Wranglers: Discovery

by Vivien Dean

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  WRANGLERS: DISCOVERY

  by

  VIVIEN DEAN

  Amber Quill Press, LLC

  http://www.amberquill.com

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  Wranglers: Discovery

  An Amber Quill Press Book

  This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author's imagination, or have been used fictitiously.

  Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

  Amber Quill Press, LLC

  http://www.AmberQuill.com

  http://www.AmberHeat.com

  http://www.AmberAllure.com

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  All rights reserved.

  No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

  Copyright © 2009 by Vivien Dean

  ISBN 978-1-60272-549-2

  Cover Art © 2009 Trace Edward Zaber

  Layout and Formatting

  Provided by: Elemental Alchemy

  Published in the United States of America

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  Also by Vivien Dean

  Blood Of Souls

  Born To Be Wild

  Bridge Over Troubled Water

  Crave

  Interlude

  Ruby Red Rebels

  Still, Life

  What We May Be

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  Chapter 1

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  Derek Rossi swung his arm as hard as he could, savoring the burn that shot through his biceps and up into his shoulder. Small beads of perspiration had already popped out on his brow, just enough to dampen the closely cut hair at his nape. He was very glad he'd taken off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves first. Sometimes he didn't, like when the urge was just an itch and all he wanted to do was spar for a little bit. Today, he wanted--needed--to pummel something, and he smiled in gleeful appreciation when another hard punch spurted fresh blood from his opponent's nose.

  "Not such hot stuff now, are you, you little shit?" he muttered as he dodged an easy jab. "Let's see what they all say about that pretty little face when I'm through with it."

  His palms were sweaty, forcing him to readjust his grip. When he threw his next punch, his swing went wide, evoking a mocking smile from the other boxer. He swore under his breath. An uppercut forced him to dance to the side and twist to block it, but it only fueled his anger, and he came back with a flurry of blows that made every muscle on his right side scream in protest.

  Someone knocked lightly at the door.

  The sound jerked his attention for a split second, giving his opponent the time to land a damning blow. As the crowd cheered, Derek threw the controller onto the glass coffee table and marched over to turn off the Wii.

  "Come in!" he barked.

  When the door swung inward, his secretary Nadia stood in the entrance, her hand still gripping the knob. She drank in his slightly disheveled state, her piercing gaze jumping from the abandoned controller, to the open TV cabinet, back to a quick assessment of his clothes. He knew he didn't look his best. He didn't care. His day was over, and she was damn lucky he hadn't stripped down and run buck naked through the firm's hallways. The way his life was going, it was a hell of an alternative to facing the partners the next day.

  "Feel better?" she asked.

  "No, not really." He probably couldn't have answered in the affirmative even if the boxing game would let him customize his opponent into whoever he wanted. "What do you want?"

  "There's someone here to see you."

  "I'm not here. I told you that when I got back from court."

  "Well, your car is still parked downstairs, so he knows you're in the building."

  He grimaced. He knew he shouldn't have driven the Ferrari today, but it was his lucky charm when it came to judgments. Or had been, anyway. "So? Tell him I'm in a meeting, or on the phone, or any of the other dozen excuses you use to get people off my back. Jesus, Nadia, what the hell do I pay you for if you don't cover my ass when I need it?"

  But not even his savage mood was enough to put some flap into her normal unflappable countenance. "You're not the one who actually pays me, Derek."

  "I'm the one who can put you back in the steno pool."

  "So I can tell everyone you Wii box when you lose a case?"

  Frankly, considering the other secrets she could spill if he ever pissed her off, having her blab about the Wii was getting off easy.

  With a heavy sigh, Derek turned off the TV and closed the cabinet door. "Fine. Who has decided to ruin the rest of my day by interrupting a perfectly good boxing match?"

  His back was to her when she replied.

  "Sam Kimball."

  His head whipped around at mention of the man's name, but the look on Nadia's face said she wasn't lying. He could practically hear the man's slow Texas drawl introducing himself to the judge, and every opportunity he could find to bring it up after that. Like it was some magical mantra that would bring international peace or solve world hunger, just by uttering it. All Derek knew was every time he heard it now, he felt like punching something.

  He glanced longingly at the controller lying abandoned on the table. Son of a bitch.

  "I know you'd rather not see him," Nadia was saying. "But he really doesn't like taking no for an answer."

  "Tell me about it." He strode over to the mirror on the wall and groaned. He even looked like a loser. Though his dark hair rested flat in back, the carefully placed spikes in front were in wild disarray, from sweating, from pulling at them after the jury had failed him, from not giving a shit after he'd slammed his office door and yanked off his jacket and tie. His cheeks were flushed, and his brown eyes glittered like he was high.

  That wasn't all. His shirt was less than crisp, the collar slightly limp from his exertions, though at least he didn't have pit stains. Derek grabbed his coat and slipped it on. That helped a little bit. Wiping his face down with his handkerchief helped even more. He couldn't do much about the hair without five minutes in the bathroom with a comb and his gel, but this would have to do.

  "Aw, is all this primping just for me? I'm touched you care, Rossi."

  The amused baritone tightened everything in Derek's body, from the back of his neck, all the way to the arches of his feet. Slowly, he stepped away from the mirror, as if he'd been finishing up anyway, and turned to face his unwelcome guest.

  Sam Kimball was not a tall man. Without the lifts Derek was certain he put in those overpriced Italian shoes, he was only five-six, maybe five-seven if someone stuck an umbrella up his ass and opened it up. Derek had taken it as an advantage when they'd met the first time over the conference table. He had seven solid inches on the other lawyer. Since juries usually considered shorter men unreliable and shifty, Derek had thought it was in the bag.

  Now, he was just glad he could fold his arms over his chest, pull himself up to his full height, and look down on Sam. It was something. Not much, but he'd take what he could at this point.

  It didn't help that Sam had a face that got a lot of attention. He wasn't handsome, or at least, not what Derek thought of as handsome. He was what he would've labeled a pretty boy back in high school. Deep dimples, eyes so blue he'd thought they were contacts until the one time he'd gotten the opportunity to lean across the table separating them at one of the preliminary meetings to get an up close and personal look that proved otherwise. Always smiling. Always. One of those good ol' boy smiles that made complete strangers smile back. Even Derek had forgo
tten who Sam was once or twice and fallen prey to the same response.

  He wouldn't now. Though Sam currently wore a smile that would light up a room.

  "I don't care." Derek's voice was tight. "I'm getting ready for a date."

  Sam sauntered in. "Must not be a good one if you didn't even go home to change."

  He refused to rise to the bait. "Is there some reason you've decided to continue tormenting me? Because according to my calculations, you already got your pound of flesh."

  Sinking into the corner of the leather couch, Sam pulled a face. "Now that hurts. Here I thought we could be friends after all was said and done."

  "Which just goes to show you're delusional as well as slippery." He had the urge to sit down, too. Sam looked all too comfortable where he was, one leg bent with the ankle resting on the opposite knee, his arm stretched across the back. Derek felt a tad ridiculous posturing the way he was, which he was sure was Sam's point for the disparity in their placements. Fuck that. He decided to stay standing. "You still haven't told me what you want."

  "But I did. The case is over, we're not on different sides of the table anymore. I stopped by to take you out for a drink."

  Derek stared at him blankly. Any second now, he expected pigs to start flying in over the bay. Or maybe Santa Claus would perch on top of the Golden Gate and announce he was going into partnership with Bigfoot. Anything but Sam Kimball holding out an olive branch.

  Impossible. Whether Derek looked at it from the top, bottom, or upside down.

  His eyes narrowed in sudden understanding. The olives had to be poisoned. Sam wasn't offering peace. He was offering rancid oil.

  Which begged the question...why?

  "I don't think so."

  "Because you have a date."

  "Exactly."

  "So we just make it one drink. Around the corner. Plenty of time for you to still make it." Sam frowned. "Where did you say you were going again?"

  "I didn't."

  "I thought you did."

  "No, I'd remember telling you something like that." Because that would be another lie he'd concocted to get Sam out of his office.

  "Still, one drink isn't going to hurt anything," Sam continued, as if Derek hadn't already turned him down flat. "Your date might even thank me for loosening you up a little."

  The response, "I'm plenty loose already," came out before he could stop it.

  Sam's brows shot up.

  "Then prove it. One drink. Your choice. Hell, I'll even let you order water if you want. Though you might want to anyway. I'd drink you under the table otherwise."

  Derek snorted. "A runt like you? Please. One shot and you'd be flat on your back."

  "Well, I can't deny that hasn't happened before." He winked. "Just not the way you seem to think."

  That tightness was back. Everywhere, including body parts that should know better. Derek felt like he'd snap in two if he dared to take a step. His knees wouldn't bend the right way.

  "Going out for a drink makes no sense," he said as a last ditch attempt. "We don't even like each other."

  "Well, I can't speak for you, but I like you just fine. I like you even more now that I've beat you."

  The last thing he needed was another reminder. "Exactly. Which is why I'm not going. You're just looking for a chance to rub my nose in it all night."

  Sam's smile grew thoughtful. "What if I promised not to mention it? Not a peep." He popped up three fingers in a familiar salute. "It's been more than a few years since I was a Scout, but my mama'd turn over in her grave if I ever went back on a promise."

  Derek strongly suspected Sam Kimball's so-called mama was alive and giving hell to the women in her book club somewhere in upper crust Houston, but he managed to hold his tongue this time. This was how he'd ended up losing the case. Kimball turned the baby blues on him, and even Derek started believing what he was shoveling.

  "Give me one good reason why I should even consider it," he said.

  The amusement vanished. Sam didn't hesitate. "Because you're the best lawyer I've ever seen. I heard your closing and I was convinced I was a goner."

  It was the first sign of weakness Sam had ever shown. Derek didn't think it was even possible for him to admit to such a thing. Surely his head would burst into flames any minute, or his tongue would fall out, anything to evidence whatever god Sam worshipped striking him down for speaking such heresy.

  "You had that forewoman wrapped around your finger the second you did the cross on my first expert," Derek begrudgingly admitted. "There was no way she was ever going to let those other jurors vote against you."

  Sam shrugged, dismissing the compliment with an unexpected insouciance. "Just had to do what I could to keep up. You got your reputation for a reason, Rossi. I wasn't about to ignore that."

  He did have a reputation. An excellent one. It was the primary reason the construction firm had hired him to try and get around the environmental regulations holding up their new developments. Personally, Derek had thought they were assholes for wanting to buck the system, but before he'd been able to talk them out of dropping the suit, Sam Kimball had swaggered into his firm, bragging how he was going to make an example of Derek's client.

  He spent the next two months convincing himself everyone deserved representation in this country, regardless of his personal feelings on the subject matter. And a win would prove to everyone what an amazing lawyer Derek was, as well as knock Sam from the pedestal he'd placed himself upon.

  Talk about a plan going straight to hell.

  He stared Sam down. "One drink?"

  "One drink."

  "And no shop talk."

  "Scouts' honor."

  "When we're done, you go your way, I go mine, and you never darken my doorstep again."

  For a second, something dark flashed behind Sam's eyes. Not even a second, a millisecond, so fast nobody would have ever caught it because Sam was Just That Good. Except Derek caught it, because he'd made it his mission to be able to read everything this man could throw at him for the past two months.

  Just as quickly as it was there, it was gone, and Sam was his usual, jovial, let me punch him in the face self.

  "You've got a date, remember? And I'm not much good at being a third wheel."

  "Yeah, somehow, you having a problem with not being the center of attention doesn't surprise me." Derek went around behind his desk to grab his keys. When he ducked out to go to his pretend date, he'd head back to the office and pack up properly. It was time to bury himself in a case he actually believed in, something that would make him feel good for a change. Plus, he had to prepare for the partners' disappointment when he gave his summation the next day. That wasn't going to be fun, but at least his record spoke for itself.

  Sam stood as well. Out of the corner of his eye, Derek saw him bending over, but didn't register what he was doing until the Wii controller landed on his desk blotter.

  "I think we can walk, don't you?" Sam said, strolling toward the open door. "I could use a little exercise after being on my ass all day."

  No other mention of what he'd discovered. No reference to the rising heat in Derek's face. They both knew he was more than aware of at least part of Derek's lies.

  Derek fixed his shirtsleeves as he followed. A single shot counted as a drink, right? In and out.

  The sooner he got this over with, the happier he was going to be.

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  Chapter 2

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  The bar Sam chose surprised him.

  Derek had been in Satori more than once, usually when he was trying to impress or calm down a client. Low, classical music hummed through the wide open space, and while there was a long, curving bar for individual patrons, most people chose to sit at one of the booths that lined the walls. The high-backed, black leather compartments promoted privacy, which made them excellent for confidential conversations. The alcohol they served was always top-notch, and the waitstaff knew exactly when to push and when to withdraw. Sato
ri was subtle and serene, the last two adjectives in the English language he would ever use to describe Sam Kimball.

  Derek watched him warily as they went up to the bar.

  "Anchor Steam," Sam said to the tiny blonde behind the counter. He scanned the room and nodded toward an empty booth toward the rear. "We'll be back there."

  Derek frowned. "What's wrong with the bar?"

  "Booths are more comfortable." And that would be the end of that. "Go ahead and order. Deanna will bring our drinks back."

  So Sam knew the bartender's name, too. This wasn't his first time here. Trying to hide his surprise, Derek scanned over the bottles in the whiskey section until he spotted what was likely to be the most expensive one on the list.

  "The twenty-five year-old Glenlivet."

  Any hope that his order would fluster Sam were lost when the man didn't even blink. "Good choice." He passed over his credit card to Deanna. "Let's go sit down."

  Both booths on either side of the one Sam chose were empty, isolating them even further when they slid into it. When Derek glanced at his watch, Sam chuckled.

  "We just got here. Relax a little."

  "I am relaxed."

  "No, you're not. I'm not sure I've ever seen you relaxed."

  That was probably true. Deliberately, Derek stretched his legs a little bit. "So you must come around here pretty often to know the bartenders by name."

  "Often enough. There are a lot of offices in the neighborhood. I like to have a favorite spot picked out for impromptu meetings."

  He mirrored Derek's pose until their legs brushed against each other. Derek's instincts wanted him to jerk his back and put more distance between them, but common sense reminded him Sam would take that kind of reaction and run with it. He remained still, though it felt like Sam's temperature must run high for as much as Derek felt it.