by Pat Warren
Liz shrugged and set down her wine on the chrome-and-glass coffee table. “Not much to tell. I’m a recent graduate of Stanford, and I decided to spend the summer seeing if I like politics.”
“Then what?”
“I’m not sure yet. I majored in art with a minor in political science. My father’s a lawyer, and I grew up listening to some of his more outstanding cases.”
“I remember now. Fitz told me about you. Your father’s Joseph Townsend. Forgive me. There’ve been so many people…”
“Don’t apologize. I’ve followed your cases, too. Tell me about Sam Lorenzo. You did a fantastic job on that one. Is he a friend or did he just come to you?” She leaned forward, took another sip of wine, and swallowed appreciatively.
Adam had deliberately chosen a full-bodied red wine, wondering if she were the wimpy white wine type. She surprised him by seeming to enjoy his richer Beaujolais. He stretched his arm along the couch back. “I’ve known Sam for years. He used to be our greengrocer. You know, the white truck with the green lettering. Fresh vegetables brought to your door.”
“Sure, I know the ones.”
“Sam still calls on my mother. Anyhow, his daughter married this real sleaze, and… You sure you want to hear about this?” It was his most publicized case, the one that had netted him so much press coverage that the party had come to him asking him to run for attorney general. And Adam had been ready.
“Yes, I really do.”
She didn’t seem to be listening to be polite, but rather as if she were truly interested. Adam loved to talk law cases, so he settled back and told her about how Sam had come to him only a year after his daughter Angie’s wedding, asking for help, sure that Gene Fleming was knocking his little girl around. “But Angie would always deny it, explaining away her bruises by saying she fell or that she slammed herself with a cupboard door.”
“I’ve heard that most battered women protect their men. I’ve never understood it.”
“Nor do I. Naturally, as a lawyer, I couldn’t do anything. Neither could the police unless she pressed charges. Finally, it all came to a head one night when Gene came home roaring drunk and beat the hell out of Angie. She wound up in the hospital, and this time Sam got her to open up to the police.”
“And they sentenced him to three years.”
He smiled. “You did follow this, didn’t you? Yeah, three years with the stipulation that if he were released on parole or even on day leave, Sam and Angie were to be notified.”
“I’m not sure about this part. Did he escape and go looking for her?” She watched him track a hand through his dark blond hair and thought he needed a haircut to be politician-perfect. Perhaps he’d been too busy.
“Hell, no. They let him out for his mother’s funeral, and he went straight to Angie. And killed her.”
Liz was instantly empathetic. “Her family must have been devastated.”
“And furious.” Adam studied her eyes, such a soft brown, huge with sympathy. A man could get lost in those eyes. He rose, went back to the kitchen for the bottle, topped off their glasses, noticing she’d had very little. “I knew we had a hell of a case. The problem was, we couldn’t locate the SOB. He had friends and had gone underground. None of my sources could find him.”
“So what did you do?”
Adam sat back down, warming to his story. “Did you ever hear of a cop named Serpico on the East Coast?”
“Of course. There was a movie about him.”
“Well, Leon Kowalski is our West Coast Serpico. There’re dozens of stories about him circulating in California. He’s worked in several districts, always undercover. I think his rank was detective sergeant at the time. He still has the best arrest record in the state. Kowalski—no one calls him Leon—uses some pretty unorthodox methods, and he’s been reprimanded a time or two, but he’s never been pulled off a case. He has a drawer full of citations, but he couldn’t care less. It’s the thrill of the chase that grabs Kowalski.”
“He wasn’t mentioned in any of the articles I read.”
Adam shook his head. “There’s sort of an unwritten rule among the reporters. Kowalski likes to keep a low profile. He’s not after credit, he’s after criminals. And, like the Mounties, he always gets his man.”
“I take it he found your man for you.”
“That he did. We finally got Gene behind bars. Sam wanted to kill him with his bare hands. Barring that, he wanted to get the people who freed Gene without letting Angie’s family know.”
“And you sure got them.”
“It didn’t bring his daughter back, but Sam considered it a victory of sorts.” The district attorney had fought valiantly, using every trick in the book. But when all was said and done, Adam had obtained the largest settlement from the city of San Diego ever awarded in a case of its kind.
“That case reminded me of one my father handled quite some time ago. Do you remember Saul Peters?”
Shifting closer, Adam nodded. “Sure. Wrongful death, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.” Liz went into the case, noticing the intense way he listened. Just like her father. They both made a woman feel as if she were the only one on the face of the earth.
“But I thought that the Townsend firm specialized in corporate law?” Adam took another swallow.
She watched him drink. His mouth was a hard, masculine line, yet his lower lip was full. Then there was that intriguing dimple. “They do now, but my father started out in criminal law. I think he still has a yearning for the more dramatic cases. He’s handled a few sticky ones from time to time. Did you read about the Byrnes embezzlement?”
“Sure. It was up in the millions, right?”
“Six, to be exact.” As they finished rehashing the Byrnes case and a couple of others, Adam held up the bottle, offering more wine. Liz shook her head, glancing at her watch. Ten to eight. Oh, damn.
She’d forgotten the hour, where she was, everything except the enjoyable conversation, being with someone interesting. It had felt good, the give and take, the occasional funny aside. Still, it definitely wasn’t like her to disregard her commitments.
She stood. “I’ve got to go.”
“It’s not that late.” Adam rose, too, and touched her arm. “Listen, I made a batch of chili yesterday. A friend from Texas gave me the recipe. It’s hot enough to sizzle your socks. Stay and have some with me, please?”
“I can’t. I’m supposed to be at my parents’ house for dinner in ten minutes.” She brushed back her hair. “I can’t believe it’s so late.”
“Neither can I.” He took a step nearer. It had been a long while since a woman had made him forget the time. It seemed he always had one eye on the clock these days. “Were you lying earlier?” He reached to touch the ends of her hair, lightly, briefly. “Are you afraid, after all?”
She looked into his eyes. They were Paul Newman blue, darkening as he watched her. There was something dangerous here. Not in the physical sense, yet she sensed something of the predator in Adam McKenzie. A man born to be in charge. A man a smart woman would avoid.
And she was a smart woman, Liz knew, one who followed the rules, played by the book, a dutiful daughter. But at least once in every good girl’s life, she experiences an irrepressible urge to reach out and touch the flame.
“Where’s your phone?” she asked.
CHAPTER 2
Adam stirred the contents of the large pot. “Mmm, how does that smell?” he asked Liz. “Terrific, right?”
She knew she probably looked apprehensive. “I don’t usually eat red meat. Beef, that is.”
“Don’t tell me you’re one of those born-again vegetarians?”
“No. I like chicken and fish. But about a year ago, my friend Molly Washington and I went to Chicago on a little vacation. She’s a vegetarian. And she dragged me through those awful slaughterhouses. Ever since then…”
“Uh-huh. What do you think they do with chickens, chloroform them gently? Or fish, drown ’em, maybe? C’mon, j
ust one taste.” He dipped the spoon in deep. “Just one.”
Liz opened her mouth and took some, tasting hesitantly, then took the rest. Swallowing, she conceded, “It’s not bad.”
“Well, thank you for your lavish praise. Are you also a reformed smoker?”
“I’ve never smoked. It’s just all those big-eyed cows. The sounds they made going inside the building.” She shuddered, remembering.
He laughed. “Deliver me. A do-gooder.”
She didn’t know him well enough, but she cuffed him on the arm with her fist anyway. “Stop that.”
He reached for two bowls, began spooning. “After you eat this, you’ll be a convert.”
He was right. She ate every bite and half of a crusty roll. Her mouth was on fire, but she loved the taste. The chili was delicious but quite ordinary fare compared to what her mother was probably serving.
Katherine had been cool on the phone when she’d called and given a breezy explanation of being delayed by work, which wasn’t exactly the truth. The mitigating factor had been that she so rarely backed out of an engagement—especially at the eleventh hour—so her mother forgave her. But Katherine hadn’t been able to resist reminding her daughter that Richard Fairchild would be greatly disappointed. He’ll get over it, Liz thought as she sipped her wine and watched her host finish his second bowl.
“All right, you win,” she said, leaning back on the wooden captain’s chair. His butcher block table sat beneath a window that looked out on the flight pattern to San Diego International Airport. She paused to allow the noise of a low-flying plane to subside. “Your chili’s wonderful. But don’t tell Molly.”
“I won’t if you won’t.” Adam reached for his wine. “You said you majored in art. What kind?”
“I’ve done a little of everything, but I’ve settled on sculpting.”
He inclined his head, impressed. “Are you any good?”
She shrugged noncommittally. “Who can judge her own work? I know I enjoy molding clay. You can work off a lot of aggressions that way.”
“Do you have a lot of aggressions?” Adam leaned forward and reached for her hand, studying the smooth skin, the short, unpolished nails. He felt her pulse leap, then try to settle. “I wouldn’t think so.”
The question seemed a little personal for their short acquaintance. “Doesn’t everyone?” She felt warm, despite the air-conditioning. From the wine, the chili, the man touching her, his thumb rubbing along the inside of her wrist. “This time, I really have to leave.” Tugging back her hand, she rose just as the cuckoo clock on the wall began announcing the hour of nine. The wooden piece, probably hand-carved, seemed so out of place in his modern apartment that she stared at the intricate bird in surprise. She also wondered why she hadn’t noticed it before this. Had she been so engrossed in Adam McKenzie, his deep voice, his compelling presence?
Adam followed her gaze. “My mother brought me that from Germany’s Black Forest last year. It’s kind of silly, but I like it.”
Sentimental, too. Kind to animals, a crusader for justice, a good cook, a man with an engaging sense of humor—an enormously attractive man. He had to have some faults. Maybe he steals pencils from blind beggars, or kicks widows he helps across streets. Adam McKenzie was a shade too close to perfection for comfort, Liz decided as she carried their bowls to the sink.
“Leave those. I’ll load them in the dishwasher later.” He picked up the manila envelope and removed the letters. “These’ll just take a minute or two.” He sat back down to skim them. When he finished signing, he sealed the envelopes. “Do you mind dropping these in our downstairs mailbox?” he asked, walking to where she waited by the door.
“Not at all.” Liz took the letters, her hand not quite as steady as she’d have wished. This was absurd, she reminded herself. He was merely a man she was helping to get elected. Nothing more. “Thanks for the wine and the dinner.”
“Thanks for bringing my mail over.” He came closer, lightly placing a hand on the small of her back. “And for helping with the kitten.”
“If you’re going to keep her, you’ll have to get a litter box and food. That sort of thing. She could make a real mess by morning.”
“I’m hoping there’s a child in the building who’s lost a pet and I can reunite them. If not, I guess I’ll have to keep her. Don’t Orientals believe that if you save a life, it belongs to you?”
“Cats always own their masters, didn’t you know?” Even barefoot, he was half a foot taller; she had to tilt her head to look into his eyes. What she saw there had her wanting to stay, needing to leave. Her hand closed around the doorknob as her mind searched for a witty exit line. She could come up with none. “I’ll probably see you at the office one day,” she said inanely.
“Count on it.” With the slightest pressure, he eased her nearer.
Liz could feel his warm breath on her cheeks, could easily guess his intention as his head began to lower. She stiffened. He was entirely too smooth, too practiced. “No,” she said quietly, firmly. “I don’t want this.” Liar! her mind screamed as she opened the door.
Adam stepped back, thrust both hands into his back pockets, annoyed with himself. What had come over him, making a pass at one of his volunteers? Fitz would have a shit fit. “Neither do I, believe it or not.” His eyes searched hers, trying to read her feelings. “But something’s happening here.” Despite his reluctance, he couldn’t repudiate it.
Liz had to deny it. Had to. She wasn’t accustomed to encounters that left her trembling. It was one thing to touch the flame and quite another to leap into the fire. She recognized that she was way out of her realm of experience with this man. “We’re intelligent, mature adults. We don’t have to let anything happen. We have free will.”
He smiled. “Do we?” He let her leave then, watched her walk to the elevator without looking back. He closed the door after her and moved to the window to stare out at the sea.
He hadn’t wanted her to go. He wanted to carry her in to his big four-poster bed and bury himself deep inside her. He wanted to taste her, to make love with her until neither of them could move.
How long had it been since he’d wanted a woman like that? Adam asked himself. A very long time.
Slowly he walked back into the kitchen to check on the kitten.
Sam Lorenzo was not an experienced speaker. Not for just anyone would he get duded up in a suit, tie, and tight collar and speak in front of a roomful of strangers in a posh hotel he’d never even visited before. The Hotel Del Coronado was too ritzy for his taste, the people too sophisticated for his comfort. The banquet room with its richly paneled walls and chandeliers in the shape of crowns was more than a little intimidating. But everyone had been so nice to him and his wife. He knew his English wasn’t all that good, yet no one seemed to mind.
After Fitz had introduced him he’d begun talking, and they’d given him their polite attention. As his story built and the emotions came to the surface, Sam needed to take out his white handkerchief and unashamedly dab at his damp eyes. He’d noticed more than one person in the audience brushing aside tears, too. Now he was building up to his big finish.
“He got my family a big settlement, my friend Adam McKenzie did,” Sam declared. “But that’s not what’s important. How many meals can a man eat? How many suits can he wear? Money isn’t what Mr. McKenzie got us. He got us justice. “
The applause that followed wasn’t merely polite; it was loud and enthusiastic. As if he were a trained political speaker, Sam waited for it to die down before he continued. “And the best part is that Mr. McKenzie, he didn’t stop with just our one case. He shook up the politicians and got a bill passed. The law’s changed now here in California.” He swallowed hard and scanned the faces all looking at him, many very moved. There was almost absolute silence as he delivered his final line. “Because of what that good man did, no other woman has to die like my Angie died.” Wiping his eyes, Sam Lorenzo stepped down from the podium and walked back to his sea
t on the dais.
“The man deserves this standing ovation,” Molly commented to Liz at the side table reserved for Adam’s volunteers and aides as they stood, joining in the applause. She noticed that Barry and Jesse and Steve were on their feet, as was Diane. “It couldn’t have been easy for him to get up there and say all that.”
“I agree.” Liz watched Fitz resume his place behind the mike, clapping as the cheering continued.
“As testimonials go, Sam Lorenzo’s a hard act to follow. But look at Adam. He seems almost embarrassed.”
Liz’s eyes moved to Adam. She knew he was proud of his victory in the Lorenzo case, although he’d modestly neglected to mention getting the bill passed that evening in his apartment two weeks ago. “Maybe Fitz asked Sam to speak without checking with Adam.” However, she thought that unlikely since the two brothers seemed to work very well together.
Adam had dropped in at campaign headquarters a couple of times since that evening, and she’d noticed that he and Fitz seemed to mesh like two halves of a whole. Adam had stopped to talk with Liz casually, as he had with the other volunteers. She hadn’t avoided him, but she hadn’t lingered in his presence, either. Instead she’d concentrated on Richard Fairchild, going out with him the past two weekends, needing to keep herself busy; although she had no real reason to believe, based on a couple of hours together, that Adam McKenzie had the slightest interest in her beyond that almost kiss.
Richard was another story. At thirty-five he was fourteen years older than she, a successful attorney who’d started out in her father’s firm and gone on to build his own growing practice. He was a safe person to be with, one who didn’t set her to churning inside, who didn’t have her longing for things she could probably never have, as Adam McKenzie did.
She’d discovered in her conversations with Adam that evening that he was fiercely goal-oriented, determined to get places quickly, to make a difference in the world. A woman who cared for an ambitious man like that would always live on the fringes as he bulldozed his way through life. Her own mother had watched her father achieve his aspirations from the sidelines much of the time. So even if Adam were to show further interest, Liz didn’t want to play that kind of role and let herself in for a great deal of loneliness and heartbreak.
