Objection Overruled by J.K. O'Hanlon Page A

fantasy.
    The television weatherman called for another humid and hazy day in downtown Baltimore. She’d be running all over town today. First, there was the meeting with her friend who was now with the civil division of the US Attorney’s office. They had to finalize a presentation for the Baltimore Bar Association next month. She reminded herself not to volunteer as a speaker in the next hundred years. What an unproductive pain in the ass, but she knew her friend appreciated it.
    After that, she’d have to hustle across downtown to the Maryland Circuit Court for a small matter she was handling for another friend. Why were her friends so needy right now? The court appearance meant a suit was required and hose if she wore a skirt. Unfortunately Maryland’s court rules lagged half a century behind modern fashion.
    Every lightweight pantsuit that fit was at the dry cleaners. Jackie ground her teeth together. Going to the dry cleaners was the forgotten task in the previous evening’s work session with Brandon Marshfield. The options were slim. Her dove-gray suit was stunning and comfortable, but it had a skirt, so she’d have to wear hose. Hose in this humidity would raise a heat rash in a place she didn’t have time or patience for. That left the one clean pantsuit in the closet. It had cream-colored linen trousers and a fitted short jacket.
    Jackie looked down to her stomach and frowned. Those pants had fit last summer when she was running every day and thin from the stress of leaving her former job. Her nonfunctional brain caused her to flip back and forth between the tight pants and constricting hot pantyhose. Index finger extended, the count off began. “Eenie, meenie, minie, mo…”
    Oh God, what was she doing? She had to get to work. With a violent wrench, she jerked the pantsuit off the rod and pulled the rod out of the wall.
    “Shit, shit, shit!”
    Her closet lay in disarray, much like what she felt her life was dissolving into. She had always imagined herself as being like solid oak, but lately her life resembled peeling, cheap veneer over particleboard.
    Jackie determinedly sloughed off the onset of a pity party and dug the pantsuit out of the pile of clothes. The pants buttoned and zipped okay, but the fabric was snug against her ass. Did she dare look at her butt in the mirror? Best not. With any luck, the mirror would follow the clothes rod’s lead and shatter.
    The hemming and hawing over her wardrobe cost her the cushion of time she’d built in to her schedule. Since she was running late, she grabbed a couple of raspberry-coconut Zingers and a Coke, stuffed them in her bag, and hurried out of her loft down to the street level.
    Steam rose from the streets in sheets of silvery-white mist. With the gray skies, the dim scene gave the city the aura of a slasher movie set in hazy daylight. Parking would be impossible at the US Attorney’s building, so she looked down the street for a cab and spotted a free one. Before she could flag it over, another fare jumped in. She didn’t have the extra money to spare on cab fare anyway. Maybe the walk would stretch out the skintight pants.
    After the brisk six-block walk to the US Attorney’s office, sweat beaded on Jackie’s brow and the back of her neck. Although not accustomed to being ogled by men, Jackie sensed male eyes on her as she strode confidently up the stairs.
    Once that report from Gary was in her hands, hopefully she’d be able to trace those trades made in Italy on a Saturday. A couple of phone calls about Brandon should tie up those loose ends regarding why such a seemingly nice guy would be in cahoots with a scum like Ashe. That taste of victory was making its way back into the back of her mind. Maybe those leering men could sense her surging power. She smiled wide and pushed the revolving door to enter the building.
    After passing through the metal detector, she took the stairs up the one floor to the US Attorney’s civil division office. Her