by Laura Kenner
She eyed his haircut. He’s not military, either. A tourist? On the make?
He regarded her with a nod as he lifted his glass in salute. “Of course, that assumes you believe in such a thing as a conscientious divorce lawyer. Which, in turn, means you accept the absurd notion that a lawyer could have a conscience in the first place. So far, I’ve never met one, myself.” The man turned toward the judge and gave him a broad smile. “Evenin’, Mike.”
The judge grinned back. “H’lo, Will. So you were the other person who ordered a Public Defender. I wondered if I was going to have a run on them tonight.”
Sara glanced at the familiar-looking orange-pink liquid in the man’s glass as he took a healthy swig of his drink. He looked more like a guy who would order a beer rather than a cocktail heavier in juice than rum.
“Vitamins,” he declared after lowering his glass. “It’s the only sure source of vitamins I get these days.” He fiddled with his cocktail napkin, folding under one edge. “I wish you would tell me what’s in this thing, Mike, so I can figure out how many of them it takes to meet my minimum recommended daily allowance.”
Sara shook her head, knowing the utter futility of his request. “He won’t do it, you know. I’ve been trying for years to get the recipe out of him, but the good judge won’t budge.”
Mike drained his bottle of water. “Not even for you, Will.”
Will moved closer to her, placing his drink next to hers and giving both their glasses a fierce appraisal. “It doesn’t look like it would be so hard, does it? Divining the ingredients used to make this thing?”
She contemplated her own glass. “It’s not as much figuring out what’s in it as how much of each ingredient.”
“Starting with orange juice?”
She nodded. “And grapefruit juice.”
“Fresh lemon?” he challenged.
“Just a twist. Maybe even some orange rind.”
He nodded sagely. “I thought so. And what about the pink?”
She shrugged. “Probably grenadine.”
Mike continued to putter behind the bar, listening to their list of proposed ingredients without comment. Sara wondered how his poker face would react if they hit on the winning combination.
Will shifted his attention, staring intently at the judge rather than his drink. “And what about that all-important secret ingredient, Mike?”
The judge merely shrugged.
Will lifted his glass, turned his scrutiny to the liquid, then took a tentative sip. Sara followed suit.
Their gazes met above the rim of their glasses. For a moment, a thousand thoughts and images careened through Sara’s mind. An unexpected-yet-familiar shivery sensation started at the base of her neck and shot down toward her legs. After one frozen-but-mesmerizing moment, she blinked, using the distraction to tear her attention from him and hopefully guide it back to where it belonged. She stared at the drink, her focus blurring.
What was I doing? A second tremor rocked her. What am I doing? I have a man, thank you very much. A wonderful man who loves, cherishes and, best of all, trusts me. She closed her eyes, conjuring up an image of Raymond, resplendent in his charcoal suit and red power tie. With a wicked grin, he began to take off the tie. He tossed the deep cranberry silk onto the bed. Cranberry?
“Cranberry…” she whispered to herself.
Will leaned slightly toward her. “Pardon?”
She took another speculative sip of her drink. “Cranberry juice,” she said to him in a low voice.
He quirked an eyebrow. “Cranberry?” He tasted the word in the same manner he tasted his drink. Sudden enlightenment flooded his face, and he winked. Shielding his hand from the judge’s view, he started a countdown.
Three.
Two.
One.
“Cranberry juice!” they said, their two voices blending as one.
To her utter surprise, Mike blinked.
It was a simple, almost-involuntary gesture that would have meant absolutely nothing had it been performed by practically anybody else. But this was Judge Michael F. Russell, a man with a long, illustrious career on the bench where he had been nicknamed “The Rock” for his almost-blatant lack of emotion.
In him, such a minor reaction as a blink spoke volumes.
Sara wondered if the same could be said about her. She felt a reminiscent frisson cross her shoulders.
Her cohort in culinary crime stared at her for a moment “You okay? You look…cold.”
“It’s the ice,” she lied.
Will turned to the judge, his concern fading to a mixture of awe and triumph. “Do you have a pen? We need to immortalize this moment in time.”
Having overcome his momentary lapse in composure, Mike produced a small yellow pencil stub. “Will this do?” he asked in a noncommittal voice.
Will accepted the pencil, grabbed a cocktail napkin and started writing with paper-tearing enthusiasm. Sara shamelessly read over his shoulder.
“On this day, the eighteenth of October in the year 1996, I, William Brian Riggs, and—” He nudged the napkin toward Sara and after a moment’s hesitation, she obliged by writing in, “Sara Hardaway.”
“Do both solemnly swear that they witnessed the for-mer-but-still-Honorable Judge Michael F. Russell perform in such a manner that could be described as an overt physical reaction displaying the emotion called ’surprise.’ Said judge was neither under the undue influence of alcohol, exhaustion or any known drug or intoxicant.”
Will signed his name with an indecipherable flourish and handed the pencil to Sara, who signed as well.
The judge glanced at the napkin, shook his head and began to polish a glass that was already clean. “I neither confirmed nor denied that cranberry juice is a key component in my drink. However I am willing to admit that a Public Defender is made up of twenty-seven ingredients. So, looks like it’s seven down—” he paused to give them the full benefit of his benign, unruffled smile “—and twenty more to go.”
Will turned to Sara, his grin fading a little. “I think Mike guards his formula closer than they do Coca-Cola’s.”
“Coca-Cola?” She took another sip. “I don’t think it’s one of the ingredients.”
The smile broke free as he lifted his drink in salute. “I don’t think so, either. So here’s to secret formulas, close-mouthed judges and—” he paused as a fresh glint entered his eyes “—lovely ladies with foam mustaches.”
Sara snatched her napkin and dabbed at the residue of drink that dotted her upper lip. “Did I get it?”
His critical glance seemed to encompass more than just her lips. He shifted closer to her and reached over, pulling the napkin out of her hand to gently blot her cheek. “There…”
Had his hand lingered one millisecond longer, Sara might have looked for an excuse to leave. She didn’t want to be guilty of implying that she was available, nor did she want to place herself under any undue strain in having to correct his assumption. She found her watch a suitable diversion until she realized it indicated Raymond was over an hour and a half late.
“Don’t tell me you’re getting stood up, too.” Will consulted his own watch, tapping it with a sudden grimace. His eyes widened suddenly and he took another glance at the napkin they’d signed. “‘Sara Hardaway,’” he read. “You wouldn’t also go by the pseudonym of Harmony Kent, would you?”
She shook her head. “If you ever heard me sing, you’d know the answer was no.”
He shrugged and finished his drink. “If you’re not Harmony Kent in disguise, then it’s official. I’ve been stood up.” He added a sigh. “On a blind date, no less.”
“Sorry.”
Watching the way he started fiddling with his napkin, Sara wondered if he was going to hit her with the old “Since neither of us have anything better to do tonight, why don’t we…” routine. To her surprise, he shot her an almost-embarrassed smile, then turned and asked the judge for the phone.
Mike handed him the cordless unit and
Will consulted a piece of paper from his wallet before dialing.
Mike leaned closer to her. “Did Raymond tell you he was going to be late?”
She nodded. “Yeah…but not this late.”
“I’m sure he realizes how hard it is for you to get a night off. Especially a Friday night”
She shrugged. “But will he be as understanding when he realizes I can’t get another Friday off until the next blue moon?” As she spoke to Mike, she watched Will out of the corner of her eye. Whatever the nature of his conversation, he didn’t like what he was hearing.
“Sure, he will. An infamous attorney like the Black-water Barracuda understands the pressures of running a business.”
“He says he hates that nickname, you know.”
Mike shook his head. “No, he doesn’t. You and I both know he secretly loves it.” His sympathetic smile widened. “Anyway, you need to eat. If you can hold off for another forty-five minutes, I can break loose from here and join you for an intimate, however platonic, dinner for two. Raymond trusts me.”
She reached over and patted his arm. “He’s not the only one. Thanks…but no, thanks. I think it would be better if I just went on home and used this time to get some extra sleep.”
“If Raymond shows up later or calls, you want me to—” Mike made the appropriate twisting gesture “—dig the knife in a little?”
“It’s not necessary.” She winked at him. “Of course, it might not hurt, either. If you really feel a pressing need to make Raymond understand my overwhelming sense of disappointment…then who am I to stop you?”
Mike shot her an “Okay” sign. “You got it.”
Will stepped closer, handing Mike the phone. “Thanks.”
Sara turned around, took one look at Will’s crestfallen face and felt a pang of sympathy for him. Not a shred of amusement remained in his expression. She leaned toward him slightly. “Everything okay?”
He stared at his empty glass, waving away Mike’s offer to refill it. Turning back to her, Will adopted a pale imitation of his earlier grin. “Halfway through the conversation, Harmony couldn’t remember the excuse she’d just offered for standing me up. Either she had to wash her hair or her favorite aunt just died. By the time we finished, it sounded as if she had to wash her dead aunt’s hair.” He didn’t wait for their reaction. “Mike…will this cover my tab?” He reached into his wallet and pulled out a ten.
Mike nodded, taking the money as well as the empty glass. As he reached for the discarded napkin, Will stopped him, the grin gaining some strength. “Nope, this is an important legal document. I think we need to put it someplace safe. Who knows when it might come in handy.” He stood, folded the paper, placed it in his pocket, then held his hand out to Sara. “Miss Hardaway, it was a pleasure meeting you.”
She accepted his handshake, “And it was nice to meet you, Mr.—er—”
A pleasant tinge of color brightened his features. “We were never formerly introduced, were we? I’m Will Riggs.”
“Pleased to meet you, Will. Maybe between the two of us, we’ll eventually figure out Mike’s secret formula.”
When Sara reached to the back of the chair and retrieved her coat, Will immediately offered to help her put it on. “Are you leaving, too?” She felt his hand brush across the back of her neck as he deftly lifted her hair from beneath her collar. Goose bumps rippled down her arms.
“Yes. I’ve run out of patience.”
He hesitated for a moment. “Well…if you have nothing to do tonight…and I have nothing to do, why don’t we stay here and eat? Or go to a movie?”
From a lesser man, those words would have sounded like a cheap line, but Will made it seem like a natural response when two people found their plans had changed. However, Sara didn’t actually consider his offer for more than a second or two.
Happily engaged women didn’t do things like that.
However, happily engaged women did have a responsibility to turn down nice guys in a kind and considerate manner.
“Uh, as much as I appreciate the offer…” She stumbled over the words, trying to find the right balance between pacifying his ego and making sure he realized she was a staunchly loyal woman.
“Thanks, but no thanks?” he supplied.
She nodded. “Something like that.”
“The divorce is still too fresh?”
“Divorce?” She thought back to their earlier conversation and suddenly understood Will’s confusion. “Oh…the divorce-lawyer reference. No, I’m not in the beginning, middle or end of a divorce. My fiance is a divorce lawyer who is almost unforgivably late for our night out.”
“‘Almost unforgivably,’ meaning he will be forgiven?”
She shrugged. “Eventually. However, I do reserve the right to put him on the hot seat for a while. Just on general principle, you know.”
Will adopted a conciliatory smile. “Please…let me walk you to your car. It’s the least I can do.” He tossed a glance toward the judge who was listening openly to their conversation. “Mike can vouch for my good character, right?”
The judge nodded. “He’s a good ’un, Sara, and he knows if he got out of line, I’d wipe the floor with him.” Mike caught her gaze and held it for a moment. “It’s okay. Really.”
She smiled. “Thanks. I’d appreciate an escort.”
Will blazed a crooked path through the knots of conversing people and led her toward the door. Halfway there, he leaned back and said something to Sara, which was swallowed up by the crowd’s noise.
“What?” she prompted, moving closer to him.
“The cranberry juice. Now that I think about it, I don’t know how I could miss something so obvious.”
She nodded. “Weird, eh?”
Even once they got outside, they were still surrounded by a throng of noisy people.
“Where’s your car?” Will shouted above the roar.
She pointed into the darkness. “A block to the left and down the side street. I parked in the alley beside a dry cleaners.”
“I know exactly where that is.” Will threaded them through the last group of people who congregated under the canopied entrance to The Judge’s Chambers. He placed a steadying hand on her elbow as they walked down the short flight of steps. “I’m glad you’re not out here by yourself. The lighting isn’t good in that area.” Although he didn’t remove his hand after they reached the street level, she decided his gesture fell under the auspices of a gentleman’s code of manners.
Once they strolled down the sidewalk a half block, the noise level went down significantly, but a passing ambulance quickly filled the void. Sara flinched at the sound.
Will leaned closer. “You okay?” His breath made a frosty cloud in the air.
She nodded. “Sure.” The cold October wind whistled around the corner and down the collar of her coat. But Will was the one to shiver.
“If I had known it was going to be this cold tonight, I would have brought a jacket,” he complained.
It seemed only natural for Sara to shift closer to him, in order to prevent some of the wind from passing through his thin sweater. His hand tightened on her elbow as she took a jostled step.
“Watch out These brick sidewalks are killers.”
She nodded. “Potholes and high heels. They automatically attract each other, yet they’re natural enemies.”
His grip tightened again as they left the brightly lit main avenue and stepped into the shadows lining the darker side street. Although they shared innocuous small-talk as they walked, she felt as if he spent more attention on their surroundings than he did on her. He carefully scanned every shadow without being overt, and she found his protective instincts reassuring.
As they approached her car, she fumbled in her pocket and pulled out her keys, then thumbed the remote unlocking button.
Nothing happened.
Will stared at her keys. “Something wrong?”
“It didn’t work.” She held the unit out at arm’s length and push
ed the button again. “I don’t understand.”
“Push it again,” he instructed. To his credit, he didn’t wrench the remote out of her hand and try it himself. Instead, he released her elbow and scanned the darkness with sudden intensity. A moment later, he took her by surprise with a sudden burst of laughter.
She pivoted and glared at him. “What?”
“This isn’t your car.” Will turned and pointed at another vehicle in the distance. The car’s interior lights were on but no one was inside. “I bet that one’s yours.”
She squinted in the darkness, belatedly realizing that the car they stood beside was black, not dark green like hers. She allowed herself one self-exasperated sigh. “Oh, brother…” Maneuvering around the parked car, Sara stepped out into the empty street Pushing the remote button merely confirmed her error, the other vehicle’s interior lights flickered off, then on again.
“Ain’t technology great? Wait—” Will stopped in the middle of the road and stooped down. “I think you dropped something when you got out your keys.”
Sara reached into her pocket. “I don’t think so.” She stepped closer to him, squinting to see what had captured his interest in a pothole in the middle of the road.
An engine roared to life. Headlights suddenly flared in her eyes. In one blinding moment, sound and light united, swelling to deadly proportions. A shriek of rubber on asphalt blended with Will’s shouted warning. “Sara…look out!”
Chapter Two
There was no time to weigh possible options.
Will hurled himself at Sara, knocking her out of the way. As they tumbled between the parked cars, he tried to absorb the worst of their momentum and impact-force by twisting in midair and landing on the bottom. A split second later, he learned exactly how much pain such altruism could generate.
When his head hit the curb, a swirling rainbow of stars blotted his vision. To make matters worse, Sara hit him squarely in the solar plexus, forcing the air out of his lungs. He heard the thrumming echo of a badly tuned engine over his own gasping attempts to regain his breath. Even after the loud vehicle disappeared down the street, it was still hard to hear the anxious voice calling his name over the hammering of his heart.