“Yup. I already made coffee, and I got you a room service menu. If you want to shower, I’ll order breakfast.”
Tears came to her eyes. “You’re being so nice to me,” she moaned, wiping a tear away with the back of her hand.
He looked alarmed. “Want me to stop? Does it make it worse?”
“No, it’s just…” More tears came and she let them flow, because recovering from a migraine was a delicate process and couldn’t be interfered with. “I get emotional after a migraine. The relief from the pain makes me want to kiss someone’s feet.”
If anything, he looked even more alarmed. “I wouldn’t recommend that. My feet are in steel-toed boots much of the time. They’re ugly as hell.”
She couldn’t help laughing, even though a laugh had a big potential for bringing more pain. But no pangs of electric tension shot through her skull. Amazingly, she really had made it through this episode in almost record time.
“The thing is, when I get a migraine I’m like a wounded bear. I just want to crawl into my den and hide there until it’s safe to come out. I don’t want any people in my space, I don’t want voices or food or anything except maybe a sip of water. Even when I was a kid I just wanted to be left alone.”
“Sorry, Kate. I didn’t know any of that. I would have—”
She stopped him by planting a spontaneous and entirely shocking kiss on the lips. At least she was shocked; he didn’t miss a beat. He responded with gentle pressure of his own, a promise of more, much more, maybe later, maybe tomorrow, when they had more time. It wasn’t a deep kiss, but it wasn’t just a peck either. There was full, tingling, breathtaking contact between her lips and his. His mouth was just as firm and sexy to touch as she’d dreamed.
It came to a natural, easy end and they drew apart. Kate felt as if they’d calmly stepped over some invisible boundary and were safely on the other side.
She touched her lips briefly. “What I mean to say is, don’t apologize for that amazing neck rub last night. I don’t know why you’re not a masseur with these hands.”
She lifted his hand off the bedcovers and spread it open, palm up. She traced the calluses that marched across the pads below his fingers. The lines on his palm were strongly etched, and some of them seemed to be nicks and scars.
It was a hand that had been through some shit. And a hand she could trust.
It was also a hand that she wanted to feel all over her body.
“And the way you carried me to bed and tucked me in. Closed the blinds. That was so sweet of you.”
His eyes darkened as she continued to stroke his hand. “Do you remember what you said? You said you want to be conscious the next time I put you into a bed.” The thick growl of his voice made her nipples peak.
He noticed, too. It was probably hard to miss, since she was wearing a thin tank top with nothing underneath. Her breath came fast as his gaze dropped to her chest. He lifted his other hand, the one she wasn’t petting. It came toward her and, for a moment, she knew he was going to touch her breasts, and she wanted that more than anything in the goddamn world.
But then he shifted and settled his hand on the curve of her neck. He pulled her toward him so he rested his forehead against hers.
“You’re a sorceress, woman. But you need to get yourself ready for this deposition and I’m not going to be responsible if you miss it.”
“But it’s hours away,” she pointed out.
“Not enough hours for all the things I want to do with you.” Firmly, he ripped the covers off her and gripped her by the elbow. “Come on. Get yourself into that shower and tell me what you want for breakfast.”
Sexual frustration fought with her common sense. Of course he was right. Coming out of a migraine, it would be insane to do anything that would raise her heart rate. She needed to be careful.
It was a good thing one of them was thinking straight.
She carefully swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up. Hardly any wavering at all. She rolled her neck and found barely a hint of pain. Truly, Darius had worked a miracle.
And now she was ravenous. “I don’t need a menu. I know what I want. I’ll have my traditional pretrial breakfast, please. French toast and hash browns and bacon. Coffee with lots of cream. And if they have any orange juice throw that in too.”
With a grin, he unfolded his big body from the bed. “Sounds like you’re feeling better. Good to see.”
She decided to give him something even better to see, and stripped off her tank top on her way into the bathroom.
Until they could get between the sheets, she’d have to be satisfied with that sexy groan of his.
Chapter Sixteen
Darius stayed close to her side all the way through the deposition. The lawyers allowed him into the conference room where it took place, although they asked him to sit off to the side.
Even there, she noticed, he made his presence felt. Someone so big, with so much tamped-down power, was hard to ignore.
“Catriona Robinson Fletcher,” she said to the camera as she was sworn in. “Home address under file.”
Her one request had been that she not be required to reveal her new location. She didn’t trust any of these people, on either side of the case, to protect that information. In fact, the only person in the room she truly trusted was Darius Boone.
His quiet presence gave her more strength than he probably realized. Every time she got rattled by a question from the opposition, she drew on his silent support.
They started with questions about how she got involved in the case.
“I was the attorney on record representing Frank Robinson, who is my father. He was peripherally involved with Dr. Kramer’s supplement scheme. He offered testimony against various co-conspirators in exchange for a lighter sentence.”
“And you brokered this deal?”
“Correct.”
“Did you expect that it would anger the other members of this criminal enterprise?”
She and the associate had agreed on this line of questioning as a way of getting out ahead of a touchy issue.
“I anticipated some hostility, of course. But most of the other suspects had experience with the justice system. They know the drill. And I imagined they’d be more upset with my father than with me. That part took me by surprise.”
The opposing lawyer, Tim Chun, who wore a sharp suit and plenty of hair product, started off with a doozy. “Do you consider yourself a naive person?”
“Not at all.”
“Stupid? Dumb? Clueless?”
“I’m sure I have my moments. Don’t we all?”
She caught Darius’ smirk out of the corner of her eye.
“Isn’t it true that you chose to represent your father? That you went so far as to quit your lucrative position at a respectable law firm in order to do so?”
“Yes. And yes.”
“Is that because they refused to touch the case due to your father’s sordid criminal past?”
This was suddenly getting a lot less fun. “You’d have to ask them why they didn’t want the case.”
“Why did you take the case?”
“To help my father.”
“Your father, the criminal.”
Since that wasn’t a question, she didn’t answer.
“Isn’t it true that associating with criminals brings unintended consequences?”
She glanced at the Cotton and Bryant associate, who should have objected to such a vague question. He was jotting down a note, so she objected herself. “Overly vague.”
“Never mind. Do you know who was behind the threatening letters and other incidents you’ve described?”
“No. But I’ve been told there’s evidence that—”
The lawyer cut her off. “Answer the question only, please.”
“No.”
“But you assumed it had to do with your father’s criminal cohorts?”
“I didn’t assume anything. I just left.”
That
threw the lawyer off stride. “You…just left, you say. You just left behind your career, your entire life? Because you were afraid?”
“Yes.”
“And yet you’re here today.”
She waited a beat. “Sorry, is that a question?”
Chun shuffled some papers. “The question is, if you were so terrorized, why did you have a romantic dinner at Ruby’s Steakhouse two nights ago?” He held up a photo of her and Darius laughing intimately together.
Ah. Now she saw where he was going with this.
“Objection,” said the lawyer from Cotton. “Relevance?”
“Goes to her state of mind and characterization of—”
Kate held up a hand, shooting a quick look at the Cotton associate. “I’ll answer.”
Chun looked a little nervous now, but it was too late.
“I had dinner with my bodyguard. I hired him because I’m still afraid.”
Poor lawyer, he thought he’d trapped her. He must have gotten thrown off by the fact that Darius was a fire chief and not a professional bodyguard. Best move ever, hiring him.
“And yet, as you noticed so perceptively, I am in fact here. It’s a challenge to face your fears. And there’s nothing I enjoy more than accepting a challenge.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Darius’ grin.
Challenge accepted.
“That was one of the best movies I’ve ever seen,” Darius joked as they left the law firm’s offices. “The dialogue was fantastic. The plot was compelling. And that actress who played the lawyer, holy shit she was hot.”
And boy, was she, in her tailored cream suit and kitten heels, with her long hair in a twist at the back of her neck.
She gave him a tired smile. He could see her fatigue in the shadows under her eyes and the lines around her mouth. It made him feel protective of her, especially after what he’d witnessed last night. How she’d gone from a blinding headache to kicking legal ass, he had no idea.
But he admired the hell out of her. Just from that short demonstration, she must have been a fantastic lawyer.
“Do you miss your job here?” He scanned the sidewalk out front as they pushed through the revolving door in the law firm’s foyer. He kept his arm protectively around her, just in case. If either a bad guy or a migraine hit, he’d be there.
She screwed up her face. “Ask me when I didn’t just get shish-kebabbed under oath.”
“You did great. You had that guy spinning his wheels.”
“Oh, you know me, I like arguing my points. Sometimes I argue with the peonies. I definitely argue with Emma. I’ve kept my skills honed with a few emails here and there.”
She gave him a sly smile that made him laugh. “Do you miss your law firm?”
“I miss the people I worked with. I miss the sense of accomplishment. But surprisingly, I don’t really miss my life here. One migraine later, and I’m ready to go back.”
She didn’t seem to mind the fact that his arm was still around her shoulder, so he left it there as they strolled down the sidewalk. “Why don’t you practice law in Alaska? Lost Harbor only has three lawyers, and one’s about to retire.”
“I know. Emma’s told me a few times. But I’d have to take the Alaska bar, and then there’s the issue of my name. I’d worry that somehow it would put me back on the radar.”
“You happen to be best friends with the police chief. The fire chief’s on your side too. You have backup, you know.”
She glanced up at him; the seriousness in her eyes took him by surprise. “I would never want anyone in Lost Harbor to have to deal with those lowlifes. Never. I would leave first.”
He wanted to argue, but the fire in her eyes told him there’d be no point.
“Listen, I have one more favor to ask you,” she told him as they neared the hotel.
“Sure. You hungry? Thirsty? How’s your head?”
Another faint smile. “I could use a rest, not going to lie. But right now, all I need is for you to go back to the hotel. I’ll be back in a few hours.”
He stopped dead in his tracks. “Are you nuts? The hell with that. You can forget it. Wherever you’re going, I’m going with you. Period. End of story. Nonnegotiable,” he added when she still didn’t look convinced.
She folded her arms across her chest and glared at him. “Why do you have to be such a stubborn bastard?”
“Born that way, babe. That’s why you hired me.” Someone jostled him on their way down the sidewalk, and he moved closer to Kate, shielding her. “Come on. It’s not safe to stand out here in the open. Let’s go.”
Her gaze clung to his, probing his determination. Apparently finding that it was rock solid, she released a sigh. “Okay. Let’s go. But before we do, you have to understand that this is private. It’s not for anyone else to know about. Not Emma. Not Maya. Not anyone in Lost Harbor. Promise?”
He raised his palm, as if putting himself under oath the way she just had. “You have my word as a stubborn bastard.”
Chapter Seventeen
Their fourth Lyft driver dropped them off at her father’s Brentwood address. His location was protected; she only knew it because she was his lawyer. Ironically, it was probably the least risky place in LA, as long as no one followed them. To that end, they switched Lyfts three times on their way and made sure to get lost in the always dependably congested traffic.
Even receiving her father’s message—Need to see you—had triggered a migraine, and she hadn’t given any thought to it since last night. The depo came first. But now that it was over, it was time to face the music.
“Katiebird!” Her father swung the door open, his face beaming with welcome. She couldn’t help a quick check of his ankle. There it was, the electronic bracelet that kept him confined to within fifty yards of this property. Nice imprisonment if you can get it.
She’d sacrificed her entire career so he could get it.
“Hi Dad. You look good.”
Frank Robinson always looked good. He had to, because his existence depended on it. At all times, his hair was perfectly moussed, his eyes clear and sparkling blue, his skin smooth as a baby’s. He could have been a motivational speaker or a wrinkle cream spokesperson. He probably had been both of those things in his checkered career; Kate couldn’t keep track of all his occupations.
Around the age of thirteen, she’d finally understood her father’s lax attitude toward things like laws and morals. At the age of seventeen, she’d legally emancipated herself. But she still loved him. Not only was he her father, but he was extremely lovable; it was part of his tool kit.
“And you look absolutely marvelous, Katiebird. A bit dirty under the fingernails, but I blame that on your grandmother.”
Kate tucked her fingers into her palms, so her nails were out of sight. Trust her father to notice that detail. His observational skills were another ability that contributed to his shady career.
“You sound vaguely British,” she told him as she and Darius stepped inside the foyer. High ceilings, terra-cotta tiles; nothing but the best for Frank Robinson, even in home confinement.
“Yes, I’m trying to use my time productively.”
“By learning a British accent?”
“Not just British, dahling,” he said airily. “I’ve mastered ten different accents so far. New Zealand, Australian, Irish—”
She cut him off. “Why don’t you learn some actual languages? That would be more productive than accents.”
“I throw a few words into the mix, Katiebird. But you know me. Why do something difficult when you can take things easy? Who’s this tall drink of water?” He eyed Darius with trepidation. “He looks as if he could toss me over his shoulder and lock me in a trunk. Can you tell him I’m already serving time, there’s no need to pile on?”
“His name is Darius, and he can speak for himself. Darius Boone, Frank Robinson. My father.”
Darius stuck out his hand. Her father grabbed it and pumped it enthusiastically. “Any friend
of my daughter’s…are you friends? What are you to each other? I sense simmering sexual tension, or perhaps it’s simply tension. Ooh, those are the best relationships, when there’s friction and drama and conflict, so delicious, reminds me of your mother—”
“Dad!” Kate cut him off before he could completely mortify her. “Darius is my security for this trip. Those goons of Kramer’s might still be after me.”
“Yes, I understand. Very grateful, very. You’re a good daughter. I don’t deserve it, I know. At least I’ve done one thing right in my wayward life.” He plucked a silver bell from a knickknack table and rang it. “Lemonade for my guests, please!”
An answering shout came from deeper inside the house.
“You have servants here with you?” Kate asked incredulously.
“One servant. How else am I supposed to live?”
Kate exchanged an outraged glance with Darius, only to find that he looked more amused than anything else. Well, it wasn’t his father, so he didn’t have to be embarrassed, or angry, or any of the other emotions pouring through her right now.
“We can’t stay for lemonade,” she said firmly. “It’s been a long day and we’re leaving first thing tomorrow.”
His perceptive blue eyes scanned her face. “Migraine, honey?”
She gave the tiniest of nods. Sometimes her father could be incredibly compassionate, like a Teddy bear come to life. And sometimes he could be crueler than a playground bully. She never knew which Frank would appear, despite a childhood of trying to guess.
“It’s hardly a surprise, after the stress I’ve caused you.” Ah, so it was the Teddy bear. “My poor sweet baby, those awful headaches. They began when she was just a tween,” he explained to Darius. “Puberty, no doubt. I used to drape blankets over the windows to block out every speck of light. I’d bring her cool washcloths and speak in the softest whisper, like the ghost of Florence Nightingale.”
“That’s perfect, Frank. Just perfect. You’re using my migraines to talk about yourself and your parenting.”
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