Out Of Order

by Barbara Dunlop

  “Work for any particular lawyer?”

  “All of them.”

  “Looking for one?” he asked.

  “Looking for one what?”

  Randy leaned forward and lowered his voice. “A boyfriend.”

  Shelby leaned forward, too. “No.”

  “Is there a reason for that?”

  “I’m a strong, independent woman who needs no man to be successful.”

  “You’re a lesbian?”

  Shelby laughed. “No.”

  Randy leaned back and picked up his coffee. “So I’m not completely dead in the water…”

  “You’re only on life support.”

  He clutched his chest. “Please, gorgeous lady, give me some oxygen.”

  Shelby couldn’t help laughing. She started to gather her purse. “I have to—”

  “Will you meet me tomorrow?” asked Randy, straightening and sobering.

  Shelby shook her head as she rose. “Tomorrow is Saturday.”

  “Monday, then.”

  “You seem like a nice guy, but I’m not interested in dating.”

  “For coffee. Just coffee.”

  “Here?”

  “Yeah.”

  Shelby shrugged. “Why not?” The rest of her day wasn’t going to be a picnic. And if she ran afoul of Dallas again, she might appreciate Randy’s ego boost on Monday.

  SHELBY WAITED UNTIL the reception area was quiet and empty. Allan was out at a meeting and Dallas was holed up in his office. He hadn’t shown his face since he’d kissed her. Which was fine with Shelby. She didn’t embarrass particularly easily, but no woman wanted to know that a man regretted touching her.

  Not that it had been a bad kiss. In fact, it was a darn good kiss, considering it had been an impulsive, hurried, clandestine, mistake kind of thing. She wondered just how great a kisser Dallas would be when he was willing and put out a full effort.

  Then she clamped down on that thought. Kissing the boss was a bad idea, particularly a boss who didn’t want her working here.

  Find her a new job where she wouldn’t be wasting her talents? Ha. Find her a new job where he didn’t have to look at her wardrobe was more like it.

  Well, so sorry, Mr. Williams, but I’m all out of the librarian look. Nobody else seemed to mind her clothes. The partners’ secretaries had been friendly, and the paralegals had even invited her to join them for coffee on Tuesday. She was hardly an outcast, fashion or otherwise.

  She straightened her shoulders, putting her fingers over the telephone keypad, hesitating, taking a deep breath. Then she dialed Allison’s phone number.

  She owed it to her friend to be honest.

  While the tone sounded in her ear, her stomach cramped. This was all her idea. She’d practically forced Allison into taking the pictures, and now she’d screwed up royally.

  “Hello?”

  “Allison?”

  “Shelby? How’d it go? Does he have the pictures? He must be on the plane by now. Oh, God, I hope he doesn’t open them while he’s in flight—”

  “Allison?”

  “Yes?”

  Shelby cringed. “I put the pictures in the wrong briefcase.”

  There was a silent pause. “You mean, he doesn’t have them?”

  “He doesn’t have them.”

  There was another pause on the line, then a sigh. “Well, probably just as well. I would have been a nervous wreck waiting to see how he reacted—”

  “Allison?”

  “What?”

  “I put them…in Dallas’s briefcase.”

  “You what?” Allison shrieked.

  Shelby jerked the phone from her ear for a second. “I’m so sorry. I thought it was Greg’s. Greg was in the boardroom, and then he left, and it was the perfect opportunity, but then Dallas grabbed the briefcase and—”

  “Get it back.”

  Shelby nodded. “Yeah. I will. I will.”

  Allison’s voice turned to a high soprano. “I mean it, Shelby. You get those pictures back. And don’t you dare let Dallas see them. Don’t you dare even tell him I took them. Oh, my, God. How would I ever face him again?”

  “I don’t think he’d be shocked—”

  Allison shrieked. “You’ve met him. He’s Mr. Conservative. You can bet his girlfriends don’t slip dirty pictures into his briefcase.”

  Allison had a point. Shelby was willing to bet Dallas’s girlfriends didn’t even wear lingerie that showed their navels. They probably had full-length satin nightgowns, turned off the lights before stripping, then lay really still to keep from messing up their hair.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll get them back. And I won’t tell Dallas a thing.”

  “Do it right now.”

  “I’ll do it right now.”

  “Phone me when you’ve got them. Then burn the damn things.”

  Burn them? Shelby was thinking more along the lines of overnight express to New York. Though maybe she’d wait a bit before mentioning that to Allison.

  “I’ll call you as soon as they’re in my hands,” she promised.

  5

  SHELBY WAS UP to something.

  Dallas didn’t know what or why, but she was flitting around his office like a felon.

  She passed his office door for the third time in an hour and glanced inside. He didn’t particularly want to hash over their kiss, so he made a show of picking up his telephone. She kept going.

  He started to put the receiver back down, but his gaze caught the clock on the wall. It was three-thirty, on the last day of the month. Which meant he really did have a call to make.

  To his father.

  Although Jonathan Williams only lived an hour away, he and Dallas rarely saw each other. It was true they were both busy, but it was the need to tiptoe around each other’s careers that kept them from making more of an effort to get together.

  Still, Dallas refused to be one of those sons who ignored his only parent, so he’d pledged to himself that he’d call his dad at least once a month.

  He inevitably put it off until the last day.

  He dialed the office number and the ringing phone toned in his ear.

  “Jonathan Williams’s office.”

  “Hi, Nina. It’s Dallas.”

  “Hey, Dallas. How’s it going?” Nina had been his father’s receptionist for five years, ever since he’d cleared her of a petty theft bust. Dallas strongly suspected she was also his lover and he assumed they kept things discrete because of Nina’s three young children.

  “I’m good,” said Dallas. “Is Dad around?” Dallas always held out the small hope that his father would be busy or out of the office when he called. Then he would have done his duty without actually engaging in an awkward conversation.

  “He’s on the phone—”

  “I’ll—

  “But I’m sure he wants to talk to you.” The line went silent.

  Close, but no cigar. Dallas tapped a pencil against his desk, letting the rubber eraser act as a spring on the polished wood.

  Shelby wandered by again, pausing by his door. When she saw he was still on the phone, she gave him a finger-waggling wave and continued on her way. Odd woman. She’d probably fit in just fine at his father’s law practice. Dallas was pretty sure everyone who worked there had been arrested at one time or another.

  “Hey, Dallas,” came his father’s voice.

  “Hi, Dad.”

  “How are you today?”

  “Just fine. You?”

  “Couldn’t be better. Just got off the phone with Kenny Hooper.”

  “The forger?”

  “Now, Dallas, you know he was acquitted.”

  “Right.” Which, in his father’s eyes, made Kenny citizen of the year.

  There was pride in his father’s voice. “After the trial, he took a community college course, and he just got a job as a graphic artist.”

  Dallas wondered if his father had simply helped Kenny emotionally or if he’d pitched in financially, as well. It was da
mn sure Kenny had never paid any legal fees.

  Dallas forced a hearty note into his voice. “That’s great to hear, Dad.”

  “Yeah. Well…How about you? What’s on your case-load this month?”

  “Embezzlement case for Perth-Abercrombie.”

  “The brokerage firm?”

  Who else? “Yes.”

  “Nice work. Big money there.” His father said it as though money was evil, and Dallas had been handed the case on a silver platter.

  “Yes, there is,” Dallas agreed, feeling his body tense up. Here Jonathan’s real son was getting high-profile, high-paying cases, yet Jonathan’s pride was reserved for Kenny, the quasi-adopted forger turned artist.

  “Well, I’m sure you’ll do a fine job for them.”

  “I hope so,” said Dallas, wondering why he let his father’s attitude disappoint him over and over again.

  Shelby appeared in the hall.

  “Looks like the receptionist needs me,” said Dallas.

  Her eyes widened slightly.

  “Nice of you to call, son.”

  “Sure, Dad. Talk to you soon.” Dallas hung up the phone.

  “I didn’t—” Shelby began.

  “No problem.” She’d inadvertently done him a favor. “Can I help you with something?”

  She hesitated, a look of uncertainty crossing her face. Maybe she was acting weird because they’d kissed. He knew he sure felt weird after kissing her.

  After another moment’s pause, she took a step into the doorway. She stood there, tapping her polished fingertips against her thumbs in sequential order, then reversing. The nervous expression disappeared from her face, replaced by one that looked rather calculating.

  Oh, boy. What now?

  Maybe this wasn’t about the kiss.

  Come to think of it, she didn’t strike him as a woman who’d be thrown off balance by a kiss. She struck him as a woman who knew her kisses inside and out, and used them shrewdly.

  In fact, she might have kissed him on purpose—to distract him. From…for example…his briefcase. She was rather obsessed with that briefcase. She’d asked about it earlier, and she had tried to take it away from him both before and after the kiss.

  His briefcase…

  Not that he could figure out what she could possibly want with it. It wasn’t like he kept money there. There weren’t even any salacious details of family law matters.

  His most important case at the moment was an embezzlement prosecution for Perth-Abercrombie. And they were an accounting firm. Hardly the stuff of clandestine affairs and skeletons in the closet.

  She finally spoke, all friendly and cheerful. “Would you like anything? Coffee? Bottled water?”

  What was with the sudden beverage service today? Dallas started to say no, but then he decided to play along to see where it went. “Sure. Water would be fine.”

  But if the seal was broken, he was having it tested for knockout drops.

  “Yeah?” she smiled. “Great. I mean, I’ll be right back.”

  “Thanks,” he called.

  Two minutes later she was back with the water. A big bottle, still sealed. If not knockout drops, she must be trying to fill his bladder.

  Dallas paused.

  Smart girl.

  He smiled, cracked the lid and took a long drink. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  For a second he thought she was going to stand there and wait for it to make its way through his kidneys. He raised his eyebrows.

  “I’ll, uh—” she pointed behind her with her thumb “—just be outside if you need anything else.”

  Dallas held up the bottle in a toast. “You bet.”

  She backed out of the room.

  Dallas leaned to one side, watching her walk back to her desk. The phone rang and she picked it up. She didn’t transfer it, but talked for a few minutes to whomever was on the line.

  He couldn’t hear what she was saying, but it was clear from the way she glanced around the room and mangled the phone cord that the call was making her uncomfortable.

  As soon as she hung up, he pressed her line and hit star sixty-nine.

  “Ryan, Finch and Finch,” said a pleasant woman’s voice. “Randy Calloway’s office.”

  “Sorry, wrong number,” said Dallas, quickly hanging up. He clenched his jaw and cursed under his breath, suspicions blooming full-out in his mind.

  Ryan, Finch and Finch were the defense team for the Perth-Abercrombie embezzlement case. His little receptionist was clearly up to something. Best case scenario, she was fraternizing with the opposition.

  He should have gone with his gut instinct and left her in the Haines Street lockup. Though everyone was innocent until proven guilty in his world, his new receptionist chatting with Randy Calloway was way too much of a coincidence to ignore.

  Dallas sat back in his chair, mentally brainstorming scenarios. What was going on? Had the whole thing been a setup?

  Had she renewed her acquaintance with Allison in order to infiltrate Turnball, Williams and Smith? Would Ryan, Finch and Finch try something that complex? The law firm didn’t have the greatest reputation in the world, but to send in a spy on a three-hundred-thousand-dollar embezzlement case?

  Sure, their client had lost his job and would probably have to pay damages, but it was hardly Enron. Nobody was going to jail.

  He picked up his pencil again and tapped it on the desktop, peering out into the reception area at Shelby who was nervously glancing around. Perhaps it was time to give her what she wanted and figure out what she was up to. He stood up from his chair and headed for the rest room.

  He came back to a missing briefcase.

  Damn.

  He’d held out a small hope that he’d been wrong.

  He headed for the reception area, coming to the edge of her desk.

  She glanced up, eyes wide and guilty as sin. The woman couldn’t bluff her way out of a paper bag. What the hell made her decide to take up crime?

  He shook his head, walking around the desk to find his briefcase stuffed in beside her trash can. The locks were scuffed and she had a pair of scissors and a bent paperclip in her hand.

  “Probably don’t want to take up safecracking,” he said, stepping back and motioning for her to precede him into his office.

  “I…” She closed her eyes and shook her head.

  “You are so busted,” he whispered.

  He picked up the briefcase and followed close behind her, afraid she might make a run for it.

  She turned her head to look at him while she walked. “It’s not what you think.”

  “Not what I think? Now where have I heard that before? Oh, I remember, the Haines Street lockup.”

  “This has nothing to do with—”

  “Give it a rest. I caught you red-handed.” He closed the office door behind them. He was suddenly angry at her callous disregard for her own safety. Did she want to go to jail?

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “Sorry?” he nearly yelled. “You think sorry cuts it? I could call the cops right now and have you thrown in jail.”

  She blanched. Probably had memories of the last time they hauled her away in cuffs. Good.

  “For trying to open your briefcase?” she whispered.

  “For spying.”

  She blinked. “Spying?”

  “Don’t you play innocent with me.”

  He should call the cops. Should do it right now and get the matter out of his hands. That’s what he should do, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to turn her in.

  And he hated that she’d put him in this position, hated that he was hesitating, hated that his father’s legacy gave him a soft spot for a sweet-looking, devious woman.

  “I’m not spying,” she repeated.

  “Right.” He stared down at his telephone, trying to make himself pick it up.

  “I’m not.”

  Her eyes looked innocent, and her protest rang sincere, but Dallas wasn’
t a fool.

  “You could get ten years for this,” he said harshly, unaccountably angry at her for having put herself in this tenuous position.

  Her jaw dropped open and her eyes deepened to turquoise. She looked young, innocent, edgy.

  It only made him madder. “Breaking and entering, obstruction of justice—”

  “Obstruction of jus—”

  Dallas swore. “Tell me about Randy Calloway.”

  She gave him that confused blink again. “What about Randy?”

  “Listen, I’m trying to be a nice guy here, but if you’re going to lie to me, I’m calling the cops right now.”

  She drew back at the phrase “nice guy” and her mouth worked silently for a moment. “What do you want to know about Randy?”

  “Everything.”

  “I met him downstairs.”

  “When?”

  “An hour ago.”

  “I mean, the first time. Was it before you got the job here? Before you showed up at Allison’s?”

  There was a knock on the office door, and Allan’s voice came through. “Dallas?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Shelby in there?”

  Dallas pressed his fingertips tightly against his forehead. “Yeah. She is.”

  “Uh…” Allan’s voice trailed off, and Dallas swore under his breath. God only knew what Allan was thinking.

  “You want me to get Margaret to watch the phones?” asked Allan.

  Dallas let out a hard sigh. “Please do.”

  There was a silent pause. “Okay.”

  Dallas glared at Shelby. “You see what you’ve done?”

  “What?”

  He pointed back and forth between them. “He’s going to think we’re…”

  Her eyes widened. “Why would he think that? Did you tell him—”

  “No! Of course not. I didn’t tell him a thing.”

  “We’ll we’re not. We’re so not.”

  “Right,” Dallas agreed. “Tell me about Randy. When was the first time you met with him?”

  Shelby sank down into one of Dallas’s guest chairs, supporting herself by leaning on the padded arm. “I told you. An hour ago. In Frappino’s.”

  “Quit lying.”

  “I’m not lying.”

  Dallas took the other guest chair, trying another tack. “I want to believe you, Shelby. The last thing in the world I want to do is have my partner’s fiancée’s roommate arrested for obstruction of justice.”