, Julie flipped open her laptop computer. Ignoring the
conversations of the other passengers and the clack of the rails, she
busied herself with the trial notes. Twenty minutes later, she smiled
in satisfaction.

Ready with time to spare. Maybe I can squeeze in a chapter of
Jensen’s book.

She turned the cover and stared again at the autographed message. Was
it conceit to think the mystery writer might be personally interested
in her?

Lost in thought, her mind spun wild scenarios, each starring a
certain mystery writer and herself. She barely noticed the train
covering ground, drawing her closer to her destination.

Not long afterwards she stepped down the metal stairs into Ogilvie
Transportation Center in downtown Chicago. Other commuters darted
past her through the main terminal.

Instead of following them, Julie took a detour to her favorite card
shop on the left. Although it was only seven o’clock, the doors
stood open as usual. She slipped inside and purchased a birthday
banner and three decorated balloons.

Six blocks later, on the twelfth floor of her white stone office
building, Julie unlocked the darkened door and smiled. She’d beaten
Dade in. Not easy considering his Lake Shore Drive condo sat only a
few miles away.

She flipped the overhead switch in the reception area to reveal the
four butter-colored leather chairs, love seat, and round table with
popular magazines, all waiting for the day’s clients.

Her catalog case squeaked as she rolled it along the variegated
design of the short carpet leading to her side of the suite. Once rid
of the case and her purse, she darted into Dade’s office, where she
hung the decorations and hastily retreated down the hall to her own
file-filled office. She had to do something about all this work. Only
a few inches of her walnut colored desk were visible. Blocking that
thought from her mind, she awaited Dade’s arrival.

Five minutes later, she heard the unmistakable sound of his quick
stride. Her heart sped. Any minute now he’d discover her handiwork.

Then came the expected, “Julie McGuire, I’m going to get you.”

She smiled at the success of her efforts then counted one, two and
three.

There he was, filling her doorway, charging the room with his energy.

Glancing up from her work, she wagged a finger at him. “You didn’t
think I’d forget, did you?”

“I hate this kind of stuff, and you know it.”

“And I know you’re a fake. Come over here. I’ve got something
you’ll like.”

He raised his eyebrows. “An interesting variation, but I’m game.”

A typical Dade remark. Julie snorted.

“I’ll let that pass. Happy Birthday, Dade.” She handed him the
wrapped gift. Her heart raced with anticipation. Dade was bound to be
floored. Though he was usually a “doer” and not a reader, he did
have a weakness for Jensen’s books. Wait until he saw this one,
which hadn’t even hit the shelves.