by Pat Warren
Liz sealed the final envelope on her desk and added it to the finished pile. “Fine, but I’m glad we’re finished for the day.” She checked her hands and shook her head. “Hey, Fitz, do the stuffers get battle pay? I’ve got half a dozen new paper cuts since noon.”
Fitz sent her one of his shy smiles. “Fill out a casualty report and I’ll see what I can do.” Liz Townsend had impressed him from the day Molly had introduced them. “Elegant” was the word for Liz. Monied elegance. Despite the fact that she was wearing tailored brown slacks and an oversize beige silk blouse, she stood out from the others. Fitz was sure there was a terrific body in there somewhere, but Liz never flaunted her looks. Her auburn hair came just to her shoulders in a simple classic cut, and she wore little makeup. She reminded him of someone he’d known back in law school, the first woman who’d made his hands sweat with the urge to touch her. But he hadn’t; someone else had.
Reluctantly Fitz dragged his eyes from Liz and checked his watch. Five to six. Where had the time gone? There simply weren’t enough hours in the day. Taking the manila envelope with him, he walked over to where Liz was cleaning off her desk. “I wonder if you could do something for me. These letters have to go out tonight. Adam’s apartment’s about twenty minutes from here. Would you mind stopping by and getting his signature on them, then dropping them in the mailbox?”
In bending to retrieve her purse from the bottom drawer, Liz bought a little time. Her mother was giving a dinner party tonight, cocktails starting in an hour, at the Townsend home in La Jolla, and Katherine did not like late arrivals. Liz would scarcely have time to drive home, shower, and change as it was. Still, she’d agreed to help out here, and once committed she never gave anything less than her all. Besides, Fitz was such a nice guy that she hated refusing any of his requests.
Fitz shoved his glasses back up his nose, wishing he hadn’t asked. Liz had put in a long day as it was; he didn’t want to push her into quitting. Nor could they afford to lose the clout and support of her father’s law firm. Joseph Townsend & Associates carried a lot of weight in California. “Listen, it’s all right if you’ve got plans.”
“I’ll be happy to go for you,” Diane offered as she picked up her leather shoulder bag and strolled over. Pointedly she glanced up at the campaign poster of Adam McKenzie tacked onto the far wall. The man had the look of a born winner, with that strong chin and those sincere blue eyes staring straight into the camera, challenging the world to trust him. She could do worse than to hitch her wagon to that rising star, Diane told herself. Perhaps a few minutes alone with the candidate could persuade him to ask her to dinner and… and whatever.
“That’s all right,” Liz said as she stood. “I have the time.” In the ten days she’d worked here she hadn’t yet met Adam McKenzie. Perhaps it was time she did. She’d been greatly impressed with his record, and Molly had detailed his many virtues in trying to persuade Liz to join his campaign: champion of the underdog; charismatic charmer; winner of cases against nearly impossible odds. Opposing attorneys, law clerks, and volunteers alike seemed in awe of him. Clearly the man all but walked on water. She needed to see for herself. “Where does he live?”
“Are you sure you can squeeze it in, sugar?” Diane sauntered toward the door, hoping she might run the errand instead.
Fitz handed the envelope to Liz. “I’ve written Adam’s address here. You’re familiar with the Bankers Hill area just east of the airport, right?”
She glanced at the street name, recognizing it immediately. “Sure. That building’s not far from my new apartment.” She had rented her own place just two weeks ago, right after graduation from Stanford. Her mother had been less than pleased, and her father had asked why she’d felt it necessary to waste her money when their La Jolla home had six bedrooms and as many baths. Neither of her parents, it seemed, understood her need for independence.
Liz tucked the envelope under her arm. “Consider it done, boss.” She wished Fitz would quit wearing that silly baseball hat. She sympathized with his concern over losing his hair at only twenty-six, but the cap didn’t really hide the fact. Instead of making him look boyish, it gave him a frivolous air that was in sharp contrast with the very high IQ he had even more difficulty hiding.
Fitz thanked her, then watched as she linked her arm through Molly’s, their long legs carrying them quickly out into the unseasonable heat of a late June afternoon. Those long legs reminded him of Sandy Wilkins, who’d hurt him worse than he’d ever dreamed possible.
The phone on his desk rang, and Fitz shook his head. What was the matter with him tonight? he wondered. It wasn’t his habit to indulge in mulling over a past that couldn’t be changed. Impatiently he grabbed the receiver.
Outside, Liz pulled her friend along. “I want to show you my new car.”
Molly flung the strap of her huge canvas tote over her shoulder and hurried to keep up. “What’s the big rush?”
Liz turned into the parking lot at the corner and kept going. “Command performance at my folks’ place. Cocktails at seven, dinner at eight. They’ve asked me over on ten of the fourteen days since I’ve been gone.” She sighed, wishing her parents would let go.
“Well, you are only twenty-one,” Molly reminded her, knowing it would get a rise out of Liz.
“So are you, and you’ve been on your own for two years already.” Molly’s widowed mother was a bit on the bohemian side herself and let her daughter run her own life, an arrangement that Liz envied. She stopped in front of a white Mercedes two-seater with the top down. “What do you think?”
“Niiiice.” Molly grinned. “New apartment, new car.”
“New woman,” Liz answered with a smile.
“Now, you need a new man. Or is Richard still in the picture?”
Richard Fairchild—a nice man, but her mother’s choice. That was one strike against him. Liz loved her mother but hated having her presume to continue making choices for her. Which was the main reason she’d moved out of the family manse. She wasn’t really rebelling, she told herself. She was asserting herself, becoming her own person. Picking out and buying her car all on her own had been evidence of her insistence on freedom.
“Richard will undoubtedly be there tonight,” she told Molly. “He’s been over to the apartment with flowers, wine, little gifts. I don’t want to hurt his feelings, but…”
“But he doesn’t make your heart pound, your face sweat, your hands shake…” Molly’s blue eyes were devilish as she laughed.
“Sounds like a case of the flu.” Liz opened her door and tossed the manila envelope inside.
“Say hello to the elusive Mr. McKenzie for me, will you? And ask him why he hasn’t deigned to grace us with his presence since we’re slaving away for his career.” Molly frowned at her thumb. “I even chipped a nail today. Damn, I hate that.”
“Beyond the call of duty,” Liz agreed, sliding behind the wheel. “You definitely deserve a day off with sick pay.”
“See you tomorrow.” Molly moved toward her Mustang.
With a wave, Liz backed out of her space, then turned onto Broadway, heading for North Harbor Drive. First Street would be faster, but since she was going to be late anyway, she might as well enjoy the scenery.
Loving the feel of the wind in her hair, she drove as fast as the traffic and speed limit allowed. This was why she’d gotten a convertible, against all advice. Her parents were only in their fifties, yet they were both conservative enough to be downright boring. Had they no memory of being young, feeling glad just to be alive, wanting to experience everything?
Liz sighed as she passed a slow-moving station wagon driven by a harried-looking woman trying to control three small children. In all fairness to Katherine and Joseph Townsend, Liz knew exactly why they’d been so restrictive of her: her sister, Nancy.
Nancy, the impetuous, rebellious, wild one. Two years younger than Liz, Nancy had eloped with a sailor at seventeen, divorced at eighteen, been kicked out of two colleges by nineteen
, and been giving her family all manner of grief ever since. Nancy had tried drugs, been cited for DUIs, moved out of California and back several times. Sometimes no one heard from her for months; then, suddenly, she’d reappear, vowing she was truly sorry and forever changed. Liz loved her sister but considered her a case of arrested development.
Passing Anthony’s Fish Grotto along the waterfront, Liz watched a gull dip low into a foaming wave, then quickly soar upward into a balmy blue sky. Nancy’s irresponsible ways were the main reason Liz had tried so hard not to displease their parents. One disappointment in the family was difficult enough for them to handle. Two would be devastating. Still, at times she couldn’t help resenting the situation.
Turning onto Laurel, she spotted the six-story beige structure known as Century Plaza Towers just ahead. Liz had looked at apartments in the Towers weeks ago but had decided they were a bit pricey for her budget. Volunteer work didn’t provide an income. Of course, she had the trust fund from her maternal grandmother, but she’d also inherited a propensity for careful money management. The three-story Miramar Apartments she’d finally chosen were just as nice, though they didn’t offer an ocean view as Adam’s building did.
Since she wasn’t going to be long, she parked the Mercedes in the circular drive alongside a cluster of oleander bushes. In the small foyer she checked the list of names by the buzzer buttons and pressed 6-A.
It was answered in moments by a deep, impatient voice. “Yes?”
Liz leaned into the intercom. “Hello, Mr. McKenzie. I’m—”
“Thank goodness you’re here. Hurry on up, will you? There’s blood everywhere?”
“Blood? I don’t—” The buzzer releasing the lock on the outside door interrupted. Stunned, Liz stared at his nameplate for a long moment, then grabbed the handle and pulled open the heavy door. Undecided whether to ring him back, to go on up, or to get the hell out of there, she paused in the doorway. What on earth was she getting into?
Feeling uneasy, she walked across the tiled floor to the elevator and stepped inside, then pushed the button for floor six. Whom was Adam McKenzie expecting? Whose blood was all over? Should she have called the police instead of riding up to Lord only knew what? The door slid open silently and she stepped out, wiping her suddenly damp hands on the pant legs of her slacks. Cautiously she walked down the short hallway, checking the numbers on each door.
The one to 6-A was ajar. She could see nothing through the small opening except pale gray carpeting in what was probably a vestibule. Swallowing around a nervous lump, she knocked twice.
“In here,” the same deep voice called out. “Hurry!”
Liz took a deep breath and walked in. There was no one in the large living room directly beyond the half wall divider. She turned toward the archway to her left that led into the kitchen and recognized Adam McKenzie from his campaign posters. He was wearing navy slacks and a white shirt streaked with blood as he leaned over the Formica counter. Cradled in what appeared to be his suit jacket was a calico kitten looking ragged and pitiful.
“You must be Mitzi,” Adam said, his voice filled with relief. “Thanks for coming so quickly. I hope you can do something for her. I’m pretty sure her leg’s broken. Maybe there are internal injuries. She cried when I first picked her up, but she’s been quiet for so long now.”
An injured kitten. Feeling foolish that she’d imagined a human massacre, Liz waked down one step into the kitchen.
Adam’s brow furrowed into an angry frown as he went on. “I don’t know who hit her, but they were gone when I found her. As I told Iris, people race around our parking garage as if they were trying out for Indy. I’m going to talk to management as soon as I get a chance and see what I can do about getting speed limits enforced. I don’t know what kind of coward would drive away from a bleeding kitten.”
“Maybe the driver didn’t even realize he’d hit the cat,” Liz suggested as she set her purse and the manila envelope on the other side of the counter.
Running out of irate steam, Adam took a moment to check out the woman standing beside him, suddenly puzzled. “Where’s your medical bag? I told Iris her leg would probably have to be set.”
An animal lover from her early youth, Liz ran a hand gently over the kitten’s front paws. “You’re right, but I can’t set it. I don’t know who Iris is or Mitzi, either. I’m Liz Townsend from your campaign headquarters.” She indicated the envelope. “Fitz asked me to get your signature on some letters.”
Adam stepped back, looking chagrined. “Fitz called a few minutes ago, but I told him I couldn’t talk just now.” He glanced down at his hands. “I had blood all over me, and…” He met her eyes, feeling stupid. “I thought you were the vet.”
“You have a vet who makes house calls?”
The kitten meowed pitifully, and Adam automatically reached to soothe her. “Not really. I don’t have any pets at the moment. I’ve known Iris Wagner forever. Her clinic’s not far from here, and when I called, she said she was too tied up to come, but she’d send over her best assistant. I thought you were Mitzi Porter.”
“Understandable mistake. I guess she’ll be along any minute.” She studied his stained clothes, more than a little surprised that he’d wrapped the bloody kitten in what was obviously an expensive jacket. “I’m fairly good with animals. If you have an old towel, we could wrap her in that.” She reached for a dishcloth hanging next to the sink. “Why don’t I wash the kitten a little while you get cleaned up? That shirt’ll be ruined if you don’t set it to soaking soon. And you’d better put something on those scratches.” Apparently the frightened animal had clawed her rescuer.
Not only practical but pretty, Adam thought. She had nice eyes and gentle hands. “I haven’t seen you around the office.” He knew Fitz had recruited more volunteers since the last time he’d been in.
Dampening the cloth, she smiled at him over her shoulder. “That’s probably because you haven’t been around in the last couple of weeks.”
Adam reached into a drawer and handed her a clean white towel. “I’ve been up in San Francisco, establishing a campaign office there while Fitz handled things down here.” He smiled at her appreciatively, revealing a deep dimple in the left corner of his mouth. “Now that I see what I’ve been missing, I’m going to have to remedy the situation right away.”
Liz tried not to be charmed as she carefully placed the kitten on the towel. While Adam’s reputation didn’t exactly label him a ladies’ man, she had heard that women easily fell under his spell. She had to admit he was certainly attractive, with an intensity that was apparent moments after meeting him. Powerful, ambitious, charismatic men drew women like magnets, she was well aware. Men like her father.
Yet Adam had a soft spot for injured animals, disregarding the possible ruin of a costly suit. A passionate crusader with a tender heart. A lethal combination.
She would be well advised to move with caution.
A soft knock on the door saved Liz from having to comment. “Hi. Adam McKenzie?” The short woman wearing a white lab coat and carrying a black bag hurried in, all business bustle. “I’m Mitzi Porter. Iris sent me. Sorry it took so long. Traffic’s just nuts this time of evening. One of your neighbors let me in downstairs.” She approached the kitten as Liz and Adam stepped aside. “Well, what have we here?”
Gratefully Adam explained the situation, introduced Liz, then excused himself to clean up.
Stepping aside, Liz watched Mitzi give the kitten a shot, then go to work with quiet efficiency. It took the vet no time at all to set the right front leg, check for further injuries, and finish cleaning her up. Mitzi settled her into a towel-lined makeshift bed in the corner of the kitchen, and the kitten’s eyes were closing just as Adam reappeared.
Thanking her profusely, he paid Mitzi, saw her to the door, then turned back to Liz. “I apologize; I must have scared the hell out of you over the intercom,” he said returning to the kitchen.
“I must admit I wasn’t sure what I�
�d find,” she replied. He’d changed into cotton slacks and a blue chambray shirt, the sleeves rolled up on tan arms. He was taller than she’d thought, judging from his photos, taller than his brother by four or five inches. She watched him walk barefoot to the kitchen, then squat down to pet the small, sleeping bundle.
“She’s out like a light, poor little thing.” He rose and walked to a wine rack built into the far corner. Thoughtfully he selected a bottle. “The least I can do is offer you a glass of wine for your trouble,” he said, reaching into a drawer for a corkscrew.
“Oh, that’s not necessary.” Liz glanced at her watch and realized she was going to miss cocktails at her parents’ home, which wasn’t going to sit well with either of them.
Adam padded over to reach for two wineglasses from the cupboard. “Come on. Just one?” He looked at her, his brows raised in question. “Or are you afraid to be here alone with me?”
She sent him an amused look. “Should I be?”
“No.”
He was waiting. How had he known she couldn’t resist a challenge? “All right. Just one.” Undoubtedly Katherine had invited several other guests who’d keep the conversation going. And she could still be there in time for dinner.
Adam poured, then carried both glasses into the living room, where he settled on the long couch facing the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out on a calm sea. As Liz joined him, he handed her her wine and held up his own glass. “Here’s to kittens,” he toasted.
She touched her glass to his, then sipped. The Beaujolais was smooth and warming. She turned to the window. “Your view’s wonderful.”
“It’s the main reason I rent here.” He settled back comfortably, glad she’d stayed. He’d been in this apartment over a year and couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a woman in. All work and no play was probably making Jack a dull boy, Adam reminded himself. He angled his body :oward her. “Tell me about yourself.”
