men were guarding Mitch's
expensive Viper. He gave them money, then helped her into the car. Her dress
rode up, exposing more of her thighs than she would have liked, but she was too
tired to care. The last time she'd had a full night's sleep had been the night
before the auction—almost seventy-two hours ago.
She settled into the glove-leather seat, the supple curve cradling
her like welcoming arms. She closed her eyes and didn't open them until the
sports car stopped. Expecting to be home, she was startled to find Mitch had
parked in front of Joe Mama's Pizza.
"I'm starving," Mitch announced. "I've been waiting
for your release since four." Inside, the aroma of pizza reminded her how
terrible prison food had been, and she ordered calzone and black coffee while
Mitch had a combination pizza—no anchovies. She sipped her coffee and ate the
calzone left over from the Stone Age.
"Get some sleep," Mitch said between bites. "We'll
get together tomorrow and decide how to proceed."
She took a head-clearing breath, so groggy she couldn't
concentrate. She'd hoped to postpone this discussion until later, but saw it
wasn't possible. "You know how little money I have. I can't afford
you."
"I'm willing to reduce my usual fee. This case is going to
generate a lot of publicity. That's worth more than money" —he gave her an
odd look—"to a man planning a political career."
The fires of ambition she'd carelessly overlooked when they'd
first met years ago had become a conflagration, but she had no intention of
letting him use her to further his career. "I appreciate what you've done,
but I don't think it would be a good idea for you to continue to represent
me."
"Why not? You won't find anyone better."
"True, but you know how I feel about you."
"You hate me." He flashed his ruthless grin. "We
can build on that."
"Very funny, Mitch. You know what I mean."
"Tell the truth. You're afraid of spending time with me,
afraid you'll fall in love with me."
"What? Don't be ridiculous. I want a lawyer I'm comfortable
with—someone I respect."
The word respect detonated on impact. In the frigid depths
of his eyes she saw unadulterated anger and maybe even hurt. He had her back in
the car without giving her a chance to finish her coffee. They drove toward her
home in silence charged with a cross-current of anger.
She half wished she could modify what she'd said. She was grateful
for what he'd done—although she was certain her friends had paid him well—but
she didn't respect him after what had happened with her father. How could she
possibly work with him?
"Let me out here," she said as he drove up in front of
her house. "I have a key hidden around back. I can get in." They'd
kept her Judith Leiber bag and its contents as evidence.
"I'll make sure you're safe inside."
Too exhausted to argue she led him around to the back and switched
on the outside lamp. It flooded the small garden with bright light, revealing
clusters of cheery pansies and a weeping willow.
Below the tree was an empty rabbit hutch. It was wobbly with age,
but she couldn't bear to throw it out. Like all of her father's woodworking
projects it was far from perfect, but they'd made it together years ago. Then
Papa had taken her to select a lop-eared bunny she'd named Rabbit E. Lee.
The pet store had failed to mention how long rabbits live, and Lee
had been frisky the day she'd kissed him good-bye and left for college,
entrusting his care to her father. Older, slower, but just as loving, Lee was
still alive after college when she'd lived in her own apartment. By then,
though, he was her father's pet. Papa would sit under the tree writing his
column in longhand, feeding Lee carrots.
But the gunshot that killed her father might as well have pierced
Lee's heart too. It was almost as if the bunny knew Papa had killed himself.
From the moment that shot had rung out, nothing could persuade Lee to eat.
Royce had tried; God knows she'd sat by the cage, tears in her eyes,
expensive Viper. He gave them money, then helped her into the car. Her dress
rode up, exposing more of her thighs than she would have liked, but she was too
tired to care. The last time she'd had a full night's sleep had been the night
before the auction—almost seventy-two hours ago.
She settled into the glove-leather seat, the supple curve cradling
her like welcoming arms. She closed her eyes and didn't open them until the
sports car stopped. Expecting to be home, she was startled to find Mitch had
parked in front of Joe Mama's Pizza.
"I'm starving," Mitch announced. "I've been waiting
for your release since four." Inside, the aroma of pizza reminded her how
terrible prison food had been, and she ordered calzone and black coffee while
Mitch had a combination pizza—no anchovies. She sipped her coffee and ate the
calzone left over from the Stone Age.
"Get some sleep," Mitch said between bites. "We'll
get together tomorrow and decide how to proceed."
She took a head-clearing breath, so groggy she couldn't
concentrate. She'd hoped to postpone this discussion until later, but saw it
wasn't possible. "You know how little money I have. I can't afford
you."
"I'm willing to reduce my usual fee. This case is going to
generate a lot of publicity. That's worth more than money" —he gave her an
odd look—"to a man planning a political career."
The fires of ambition she'd carelessly overlooked when they'd
first met years ago had become a conflagration, but she had no intention of
letting him use her to further his career. "I appreciate what you've done,
but I don't think it would be a good idea for you to continue to represent
me."
"Why not? You won't find anyone better."
"True, but you know how I feel about you."
"You hate me." He flashed his ruthless grin. "We
can build on that."
"Very funny, Mitch. You know what I mean."
"Tell the truth. You're afraid of spending time with me,
afraid you'll fall in love with me."
"What? Don't be ridiculous. I want a lawyer I'm comfortable
with—someone I respect."
The word respect detonated on impact. In the frigid depths
of his eyes she saw unadulterated anger and maybe even hurt. He had her back in
the car without giving her a chance to finish her coffee. They drove toward her
home in silence charged with a cross-current of anger.
She half wished she could modify what she'd said. She was grateful
for what he'd done—although she was certain her friends had paid him well—but
she didn't respect him after what had happened with her father. How could she
possibly work with him?
"Let me out here," she said as he drove up in front of
her house. "I have a key hidden around back. I can get in." They'd
kept her Judith Leiber bag and its contents as evidence.
"I'll make sure you're safe inside."
Too exhausted to argue she led him around to the back and switched
on the outside lamp. It flooded the small garden with bright light, revealing
clusters of cheery pansies and a weeping willow.
Below the tree was an empty rabbit hutch. It was wobbly with age,
but she couldn't bear to throw it out. Like all of her father's woodworking
projects it was far from perfect, but they'd made it together years ago. Then
Papa had taken her to select a lop-eared bunny she'd named Rabbit E. Lee.
The pet store had failed to mention how long rabbits live, and Lee
had been frisky the day she'd kissed him good-bye and left for college,
entrusting his care to her father. Older, slower, but just as loving, Lee was
still alive after college when she'd lived in her own apartment. By then,
though, he was her father's pet. Papa would sit under the tree writing his
column in longhand, feeding Lee carrots.
But the gunshot that killed her father might as well have pierced
Lee's heart too. It was almost as if the bunny knew Papa had killed himself.
From the moment that shot had rung out, nothing could persuade Lee to eat.
Royce had tried; God knows she'd sat by the cage, tears in her eyes,
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