Courting Trouble

by Lisa Scottoline

  “Oh, what a guy. A full-service client.”

  “The Dietzes are really nice people.”

  “The Dietzes are lying scum.”

  “No way. Gil’s the liar.”

  Anne sighed. “Matt, you’ve gotten to be friends with them, and it’s clouding your judgment. Dietz has issues. I wouldn’t be surprised if he abuses his wife. Normal people don’t have physically violent reactions. He socked you for something you said.”

  “It doesn’t mean he beats his wife. He loves Beth. He would do anything for her.”

  “So would you, and you have. You’re her lawyer—and his!”

  “I don’t know anybody who doesn’t want to punch out a lawyer. And half of them are lawyers! Maybe you’re the one who’s gotten too close to your client. You just don’t like the Dietzes.”

  “But they’re extorting money from an innocent man. They’re taking down his company and ruining his chance for IPO. Chipster is one of the most successful—”

  “Anne?” Matt reached out and touched her arm. “Let’s not talk about the Dietzes, or Chipster, anymore. I liked what we were doing before.”

  “Come on, what did Dietz say to you? Just tell me. I’m dying to know.”

  “No! I will not tell opposing counsel anything my client tells me!” Matt turned serious. “You’re getting paranoid, and I don’t blame you, but we can’t keep talking about the Dietzes. Agreed?”

  “You can’t blame a girl for trying.”

  “I can and I do. And I’m still pissed about that stripper thing.”

  “You’re less fun than I thought.” Anne pouted as Matt’s arms slipped around her shoulders. She sank deep into the couch’s cushy pillows, then felt a hardness against her hip. Oops. “Hold on, wait a minute.” She unclinched enough to extract the revolver from her waistband and set it on the coffee table on top of his scribbled notes.

  “Jesus!” Matt edged away, shocked. “Where did you get that?”

  “It’s Bennie’s.”

  “Is it loaded?”

  “Of course. You can’t shoot anybody if it’s not.” Anne edged over to Matt and touched his arm, but he kept staring at the gun.

  “Does it have a safety?”

  “What’s a safety, big fella?” she whispered, planting a soft kiss on the good side of his face.

  “A safety’s the thing they have on guns so they don’t go off.”

  “I’m kidding. It’s a revolver, so it doesn’t have a safety.”

  Matt recoiled. “Will it go off?”

  “It can’t. You have to pick it up, aim it at somebody you don’t like, and pull the trigger.”

  “Well, point it away or something. I can’t relax with it aiming at us.”

  “Fine.” Anne took pity on him, reached over, and spun the gun so that its barrel had a clean shot at the entertainment center. “I think everything will be okay now, unless the gun decides to shoot your DVD player. Now, if you kiss me like you did a minute ago, I can forget about what a big baby you are.”

  “You liked that?” Matt grinned down at her, pulling her closer, and the part of his face that wasn’t injured went soft. “God, you’re so beautiful it’s scary.”

  “No, not really.” Anne pointed impulsively at her scar. “Attractive, huh?”

  “So what? You got nothin’ on me right now.”

  “That’s it? ‘So what?’” Anne blinked, nonplussed. “I was a freak, at birth. I have a scar, and unlike yours, it’s permanent.”

  “It’s not a scar, it’s a target, and I think it’s not big enough.” Matt covered her mouth with his, kissing her softly, then again, slowly, overcoming her shame with each kiss. She kissed him back, letting him lead her away from herself and her fears. She was careful with him, too, going slowly so she didn’t hurt his wound, getting to know him better, with a deeper kiss.

  She eased back onto a sofa covered with his papers and felt him pressing onto her, her body warm with his weight. She ignored the crackle of Xeroxed cases under her and didn’t give a second thought to which precedent he was citing. She didn’t even try to peek at his laptop screen later, when he reached over to turn out the lamp.

  Mental note: Some people have to choose between making love or making war, but lawyers can do both.

  Nobody was on the sidewalk at dawn Sunday morning, and only a few light trucks and vans rumbled by, hauling ice, tables, and tents for the city’s festivities. Anne hurried from Matt’s house through the streets of Olde City, happy and reenergized, after a night with a man who loved her. She couldn’t say she loved him yet, but she was very much in deep like, and it was a slippery slope.

  She picked up the pace, keeping a hand near her messenger bag so the revolver wouldn’t fly out. Okay, she wasn’t a model of firearm safety, and she wasn’t wearing underwear either. She hadn’t had time to find it. She had gotten up early to get back to Bennie’s, so she wouldn’t be worried. Or discover that her rookie associate was sleeping with the enemy. Anne needed to cover her ass. Literally.

  She hustled down the cobblestone sidewalk, breaking a sweat in the thick air. Philadelphians always said, “It’s not the heat, it’s the humidity,” but Anne didn’t agree. It’s hot, stupid. She pushed up the sunglasses sliding down her nose and jogged the remaining two blocks to the street she’d parked on, slowing to catch her breath when she saw a line of cars she recognized from last night. She cooled down past a blue minivan, a white Mercedes 430, and a blue Ford truck, which was the last one at the top of the row.

  Anne stopped, looking around in confusion. Dude, where’s my car? There was no red Mustang on the street. In fact, there were no cars at all where the cars had been parked last night. Had they all left? Was she on the wrong street? She checked the green street sign. Delancey Street. Right. She had parked here last night.

  She looked around for the Mustang but it was nowhere in sight. She turned on her heels and came face-to-face with a red-lettered sign that she hadn’t noticed the night before, when she was in heat. It read: NO PARKING TOW ZONE. But it could just as accurately have read:

  RANDOM.

  17

  Loser! Anne’s heart sank. The Mustang had been towed! She cursed herself and her red roots. Her bad planning and her lack of undies. What was she going to do? She could go back and get a ride from Matt, but she didn’t want to reveal her stupidity. Now she knew what he had meant, “This is the beginning, where I tell you only the good stuff about me.”

  Anne got another idea, a better one than parking a getaway car in a tow zone. Sooner or later a cab would show up, and until then she would start walking. It would take an hour to get to Bennie’s house, walking from one end of town to the other, but it was in the no-choice category.

  She started to hoof it, heading west, up Delancey, and taking mental inventory. The Mustang was a rental anyway, and she still had a cell phone and a knock-off Smith & Wesson. What else did a girl need? And even though the gray sky was lightening to a watercolor blue, she was reasonably safe. Kevin would still be hiding from the cops. There was only one problem: she’d never make it to Bennie’s in time, now. What to do? Anne wracked her brain for a good lie, but came up empty, which worried her. Maybe the sex had sapped her superpowers. Disarmed, she’d have to tell the truth. She’d have to admit that not only had she committed high treason, she’d been too horny to read a traffic sign.

  She kept walking and took her cell phone out of her purse, calling Bennie’s home number. “It’s me,” she said, when the call connected.

  “Murphy?” Bennie sounded sleepy. “You’re calling me? Aren’t you in your room, in bed?”

  “Not exactly.” Anne looked for a cab as she headed uptown. The street was littered with trash and paper cups from the night before. Plastic poppers lay popped in the gutter. “I’m so sorry, I thought I’d be home by now. I’m calling so you wouldn’t worry.”

  “What shouldn’t I worry about? Where are you?” She sneezed, and Anne cringed.

  “Gesundheit. I’m sor
ry, really sorry. I’m on my way.” She bit her lip. This was a lousy way to repay Bennie’s kindness. No wonder she never told the truth. It was hard. “I was at Matt’s house last night. I’ll be home in an hour unless I can get a—”

  “Did you say Matt? Matt Booker? Why? Was it settlement talks?”

  “Not exactly.” Anne flushed, but maybe it was the heat, or the humidity. “I spent the night with him. I’m seeing him, Bennie. I think.”

  “Matt Booker? You’re seeing Matt Booker? What? How long has this been going on?”

  “One night. Look, I know it sounds terrible, but this is personal, not business.” Then she remembered about Matt’s injuries, and didn’t know if she should tell Bennie. Would she be betraying Matt if she told? Would she be betraying Bennie if she didn’t? And what about Gil? Mental note: There are many good reasons why you shouldn’t sleep with opposing counsel.

  “You and Matt Booker are personal? Are you crazy?”

  “I shouldn’t have done it, I know.”

  “He’s plaintiff’s counsel!”

  “I was weak.”

  “God, I keep forgetting how young you are!” Bennie shouted, then caught herself. “We’ll discuss it when we see each other. But here’s more bad news. I’m looking out my bedroom window, and the press has taken up residence in front of my house, waiting for me to come out.”

  “They weren’t there last night.”

  “That’s because they sleep at night, like you should have been. Bottom line is, there’s no way you can get back in without you or the car being recognized.”

  The car is no problem.

  “Meet me at the office,” Bennie said, sternly. “Use the back entrance. We have to get ready for the memorial service. It’s today, at noon. It would be nice if you attended. You’re the guest of honor.”

  “I know. Sorry.”

  “Okay, see you at the office. Be careful.”

  “Don’t worry.”

  Bennie harrumphed, then hung up.

  Anne slipped the phone in her purse and hurried to the corner for a cab. None was in sight, so she kept walking. It was less than an hour to the office from here, and she headed for work, picking up a free tabloid from an open box on the way. It was City Beat, that paper she’d heard about, and its circulation must have been local only. THE FUGITIVE, read the headline, above a blown-up mug shot of Kevin, and Anne was thrilled. Everybody would be looking for him now, even regular citizens.

  She read the story as she walked, and it was all her history with Kevin, with a sidebar about Mrs. Brown. She glanced up at the byline: By Angus Connolly. The gonzo reporter in the Australian bush hat had gotten his big scoop. She wished him luck, then tossed the paper into the nearest trash can.

  Anne was sweating big-time by the time she got uptown and ducked the horde of reporters, TV cameras, and Nikons massing outside the office on Locust Street. She scurried back down the alley behind the office building, hid her breasts past Hot and Heavy, and finally escaped upstairs to the office and past the empty reception area to Bennie’s office in the back.

  Bennie’s door was open, and Judy and Mary occupied the two chairs in front of her desk. The office was cluttered with law books, awards, and dark-red accordion files, and the lawyers were huddling over something Anne couldn’t see. She called a guilt-ridden hello, and all three heads looked up at once. Mary and Judy smiled instantly, but Bennie shot her a look that said you-are-in-such-big-trouble, deep-shit-would-be-an-improvement.

  “I’m so sorry to have worried you, Bennie,” Anne said quickly, meaning it. She’d had ten blocks to think about what a jerk she’d been, and she’d concluded that as wonderful a man as Matt was, she didn’t belong with him, not yet. Tuesday she’d be in court against him, and a man wasn’t always the answer. Anne felt vaguely like an alcoholic who’d fallen off the wagon. Mental note: Men rehab sucks.

  “We’ll discuss it another time. We have work to do.” Bennie’s scowl seemed all the more severe because of her ersatz-mourning clothes. She wore a black suit with an off-white shirt and black pumps, and her curly blond hair had been tamed by a black linen barrette. “Someday in the future, I may accept your apology. Right now I’m taking it under advisement.”

  Sitting on the desk, Judy was smiling. “Have a nice time, Murph the Surf?” She had on a black cotton sweater with short sleeves and a funky black skirt, shin-length. With black fake-ponyskin clogs.

  “Oh, stop, Jude,” Mary jumped in. She looked like a friendly nun, in a plain black A-line dress. “I think Matt’s hot, too, and you deserve to be happy, after what you’ve been through. And I trust you not to tell him anything about the case.”

  “Thanks,” Anne said, but Bennie still wasn’t smiling.

  “By the way, I’ll take my gun back.”

  “Sure. Sorry about that.” Anne tugged the revolver from her purse, and Mary blanched.

  “Is that really a gun?”

  Judy jumped. “Is it loaded?”

  “No,” Anne and Bennie said at the same time.

  Anne handed Bennie the weapon. “I only used one bullet.”

  “That’ll be ten cents,” Bennie said, and their eyes met in a temporary truce over the weapon. Bennie opened her desk drawer, placed the gun inside, and twisted the tiny key in the lock. She extracted the key and slipped it into her suit-jacket pocket. “No more gun. Everybody remain calm.”

  Judy shuddered. “I didn’t know you had a gun, Bennie.”

  “Now you know everything. Favorite color is golden retriever, favorite sport is rowing, favorite hobby is winning cases. Pet peeves? Cats, no pun.”

  “How is Mel, I was just about to ask.” Actually Anne had been afraid to.

  “He meowed for you this morning. I wanted to shoot him but somebody stole my gun.”

  “Bennie!” Anne and the other associates looked horrified.

  “Just kidding.” Bennie plucked a yellow legal pad from her desk. “Okay, kids, we all have our jobs today, right? Carrier, you’re on flower detail. You have your list of kitchen staff, right?”

  Judy nodded, consulting a piece of notebook paper on Bennie’s desk. “Most are women, so we’re in good shape there.”

  “Make sure the only kitchen staff are the ones on that list, and you meet each one.”

  “Got it.”

  Bennie looked at Mary. “DiNunzio, you’re press person, which is a big job. Satorno might come in with a camera hiding his face, or with TV makeup on. No press admitted. None at all. It’s too risky.”

  “Right.” Mary nodded. “Like we said, I verify all press passes outside and call the cops if I find him, but don’t alert him to it. And nobody gets into the service but attendees.”

  “Yes.” Bennie glanced at her list. “Murphy, you handle the physical plant, the set-up before. You’ll play the grieving cousin from California. What if your mother happens to show up? Are you prepared for that?”

  “It won’t happen, but if it does, I’ll ignore her.”

  “Can you do that?” Bennie’s lower lip buckled with doubt.

  “Not a problem. I have years of practice.”

  “You think she’ll recognize you?”

  “No. Not with my new hair, and she hasn’t seen me since college.”

  Judy and Mary exchanged looks, then Mary smiled. “Nobody will recognize you, not even your own mother, in the disguise we picked out for you.” She turned to a red, white, and blue Liberty Place bag sitting on the floor. It was what they’d been rummaging in when Anne first walked in.

  “What is that?” she asked, edging to the bag, but Judy held her arm and pressed her into her chair.

  “Last night, we went shopping for your bereavement outfit.” Mary reached excitedly into the bag. “All the stores were open and there were tons of great Independence Day sales. Look at these shoes! Aren’t they so cute?” She pulled a pair of black flats from the bag like a rabbit out of a hat.

  Eeek. “Wow, they’re great!” Anne lied, automatically. The habit came back t
o her easily, like riding a bike.

  “Try them on!” Mary bubbled. “They’re Superstriders, really comfortable. I wear them all the time. They wear like iron. I figured you were a size eight, like me.”

  “Good.” Anne had never worn Superstriders in her life, but she kicked off her Blahniks and stepped into them. They had absolutely no heel and were made apparently of rubber, but they fit like Cinderella’s slipper and felt better than mules ever could. She cheered instantly, maybe because her toes could move for the first time in years. “I can catch a killer in these babies!”

  Mary nodded happily. “We also got you a dress. Judy picked it out.”

  “It’s very cool.” Judy crossed her legs on the desk. “You’ll love it.”

  Anne looked up to see Mary holding up a dress, the requisite black, but otherwise utterly unconventional. It had a high neck, a dropped V-waist, and a winged collar. The skirt billowed past the knee and the material crinkled like crinoline. It was beyond fashion faux pas, it was well into Halloween costume.

  “It’s kind of dramatic,” Mary said tactfully. “But Judy thought you’d like it. And it covers you up, like a good disguise.”

  Judy nodded with pride. “It’s one of a kind. I got it in the crafts store. Slip it on, let’s check the fit. It’s not just a dress, it’s wearable art.”

  Huh? “Art is good. I like art.” Anne took the dress, slipped it over her head, and shimmied it down over her T-shirt and skirt. It fit in the waist, but its black skirt flowed to the floor like an oil spill. “We’ll have to staple the hem, but it’s perfect. Thank you.”

  Even Bennie was beaming. “You haven’t seen the best part yet. The last, essential piece.”