THE LAW AND LADY JUSTICE

by Ana Leigh

  "You look great," she said.

  He grunted, and when she took his arm, he tensed. He wasn't used to prancing around in pretty clothes, making nicey-nice with a woman whose body he'd been inside only hours before. In his part of the world, women you slept with, well, you slept with them. Maybe you ate out, caught a movie once in a while to keep them happy. But not this … this … this torture of pretending you were acquaintances when you knew how she sighed your name when she came.

  "Oh, hell!" he muttered.

  "Is that an observation or a personal commentary?"

  "Sorry." He took his hand out of his pocket, hoping she would release his arm. Instead she slid her hand into his and laced their fingers together. His heart pounded harder and he glanced around the room to see if anyone had noticed. A few people looked their way, but mostly they stared at his suit.

  Jessica squeezed his hand. "Are you ready for something to drink?"

  Her voice sounded worried, and he glanced down to find her face scrunched up.

  "Yeah. That sounds like a good idea."

  She led him to the bar. "Chardonnay," she said, and turned to him with a raised brow.

  "What's on tap?" The bartender's lip curled, and Doug scowled. He wasn't at a real bar. He considered ordering a shot of Wild Turkey, but that would be juvenile. "Just give me something with malt."

  The guy popped the cap off a specialty beer made with cranberries and bound in a dinky red bottle. "Glass, sir?"

  "No, I like roughing it," Doug said, reaching for the bottle. He took a sip, looked around for a spittoon, then swallowed the stuff with a gurgle.

  Jessica started laughing, took the bottle from his hand and put it back on the bar. "You asked for it." She turned to the smirking bartender. "Heineken," she ordered. "I know you have that."

  Drinks in hand, they walked toward the ballroom, but before they could get there a lanky blond man in an immaculate tuxedo stepped into their path.

  Dennis Wolcott. Doug actually thought he heard Jess growl.

  "Hello, Jessica." He looked Doug up and down. "If I remember, the invitation said black tie."

  "For members. Detective McGuire is my guest."

  "Ah, McGuire. Yes. I couldn't quite place you."

  "Funny, I knew who you were right away." Wolcott preened. "You lost the Seymour case. High media. Tough break about that DNA match and bloody sock. Gotta say, good detective work, though. Do you guys get paid even if you lose the case?"

  Jessica choked, then coughed. Wolcott went red above the too-tight neck of his tux. Doug reached for Jessica's hand, lacing his fingers with hers. Wolcott's gaze latched onto their hands and his frown would have been formidable if he'd had the kind of face for that. As it was he looked like a spoiled three-year-old whose favorite toy had just been snatched by an older, stronger child.

  "See you around, Wolcott." Doug led Jessica toward the ballroom. He could feel the other man's frustration and fury focused like a laser beam upon his back. If Wolcott had a gun, Doug might be worried. As it was, the man could only glare.

  "The guy's still got it bad for you," he observed as they sat down at the table Jessica indicated near the front of the room.

  Her shrug drew his eyes to those delectable shoulders again. He had definitely not paid enough attention to those shoulders last night. He would make amends later.

  "No. He just wants what he no longer has. That's the way he is."

  "Spoiled brat."

  "You don't know the half of it."

  "So tell me."

  "About him? Let's not ruin the evening."

  "So why'd you almost marry him?"

  "Appearances can be deceiving Doug."

  "From where I was sitting it looked like a close call."

  She stared at him for a long moment. "And where were you sitting, Detective, that you could observe my personal life?"

  He'd put his foot in it there. What could he say? There'd always been a spark between the two of them. Even when they were arguing in the courtroom or on TV. Now that he'd had a taste of her, he knew there'd been latent lust for a long, long time. And seeing her picture in the paper with Wolcott – a moron if there'd ever been one – had always ticked him off. Still did. Especially after watching the guy's scaly eyes slither all over Jess.

  "How could I miss you two? You were all over the papers a few months back. The golden couple of law – the judge and the lawyer."

  "Nauseating," she murmured. "Like the quarterback and the cheerleader."

  "Well, I could see you as a cheerleader. But Wolcott as a quarterback? He'd be toast."

  Jessica laughed; the sound stopped Doug's heart. She just didn't laugh like that enough – with her whole body, her eyes lit up and her face relaxed. Seeing her like this made him realize how stressed-out she usually was. And why wouldn't she be with a job like hers?

  He stopped himself right there. He wasn't actually sympathizing with Judge Jess, was he? How many of his collars had she let walk scot-free? How many murderers were on the street because of her bleeding heart justice? An image of Gilbert's bloated body flitted across his mind. One less than a few days ago anyway.

  People he didn't know joined them at their table. Jess of course knew everyone. She introduced him, politely, correctly, and he made the appropriate murmurs. Still, he caught enough puzzled glances to know that everyone was wondering why the judge had brought a bodyguard.

  Although the food was excellent, the meal was uncomfortable at best. He was so itchy, he wanted to scratch himself. But there seemed to be someone watching him every minute, as if waiting to see if he'd use the wrong fork or pick his teeth. When it was over, Doug reached for his beer and took several gulps, then stifled a groan when a band struck up a chord across the room. Not dancing, too! He hated to dance.

  The other couples excused themselves and moved toward the dance floor. Silence stretched between him and Jess. She glanced at the dancers, at him, then away. He sighed and snagged his beer again. He could manage a dance or two. "I'm not much of a dancer, but—"

  "Jessica, may I?"

  Snake oil salesman, Doug thought as Wolcott's voice whispered past his ear. If this were the Wild, Wild West the weasel would be a snake oil salesman. He set his beer down and glanced over his shoulder at the salesman in question. And he'd be the sheriff who ran him out of town. Yessiree!

  Doug shook his head to clear the odd vision. Too much sex and too little sleep. He glanced at Jess and saw her looking at him with a question in her eyes. Maybe too little sleep, but definitely not too much sex.

  "Doug?" she asked, her eyes entreating him for something. He just couldn't figure out what. "Do you mind?"

  "Mind what?"

  "Come on, Jessica, this is our song." Wolcott pulled her from the chair and Jessica went, but not without looking back over her shoulder, making a face at Doug and mouthing, "Thanks a lot!"

  "My bad," he mumbled.

  He still couldn't figure out women. They were a puzzle with too many missing pieces. Or maybe pieces that didn't fit. Whatever the case, he was always coming up short. Even with Jess. She was so out of his league it was damn near pitiful.

  He glanced around the ballroom. Crystal chandeliers. China and silver on the tables. Tuxedos, diamonds and champagne. He hadn't even been in the Pfister Hotel before and he'd lived in Milwaukee since college. Not too much call for homicide detectives in this part of town. The rich committed their murders elsewhere – like in a nonextraditable country.

  His gaze lit on Jessica and Wolcott. This was their song? What song was it? Didn't have any words. What kind of song was that? If the band switched to "As Time Goes By" he'd cut in on them for sure. Now that was a song: "Woman needs man, and man must have his mate. That no one can deny." That songwriter knew what he was talking about. And for damn sure, Doug McGuire would be the last man to ever deny it – if that woman was Jess. Lord, how he wanted that woman!

  Wolcott was smooth on the dance floor, Doug would give him that. But Jess was the one
who drew his eyes. Even in those sinfully high heels she moved with a grace that fascinated. Wolcott spun her about and her head tipped back. Doug held his breath, waiting for the foolish knot in her hair to tumble free. If Wolcott so much as sniffed her perfume, Doug planned to deck him.

  The band continued into a second song. Jessica and Wolcott continued to dance. Doug stood up and decided to look for some air. He stopped to snag another beer.

  Same bartender. Same smirk. "Glass, sir?"

  He'd have liked to have told the jerk "Yeah, in a dirty glass," but Bob Hope had already used that line in one of those Road pictures Doug enjoyed watching.

  He snatched up the bottle. "How many asses did you have to kiss to get this job, sonny?"

  Doug found a large, double window at the end of a long hall, sipped his beer and gazed out at Lake Michigan in the distance. Why was she with him? She belonged here, amidst the crystal and diamonds and Chardonnay. If he had a preference, he'd be anywhere but here.

  "Bored, Detective?"

  His fingers clenched on the neck of the bottle, but he didn't bother to turn around. He didn't have to. "I thought you and the judge were tripping the light fantastic, Wolcott. Did you step on her toes one too many times?"

  Wolcott stepped up next to him, hogging the window and crowding Doug as if he had a right to. Doug shrugged his shoulder, smacking Wolcott's in the process. When the lawyer shifted away, Doug hid a smile behind a swallow of beer. Man stuff – territorial – don't piss in my pond. This Doug understood.

  "I must say I'm surprised to see you and Jessica here together after the show you put on for Sherilyn Matthews. But then Jessica has always been attracted to the rougher element. That's why she became a judge."

  "Opposites do attract."

  "No offense, Detective, I'm sure a man of your, uh, shall we say attributes, is a wonderful toy for a woman like Jessica. Just be sure you don't get the idea that she'd actually keep you permanently. Ultimately, she'll marry me."

  "Does she know this?"

  "Deep down, where it counts. She needs her space right now. Wild oats. I don't mind. In fact, I'm confident she'll come back to me with some incredible innovations in the bedroom. Slumming does have its advantages in that regard. I thank you in advance, Detective."

  Doug didn't bother to answer. Wolcott might have a nasty mouth, but what he was saying was true. Jessica wanted him – in bed. He wanted her in the same place. There was no future for them. This night only illustrated that. And that was fine with him … wasn't it?

  Yet the thought of being Judge Jessica's stud muffin didn't sit too well right now – especially coming from the mouth of this prick.

  Wolcott clapped his hand on Doug's shoulder. "As long as we understand each other, there's no reason we can't be friends, ah … I don't recall your first name. What can I call you besides Detective?"

  Doug took a step away so the man could no longer touch him, and turned to look the attorney right in the eye. Man stuff should be delivered face-to-face. "It's Doug. And what do they call you besides Prick?"

  As Wolcott sputtered, Doug turned back toward the ballroom – only to find Jessica standing close enough to trip over. He couldn't tell by her face how much she'd heard, but she had to have heard his juvenile retort.

  He walked past her, planning to leave, but she turned and accompanied him into the elevator. As the doors closed, sealing them inside together, Doug got a good look at Wolcott's face.

  The man looked mad enough to kill.

  * * *

  Chapter 6

  «^»

  The silence in the elevator was oppressive. Doug didn't know what to say – a first for him. Usually he could come up with a snappy retort for any situation. But a snappy retort was what had gotten him into this mess in the first place.

  He didn't even want to look at Jess and see the disappointment in her eyes. His dad had always looked at him like that whenever Doug screwed up – or didn't toe the appropriate line. Jess would have her "you are out of order, Detective" look on her face: tight lips, pale cheeks, ice princess spine. He hated that!

  "Uh, Jess, I—"

  She snorted. Snorted! … Jess! Slowly, Doug turned his head and looked at her. Laughing hysterically, she collapsed against the back wall of the elevator.

  "Wh-what d-do they c-call you besides Prick?" She put her hand to her stomach. "I can't stand it!"

  Her eyes were watering, and Doug just continued to stare at her, trying to comprehend what he saw. She wasn't angry; she was laughing.

  "Did you see his face?"

  Doug's lips twitched. "Yeah."

  She drew in a deep breath, which caught in the middle and sounded like a sob. "No one's ever called him that to his face before."

  "No? I'm surprised."

  She choked and dissolved into laughter again.

  The elevator doors swished open and several well-dressed stiffs waited for him and Jess to exit so they could get on. The sight of Judge Kirkland clinging to the wall and laughing uncontrollably had them narrowing suspicious eyes as if he'd flashed her or something.

  He grabbed Jess by the elbow and helped her out of the elevator. Her body still shook with laughter, the silken flesh of her arm rubbing against his palm.

  "It's not that funny," he muttered, annoyed with his body's continued response to everything about her.

  "I'm sorry." She took another deep breath, fighting for control. "But I've wanted to call him that for so long. It's just…"

  "Crude, rude and socially unacceptable?"

  "No. Well, yes. But perfect."

  Doug nodded a thank-you to the doorman as they walked from the hotel and stepped onto the sidewalk. "Something a woman like you would never do."

  She paused and turned to face him. The movement removed her arm from his grasp. He tried not to miss the warmth of her skin against his, but he couldn't help it.

  "I suppose not. But that doesn't mean I don't admire someone who has the guts to do it."

  "You mean the lack of the social graces needed to know any better."

  She tilted her head to look into his face, and he was struck again by the grace in her every movement. The sparkle of diamonds in her dark red hair reminded him of the stars that had begun to pop out in the night sky above.

  "I mean what I said, Doug." Her brow creased. "Why are you so touchy? Did someone say something … ah … unpleasant to you?"

  "Unpleasant?" This time he snorted. She sure had a way with words. But he wasn't about to tell her what Wolcott had said, and that some of it had struck home.

  All evening he'd felt like Judge Jess's boy toy, and he didn't like it, which made no sense. If he wanted her for the sex and nothing else, what difference did it make if she wanted him for the same reason?

  The situation was a single man's dream come true. Jess was a gorgeous, sexy, willing woman. He'd wanted her since the first time she looked down her nose at him from way up on the high bench. Now he had her, and when the fire burned out they would shake hands and retreat to their respective corners – or their respective sides of the tracks. No harm, no foul.

  So why did the thought that she was slumming make him so mad? He needed to think about this – about them. And the need to think about it was so surprising that he needed to think about that, too.

  "Doug?"

  Concern etched her features. He was acting nuts, not at all like the glib, practiced guy she knew. But right now he didn't feel like that guy at all.

  He stuffed his hands into his pockets to keep from touching her. "I'll take you home."

  "I have my car."

  "Oh, yeah." What was wrong with him? "Where's your car?"

  She nodded directly across the street and he followed her there, reminded of the first time he'd walked her to her car, the first time he'd given in to the irresistible urge to kiss her.

  She hesitated with her hand on the door, obviously remembering, too, and waiting for him to kiss her again. But he knew where kissing Jess would lead. Right bac
k to her bedroom, and tonight he just needed to go home.

  So he stepped out of reach, away from temptation. "Good night, Jess."

  She frowned, opened her mouth, and then snapped it shut. She was too classy to ask him to come over, or to beg him to kiss her.

  Touch me. The sound of his own words whispered through his head, mocking him. She hadn't begged last night, he had.

  Doug spun on his heel and stalked toward his car. Her voice drifted after on the warm night wind. "Thank you for coming, Doug."

  He flinched at the connotation his mind put on the words. She meant the dinner, not last night. God, he was pathetic. This had to stop. Right now. Before he did something really stupid.

  Like falling in love with her.

  * * *

  Confused, and more than a little hurt, Jessica watched Doug walk away. She'd made a mistake asking him to come tonight. It was clear he'd felt out of place, and no doubt Dennis had honed in on that, then needled and wheedled until Doug struck back. Dennis was good at that. That's why he was such a good defense lawyer.

  She climbed inside and pulled away from the curb. Doug's car immediately pulled in behind hers and continued to follow her all the way to Lake Drive

  . He was following her home. She felt a quick rise of hope – perhaps he'd changed his mind and… No, he was just seeing her home safely.

  He was such a gentleman – even when he was acting like a caveman. He held doors, took her elbow when they walked and followed her home when she was alone – old-world gestures nearly lost in the new-world order. She enjoyed his manners. She enjoyed him, not just in bed, but everywhere – except in court. Then he was a pain in the behind. She was sure he thought the same about her.

  Reaching her condo, she pulled into the underground parking lot, and the automatic garage door slid shut behind her, blocking out McGuire's car idling on the street.

  Several moments later she let herself inside her apartment, then crossed to the window without turning on any lights. Below, on the street, McGuire's car still waited. When she reached over and flicked on the light, the car inched away from the curb and pulled into traffic. A few blocks down it disappeared around a corner, making the circle back toward the freeway.