by Cat Adams
She acknowledged it with another movement of her shoulder. “So, what now? I’m exhausted, frankly. I haven’t had dinner and feel like I could sleep for a week.”
He motioned toward the scroll. “We still have that to read, but I don’t see any reason why we can’t take it back to your house. I don’t like that the gate is unguarded right now, and I agree you need rest.”
The look she gave him before she replied reminded him so much of Sybil’s expression of motherly sternness that he nearly laughed. “Um, I think you mean we need rest. Last I checked, you’d had a worse day than me.”
He stood and lifted his cloak from where it was hanging next to the couch. The heavy wool wasn’t easy to soak, so it was often the first thing to dry. “Yes, but if I sleep, who will guard the gate? Do you believe your foot’s up to the challenge?”
Mila sneered and opened her mouth to reply, probably with sarcasm, but then stopped. Her face dropped into serious lines. “No, you’re right. Even if my getting out of the pond wasn’t a fluke, I’m not trained in this magic stuff. But you won’t have much better luck without sleep. Can’t you set some sort of alarm or something, to wake us if Vegre tries to activate the gate? Really noisy, like a smoke detector that will get our adrenaline pumping?”
An alarm—He pursed his lips and considered the idea while he fastened his cloak. “An interesting idea. I’ll have to think about it on the way back.”
She smiled tiredly and stood. “I’m sure we’ll come up with something between the two of us.”
Tal had no doubt of that. As he watched her stretch and twist before putting on her jacket, he had to forcibly pull his eyes from staring at her curves and silken hair. The only question is what will come up between us, and whether I can stop my own desire to keep her from getting any rest.
CHAPTER 11
Mila walked out of the elevator, filled with determination and purpose. She’d been giving herself a pep talk since they’d left the house this morning and repeated the mantra again in a near whisper. “Just a few hours. Finish the Johnson brief. Find Baba’s file. Pretend to still be sick. Meet Tal downstairs. Go make pysanky. Save the world.” She nodded, then added, “No problem. Two hours … tops.”
She kept breathing deeply, staring straight ahead as she walked down the elegant hallway decorated with bamboo-patterned wallpaper, poofy green-and-black carpeting, and tasteful, expensive holiday art that would be replaced with equally tasteful, expensive abstract prints come January third. The familiar metal letters spelling Sanders, Harris & Hoote came into view on one wall, peeking out from around the next corner. In fact, the foot-high polished brass words were around every corner, apparently just to be certain that visitors knew the whole top four floors of the American State Bank tower housed the firm.
A strong whiff of flowers from the massive arrangement on a corner table made her look up and caused her to bang one shoulder into the wall. The winter arrangement of calla lilies, poinsettia blooms, and swirling, glittered branches had been replaced since she left the previous day. In its place were fragrant, brightly colored spring flowers that were completely out of season. As she shook her arm to get the feeling back, she was abruptly reminded of Viktor’s gardens. It fueled her resolve. “Johnson brief. Baba’s file. Save the worl—”
At last her cubicle came into view, but the sight brought her to a stuttering, stunned halt that left the final word frozen in her throat. What had been a small, orderly pile of papers on her desk before lunch yesterday was now a crime scene. Files and loose papers were strewn haphazardly everywhere—across the patterned faux marble desktop, the entire length of the half-wall, and even lined up in neat rows on the chair mat covering the carpet. Most bore colored sticky notes, meaning they’d been placed there intentionally. Her center desk drawer was hanging sideways from one caster and an error message was blinking on her computer screen.
She closed her eyes and felt her shoulders slump, making her purse slide off her jacket to land on the floor with a thud. “Two hours? I’ll be lucky to get out of here in two days.”
A double chirp from the phone as she was taking off her coat was followed by Rachel’s voice from the front desk. “Mila? Was that you I saw sneaking in? What are you doing here so early?”
She let out a frustrated and very audible sigh. “Can I pretend I’m not in and leave now?”
Rachel’s voice dropped to a warm, sympathetic alto. “Aww, you’re still sick, huh? Poor baby.”
As much as she wanted to play up the sick aspect, the first words out of her mouth wound up being, “What happened to my desk?” After stepping carefully over the stacks of papers, she plopped down into her chair so hard she heard air whoosh out of the hydraulic lift. Mila bent down and tried to figure out how someone had wrenched the drawer right out of the runners. These built-ins were hell for stout. She was a little afraid to touch it for fear the whole thing would collapse.
“Ah. You mean the drawer? That would have been the temp … some ham-handed loser named Bob who apparently didn’t have enough dexterity to simultaneously push a button and pull—” Her voice cut off abruptly, and Mila looked up to see that a new light had appeared on the multiline phone set. It was understood by everyone here that the phones came first, so she was used to Rachel disappearing for long stretches in the middle of a conversation. While waiting, she tucked her purse in its normal home in the back of the bottom side drawer and started to gather up all the papers and files on the floor so she didn’t roll … or trip over them. Her brow furrowed when she realized she didn’t recognize half the client names on the papers. One note expected her to prepare a divorce petition! She didn’t even know the rules for that kind of law.
Geez, guys! Are you asking for a malpractice suit? Figures I’d get stuck with work for every department just because nobody in personnel knows how to schedule employee vacations. She shook her head angrily as the chirp sounded again. Rachel began to speak as though never interrupted. “I don’t know why Gail thought it was necessary to bring someone in just to type one brief anyway. I mean, I could have done it just as easily if I’d known you were out sick. Oh, and I called maintenance as soon as I saw the drawer this morning. But they said with the holidays—”
Mila nodded, even more irritated because she knew what that meant. Yet again she was going to have to put up with something broken until at least after the new year. But it would probably be February before she actually saw someone with a tool belt, if past history was any indication. And saints preserve her if she actually dared fix the problem herself. That was grounds for a reprimand. Maybe if I stack all this work up under it to prop it up—She felt a hysterical laugh bubble up, but managed to squash it before it reached air. It wasn’t as easy to fight back the desire to throw the whole pile of papers across the room and storm out.
But then she caught herself and thumped her temple with one finger hard enough that it stung a little. Focus, girl. None of this shit matters … not by comparison. Brief, file, save world. She forced her face into a smile so it would come through over the speaker. “No big. I’ll figure something out. Did the Johnson de novo brief get filed yesterday? Today’s the last day to file or we’ll lose the chance to appeal.”
Rachel laughed bitterly. “Does your computer screen look like it’s been filed? Our buddy Bob managed to screw up the network so bad that nothing got filed yesterday. Why do you think I’m in at six thirty? The idiot downloaded some weird virus off a free music site that corrupted the server. Personally, I’d suggest you log off the network and save things to your hard drive today if you hope to accomplish anything.”
Already her head was hurting. “But without network access, I can’t reach the printer, so I can’t scan the brief to electronically file with the court. Will they even accept a paper copy anymore? Does anyone have access to the drive?”
There was a pause where only background noise from people arriving and walking past Rachel could be heard. “Well,” she finally said, “you might check Alan
Lee’s office down on the twenty-fourth floor. He hasn’t been in since before Christmas, and I know he unplugged his laptop from the network before he left. The IT guys got the server itself running last night, according to the note on my desk. But they weren’t able to get to the individual desktops.”
It wasn’t a bad idea. She’d worked with Alan long ago when he was an associate in the real estate department, so he wouldn’t mind. And, if she was working down there, nobody could find her to give her new projects. Normally, she’d simply take the brief home, type it, bring it back for the signature, and hand-carry it to the court. But the only Mr. Sanders Baba might have known, who might have an actual vault that she felt confident Mila could reach was the very Myron Sanders who founded this firm. But she didn’t have vault access and she couldn’t imagine how to break in, so there was no leaving until things were sorted out. “I might do that. Just don’t tell anyone else so I can get down there first. Oh and by the way, who is the great and sacred keeper of the vault while Devon’s on vacation?”
Another pause and a flipping of paper over the speaker. “I can’t find the memo, but I think Eunice in bookkeeping is the backup. Want me to find out?”
Mila shook her head, even though only Nicole in the next cubicle, who had just arrived and was unwrapping a fluffy white muffler from around her neck, could see. “No, that’s okay. She’s on twenty-four, too. I’ll just poke my head in on the way.”
“Sounds good. I’ll try not to bother you so you can get out of here. Hope you feel better.”
Nicole, normally bubbly and sweet, gave her a wary look over the divider when Rachel said that. Mila took the opportunity to have a witness to her later leaving sick by letting out a chesty-sounding cough. The other woman grimaced and held up her hands, fingers formed in a cross, as though Mila was a vampire.
“Go home, Mila. Don’t you dare get me sick. I have family coming into town for New Year’s and I finally get to have a big party in my new house.”
Mila held up a hand and waved it like she was surrendering. “Don’t worry. I plan to. I’m even going down to work on the twenty-fourth so I don’t breathe on anyone. But that Johnson brief has got to be filed today or Rick will kill me. Who’s in who can look at it?” Mila’s own boss was out for the week, but had dictated the brief before he left. All she had to do was make the edits the associate assigned to the case had made, attach the exhibits, get it blessed by one of the attorneys, and shoot the file to the court by e-mail.
Nicole sat down, carefully arranging her chair so it was against the wall, farthest away from Mila as possible. “Probably Mike Callendar. He wanted to talk to you anyway—something about a pleading that came in on your probate case. I think he put it on your desk just as I was leaving yesterday.”
Mila’s eyes shot down to the mess of paperwork on the desk. She’d hoped to ignore whatever might be in the stack, but horrified curiosity took hold of her. “There shouldn’t be any more pleadings in the case. We had the final hearing, and are just waiting for a decision from the judge.”
Nicole shrugged, already turned toward a similar stack of papers on her desk. “Dunno. I’m only repeating what I heard. He asked Gail where you were and was really concerned because he was leaving tomorrow—well, this afternoon, now—for Canada and won’t be back until the middle of January. You might check to see if he left you a voice mail or e-mail.”
She checked her watch again. Already an hour had passed since she’d dropped Tal off at the public library. Another O.P.A. agent worked there, and Tal believed he could trust him to find out what was happening down below. If she took the time to go through e-mail and phone messages before working on the brief, she’d be here all day. “Maybe I’ll wander down the hall and see if he’s in. I just don’t feel up to looking through all this.” That, at least, was the truth.
“Well, for what it’s worth, I’ll be happy to tell anyone who bitches how horrible that cough sounded. And I’ll fit in whatever emergency stuff I can, if it’ll help.” She did look sympathetic, but was still firmly pressed against the farthest wall. Another inch and she’d be in the hallway.
“Thanks, Nicole. Appreciate it.” She quickly reached for the red expandable file that housed the Johnson file. It was easy to spot amongst the other papers due to the sheer size and tattered appearance. A quick peek inside confirmed that the original brief was inside, covered with new wording and strikeouts in red marker.
Before anything else went wrong, she grabbed her purse from the drawer and gathered up her coat. “I’ll be in Alan Lee’s office, in case anything really bad happens.” She put on her best pouty face. “Try not to call me, huh, Nic?”
The other woman opened her mouth to respond, but Rachel’s voice sounded out of the speaker of Nicole’s phone, so she simply nodded. Mila didn’t wait, but took the opportunity to slip back out into the hallway. She took a left this time, instead of a right. Okay, so now it’s talk to Mike, finish brief, find file, and leave. That’s not too bad. I can still get it done.
She was halfway to the internal elevator when she saw a light on in Mike Callendar’s office and made a beeline to it. “Hey, Mike. You busy?”
The older man, dressed casually in black jeans and a comfy-looking burgundy sweater looked up from the document he was editing and smiled. “Hey yourself, Mila. Glad you were able to make it in today. You do look like crap, though, so don’t come any closer.”
Mila was quite pleased her makeup artistry was bearing up to casual scrutiny. It was an old trick her sister Sarah had taught her when they were less-than-ethical kids. Careful smudged liner made great dark circles under the eyes, and baby powder brushed on under the blush gave her a pale but fevered look that fooled most everyone—but especially her mother and the teachers. Poof, no math test. She’d outgrown that stage, but the success of it had given her the idea this morning. “No problem. Nicole said you’re going to Canada. What’s up?”
He smiled broadly and leaned back in his leather-backed chair with a squeak. “My wife gave me a great Christmas present—something I’ve always wanted to do. I’m going up on a photo safari to snap pictures of the snow geese migration. Personally, I’d rather be taking along my shotgun, but she doesn’t really approve of that.”
The thought struck her and she couldn’t keep back the laugh, despite her supposed sickly state. He tipped his head, blue eyes twinkling in anticipation. They shared the same odd humor, which is one of the reasons she picked Mike to work on the probate. “What?”
“So she’s finally sending you off on a wild goose chase, huh?” She grinned and waited for his reaction.
His laugh was loud and barking and he threw his body back against the chair so hard he nearly fell over. “I guess that’s true. Never looked at it that way. Now I’ll have to grill her about what she’ll be up to while I’m off on it.” Another shared chuckle, and then he dropped back into a more serious expression. “Well, you probably heard we got another motion from the Rankin boys.”
Her brow furrowed and she let out a tense breath. “Yeah. What’s that about?”
“Well, they claim they have new evidence that Lillian had a mental disorder. They want to depose you about the symptoms and bring in an expert witness to view the will-reading video to show she wasn’t competent. I’m betting they’ll also try to use the expert to show that you were somehow aware of this alleged disorder and took advantage of her. They want the deposition to take place before the judge makes his final decision.”
The little frustrated scream escaped her before she could stop it. “Aah! Those men are driving me nuts. Lillian Armstrong was a completely sane, brilliant attorney. You know it as well as I do. I mean, I didn’t ask to be her heir. I never planned to be anything more than her secretary.”
He nodded, his salt-and-pepper hair catching the overhead light in flashes. “I know that. And, as the attorney who prepared her will, I’m well aware just how competent she was. She knew full well that they’d contest the will and did everythin
g she could to counter their arguments beforehand. But, of course, if her nephews can prove incompetence, all the planning won’t matter. Ordinarily, I’d suggest we ignore this and deal with it later if the judge approves the motion. But with me leaving for Canada, that sort of changes things. If anything were to happen to me it would take another attorney months to come up to speed on this. We need to put the ball back in their court so they’re the ones delaying the process.”
Mila found herself nodding. She shifted the weight of the file to her other arm, where her coat would cushion the sharp paper edges from where they were cutting into her skin. “Force them to produce this alleged evidence before the judge has a chance to decide?”
“And to produce any person they got the knowledge from for our own depositions. We won’t let them speculate based on book definitions of the disorder without producing an independent witness who will testify they saw Lillian exhibit the symptoms. That takes it off your shoulders.” He held out a tape with a sad sort of grimace. “I dictated it yesterday, but April left early yesterday with the same crud you’ve got. It’s hit or miss whether she’ll be in today. Can you hang in there long enough to whip it out? I’m only here until noon.”
Another glance at her watch, another fifteen minutes gone. The minutes were swimming by, like someone was moving the dials while she wasn’t looking. She needed to get out of here … but this was her home, not just a question of whether a business was going to be forced to pay damages for using a similar name to another company, like in the Johnson case. She sighed and stepped forward. “Of course I will. Can I use April’s computer real quick?”
Mike shook his head as he tossed the tape to her. “That’s close enough, thanks. And sorry, but her machine’s down, too, because of that idiot temp. I hope the firm sues that agency. He shut the whole place down yesterday. That’s why I sent her home early. She was willing to stay and get it out, but there was nothing to type on. I presume you found a machine?”