Novels: The Law is a Lady

by Nora Roberts

  Hernandez's Bar is open until eleven on weeknights, one on Saturday. Consumption of alcohol on the streets is subject to a fifty-dollar fine. You're liable for any damage to private property. Whatever alterations you make for the filming will again have to be cleared individually. Anyone causing a disturbance in the hotel or on the streets after midnight will be fined and sentenced. As this is your show, Kincaid, I'll hold you personally responsible for keeping your people in line."

  He listened to her rundown of the rules with the appearance of careful interest. "Have dinner with me."

  She very nearly smiled. "Forget it." When she started to walk by him, he took her arm.

  "Neither of us is likely to do that, are we?"

  Tory didn't shake off his arm. It felt too good to be touched by him again. She did, however, give him a long, lazy look. "Phil, both of us have a job to do. Let's keep it simple."

  "By all means." He wondered what would happen if he kissed her right then and there. It was what he wanted, he discovered, more than anything he had wanted in quite some time. It would also be unwise.

  "What if we call it a business dinner?"

  Tory laughed. "Why don't we call it what it is?"

  "Because then you wouldn't come, and I do want to talk to you."

  The simplicity of his answer disconcerted her. ' 'About what?"

  "Several things." His fingers itched to move to her face, to feel the soft, satiny texture of her skin. He kept them loosely hooked around her arm. ' 'Among them, my show and your town. Wouldn't it simplify matters for both of us if we understood each other and came to a few basic agreements?" -

  "Maybe."

  "Have dinner with me in my room." When her brow arched, he continued lazily. "It's also my office for the lime being," he reminded her. "I'd like to clear the air regarding my film. If we're going to argue, Sheriff, let's do it privately."

  The Sheriff did it. It was both her title and her job. "All right," she agreed. "Seven o'clock."

  "Fine." When she started to walk away, he stopped her. "Sheriff," he said with a quick grin, "leave the gun in the desk, okay? It'll kill my appetite."

  She gave a snort of laughter. ' T can handle you without it, Kincaid."

  Tory frowned at the clothes hanging inside her closet, liven while she had been showering, she had considered putting on work clothes—and her badge—for her dinner with Phil. But that would have been petty, and pettiness wasn't her style. She ran a fingertip over an emerald-green silk dress. It was very simply cut, narrow, with a high neck that buttoned to the waist. Serviceable and attractive, she decided, slipping it off the hanger. Laying it across the bed, she shrugged out of her robe.

  Outside, the streets were quiet. She hoped they stayed that way, as she'd put Merle in charge for the evening. People would be gathered in their homes, at the drugstore, at the bar, discussing the filming. That had been the main topic of the town for weeks, overriding the heat, the lack of rain and the Kramer twins.

  Tory smiled as she laced the front of her teddy. Yes, people needed their little entertainments, and this was the biggest thing to happen in Friendly in years. She was going to have to roll with it. To a point.

  She slipped the dress over her head, feeling the silk slither on her skin. It had been a long time, she realized, since she had bothered about clothes. In Albuquerque she took a great deal of care about her appearance. A courtroom image was as important as an opening statement, particularly in a jury trial. People judged. Still, she was a woman who knew how to incorporate style with comfort.

  The dress flattered her figure while giving her complete freedom of movement. Tory looked in the bureau-top mirror to study her appearance. The mirror cut her off at just above the waist. She rose on her toes and turned to the side but was still frustrated with a partial view of herself. Well, she decided, letting her feet go flat again, it would just have to do.

  She sprayed on her scent automatically, remembering too late Phil's comment on it. Tory frowned at the delicate bottle as she replaced it on the dresser. She could hardly go and scrub the perfume off now. With a shrug she sat on the bed to put on her shoes. The mattress creaked alarmingly. Handling Phil Kincaid was no problem, she told herself. That was half the reason she had agreed to have dinner with him. It was a matter of principle. She wasn't a woman to be seduced or charmed into submission, particularly by a man of Kincaid's reputation. Spoiled, she thought again, but with a tad too much affection for her liking. He'd grown up privileged, in a world of glitter and glamour. He expected everything to come his way, women included.

  Tory had grown up respecting the value of a dollar in a world of ordinary people and day-to-day struggles.

  She, too, expected everything to come her way—after she'd arranged it. She left the room determined to come out on top in the anticipated encounter. She even began to look forward to it.

  Phil's room was right next door. Though she knew he had seen to that small detail himself, Tory planned to make no mention of it. She gave a brisk knock and waited.

  When he opened the door, the glib remark Phil had intended to make vanished from his brain. He remembered his own thoughts about seeing her in something silk and vivid and could only stare. Exquisite.

  It was the word that hammered inside his brain, but even that wouldn't come through his lips. He knew at that moment he'd have to have her or go through his life obsessed with the need to.

  "Victoria," he managed after a long moment.

  Though her pulse had begun to pound at the look in his eyes, at the husky way he had said her name, she gave him a brisk smile. "Phillip," she said very formally. "Shall I come in or eat out here?"

  Phil snapped back. Stammering and staring wasn't going to get him very far. He took her hand to draw her inside, then locked the door, uncertain whether he was locking her in or the world out.

  Tory glanced around the small, haphazardly furnished room. Phil had already managed to leave his mark on it. The bureau was stacked with papers. There was a note pad, scrawled in from margin to margin, a few stubby pencils and a two-way radio. The shades were drawn and the room was lit with candles. Tory lifted her brows at this, glancing toward the folding card table covered with the hotel's best linen. Two dishes were covered to keep in the heat while a bottle of wine was open. Strolling over, Tory lifted it to study the label.

  ' 'Chateau Haut-Brion Blanc,'' she murmured with a perfect accent. Still holding the bottle, she sent Phil a look. "You didn't pick this up at Mendleson's Liquors."

  "1 always take a few... amenities when I go on location."

  Tilting her head, Tory set down the bottle. "And the candles?"

  "Local drugstore," he told her blandly. "Wine and candlelight," she mused. "For a business dinner?"

  "Humor the director," he suggested, crossing over to pour out two glasses of wine. "We're always setting scenes. It's uncontrollable." Handing her a glass, he touched it with the rim of his own. "Sheriff, to a comfortable relationship."

  "Association," she corrected, then drank. "Very nice," she approved. She let her eyes skim over him briefly.

  He wore casual slacks, impeccably tailored, with an open-collared cream-colored shirt that accented his lean torso. The candlelight picked up the deep tones of red in his hair. "You look more suited to your profession than when I first saw you," she commented.

  "And you less to yours," he countered.

  "Really?" Turning away, she wandered the tiny room. The small throw rug was worn thin in patches, the headboard of the bed scarred, the nightstand a bit unsteady. "How do you like the accommodations, Kincaid?"

  "They'll do."

  She laughed into her wine. "Wait until it gets hot." "Isn't it?"

  "Do the immortal words 'You ain't seen nothing yet' mean anything to you?"

  He forced himself to keep his eyes from the movements of her body under the silk. "Want to see all the Hollywood riffraff melt away, Tory?'

  Turning, she disconcerted him by giving him her dashing smile. "
No, I'll wish you luck instead. After all, I invariably admire your finished product."

  "If not what goes into making it."

  "Perhaps not," she agreed. "What are you feeding me?"

  He was silent for a moment, studying the eyes that laughed at him over the rim of a wineglass. "The menu is rather limited."

  "Meat loaf?" she asked dubiously, knowing it was the hotel's specialty.

  "God forbid. Chicken and dumplings."

  Tory walked back to him. "In that case I'll stay." They sat, facing each other across the folding table. "Shall we get business out of the way, Kincaid, or will it interfere with your digestion?"

  He laughed, then surprised her by reaching out to take one of her hands in both of his. "You're a hell of a woman, Tory. Why are you afraid to use my first name?"

  She faltered a moment, but let her hand lay unresisting in his. Because it's too personal, she thought.

  "Afraid?" she countered.

  "Reluctant?" he suggested, allowing his fingertip to trace the back of her hand.

  "Immaterial." Gently she removed her hand from his. "I was told you'd be shooting here for about six weeks." She lifted the cover from her plate and set it aside. "Is that firm?"

  "According to the guarantors." Phil muttered, taking another sip of wine. "Guarantors?"

  ' Tyco, Inc., completion-bond company."

  "Oh, yes." Tory toyed with her chicken. "I'd heard that was a new wave in Hollywood. They guarantee that the movie will be completed on time and within budget— or else they pay the overbudget costs. They can fire you, can't they?"

  "Me, the producer, the stars, anyone," Phil agreed. "Practical."

  "Stifling," he returned, and stabbed into his chicken.

  "From your viewpoint, I imagine," Tory reflected. "Still, as a business, it makes sense. Creative people often have to be shown certain...boundaries. Such as," she continued, "the ones I outlined this morning."

  "And boundaries often have to be flexible. Such as," he said with a smile, "some night scenes we'll be shooting: I'm going to need your cooperation. The townspeople are welcome to watch any phase of the shoot, as long as they don't interfere, interrupt or get in the way. Also, some of the equipment being brought in is very expensive and very sensitive. We have security, but as sheriff, you may want to spread the word that it's off limits."

  "Your equipment is your responsibility," she reminded him. ' 'But I will issue a statement. Before you shoot your night scenes, you'll have to clear it through my office."

  He gave her a long, hard look. "Why?"

  "If you're planning on working in the middle of the night in the middle of town, I'll need prior confirmation.

  In that way I can keep disorder to a minimum."

  "There'll be times I'll need the streets blocked off and cleared."

  "Send me a memo," she said. "Dates, times. Friendly can't come to a stop to accommodate you." "It's nearly there in any case."

  "We don't have a fast lane." Irresistibly she sent him a grin. "As you discovered."

  He gave her a mild glance. "I'd also like to use some of the locals for extras and walk-ons."

  Tory rolled her eyes. "God, you are looking for trouble. Go ahead," she said with a shrug, "send out your casting call, but you'd better use everyone that answers it, one way or another."

  As he'd already figured that one out for himself, Phil was unperturbed. "Interested?" he asked casually.

  "Hmm?"

  "Are you interested?"

  Tory laughed as she held out her glass for more wine. "No."

  Phil let the bottle hover a moment. "I'm serious, Tory. I'd like to put you on film."

  "I haven't got the time or the inclination."

  "You've got the looks and, I think, the talent."

  She smiled, more amused than flattered. "Phil, I'm a lawyer. That's exactly what I want to be."

  "Why?"

  He saw immediately that the question had thrown her off balance. She stared at him a moment with the glass to her lips. "Because the law fascinates me," she said after a pause. "Because I respect it. Because I like to think that occasionally I have something to do with the process of justice. I worked hard to get into Harvard, and harder when I got there. It means something to me."

  "Yet, you've given it up for six months."

  "Not completely." She frowned at the steady flame of the candle. "Regardless, it's necessary. There'll still be cases to try when I go back."

  "I'd like to see you in the courtroom," he murmured, watching the quiet light flicker in her eyes. "I bet you're fabulous."

  "Outstanding," she agreed, smiling again. "The assistant D.A. hates me." She took another bite of chicken.

  "What about you? Why directing instead of acting?"

  "It never appealed to me." Leaning back, Phil found himself curiously relaxed and stimulated. He felt he could look at her forever. Her fragrance, mixed with the scent of hot wax, was erotic, her voice soothing. '

  'And I suppose I liked the idea of giving orders rather than taking them. With directing you can alter a scene, change a tone, set the pace for an entire story. An actor can only work with one character, no matter how complex it may be."

  "You've never directed either of your parents." Tory let the words hang so that he could take them either as a statement or a question. When he smiled, the creases in his cheeks deepened so that she wondered how it would feel to run her fingers along them.

  "No." He tipped more wine into his glass. "It might make quite a splash, don't you think? The three of us together on one film. Even though they've been divorced for over twenty-five years, they'd send the glossies into a frenzy."

  "You could do two separate films," she pointed out.

  "True." He pondered over it a moment. "If the right scripts came along..." Abruptly he shook his head. "I've thought of it, even been approached a couple of times, but I'm not sure it would be a wise move professionally or personally. They're quite a pair," he stated with a grin. "Temperamental, explosive and probably two of the best dramatic actors in the last fifty years. Both of them wring the last drop of blood from a character."

  "I've always admired them," Tory agreed. "Especially in the movies they made together. They put a lot of chemistry on the screen."

  "And off it," Phil murmured. "It always amazed me that they managed to stay together for almost ten years.

  Neither of them had that kind of longevity in their other marriages. The problem was that they never stopped competing. It gave them the spark on the screen and a lot of problems at home. It's difficult to live with someone when you're afraid he or she might be just a little better than you are."

  "But you're very fond of them, aren't you?" She watched his mobile brow lift in question. "It shows," she told him. "It's rather nice."

  "Fond," he agreed. "Maybe a little wary. They're formidable people, together or separately. I grew up listening to lines being cued over breakfast and hearing producers torn to shreds at dinner. My father lived each role. If he was playing a psychotic, I could expect to find a crazed man in the bathroom."

  "Obsession," Tory recalled, delighted. "1957."

  "Very good," Phil approved. "Are you a fan?"

  ''Naturally. I got my first kiss watching Marshall Kincaid in Endless Journey. '' She gave a throaty laugh.

  "The movie was the more memorable of the two."

  "You were in diapers when that movie was made," Phil calculated.

  "Ever heard of the late show?"

  "Young girls," he stated, "should be in bed at that hour."

  Tory suppressed a laugh. Resting her elbows on the table, she set her chin on cupped hands. "And young boys?"

  "Would stay out of trouble," he finished.

  "The hell they would," Tory countered, chuckling. "As I recall, your...exploits started at a tender age. What was the name of that actress you were involved with when you were sixteen? She was in her twenties as I remember, and—"

  "More wine?" Phil interrupted, filling
her glass before she could answer.

  "Then there was the daughter of that comedian." "We were like cousins."

  "Really?" Tory drew out the word with a doubtful look. "And the dancer...ah, Nicki Clark."

  "Great moves," Phil remembered, then grinned at her. "You seem to be more up on my... exploits than I am. Did you spend all your free time at Harvard reading movie magazines?"

  "My roommate did," Tory confessed. ''She was a drama major. I see her on a commercial now and again.

  And then I knew someone in the business. Your name's dropped quite a bit at parties."

  "The actor you dated."

  "Total recall," Tory murmured, a bit uncomfortable. "You amaze me."

  "Tool of the trade. What was his name?"

  Tory picked up her wine, studying it for a moment. "Chad Billings."

  "Billings?" Surprised and not altogether pleased, Phil frowned at her. "A second-rate leech, Tory. I wouldn't think him your style."

  "No?" She shot him a direct look. "He was diverting and... educational." "And married."

  "Judgmental, Phil?" she countered, then gave a shrug. "He was in between victims at the time."

  "Aptly put," Phil murmured. "If you got your view of the industry through him, I'm surprised you didn't put up roadblocks to keep us out."

  "It was a thought," she told him, but smiled again. "I'm not a complete fool, you know."

  But Phil continued to frown at her, studying her intensely. He was more upset at thinking of her with Billings than he should have been. "Did he hurt you?" he demanded abruptly.

  Surprised, Tory stared at him. "No," she said slowly. "Although I suppose he might have if I'd allowed it.

  We didn't see each other exclusively or for very long. I was in L.A. on a case at the time."

  "Why Albuquerque?" Phil wondered aloud. "Lou was impressed with you, and he's not easily impressed.

  Why aren't you in some glass and leather office in New York?"

  "I hate traffic," Tory sat back now, swirling the wine and relaxing. "And I don't rush."

  "L.A.?"

  "I don't play tennis."

  He laughed, appreciating her more each moment. "I love the way you boil things down, Tory. What do you do when you're not upholding the law?"