Lust on the Rocks

by Dianne Venetta

  Luke was taken aback. “I never said you were. I’m only trying to have the conversation. If you want to keep the baby, we should talk about it.”

  Was he for real? “Keep it? And do what with it?” she demanded. “Tote it around in my backpack?” Anger twisted through her gut and she squeezed her arms tighter. Did Luke even know what he was asking?

  “Jess,” Luke said and turned hopeful. “We could get married.”

  “What?” she asked, terrified it might not be his. She had run through the numbers over and over again and her fling with Brad had placed him in the running for possible fatherhood.

  Despite it being only one night.

  But she couldn’t remember if he used a condom, or not. She glared at Luke. What if he found out? What then?

  “Yeah...” Luke smiled now, warmth swimming in his eyes as he leaned forward. “I love you, babe. We could get married and give the kid a home.”

  “This is serious—think about what you’re saying,” she snapped, fear nipping at her heels, guilt close behind. “We’re college students. We’re not old enough to be parents.” Where was his brain?

  “Sure we are. My mom and dad married at eighteen and had kids right away. They did all right,” he defended with pride.

  “People don’t do that anymore, Luke. They wait. They live life first, find out who they are, and then they settle down.”

  It was Sam’s advice, word for word.

  “We can do whatever we want,” he said, disappointment curling the edge of his words.

  My God, did Luke really want to keep this baby? Panic drizzled down her spine. What if it wasn’t his? The contents of her stomach coiled into a ball of fire, cramps stabbing in all directions. What if it was Brad’s baby? An image of the tall, clean-cut good-looking surfer popped into her brain. Blue eyes, great body, he was also cocky.

  She should never have slept with him. Leaving with him after that party had been a total mistake. What if it was his? Jessica knew without question he would ditch her, bolt before the next wave rolled in. And then she’d be totally alone. Luke would dump her and she’d be on her own. Pregnant and alone. Oh my God... Without a word, Jessica leapt from the sofa and dashed for the bathroom.

  “Jess? Are you all right?”

  No. She was going to be sick.

  For real. Jessica raced to the bathroom before she splattered hurl all over Sam’s spotless wood floors. Pushing in against the closed door, she dropped to her knees—just in time. The first batch of greenish-purple fluid flew from her mouth and into the basin.

  Luke was right behind her when she heaved the second round.

  “Oh babe,” he cried and kneeled by her side. He put his hand on her back. “Can I do anything?”

  Damn it, damn it, damn it, was all she could think. Damn his sensitivity. Damn Brad. Damn her bad luck.

  “Let me get you a cold towel.” He jumped up and turned the faucet on full blast. “Maybe that’ll help.”

  Jessica’s midsection rolled again, her throat burning as the nasty liquid shot through on its way out. Forget towels. She was sick and pregnant and totally freaking out.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “I think we’re good to go,” Vic said.

  Sam wasn’t, but allowed Vic the opportunity to make his case. The three of them gathered together in her office, the overhead lighting felt bright, as though nightfall had fully landed—but it hadn’t. It was ten in the morning, the clouds outside her window heavy with rain.

  “Dr. Griffin Pope is a prominent sports medicine doc who’s been lobbying for a change in the law. He wants to see AEDs in the medical bags of team and athletic trainers, in sports arenas, health clubs, schools, anywhere patients at risk may be engaging in strenuous activities. He even wants to see them in physician’s cars.”

  “A little aggressive, isn’t it?”

  Vic shrugged noncommittally. “I don’t know. He’s already been successful in getting legislation passed in several states, so I think our chances are good.”

  “Better than good, Sam,” Diego pitched in. “I think we have the potential to set precedent with this one. Change the law, even.”

  Sam liked the sound of that, but she wanted all guns loaded. She was a one shot-one kill trial attorney and would be damned if her case got overturned on appeal.

  “The guy will sit well with the jury, too,” Vic said. “He’s soft-spoken and intelligent, and passionate about his cause.”

  “Fine,” she said. “Who’s next?”

  “Dr. Herrera. An electro-physiologist who is pre-pared to testify regarding the basics of sudden cardiac death and its treatability,” Vic continued, glancing between the two as he spoke. “He’ll demonstrate for the jury just how easy they are to use, and how you can’t really harm the victim by attempting to resuscitate.”

  “Does he have the facts to back him up on that claim?”

  “I would assume—” he replied, but chopped off his sentence. “I’ll double-check his supporting documentation, but I think we’re good to go on that point.”

  “Do we know of any problems with the device itself?”

  “No major recalls to date,” Diego said. “My technical guy is a major fan of these things. According to him, they’re the best thing since the laptop computer. It’s portable, easy and completes the mission.”

  “He’s going in on that angle?”

  “Pretty much. Modern technology has done wonders for the human body, both inside and out. No reason anyone should have to die, in his opinion.”

  “Great,” she groaned. “Another idealist.”

  “Yeah,” Diego said with a grin, “but the juries love him. He has beaucoup experience in the courtroom, too.”

  “Okay,” she said to both, and stood. “I want a mock jury set up at the soonest possible moment so we can move forward and work out the kinks.”

  “I’m on it,” Diego said, and rose with her.

  “Fine-tune your witnesses, and bring them up to speed on what we expect.”

  “You bet.”

  “Let’s try for next week, if we can.”

  “Sounds good,” Vic agreed and stood, prepared to follow Diego out the door.

  “One other thing,” she said. “Goldman called.”

  Vic’s pulse jumped in his jaw as both men stopped.

  “He wants to settle.”

  “You told him no, right?”

  “I told him with the right contingencies, maybe,” Sam said, though she didn’t divulge Goldman’s refusal of said contingencies. On purpose.

  “Why the hell would you do that?”

  Acutely aware of Diego’s presence, she steeled her response, “Because I work in the best interest of my client, Vic, that’s why. I haven’t made a decision. I’m considering my options.”

  Diego was not privy to their personal relationship and to have him witness insubordination by Vic was unacceptable. She drew distinct lines between considering his professional opinion and listening to his personal input—lines that were thick and solid and if Vic thought she was going to smudge them because they were sleeping together, he had another thing coming. She wouldn’t. And if he couldn’t maintain a solid line between business and pleasure then perhaps they should rethink the nature of their relationship.

  Vic toned down his attitude, but not his disagreement. “They’re on the losing end of this case unless we hand it to them on a silver platter.”

  Sam crossed arms in front of her chest and felt the heat rise to her cheeks.

  “What could they possibly say that would change your mind?”

  “Add a public apology, a promise to install AEDs in all their facilities and the right amount of money, and I believe I have everything I need from this case.”

  “Except Scaliano.”

  There it was again. Sam fastened on to his personal reference to the man in charge. Scaliano. For Vic, it seemed this entire case was about one man, and one man only.

  “Letting Perry go with a phony apology and
a couple of bucks isn’t what I thought you had in mind when you said you wanted justice for Mrs. Albright.”

  His attitude grated on her, not to mention the budding insight Diego was gaining into their relationship. “Don’t tell me what kind of justice I should seek. This is my case and I’ll try it as I see fit.” If Diego thought Vic could push her around the office because they were sleeping together it would undermine her authority. “When I’m interested in your two cents,” she underscored the words, “I’ll ask for them.”

  “But if you’re willing to accept a settlement,” he pushed, “then why are we wasting time with a mock jury?”

  “Because I make the decisions around here. If you have a problem with the way I’m handling this case, perhaps you should talk to Raul about a reassignment.”

  Vic said nothing, but his eyes understood the threat. This was her case, not his.

  Hole in one, she mused, gratified to see a sweep of humility brush over him. Sam shifted her weight to one heel and placed a hand to her hip. From the periphery of her vision, she could see Diego had grown sober, too. Good. Her anger eased. It wouldn’t do to allow Vic free passage over the boundary between business and pleasure.

  # # #

  Vic walked into his apartment, still raw from the conversation with Sam. Depositing briefcase and keys onto the kitchen counter, he chucked his loosely coiled tie along with them. Knots riddled his neck, his shoulders. Tension squeezed his chest.

  He went straight for the stainless steel refrigerator and swung open the door. Grabbing a bottle of beer from a near-barren shelf, he forcibly unscrewed it and tossed the cap into the sink, the metal ping ricocheting against the sides. Vic chugged back his first swallow. The tangy frothy liquid sliced through him, raced down his limbs, signaling relief was on the way. Vic went for the couch and dropped himself onto the stiff cushions.

  Located on the edge of the Gables, the apartment was remodeled with the latest and greatest appliances and cabinetry, ceramic floors, the furniture basic. No lamps, no accessory items, not so much as a picture. Décor had not been a priority, because he didn’t intend to stay.

  Shoving a flat pillow behind his back, Vic kicked off his shoes and laid his feet on the wooden table. Outside, amazing amounts of water dropped from the sky, the rain continuing its steady pound on the rooftop. He’d heard of these tropical storms, but never experienced one. They definitely earned their reputation for major storm system—the drive home had been a nightmare.

  Setting beer in hand to rest beside him, he dropped his head back and closed his eyes. Running through the events of the day, Vic feared his entire move may prove a waste of time. Because money talks. Money slides between palms and slips into pockets. Money buys freedom, and spits in the eye of justice.

  Mock jury or not, it seemed Sam had practically inked her signature to a settlement deal. If it was big enough, she’d take it. Which discouraged him. No. He was more than discouraged, he was pissed. Making an eager jump for the fat wad of cash being shoved her way undermined everything he was trying to do.

  All because she wanted it over, Scaliano would walk.

  Vic threw back another swig of beer and thought, then what? What would he do? Keep chasing him? Continue to track him like an escaped convict on the run?

  If only that were the case. If only the bastard had spent a day in jail, a week, a year even, then Vic would have some comfort knowing justice was served. At least attempted.

  Anna deserved it. He pinched the bridge of his nose and massaged, fighting the sense of looming failure. She deserved a hell of a lot more than that and it was his job to see she got it—that Scaliano got what was coming to him.

  And Sam was the key. He couldn’t let her settle. Not after all the time he invested. He had to do something or fifteen years would be as good as wasted. Fifteen long years.

  Years that had taken their toll. His family had been patient, allowing him to chase his demons but now his father was pushing for his return. If he didn’t get Scaliano this time, he may have to give up and return to Philadelphia and take over the family law practice. Work for them full-time, like he promised. Vic dug in his fingers, forcing his attention to focus on the discomfort of physical pain and avoid the emotional knot slowly unwinding in his gut.

  His mother hated his absence. Over the last couple of years she had begged him to let it go. Let the man go and move on with his life. They’d suffered enough already.

  But he couldn’t. And now that Sam had allowed him access to inside the Perry case he couldn’t let Scaliano slip through his fingers. Not when he was this close. Once he nailed the bastard’s carcass to the wall, then he’d return home and fulfill his obligations.

  All that remained was to figure out how.

  # # #

  Jessica fidgeted in her chair while Luke sat calmly in his. Hair pulled back into a perfect ponytail, collared shirt pressed and tucked into his jeans, he appeared to wait without stress.

  Because he didn’t have to worry about the stuff going on inside his body—or what they might want to do to it. She glared at him when he looked her way, but he only smiled his reassurance.

  It wasn’t fair! she wanted to scream. Luke didn’t have to worry if it would hurt, or whether there would be consequences that would affect her forever. No. Jessica crossed her legs and crossed her arms and stared at her feet. Luke didn’t have to bother himself with a thing. Only support, she derided in the privacy of her mind. Love and support and a bunch of other useless emotional crap while she had to deal with reality.

  Which totally sucked.

  Jessica popped to attention when the doctor strolled into the office, his expression cheery, despite the late hour. She resented him, too. All he had to do was deliver the news. He didn’t have to suffer through it. He didn’t have to worry about anyone finding out, or what they might do when they did.

  No. He could just strut in here, deliver the news, go over her options and then skate out, scot-free.

  Dr. Anderson took his seat before them, scooting in close behind the shiny, but cluttered wooden desk where everything seemed to have some reference to babies. It was freaky. Statues, figurines, doctors holding fat little babies, mothers cradling newborns while plaques touted the blessing of motherhood.

  And there were enough frickin’ crosses to make her wonder if he wasn’t some kind of religious fanatic. She narrowed in on the man sitting across from her. Was he a holy roller? Would he try and convince her to keep it?

  “Jessica,” he began with a heavy, fatherly sigh. “You’re pregnant.”

  She groaned inwardly. Tell me something I don’t know.

  “We won’t have the results from your blood test for another day or so, but your urine tests positive.”

  She dug fingernails into her rib cage.

  “Furthermore, my exam revealed you’re in excellent physical shape. The bleeding you mentioned may have been limited to those few occurrences, so I wouldn’t concern yourself with it.”

  Luke gawked. “You’re bleeding?”

  She swiped a glance in his direction. Why did his question feel like an accusation? “It was only a couple of times.” It wasn’t like she did anything wrong, she thought. Her friends told her it happened, sometimes. No big deal. Her shoulders slumped. She was still pregnant.

  “Luke,” the doctor asserted, “let me assure you, breakthrough bleeding can be completely uneventful. Some twenty-five to thirty percent of women experience it during the pregnancy and more than half go on to have normal, healthy births.”

  “They can?”

  “Yes, and with your history, Jessica,” he returned to her, thick tortoiseshell glasses perched on the edge of his nose. “There is no reason to assume you would not have a normal, healthy pregnancy.”

  Would not, which translated, means won’t. She breathed in deeply. So he wasn’t going to convince her to keep it. She deflated her lungs. A small part of her felt betrayed that he wasn’t even going to try.

  “Have you giv
en any thought about what you’re going to do?”

  “Like have an abortion?” she asked, depressed by the sound of hearing herself say it aloud.

  “Yes. Terminate the pregnancy. If you’re going to do so, you should do it soon.”

  Soon.

  “Based on my exam and what you’ve told me, I estimate you’re about nine, maybe ten weeks along, which means you’re nearing the end of your first trimester.” The doctor folded his hands on his desk and his expression grew somber. “If you’re going to terminate, time is a critical factor. The longer you wait, the more difficult the procedure becomes.”

  The procedure. Her heart sunk.

  The removal.

  “What if we want to keep it?” Luke asked.

  Jessica’s head swung to face him. What was he doing!

  The doctor’s brow rose in surprise. He removed his glasses and his gaze moved between the two of them. “You’re considering keeping the baby?”

  No!

  “What if we are…?” Luke said, glancing in her direction but not daring to linger. He positioned his weight to a more forward posture, his question aimed solely for the doctor. “What can we expect?”

  Dr. Anderson leaned back into his chair. He set his glasses on his desktop and spoke mainly to Luke, yet kept a wary eye on her. “Well, Jessica would begin a schedule of prenatal visits, one every month up to about the twenty-eighth week, whereby they would increase to twice a month. During the final month, she will need to see her doctor every week until the baby’s born.” He then addressed her and said, “You need to contact your physician in Tallahassee right away, Jessica.” He paused, almost as if uncertain how in-depth he should counsel her. “If you keep this child, I assume you will have the baby delivered while you’re away at school.”

  While I’m at school…

  Jess’s heart cried foul. School. College. Did Luke hear him? Was he getting it?

  There’s no way I can have this baby! Her nerves sputtered, her cheeks flushed with heat. I’m still in school—college. I have class every day, for another year at least, maybe more. What if I want to go after my Master’s? What will I do with a baby? Put it in my backpack? Set it on a nearby desk?