Hot Lawyers: The Lee Christine Collection

by Lee Christine

  ‘You Mike?’ Evan asked, chest rising and falling.

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘You gotta get out of here.’

  ‘Says who?’

  ‘Says your boss. She’s downstairs — worried.’

  Mike grabbed a stack of computer leads and shoved them inside a desk drawer. ‘Who are you?’

  Evan dodged a spray of water from an overhead sprinkler. ‘A friend.’

  Mike looked him up and down, sizing him up.

  Evan didn’t flinch, just held the guy’s steely gaze as it settled on his face.

  Laila had mentioned in passing her clerk was male. That in itself wasn’t unusual in the legal profession. What was unusual was the bloke’s military appearance. He had the same hard-core look about him as Luke Neilson, Allegra Greenwood’s husband. And Will Richards had been in the army.

  A memory flashed through Evan’s mind.

  Rising floodwater. Bloated livestock. The military rolling into town.

  ‘I was ready to go when the sprinklers came on,’ Mike said. ‘I’ve tried to save as much as I could. The foundation’s everything to her.’

  ‘Her’ was obviously Laila, and she’d never mentioned anything about a foundation to him.

  ‘Nothing’s as important as your life mate, but you know that.’

  Mike kept his eyes on Evan as he grabbed the push rims on the chair and wheeled himself out from behind the desk.

  ‘Then let’s roll. Can’t have you putting your life in danger for me.’

  Evan tossed the jacket and sunglasses onto a waiting-room chair. ‘I’m guessing I owe you one.’

  At the top of the stairwell, Mike levered himself out of the chair.

  ‘I can get down on my arse.’

  Christ! He respected the military, he really did. Didn’t mean some of them weren’t arrogant pricks.

  ‘The smoke’s getting worse.’ Evan descended a few steps then turned and faced the other man. ‘It’ll be quicker this way. Come on.’

  He bent low, preparing to take the other man’s weight.

  Surprisingly, Mike didn’t argue. Moments later, Evan had him in the correct position, his shoulder pressed into the other man’s chest, arms wrapped around his knees. The stairs made the transition awkward, but Evan had lifted some serious weight in his time, and he knew how to do it properly.

  Sucking mouthfuls of air into his lungs, he began pushing with his legs, powering upwards like a weightlifter as he straightened from the squat.

  ‘Should I be worried?’ Mike’s sarcastic voice rang out in response to Evan’s loud grunt.

  ‘Only that I might leave you here, smart arse,’ he hissed through gritted teeth. ‘I’ve put bigger bastards than you on my back in the past.’

  Mike shut up as Evan turned in the darkened stairwell and began descending the steps. He moved carefully, staying close to the wall in case Mike tipped sideways.

  Another wave of heat and smoke greeted them at the third level. Desperate to get to the lower floors, Evan rounded the corner, grabbing for the wall as Mike’s weight began shifting to the right. Daggers of pain shot up his arm as the hot door scorched his palm.

  ‘Fuck!’ He gasped, than coughed out a lungful of smoke.

  ‘You right?’ This time, Mike’s voice was devoid of sarcasm.

  Chest burning, muscles shaking from the inflow of lactic acid, Evan descended another two steps. ‘We’re past the worst of it.’

  On the second-floor landing, the first of the firemen were coming up from the street, oxygen tanks strapped to their backs. Evan could hear them discussing possible backdraft if they opened the door leading into the third floor.

  ‘Do we have a casualty?’ asked one, catching sight of Evan.

  ‘Paraplegic. Chair’s on the fifth.’

  ‘I’ll take him,’ another one said, stepping up.

  ‘I’ve got him balanced. Go do your job, boys.’ Ignoring his stinging hand, Evan continued his slow descent. He needed to get out. Talking used up breath he didn’t have.

  ‘Get checked by the medics when you’re outside.’ One of them said to his back.

  Coppery light shone into the building through the bottom exit door as Evan descended the final flight of stairs.

  ‘How you doin’ back there?’ he managed to ask, relieved to be drawing fresher air into his lungs.

  ‘Better than you I’d say.’

  Moments later, heart and lungs fit to bursting, Evan stepped through the doorway and onto the street. In seconds he was surrounded by people, anxious to help. A couple of guys took Mike’s weight and lowered him onto the concrete.

  Evan stayed down, staring at the ground as he coughed out smoke and drew fresh air into his lungs. He couldn’t see, but he could hear Mike coughing beside him. Sweat and water from the sprinklers poured down his face, sending rivulets of soot into his eyes.

  He heard Laila’s voice, felt her hands on his shoulders, pushing him down so he sat on the curb. A paramedic slipped a mask over his face, and for the first time in about eight minutes he inhaled pure oxygen.

  His gut gave a sickening lurch and his head spun. He leaned forward, resting his forehead on his folded arms as he stared at his shoes and waited for the nausea to pass.

  Beside him, Laila was rubbing his back and asking if he were okay. Evan nodded, and though she continued to rub his back he could hear her dressing down Mike.

  ‘Don’t do that again. You put your life in danger and the lives of other people. I know you meant well, but next time, please make sure you follow the correct evacuation procedure.’

  Christ, she had a temper on her. He hadn’t known that. Hadn’t known she was involved with some foundation. Hadn’t known the guy she employed was Rambo in a chair.

  Evan sucked in a deep breath, aware the paramedics were preparing to take Mike to hospital. There was a lot more to Laila Richards than a pretty face and a sharp mind, a lot he hadn’t bothered to learn.

  A shadow fell across his feet. A different paramedic squatted in front of him.

  ‘You right mate?’

  Evan nodded. ‘Just trying not to spew in your mask.’

  The guy chuckled, relieved. ‘Take all the time you need.’

  ‘His hand’s blistered.’ It was Laila again, speaking to the paramedic as if he’d been badly injured.

  Evan groaned and tore off the mask. He’d had football injuries worse than this.

  His protest died on his lips when he saw her. Long strands of blonde hair had escaped from her braid and curled around her face in a riot of gold. Eyes, wide with worry flicked over him, streaks of dirt smeared across her cheeks like corroboree paint.

  She was barefoot, and beautiful, her concern for him genuine.

  He reached out and cupped her cheek, his annoyance melting away. ‘It’s alright.’

  She sagged against his shoulder, and he slipped his arm around her waist and drew her close. By now, most the office workers had dispersed into the park and the police had diverted traffic away from the scene.

  ‘I feel terrible,’ she said.

  Evan gave her a gentle squeeze. ‘I was hoping for impressed.’

  She went to say something, but the paramedic was back, insisting Evan go to the hospital. He eventually agreed, but only if he could sit in the back.

  ‘I’m coming too.’ Laila picked up the handbag and briefcase at her feet.

  Evan stood. He was fit, and the lactic acid had already drained from his legs. Apart from a scratchy throat and a blistered hand, he was fine. ‘You should stay. They might need you for something.’

  The look she gave him would have turned lesser men to ash, and he refrained from saying anymore as the paramedic flung open the rear doors of the ambulance and she climbed in ahead of him.

  Inside, they sat on a bench seat bolted to one side of the van.

  ‘This is a waste of time’, he felt compelled to say as they pulled their seatbelts out of the retractor.

  ‘Will you stop protesting? You’re not bul
letproof.’ She twisted around to locate the seatbelt buckle, sliding towards him on the vinyl seat so the length of her thigh and a nice portion of her bottom pressed against his leg.

  Desire speared through Evan’s body, replacing the adrenaline from a few minutes ago with an entirely different stimulant. They were cocooned in the shadowed darkness of the rear of the van, visible only to the paramedics up front. The two men were paying little attention. The driver was manoeuvring the ambulance through the heavy traffic while the other guy was on the two-way advising the hospital who they were bringing in.

  Evan couldn’t help himself. He ran his hand over the sexy dip in her spine and felt her still for a second, then fumble around as she finally located the buckle and snapped in the metal tab.

  Before she could put a respectable distance between their bodies, he captured her hand, threading his fingers through hers and holding it tight. ‘I’m sorry I swore at you.’

  Old-fashioned as it was, he did his best not to swear around women. It was the one lesson his mother had bothered to teach him, and only because he’d sworn at her and told her what a neglectful mother she was. She’d beaten him, but he refused to apologise for what he knew to be the truth. He’d heard what the town’s people called him — the neglected child.

  Evan drew in an unsteady breath.

  Laila squeezed his hand, soft brown eyes full of concern. ‘Do you need the paramedic?’

  ‘No.’

  As always, when he remembered his childhood, his thoughts turned to old George Peyton, and he wondered how he was taking the news of Duncan and Scarlett’s separation. He was a good man, a tough old coot, and not in the best shape these days.

  Christ, he was going soft, the smoke messing with his mind. The smell never failed to transport him back to that far northern corner of Australia where he’d played footy with the indigenous kids and stolen stuff from old man Peyton’s beef cattle station.

  Evan closed his eyes, remembering the day the cattleman and entrepreneur had come home early from pig-shooting to find him stealing lollies from the property’s shop.

  It was a day he’d never forget.

  The day his life changed forever.

  Chapter Eight

  1.30 p.m. Monday

  Laila flipped the magazine closed and sighed with relief as Evan walked into the waiting room of St Vincent’s Hospital. Two worrying hours had passed, but he was here now, the colour back in his face, his dark hair damp and combed. Apart from the soiled shirt and bandaged hand, he looked absolutely normal.

  ‘They cleaned you up.’

  She’d managed to wash most of the grime off her body in the hospital bathroom. But she was still shoeless — and, without her heels, short next to him.

  ‘The nurse gave me a sponge bath.’

  A rush of possessiveness robbed Laila of her voice, the thought of an attractive nurse running a warm washcloth over Evan’s chest and shoulders bothering her way more than it should.

  ‘You would have enjoyed that.’

  His good hand lingered at her waist, the heat of his fingers searing her skin through the silky material of her blouse. ‘I can think of worse things.’

  ‘What did the doctor say?’

  ‘I’m fine. They monitored the oxygen level in my blood for a bit, that’s all. And the hand’s just blistered. How’s Mike?’

  ‘Unimpressed. They’re keeping him in overnight.’

  ‘I can imagine. And the office?’

  Laila sighed. ‘Thankfully, the fire was contained to the third floor. According to the building manager, it began in a storeroom close to the exit door.’

  ‘Lucky.’ His grey eyes flicked around the waiting room, which had emptied out since they’d first arrived. Now, only a teenage boy with a swollen ankle and a mother, holding an asthma spacer over a child’s mouth, remained.

  ‘When can you get access?’

  ‘They’re hoping for late tomorrow.’ Nausea churned her stomach. Goodness knows what state she’d find the place in. She paid an IT company for remote server backup, so restoring their work wouldn’t be a problem, though she could do without the extra expense.

  Evan nodded and took out his phone. ‘I should call Allegra. People are probably looking for me.’

  She watched his retreating back as he walked across the room punching numbers into his phone. He’d done more than enough for her today, and she had no intention of burdening him further with her worries.

  She sat down in a hard plastic chair and pulled out her phone. A couple of photographs of the fire had popped up on social media, one of smoke billowing from the building and another of the gridlocked traffic around College Street. But mostly they were of workers standing around in Hyde Park, bemoaning the fact that the directive to go home was taking an age.

  Thankfully there were no shots of her and Evan together but, as expected, there were photographs taken earlier outside the court. Most were breaking news of the Peyton’s separation, but as yet neither lawyer had rated a mention.

  Laila put her phone away as a middle-aged man walked into the waiting room, accompanied by what looked to be his teenage son. They glanced at each other when they saw Evan, the boy’s features lighting up with excitement.

  Thinking she could be here for a while, Laila crossed her legs and tried getting comfortable in the chair. The duo looked to be friends of Evan, or maybe even family. They stood off to one side and spoke in hushed tones while Evan spoke to Allegra Greenwood.

  There was a lull in the conversation and Evan turned, as if sensing someone behind him. Laila saw him wink at the boy, then go back to his conversation. The boy looked up at his father in obvious delight.

  Intrigued, Laila watched as Evan terminated the call. Instead of approaching the couple with a smile of recognition and an outstretched hand, he waited for them to come to him.

  How odd.

  And then the father spoke.

  ‘Mr Barclay, Jake was wondering if he could bother you for your autograph.’

  Laila’s mouth fell open.

  ‘Of course.’ Evan patted his pockets then looked around as though searching for something. ‘Err, I don’t have anything on me, I’m sorry.’

  For a moment everyone looked a little embarrassed, then Evan looked straight at her.

  ‘Laila? Do you have a pen and paper?’

  Laila closed her mouth with a snap, nodded, and fumbled with the zipper on her bag.

  What the hell…?

  Who…?

  She burrowed through her handbag for her notepad and pen, keeping her head down to hide her astonishment. Okay, so he was well known in legal circles, but this, this was something else entirely, and it wasn’t because he’d just carried Mike out of a burning building.

  She searched her mind, trying to recall the article she’d read about him. God, it was over twelve months ago and it hadn’t made mention of a previous career. She’d never heard of him, though he had the build of a sportsman. And she should know, she’d explored every inch of his body and had assumed he worked out at the gym. And he was strong. How many times had he picked her up and tossed her on the bed like she weighed nothing? And today he had carried Mike down four flights of stairs. No small feat.

  Cricket?

  Swimming?

  Maybe a soap star — he had the looks!

  Shit!

  Flustered, she located the items and handed them over, confused eyes meeting his watchful ones before he looked away.

  ‘Who do you follow buddy?’

  ‘The Waratahs,’ the kid replied.

  Football! A code she didn’t follow.

  ‘Good choice.’ Evan scribbled something on the pad then tore it off and handed it to the boy.

  After many thanks and a lot of hand-shaking, the happy pair wandered off, gazing down at the autograph.

  Then Evan was back.

  ‘Ready?’ He dropped the pad and pen into her handbag and picked up her briefcase.

  Laila scrambled to her feet and foll
owed him outside to the line of taxis. ‘So — what? You’re famous?’

  When he turned around, she was amazed to see a light colour staining his cheeks. ‘A bit.’

  ‘Well — who are you?’

  It was bizarre, asking this of someone she’d been sleeping with for the past six weeks.

  He looked right at her. ‘I played football, that’s all.’

  Laila could only stare at him. He was so self-effacing, almost embarrassed by the attention.

  ‘Well you must have been good at it for people to want your autograph.’

  He tilted his head. ‘I was reasonable.’

  She’d bet her house that was an understatement. Evan Barclay might have a lovely sense of unimportance about him, but in her experience he didn’t do anything by halves.

  ‘Union?’ she asked when they were inside the cab and he’d given the driver her address.

  ‘Hmm.’

  ‘I kind of worked that out.’ She grabbed hold of the armrest as the taxi driver turned out of the Outpatients driveway and pulled into the line of traffic. ‘I…I’m sorry. I grew up in South Australia. We play Aussie Rules over there.’

  ‘I know.’

  She winced. ‘My family aren’t really into football. I’m sorry, I’ve never heard of you.’

  His body shook with silent laughter and he leaned over and patted her knee. ‘Don’t stress, it’s no big deal.’

  ‘It is to me.’ She was curious, her mind working overtime as she thought back on the past six weeks. ‘Is that why we’ve never been out in public?’

  Laila’s eyes met the driver’s in the rear-vision mirror. Was he listening to their conversation, or did he recognise Evan too?

  ‘It’s one of the reasons.’

  ‘You told me you were time-poor, a “punishing schedule” I think you called it.’

  ‘That’s another reason.’ He was staring straight ahead now, a ‘subject closed’ expression on his face.