Jennifer's Garden

by Dianne Venetta

  “As always.”

  Though he had given in, Sam didn’t like the note of victory she detected in his voice. It meant the discussion wasn’t over. “Listen, if it’s all right with you,” she rose from her chair. “I need to get back to work.”

  “Of course.”

  Taking no comfort in the concession, her mind launched into high gear. Something was going on around here. Like a pirate too close to the plank, she knew something was lurking beneath the surface. But what?

  Good sense evaporated. “Raul, is there something—“

  “Yes?” he asked with soft expectation.

  The glimpse of premeditation staring back at her sent Sam’s body shock-still. His tone was too cool, too deliberate. There was more to this—more than his pretense of helpful unity among associates, the man had an agenda.

  She held his gaze. “Nothing, Raul.”

  He pulled his hands from the ebony desktop and set them on the smooth leather armrests of his chair. His smile was nothing if not gracious, accommodating, befitting that of a patriarch. “If you’re sure.”

  Sam wasn’t sure about anything at the moment. But she knew how to avoid a trap. “I’m sure.”

  “Very well.”

  Without another word, Raul waited for her to make her exit. No more arguments, no more questions, he was giving her lead time. For what, she didn’t have a clue, but experience taught that he’d be back.

  As Sam headed back to her office, speculation consumed her. Had Diego miscalculated? Was that what bothered her? Or was she ornery, because Raul had interfered with her caseload. Veered into her lane like oncoming traffic, blind-siding her with a full blast of headlights.

  Passing her secretary with an absent nod, Sam strode into her office and rounded the corner of her desk. She stopped short. Unable to indulge in her prized view of Biscayne Bay, glittering like a sheet of diamonds out the thirty-first floor windows, suspicion gnawed. Something wasn’t right. She shuffled through a stack of new phone messages, interested by none.

  Maria Jimenez breezed into her office, the tight maroon skirt wrapped around her hourglass hips moving with unbelievable ease as she carried a stack of files hugged close to her chest. “What’s the matter with you?”

  “Nothing.” Ditching the pink sheets of paper, Sam glanced about the office. Regal blue lampshades and plush navy carpeting, diplomas organized on her wall, it looked like any other in the firm.

  Maria dropped the folders onto the edge of the desk. “These are the files you requested.”

  “Thanks.” Whipping a hand to her hip, Sam asked, “What’s up with Diego’s schedule? I thought he and Stevens were almost finished, but Raul says they’re still deep in it.”

  “I don’t know.” Saucy eyes sharpened and her Spanish accent thickened. “You want me to find out?”

  Sam shook her head. "Don't worry about it. "She wasn’t sure what she wanted or from whom. No sense sending Maria out unarmed.

  “So what did Raul want?”

  She looked at Maria, the question crystallizing in her brain. What did he want? Was he setting her up? Did he have an agenda? Sam’s gaze wandered to the red leather chaise sequestered in the corner. A bit loud and far outside the dignified image Raul was cultivating for the firm, it was the only piece of décor in her office that hinted to the woman within. She insisted it gave fire to her thought process and was largely responsible for her wins. Who could argue with such logic? Certainly not Raul, so he allowed the one item to stay.

  Why was he challenging her now?

  “Never mind. None of my business,” Maria murmured, but her black eyes blazed the third degree.

  “Actually,” Sam sighed. “I have no idea.” Had he wanted to revoke confidence with her performance? Express disapproval at her budding interest in Vic? Raul frowned upon office romances but over the years, had come to allow her some wiggle room on the subject. But pushing the associate on her, overriding her authority...

  It wasn’t his style.

  “You think it’s good news or bad?”

  Misgiving pinched her chest. Sam couldn’t answer that one. “You tell me,” she pitched back. “He wants Vic to assist on the Perry case.”

  “What? Why would he want to do something crazy like that?” she whipped back.

  “My question exactly.”

  “Is it Diego’s schedule?” She packed on a matter-of-fact attitude and waved a finger through the air, gold bangles jingling. “I’ll call Suzette right now. She’ll tell me what’s going on over there in two seconds.”

  Sam surrendered to a small smile. Maria; her paralegal-secretary-extraordinaire. The woman was a pint of sass packed into a Latin man’s voluptuous fantasy: long black hair and big brown eyes, full pouty lips and enough makeup to make a cosmetician swoon. Damn sharp when it came to following instructions though, making Maria the best assistant since Moses. And indispensable. No doubt she would plunder the information in no time if asked. “Don’t bother, Mare. I’ll ask him myself.”

  “You sure?”

  “I’m sure.” Sam dropped to her chair, careful not to disturb the neat stacks of paper she had arranged on her desk in the form of a triangle. She was visual and these piles represented the three litigants in her current case. Details she needed to keep close for the conference call she was about to make. When the lies took wing, she intended to swat them like flies, pulling facts and figures from the sheets at her fingertips.

  Sam pulled a business card from the top pile and handed it to Maria. “Get these guys on the phone for me, will you? They’re expecting my call.”

  “You got it.”

  “Beep in when you’re ready.”

  “Yes Ma’am.”

  As Maria exited the office, Sam began formulating her plan of attack—at present, aimed at securing her settlement. Soon enough, she’d target Raul’s sudden generosity and his chosen benefactor. Taking her place among the elite group of women perched high atop their male-dominated fields was the crown of her achievements and she wasn’t about to jeopardize it. Not for anything or anyone.

  Sam stilled.

  Wait a minute. Maybe Raul’s suggestion for including Vic on the Perry case was a test. She looked up from her notes. Her mind slashed through the possibilities. Maybe he wanted her to do more than consult him on strategy. Maybe Raul wanted to see how she handled the role of mentor to a junior associate. Speculation mounted as pressure built inside her. Senior partners carried out the task every day, right? Makes sense they’d want to see how she’d do before they granted full partnership.

  Her breathing paused. Sam squeezed her eyes shut. Shit.

  Did she screw up?

  Chapter Two

  “I told you!” the elderly woman cried from the stand. “I set up no such meeting between the two of them!”

  Victor Marin leaned over the partition. “That’s not what your phone log says. It says you made several calls to the Senator in the weeks leading up to the transfer of funds and several the day of. Two of them were to his cell phone.”

  “It was fundraising!” Delicate cheeks flushed bright red within a frame of perfectly-coiffed silver hair. Like a trapped animal, she sought the judge, counsel, anyone who could help rescue her from the jaws of interrogation.

  Samantha Rawlings’ focus shot to the jury, taking satisfaction in how deeply engaged they were in the process. Each and every one of them sat riveted upon Vic’s every move. Throughout the entire proceedings, it seemed they couldn’t get enough of him.

  She savored a private smile. An allure she understood all too well. Pushing six-four, he had a striking presence. Not only his size, it was also his eyes. Almost black, yet lit by sparks of fire. Factor in his short-cropped hair, sharp-featured nose, and the chiseled edge of his jaw line and Vic reminded her of a bird.

  A falcon. Yes, she thought, pressing the tip of her sleek silver pen into the yellow note pad spread open before her. If he were an animal, he would be a bird of prey. Struck by the assessment, Sam felt a
n odd alliance with the jury. One couldn’t help being drawn to him. Wary, but mesmerized.

  Another smile pulled at her. Definitely mesmerized.

  Vic hovered closer to the witness and scowled. “You’re lying.”

  Petite within the confines of the witness stand, Morgan’s secretary recoiled, but Vic wasn’t buying her lamb-on-the-butcher-block routine. “Covering for Morgan can send you to jail,” he said. “For years.”

  The gavel slammed the room into silence.

  “Enough!” Judge Chavez flashed an angry look to the twelve men and women seated to his left, a gust of speculation blowing across the packed courtroom.

  Vic grazed her with warning, “It’s a favor he wouldn’t return.”

  “The jury will disregard the defense’s last statements,” Chavez said to them, then swung his wrath toward Vic. “Not another word, counselor.”

  Sam was on her feet. “Your Honor, may I approach the bench?”

  A muffled wave of whispers rippled through the gallery behind them, packed full today because this case had been feeding the front pages for weeks. Hijacking an employee pension fund was bad enough, but a senator?

  Vic cast a glance toward her in an appeal for support, but her glare told him to back off. She had seniority here and he’d better respect it.

  Judge Chavez approved her request with a nod of his head, but just over his reading glasses, his cold gaze burned a path straight for Vic.

  Sam strode over to the elevated perch which towered over the federal courtroom, Vic close on her heels. Chavez’s black eyes were popping mad, his lips set in a hard line. Even the brown of his skin seemed to redden with fury.

  Damn, she mused. Vic did have an effect, didn’t he?

  Opposing counsel joined them.

  “Your Honor,” Sam controlled her tone as she eased into her appeal. “First let me apologize for my associate’s egregious violation of your courtroom. I assure you it won’t happen again.”

  Chavez cupped a hand over the microphone and leaned forward. “You’re damn right it won’t.”

  “Your Honor,” Vic interjected. “The witness is holding back.”

  “Another word from you,” Chavez growled, “and I’ll have your butt hauled out of my courtroom by force.” Then he addressed Sam. “He’s finished here. I want him out.”

  The air in the courtroom grew thick with speculation, curiosity clinging to her backside.

  But she wasn’t bothered. She had been here before and enjoyed the pressure. It meant people were paying attention. Sam turned somber and leaned in. “I understand, Your Honor. I’ll take it from here.” She paused, tempering the charge of battle coursing between them. “But if I may be so forward as to ask your permission that he stay on as an observer?”

  Vic opened his mouth to reply, but Sam clamped a hand on his forearm.

  Chavez balked. “What?”

  “He’s a good attorney, your Honor, just a bit overzealous at times.”

  “Overzealous is an understatement, Sam.” His gaze hardened behind the black rim of his glasses. “Even a first-year law student knows not to harass the witness.”

  Sam lifted her shoulders in an attempt at forgiveness. “He got carried away?”

  “You’re much too generous on his behalf.” Judge Chavez allowed a small smile for her benefit, then cut back to Vic. “As for you. You, young man, are severely lacking in good judgment. Harassing an old woman on the stand not only injures the dignity of my courtroom, but it breeds contempt for our entire system of justice.”

  One of the attorneys next to them chuckled under his breath. Which had to grate on him, Sam thought. But to Vic’s credit, he remained immobile. And in control, she noted, with another rush of satisfaction. The man is good.

  “Don’t play guessing games on my time,” Chavez belabored. “You have questions, you ask them. Can’t get a witness to answer? Get smarter.”

  Vic bristled, but pasted a smile on his face. “Yes sir.”

  “Very well,” Chavez said. With his look of distaste securely intact, he held Vic in his scope for several seconds more before returning to Sam. “Maybe he can learn something from watching a seasoned professional such as yourself.”

  Sam smiled, warm and personal. “I appreciate it, Your Honor. And I promise, you won’t hear another word from him today.”

  “Let’s hope not.” The judge sat back, spitting out a round of nasty condescension, “Or he will find himself a guest of the state hotel.”

  With that, the group of attorneys returned to their respective tables while murmurs fluttered back to life in the room behind them.

  “Sam—“

  “Your Honor,” she started, plowing right over Vic’s quiet plea. “If it pleases the court, I have no further questions for this witness.”

  “Sam,” Vic whispered harshly. “You can’t let her walk!”

  But she ignored him.

  Judge Chavez spoke to the witness. “You may be excused.”

  Like a timid kitten, the secretary fled the chair in the witness box. Refusing eye contact with Sam and Vic, she clutched a shiny black purse to her chest and hurried up the aisle to a set of double-doors leading out into the hallway.

  In her case, the hallway to freedom.

  The judge gave two rapid smacks of his gavel. “One hour recess for lunch.” He pushed himself up from his seat. “If I can rally my appetite,” he grumbled aloud.

  Everyone rose as the judge exited through a side door, the jurors followed, filing out through another.

  “What the hell was that about?” demanded their client as he jumped up from his seat. “You trying to mangle this case more than it already is?”

  But Sam didn’t flinch. “Nothing more than courtroom antics.” She gathered her files and began to shove them into her briefcase. Behind her, the commotion of mass exodus began as reporters raced to file their stories, others more eager to report the lurid gossip.

  “What the hell were you doing?” he railed into Vic. “I told you she wouldn’t break.”

  “She’s been the executive secretary at Morgan-Baxter for twenty years,” Sam cut in. “We had to try.”

  “Try, hell—you fumbled the goddamn cross-examination!”

  Vic stepped forward to defend himself, but the man’s finger landed in his face. “If you screwed this case I’ll have your ass in a canister, you hear me?”

  Something inside him clicked.

  Around him, people were shuffling about, stacking papers, making phone calls, the bedlam of a courtroom as it emptied, but Vic held steady.

  Then there was Sam, staring at him. He could feel her scrutiny. Hovering like a helicopter over a hostage scene, she was waiting for him to lose his temper and tear into the client.

  “I’ve got a lot of money invested in this suit and if you’ve blown it...” The man’s neck vein seemed about to burst through his skin, his anger was palpable. “You’re done. You hear me? Done.”

  Sam lifted a hand to cease the man’s tirade. “Enough. Morgan-Baxter knows nothing about where we’re headed. When the trial resumes, we go in for the kill. I’m calling Dave Brenner to the stand, first thing.”

  The corporate bag-of-wind deflated. “Dave?”

  “Dave,” she repeated the name. “He’s the key to the whole case and I intend to rip him open when we return. Once I fill my belly.” She winked. “Snake meat tends to curdle on an empty stomach.” Stuffing the last of the folders into her case, Sam slung the long leather strap over her shoulder. Looking to the men, she asked, “Anyone care to join me?”

  “I’ve got phone calls to make,” her client replied, then plowed into the sea of bodies making an exit out the back.

  Sam turned to Vic. “How about you?”

  “Fine.”

  # # #

  Sam’s choice of restaurants was located just around the corner from the courthouse. On a humid day the walk was unbearable, but this morning it wasn’t too bad, thanks to the breeze whisking in off Biscayne Bay. It
tamed the vicious heat rising from the sidewalks, but did nothing to alleviate the sweat climbing up the back of his neck. Vic sighed. But this was Miami, the tropical moisture something you tolerated.

  Suit coat folded over his arm, Vic opened the door to Finkle’s Deli and Sam waltzed inside ahead of him. Baskets overloaded with fresh-baked bread lined the top of the display case, the rich aroma of coffee and grilled meat saturated the air.

  Sam paused. “Save room for the Key Lime Fantasy Fest.”

  “No thanks. Not a fan of sweets.”

  “Me neither, but that baby is pure fantasy when it comes to desserts.”

  “Whatever.”

  “What’ll it be?” asked a heavyset man behind the counter.

  “Reuben,” Sam responded.

  “Make it two.”

  “You’s got it.”

  Hearing the tough attitude, northeast accent reminded Vic of Philly. So much, that eyes closed, he could have sworn he just walked indoors from a street corner back home, preparing to order up one of the city’s finest.

  Sam plucked a plastic tray from the stack and reached for a glass. “Water?”

  “Fine,” he replied, returning his attention to the counter menu. Too bad he wasn’t hungry. After his courtroom fiasco, food was the last thing on Vic’s mind.

  At the soda fountain Sam filled two glasses, placed them on her tray then pushed it along metal rails, stopping before a young cashier. Vic followed behind and yanked the wallet from his back pocket and flipped it open. “How much?”

  Sam eyed the twenty in his hand. “Don’t worry. I got it.”

  He shoved the money toward her. “Take it.”

  About to refuse, she accepted the money with a shrug. “Have it your way.”

  The cash register clanged to life, the girl changed the bill and Vic pushed the remainder into his wallet and back into his pocket. He trailed Sam to a table and pulled out a wooden chair. When she hesitated, he fired a warning flare not to refuse the gesture. She sat. He tossed his suit jacket onto the back of the other chair while Sam did likewise with hers. Dropping to his seat, Vic ripped the paper from his straw.