As soon as the next elevator returned to the lobby, he stepped inside and pushed the button for five.
The fifth-floor hallway seemed even busier than the street. Duke edged his way into the courtroom and looked around. Apparently this was a high-interest case, judging by the media coverage.
Duke slipped into a row near the back and sat down.
Within a couple of minutes, the bailiff instructed everyone in the courtroom to rise. The judge, dressed in flowing black robes, entered the room and took his position. The jury was already seated.
“Are you ready for your opening statement, Ms. Santiago?” Judge Kingsley asked Tracy.
She stood. “Yes, Your Honor, I am.”
Duke strained to see her client. He appeared to be a man in his thirties, perhaps younger. For no reason he cared to examine, Duke experienced a twinge of jealousy. No doubt Tracy was a popular attorney. She was sharp, decisive, thorough. And beautiful. What jury could refuse her? If he was the prosecutor, Duke knew he’d be worried.
Tracy stood slowly and walked toward the jury box. She smiled at the twelve men and women, her pose relaxed.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” she began confidently, “I’m here today to prove to you beyond a shadow of a doubt that my client is not guilty. As this case unfolds, you will be assured that Jack Makepeace acted purely in self-defense. He—”
She turned and faced the courtroom, and by some fluke her gaze landed on Duke.
She stopped, and faltered slightly.
Her arms dropped. Her eyes widened. Duke could see the muscles work in her throat.
“Ms. Santiago,” the judge asked, “are you all right?”
She walked over to the table and poured herself a glass of water. “I’m fine, Your Honor,” she said, glaring at Duke.
Maybe she wasn’t as pleased to see him as he’d hoped.
Chapter
7
TRACY TOOK another swallow of water and waited for her heart to stop pounding. Duke was in Seattle. A small matter he hadn’t bothered to disclose when they spoke earlier.
She looked at him a second time and frowned openly, letting him know she was furious. How dared he do this to her in the middle of her opening statement?
“Ms. Santiago, is there a problem?” the judge asked a little impatiently.
“I beg the court’s indulgence,” Tracy said. “I…needed a sip of water.” She made an effort to compose herself and walked toward the jury box, hoping the twelve men and women were more forgiving than the judge.
Through sheer willpower and years of practice, Tracy was able to finish her presentation without further incident. She dared not look at the court observers again, for fear Duke would distract her. Nevertheless, she was aware of his scrutiny as she spoke. She could almost hear him tell her to “give ’em hell.” She might have done it, too, if she hadn’t been so shaken by his unexpected appearance. Because of it, she was afraid she hadn’t made any substantial progress in proving her client’s innocence.
When the trial recessed at four, Tracy spoke briefly with her client, then reeled around to confront Duke. The minute they were alone, she fully intended to give him hell.
He was gone.
Had he been a figment of her overactive imagination? Perhaps the phone call had been responsible for making her think she’d seen him when she hadn’t. Maybe, just maybe, she was losing whatever sanity she still possessed.
Taking her briefcase, she headed out of the courtroom and back to her office. The minute she got there, she’d phone Hard Luck to get the name of his hotel. She was in the hallway walking toward the elevator when she saw him leaning indolently against the wall. He flashed her an easy smile.
The color remained high in Tracy’s cheeks, and she scowled at him with the full force of her annoyance, which by this time was considerable. But despite her outrage, simmering just below the surface, was joy. Absolute joy.
“You might have told me you were in Seattle,” she snapped, not knowing which emotion to express first.
“You were on your way to court,” he reminded her.
“But you might have said something,” she returned.
He looked healthy and vital. Whole. His left arm, cast and all, was supported by a sling, but it didn’t distract from his strong masculine appeal. Almost against her will, she felt herself moving toward him. Tracy wasn’t sure if she should slap him silly or hurl herself into his arms and kiss him silly.
Duke made the decision for her. Without saying a word, he stretched out his right arm, inviting her into his embrace.
Nothing could have kept her away. She bolted across the corridor and wrapped both her arms around his waist. A small cry emerged from her throat as she buried her head in his shoulder.
Duke’s good arm came around her, and Tracy felt a sense of peace, a happiness she’d never experienced before.
His cheek moved against her hair, as if he savored the feel of her in his arms. “You’re right,” he whispered, and his voice didn’t sound anything like normal. “I should’ve told you.”
“I nearly had a heart attack when I turned around and saw you in the room.”
“I know. I saw that right away. Obviously I wasn’t thinking when I went in.”
“Then you were gone.”
“I meant to leave as soon as I realized what was happening to you, but then you seemed to recover. So I waited till it was nearly over and came out here.”
She nodded, breathing in his scent. He wore a bay-rum aftershave that made her think whimsically of pirates with rakish smiles and sparkling Caribbean seas.
“You’re good, sweetheart. I always knew you could argue better than any woman I’d ever met—or any man for that matter—but when you’re standing in front of a jury box, you’re something to behold.”
She was tempted to laugh and weep. “You certainly know how to sweet-talk a woman when you have to, Duke.”
“That’s no bull, Trace. You’re a good attorney.”
“Thank you.” But she hadn’t even gotten up to half speed! If he could see her when she really hit her stride…
“Will you go to dinner with me?” he asked.
“When?”
“Tonight?”
“Yes,” she answered, unable to hide her eagerness. “If you want, you can pick me up at my office. I generally don’t get out of there until after six.”
“Fine. I’ll see you then.” He kissed her forehead. His lips lingered against her skin. When he released her, it seemed hard for him to let her go.
Evening couldn’t come soon enough to suit Tracy.
“I’ll be there by six,” Duke promised.
Tracy knew that their embrace had attracted attention. Many of the people who knew her stared with undisguised curiosity, but Tracy didn’t care.
Duke started toward the elevator.
“Duke,” she called, and he turned around. “It’s great to see you.”
He grinned and brushed the hair from his brow. “You, too.”
She watched him board the elevator while her mind spun with gleeful excitement. Duke in Seattle. And she’d be seeing him again that very evening.
“Who’s the hunk?” Janice Cooper, her friend and colleague, had strolled to her side.
“A friend.”
“He must be some friend if you practically run into his arms. Weren’t you the one who insisted all men are animals but some of them make nice pets?”
“This one’s special,” was all Tracy would admit. To say anything more would be to give herself away. Although she supposed she’d already done that…
“He must be,” Janice added with a hefty sigh of envy. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look this happy.”
So it showed. Well, Tracy mused, she obviously wasn’t very good at hiding her feelings. Somehow she didn’t care.
“He looks the rough-and-ready type,” Janice continued, “not the type you usually go for, like Gavin. What makes this one so special?”
“You
mean other than the fact that he saved my life?”
Janice whistled. “That was Duke Porter?”
“The one and only.”
“But I thought he lived in Alaska.”
“He does.”
“I suggest you find whatever it is that man’s got so we can bottle it. Most of the men I’ve met in the past ten years could use a solid dose of this guy.”
Tracy chuckled, but Janice was right. The men she’d dated fell sadly short on the masculinity index. Duke’s muscles weren’t built in any gym and what was left of his tan came from the sun. He had the instincts and the natural confidence to cope with any situation. He had courage. He knew who he was, without needing psychiatrists, self-help manuals or courses on finding his inner child.
Duke Porter was as genuine as they came.
DUKE STUDIED his reflection in the store mirror and barely recognized himself. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d worn a suit. His father’s funeral, probably, more than fifteen years ago. It was the same suit he’d worn to his graduation. And his mother’s second wedding.
“What do you think?” The salesman circled him like a buzzard, closing in for the kill. The man knew a sale when he smelled one.
Duke checked the price tag dangling from the end of the jacket sleeve. And groaned. Five hundred bucks for a suit seemed an awful lot just to be properly dressed to take Tracy out to dinner. When he’d called to make reservations at the hotel’s fancy dining room, he’d been informed a tie was required “for the gentlemen.” A tie? For dinner? He wondered what they served that was so almighty special that a man was expected to dress up for the experience.
“You can have the alterations finished in an hour?” Duke asked. The sale was contingent on that.
“Yes, of course, for a small fee.”
Duke would bet the fee was anything but small, but he had no choice. A man didn’t take a city girl like Tracy to dinner just anywhere. For reasons he didn’t want to question, he found it important to prove he was as classy as any of the men she routinely dated. True, he preferred to eat at a comfortable place like the Hard Luck Café, but he could hold his own in her sophisticated big-city world.
By the time five-thirty rolled around, Duke Porter’s new look was complete. A woman in a beauty shop had cut and blow-dried his hair—Duke hoped the guys back in Hard Luck didn’t hear about that. He’d shaved and splashed on some new cologne—a lot of lawyers bought it, the saleswoman told him. If his clean-cut looks didn’t affect Tracy, then maybe the cologne would do the trick. He was wearing his new suit and silk tie, his new shoes, and carrying a lightweight raincoat over his right arm. Assessing himself in the hotel mirror, Duke decided he looked good. Like a million bucks—but then he’d invested nearly that much in the cause. Tracy was worth it, though. He trusted she’d appreciate the effort.
He arrived at her office building. The outside might have been a bit stark and forbidding, but the interior was posh, richly decorated in mauves and grays. The way Duke figured it, if they could afford to put leather sofas in the waiting room, the firm would be too pricey for the likes of him.
A smartly dressed receptionist unlocked the door and smiled at him. She wore her coat and looked ready to leave for the night.
“I’m here for Tracy Santiago,” he said.
“Mr. Porter?” she asked.
He nodded.
“She’s waiting for you.”
Duke followed the receptionist down the narrow hallway to Tracy’s office. She glanced back at him several times.
“Mr. Porter’s here,” the woman announced to Tracy, then left—reluctantly, it seemed to Duke.
Tracy rose from her desk with a welcoming smile. But the minute her eyes landed on him her grin faded and her jaw dropped. “Duke?” she asked, squinting. “Is that you?”
“Hey, I thought you’d like my fancy duds.” He held out his right arm and rotated, giving her an eyeful of what five-hundred-plus bucks could buy in this town.
“I can’t believe…You look so different,” she murmured. Shaking her head, she brought her hands to her mouth. “I can’t believe it.”
“You mean you don’t like it?” He’d be pretty disappointed if that was the case.
“Like it—yes, of course. It’s just that you don’t…look like you.”
He frowned. “Then who do I look like?” He’d never known Tracy to be flustered—other than this afternoon, when he’d surprised her in court. Now that he thought about it, he wasn’t exactly sure how he’d expected her to react. She wasn’t the type to gush all over him, although, in a way, he supposed he would’ve liked that.
She walked around from behind her desk. “You’re probably the handsomest best-dressed man I’ve ever seen.”
The tension eased from Duke’s shoulders. Handsomest, best-dressed—now, those were compliments he could live with.
“You look pretty good yourself, sweetheart.”
If he didn’t know better, Duke would’ve sworn Tracy blushed. He peered at her carefully—yup, she was definitely blushing. He hadn’t thought the man existed who was capable of cracking this woman’s composure, least of all him.
The blush added a tinge of pink to her cheeks, and before he could consider the wisdom of kissing her, Duke stepped closer and lowered his mouth to hers. Tracy angled her head and moaned softly.
Duke’s heart boomed like thunder, and he deepened the kiss. After a moment he drew back, trying to clear his head. This wasn’t the time or the place for kissing her. “I made dinner reservations,” he said in a hoarse voice.
Tracy moistened her lips and lowered her eyes. “I’ll get my purse and be ready in just a minute.” She reached for her jacket, but Duke took it from her hands.
“Allow me,” he said, awkwardly holding it open for her.
She smiled and slipped her arms into the sleeves. “Thank you.”
He nodded and resisted the urge to kiss her again. The evening was going to be a test of his restraint if they continued like this. The fact was, he’d prefer to skip dinner altogether and spend the evening making love to her. He found the picture that came to his mind so enticing he had to stop and inhale several deep breaths.
Tracy’s office was close to the hotel, so they walked the short distance, holding hands. When he mentioned the name of the restaurant, she arched her brows. “The Rose Garden is one of the most elegant places in town.”
“I figured it must be,” he said nonchalantly.
The restaurant was on the top floor of the hotel. They rode the elevator up the outside of the building and watched Seattle grow smaller. Tracy pointed out Elliot Bay and Puget Sound.
“I’ve only been here once,” Tracy said. “The food was great, but—” she hesitated and dropped her voice “—very expensive.”
“Don’t worry,” he whispered, “I can afford it.”
He nearly changed his mind when he read the prices listed on the menu. Even Alaska didn’t charge a man ten bucks for a cup of coffee. He wasn’t sure he liked the atmosphere, either. Men running around in fancy dress was one thing, but having the waiter place his napkin in his lap was another. There were some things a man preferred to do on his own.
“What are you having?” Tracy asked. Her eyes met his above the menu.
Duke was a meat-and-potatoes kind of guy. Always had been, always would be. He read the list of dishes offered and couldn’t find anything he’d seriously consider eating. Alligator. Pheasant. Frog’s legs. Snails. Duck. The one item that interested him was salmon, but he could have that in Alaska anytime he wanted without paying an exorbitant price. Good grief, there were only so many ways to cook a fish.
“Have you decided?” he asked.
A waiter stiffly approached their table, his nose leveled toward the ceiling. He held a pen and pad in his hand and looked distinctly unfriendly. “The special this evening is palomillo à la parrilla.” He paused. “And may I ask the wine steward to discuss our wine list with you?”
“I believe w
e’ll need a few more minutes,” Duke said. “And no, thanks, to the wine—I’ll just have a beer.”
“Me, too,” Tracy said, mentioning the name of a local microbrewery.
The waiter seemed not to hear them.
With precision movements, he pivoted and walked away.
“I wouldn’t mind a salad,” Tracy said.
Duke thought he’d be safe if he ordered the same thing. “That sounds good,” he said, and set aside the menu.
Tracy ordered the salade printanière Monte Carlo.
“I’d like a salad, as well,” he said, looking the waiter in the eye although he nearly had to stand on the seat of his chair to do so. “But all I want is some lettuce and maybe a few other vegetables sliced over it.”
“Celery and radishes?” the waiter suggested.
“Fine.” Duke was easy to please.
“Alfalfa sprouts?”
“That’s fine, too,” he said, and smiled over at Tracy.
“Asparagus?”
Duke nodded.
“In other words you’ll have the salade printanière Monte Carlo?”
“Exactly,” Duke said as if he’d known that all along. He was beginning to think this waiter wasn’t interested in receiving a tip.
“Very well, sir.”
Duke returned his attention to Tracy.
“Might I suggest the scallion vinaigrette dressing for your salads?” the man continued.
“Please,” Tracy answered.
“I prefer ranch dressing.”
The man’s nose angled even higher. “I’m afraid we don’t carry ranch dressing.”
“Blue cheese then.”
The waiter sighed, clearly disapproving of Duke’s choice. “As you wish.”
As soon as he left the table, Tracy smothered a laugh. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I was just thinking of that waiter working at the Hard Luck Café.” She giggled. “He wouldn’t last five minutes.”
Duke grinned. “At least Ben serves ranch dressing.”
“Speaking of Ben, how is he?”
Midnight Sons Volume 3 Page 25
