All I Ask

by Tamara Lush

  He shoves a cream-colored business card into my hands.

  HASTINGS LAW

  There’s a number at the bottom. No first name, no website, no address. I have my doubts about how great of an attorney he is, if he can’t communicate anything more than his name and number. But if his card’s in the drawer at the police station, I suppose he represents criminals of all sorts. I take a huge breath and let out an audible sigh.

  I am not a criminal.

  “Okay. Thank you.”

  The detective sets his desk phone close to me. “Dial nine to get out.”

  With trembling hands, I punch in the number, hoping I’m doing it right. The phone is old and the receiver gummy to the touch. I long for hand sanitizer.

  Someone answers on the second ring.

  “Hastings Law.” The woman’s voice is bright and competent. I immediately feel relief flow through me.

  “Hello. I’m a tourist on Paradise Beach and I was just, ah,” I glare at the detective and he’s chuckling, “arrested. I was arrested and need help. This is the only number I have for an attorney, and apparently the police only allow one phone call.”

  “Ma’am, Mr. Hastings doesn’t practice criminal law.”

  Oh, dear. What does that mean? I don’t understand this system. “Please? I really need help. I’m from overseas and am unclear how this works. Even if he can just come here and talk with me, and perhaps find me a better lawyer, I’d be eternally grateful.”

  There’s a pause. “I will ask Mr. Hastings once he’s off the phone if he’s available to help. His schedule’s quite busy.”

  “Of course. And naturally I will compensate him for his time.”

  “You’re at the police station on Main Street?” I hear the tapping of computer keys in the background.

  I hold the phone away from my face. “Is this the police station on Main?”

  The detective nods.

  “Yes. That’s where I am.”

  “Okay. And your name is?”

  I glance around and catch the eye of the detective, who’s pouring another cup of terrible coffee. He winks.

  “Well, that’s part of the problem, and one reason I need to speak with an attorney.”

  “How will he know who you are?” The woman speaks slowly, as if I’m a child.

  I twist my head, taking in the empty office. “I think I’m the only arrested person here.”

  “Yeah, you’re our only perp today. We’ve been real slow,” the detective calls out.

  The woman on the phone sighs. “Okay. I’ll let Mr. Hastings know. Our office is a few blocks away so he shouldn’t be long. That is, if he’s willing to see you. If you don’t hear from us within two hours, you’ll know he couldn’t help.”

  “Thank you so, so much.”

  Hanging up, I turn to the cop and give him my sweetest smile. “The attorney’s on his way. Thank you.”

  “Good deal. Now in the meantime, we’ll put you in the interrogation room. It’s gonna be locked, so if you have to use the bathroom, do it now.”

  The idea of this man taking me to the restroom is too vile for words. “I’m fine, thank you so much.”

  “You sure are a polite little thing. Officers Casey and Antonelli said you were feisty when they cuffed you.”

  “I apologize, for that. I wasn’t at my best,” I say demurely, batting my lashes.

  “C’mon. Follow me, princess.”

  The back of my neck prickles with awareness. Does he know? Or is he just calling me that because he’s a sexist pig? Shaking, I rise and follow him through the small office to a hallway. He unlocks a door and points into a sickeningly bright room with no windows.

  “When your attorney comes, if he comes, he’ll meet you in there. In the meantime, you want another cup of coffee?”

  I smile without showing my teeth. “That would be lovely, thank you so much,” I squeak, my gut still churning at the idea he might know who I really am.

  The officer winks again. Maybe he’s only flirting.

  Slumping into a hard, wooden chair, I send a silent prayer into the universe.

  Please, please, please let the attorney get here soon.

  Five

  Tate

  “Sorry, I don’t take criminal cases. You know that.” I yawn and stretch.

  “I know, Tate. But she said she was a tourist and didn’t sound like your usual vacation DUI case. Her voice was positively quivering. God knows what the police charged her with. It might be worth your time to look into it, especially since you’ll be discussing reforming police practices when you run for office.”

  I take a last pull from my coffee mug. It’s two in the afternoon, and all I’ve consumed today is coffee. I’m in the middle of a detailed case against a developer who’s trying to fill in a pristine wetland on the mainland. “If I run for office.”

  My assistant, Marianne, grins. She’s about Ma’s age and is like a second mother—only she keeps me organized and in line way better than Ma ever did.

  Sighing, I set the coffee mug down. “Fine. I’ll go. It’ll give me an excuse to grab something to eat.”

  “Your schedule is clear for the day. And don’t forget, you put a dinner meeting in your calendar.”

  Bella. All day I’ve been thinking about her. About those amber-colored eyes and that megawatt smile. I’d purchased a ninety-five dollar silk travel pillow online to replace the one Chunky pissed on. It’s supposed to be delivered tomorrow, which means I’ll up my chances of a second date.

  “I definitely won’t forget the dinner.” I grab a legal pad and a pen. It’s shocking how much I’m looking forward to tonight.

  “Hot date?” Marianne quirks an eyebrow.

  “Actually, yes.”

  “This is a first in a while, isn’t it?” She’s fighting back a smile. Marianne knows when I’m up to something.

  I laugh in response. “No comment. When I get back, we’ll review the Everglades suit. I doubt I’ll be long at the police station. You want an iced tea or anything?”

  She shakes her head, and I stride out. Since it’s April in Florida, it’s already hot as fuck. Still, might as well walk. I’m not in a suit today—I’m wearing a casual, light blue button down, chinos and black chukka boots—and it feels good to be outdoors, away from my desk. I slide on my sunglasses.

  The police station’s only two blocks down Main Street, and when I get inside, I greet the elderly woman at the front. She’s been the receptionist at the Paradise Beach P.D. for as long as I’ve been alive.

  “Bernice!”

  “If it isn’t Tate Hastings. What are you here for?” Bernice gets up from her desk and comes out of the glass-enclosed reception area to hug me. She reeks of cigarette smoke.

  “Eh, someone who was arrested called me to help.” I remove my sunglasses and thread them through the pocket of my shirt.

  “Oh, yeah. That’s a real weird case.” Her eyes widen. “Wildlife harassment. Heard she battered an alligator in the swamp. And she’s quite a piece of work, the guys said.”

  I grin at Bernice. “Will you buzz me in?”

  “Lemme call the detective first.” She hustles back into her office, picks up the phone, and speaks in her raspy voice.

  “Okay, go on in, Mr. Hastings,” she yells.

  I hear the buzzer to the door and pull it open. Detective Craig Foster’s there, feet on desk. He’s the only one in the small office, and if I remember correctly, the only detective on the force. We went to school together, and he slowly ambles to his feet.

  “Hey, man,” he says. “Heard you’re running for office.”

  “Thinking about it, yeah.”

  “You’ve got my vote.”

  “Thanks. I haven’t decided yet. How’s that girl of yours? You getting married?”

  He blows out a breath, his lips making a raspberry noise. “Hell no. You still single?”

  “Yeah, but I got a date tonight. I hope this won’t keep me long. What’s up, anyway?”

>   Foster rolls his blue eyes. “Some tourist was harassing alligators. Then she resisted and got feisty when the guys took her in. And she won’t give her name; she’s being real mysterious.”

  “Oh, Christ. Did you give her my name? I do environmental law.”

  “Yeah, and it’s a wildlife case.” He shrugs. “I figured you could help. And yours was the first card I found in the desk drawer.”

  “I sue oil companies and the state when there’s a spill. Shit like that.”

  “Well, see if you can help her. You were also the closest lawyer to the office, and I figured you could get here soon. She’s a weird one. Talks strange. A fine piece of ass though. Classy.”

  I wince, recalling why I didn’t hang out with Foster in high school or after. I’m as much of a horn dog as the next guy, but my parents raised me to refrain from locker room talk. Plus, I love women too much to disrespect them.

  “Where is she?” I ask, my voice turning professional.

  “I put her in the interrogation room. Seemed a little better than the cell that smells like piss. Oh, and here’s the report the arresting officers typed up before they left.”

  I scan the top, and there’s no name, age, or identifying details on the form. As I follow Foster down the hall, I go through my mental Rolodex of criminal defense attorneys on the island.

  “Here ya go,” Foster says, unlocking the door and holding it open.

  I step inside the room, lit by a harsh, overhead fluorescent lamp.

  Holy shit.

  Adrenaline spikes through my body.

  Bella?

  The woman staying at my family’s resort? The woman I’m supposed to have dinner with? The woman I’d hoped to take back to my bed for a hot romp?

  She jumps to her feet. She’s wearing a damp, white t-shirt and olive-colored shorts. Jesus, her legs are tan and gorgeous. Her dark hair is in a ponytail, and her face is sun-kissed. Today she looks younger and is wide-eyed with fear.

  Her nose and cheeks are sprinkled with freckles.

  The door clangs shut. She gasps, pressing a palm to her chest. “Tate?”

  “Bella?”

  Her bottom lip trembles. She looks small and terrified, and it’s hard to believe she resisted the cops. Guess it takes all types. Slowly, I pull out a chair and set the report and my pad of paper on the table. I notice that she’s shaking as she lowers herself to her seat.

  “Hey, it’ll be okay,” I say in a tone reserved for injured animals and terrified children. “Let’s get this straightened out.”

  She sighs. “Well, this is awkward,” she murmurs, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “It wasn’t what I had in mind for our dinner,” I say, trying to lighten the mood. “What happened to you?”

  Her amber eyes are glassy. She shakes her head and shrugs, screwing her eyes shut.

  “Ahh…” I’m at a loss here. Part of me wants to reach across the table and take her hand, squeeze her arm. Totally inappropriate. “Let me look at the paperwork first.”

  Setting my phone on the worn wooden table that’s probably fifty years old, I grab the sheet of paper. “Okay, here we go.” I clear my throat and scan the form. “You’re charged with harassing wildlife and…resisting arrest.”

  Jesus. Two felonies. I glance up. Bella looks at me through long, dark lashes. How is this possible? She’s small. Delicate. Nonthreatening. She couldn’t take down an alligator or a police officer if she tried.

  She sits up straighter and raises her chin.

  I return to the paper and read aloud. “At eleven-hundred hours, while assigned to the Marine Patrol Unit, I observed a white female in a kayak in the water on the Paradise Beach mangrove swamp. Your affiant watched as the arrestee repeatedly threw items at an alligator swimming in the water nearby. At one point, she pelted the reptile’s snout with the items.”

  I pause and study her face. Good God, her pouty mouth is made for kissing. I’m going to hell for thinking about sex at this crucial moment. “Sounds like you came across Pete.”

  “Pete? Is that one of the officers?” Her brow wrinkles.

  “No, it’s our resident alligator here on the island. We only have one, he’s been here for years. Usually he’s real nonthreatening. But someone saw him the other day on the back nine of the golf course.”

  She squints. “Um, I’m in jail here. How’s this relevant?”

  “Right. What did you throw at the alligator?”

  “A granola bar and a dried sausage snack. And I did not pelt the alligator. I was trying to distract it so I could grab my paddle in the water.”

  A dried sausage snack? Trying not to laugh, I continue reading. “The arrestee admitted to throwing food at the alligator. After towing her kayak to the shore, your affiant discovered wrappers of Slim Jim Big Boss Pepperoni Sticks and S’mores Quaker Chewy Granola Bars in the kayak. After being read her Miranda rights, the arrestee became uncooperative. She refused to peacefully enter the back of the cruiser and elbowed your affiant in the ribs.”

  I peek up at her. She shoots me a defiant look.

  “Slim Jims?” I raise an eyebrow.

  She shrugs. “You Americans have great junk food. What can I say?”

  I set the paper down and steeple my fingers. “What happened? Explain in your own words,” I prompt.

  My phone vibrates with a text, and I feather a glance at it. It’s my brother Max.

  I need to tell you something. It’s important.

  “Are you going to get that?” She points to my phone.

  I shake my head. “I apologize for the interruption. Please continue.”

  I might not be able to represent her, but I’m sure as hell eager to hear more.

  She rolls her eyes adorably. “I went out kayaking.”

  “By yourself?”

  “Yes, by myself,” she says, obviously offended. “I’ve gone on various solo excursions in the wild all over the globe.”

  I hold up my hands. “Okay, okay. Don’t get upset. No judgment from me.”

  “I like to be in nature. It’s where I do my best thinking. I went out and had a fabulous time, looking at the birds and the turtles. After a couple of hours in the hot sun, I decided to return to the resort. I also wanted to give myself enough time to rest and get ready for tonight.”

  “Of course.” Unable to help myself, I grin at the fact she was thinking about us.

  “So I paddled back in. While still in the kayak in the water, I stopped near the dock to watch a bird and eat a granola bar, and that’s when the alligator rammed me.”

  “I see.” The freckles on her nose are distracting.

  My phone buzzes again. It’s Max. Seriously, Tate. You need to know something important before tonight.

  I frown. What’s he talking about? I flip my phone over.

  “Sorry,” I mutter.

  “It’s okay. You’re a busy man. Thank you for coming here so quickly.”

  “Wait,” I say. “You didn’t know you were calling me, did you?”

  She shakes her head. Her small smile makes this dismal room seem like it’s filled with unicorns and rainbows. “The officer gave me your card. I didn’t know your last name.”

  “Right.”

  “Anyway, I was so surprised by the alligator I knocked my paddle overboard. I didn’t want to reach for it, for fear of getting my hand chomped.”

  “That does sound scary,” I admit.

  “So I tossed a few chunks of granola bar in the water and realized it would probably prefer meat. So I threw the sausage. The rest of the story is in that report.” She places a small hand on the paper.

  “How about the resisting arrest charge?”

  “I might have gotten a little heated.” The way she says it, all demure and soft, makes my dick twitch. Definitely going to lawyer hell.

  “I can’t imagine you getting heated.” I wince. Actually, I can. Just not with the cops.

  “I have a temper if pushed.”

  I rake a hand throu
gh my hair. “Okay, this is all a giant misunderstanding, your love of terrible American snacks notwithstanding. Let’s get you out of here. I suspect the state attorney won’t even pursue charges—”

  “Well, that’s the thing.”

  “What?”

  “I probably could have bailed myself out, but I refused to give my name.”

  I frown. “Hunh? Why?”

  My phone buzzes again, repeatedly. I sigh. “I’m so sorry. My brother’s trying to reach me. Apparently it’s something urgent. I hope it’s not my mother. She had some problems with her heart a while back.”

  “Then you should definitely answer it,” she urges, her eyes wide.

  “My apologies. Give me a minute.”

  I flip the phone over and tap to the barrage of messages from Max.

  Lauren and I debated telling you. The woman you’re having dinner with tonight… There’s something you should know.

  We recognized her yesterday before Chunky took a whizz on her pillow

  We’d seen her photo and name in the papers in London

  He’s sent a link, and I swallow hard. My thumb hovers over the screen, and I try to keep my face neutral. Jesus Christ, is this woman really a wanted felon? I’m not a criminal defense attorney, so my radar for sketchy people isn’t as honed as it should be.

  Interpol. Maybe Interpol is after her. My mouth goes dry.

  I glance at her, and she smiles sweetly. Genuinely. “I hope your mom’s okay.”

  Aren’t sociopath serial killers the most convincing and manipulative? That smile doesn’t fool me. I dodged a bullet, because she’s probably a terrorist, a fraudster, or at the least, an international jewel thief.

  I tap on the link. It leads me to Wikipedia. My eyes scan the words quickly. In disbelief, I re-read.

  Princess Isabella of Montignac (Isabella Teresa Charlotte Marie Willhelm Von Grimmelshausen; born Dec. 10), is the middle child of King Josef and Queen Genevieve.

  Princess Isabella attended primary school at Angelsberg and finished her secondary education in Montignac. She then attended university in the United States. After studying environmental science at New York University, she continued her studies in London, where she received a Master’s degree in Ecology, Evolution & Conservation from Imperial College. Princess Isabella has interests in climate studies and endangered species conservation.