One eyebrow shot up her forehead almost to her scalp. “A client? We aren’t open yet.”
At her curious stare, I realized Rory might not be nearly as eager about the case as I’d been. My excitement died, and my lips twisted toward my left ear. “Yeah, just a guy, um, he, uh”--oh crap--“came over while I was unpacking.” I walked to the box on the highest pile and flipped open the lid.
In one smooth move, she stepped into her husband’s arms. “I’ll see you at home, hon.” After an almost pornographic display of making out, he gave me a little wave and walked out the door.
“Grace.”
I lifted my head out of the box I’d all but crawled into and quickly looked back down.
“What guy came in here looking for a lawyer?” The deadly calm of her voice said she had a guess, and her slightly opened mouth and flared nostrils said she didn’t like it.
“He actually came looking for you, but you’d gone to the store…for whatever it is you went to the store for.”
After what Rory had been through--ex-husband killing her son, former law firm selling her out on another case, almost being disbarred--maybe I should have known she would be angry if I took this case. But in our massive number of calls over the last weeks, she’d assured me she’d taken steps to deal with her residual depression, paranoia, and overall feelings of guilt.
She cocked her hip and leaned against the desk.
I twisted my hands in front of me, smoothed my skirt, then picked an imaginary piece of lint from the front. The words squeaked out as though something gripped the bass in my vocal chords. “Nathan Quinn.”
Her eyes flashed and her cheeks turned a fiery shade of red. “Nathan Quinn?” Oh, hell. The ice in her tone chilled every bone in my body and I shivered.
“Yes.” My voice lacked any sort of conviction, more squeaked from between my lips. “Nathan Quinn.” I closed the box and walked around it, arms outstretched in surrender. “Rory, listen.” I could do this without her, defend this client, and she could take her own cases.
Her blue eyes flashed fire. “No, you listen.” She actually stamped her foot against the floor. “Do you have any idea what I went through? What these kinds of cases do to me?” All five-feet-two-inches of her blazed with rage bubbling below her surface, turning her skin a fiery shade of red. “You took the case of a baby killer?”
“What if she didn’t do it?”
“What if she did? Do you know anything about it? Do you have any idea what happened to that little girl in that house?” Her voice reached a shrill that would have had a dog barking if one stood anywhere within earshot. “Someone killed her. Stabbed her over and over again. They didn’t go after anyone else in the house. Whoever did this picked the most defenseless person they could. Random intruders don’t do that, and they don’t do it with that kind of rage. Fifty something stab wounds. Someone in that house did it.” She stared at me, though the glassiness in her eyes said she saw more than my skirt and cardigan. “She was three, Grace. Three.”
Fifty? Okay. I didn’t have all the facts yet, and I didn’t care much for learning them this way. “Rory, he came in and said his wife needed a lawyer.” I shrugged. “I’m a lawyer. You were gone, so I went.”
“Is that how you work? You snatch up any case off the street? Maybe we can dig up a few methheads and dealers you can put back out there so they can continue poisoning kids.” She shook her head. “This isn’t the law I want to practice anymore, Grace.”
My own anger forged a path from my stomach heading north. “Then you should have told me that before you asked me to come here, because I’m not going to sit in an office all day and write wills and lease agreements. I want to practice law that matters. I didn’t spend thousands of hours studying and working my ass off to sit behind a desk when I should be in a courtroom. I couldn’t care less if old Billy Ray gets Granddad Bobby Joe’s farmland.” I spit the last words in the worst southern accent I could muster. “I came here to work, and if you don’t want to do that, then I’ll stop unpacking and head back to Illinois. Just say the damn word.”
She turned, silent except for the stomp of her heels, and slammed her way out the front door.
Chapter 3
The thing with Rory… She’d always walked out on arguments, and though she had some sort of super genius brainpower, I never understood how she planned to be an attorney if she left all her verbal wars hanging in midair. We lived for verbal wars.
Instead of dwelling on it, I put my head down and unpacked, ignoring the rumbling in my stomach. I couldn’t decide if the intense and almost painful growling in there stemmed from hunger or the fact that I was unpacking books that would require repacking if Rory and I couldn’t work this out. I folded the last box, set it on the pile with the others, then strolled to the window.
Rory had decorated our offices in my absence and pulled out all the stops putting together a bunch of thrift store finds into a space that proved form and function could be cohesive and attractive. The black and white color scheme flowed from the reception area into our shared office. In the reception area, black and white guest chairs provided seating for the clients we would one day have, and a crystal chandelier gave off starbursts of light. Black lacquered desks with white wingback chairs provided the focal point in our offices. She’d put some time in painting and selecting the perfect photos for the walls. Still, it felt more like the waiting room in a dress shop than a lawyer’s office.
I made my way around a settee between the bookshelves as my stomach, once again, roared. “All right already. I’ll find a store.”
Our office, convenient in its main street location, sat across from the police station, and in an inspired bit of humor by the town's planning commission, a donut shop. Down the street, lights glowed in the windows of the businesses that hadn’t closed up shop for the night. From my spot, I could see a dress and hat shop, an antique store, a beauty shop, pharmacy, and bookstore. Hunting for a grocery store gave me the perfect opportunity to roam around and see what the town was all about.
I picked up the key taped to the inner side of the front door with the note “Our new home” attached and locked the office behind me before stepping onto the sidewalk. Park benches with quaint flowerpots on each end ate the space between gaslight lamps lining the bricked sidewalk. The streets, instead of concrete paving, wove an uneven path of cobblestones that turned around a curve toward my new apartment.
Leaving my car where it sat, I walked three store spaces--an old-fashioned ice cream soda shop, a craft store, and a photographer’s studio--to the market.
A bell jingled over my head as I stepped back in time twenty or thirty years. Definitely not of the super-store, big box variety with bright fluorescent lights and large rolling baskets, this one was comprised of short, glass front freezers and skinny aisles. Refrigerators stretched down one wall, and boxed and canned goods lined shelves through the center.
Not blessed with any sort of culinary gifts, I passed the fresh meat section, veering instead to the frozen pizza cooler. I snatched up a small pepperoni and sausage, said a silent prayer of gratitude for the creator of such wares, then roamed until I had two arms full of food. Hunger shopping.
A metal can of coffee escaped from my tilted pyramid of future hours in the gym and rolled down the aisle in front of me. I secured my purchases with one hand, then reached out in front of me with the other, wishing I possessed the magical power to stop the can’s forward motion with the will of my mind. Since I had no such skill, I chased the rolling Folgers until it came to a stop under the raised toe of a masculine and well-worn boot.
My gaze started at the boot, then ventured up a long leg, across a flat stomach and wide chest to the prettiest brown--no, chocolate colored--eyes I’d ever seen. I straightened up in a motion designed by the Cosmopolitan flirts of the world to be seductive, sexy even, but instead sent the rest of my groceries into a slow-motion cascade down my body. My arms flailed in a Funniest
Home Videos attempt to save any item I could snatch from impending doom, but I ended up grabbing nothing more than air.
Heat raced along my nerve endings, probably singeing my hair as I death dropped to my knees to scoop up my purchases. He stooped next to me and gathered a bag of cookies and the package of condoms I’d picked up on a whim.
“Ribbed for my pleasure.” My voice squeaked and my eyes closed as I tucked the small box tight against my chest. Ribbed? For my pleasure? Oh, Lord.
“I like a girl who plans ahead.” He chuckled and took my elbow as we straightened. “You must be Grace.”
I cocked my head to one side, then nodded. Of course. Small town. Big gossip.
“I’ve known Rory for years, and you’re the only thing she has talked about all week.”
Oh, the accent. Every sound curved as it fell from his lips. Perfect, kissable lips.
Brushing a city girl case of weird stalker fear aside, I stretched my fingers out from beneath my groceries, and the pile wobbled a little to the left before coming to rest neatly against my chest. Warmth traveled its way up my arm as his hand clasped mine. He held on a few seconds longer than necessary, ending with a little squeeze at the end of the simple touch. “And…and you’re…?”
“Blane Chandler.” In a motion so smooth I hardly realized it happened, he relieved me of my groceries, set them atop a line of boxed instant potatoes in a perfectly stable tower of junk food, then laced his fingers through mine. “Come with me.”
“No.” I wrenched free and reached for my stuff, unimpressed by the caveman act.
With the gentle touch of his hand on my arm, electricity tingled along my skin. “Come on. Take a chance. It’s just dinner.”
I must have made some sign of assent, because he tugged my hand, pulling me down the aisle and out the door behind him. If he’d picked me up and carried me, I wouldn’t have been more helpless than I was at that moment. He tugged me across the street and up onto the curb before I dug my heels in and yanked away. What the hell was I doing? I’d let some random, and, okay, hot, stranger drag me behind him without once thinking he could be hauling me off to meet my death, and I hadn’t even had a drink yet.
“Stop.” I yanked my fingers out of his grasp and back to my side, squinting up at him. His raw beauty brought a flush of heat to my cheeks, and I reached down. “I have pepper spray in my purse.” With shaking fingers, I patted the bag on my shoulder.
He shook his head and chuckled. “City girls.” He waved a hand in a wide arc at the building in front of us. “I don’t know how y’all season your food up there in Illinois, but here in Texas, we have shakers.”
A diner? With the smells of home cooking wafting out the door? I took a deep breath and held it, savoring the aromas of cooked meats. “You brought me to a restaurant?”
He nodded. “Yeah.”
“Wow.” My mouth watered at the thought of a decent meal, and my neglected stomach started a happy dance in tune to the growling inside.
“I think the special today is open faced roast beef and potatoes.” He held out his hand again. “Come on. I’ll buy you dinner.”
I looked him up and down. Six feet of tall, semi-dark, and drool-worthy handsome and the offer of roast beef--had I stepped out of the office into heaven?
“Okay.” I slipped my palm against his and followed him inside. The box of ignored condoms at the market pushed all other thoughts right out of my head.
My heart hammered as he led me to a booth in the front corner of the building. I’d no more than slid in across from him when his carbon copy stepped up to the table. My mouth dropped open. The gene pool had opened up and provided the world two yummy specimens of perfection, and I, lucky traveler, sat gaping between them. “Two wins?”
“Hi.” The standing twin barely glanced at me. Instead, he turned a wary pair of eyes on his brother. “Did you bring back bread?” His accent, an English lilt, delighted my ears as much as the drawl I’d all but swooned over moments earlier.
Blane looked down at the table, then back up with a grin that robbed me of the ability to breathe. “Oh, come on, Jamie. I brought a customer.”
Jamie spun on his heel and stalked back to the counter, muttering as he went. “Bloody well forget it. I knew I should have sent Mum.”
Blane shook his head and raised his eyebrows as his gaze searched my face. “I was distracted.”
“All you have are excuses. You’re not getting any food until I have bread. You can starve.”
A woman, whose shade of blond matched my Miss Clairol number 001, and whose eyes mirrored those of the man opposite me, glided to the table and ran an adoring hand through Blane’s hair. “Oh, my little lover boy.” She pinched his cheek between her thumb and forefinger. “We can’t have roast beef without bread.”
“Sorry, Mom.”
“You have to watch this one. He’s a charmer.” She shot me a wink over his head.
I’d never smiled this much in my life. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Charm is but one weapon in my arsenal.”
Undoubtedly. He had the bad boy grin, the looks, the body--oh, the body--to woo women worldwide. “Maybe, if you play your cards right, we’ll find out.”
He nodded. “Maybe.”
His mother frowned and tousled his hair. “Well, charmer, are you going to introduce me to your friend?”
“Mom, this is Grace Wade.”
She clutched her chest. “Oh, it’s such a pleasure. Rory has been singing your praises all over this town since you decided to move here. And she spent hours and hours shopping to get the perfect furniture for your office.”
“She is quite the decorator.” I couldn’t help but agree. The place looked amazing.
“Maybe you could give me the tour.” Blane’s gaze caressed my face as he dropped his voice low enough I doubted his mother heard.
A warm feeling in the tiny space below my belly said he wanted more than a tour of the office. I twisted my hands together in my lap, a move normally accompanied by a mu-wah-ha-ha kind of laugh. “Anytime.”
“I guess you’re anxious to get to work?” His mother had a tinkling quality to her tone that brought an image of a bell to mind.
Blane raised an eyebrow. “I heard you had a busy afternoon.”
“I did. My first client.” Small town America. Some things never changed, no matter how far away from home I traveled. “The Quinns.”
He tilted his head to one side, his eyes half lidded. “You’re taking that case?”
Maybe because of Rory’s reaction, or maybe because of the crime Quinn’s wife was accused of, my stomach clenched and my voice escaped in a bare whisper. “Yes.”
He nodded, but a new chill in the air sent a shiver across my arms. I rubbed my hands up and down the prickled skin. “And I can’t talk you out of it?”
“Probably not.” I lifted my chin a fraction higher and met his gaze.
“She’s guilty, you know.” His tone, and the sudden hostility dripping from it, rippled across my skin.
Blane’s mother toyed with a cross hanging from a delicate silver chain as frown lines etched her forehead. “She killed her baby.”
Oh, boy.
“Do you all have some inside information I don’t know about? A hidden video, or maybe a witness hiding in the closet that’s going to pop up in the eleventh hour?” I had virtually no details of the case, but I had a gut feeling about the broken woman I’d spoken to. More than my skills, and more than my education or knowledge of the law, I trusted my instincts.
Blane’s mother turned without another word and the bell above the door jingled as she left. To calm my fury, I followed her with my gaze as she stalked past the window.
“Grace, what if she did it? Can you live with it if she goes free?”
“I’ve never had a problem sleeping at night before, and I can’t see this case bringing on a rush of insomnia either.” My peaceful sleep had nothing to do
with the three or so glasses of wine I drank before bed. Probably.
The weight of a dozen angry gazes settled on me. People in booths who’d barely taken interest in my arrival now glared at me. I couldn’t get a good read on Blane or his brother since neither would look at me.
Blowing out a breath, I lifted my head and drummed my fingers on the table. “If she did it, I have faith the system will handle it.”
“And you won’t interfere with that?”
What kind of question was that? Of course, I would. My job demanded I interfere using every resource in my arsenal. “You mean, will I hold back if I believe she’s guilty?”
Without a word, he lifted his gaze to mine.
“That’s not how the system works. I’m honor-bound to do my job completely or the whole idea of jurisprudence means nothing.” I could have gone on forever about my beliefs in a system that had never let me down, but he dropped his mouth open as though my words offended him.
“Even if you know for a fact she did it? You’ll stand up there and ask the jury to find her innocent of murdering a three-year-old?” He flopped back against the booth, crossed his arms, and shook his head.
“I’ll never know for a fact she did it. I wasn’t there and neither were any of you.” I glanced from Blane to his brother, then around the room. Had it suddenly shrunk? All of these random diner customers seemed to be much closer than when we walked in. Damn. “Blane, thank you for offering to buy me dinner, but I think I’m going to take my chances with a frozen pizza and a bottle of cheap grocery store wine.” At least in the safety of my apartment, I wouldn’t be scowled to death.
“Grace.”
I held up a hand. “No. It’s okay. I’ve been in this spot before.” Not that I’d enjoyed it. I slid out of the booth and stood, then stepped past his brother who’d come to stand at the edge of the table between us. His mouth gaped open as I leaned down. “See you around, Tex.”
Falling Grace Page 2
