3 Fat Chance

by Rhonda Pollero

  “When did you last do litigation support?” Tony asked.

  “I did an internship at the public defender’s office.”

  Caprelli’s smile waned. “An internship? When?”

  “In college.”

  He shook his head slightly and let out a long, slow breath. Then he turned his attention to Dane. “I was hoping for someone with more recent litigation experience.”

  “I know. Ellen and I agreed that with a few continuing education courses at the community college, Finley will be up to speed in no time.”

  “What?” I asked.

  Vain Dane slipped two sheets of paper across his desk to me. “The firm has already paid your tuition. You have classes on Tuesday and Thursday evenings from six to nine forty-five.”

  Legal continuing ed classes? God, please let this be a hallucination. A bad dream. Something, anything but those wickedly boring courses put together by the bar association meant to keep practicing attorneys up on the latest rulings and treaties in a given area. In reality, they were mostly populated by paralegals and legal secretaries. Continuing education certification in a specific area allowed the firm to charge a higher rate for work done by support staff. The last time I did CE courses, the instructor was about five years beyond his expiration date. Dane, Lieberman might have been paying the tuition, but I wasn’t going without a minimal fight. “I’ve got…things.”

  “We will, of course, pay you overtime while you’re in school so long as you maintain a B average,” Dane decreed.

  “I just bought a house, and it needs a lot of work and—”

  “Upon completion of your course work, you’ll receive a twenty percent raise.”

  My get-out-of-debt antennae went up. “How long will the certification classes last?” Maybe Tony would help me study. Naked.

  “Six weeks.”

  I can do anything for six weeks. Except have a life. Not that I have much of one now. “Twenty percent? Consider me a cooperative coed.”

  Twenty percent and Tony at the end of the tunnel. Working with him was almost worth the loss of personal time. As I sat there, I couldn’t stop thinking about my hunky new boss. I winced. The boss part could present a problem. I wouldn’t have a problem having a relationship with my boss, but that didn’t mean Tony would feel the same way. Still, he was checking out my legs during the meeting, so there was hope on the horizon.

  Feeling as if I’d just sold my soul to Vain Dane for a dating prospect, I made my way back to my office. On the plus side, I didn’t trip on my way out even though I had a hard time taking my eyes off Tony. On the minus side, I arrived at my office to find Liam sitting in my chair, drinking out of my coffee mug, with his feet propped up on my desk.

  “Go. Away,” I said, slapping his feet to the floor.

  He chuckled softly, which only irritated me more.

  He put the coffee mug down. “You’re a very hard woman to help.”

  “I don’t want your help. I don’t want anything from you,” I insisted as I rounded my desk fully prepared to roll his ass right out of my office and dump him into the hallway.

  He stood, and we ended up toe to toe with little more than a hairsbreadth between us. My body started to tingle when I locked eyes with him. Very slowly, he lifted his hand and traced a whisper of a trail along my jawline. It felt as if my heart would explode in my chest, and it was hard to keep up the pretext of being completely immune to him. Correction. Impossible.

  “Don’t do this.”

  “Do what?” he asked as his fingertip found the rapid pulse point at my throat.

  I swatted at his hand. “Don’t touch me. Don’t help me. Just go play with your ex-wife.”

  He pulled a rumpled, tri-folded sheet of paper out of his back pocket. “I could do that, but then you’d never know what the ME found out about your skeleton.”

  I started to grab for the paper, then remembered I wasn’t five. “It isn’t my skeleton. So what did the ME find?”

  “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

  “What?”

  Liam reached over and picked up the medallion I’d left on my desk. “Is this what you took off the dead chick?”

  I pressed my lips together and glared at him.

  He flipped the medallion in his palm and started nodding. “I can see why. Can’t be too many F.A.T.’s out there. Any idea why the deceased had it in her hand?”

  “You’ve seen mine, so now I get to see yours, right?”

  He handed me the paper. There was a lot of medical jargon that I could look up later, but what I wasn’t finding was a cause of death. “How did she die?”

  “Undetermined, but that’s not the interesting part. Read the third paragraph.”

  I did, but unfortunately that was part of the medical jargon, and I barely understood more than something had something to do with something that had to do with signs of crystallization and something else to do with dehydration. “I give. What is supposed to be jumping out at me?”

  “That’s just a preliminary report, but it appears that your skeleton is pretty well traveled.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Before she took up residence at your place, your dead roommate was in a humidity-free environment, then frozen and finally boxed up and placed in your closet.”

  Men are like PMS—they irritate you for no reason.

  four

  SO THIS IS A homicide?” My adrenaline surged, though it was tempered by the knowledge that Vain Dane wouldn’t like my being mixed up in a murder. Again. With wouldn’t like being the understatement of the year, even though this was different. This time the murder had come to me and not vice versa, but I suspected Dane wouldn’t appreciate the semantics.

  Liam shook his head, and the signature lock of black hair fell forward. My fingers twitched, wanting nothing more than to brush the hair back into place, followed immediately by ripping off his clothing and…focus!

  Easier said than done when his body brushed against me as he stepped around the desk and sat in one of the two chairs opposite mine. In an attempt to redirect my thinking, I tossed the legal pad on the credenza, then poured myself another cup of coffee before settling into my chair. “What happens next?”

  Liam was grinning at me. Not in a good way. He was mocking me. “What?” I snapped.

  “Ever hear the expression NHI?”

  I shook my head.

  He leaned forward, poured half of my coffee into his mug, then took a swallow. I’m not sure what about him annoyed me the most: I just knew that the list was growing. Showing up unannounced, commandeering my desk and my favorite coffee cup, touching me just to get a rise out of me—which totally worked—or knowing that when it came to crimes, he knew more than I did. No wonder Vain Dane was sending me to the legal version of GED classes.

  “Cop speak for no humans involved.”

  “That’s harsh.”

  “That’s reality,” he countered. “Your skeleton has been dead for ten to fifteen years, give or take. Guesstimate on her age at the time she died is between thirteen and sixteen. No skin on her hands means no fingerprints. The clothing they found with the body had labels. The items were sold exclusively at Wal-Mart. Impossible to trace. She had perfect teeth, so that’s probably a dead end.”

  “Was she a runaway? Maybe someone reported her missing.”

  “They’ve inputted the relevant information into the system, but nothing popped so far. You have to remember,” he said, then paused for a sip of pilfered coffee. “Somewhere around seven hundred fifty thousand kids go missing every year. Multiply that times the ten to fifteen years since your skeleton died, and you’re talking a whole lot of files to cross-check.”

  “So you’re telling me the police aren’t going to do anything?”

  “Officially? They’ll release a press statement and promise to make this case a priority.”

  “Unofficially?”

  “They know the chances of closing a case this cold are practically nil. It’
ll get filed alphabetically someplace between who cares and why bother.” He stood, swallowed the last of his coffee, and said, “By the way, you might want to stop deleting my emails unread.”

  “Who gave you permission to go snooping in my computer?”

  “Didn’t so much as take a peek. Didn’t have to.”

  How could a man I’d never even kissed know so much about me? It was annoying as sin. “Then take the hint.”

  “Fine. I’ll stop sending you names of reputable contractors. I’m sure you’ll be great at tearing up mildewed carpet and ripping out Sheetrock.”

  “I’m not helpless,” I insisted, knowing full well hell would freeze over before I ruined a fifty-dollar manicure doing DIY. “I’ll take a second look at those emails. Thank you.”

  “Not a problem. See ya.”

  “Wait!”

  He paused in the doorway, turning to glance back at me. “For what?”

  “What about the dead girl? What will the police do?”

  “Nothing.”

  “How can the police do nothing? We’re talking about a teenager. She was someone’s daughter or sister.”

  He shrugged. “Unless someone reported her missing, or you turn over that medallion to the cops to use as a clue, there’s not a lot the police have to go on.” He glanced down at his watch. “Gotta go. I’ve got to see a guy about a thing.”

  Always with the thing. Quelling the childish urge to throw something at the back of his retreating head, I fell back into my seat. There was no way I was going to hand the police something that might place guilt on my late, incapable-of-defending-himself stepfather. At least not yet. Grabbing up the phone, I dialed Becky’s extension and asked her to come to my office.

  “Ellen just dumped a mountain of work on my desk. How about lunch?”

  “I’ll take what I can get.”

  “Cheesecake Factory?”

  “Sure. I’ll meet you there around one thirty. The lunch rush will have died down by then.”

  I made similar calls to Liv and Jane, then Googled Marc Feldman to get his telephone number. My call was answered on the second ring by a pleasant female voice. I explained who I was and asked for an appointment, only to be told that Mr. Feldman had a heavy schedule for the day and would only be in the office after three. Thanks to the Google info, I knew his office was an easy five-minute walk from mine, so I arranged to meet him at three thirty.

  I needed to file my deed at the courthouse. According to an email from Jane, I also had to pick up forms for a homestead exemption, some sort of tax thing she promised to explain at lunch. There were some other things I had to do for Dane, Lieberman at the courthouse such as open an estate and get letters of appointment for the executor, and I’d finally finished the initial asset inventory on another case. Plenty of time to get all that done and then meet my friends for lunch.

  I was just about to head out when Tony Caprelli knocked on my open door. He’d loosened his tie and rolled up his shirtsleeves. His hair was mussed, as if he’d been raking his fingers through it.

  “Got a minute?”

  My mouth was dustbowl dry, so I just nodded and pointed him to the chair recently vacated by Liam. Then my brain started doing the inevitable comparisons. Tony was a little shorter than Liam, but he was definitely the better dressed of the two. Both had black hair, but I could tell Tony had his cut regularly—and not by some hack in a strip mall, either.

  “You didn’t seem too thrilled about taking a couple of refresher courses,” he said.

  Working with you and a raise sealed the deal. “Was I supposed to?”

  He smiled, and I noticed a really sexy dimple on the right side of his face about an inch to the right of his very sexy mouth. Liam didn’t have any dimples. But he did have those incredible blue eyes. Tony’s eyes were nice. Brown, but nice.

  I started imagining him on the precipice of passion. I’d bet my impending raise that those eyes turned the color of rich, imported chocolates, sensual and sinful. I wondered what it would feel like to have his large, square-tipped fingers touching me. The temperature in the room rose along with my interest. Who wouldn’t be interested? The guy was gorgeous, smart, financially stable, and three feet away from me.

  “I guess not. Victor gave me your personnel file.”

  I tried not to groan or grimace. “Dull reading, I imagine.”

  “Anything but,” he said, lacing his fingers behind his head. “Why’d you stop at a bachelor’s degree? You had the grades, and your LSAT scores would have gotten you into the law school of your choice.”

  “Have you met my mother?” Jesus, just what I needed—a third musketeer jumping on the Finley-could-have-made-something-of-herself bandwagon.

  “Let me guess, she’s less than thrilled by your career choices.”

  My shoulders relaxed, and I leaned back in my chair. “That’s putting it mildly. Luckily for her, I have a sister whom she can brag about for days on end.”

  “An attorney?”

  “Pediatric oncologist.”

  He whistled. “That would be a tough act to follow.”

  “I wasn’t the follower, I was the leader. Lisa’s three years younger than I am and about to marry a doctor. If you’re keeping score, that’s Lisa two Finley zero.”

  He laughed. “You did good work on the Evans investigation.”

  My heart skipped a self-congratulatory beat. “Thank you.”

  “And on the Spencer case.”

  “Thank you again, but you must not have read carefully. Mr. Dane fired me in both instances.”

  “And rehired you,” he said.

  “Only because I brought new clients to the firm.”

  Tony shook his head. “Victor Dane isn’t an idiot, Finley. He knows you’re bright and very capable. So does Ellen Lieberman. She told me you mastered complex contracts in under a week.”

  It felt really good to have someone compliment my work. It also felt really weird. Especially since I’d just planned my day to include a long lunch and personal errands all on Dane, Lieberman’s dime. I felt a little guilty, but not guilty enough to change my plans. I was grateful, not stupid. I did do good work. I just had a limited work ethic.

  “Have any questions for me?” he asked.

  Do you put out on the first date? “No, sir.”

  “Don’t call me ‘sir.’ ‘Tony’ will do just fine. I’m taking the morning to get settled in, but I’d like to meet with you at three thirty.”

  While I was minorly excited that Dane, Lieberman was branching out into criminal law, did they have to flipping do it at three thirty? “That would be fine,” I lied.

  “Great. See you in my office then.” He rose and started for the door.

  “Where exactly is your office?”

  “Fourth floor. I think it used to belong to Mr. Zarnowski.”

  My heart skipped a beat. “He’s not coming back?”

  “Apparently not, if they’ve given me his office.”

  “The fourth floor is for partners.”

  He paused in the doorframe and glanced back at me. “Yeah, I know. Guess we’ll be ordering new letterhead.”

  Becky was going to be frosted. She’d been working like a slave for five years with a single goal in mind—making partner. As I called Feldman to reschedule, I silently prayed Ellen would tell Becky before lunch. I didn’t want to be the bearer of bad news, especially not to my dearest friend in the world. I also knew there was no way I could stay mute through lunch if she didn’t know. Crap.

  Not when the new partner was Tony. After he left, I imagined what kind of wedding we’d have and what our children might look like. Foolish, yes. But out of the question? No. Okay, so I’m iffy on the children part, but if Tony came back and asked me to marry him in the next five minutes, I think I’d say yes. He was positively made to order. Putting the whole employer-employee thing aside, he definitely piqued my interest. He was gorgeous, polished, and so not Liam McGarrity. The employer thing wasn’t really an issue. I
knew three or four paralegals, administrative assistants, and secretaries who’d ended up marrying their bosses. I could be happy going from support staff to pampered spouse.

  As I went back to packing for my jaunt to the courthouse, I wondered how my life could have changed so dramatically in less than twenty-four hours. The last thing I did before leaving my office was to slip the medallion into my purse.

  The police might not care who the teenage girl was or how she died, but I did. And I wanted to know how she died holding Jonathan’s medallion.

  “I’M STARVING,” JANE SAID when she joined me near the podium. “How long is the wait?”

  “Ten minutes,” I said, holding the plastic square thing that would buzz, flash, and vibrate as soon as our table was ready. My stomach gurgled as the scents of dozens of different foods floated all around me. I was eyeing the cheesecake case, trying to decide which decadent dessert I’d order to go. In my life, cheesecake for dinner was a totally acceptable entrée.

  Liv and Becky arrived a few minutes later, just as the plastic thing started to buzz and flash. “Great timing,” I said, following the waiter as he led us through the large, busy restaurant.

  Jane and I shared one side of the booth, while Becky and Liv settled in opposite us. The food was great, but the restaurant tended to be noisy, so we all leaned forward on the polished wood table. One look at Becky’s gloomy green eyes confirmed she’d heard about the new partner.

  Liv, as always, was cheery and telling us about her latest coup—her company, Concierge Plus, had landed the Semple-Gilmore wedding reception contract. “Ask me what the budget is?” she asked, her eyes wide with excitement.

  Jane, always the accountant, sighed, “I don’t want to know. It always amazes me when rich people spend a small fortune to celebrate marriages that have the shelf life of arugula.”

  Liv’s perfect lips pressed together in a perfect pout. Not uncommon, since Olivia Garrett had perfect everything. Thank God she’s my friend—if not, I’d have to hate her for being so incredibly beautiful. Even the waiter, who I was sure was gay, couldn’t keep his eyes off her as he asked for our drink orders.