Turn on a Dime - Blane's Turn by Tiffany Snow

would get it from her. The less she had to go on, the more quickly she’d give up. He hoped.
    The cat, Tigger, purred and wound its way around Blane’s legs as he glanced around the apartment. There. A cell phone sat on the kitchen counter. He pocketed it and turned to go, but paused.
    A neat stack of envelopes sat on the kitchen table. Blane hesitated. He shouldn’t look, that would be invading her privacy.
    But then again, he was standing in the middle of her apartment, without her knowledge, in possession of a key she hadn’t given him. The “invading her privacy” ship had sailed.
    Thumbing through the opened envelopes, Blane saw they were all bills. Several were from medical places such as a hospital and a cancer treatment center. Those were in the thousands and were past due. From the history, it seemed Kathleen sent in sporadic payments of varying amounts, he guessed whatever she could afford when she could afford it.
    A couple of utility bills were there, too, their amounts piddling and yet they were close to being overdue.
    The phone rang in her apartment and Blane automatically glanced toward it. She had a machine. He replaced Kathleen’s bills where he found them, careful to arrange the stack just as he’d found it, when he heard someone start speaking at the beep.
    “Ms. Turner, this is Alfred Lloyd and I’m with the credit collection department for Mission Cancer Treatment Center. We need to speak, please return my call at—”
    “Hello,” Blane said, picking up the phone.
    “Oh, hello,” Alfred said, sounding surprised. “I’m looking for a Ms. Kathleen Turner. Is she available?”
    “Not at this time,” Blane said. “I’m her attorney, Blane Kirk. How may I help you?” He’d be damned if some creditor was going to start harassing Kathleen, the vultures.
    Alfred seemed taken aback. “I see. Her attorney?”
    “Correct.”
    “Well, Ms. Turner has been woefully neglectful of the amount she owes this facility,” Alfred said. “I was calling to speak to her before we begin action to place a garnish on her wages.”
    That wasn’t going to happen.
    A few minutes later, Alfred had been schooled on exactly what would happen if they tried to do that to Kathleen. When Blane hung up, he was relatively certain they wouldn’t be contacting her in that fashion again. Reaching over, he erased the message on her answering machine.
    Okay, that privacy thing was a distant point in the rearview mirror now. Blane locked up behind him as he left.
    It was at the end of the day when he saw Kathleen’s car back in the firm’s parking lot. He knew she stayed late most nights, so he didn’t rush outside. The sun had nearly set by the time Blane dropped his things off at his car and crossed the lot to Kathleen’s.
    As he’d predicted, her car was unlocked. She came from a small town, but her dad had been a cop. She should know better. Anyone could just get inside and lie in wait for her.
    Including him.
    Blane didn’t have to wait long. About twenty minutes later, the shadows had deepened and he saw Kathleen walking toward the car. Her shoulders drooped and her steps were slow, her body language saying she’d had a long day. She didn’t look around at the lot, completely oblivious if someone had been following her, and didn’t even check the backseat before opening the unlocked door and sliding behind the wheel.
    It took a split second for her to see him, then she jumped about a foot, biting off a scream. She recovered quickly, though, and Blane was left staring at a highly pissed off female.
    “What the hell are you doing?” she yelled. “You nearly scared me to death!”
    “You should lock your doors,” Blane said automatically, his eyes narrowing as he studied her. Her sweater was ripped. Correction. Not ripped. Cut. “What happened to you?”
    “I had a run-in with your friend Jimmy,” she snapped. “He had a message for me.”
    That fucking asshole. Blane kept a tight grip on his temper.