But what she did have was a plane ticket away from the bench…and away from Alan Bentley’s increasingly annoying and very unwanted attentions.
Her father made his way through the throng of party revelers and tucked her against his side with one beefy arm. At the towering height of six foot five, Seamus was intimidating enough without his booming Irish voice and stern visage, both of which he used to great advantage in all avenues of his life.
Despite the fact that Laurel had never been as passionate as he had been about the legal life they pursued, she did take great pride in her accomplishments, her stellar record and even the comparisons people made between father and daughter. Of course, he could still make her feel like a seven-year-old looking for his approval by memorizing all the liability torts in one of his ground-breaking civil suits with nothing more than a certain look…or an arm around the shoulder.
Any other time she might have pulled away…with a smile and a affectionate dig at his orchestrations. But he’d honestly stunned her with his gift. Had he seen the telltale signs of the stress she was under? Had he suspected she needed a break, a chance to get a grip on a life that suddenly felt as though it was spiraling out of control? It wasn’t unreasonable to think so. For all that he’d railroaded her into her career, he’d done so with a deep love and honest affection that was hard to thwart and an unfailing confidence in her that had carried her through many a long night, both in law school, during her years as an assistant district attorney, and even now, on the bench.
His gift had made her wonder if maybe she’d been wrong in keeping her escalating problems to herself. Right at that moment she wanted nothing more than to curl into his strength, his warmth, his security, and tell him everything. Tell him how concerned she was about her constant fatigue, about the emotional toll adjudicating cases was taking on her. How she respected the honor of her position, but wasn’t sure she wanted to continue on the bench.
How she was being all but stalked by the current district attorney.
“Hard feelings?” her father asked. “Don’t be cross with me. I knew if I’d done it in private, you’d have tossed that ticket right back in my face.”
How right he was, too. And it was because he was too often right—annoyingly so—she found the strength to pull away from him to deliver her best Judge Patrick look.
Her father merely raised his bushy eyebrows in anticipation.
“No hard feelings,” she said. “But you’ll want to remember three things.” She ticked them off. “One, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. Two, I know when your birthday is and that you’ll be hitting the big seven-oh.” She smiled a smile that only a newly minted defense attorney would mistake as friendly—and then, only once. “Three, paybacks are hell when delivered by other people. But when delivered by a Patrick, there is no time off for good behavior.”
Seamus tipped his head back and roared with laughter, another trademark—and one often heard echoing throughout his chambers. “I wish your mother was here to see what a fine lass she brought into this world.”
“Are you kidding? Mom would be horrified to know how deeply you’ve corrupted her only child.”
Seamus and Laurel both smiled, as they always did when the subject of Alena Patrick came up. “She knew you were never going to be a princess.”
Laurel sighed. “I know. I’m beginning to think she was smarter than both of us put together.”
Seamus’s smile faded, replaced by the look of concern Laurel had hoped to avoid. “Is everything okay?” he asked. “Is the upcoming Rochambeau case giving you a hard time, because we both know Jack Rochambeau is a horse’s—”
“Yes,” Laurel broke in, once again smiling. “As does the entire legal community. But he comes from a long line of them, many of them dangerous, so he’s gotten away with it. But if the D.A.’s case is as strong as it’s purported to be, that’s about to come to an end.”
“That’s my girl.”
“Maybe you could give the rest of his ‘family’ these tickets, though. Now that would make my life a lot easier.” She waved the resort brochure.
Seamus smiled, but the concern didn’t leave his brilliant blue eyes. “I know things have been rough lately, Laurel. That you’ve landed more than your fair share of difficult cases. And now this one.”
“You always said it was the benchmark cases that made a career. This one definitely qualifies.”
“Yes, but I believe I also said that a career was only worth the people who benefited from it.”
Stung, she said, “I think you can safely say more than a few people have benefited from my rulings. And it goes without saying that any damage we can do to organized crime scum like the Rochambeaus—”
“Laurel, I don’t mean the victims and their families. I’m talking about your family.”
“But you’re my family. My only—”
“Besides me.”
“There is no one besides you.”
“Precisely.”
Laurel sighed and remembered why she didn’t discuss her personal life with her father. Even when she was having one, which she wasn’t at present. “Dad, I do not want to hear the ‘biological clock’ lecture again. Being a judge makes it difficult to have—”
“Absolutely it does,” he broke in, as he always did. “And your mother was a saint and an angel for putting up with me. And you, for that matter,” he added with his charming smile. She didn’t fall for it. But then, she was more immune than most.
“You groomed me for this since the first time Mom used your law books as my booster seat,” Laurel reminded him. She might have followed in her father’s famous footsteps, but that didn’t mean she didn’t tug on the strings every once in a while. Too much Seamus in her not to. “So don’t complain I’m not popping out grandchildren for you to terrorize.”
“Terrorize is it now? Is that what you think I did to you?”
He was teasing, but she was too fatigued to play along. So she did the one thing guaranteed to end any argument she no longer had the stamina to continue. She didn’t resort to it often, mostly because it went right to his head. She stepped in and hugged him, pressed a kiss to his cheek and whispered, “I’m proud to be your daughter.”
“Ah, sweetheart,” he sighed, squeezing her.
She’d have felt guilty, except she’d only spoken the truth. She was proud to be his daughter. And, truth be told, she’d followed in his footsteps as much to find out what it felt like to be even a tiny bit like him, as she had to make him proud of her. From day one he’d made the legal world seem like a thrilling classroom with endless boundaries begging to be explored. He’d also made her feel that she was incredibly lucky to be the student who could do that exploring. And she’d been a good student. A very good student. Good enough that, over time, she’d begun to believe that succeeding in the legal field was enough. And having his respect was proof she’d made the right choice.
“I’d give you a dozen grandbabies if I could,” she told him. “But we don’t always get to have it all.” She stepped back, feeling more than a little twinge when she saw the flicker of pain in his eyes as he thought of his beloved wife, her mother. She’d been gone for seven years now, yet there wasn’t a day that went by that they both didn’t still miss her. “And you never know,” she added, wishing now she’d opted for his lecture. “Maybe I’ll meet some island man, fall hopelessly in love and drag him back to Louisiana with me. Where I’ll force him to be my house husband and rear a whole pack of squalling Patricks.”
Seamus’s smile blinked back on and she sighed a little in relief.
He leaned in and pecked her on the cheek. “You know I love you.”
She sighed a little and blinked back the sudden moisture that burned at the backs of her eyes. “I love you, too, Dad.”
He tapped the ticket still clutched in her hand. “Enjoy this,” he instructed, once again Justice Patrick. “Use the time wisely. Leave the work here. Lord knows it’s not going anywhere.” He s
queezed her elbow, then motioned to one of the court clerks who was trying to get his attention. He looked back down at her and winked. “And if you meet that beach bum, make sure he signs a prenup.”
Laurel’s mouth dropped open, but she laughed as her father disappeared in the crowd. A fling with a beach bum. Maybe that’s just what she needed. “Yeah, and the best thing about an island fling is he can’t resurface almost a year later, begging to be back in my life.”
She tapped the brochure against her palm, then tucked it in her suit pocket as a plan began to form. She’d leave a note for Alan, explaining—again—but this time with as much finality as she could muster, that there would be no getting back together. Then she would leave town for a while, let it sink in, give him time to come to terms with it.
Before they squared off again in her courtroom.
Four days to rejuvenate. To languish. To read a book. Get some sun. Drink something with an umbrella in it. “And maybe get laid,” she said, a grin curving her lips.
“Excuse me?” the young clerk next to her said.
She hadn’t realized she’d spoken out loud and quickly said, “It’s getting late.” She waved her brochure and grinned, the first from-the-heart grin she’d felt in ages. “I have a plane to catch.”
2
“ARE YOU GOING to the bonfire tonight? Did I mention your hotel puts on a nice beach party?”
“Yes, you did,” Sean replied. Several times. He shook his head as he held the door for Trenton Warner, the head deputy of the Virgin Islands Marshals Office in St. Thomas. “But I don’t think so.”
Trent looked crestfallen. But then, he hadn’t been exactly subtle in his efforts to set Sean up with some extracurricular activities. “Come now, all work and no play—”
Sean laughed. “I didn’t say I wasn’t going to play. Just that I wasn’t planning on doing it at a hotel beach party.” He’d been put up in a nice little hotel on Morning Star Bay, a bit of a distance from Charlotte Amalie, the capital city of St. Thomas. And the place was definitely teeming with scantily clad women. Except for the fact that they were a tad bit too…well, nubile, for his taste. Which was likely exactly why Trent had booked him there. Even though Sean was only thirty-four, gazing down from his balcony at all that tanned, oiled skin on women barely old enough to vote, made him feel…well, old.
“Whatever you say,” Trent said with a sigh and a shake of his head. “And here I was hoping to live vicariously through you.” He was fifty-five, married, with two sons currently enrolled at Florida State. “What good is staying single for so long if you’re not going to take advantage of it?”
“I imagine there are places other than that beach shindig to find a little company,” Sean responded, though he hadn’t the first clue where that might be and, in truth, had no real plans in place to find out.
“Ah, sly devil.” Trent laughed and nudged him in the side. “You’ve probably already hooked up with someone. What, did you meet her on the plane? Or in the airport this morning on your way in?”
“No, I haven’t ‘hooked up.’” And yet he couldn’t deny that the balmy air and white sandy stretch of beach had made him feel a bit…needy.
“Sure, sure. You just don’t want an audience,” Trent goaded. “A little island-magic-just-for-two. I get it.”
Sean flashed a grin. “I don’t mind an audience. Just don’t care for sand in my britches.”
Trent hooted then slapped him on the back as Sean opened the door of his rental Jeep. “Well, whatever the hell you have planned, you have a good time doing it. And if you’re looking for a good meal to bolster the stamina, give Sam’s a try. It’s past your hotel about a mile or so, right on the water. The snapper is incredible.”
“Thanks for the tip. I’ll catch you in the morning.”
“Nine sharp.” Trent sent him a mock salute. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. But by all means do everything I’d like to do but can’t.”
Sean just snorted. “Hey, I saw that picture of your wife on your desk. I’m not feeling all that sorry for you.” He waved as he pulled out, leaving Trent laughing but nodding in agreement. Sean smiled, thinking Mrs. Warner was probably going to have a very good night.
He drove back to the hotel, wondering what it was like to head home to the same woman night after night, for years on end. Hell, he wondered what it was like to head home to any woman, any night, period. He used his job, and the dedication and time he put into it, as his reason—excuse, really—for remaining single. But if he was honest with himself, he’d have to admit it went beyond that. He was so used to being captain of his own domain, doing what he wanted, when he wanted. When it came right down to it, he couldn’t imagine adjusting his lifestyle to include the wants and needs of another person.
He sighed and shifted his attention to the stunning island scenery. Maybe he simply wasn’t cut out for marriage. Considering the huge family he’d come from, it pained him to even think that, much less imagine telling his parents. Yet the evidence was piling up, the years were passing by. He felt a little twist in his gut at the notion of never having kids. But you sort of had to have the relationship and the wife to get to the rest, didn’t you?
Well, wife and kids or no, he sure as hell wasn’t planning on entering a monastery anytime soon, either. And while he hadn’t had much time to devote to extracurricular activities of late, he sure had some time now.
A whole week of it. Starting right now. He gripped the steering wheel a bit harder as he took the curving island road toward his hotel. So where in the hell did he begin? He’d apparently missed out on the airport love connection. Which left him with island social life. But he was too old to pick up chicks in bars. Not that he’d ever been all that keen on the bar-hopping and club-cruising scene, even when he’d been young and stupid. Which left…what? He snorted. “Call girls…and bonfire bunnies.” He wasn’t entirely sure which option scared him more.
“You’re a pathetic excuse for a bachelor, you know that?” Christ, he was still young, and although women’s tongues probably didn’t hang out when he walked by, he didn’t think he was too hard on the eyes. His body was in pretty damn good shape, thanks to all that Special Ops training. He wasn’t rich, but living alone hadn’t left him exactly hurting financially. And yet you can’t figure out how to get laid to save your life, he thought in disgust.
He slowed the Jeep as he neared the hotel entrance. Situated on a little jut of land, the hotel was not exactly remote, but not sandwiched in the middle of a cluster of other hotels or tourist traps, either. Off the beaten track. Like his love life of late, he thought with a dry smile.
Best of all, his room was on the top floor of the four-story building. It boasted a stunning view of Hassel and Water islands rising up from the clear blue of the water out past the harbor and the mountains bumping up behind the curve of the shoreline on the opposite side of the bay. He’d run the beach this morning as the sun had edged the horizon and thought he could definitely get used to such a daily routine. Living in Denver, his view was usually of mountain roads and snow-crusted peaks. He’d enjoyed his years stationed there, but he had to admit that the warmth of the sun was a welcome change. Reminded him of Louisiana. Of home.
He glanced up at the hotel, then down at the cluster of white-clad hotel staffers, dotting the beach, busily preparing for the evening’s festivities…and pressed the gas pedal. He drove past the parking lot and continued on down the coast road, out toward the east end of the island. He passed Sam’s, thinking maybe he’d take a long evening drive, come back for a nice fish dinner, then run the beach as the sun set. Be back in his room before the party began. Shower, sit on the balcony with a beer, put on that suspense thriller he’d picked up at the airport and listen to the festivities and music below while he relaxed. All in all, not a bad evening. Even if there wasn’t going to be any sex involved. Sex was great, but certainly a man could manage to survive—
Sean hit the brakes as he rounded a bend and swerved away fr
om a woman pushing a small Vespa motor scooter along the edge of the road.
She was wearing snug navy pants that ended just below the knee, spanking-white sneakers and a loose white T-shirt knotted on one hip. Tendrils of dark hair had escaped her loose ponytail to cling to her cheeks and neck. Her face was flushed and her white cotton shirt clung to her back. Just how far had she pushed that thing?
Sean immediately tugged the steering wheel and pulled off the road. When she darted him a suspicious glance, he realized that his Good Samaritan act might not be so interpreted by a woman alone on a quiet stretch of road. So, along with a smile, he pulled out his wallet. The one with his badge tucked inside.
“Hey, there,” he called as he got out of the Jeep and flipped open his wallet. “Do you need some help? Sean Gannon, Deputy U.S. Marshal.” His smile widened as she paused. “In case you thought I was the St. Thomas stalker or something.”
He’d expected…Well, he didn’t know. Some flash of humor or even exasperation at his lame attempt at charm. He hadn’t expected the real flash of…Fear was too strong a word. But she’d definitely tensed up a bit at the term “stalker.”
“Is there one?” she asked, finally finding an amused smile. Her voice was smooth, a bit melodic…almost familiar-sounding.
“One what?” he asked distractedly. Then his brain clicked into gear. Damn, he really did have to get out more. “Oh, no, there isn’t. I just didn’t want you to be alarmed.”
She leaned the motor scooter against her thigh and turned to face him more fully. “You have an odd way of putting a woman at ease.”
“It really has been too long, then,” he murmured more to himself than her.
“Since what?” she asked.
He evaded answering that by saying, “Something tells me you’d hold up just fine, even if I wasn’t a Good Samaritan.”
She smiled fully then, and he found himself wishing she’d take those dark sunglasses off so he could see her eyes.
Sean Page 2
