When Lightning Strikes Twice

by Barbara Boswell

“Okay, I’ll bite. What arrived via messenger this morning?” Wade ambled into her office.

  “This!” Rachel shoved a manila envelope into his hands.

  “And I was hoping for a candy gram.” Wade feigned disappointment. “Or maybe a bundt cake.”

  Rachel resisted the urge to start throwing things. It wasn’t Wade she was angry with, though his diffident air and lack of competitive zeal tended to irritate her even at the best of times. Which this morning definitely wasn’t.

  “I suggest you read it.” Her suggestion sounded more like a command, but Rachel didn’t care. She wanted Saxon support, Saxon unity—Saxon outrage! And since Aunt Eve was out of the office this morning, the support, unity, and outrage would have to be supplied by Wade.

  Surely not even he could remain immune to this deliberate insult from that unmitigated master of legal gall, Quinton Cormack.

  Wade removed a document from the envelope. “The Last Will and Testament of Townsend Tilden Senior. It’s dated four months ago.” He glanced at the neon green Post-it note stuck to the top page. For your reading enjoyment was handwritten in broad bold strokes and signed, Q. Cormack.

  “Uh-oh!” Wade grimaced wryly. “We’ve been Cormacked.”

  Since the Pedersen defeat, Wade had developed the annoying habit of using Cormack’s name as a verb. Loosely translated, to be Cormacked meant to be unsuspectingly kicked in the head and left reeling. A rather effective description of the way she was feeling at this moment.

  “For your reading enjoyment!” Rachel fumed. “Cormack is mocking us, Wade. He—He’s laughing in our faces!”

  “Wonder why he sent the will to you instead of Aunt Eve?” Wade studied the envelope, which was addressed to Rachel Saxon and marked personal. “An egalitarian touch, maybe? Q. Cormack is letting us know that unlike the Tildens he doesn’t mind dealing with lowly junior partners?”

  “He sent it to me to remind me of the Pedersen case—and how I lost it to him. He is implying that the same thing is going to happen with this phony new will scheme he’s conjured up with that—that tramp!”

  Wade’s lips quirked. “May I assume that tramp you’re referring to would be the young Widow Tilden?”

  “Don’t you dare try and make a joke of this, Wade! It isn’t funny. Take a look at the signature page. Look who he has down as witnesses!”

  Wade flipped to the final page containing the signatures of those persons who had officially witnessed the signing of the will. The witnesses who would testify under oath in court, when asked, as to the mental state of Town Senior at the time of the signing.

  His eyes widened. “Reverend Andrews of the Lakeview Presbyterian Church, Rabbi Newman of Temple Sinai, Cherry Hill, and Father Cleary of St. Philomena’s, Lakeview. Hmm, pretty impeccable list, Rachel. Imagine this crew taking the stand in court. Who would want to try and impeach any one of them? Ingenious.”

  “Ingenious? Ha! Don’t you see, Wade? It’s all a scam. The entire thing is just a Quinton Cormack con job. Those three witnesses—”

  “Do you think Cormack was going for some sort of Three Wise Men symbolism, or is this trio a nod to political correctness?”

  “Wade, stop kidding around! Those so-called witnesses didn’t witness a thing, none of them signed that will! But Quinton Cormack is hoping we’ll believe they did.”

  “Uh, I’m not exactly following you here, Rachel.”

  “Quinton Cormack thinks I’m stupid and naive.” Rachel seethed. “Oh, I know exactly what he’s doing, Wade. This faux list of witnesses is a despicable ploy by that snake. It’s his less-than-subtle way of telling me that he thinks I’m an incompetent idiot!”

  “Cormack is really psyching you out,” Wade said thoughtfully.

  “No, he isn’t! He might try, but he’ll never succeed!”

  “I’d say he’s already halfway there if he has you believing that Town Tilden’s will is a little memento betweeen you two. And if you really believe he forged the signatures of a minister, a rabbi, and a priest, Cormack has you right where he wants you, Rach.”

  “I shouldn’t have expected you to understand!”

  “Rachel, Cormack realizes how much you personalized the Pedersen case and he’s working that. Meanwhile, you’re not only leaping at the bait, you’ve already gulped it whole.”

  “Stop using overextended fishing metaphors! They’re clichéd and irrelevant.”

  “I should stick to those really original reptile metaphors, like snake?” Wade grinned. “Or is that a phallic one? Because from where I stand, Q.C.’s effect on you has nothing to do with either fishing or reptiles and everything to do with—”

  “Can’t you ever be serious?” To her consternation Rachel felt a hot flush sweep through her. Which stoked her anger even higher. She was not in the mood for Wade’s jokey innuendos. “And—And I did not personalize the Pedersen Case! True, I wasn’t happy about the outcome …”

  Rachel felt a peculiar stabbing sensation rip through her as she remembered the expression on Quinton Cormack’s face when the Pedersen verdict had been rendered. His victory, her loss. She could remember every detail of the little encounter that had followed.

  Quinton Cormack had turned to look at her, his smile cocky, his brown eyes shining with triumph. He’d arched his brows in that maddeningly mocking way of his when she had glared back at him. And then he’d approached her to stand right in front of her, so close … too close!

  He’d laughed when she had refused to shake his hand, which he had proffered as the others in the courtroom began to file out. “Give it up, Counselor,” he’d leaned down to murmur against her ear.

  Even now, she could conjure up the sensory images of that moment. His warm breath rustling her hair, the scent of his aftershave, a tangy masculine aroma she couldn’t identify but couldn’t forget, his solid muscular frame that made her feel—small and helpless.

  Just thinking the words made her blush. Never had she expected to experience such a disconcerting sensation. She’d reached her five-foot-eight at the age of thirteen and learned to use her imposing height to intimidate her adolescent male peers, most of whom took years longer to achieve their full adult stature. By then, Rachel’s daunting body language skills were formidable enough to unnerve even gigantic athlete types because she had also developed verbal skills that could annihilate any male ego with just a few well-chosen words.

  The pattern seemed to be set in cement—men were attracted to her beauty but couldn’t cope with her outspoken, edgy personality. The men she dated seemed to expect what she considered an alarming degree of simpering and pandering from a woman and when she refused to accommodate, potential partners fled.

  At the age of twenty-eight, she’d had but one significant relationship, and disappointingly, it wasn’t all that significant. On her twenty-fifth birthday, she had decided she’d better experience sex at least once; after all, her younger sister Laurel—who was five years younger!—had recently given birth to a baby girl.

  Rachel had allowed Donald Allard, whom she’d been dating for months, to take her to bed—where she had experienced sex once and decided she hadn’t been missing a thing. Just as she’d always suspected, the whole thing was highly overrated. She’d stopped seeing Don and resumed dating others, who stopped seeing her when she didn’t simper or pander or sleep with them.

  Rachel told herself she didn’t care, she wouldn’t sacrifice who she was for any male. She dedicated herself to her career, patterning herself after her aunt Eve. After all, it was Eve Saxon who’d joined the family firm in Lakeview and continued its success while brothers Hobart—Wade’s father—and Whitman—Rachel’s dad—chose other careers in nearby Philadelphia.

  But somehow Quinton Cormack was oblivious to Rachel’s forbidding demeanor, or worse, he was fully aware of it and found it funny. Because the smile on his face had been devilish that day in the courtroom when he’d taken her hand—after she’d refused his taunting handshake!—into his.

  “Not going to of
fer me congratulations on a well-fought victory?” His voice echoed in her head.

  Rachel felt the warmth of his big hand engulf hers, felt his thumb glide lightly over her palm. Her heart slammed against her ribs and she stood stock still, her gaze compulsively drawn to his. She had to tilt her neck to look into his eyes because at six-foot-four, he towered over her despite her courtroom pumps with their chunky two-and-a-half-inch heels.

  Rachel gulped, then and now. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d looked up to any man, but there she was, looking up into Quinton Cormack’s intense brown eyes while he held her hand.

  He was so tall, so strong and he exuded a masculine virility that had a potent and totally uncharacteristic effect on her. She still squirmed when she remembered how completely immobilized she’d been as she’d gazed into his dark eyes. Like a mouse under a cobra’s stare.

  She’d also remained mute. A first for her. She’d never been unable to come up with just that right phrase necessary to level her opponent.

  “You won’t say it? You’re not going to say anything at all, are you? Well, then I won’t offer you better luck next time, Rachel,” Quint had said softly, releasing her hand.

  Hearing him say her name left her as breathless as a sucker punch. It wasn’t until later, when she’d replayed the scene in her mind for the fiftieth time that the note of mockery in his voice finally registered with her. “Then I won’t offer you better luck next time, Rachel.” He’d been needling her. Ridiculing her! And she had stood there passively and taken it!

  Rachel burned. No wonder he thought she was an insipid twit, she’d certainly acted like one that day in the courtroom. And she had given him no further opportunities to change his mind about her. Since the disastrous Pedersen verdict, she had taken great care to keep her distance from Quinton Cormack.

  If she saw him walking her way on the street, she assiduously turned in the other direction. If they accidentally turned up in the same place, like the courthouse or supermarket or a shop in town, she avoided eye contact and made a quick getaway. Her natural vigilance kept her safely away from the man she’d come to regard as her nemesis.

  He seemed bent on proving it, too. Quint Cormack hadn’t messengered this ridiculous faux will to Aunt Eve or Wade, he had marked it personal and sent it to her. Obviously, he saw her as the weak link in Saxon Associates. The acknowledgment stung, but Rachel forced herself to face it.

  “I didn’t personalize the Pedersen case,” Rachel insisted once more, but her words rang hollow, even to herself.

  “Okay, if you say so. But Cormack’s decided to personalize this case, Rach.” Wade pointed to the word personal on the manila envelope, his expression wry. “He’s just made his first move.”

  “Yes.” Was it possible to implode from pent-up anger? If so, Rachel feared she was dangerously near that point. She had to do something, to take action, to get out of here!

  “I’ll be back.” She stalked from her office, nearly knocking over Katie Sheely, who was entering it.

  “Kind of reminds you of Schwarzenegger in that Terminator flick.” Wade smiled at the younger girl. “Or maybe a disgruntled postal worker looking for revenge is even closer to the mark, huh?”

  “What’s up with her, anyway?” Katie asked, peering into the narrow carpeted corridor. Rachel had already disappeared from view.

  “I’m going to take a wild guess that she’s on her way over to the offices of Cormack and Son to lodge a protest—or maybe even wreak some havoc. A very unRachel-like action, but her response to Quinton Cormack is also very unRachel-like.”

  “She looked awful mad.” Katie nervously sucked in her cheeks. “What you said about postal workers…. Maybe I should call Dana over there and warn her?”

  Wade chuckled. “Maybe you should. Advise the staff to take cover. After all, Rachel’s broomstick makes great time. She ought to be arriving there real soon.”

  Despite her anxiety, Katie giggled.

  Dana Sheely met Rachel at the door of the Cormack and Son law office and ushered her into the dingy reception room, which was about the size of the utility closet at the Saxon Associates suite of offices. There was barely enough space for the receptionist’s desk tucked into the corner and the four uninviting folding chairs that lined the walls. The receptionist, a plump, grandmotherly-looking woman, glanced up from the magazine she was reading.

  It was as though Dana and the receptionist both had been expecting her, Rachel decided, glancing from one woman to the other. But how was that possible?

  “I want to see Quinton Cormack immediately,” she decreed, fully expecting to be refused entry. She wouldn’t take no for an answer, of course, she would burst into that manipulative, insulting weasel’s office and then—

  “Come right this way, please,” Dana said agreeably, smiling at her.

  Rachel stared at her. Had Quinton Cormack guessed that bogus will would send her runing over here? Her cheeks pinked. How humiliating to be that predictable!

  “Your cousin said you were on your way over,” Dana told her.

  “Wade called you?” Rachel frowned. He’d guessed where she was going and called his pal Dana to alert her? His actions struck Rachel as treasonous. She’d been counting on the element of surprise.

  As for the rest of her strategy … Rachel swallowed. It suddenly occurred to her that she had no strategy whatsoever. She had acted impulsively, which was most unlike her. Yet clearly, she had been embarrassingly obvious because Wade had known exactly where she was going.

  And took no time informing his dear friend Dana Sheely.

  Rachel slid a covert glance at the paralegal. Dana had the red hair, blue eyes, and fair skin that characterized all the Sheelys but the throw of the genetic dice had given her finer, more delicate features than her brothers and sisters, making her pretty rather than merely cute.

  According to Wade, Dana was smart, too, an ace paralegal who would’ve made a talented lawyer had she gone to college and law school. Instead she had taken paralegal training following her high-school graduation and landed a job in a Philadelphia law firm, where she’d worked until Quinton Cormack hired her last year.

  Wade had wanted Saxon Associates to hire Dana, Rachel recalled, but Aunt Eve had vetoed the idea, claiming their firm didn’t need a paralegal’s services. Saxon Associates’ mistake, according to everybody, not only Wade. Dana Sheely had proven herself invaluable to Cormack and Son, her expertise in bread-and-butter legal cases freeing Quinton to pursue more difficult, lucrative ones. Like the Pedersen and Tilden cases!

  Perhaps acknowledging her lapse, Aunt Eve had agreed to Wade’s suggestion to hire young Katie Sheely when the Saxons’ longtime receptionist Mavis Curran retired six months ago. Rachel still missed the extremely reliable, efficient Mavis. Katie was personable enough but could be extremely scatterbrained, a truth not even disputed by Wade, a longtime Sheely loyalist.

  “Quint, Rachel Saxon is here,” Dana said, opening a nicked, scratched door without a name on it.

  “Miss Saxon, come in.” Quint, seated behind an atrocious metal desk that looked like a government-issue reject, stood up.

  He was wearing a dark blue suit and he looked both professional and respectable, like he belonged in a law firm with plush Oriental rugs and antique mahogany desks and a distinguished client list instead of this seedy place. Rachel’s heart seemed to come to a complete stop, then start again at a frantic rate.

  “Can we get—” Quint began.

  “You can get a grip on reality,” Rachel cut in. Since she was without a game plan and forced to wing it, she might as well immediately go on the offensive, which would stick him with the less desirable position of defense. “Before things escalate beyond your control.”

  “Get a grip on reality,” Quint repeated lazily. “Are you suggesting that I’m delusional?” He did not seem at all disturbed by the charge.

  “Either delusional or criminal. You’re one or the other if you think you’ll get away with this l
atest hoax.”

  “I sense a veiled threat, Miss Saxon. Or is it panic? Maybe both, hmm? Well, go on, I’m curious. What brings you down to the wrong side of the tracks this morning?”

  “As if you didn’t know.” Rachel folded her arms in front of her chest and subjected him to a severely disapproving glare. She waited for him to acknowledge the bogus will he’d messengered to her this morning. Marked personal!

  “I don’t know.” Quint shrugged. “I’m afraid you’ll have to enlighten me. Why did you race over here in a panic to make accusations and threats? If you’ll give me a few clues, I’ll try to guess if you want me to. I’m fairly skilled at deducing—”

  “Let’s not go through with the rest of this charade,” Rachel cut in tightly.

  She was dismayed but hoped it didn’t show. Quint’s counterstrategy had turned the tables on her, putting her on the defensive, making her look impulsive and somewhat hysterical. She could only be thankful they weren’t in a courtroom with a judge and jury observing this unfortunate turn of events.

  Rachel heaved an impatient sigh. “You know very well I’m talking about that absurd version of Town Tilden’s supposedly newly discovered will. The one that you and Misty Czenko have dreamed up in hopes of getting my clients to agree to an out-of-court settlement.”

  “Since Town Tilden Junior is very much alive, I assume you’re referring to the will of the late Town Senior. And to my client, Misty Czenko Tilden.” Quint arched his brows in that sardonic way of his, which had its usual effect on Rachel.

  It made her want to choke him.

  “You know I am. And stop trying to stall with a deluge of trivial details.”

  “I was being accurate, Miss Saxon, not trivial. It’s very important to have each and every fact validated.” His placating smile didn’t cancel the sting of his words. “You see, accuracy and specificity can mean the difference in the verdict of a case.”

  Rachel wildly resented being addressed like a dim-witted first-year law student at a third-rate law school, and his blatant reference to the Pedersen case made her burn even hotter.