“Thank you,” she said stiffly, tugging it on.
Shaking his head, muttering to himself, Tyler jammed his pants back on. “I told you this was never going to work.”
She wanted to throw something at him. Or at least bash him over the head with one of her monkey-and-palm-tree sandals, the ones that had been pitched down a hole in the floor, sort of like her heart.
Get over it, she told herself crossly. You knew what you were getting into, you were the one who pushed this, and you have no right to whine now.
But her brain was riddled with conflicting emotions—hurt and disappointment and foolishness—and she didn’t know what to do, what to feel, where to look. She found herself staring at the knotty pine floor.
I just made love on the floor of a boat with a man I barely know, her mind cried. I know him so little that I didn’t even know he was a lawyer. How stupid could I be?
It was a matter of wounded pride and exposed nerves. She knew that. What difference should it make if he was an attorney? She’d been willing to accept that he might be a private investigator or a bounty hunter or even a crook. But a lawyer…it was just so humiliating!
She’d wanted to be the high-and-mighty lawyer who stepped in and helped the poor bad boy. Instead, she felt like an interfering fool, as if he’d been laughing at her since day one.
It wasn’t her heart down in that hole with her poor sandals—it was her pride.
Suddenly, for no real reason, she was seized with the idea of getting back her shoes. So she turned away, kneeling to peer into the big hole Mack and his cronies had hacked in the middle of the floor. She leaned over far enough to lasso one by the ankle strap, but the other eluded her.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“My shoes,” she replied as calmly as she could manage. “I got one of them, but the other one is too far down for me to reach. I really want my shoes back.”
“All right, all right.” He lowered himself far enough into the hole to retrieve her shoe, tossing it into her lap. “I could ask why you want it back, but I won’t. You and I both know you are never going to wear those shoes again once you go back to Chicago. This was it, Emily. Your walk on the wild side. I hope it was worth it.”
“How many times do I have to tell you that this wasn’t any walk on any wild side? Not a walk, not a ride, not even a—”
But her words were drowned out by a long blast from a ship’s horn.
Tyler wheeled. “What is that?”
“Ahoy there,” an amplified voice boomed. “This is the police. Prepare to be boarded.”
There was a sudden and quite overpowering whirl of activity, as the seagoing version of the San Francisco P.D. came crashing down to the cabin. The two of them tried to explain, but Tyler barely had time to grab his leather jacket and Emily her purse before they were carted out of there. Although she again tried to clarify the situation once they were safely on the police boat, nobody seemed to be listening. And Tyler had clammed up big-time. All he did was glower at her. She wanted to say, Give me a minute to process all this. Okay, so I didn’t know you were a lawyer. But I still love you!
But she didn’t utter a word.
Finally the two of them were shoved inside the station and into separate interrogation rooms.
“We didn’t steal the boat!” she insisted, as soon as they sat her down. “We were kidnapped and thrown in a closet by Sluggo and Mack and this guy, Jimmy. Gangsters! You should go catch them and give us a medal.”
“Ma’am,” the younger of the two cops interjected politely. His name tag told her he was Detective Hogan. “We don’t think you stole the boat.”
“No?” She blinked. “Then why are you arresting us?”
His partner, an older, crustier type, with Bellini on his nameplate, stepped forward. “Actually, we’re not arresting you. But we were looking for you,” he said acidly. “First, there’s the matter of a missing persons report.”
Jeez. Gone for less than thirty-six hours and her mother was already calling in the bloodhounds. Meanwhile, with her world topsy-turvy, her heart in turmoil, the last thing she needed was a visit from her fuss-budget family.
“Missing person?” she echoed innocently. “You don’t mean me.”
Bellini responded first. “Uh-huh. Your mom, your dad, a bunch of brothers…they’re all here in San Francisco looking for you. Seems they tracked you down with credit card receipts and airline tickets.” He shook his graying head. “They’re a tough bunch. Glad they’re not my family. Anyway, they were pretty anxious to locate you.”
“So, here I am. And I do thank you for the rescue from the boat. But why am I still here?” she inquired. “In here, I mean. With you.”
“Well, you see…” The conversational ball had bounced back to Hogan, who pulled up a chair, as if he expected to stay a while. “We have some questions for you, Miss Chaplin.”
“About what?”
“The usual. What you were doing on the boat, who threw you and your boyfriend—if he is your boyfriend and not your kidnapper—in the closet, what this all has to do with Joseph Slabicki and Michael Delanty, and whether you’re interested in filing charges or supplying information that might help us prosecute any or all of these personages.” He opened a thick file in front of him. “So, what do you think?”
I think I’m in over my head. “Okay, well, you should know right off that Mr. O’Toole is not a kidnapper,” she said quickly. “If anything, it’s vice versa. As for the rest…well, who are Joseph Slabicki and Michael Delanty?” she asked, stalling for time.
The older detective glared at her, while the younger one flipped pages in his notebook. It was Hogan who finally spoke. “The boat you were on belongs to Joseph, a.k.a. Slab, Slabicki, a small-time hood who we picked up yesterday on a bail violation. Mr. Slabicki is someone we’ve wanted to talk to for a long time, seeing as how he and some pals robbed a Brink’s truck back in ’87 and the money was never recovered.”
“Oh. How interesting.”
“Yeah. And there are holes all over the boat, as if someone were, oh, I don’t know, digging for buried treasure?” Hogan gave her a superior smile. “Kinda makes us wonder if somebody didn’t find Mr. Slabicki’s buried treasure.”
“I…” Emily faltered. But she knew what to do. “I’m not saying anything until I speak to my attorney.”
“Right.” The grumpy one went to the door. “We were expecting that. So which one do you want, Mom, Dad, Bro One, Two, Three or Four?”
Emily swallowed. “None of them. My attorney is…” She lifted her chin. “My attorney is Tyler O’Toole.”
IN THE NEXT INTERROGATION ROOM over, a different set of detectives was giving Tyler a hard time. And he was very rapidly losing patience with them.
“Look, we know you’ve been investigated back in Chicago, we know you’re in bed with Fat Mike Delanty and Slab Slabicki, and we know you were out here looking for the Brink’s take from ’87. So just tell us what you found and where it is, and we’ll think about making a deal.”
“I’m sorry, guys, but I don’t know anything about any of this.” He shrugged, much more concerned about where Emily was and how she was faring. He was used to this kind of crap, but she was a babe in the woods. Damn it. The best day of his life, shot to smithereens. Emily, taking a chance on him, handing him her heart. Emily, trusting him. How could he have let this happen?
There was no way she was ever going to speak to him again. Sure, she’d wanted a little fun, a little dance with danger, but now that she’d been tossed in the pokey and treated like a criminal, the game would lose its appeal pretty damn quick.
“Come on, O’Toole. Give us what we want, and you can take the cutie pie home.”
“I don’t think the cutie pie is going anywhere with me.” But he changed tactics. He didn’t even want to mention Emily here. “Listen, here’s the deal. I don’t know Mr. Delanty, I don’t know anything about a Brink’s take, but I am acquainted with Mr. Slabicki. I am not a
t liberty to discuss him with you, however. Attorney-client privilege.”
“Okay, so you want to play hardball.” The larger of the two cops leaned in over him. “We can do that.”
“No, I don’t want to play anything,” Tyler said curtly. “As far as I’m concerned, this interview is over.”
The cop laughed. “Yeah, we got it. You want to see a lawyer.”
“Yes, I do.” He wanted to see her so badly he could barely breathe. “Emily Chaplin. She’s my lawyer.”
HER DETECTIVES WERE GONE a long time. Emily had never chewed her nails before, but she was willing to take up the habit just to pass the time.
Finally Hogan came back alone.
“Where’s Tyler?” she asked immediately. “I said I wanted to speak to him.”
“You both asked for each other and we don’t know if we can do that,” he said reluctantly. “Possible co-conspirators who request each other as counsel. Well, that’s a new one on us.”
“He asked for me?” That was a surprise. A nice surprise. He asked for me.
“But, hey, it’s your lucky day.”
“I get to see Tyler?” she asked hopefully.
“Nope. You’re free to go. A patrolman just picked up three guys with burglary tools down by the marina. We know them.” He frowned. “In association with Mr. Slabicki on that Brink’s job. Slabicki says they’re the ones who beat him up last night, and Miss Leer says they burglarized her premises as well. I’m guessing they’re also the ones who attempted to destroy the Sweet Shanda.”
He shook his head. “Stupid mopes. Turns out Miss Leer found the money years ago and spent every dime to buy The Flesh Pit. So there was no treasure after all.”
“Poor Slab. But this lets us off the hook?” She wasn’t quite convinced, but she was willing to let it ride. “You’re releasing both of us?”
“Yeah. We think you and your boyfriend just stumbled over something stupid and didn’t have the sense to get out of the way.” As she rose from the table, he added, “Besides, your mother has been throwing a fit and threatening to get F. Lee Bailey and Johnnie Cochrane and Clarence Darrow in here to sue the P.D. and the city and anyone else she can think of.”
“Clarence Darrow has been dead for thirty years,” she told him.
“Yeah, well, tell that to your mother.” Hogan opened the door for her. “Don’t take any more sudden vacations, will you? We know where to find you, and we’ll be in touch if we need you or the boyfriend.” With a smirk, he added, “Have fun out there. The whole family is waiting.”
Don’t remind me. Emily straightened the too-long T-shirt she’d borrowed from Tyler, pulled down her too-short skirt as much as she could, and tried to walk tall and proud in her wooden wedgies. Still she knew in her heart that any police interrogation had to be preferable to facing her parents.
Hogan escorted her down a corridor. No sign of Tyler. He’d probably already been released and taken a powder.
“He can’t be gone,” she whispered with a tiny seed of anxiety starting to take root. “He would wait for me. I know it.”
But his face was not among those who greeted her.
“Emily?” Her mother’s cool voice brought her up short. Judge Patience Burr-Chaplin looked immaculate and self-possessed, as always, even if her forehead was creased with worry. “Are you all right, darling? We were frantic.”
“I’m fine. Absolutely fine.”
But they were all crowding around, poking at her, demanding to know what she was wearing and where she’d gotten those dreadful clothes and what she was doing in San Francisco in the first place. Trust Dad to give her a gruff hug and then ask if she still had the Bentley file.
Meanwhile, where was Tyler?
“I said I was fine—I will explain everything later—but right now—”
“I understand, Lambie,” her mother said soothingly. “First you want to shower and change out of those awful clothes, and then have a nice meal. We’ve reserved suites at the Fairmont for tonight, and then we’ll pop you home safe and sound tomorrow.”
Her panic grew. If she didn’t stop this right now, they would all be steamrolling her just the same as always. “Mother, listen, I…”
But then she saw him, coming through the same door she had, led by a different cop. Her voice died. Behind her, her parents and her brothers continued to make plans and formulate strategy. She didn’t even hear them.
He strolled through the door and paused, gazing at her. Since she had his T-shirt, he was wearing his leather jacket zipped up over a bare chest. She smiled.
“Emily?” he murmured, with the hint of a question at the end of it.
She didn’t waste a minute. She threw herself headlong into his arms. And Tyler caught her and held her tight, just as she knew he would.
“Tyler,” she said breathlessly, “you asked for me! You told them I was your lawyer. That is so sweet. I can’t believe you did that.”
“And you asked for me.” He laughed and kissed her quick. “Good job, Em.”
“I love you,” she told him, kissing him back, pressing herself into the worn, familiar leather of his jacket.
“Emily!” her mother shouted. “What are you doing? Get away from that man immediately!”
“Who the hell is that?” demanded Rick, her oldest brother, while David and Rob, the next two in line, each took a step in her direction, bristling with indignation.
Emily slid out of Tyler’s embrace. “Mother, Father, boys, this is Tyler O’Toole. Tyler, this is my family.”
But instead of acknowledging the introduction, the Chaplins sort of growled at him. David and Rob took another step. One of them snarled, “Take your hands off my sister.”
This wasn’t going well, was it?
Tyler seemed to weigh their responses, glancing at her to see what she wanted him to do. “Maybe it would be better if I left you—”
“No,” she said firmly. She clasped his hand and turned to face the music. “No. They’re not staying.”
“That’s right,” the judge put in. “None of us is staying. We’re taking our daughter to a decent hotel where she can recuperate from this trauma you’ve put her through.”
“Mother, you need to be quiet.”
Emily Patience Chaplin was at the end of her rope. No more sweetest little Emily. No more “Lambie.” It was as if the lion she’d always had hiding inside her roared to the forefront—with a vengeance.
“Mom, Dad, boys—you’re all taking the next plane back to Chicago where you belong,” she announced with steely resolve. She had never spoken to them this sternly, and all six mouths dropped open in surprise. “You can see that I’m fine, that there was no need for you to fly out here or make fools of all of us with your missing persons report.”
“What?” Her mother faltered. “I can’t believe you’re saying these things.”
“Mom, listen. Everyone has to grow up sooner or later, even the youngest and only female Chaplin. I’m sorry you went to all this trouble, but it really wasn’t necessary. I’m fine.” As Tyler lifted their combined hands to his lips, brushing a kiss on the back of hers, she found her smile again. “And I’m going to stay that way.”
“I can’t believe this,” her father echoed.
“Em, are you sure?” said her youngest and nicest brother, Mike. “It is kind of hard to believe, that you ditched work and flew out here and hooked up with this guy. And the way you’re dressed…it’s very unlike you.”
“I don’t know why it’s so hard to believe.” Emily shook her perfect pageboy, making a mental note to get a more interesting haircut soon. “I’m every bit as headstrong and pushy and impossible as the rest of you. What you see before you is practically my birthright.”
“Oh.” The light finally dawned in her mother’s eyes. “You’re serious about this, aren’t you? And about him?”
“Yes. And his name is Tyler. You’d better get used to it.” Emily’s smile widened. “I haven’t told you the best part yet. As of Mon
day morning, Tyler and I are going to be working together in criminal defense.” He made a small choking noise next to her, but she went on. “I don’t know if any of you remember, but criminal law was always my favorite in law school.”
“Where does that leave Chaplin, Chaplin & Chaplin?” her father blustered.
“Sorry, Dad, but I’ve always hated tax law. But you know, you’ll be fine with the boys at the firm.” She shook her head. “It’s just not right for me.”
He grumbled something she couldn’t understand.
“Don’t worry,” she added, “the Bentley file and my resignation will both be on your desk Monday. And then—” she grinned “—Chaplin & O’Toole, for the defense. I can’t wait!”
“Emily, can I speak to you?” Tyler narrowed his eyes at her, pulling her aside. “You haven’t even asked me, and besides, who says you get top billing in the name of this mythical law firm?”
“Oh, Tyler, come on! It’s alphabetical. It just stands to reason—”
“Stands to reason? I think I deserve a say in this, don’t you? O’Toole & Chaplin. And maybe I’m sick of criminal law.”
“Well, then you can handle everything else and I’ll take the criminal cases.”
“And how are we supposed to financially support the launch of this new practice? Did you think about that?”
“Actually, I did. I had a lot of time in there in the interrogation room.” She shrugged. “It’s really very easy. Grandmother Burr’s trust fund was intended for something exactly like this.”
“Oh, no! Not your trust fund. To support me? I don’t think so. I can support myself, thank you very much.”
“I have to admit,” she heard her mother comment behind her, “they do seem perfect for each other. Nobody bickers like that unless they belong together.”
But her family faded into the background as Tyler led her out onto the street and hailed a taxi, arguing all the way.
“This isn’t over,” he told her, ushering her into the cab. “Not by a long shot. We have a lot of details to work out.”
Emily’s lips curved into a bright smile. “I know. I’m counting on it.”
In Bed with the Wild One & In Bed with the Pirate Page 14
