Killer Career

by Mandel, Morgan

  Her unwrapped book lay beside Dade’s. She forced her eyes away. She didn’t have time to read. She must leave the land of writing and enter the land of law.

  With conference euphoria plunging, she slipped into her office. With a sigh, she opened the leather catalog case she’d rolled beside the cherry wood desk Friday evening. Reaching inside, she withdrew Miller’s papers.

  This particular case was set for trial on an emergency petition at the Illinois Workers’ Compensation Commission. She felt guilty about cutting her preparations so close. Her client, Adam Miller, deserved her best representation.

  The opposing attorney, Roland Barabat, refused to pay compensation benefits without a fight. Barabat’s arrogance was typical of the man. She and Dade had had constant run-ins with the attorney. This case shouldn’t even have made it to trial, but tell that to Barabat.

  Miller was a factory worker for Krol Industries. At the end of the day, he’d punched the time clock and headed to his car in the company parking lot. There he slipped on a patch of ice and broke his arm. Since the accident had occurred on specified company grounds, like it or not, his employer was liable.

  She hated it when an employer cheated an employee of his rightful due. Such injustices happened to the unwary, but not to her clients.

  Julie reviewed the medical records, paying close attention to the history of the accident as it had been reported by her client to the hospital emergency room staff and later to the treating doctor. Thank goodness the reports jived, tying Miller’s condition to the occurrence.

  With everything clear in her mind, Julie typed notes on her laptop computer and backed them up on the micro drive. She’d go over it again on the train in to work.

  She was more than ready for a fight. Barabat wouldn’t know what hit him. She’d teach him not to tromp on the little guy.

  Way past midnight, when she was turning back the covers of her bed, guilt hit her. If she gave up her law practice to write, what would become of the little guys she might have helped?

  * * *

  The man made her heart race, though his face remained hidden. It had to be Jensen. Julie lay beneath him in delicious ecstasy, as he slowly and thoroughly pleased her. Although it was their first time together, he knew exactly where to touch and what to do.

  It felt glorious, but she knew it was wrong. She pushed him away. “You have to go,” she said. “I can’t do this.”

  In a flash, he disappeared.

  Julie lay awake frustrated and thinking. I’m so hung up on love and commitment I can’t even enjoy a dream without suffering a moral dilemma.

  Just as well. Though the mystery writer got to her in more ways than one, that’s as far as it would go. The graphic nature of his books and the reality of the vamp leaning over his arm at the conference were signposts he wasn’t a forever kind of guy.

  The alarm rang, jarring Julie from her reverie. Time was short. She had decorations to buy and put up. She’d have to hurry to make it to the office before Dade. He’d flip for sure, but that was all right. Although he’d put on a show of disapproval, she knew that deep down he’d eat up all the fuss.

  She hastily dressed, gulped down a bowl of multi-grain cereal, grabbed the copies of Hopeless off the coffee table by the door and placed them in the catalog case next to the gigantic Miller file and her laptop computer. The books reminded her of a decision she’d need to make soon.

  Julie shrugged off the thought. She wanted Dade to enjoy his birthday, so for now she’d not mention her growing doubts about remaining in the practice.

  Chapter Two

  The sun shone brilliantly in a baby blue sky. Infant breezes ruffled Julie’s hair and patted her cheeks, lightening her mood as she rolled her clanking catalog case down the sidewalk. Her neighbor’s dog darted from behind the bushes and barked a greeting.

  “Good morning, Jimbo.” She stopped to bend down and pet him.

  The animal’s tail beat furiously, making Julie smile. Jimbo came on as ferocious to the general population, but reserved his affections for a select few. His mistress, the elderly Sarah Pritchard, was first in line. Jimbo would die for her. The feeling was mutual. The woman doted on the nondescript black-and-white canine as if he were a precious child.

  “Jimbo, time to come in,” Sarah called out from the adjacent doorway.

  The dog abandoned Julie and bounded back to his mistress. “Good boy, good boy,” Sarah praised Jimbo.

  Julie wished she could own a dog that wagged its tail and greeted her when she came home, but it would be cruel to subject an animal to her erratic schedule. For now she’d have to settle for being a part of Jimbo’s extended family, which was in itself a good thing.

  Continuing her four block trek to the downtown Arlingdale commuter station, Julie took deep breaths of the blooming lilac and honeysuckle potpourri. She gazed appreciatively at the willows and elms sporting their light green buds as they waved in the breeze. This early June day was much too pleasant to waste, but board the train she must.

  Once seated, Julie flipped open her laptop computer. Ignoring the conversations of the other passengers and the clack of the rails, she busied herself with the trial notes. Twenty minutes later, she smiled in satisfaction.

  Ready with time to spare. Maybe I can squeeze in a chapter of Jensen’s book.

  She turned the cover and stared again at the autographed message. Was it conceit to think the mystery writer might be personally interested in her?

  Lost in thought, her mind spun wild scenarios, each starring a certain mystery writer and herself. She barely noticed the train covering ground, drawing her closer to her destination.

  Not long afterwards she stepped down the metal stairs into Ogilvie Transportation Center in downtown Chicago. Other commuters darted past her through the main terminal.

  Instead of following them, Julie took a detour to her favorite card shop on the left. Although it was only seven o’clock, the doors stood open as usual. She slipped inside and purchased a birthday banner and three decorated balloons.

  Six blocks later, on the twelfth floor of her white stone office building, Julie unlocked the darkened door and smiled. She’d beaten Dade in. Not easy considering his Lake Shore Drive condo sat only a few miles away.

  She flipped the overhead switch in the reception area to reveal the four butter-colored leather chairs, love seat, and round table with popular magazines, all waiting for the day’s clients.

  Her catalog case squeaked as she rolled it along the variegated design of the short carpet leading to her side of the suite. Once rid of the case and her purse, she darted into Dade’s office, where she hung the decorations and hastily retreated down the hall to her own file-filled office. She had to do something about all this work. Only a few inches of her walnut colored desk were visible. Blocking that thought from her mind, she awaited Dade’s arrival.

  Five minutes later, she heard the unmistakable sound of his quick stride. Her heart sped. Any minute now he’d discover her handiwork.

  Then came the expected, “Julie McGuire, I’m going to get you.”

  She smiled at the success of her efforts then counted one, two and three.

  There he was, filling her doorway, charging the room with his energy.

  Glancing up from her work, she wagged a finger at him. “You didn’t think I’d forget, did you?”

  “I hate this kind of stuff, and you know it.”

  “And I know you’re a fake. Come over here. I’ve got something you’ll like.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “An interesting variation, but I’m game.”

  A typical Dade remark. Julie snorted.

  “I’ll let that pass. Happy Birthday, Dade.” She handed him the wrapped gift. Her heart raced with anticipation. Dade was bound to be floored. Though he was usually a “doer” and not a reader, he did have a weakness for Jensen’s books. Wait until he saw this one, which hadn’t even hit the shelves.

  Still standing, Dade ripped open the wrapping. His
whistle hurt Julie’s ears.

  “How did you pull this off?” He switched the book back and forth in his hands.

  “Oh, let’s just say I’ve got connections.”

  “We’re in trouble now. This baby will seriously jeopardize client time for at least two hours.”

  Julie felt the warmth spread throughout her, as she gazed at her law partner, taking in his azure eyes, the corners etched with thin wrinkles, and his untamed dark hair which stuck out in all directions as if he’d run a finger through it instead of a comb. That was Dade for you. He never concerned himself with trivialities. Then again, he didn’t need to, not with his God-given looks and his outgoing personality.

  Dade had been a member of her honorary family for ages, even before her parents had passed away. He was a vital part of her past and present. Thanks to their law practice, she saw more of him than of his sister, Avery, whom she counted as her dearest friend.

  “Sit down and read me the autograph,” she said. “I’m dying to hear what he wrote. I forgot to look.”

  Dade flipped open the book atop Julie’s desk, then raised his eyebrows. “You know Jensen?”

  “I just met him at the conference yesterday.”

  “So you don’t know him that well?”

  “Not really.”

  “This autograph says different.”

  “Let me see that,” Julie said, spinning the book around.

  She stared at the tight script, her face growing warmer by the second. It read, “Dade, your partner is worth stealing. Watch your step.”

  “That’s strange. Well, he is a mystery writer. He’s probably staying in character.”

  Dade snorted. “No, it’s more than that. He wants you, Julie.”

  “I told you, we just met at a conference. He couldn’t be after me. I doubt if I’ll ever see him again anyway.”

  Dade stared at her with knowing eyes.

  He had to be kidding.

  “Don’t give me that look.” Reaching around the desk, she poked him in the arm.

  “I want you to stick around here, that’s all.”

  “Well I’m not around for everything. Remember the agreement.”

  “Oh, that,” he said, making it sound of little consequence. “You wouldn’t break it for once, would you?”

  “And ruin a good thing?” Although outwardly laughing, inside she was serious.

  She had something better than marriage. She could do whatever she wanted and still see Dade more often than most wives saw their husbands. They’d faced a lot together, business and personal-wise. He was there for her and she for him. They were partners. She didn’t need anything more.

  She had all that, yet she was thinking of deserting him. Could she do it?

  Dade stood up to leave. “As usual, partner, you’re right. I wouldn’t think of reneging on our agreement. On that note, I’ll scram. I do have cases up.”

  “And I’ve got Miller on trial,”Julie said. “Hey, don’t forget your present. It should be a good read. Oh, and again, happy birthday.”

  Dade’s face looked grim as he swiped the book from her hands. “Thanks,” he said curtly.

  Julie stared at Dade’s stiff back as he lumbered off. Disappointment washed over her. She’d just given Dade a terrific birthday present. He should be happy. Was he upset about getting older or was it something silly like Jensen’s innocent autograph?

  * * *

  “That son of a bitch.” Dade heaved Jensen’s book onto the chair in his office. It bounced off the black leather edge and landed open on the floor.

  He glared at the offending present. His partner wouldn’t admit it, but the mystery writer was after her. Danger rang loud and clear in Jensen’s autograph.

  When it came to book smarts, Julie ranked high in her class. Unfortunately, she was a kindergartener around guys and would be easy pickings. She didn’t realize how sexy she looked with her wispy blonde hair, long legs and kissable mouth.

  “He won’t get away with it,” Dade muttered.

  Since grammar school, he’d acted as Julie’s protector, steering the scum away from her, as well as his sister, Avery, another looker. Only the few and the brave had dared approach them.

  Avery had recently found her soul-mate, a fellow reporter. Dade wanted that for Julie, but his gut told him Jensen wasn’t the one.

  “Radison’s on line five,” Nora Hampton, his efficient secretary, cut in on the intercom. He glanced at the digital clock on the phone. Half past eight, the start of the office day.

  “Get rid of him. Hold my calls.”

  “Whatever you say, Mr. Donovan.”

  He gritted his teeth and jammed the files into his briefcase. Three trials ahead and every one of them a mountain to climb on bare feet. Well, that suited him just fine. He was itching for a good fight. Watch out world.

  Julie turned as she was heading out the door. “Come on, birthday boy. Get moving.”

  He took in her appearance with approval. Her flyaway blonde hair made her look fragile, but that was a facade. The true indicator proved to be her navy blue suit, with the crisp white blouse turned back at the neck.

  A Madonna-like smile lit up her face, but this Madonna balanced a briefcase, not a baby. A twinge of guilt hit him. Maybe he had protected her too well. Julie was thirty. By her age, many women were married with kids instead of facing a daily work grind, carrying heavy case loads and wearing power suits.

  As they stepped into the elevator, she flashed him a nervous smile. He squeezed Julie’s free hand to reassure her. He wished he could rid her of her claustrophobia, but that battle she must face alone.

  They darted into the modern octagonal shaped glass building known as the Thompson Center. As usual, Julie bit her lip as the elevator sped upward to the eighth floor. Once at the Illinois Workers’ Compensation Commission, attorneys milled about the open area, networking and exchanging rumors and sports scores. As they headed toward their respective hearing rooms, the slim-mustached Barabat, in a tailored gray suit, brushed past Dade and Julie with a perfunctory remark. “Well if it isn’t Dade the Devil and his Avenging Angel.”

  “Your ass is grass, dude,” Dade hissed back. “You don’t have a leg to stand on.”

  Julie flashed a stern look. “I can fight my own battles, thank you. The counselor will learn his lesson soon enough.”

  Dade smiled widely. “You’re so right.”

  They stopped at the door to one of the small courtrooms. Dade wished he could join Julie inside, but only in special instances were those other than the attorneys of record, the Arbitrator, court reporter and witnesses allowed.

  Rumor had it Julie at trial was a sight to behold, blonde hair flying, eyes flashing, as she annihilated her opponent. He was proud of her but couldn’t take credit. She did it all with hard work and a sparse social life. She deserved her victories, but he still enjoyed sharing them with her.

  As he continued down the hall to his designated courtroom, Dade fought back a vague uneasiness. He sensed a change in the air, with Jensen as the catalyst.

  * * *

  Despite Julie’s instructions, Miller called almost every other day in the hopes of learning the trial results. Each time she had to tell him the decision had not yet arrived. Finally, she spied it, the telltale envelope with the return address of Illinois Workers’ Compensation Commission and the case number penned on the left side.

  With fingers trembling, she slit open the envelope. Had the Arbitrator agreed with her? She could only hope so. If not, Miller was in sad trouble since he’d already borrowed from a loan company so he could make ends meet. The man needed the money yesterday.

  A glance at the print confirmed the decision was favorable. She’d shot down Barabat’s defense. There was always a chance for appeal, but from previous encounters she knew Barabat was smart enough not to take such a case further. Thank goodness, Miller would get his benefits.

  Decision in hand, bursting to share the news with Dade, she rushed down the hallw
ay only to encounter a closed door. Maybe he had a new client in with him. Whatever the case, the news would have to wait.

  Nora, Dade’s assistant, walked by, flashing a quick smile which didn’t reach her eyes. The woman set Julie’s teeth on edge. She looked professional enough, with her shoulder length blonde hair cut almost the same style as Julie’s. Also, the woman scored high marks in aptitude. Dade set a fast pace, but Nora kept up with his dictation and never complained about extra work. In fact, she’d volunteered to handle the backups, which meant working late Friday evenings and lugging discs home with her.

  She could have been any lawyer’s dream of an assistant, but for some reason Julie had never liked her from the start. Still, she respected her partner’s decisions and tried not to let her distaste for his assistant show. The fact that Nora enjoyed pointing out her co-workers’ mistakes, no matter how trivial, bore out Julie’s first impression of her. She got her job done and that’s all Dade seemed to care about.

  Why dwell on Nora or other trivialities when she could taste today’s victory? If only Dade’s door would open and the client would leave, so she could share the news and celebrate. Unfortunately, it remained obstinately shut and she’d have to wait. With a sigh, Julie turned toward her office.

  Before Julie could step inside, her own gray haired, competent assistant Dee said, “You’ve got a call on line three, Simone Stratford.”

  The name didn’t sound familiar. Normally, Julie would ask Dee to screen further. Today, since she was in a spectacular mood, she’d gamble. She reached for the phone. “Julie McGuire speaking,” she said in a cheery voice.

  “This is Simone Stratford, Tyler Jensen’s assistant.”

  Julie’s heart hammered. “Yes, what can I do for you?” Her lungs seemed suddenly constricted.

  “You’ve been chosen to participate in the suspense workshop. Might you still be interested?”