Lust on the Rocks

by Dianne Venetta

  Sam smiled, warm and personal. “I appreciate it, Your Honor. And I promise, you won’t hear another word from him today.”

  “Let’s hope not.” The judge sat back, spitting out a round of nasty condescension, “Or he will find himself a guest of the state hotel.”

  With that, the group of attorneys returned to their respective tables while murmurs fluttered back to life in the room behind them.

  “Sam—”

  “Your Honor,” she started, plowing right over Vic’s quiet plea. “If it pleases the court, I have no further questions for this witness.”

  “Sam,” Vic whispered harshly. “You can’t let her walk!”

  But she ignored him.

  Judge Chavez spoke to the witness. “You may be excused.”

  Like a timid kitten, the secretary fled the chair in the witness box. Refusing eye contact with Sam and Vic, she clutched a shiny black purse to her chest and hurried up the aisle to a set of double-doors leading out into the hallway.

  In her case, the hallway to freedom.

  The judge gave two rapid smacks of his gavel. “One hour recess for lunch.” He pushed himself up from his seat. “If I can rally my appetite that is,” he grumbled aloud.

  Everyone rose as the judge exited through a side door, the jurors followed, filing out through another.

  “What the hell was that about?” demanded their client as he jumped up from his seat. “You trying to mangle this case more than it already is?”

  But Sam didn’t flinch. “Nothing more than courtroom antics.” She gathered her files and began to shove them into her briefcase. Behind her, the commotion of mass exodus began as reporters raced to file their stories, others more eager to report the lurid gossip.

  “What the hell were you doing?” he railed into Vic. “I told you she wouldn’t break.”

  “She’s been the executive secretary at Morgan-Baxter for twenty years,” Sam cut in. “We had to try.”

  “Try, hell—you fumbled the goddamn cross-examination!”

  Vic stepped forward to defend himself, but the man’s finger landed in his face. “If you screwed this case I’ll have your ass in a canister, you hear me?”

  Something inside him clicked.

  Around him, people were shuffling about, stacking papers, making phone calls, the bedlam of a courtroom as it emptied, but Vic held steady.

  Then there was Sam, staring at him. He could feel her scrutiny. Hovering like a helicopter over a hostage scene, she was waiting for him to lose his temper and tear into the client.

  “I’ve got a lot of money invested in this suit and if you’ve blown it...” The man’s neck vein seemed about to burst through his skin, his anger palpable. “You’re done. You hear me? Done.”

  Sam lifted a hand to cease the man’s tirade. “Enough. Morgan-Baxter knows nothing about where we’re headed. When the trial resumes, we go in for the kill. I’m calling Dave Brenner to the stand, first thing.”

  The corporate bag of wind deflated. “Dave?”

  “Dave,” she repeated the name. “He’s the key to the whole case and I intend to rip him open when we return. Once I fill my belly.” She winked. “Snake meat tends to curdle on an empty stomach.” Stuffing the last of the folders into her case, Sam slung the long leather strap over her shoulder. Looking to the men, she asked, “Anyone care to join me?”

  “I’ve got phone calls to make,” her client replied, then plowed into the sea of bodies making their exit.

  Sam turned to Vic. “How about you?”

  “Fine.”

  # # #

  Sam’s choice of restaurants was located just around the corner from the courthouse. On a humid day the walk was unbearable, but this morning it wasn’t too bad, thanks to the breeze whisking in off Biscayne Bay. It tamed the vicious heat rising from the sidewalks, but did nothing to alleviate the sweat climbing up the back of his neck. Vic sighed. But this was Miami, the tropical moisture something you tolerated.

  Suit coat folded over his arm, Vic opened the door to Finkle’s Deli and Sam waltzed inside ahead of him. Baskets overloaded with fresh-baked bread lined the top of the display case, the rich aroma of coffee and grilled meat saturated the air.

  Sam paused. “Save room for the Key Lime Fantasy Fest.”

  “No thanks. Not a fan of sweets.”

  “Me neither, but that baby is pure fantasy when it comes to desserts.”

  “Whatever.”

  “What’ll it be?” asked a heavyset man behind the counter.

  “Reuben,” Sam responded.

  “Make it two.”

  “You’s got it.”

  Hearing the tough attitude, northeast accent reminded Vic of Philly. So much, that eyes closed, he could have sworn he walked indoors from any street corner back home ready to order up one of the city’s finest.

  Sam plucked a plastic tray from the stack and reached for a glass. “Water?”

  “Fine,” he replied, returning his attention to the counter. Too bad he wasn’t hungry. After his courtroom fiasco, food was the last thing on Vic’s mind.

  At the soda fountain Sam filled two glasses, placed them on her tray then pushed it along metal rails, stopping before a young cashier. Vic followed behind and yanked the wallet from his back pocket and flipped it open. “How much?”

  Sam eyed the twenty in his hand. “Don’t worry. I got it.”

  “Take it.” He shoved the money toward her.

  About to refuse, she accepted the money with a shrug. “Have it your way.”

  The cash register clanged to life, the girl changed the bill and Vic pushed the remainder into his wallet and back into his pocket. He trailed Sam to a table and pulled out a wooden chair. When she hesitated, he fired a warning flare not to refuse the gesture. She sat. He tossed his suit jacket onto the back of the other chair while Sam did likewise with hers. Dropping to his seat, Vic ripped the paper from his straw.

  Sam leaned back into her chair. “Can’t say I remem-ber the last time I saw this place so clean.”

  Vic loosened his tie with a yank. “Tends to happen when you’re the first one here.”

  “Good point.” Running a hand through her near shoulder-length waves of auburn, she fluffed them off her neck, airing the skin beneath with the blast of air-conditioning blowing from the ceiling vent. Wearing no red today, the feminine shade of yellow softened her strong features, enhancing the female in her.

  “Chavez was in some kind of hurry, wasn’t he?”

  Vic pinned her with a glare. “Are you enjoying this?”

  Sam zapped him with a feisty smile. “Who, me?”

  “Yes, you.”

  She gave a few quick tugs to her silk blouse. “Why Victor Marin, I am not so callous a woman that I derive pleasure from the pain of a fellow human being.”

  “No sale.”

  “You doubt my word?”

  “I suspect your motives.”

  “Is it my fault you got carried away with your witness?”

  Vic expelled a grunt. “I didn’t get carried away.” He grabbed his glass of water. “Joe Morgan is guilty.”

  “I agree.”

  Knocking back a swallow of water, he said, “And that woman knows it.”

  “I agree.”

  “Chavez was too quick to her defense.”

  “Mmmm...” Sam fudged with a grimace.

  “You think I was badgering the witness?”

  “Borderline.”

  “Give me a break. The judge was out of line. Her little old lady act was a sham.” He glowered, every muscle in his body so tight they were about to snap. No judge in Philly would have come down on him like that—quite the opposite. They would have thrown him some slack so he could hang the lady.

  Bare elbows hit the table and Sam leaned forward, linking her forearms together. “That may be true, but how you go about extracting the information is something else. Not everyone caves under intimidation, especially experienced corporate felons.”

  “I’m
not a rookie. Check my record. I’m good at what I do. Damn good.”

  “You may have an impressive track record to show for your years with Gilbert and Wiley, but we play with the big boys down here. You’re not the big fish in the big pond, anymore.”

  “That’s big fish in the small pond.”

  “No,” she corrected. “Big fish in the big pond. Philadelphia is no cracker town, I’ll give you that.” She shook the hair from her face and narrowed her gaze. “You’ve got your mobsters, your crooks, but it ain’t no Miami either. You’re in the ocean now, where the sharks swim.” Her brown eyes sparked. “They swallow fish like you whole,” she said, “without even noticing the lump of your carcass as it passes through. When you’re dealing with the sums of money we are, the rules change. The players don’t play nice. They lie, cheat and steal. Morgan-Baxter has been around a long time. They’ve gotten good at winning the game.”

  “And you should know.”

  “A piece of advice,” she said, a smile creeping onto her lips. “You want to sneak up on someone? Sneak up on the sloth, not the fox. It’s why I’m calling Brenner to the stand.”

  Vic’s resentment pooled in his gut. Forget Brenner. Where he came from, there was no “sneaking around” about it. Sam may think she has all the answers—and when it came to Morgan-Baxter—she may. But where he came from if a guy interfered in your business, he took a cruise—straight to the bottom of the ocean.

  He shoved the subject from his mind. Let her play her games. There was only one case he was interested in and it wasn’t Morgan-Baxter. It was Perry.

  And it was hers.

  A wave of determination swept over him. Something he intended to change and soon.

  Lunch suddenly landed between them. Two plates piled high with golden brown bread, layered with meat, cheese and sauerkraut were delivered without fanfare. Thick, fat French fries surrounded the sandwiches, several enmeshed in the drippings of piping hot Swiss. Both plates boasted mammoth pickle wedges.

  “Do you guys need anything else?”

  “Not at the moment,” Sam answered, sucking in a chest-full of the aroma steaming from her plate.

  “I’m good,” Vic echoed the sentiment.

  “Enjoy your lunch,” the server quipped and disap-peared from sight.

  Sam sighed, and threw the paper napkin in her lap. “God am I hungry.” She grabbed one enormous half of her sandwich and brought it to her lips for a bite, but as Vic watched the first chunk of sandwich vanish, he knew she wouldn’t give up Perry without a fight. It was her ticket to partnership and from what he could gather around the office, she wasn’t sharing.

  But Sam was gonna have to change her mind. Resolve filtered through his system. Because it was the only reason he came to Miami.

  Taking his time, Vic reached for his sandwich and grasping it with two hands, rested forearms against the table. Time to change the tide. “So tell me. If you’re such a rainmaker, why haven’t you achieved partner status?”

  Sam offered a gentle smile. “Deflect the attention from yourself. Nice.” She nodded. “I like it.”

  “You’re avoiding the question.”

  Swamped by a shit-eating grin, Sam only stared at him.

  “Well?”

  But she said nothing, only stared with a decisive gleam in her eyes.

  Vic felt the sudden zing. Damn... The woman wasn’t talking business, he’d be willing to bet. Her thoughts were going underground.

  Then, with surprising skill, Sam extinguished the flirtatious hint in her eyes. Like it never happened. “I’m on the edge of partnership, as we speak.”

  Whoa. Did he imagine it?

  Not likely. No.

  No possible way. You didn’t mistake a look like that one. But with no room to pry, he returned to his question, though his edge had been considerably softened. “More than ten years to make partner for a hotshot like you? I’m surprised.”

  “Don’t be.” Sam swiped the napkin across her lips and took a quick sip from her water. “I took some time off after high school.”

  “Why?”

  “Why not? Nothing wrong with taking advantage of one’s youth, much like you’re doing now,” she reminded him with unwarranted thrust. “Miami’s a long way from Philly.”

  Vic tensed. Did she know something?

  But he refused to rise to the bait. There was too much riding on it. “Backpack across Europe, did you?”

  She smiled. “Not my cup of chi.”

  “Chi? What the hell does that mean?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  Shrugging it off, he asked, “So what were you doing?”

  “Having fun.”

  Did she always speak in half-baked terms? “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Fun?” She grinned. “What’s not to understand about fun?”

  “Sounds like someone was avoiding responsibility.”

  “No, Vic.” She wiped a drop of grease from the corner of her mouth. “I needed a little space and I took it. A simple recipe for a simple life.”

  “There’s nothing simple about you, Sam Rawlings,” he said, his gaze making a quick dodge toward the door. “You’re about as complicated as they get.”

  “I am not,” she shot back, but then laughed. “Not really,” she said, softening her tone. “I’m a simple woman doing a simple job. I fight for the good guys. I right wrongs.”

  Vic almost choked on his sandwich.

  “Funny.”

  Sam pushed her lunch aside and looked him square in the eye. Customers pushed in across the black and white checkered floor, crowded the front counter as they called out orders, many met with shouted reply. Most were professionals, a few construction workers, but Sam seemed oblivious. At the moment, she only had eyes for him.

  “You did well today, Vic. You didn’t win your argument, your performance was a little overpowering, but you did well.” She slid a hand across the table. He would have sworn she was about to touch his, but instead, her fingers curled around the stem of her water glass. “Chavez was out of line. It’s his MO. Whenever there’s a new attorney in his courtroom, he parades power like a peacock. Don’t take it personal.”

  No longer sparring, Vic noted her removal of armor.

  “You’re good. Really good. You have phenomenal energy in the courtroom—I mean you had the jury.” A smile crept onto her lips, a gesture which reached deep inside him. “I was watching. Each and every one of them followed you around that courtroom, your every move, your every word, they were right there with you. They didn’t believe her either.”

  “Then why won’t you include me on Perry?”

  Sam’s breath caught in her throat. Trapped beneath his gaze, the question echoed Raul’s. Around her, the noise level rose as lunch hour officially reached full sprint. People shouted orders, metal cash registers clanged in action, but she focused solely on Vic.

  Her suspicion returned. Because I don’t need any help. Because I don’t want the distraction.

  Because I’ll be damned if some unknown hotshot comes in and tries to strip the prize from my hands regardless of how good, or how good-looking he is.

  Sam’s spine locked straight. All her life she had to work twice as hard, run twice as fast—because she was a woman. As an adolescent, her parents forced her to share an overload of responsibility for the care of five younger siblings, despite the fact her brother was scarcely a year behind her. In college she was offered more sexual advances than internships with law school providing more of the same.

  Sam sighed. Baker, Schofield, Martinez and Brown had been the one interview where she felt wholly respected—wholly appreciated for her talent and not her looks. Because of Raul. He focused on her abilities and she responded. From there, the man taught her everything she knew, from the law to the lowdown, and groomed her into the legal shark she was proud to be.

  Her thoughts chilled. Yet now, he was encouraging interference on her caseload from the new guy. It didn’t make sens
e.

  Sam honed in on Vic. “Give me one good reason I should include you on Perry.”

  “You said it yourself, I’m good.”

  “So am I.”

  “It’s a big case. More than one attorney can handle.”

  “I have Diego.”

  “I have experience.”

  “So I hear.” Sam lifted her glass from the table, but never took her eyes off him.

  “It could work to your benefit.”

  “I work to my benefit.”

  Vic eased his neck from his collar and reached for his glass. “I’m offering to help, Sam. Most attorneys would jump at the opportunity.”

  “If you hadn’t gathered by now, I’m not most attorneys.” Sam took a sip from her water, noting his sudden discomfort. Was he agitated? “Vic, help me out here. Is there something I’m missing?”

  “Missing?” he asked innocently, but his expression took the hit. “Like what?”

  “You’re working Memorial, right?”

  “Planning to.” Vic sat back in his chair.

  “So why Perry?” She gave a terse shake to her head. “What’s in it for you?”

  “Nothing’s in it for me. Diego ran a few details of the case by me and I said I’d help.” He shifted about in his chair. “Forget it. Sorry I asked.”

  Sam pulled her arms into a cross over her chest and smiled thinly. “I didn’t just roll off the mango truck.”

  “What? What the hell are you talking about, mango truck?”

  “You know, mangoes...beautiful golden red on the outside, luscious tasty sweet on the inside?”

  Vic looked at her as though she’d lost her mind.

  But she hadn’t. Not even close.

  Sam flicked a glance to his plate. “Finished?”

  He slugged back the last of his water then smacked the glass to the table. “Yeah, I’m finished.”

  But Sam felt the distinct sense this was far from over.

  Chapter Three

  Vic chugged water from his bottle, tempted to dump the entire contents onto his head. Two hours, not a frickin’ cloud in the sky—how did people live with this heat? Yet here he sat, feet buried in hot sand, sweat pouring from every inch of his body, the temperature had to be pushing a hundred.