Out Of Order

by Barbara Dunlop

  “Please,” she implored, even louder.

  Dallas stopped, gritted his teeth and pivoted to face her. “I charge three hundred dollars an hour.”

  She drew back in surprise, her eyes widening, their color seeming to lighten. Tank top and skirt not withstanding, she suddenly looked out of place in the harsh grunge of stained walls, scarred furnishings and world-weary cops. “Really?”

  “Really,” he answered. Not that her looks made one iota of difference. World-weary or not, the Haines Street squad wasn’t in the habit of bringing in innocent people.

  They didn’t need to. They had plenty of criminals to choose from.

  “How fast do you think you could get me out of here? Ten? Fifteen minutes?”

  “I have an eight-hour minimum on new cases,” he lied.

  She blinked, and this time her eyes looked turquoise.

  “That can’t be legal,” she said.

  “I assure you, it’s perfectly legal. They make you study that sort of thing for the bar exam.”

  “Well it’s definitely not moral.”

  “You want to debate morality? You’re the criminal. I’m a law-abiding businessman.”

  “I’m not a criminal.”

  Dallas couldn’t even believe he was having this conversation. Couldn’t believe she had the audacity to take him on. Couldn’t believe she was standing here in handcuffs, eyes shooting sapphire sparks at him for absolutely no reason.

  “Pirated software and illegal firearms,” said the arresting officer to the desk sergeant.

  Dallas cocked his head sideways, raising his eyebrows at her. Part of him couldn’t wait to see what she had to say about that.

  “I was in the wrong job at the wrong time.”

  The uniformed cop beside her chuckled and shook his head. Like Dallas, he’d heard every excuse in the book. This one wasn’t even particularly creative.

  The woman shot the cop an annoyed glare before turning her attention back to Dallas. She squared her shoulders. “I’m innocent. And I’m Allison Kempler’s roommate. If you won’t help me, perhaps you’d be good enough to let Greg know I’m here.”

  At the mention of Allison’s name, Dallas groaned inwardly. Leaving the woman here to be booked and locked up suddenly ceased to be an option. Greg was batty about his new fiancée. If Dallas upset Allison, there’d be hell to pay.

  “Greg Smith,” she elaborated. “Allison’s fiancé.”

  “Name and address,” said the sergeant.

  “Son of a bitch,” Dallas muttered under his breath, stuffing the envelope under his arm and taking two steps back to the counter. “What’ve you got on her?” he asked the arresting officer.

  “I’m not paying you twenty-four-hundred dollars,” she said.

  “We’ll talk about the bill later,” he said.

  “Oh, no, we won’t. Do I look stupid?”

  “No.” Crazy, maybe. But definitely not stupid.

  “You may think you’ve got me right where you want—”

  “Shut up.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Dallas turned and subjected her to a long, steady stare. It was unseemly to argue about fees in front of the police department. And, quite frankly, right where he wanted her wasn’t in the Haines Street lockup.

  It was…

  He pulled his thoughts up short, clamping his jaw. Where the hell had that come from?

  “We’ll come to a mutually agreeable fee once I get you out of those cuffs,” he said.

  Her eyes narrowed. She nodded, but he could see it cost her a lot to keep her latest opinion to herself.

  The arresting officer flipped open his black notebook. “We have three-hundred pirated copies of Midnight Run, two dozen Uzis, ten AK-47s and a bazooka. And we’ve got another warrant for the garage across the alley.”

  Shelby sucked in a quick breath. “I didn’t—”

  “As your attorney, I’ve advised you to keep your mouth shut.”

  Her eyes emitted some more sapphire sparks.

  This time Dallas felt them all the way to his toes.

  Perfect. Sexual awareness. Perhaps one of the officers would be good enough to shoot him now.

  “Name?” the desk sergeant repeated.

  Shelby mutinously kept her mouth shut.

  “You can answer that,” said Dallas with a sigh.

  “Why, thank you. Shelby Jacobs. I didn’t know about any of the guns. I’ve only been at Game-O-Rama for a week. Ask Allison—”

  “Just your name,” said Dallas.

  She clamped her jaw shut again and muttered something between her clenched teeth. He was pretty sure it concerned his parentage.

  Like he was the problem here.

  “Anything connecting Ms. Jacobs directly to the evidence?” he asked.

  “We have videotape of her making a pickup.” The cop paused significantly. “She claims she thought it was coffee.”

  “I—”

  Dallas rapped Shelby’s ankle with the side of his foot. To his shock, she actually did shut up this time.

  “Did you see her make a payment?” he asked.

  The cop shook his head. “No.”

  “Did she handle the merchandise?”

  “No.”

  “You have her fingerprints on the guns, the warehouse, the crates?”

  “Not so far. Forensics is still working.”

  The desk sergeant leaned forward and pointed to the sign dangling above his head. “This is booking, not a courtroom. And I’m a sergeant, not a judge. Any chance we can we get her processed before a lineup forms?”

  “Is she formally under arrest?” asked Dallas.

  “Of course—”

  “Think hard.” Dallas stared at the arresting officer. “Did you arrest her? Or just bring her in for questioning? Do you have a warrant? Did you follow due process to the letter?”

  The officer’s gaze slid to the sergeant. “Sarge?”

  Dallas stared at the sergeant with a you-don’t-want-to-mess-with-a-high-priced-attorney-this-close-to-quitting-time expression on his face.

  “Kick her loose,” said the sergeant.

  “What about me?” the man beside her sputtered. “If her arrest was bogus, then mine—”

  “You wanna share a cell with Buba Junuh?” asked the sergeant, waving his pencil in the direction of the man’s nose. “You just keep talking.”

  The man swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing once as he suddenly became fascinated by the scarred, wood countertop.

  “Make sure your client doesn’t leave town,” the sergeant warned Dallas.

  “No problem,” Dallas quickly replied.

  As soon as Shelby’s cuffs were off, he hustled her toward the door. He was getting out while the getting was good. He wasn’t about to give the officers time to reconsider and end up stuck in a dingy interview room for the next four hours.

  He had things to do, places to go.

  “Thanks.” Shelby gasped, struggling to keep up with his long strides.

  They burst through the door into a spring evening and some comparatively fresh air. Dallas breathed a sigh of relief.

  Finally. His duty was done. Another couple of hours at the office and he could grab dinner at Sebastian’s on the way home and let life get back to normal.

  The damp pavement glowed under the streetlights as the commuter crowd spilled from the El Station onto the street. A couple of middle-aged men in business suits gave Shelby speculative looks.

  Dallas tossed them a don’t-even-think-about-it glare. “You got cab fare home?” he asked her.

  She rubbed her arms against the growing chill. “Of course I’ve got…oh, no…” She stopped short. “My purse!”

  Dallas stared down another passerby. This one looked like a construction worker, with a navy work shirt and a black lunchbox. Didn’t this woman know not to wander the streets of Chicago in a miniskirt?

  “I left my purse at the Game-O-Rama,” said Shelby.

  “So, have the taxi sto
p and get it.”

  “They locked it up. I don’t have a key. Gerry has the key.”

  Dallas tipped his head back, stared at the streetlamp and swallowed a few cusswords. Why him?

  His dad might have taken on every stray south of Jackson Park with a decent sob story, but Dallas definitely wasn’t his father. He’d never be that naive.

  With no other choice, he shrugged out of his suit jacket and dropped it around Shelby’s shoulders. “Don’t talk to anyone until I get back.”

  She nodded, glancing around the damp, darkening street.

  The male pedestrians lurked in the shadows like a pack of jackals, and Dallas could almost feel his father’s genetic code springing to life inside him.

  He tamped down the silly urge to keep her close. They’d made it out of there by the legal skin of their teeth. There was no way he was taking her back inside.

  Shoot.

  Damn.

  He let out a chopped sigh. Forget the key to the Game-O-Rama. “I’ll get us a cab.”

  2

  DALLAS SLAMMED THE DOOR behind her and strode around to the driver’s side, while Shelby swore she’d never complain about taxis again. It was so much nicer in here than in the police car—a cushioned seat, handles on the inside of the doors, a window that opened, and no lurking aroma of vomit, sweat or urine.

  She glanced at her watch, wishing she’d thought about her purse on the way out of the Game-O-Rama. Who knew when she’d get it back? Not that she could have managed to grab her purse with the cuffs on. And not that the young cop was likely to have helped her.

  The opposite door opened and Dallas slid inside—six feet two, gray eyes, short, dark hair and a set to his jawline that said he’d rather be cleaning his oven than escorting her home.

  Had she thanked him? Should she thank him? It wasn’t like his help had come cheap. And she was already planning to dip into her meager savings to pay half of Allison’s rent at the end of the month.

  She guessed she could kiss that new pair of Bjorn shoes in Holstead’s window goodbye. Along with the matching leather purse. It was a great sale, too.

  She sighed inwardly. “How much do I owe you?”

  “Forget it,” said Dallas, slamming his own door.

  “What do you mean, forget it? That was ten minutes’ work. I figure it’s fifty bucks, easy.”

  He turned and stared at her from beneath slanted brows. She got the feeling his clients didn’t usually try to press money on him.

  “What’s your address?” he asked.

  Shelby glanced at her watch again. Five-fifteen. Allison would have left for Balley’s by now, and Shelby’s apartment key was in her purse with the rest of her worldly goods. Too bad Flower-Fresh closed at five. Or was that five-thirty?

  She leaned forward to talk to the driver through the open, Plexiglas barrier between the seats. “Can you take me to Black and Wheeler?”

  “Allison lives on Rupert,” said Dallas.

  “Flower-Fresh is on the corner,” she explained to the cabbie. “I need to pick something up.”

  Dallas sat back in his seat. “You’re picking up your dry cleaning?”

  “I sure hope so.”

  The cab lurched forward.

  “Let me get this straight,” said Dallas. “You just got arrested, narrowly avoided a stay in the lockup, you have no purse, no money. I’m assuming you’ve lost your job, and the first thing you need to do is pick up your dry cleaning?”

  Shelby didn’t get the connection. She blinked at him. “Yeah.” She knew her credit card number. Hopefully that would be enough to spring the dress.

  His forehead furrowed, he stared at her as if she was a bug under a microscope.

  “I’m meeting Allison at Balley’s,” Shelby elaborated, gesturing to her wrinkled skirt and dusty tank top. “It’s not like I can show up like this.”

  Dallas was silent for a full minute. “Right.”

  “You mind waiting?” she asked. “I could walk to Balley’s from Flower-Fresh, but it’s nearly a mile.”

  “Of course I’ll wait.”

  Shelby smiled. “Thanks. And thanks for getting me out of jail.”

  “You weren’t in jail.”

  “Don’t you mean ‘you’re welcome’?”

  He didn’t smile at her joke. “Of course.”

  “I can pay you for your time,” she felt compelled to offer. She didn’t want him to think she was a charity case. Even if she nearly was.

  His lips pursed as though he’d just sucked a lime. “You’re Greg’s fiancée’s roommate—”

  She grinned irreverently. “Which means we’re practically cousins?”

  She wasn’t sure, but she thought he might have growled at that.

  “Flower-Fresh on your right,” said the cabbie.

  Shelby peered hopefully out the window, but she was disappointed with what she saw. The sign was turned off and the front window was dark. But wait, somebody was on the sidewalk locking the front door. If she hurried…

  She ripped off her seat belt and flung open her door before the cab had a chance to roll to a stop.

  “Christ,” Dallas bit out, reaching for her.

  But she was quick enough to elude his hand.

  She dashed between two parked cars and up onto the curb. “I need my dress,” she called to the short, gray-haired woman with a set of keys in her hand.

  “We’re closed,” said the woman, adjusting a plastic rain hat as she turned to walk away.

  “You don’t understand,” said Shelby, following. “I need my dress.”

  The woman quickened her clicking steps on the wet concrete. “Come back tomorrow.”

  “But—”

  “We’re closed.”

  Shelby grasped the woman’s arm in an effort to force her to listen.

  The woman spun. She tilted her chin, eyes turning to black beads, voice going snappish. “Do I have to call the cops?”

  Dallas’s deep voice sounded behind Shelby. “I’d consider it a personal favor.”

  The woman looked up. Her eyes widened and her lined face instantly softened.

  Dallas reached past Shelby and handed the woman a folded bill. “If you wouldn’t mind?”

  A tense half smile formed on the woman’s face. She whisked the money from Dallas’s hand. “Why not?”

  “You trying to get arrested again?” Dallas muttered to Shelby as they followed the woman to the door.

  Shelby didn’t answer, figuring it was a rhetorical question.

  The woman’s large key ring jangled as she worked her way through the three dead bolts. She turned to Shelby and held out her hand. “Ticket, please.”

  “I uh, lost my purse,” said Shelby.

  The woman glared at her in exasperation. “You’re not gettin’ nothing without a ticket.”

  “It’s an emerald dress.” Shelby gestured to her neck and shoulders. “Scooped neckline, cap sleeves. I’ll recognize it when I see it.”

  “No ticket. No dress.” The woman turned the key back in the top lock.

  Dallas sighed hard next to Shelby. He handed the woman another bill. “Emerald,” he said. “Scooped neckline. And she’ll recognize it when she sees it.”

  “I’ll pay you back,” Shelby whispered to Dallas as the woman slipped through the door and shut it firmly in their faces.

  “Forget it,” said Dallas. “Greg can—”

  “No. I’ll take care of—”

  “I was going to say Greg can be my errand boy for the next week or so.”

  Shelby glanced up at Dallas’s poker face. A sense of humor? It was hard to tell. Just in case, she responded in a lighthearted tone. “Or I could be your errand boy.”

  The expression in his eyes suddenly shifted. It went from cold to hot in half a heartbeat, and her nervous system reacted with a flutter. Holy cow. Apparently serious, cynical, arrogant lawyers were good for more than one thing.

  The door behind her clattered open, and the dry cleaner shoved a film-cover
ed dress into her hands.

  “That’s it!” Shelby cried. Yes. Finally, something was going right today.

  The woman harrumphed and turned to relock the door.

  Dallas lifted the dress from Shelby’s hands. “Come on. Let’s go before the taxi takes off.”

  DALLAS WATCHED Shelby’s back as she dashed across the packed, brightly lit parking lot of Balley’s. There was a lineup at the door and no guarantee that Allison was even inside. If she wasn’t, space cadet Shelby was stuck in a nightclub parking lot with nothing but a change of clothes to her name.

  Not that the woman was Dallas’s responsibility. He’d already gone way above and beyond the call of duty. Not even Greg could complain he hadn’t.

  Dallas had a pile of work waiting at the office and a dinner reservation at Sebastian’s for eight o’clock. Sebastian’s was wildly popular, and he’d had the reservation for two weeks. He needed to scope out the place before he took his soon-to-be most important clients there next week.

  He had things to do, places to go. If Shelby Jacobs wanted to line up outside Balley’s on the off chance that Allison was inside, that was her choice. She was a grown woman, perfectly capable of asking for help, even using the telephone if it all went sideways.

  He found himself focusing on her long, sexy legs. Hell, any one of the hundred or so guys inside would probably give his eye teeth for the chance to drive her home.

  Dallas paused.

  Dammit. There went the Williams do-gooder gene again.

  He reached into his pocket to grab some money, then stuffed it into the taxi driver’s hand.

  “Thanks,” he muttered as he hauled himself out of the car, shrugging back into the suit jacket Shelby had abandoned on the seat between them.

  He adjusted his collar and straightened his tie. Rain began to sprinkle down as he lengthened his strides toward the nightclub lineup. He eased in beside Shelby, feeling the base beat that throbbed right through the wall of the building.

  She looked up at him quizzically. “What are you doing here?”

  Dallas lifted the dress out of her hand as he met the gaze of the man in front of her. The man hesitated, then looked away. Too bad, buddy. Just not your night.

  Dallas leaned over and spoke in a low tone. “I wanted to make sure you found Allison.”

  Shelby pulled back and grinned, her changeable eyes sparkling lime-green in the streetlights. “What? You think I need a baby-sitter?”