Nick Brannon nodded. "You sound happy with your work." Flicking back the sides of his gray pinstriped suit coat, he regarded her intently. "And is your social life just as satisfying, I wonder?"
"Well, I…"
"Or do you have one? Maybe you're one of those women who want to make a career your entire existence?"
"I'd never want to live just for a career," she stated honestly.
"Isn't life on a small campus like this fairly restrictive?"
"And isn't this conversation getting a little personal?" she shot back. She stared at him, wondering what in the world had brought on this inquisition. Then recognition dawned with sudden clarity and she smiled. "Of course, you're that Nick Brannon—the attorney. I knew the name sounded familiar, but I couldn't place it until you started grilling me."
Nick's deep rumble of answering laughter was directed at himself. "I guess I was grilling you, wasn't I? Sorry, but I was in court in Savannah all day and sometimes I bring my courtroom manner out with me. Occupational hazard."
"I can see that it would be," Laine said dryly.
He laughed.
"Now, I understand how you win most of your cases," she added. "I've read about some of them in the newspaper. I was convinced that doctor in Phoenix would be convicted of murdering his wife, although I had an instinctive feeling he wasn't guilty, despite the evidence. I was so relieved when you got him acquitted."
"So was he," Nick responded flatly. "And so was I. Defense attorneys who lose cases don't attract many new clients."
"I bet not," Laine agreed, animation brightening her delicate facial features. "Your work must be terribly exciting. It seems as if you always get involved in highly publicized trials."
A secretive smile lifted the corners of Nick's firmly carved mouth. "Publicity's what you make of it, and sometimes I go out of my way to encourage it to gain sympathy for my clients. Though it shouldn't, it can occasionally mean the difference between conviction and acquittal."
"Could you tell me about some of your cases that are closed now?" Laine asked, genuinely interested. "How have you managed to win almost all the ones I've read about during the past two or three years?"
Lifting one hand in protest, he shook his head. "Practicing law isn't what it seems to be on television. If you're imagining I'm some sort of Perry Mason, don't. I'm not. I don't win all my cases. I lose some too—too many to suit me—and some losses are more than just frustrating. They're tragic."
For the next twenty minutes or so, Nick told Laine about some of his defeats, lingering longest on his account about a young man wrongly convicted of armed robbery. Nick had no doubts about his innocence, but unfortunately circumstantial evidence had been damning; the man had been swiftly convicted in his first trial, then once again on appeal. Afterwards, Nick had been unable to get any higher court to hear the case, and there was nowhere to go from there. So the man was still in prison for a crime he didn't commit. Listening to Nick relate this story, watching him, Laine could easily see that though he might be capable of ruthlessness, he was also capable of caring. A muscle ticked in his tightened jaw when he spoke of the injustice done to his client. There was an unyielding edge to his impassioned tone, and the hard relentless expression on his sun-browned face suggested he would fight to the last breath to prevent such a travesty of justice from occurring again.
"Isn't there anything else you can do?" Laine asked softly when he finished speaking. "Surely there's something?"
A grim smile hardened his mouth. "Pertinent new evidence that we didn't have at the trial could win an appeal. But new evidence isn't easy to find. It doesn't just crop up conveniently."
"So your client just sits in prison for something he didn't do."
"That's what it amounts to, until he's eligible for parole."
"How's he taking it? I mean, he must be very bitter."
Some of the tension seemed to leave Nick. His taut features relaxed and some warmth returned to his eyes as they sought Lake's. "That's the only positive note to this entire case—he's not bitter, at least not very. He made himself accept the situation and he's trying to make the best of it. He's taking college courses through an inmate program and he swears he'll never be in trouble with the law again. He had a record of petty offenses before the armed robbery charge and that was one of the reasons he seemed likely to be guilty. That's what one of the jurors told me after the verdict."
Nibbling her lower lip, Laine nodded thoughtfully. "Well, at least he's thinking about his future. I guess a little something came out of the whole wretched mess."
"At this point, that's the only way to look at it. But…"
Laine nodded again when Nick left his statement unfinished. "You're right. Real attorneys don't have it as easy as the ones on TV."
"Not quite," he retorted wryly, then glanced at his wristwatch.
Prompted to look at her own, Laine was surprised to discover it was already a few minutes past six. During her conversation with Nick, time had passed more quickly than she had imagined, but now she realized her father was usually home earlier than this. A slight frown marked her smooth brow. "Father's a little late, but he should be here soon. Would you care for a drink while you wait?"
This time Nick didn't decline, and as she walked across the white area rug to the bar at the side of the room, she sensed he was watching her. She suddenly became far too aware of her own movements, and a strange sensation dragged at her stomach. Though she was not unaccustomed to being observed by men, this man was different. There was a disturbing intensity about him, as if ardent emotions were held in check just beneath the surface, and she shivered to think what might happen if those emotions were given free rein. Nick Brannon was definitely not a man to be taken lightly, and as she poured his Scotch and water, then her own white wine, she began to wonder why he had come to see her father.
A moment later, she asked him. When the lips of his long brown fingers grazed hers as she handed him his drink, she felt the oddest sense of danger and shied away. Taking a quick step back from him, she blurted out, "You never said why you're here to see my father." Then she added, in a light, almost flip, tone, "He doesn't need a criminal attorney, does he?" The thought of the upright, ever moral Thornton Winthrop running afoul of the law was almost laughable.
"Not that I'm aware of," Nick replied, his eyes hooded by thick brown lashes as he looked at her over the rim of the glass he held to his lips. "I'm here about the grant."
"Grant?"
"Yes, the million-dollar grant my uncle gives annually to Latham College. Of course, you know about that?"
"Sure, but… what about it?"
Nick held her puzzled gaze. "My uncle has suffered a series of small strokes. Perhaps you haven't heard. He's recovering now but isn't well enough to handle his own affairs. He's given me power of attorney to act for him."
Laine restlessly shifted her still sore feet. "And?"
"And I thought I'd come see how the money's been spent in the past."
"Your uncle's never thought it necessary to do that."
"My uncle's a brilliant businessman, but he's amazingly sentimental when it comes to his old alma mater," Nick explained calmly. "Recently, I convinced him it might not be wise to go on automatically giving the grant. He's never stipulated how past grants were to be spent, so I'm here to find out how they were. And I'll want to know specifically where the money will go if the grant's given this year."
"If?" Laine's voice was somewhat strained. Her heart thudded heavily with sudden dread as she sank down on her chair, nearly spilling wine from her glass in the process. Unable to look at Nick, she sipped her wine. "What exactly do you mean by 'if?" she said with a casualness she certainly did not feel. "Are you saying that Latham might not be awarded the grant this year?"
Nick didn't answer for so long that Laine was finally forced to look up at him. When she did, he was stroking his cheek with one finger, as if he were weighing his response. "Yes, I guess that's exactly what I'm saying,
" he said at last, watching her closely with no definable expression whatsoever on his lean rugged face. "There is a possibility Latham won't be awarded the grant this year."
Laine groaned inwardly, lowering her head so the thick fringe of her lashes hid the disappointment mirrored in her eyes. Her father would be positively livid when he heard about this turn of events. And he was already practically overcome with worry. Nick Brannon could be relentless; intuition made her certain of that fact. Once he made a decision he thought was right, he wouldn't change his mind. So if he decided Latham College didn't deserve the grant, the grant wouldn't be given.
CHAPTER TWO
Laine took a deep nerve-steadying breath. Her troubled blue eyes met the untroubled jade of his. "Maybe you don't understand what a million dollars means to a small college like Latham," she said at last. "What that amount of money can do… well, you just must not understand."
"That's why I'm here—to discover exactly what the money does mean to the college." Nick shrugged. "I don't think it's unreasonable for the contributor of a million dollars a year to want to know how the money's being spent, even if the grants are given with no strings attached. Do you think it's unreasonable?"
"Well, no," Laine conceded. Unconsciously, she ran her fingers through her golden hair, slightly tousling the silken strands that swept across her forehead. She began to twirl one tendril round and round one finger until she realized Nick was watching her closely. Her right hand dropped back down to the chair's armrest. "I can understand your uncle wanting to know what's being done with the grants. What I don't understand is that he's never seemed the least bit curious before. What's the difference this year?"
Nick shrugged again. "I told you it was my idea. Since I'm handling his affairs at the moment, I'm doing a thorough job of it. I'm always very thorough."
"I'm sure of it. Of course, Latham College is not exactly like one of your criminal cases," she said slowly, her words laced with a subtly cutting edge.
One corner of Nick's mouth lifted in a sardonic smile. "You're acting rather defensive about this, Laine."
"Perhaps it's because you act as if you suspect someone of something," she shot back indignantly, color heightening to a deep rose tint in her cheeks. "Why have you come to see my father? Why didn't you meet with the board of trustees? My father's not solely responsible for handling those grants you know. The board has a great deal to do with spending your uncle's money. Why single my father out? He loves Latham College, and he's an honest man. If you're insinuating that he misuses funds, you…"
"I'm not insinuating anything," Nick interrupted tersely. A hint of impatience flickered across his face as he glared at her. "If I thought the grants had been misused, I'd have come here with accountants to go over the books. Your defense of your father is admirable but totally unnecessary, unless you know something I don't know yet. Do you?"
"Of course not," Laine answered crisply, striving to maintain that disturbing eye contact with him. "But why begin your inquiry with my father? Surely the board…"
"I shy away from trustee boards whenever possible; three fourths of the members must attend meetings in their sleep. They seem to know very little about practicalities. But men in your father's position do more than make broad sweeping decisions. They have to keep up with the details. I'm here to see your father simply because he probably knows more about Latham College than anyone else."
"That's true. But it's the board that makes the final decisions."
"The board be damned," was Nick's succinct reply, dismissing the entire governing body of the college with a careless flick of one large tan hand. "Does that express my lack of confidence in them clearly enough for you?"
"You've made yourself quite clear," Laine replied, the sudden smile that danced on her generously curved lips becoming soft laughter. "You know, you sounded just like my father when you said 'The board be damned.' I don't think a week goes by that he doesn't make that same assessment."
"Then we'll have something in common when we meet," Nick said dryly before taking another sip of his drink. "My visit here might turn out to be less of an ordeal than you seem to think it's going to be."
Laine's smile wavered slightly, became more apologetic than amused. She felt something of a fool for misconstruing his motive for coming here. Yet there was something about his manner that had put her on the defensive. "You did act as if you had some sort of suspicions about something," she said after a moment. "Anyway, that's the impression I got."
"The price I pay for being a lawyer," he drawled, his smile etching attractive indentations into his cheeks beside his mouth. "We attorneys are a suspicious lot, by nature. Maybe it's all the wild stories we've had to listen to. We soon learn it's usually wise to have some initial doubts."
"You needn't doubt my father's honesty. He's an honorable man."
"I'm sure he is."
"You don't sound sure," Laine protested softly, wide eyes searching his face. "You still sound as if you're suspicious."
Nick leaned forward toward her. "Laine, look, I can't be sure what kind of man your father is until I've met him, can I? I'm not assuming the worst of him, I assure you, but I'll reserve judgment until I've met him. Then I'll decide for myself what kind of man I think he is."
Laine sniffed. "You certainly don't give people the benefit of the doubt, do you?"
"And are you such a trusting little soul, Laine?" he asked, his voice a husky whisper, his smile teasingly suggestive. His narrowed gaze roved over her with lingering slowness as he thoughtfully stroked the clear line of his jaw with one forefinger. "Hmm. I'll be sure to remember that. You're an extremely attractive young woman. If you're all that trusting, I just might extend my visit here."
"Oh, I'll readily admit to being trusting of mankind in general. It's men in particular I'm wary of, Mr. Brannon," she retorted with a pert grin.
Nick answered her barb with a burst of laughter, a deep, utterly masculine sound that made her feel unaccountably warm inside. He looked boldly into her eyes, his own eyes sparkling with amusement… and something more; some indefinable challenge that both excited her and awakened an instinctive warning to proceed cautiously with this man.
She felt a vague disappointment when she heard her father coming into the house. Nick Brannon was an intriguing man, and she would have preferred to have him to herself for a little while longer. But maybe it was best that their moment of intimacy was cut short. He might well prove hard to handle. He was far too attractive, she thought, and though she had the last word this time around, she'd be fooling herself to believe she could ever win the war of words with him. He undoubtedly deserved his reputation for being exceptionally adept at confusing a witness. In the short space of one hour, he had caused her to leap to her father's defense though he needed no defense. Now he practically had her blushing like an adolescent, and her usual cool composure seemed to be developing a few disturbing cracks. If any other man had tried flirting with her so outrageously, she would have simply dismissed him with a good-natured laugh or a comment designed to put him in his place. But Nick Brannon couldn't be so easily dismissed. Even as Laine's father walked into the living room, Nick was still watching her, giving her that teasing, gently taunting, smile.
Striving to ignore its intimations, she responded with a blithe smile of her own, then transferred it to her father. When he showed no inclination to return it, she realized that Nick's nearness to her as he leaned forward might be giving Thornton the impression that he was interrupting a tête-à-tête. She hastily introduced the two men.
To his credit, Thornton showed no discernible reaction when Nick promptly explained his visit to the Latham campus. Instead, Laine's father greeted the younger man cordially, without the undue obsequious effervescence that would have proved he was ill at ease. Waving Nick back into his seat after they shook hands, he proceeded to the bar to pour himself a drink, all the while keeping up polite small talk. A tall dignified man with a thick silvery mane of hair, Thornton W
inthrop was at fifty-eight an extremely handsome man. Many of the women members of the faculty and staff would have been overjoyed to have received an interested glance from him, but to Laine's knowledge he had never looked seriously at another woman since her mother's death. Because of that, Laine sometimes felt almost sorry for him, but as she watched him at the bar, acting for all the world as though a million-dollar grant was of little significance, he seemed too impressive to ever warrant pity. There was no denying he was handling Nick Brannon's surprise visit much better than she had. But then, he had years of experience with benefactors whereas she was only a novice. For the next few minutes, while Thornton stood casually beside the concert grand piano that had been his wife's and inquired about the health of Nick's uncle, Laine merely listened; then she quietly excused herself. As she moved to return her wine glass to the bar, her father flicked a cursory glance in her direction.
"You seem to have a palm print on your skirt, Laine," he announced, his cool tone clearly stating that he didn't appreciate untidiness when they had such an important guest. She didn't believe he ever deliberately meant to wound her with his criticisms, but he could be terribly insensitive at times.
"That's what happens when you wear a white linen suit into a kindergarten class, Father," she answered flatly, not the least bit intimidated by his disapproval. After all, he was the one who had insisted she go to work overdressed today, and she was satisfied her answer had reminded him of that fact. Switching her attention from him to Nick, she smiled carelessly and uselessly brushed one hand across the smudged fabric of her skirt. "Oatmeal cookie," she explained, then added, "I'm sure you'll forgive my appearance, won't you, Nick? I didn't have time to change before you came."
"Okay, if you promise to never let it happen again," he quipped, making nonsense of the entire overblown matter.
Laine wrinkled her nose at him and joined him in muted amused laughter. When she walked past her father on her way to the bar, she noticed with some unbidden sense of satisfaction that he didn't particularly seem to approve of her exchange of lighthearted banter with Nick.
Passion's Price Page 2
