Hot Lawyers: The Lee Christine Collection

by Lee Christine

  She wanted it all.

  Wanted him.

  Laila clenched her hands at her sides. It hurt to have him so close and not touch him.

  This is not the time. Stick to business.

  ‘She wants the premium, Evan. Either he pays, or it will come out in evidence in court.’

  He turned then and gave her a steely look, the likes of which she’d never seen before. ‘I don’t like this, Laila.’

  She held his gaze, refusing to look away. ‘I don’t either. But she’s determined to destroy him.’

  For long moments neither of them spoke.

  How much would Duncan be prepared to pay to save his company, his reputation, the family’s reputation?

  Eventually, it was Evan who broke the silence. ‘How long has Scarlett had this information?’

  ‘Six months, apparently.’

  ‘Six months.’ He repeated the words softly to himself. ‘Scarlett’s threatened to leave on numerous occasions. I’d like to know what pushed her to do it now.’

  ‘I have no idea.’ Laila was at a loss to understand Scarlett herself. One minute she was offering to become patron of the Blackhawk Foundation, the next exposing her husband, the father of her children, as engaging in dubious practices, possibly ones that fell on the wrong side of the law. So much for her statement that she only wanted what was fair. A fair settlement was around seventeen million. The court would never award thirty million dollars. Somehow, she had to convince Scarlett that going to court wouldn’t earn her any more.

  ‘You realise thirty million dollars is ridiculous?’

  Laila stiffened and pulled herself up to her full height. Of course she did. What did he take her for?

  ‘Maybe so, but that’s what it will take to stop her going to court.’

  He gave a curt nod. ‘Okay. I’ll put it to Duncan, but don’t hold your breath. Your client’s going to have to come down to a more realistic level, otherwise we’ll never get agreement.’

  He was back now from wherever he’d gone, the master negotiator with the fearsome reputation, unwavering in the face of Scarlett’s damaging accusations.

  Laila closed her file. Despite Scarlett’s outlandish demand, she was in poll position and she had to make the most of it. Regardless of her personal feelings, she needed to steel herself and go for the jugular. In her position, Evan would do no less.

  Laila picked up her file and rested it in the crook of her arm. ‘I would suggest you bring your client’s best offer to the table.’

  She watched his eyes widen, didn’t miss his sudden intake of breath as she brushed past him. Her lips curved in a quiet smile. It was the first indication he’d given that he was as affected by their close proximity as she was.

  Her hand was on the doorknob when he spoke her name. Laila paused, heart thumping against the Peyton file clutched against her chest.

  She turned and looked over her shoulder. It was as if he’d flicked some type of internal switch. His face had softened, and for a fleeting moment Laila thought she read longing in his eyes.

  ‘How are things at the office?’

  ‘Oh.’ She cleared the huskiness from her throat and turned to face him fully. ‘We lost a printer. The landlord has to replace the carpet. That’s about it.’

  He nodded. ‘Lucky.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Then because she’d been dying to ask, and hadn’t had a chance. ‘How’s your hand.’

  He looked surprised, raised his hand and turned it over as if he’d forgotten all about it. ‘The least of my worries.’

  They smiled at each another then, and before she had a chance to really think about it, the words slipped from her lips. ‘I googled you.’

  She held her breath, watching as he shoved his hands in his trouser pockets, pursed his lips and gave a contemplative nod.

  ‘I switched the place cards.’

  ‘Place cards?’

  What on earth was he talking about?

  ‘That night. I slipped a guy fifty bucks so I was sitting opposite you.’

  His eyes meshed with hers and held, his scorching gaze sending her throat dry and her legs so weak they seemed to disappear out from under her.

  Neither of them had physically moved, and yet in that moment, with those words, he’d forged an invisible bond that reached out and wrapped itself around her heart.

  ‘I had no idea.’

  Eyes still locked on hers, he nodded once. ‘I know.’

  Sparks of pleasure and optimism ignited inside her, and all she wanted was to run to him — but she couldn’t, not here, not now.

  ‘I really hope we get to settle this soon,’ he said.

  She nodded. ‘Me too.’

  She went to turn away, but he stopped her again.

  ‘Whatever happens with this…’ He waved a hand towards Duncan’s file, still open on the desk. ‘Just remember Laila — I saw you first.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  6 p.m. Thursday

  Laila stepped off the train at Bondi Junction and joined the weary throng of commuters. They swarmed like insects, listening to music and talking to no-one. Some broke away from the group and headed towards the large shopping mall attached to the station, while the remainder hurried outside to make their connections.

  Tonight, nothing could puncture the protective armour of happiness that wrapped around her following Evan’s declaration. Not Scarlett’s mini tantrum accusing her of going easy on the other side, nor the fact it had taken fifteen minutes to calm the woman down. And definitely not the annoying amount of commuter congestion ahead of the long weekend.

  I switched the place cards.

  I saw you first.

  Laila smiled and curled her toes with delight. She’d confessed to looking at the photographs, and he’d chosen to give her something back, something she could hold onto, a part of him he didn’t have to share.

  He’d taken a risk.

  Not that Evan Barclay was risk averse, not in a business sense anyway. If anything, he had a high tolerance for commercial risk. But from her observations, he hadn’t taken too many in his personal life. Even with models hanging off him in those photographs, she got the impression Evan kept things pretty close to his chest. There were no after-dinner speaking engagements, no dining out on his previous career. There were no dinner dates with her, and no comment on an upcoming biography.

  Private.

  A hard man to know.

  But one worth the effort, of that she was certain.

  She couldn’t deny her feelings anymore. She was seriously, dangerously attracted to him, in a way she hadn’t been with Will. But she’d been young back then, desperate to get away. They’d gone from best friends to high school sweethearts to married, and yes, she’d been happy.

  But this thing with Evan was different. It was adult, raw and sexual, and she found him irresistible, even when they butted heads. She counted the days until she saw him again and when she did, her breath caught in her throat and it hurt just to look at him.

  Laila sighed and headed for the bus stop. Far from ending their relationship, the Peyton divorce case had brought them together. Through that, she’d learnt more about him than she had in the whole time they’d been sleeping together.

  Five minutes later, she was on the bus and heading down Bronte Road. A plump, middle-aged woman, arms laden with shopping, fell into the seat beside her. Turning up the volume on her iPod, Laila smiled at the woman then turned and stared out the window. She didn’t want to be rude, but she wasn’t in the mood for small talk. It had been a harrowing week, but at this very moment everything was right with the world.

  Evan and Duncan wouldn’t be celebrating at The Bowery this weekend, she thought a little while later as the bus pulled into her stop. They’d be holed up with the patriarch of the Peyton family, discussing Scarlett’s allegations.

  Alighting from the bus, Laila thought about the long weekend ahead. Some exercise would be good, and she should keep her promise and go see Grind’s band play.
Apart from that, she was a free agent.

  Out on the street, dark storm clouds rolled overhead and a stiff onshore breeze whipped droplets of rain in her face. Energised, and still on a high, Laila watched the taillights disappear into the sea mist before crossing the road and skirting around the edge of Bronte Park. Even the chance of a soaking on the way home couldn’t dampen the excitement charging around her system, and she had to consciously stop herself moving in time with the music.

  She was halfway around the park’s perimeter, when the song on her iPod finished. In the five-second lull between tracks, a heavy footstep crunched in the gravel behind her.

  Wrenching the cord from the jack, Laila glanced over her shoulder. A thickset man, dressed in black, was fifteen feet behind her.

  Moving fast. Hands in pockets.

  Laila’s nerve endings tingled.

  Don’t panic. He’s just a commuter, hurrying home before the storm breaks.

  Still, caution made her keep her earphones in her hand as she walked on, scanning the streetscape. Houses on the left, park on the right.

  Ahead of her, the road lay deserted.

  As every instinct screamed a warning, she kept going. Behind her, over the distant rumble of thunder, she could hear the rustle of clothes, the crunch of stones under his feet as he gained on her.

  Scalp prickling, heart pumping hard, she turned and looked again.

  He was closer now.

  Hands free.

  Hood up.

  On instinct she changed direction, made to cross the street but he moved at the same time, cutting off her angle, menacing intent in every step.

  ‘Back off.’ Laila hissed like a cat, scrambling backwards towards the park, fingers gripping the strap of her bag.

  He raised his chin and looked right at her.

  Mean eyes in a rough face.

  She turned and ran, searching for a light in a house, praying a car would turn into the street. Hampered by her pencil skirt and three-inch heels, she skidded in the loose gravel.

  In the seconds it took to regain her balance, he was on her.

  A calloused hand encircled her throat, cutting off her air supply and smothering her scream. Stars exploded behind her eyes. Her arm was pinned painfully behind her back as he hauled her body sideways.

  She struck out, clawing his face, fingernails tearing as she raked them down his nose. He loosened his hold and she sucked in air and tried bringing her knee upwards towards his groin. A thick arm slammed across her shoulders, and he pushed and dragged her into the bushes.

  Struggling to gain a foothold, Laila turned her head and sank her teeth into a hot, hairy arm. He roared and grabbed her hair, pulling so hard her head snapped back. When he glanced at the bite mark, Laila raised her hand and drove her thumb deep into his Adam’s apple.

  He gagged and let her go.

  Eyes stinging, throat burning, she stumbled away. Branches tore at her skin, tangled in her hair as she changed direction once, and then again. Disoriented, she ran through the darkness, not knowing if she were headed for the road or deeper into the park.

  Behind her, she could hear her assailant thrashing his way through the undergrowth.

  She tripped and pitched forward, slamming into the cold ground. She tried crawling away, but rough hands manacled her ankles, and then a dead weight landed on her legs.

  Beneath her cheek, the earth was pungent with fertilizer.

  And then she heard the sound of a zipper being lowered.

  Galvanised by a fresh wave of terror, Laila groped in the dark, feeling for the jagged piece of stone digging into her shoulder. She worked the rock into her palm and pushed herself upwards, bucking like a footballer trying to get free of a tackle.

  A meaty hand slapped over her mouth, smothering the scream building in her throat. Laila twisted her body, twisted again, swinging her arm wide as she aimed the rock toward her assailant’s head.

  There was a loud crack, an animal sound, a stink of nicotine and sour body odour.

  Then something hard and cold jammed into the side of her neck.

  ‘Someone wants you dead, bitch.’

  Laila froze. Beside her left cheek, his index finger rested on the trigger, the barrel of the pistol pushed hard against her carotid artery.

  Evan’s face flashed in her mind.

  She wanted to live.

  She so wanted to live.

  ‘You bastard.’

  He grinned, just before a sickening thump split the air. His expression froze on his face, and then he toppled sideways, knocked out cold before he even hit the ground.

  Laila pushed herself up on her elbows as a tall figure loomed above her. A lanky guy, silhouetted against the trees, pistol held loosely at his side. As she watched, he planted his foot square in the middle of her assailant’s back and gave the prone body a powerful shove.

  It was then Laila noticed her assailant’s jacket half unzipped. Her eyes flew to his pants, but the fly was closed. The noise she’d heard must have been the zipper on his jacket being lowered when he’d taken out the gun.

  ‘Go.’ The tall man leaned over and picked up the gun. ‘Run home.’

  Laila scrambled onto her knees. ‘What about calling the police?’

  He held out her handbag, his face averted. ‘Go now.’

  Laila wasn’t about to argue. Standing on wobbly legs, she reached out and took hold of her bag. Calling the police wasn’t going to happen.

  Chest heaving, she backed away, amazed she was still wearing her shoes. ‘Thank you.’

  She turned and ran, stumbling through the trees until she found her way out to the road. Leaving the park behind, she ran like a crazy woman. Reaction set in, weakening her muscles and slowing her progress. Still, she ran on, past the houses where families were having dinner behind closed curtains, past the cars left parked on the street.

  Chest burning from the effort, body wracked with uncontrollable tremors, she didn’t stop until she turned the corner and reached her little front gate. Tears of relief welled in her eyes, blinding her as she fumbled with the latch. She stumbled up the two steps and onto the bullnose veranda, digging in her bag for her keys, a sob bursting from her sore throat where cruel fingers had shut off her air supply.

  Who was he?

  What was he doing to the guy in the park?

  Did she care?

  All she wanted was to get inside the safety of her house.

  Hands shaking, she aimed the key at the lock, fumbled and dropped the keys with a clatter.

  Tears of frustration ran down her cheeks as she scooped them up and tried again. This time, she managed to slide the key into the lock. She was about to open the door, when a sound behind her made her scalp crawl.

  Chapter Eighteen

  7 p.m. Friday

  ‘Laila, it’s me. It’s me!’

  She stopped fighting and went still. The wounded cry, which moments earlier had sent fear rolling through Evan’s body, died on her lips.

  She swung around, eyes glazed with the kind of blind panic you hoped you didn’t witness too often in a lifetime. Only then did he notice the leaves and twigs in her hair, the dirty hands and broken fingernails where she held the keys in a white-knuckled grip.

  Dread constricted the muscles in his throat, making it almost impossible for him to force out the words. ‘What happened?’

  Her lips trembled, but she said nothing, just leaned forward and rested her forehead on his chest.

  Slowly, Evan brought his hands up to cup the back of her head. ‘Laila, honey, talk to me.’

  She pressed her cheek against his chest as if comforted by the sound of his heartbeat. ‘A man attacked me. He dragged me into the park.’

  The words hit Evan like a freight train, one horror image after another flashing through his mind.

  ‘Oh, Laila.’ He choked out the words, rage dotting his vision, and for the first time in his life he wondered what it would feel like to slaughter a man.

  ‘Let’s get
you inside.’

  Fighting the monster that was his fury, he gently prised the keys from her fingers, keeping hold of her as he unlocked the door. Then he bent and scooped her damp body into his arms, kicked the door closed behind him and walked into the living room.

  He put her down on the lounge, shrugged off his suit coat and wrapped it around her shaking shoulders. ‘I’ll call an ambulance, or would you rather me drive you to the hospital?’

  She shook her head. ‘I’m okay. He didn’t rape me.’

  Relief for her washed over him, and he sent up a silent prayer of gratitude that she’d been spared at least one horrific form of violence.

  ‘He would have killed me.’ She spoke in a flat, unfamiliar tone. ‘He had a gun.’

  ‘Are you physically hurt?’

  ‘Only my neck.’

  She lifted her chin, bruises already forming where pitiless fingers had tightened around her throat.

  ‘The fucking bastard.’ Evan’s stomach gave a sickening lurch and he had to fight the urge to drive down to the park and look for the guy.

  But he couldn’t leave her.

  Couldn’t contaminate a crime scene either.

  ‘I’ll call the police.’

  ‘Ring Dickson Cross.’ With shaking hands, she unzipped a small bag slung diagonally across her body. ‘His card’s in here somewhere.’

  ‘Here, let me.’ Evan uncurled his fists and searched through the bag, needing something to prevent him smashing a hand into the wall. All he could think about was Laila, and what he’d do to the guy if he found him.

  ‘Who’s Dickson Cross?’

  ‘A detective I’ve been speaking to.’

  He refrained from questioning her, just punched in the number. Conscious of her watching him, he reached out and touched the side of her hair while he listed to the phone ring at the other end.

  The detective picked up on the third ring.

  The conversation lasted thirty seconds.

  ‘He’s on his way.’ Evan sat down beside her. The shaking was intermittent now, and there was a little more colour in her face.

  ‘Come here.’ He reached for her, and she slid into his arms. ‘Should I call the emergency doctor?’