Rick

by Peggy Jaeger

  “Honestly, I didn’t have much interaction with her. I mostly did the grunt work for petitions for custody or home removal. We did some pro bono work for the city and family court. That’s why I recognized her name.”

  “From what I’ve seen, your firm did a ton of pro bono work.”

  “It did. The partners were adamant about giving back. Luckily, they had the ability to because of all the high profile cases they’d been involved with. Marty Fields is a marvelous lawyer and an all-around great guy. I loved working for him. He was the one who pushed me so hard to go to law school.”

  The kettle whistle blew. Back in the kitchen, a tea bag steeping in a mug, she asked, “Why are you so convinced something happened to her other than what the official report says?”

  “Too many inconsistencies. People say she didn’t drink, yet an empty bottle of whiskey was found in her car. Her alcohol level was nil, so why was the bottle there? She hadn’t been depressed or worried. Her bank account was full, and her bills were all paid. Apparently, her work was her life. Everyone I’ve spoken to has told me she loved what she did and probably wouldn’t retire until forced to. People don’t change overnight, and I can’t find anything to indicate she was going through some kind of crisis. So.” He lifted his hands. “If things don’t add up, I tend to be unconvinced by the party line.”

  She took a sip of tea and glanced at him over the rim of the mug.

  “What?”

  “Josh told me once you’re like a hungry dog with a steak bone when you’re on a case. I think it’s an apt description.”

  Rick sat back on the couch and twined his hands behind his neck. “First Gemma, now Josh. You seem to talk about me an awful lot, Abigail. Kinda makes me wonder why.”

  Her quick snort made him grin.

  “Remember the cocky attitude I alluded to earlier, Bannerman? Here’s the proof.”

  His grin widened as he lifted his hands again.

  With a shake of her head and hiding her own grin behind her mug, she returned to her bedroom, her constant companion skipping on three legs after her.

  Later, when his eyes began to droop and the words started to run together across the screen, Rick yawned and stretched.

  Time to call it a night.

  The light from Abby’s bedroom was still lit. Moving soundlessly across her plush carpet, he peeked through the open door.

  Cat and lawyer were both sound asleep. Abby was propped up on two pillows, her glasses perched on the tip of her nose, an open file in her hand. Her laptop sat on top of her thighs, the black screen indicating it had fallen asleep along with its owner. The cat sprawled against her hip and thigh, blowing rhythmic snores.

  Carefully, Rick slipped the file from Abby’s hand and placed it on her bedside table. He did the same with the laptop. The glasses required a little more finesse. The moment he started to slide them off, she shifted and rolled onto her side. He’d pulled them off right before she settled. The cat groaned once, flicked her tongue across her whiskers, and squinted up at him through fur-covered eyes.

  Rick let her sniff his hand and was rewarded with a another sandpaper tongue swipe.

  Hands pillowed beneath her chin, Abby relaxed in sleep. He dragged the comforter up over the two of them, shut the light, and then went in search of his own blankets and pillow.

  Chapter Five

  Abby woke to the sense that something was different. She pulled the covers down and realized, first, she was still in the sweats and tee she’d changed into when she got home from the hospital and not her pajamas; two, her glasses and laptop were on her bedside table; and three, Moonlight wasn’t next to her where she usually was every morning.

  Abby spied her cat the moment she came out of the bedroom, snuggled up against Rick on the couch.

  The little traitor.

  All six foot plus of Rick was sprawled on his back. His feet dangled over one of the armrests, his arms were thrown over his head, and one of her spare blankets covered the lower half of his body while the upper half was gloriously naked.

  The man had some serious upper body musculature.

  Eye-candy serious.

  A dark dusting of curly hair swirled from his pecs across his nipples and down lower, to disappear under the blanket. For a hot second, Abby had the insane urge to tug the blanket all the way down to see if he slept naked.

  A resounding thump echoed in the quiet room when the cat dropped down from her spot to the rug and padded toward her.

  Rick stirred and stretched, the blanket pulling lower, enough to show her a glimpse of jet black riding low on his waist.

  There went the fantasy of him being naked.

  She shouldn’t stare. Really. It was rude. But…

  All that hard muscle rippling under the stretch had her mouth watering, and it wasn’t because she was hungry for breakfast.

  When the cat gave one of its loud and throaty cries, Abby scooped her up and whispered, “Shhh. Be quiet, and I’ll get you something to eat.”

  “Does she ever answer you back, Abigail?”

  How unfair was it the man had a body to drool over and a wake-up voice that sent her girlie parts quivering?

  Abby glanced over her shoulder and almost dropped the cat.

  Rick stood, clad in black boxers hugging every powerful, chiseled muscle from his waist straight down to the center of his thighs. His abdominal obliques indented on either side of his hip bones, trenching down under the boxers, a happy trail of jet black curls swirling along with it.

  Eyes crinkling at the corners, his mouth dipped into a sexy half smile.

  “I’m sorry we woke you,” she said, moving into the kitchen.

  “It was time to get up anyway.” The metallic rasp of a zipper fastening told her he’d dragged on his pants.

  “Was the couch comfortable?”

  “It was fine. I’d’ve slept on the floor if I had to. The couch was a gift.”

  Moonlight’s thunderous purring started up as soon as her bowl was filled.

  “Your cat snores, by the way. Loudly.”

  Abby grinned and looked up at him from where she’d sat on the floor next to Moonlight.

  “I know. It took me about two weeks to get used to it. The first time she hopped into bed, she woke me with the noise. I thought she was sick or hurt. I’m sorry if she bothered you.”

  “She didn’t bother me, but it was jarring to hear. Sounds like a plane taking off.”

  Abby rose, satisfied Moonlight was eating well, and filled the kettle. “You could have slept in your own bed, you know. I was fine, like I told you I would be.”

  Rick yawned. “You got any coffee?”

  “Help yourself.” She pointed to a cabinet. “I’ve got to shower and get ready. I need to be in court by ten, and I want to drop by the hospital first and check on Lila.”

  “You could just call. It would save you a trip.”

  Abby shook her head. “No. I want to see her for myself.” Rick moved into the kitchen, and the space suddenly felt cramped. When he reached over her, sweeping his arm along her shoulder, and took down a jar of coffee, Abby was torn between side-stepping out of his way and staying put on the off chance he’d accidently touch her again.

  Rick stepped back and turned, giving her a pleasant, shameless view of his back. And a surprise.

  “Military ink?” she asked, taking in the colorful tattoo across his left scapula of a waving American flag and dog tags spread underneath it.

  “What? Oh, yeah. I tend to forget the tat is there.”

  “Are those your dog tags?”

  He nodded.

  When he didn’t say anything else she was tempted to let it go, let him have his privacy.

  But…

  “So, why the flag and tags?”

  “What do you mean?” He turned around to face her, arms crossed over his chest.

  “Why not a tat of your unit?”

  If she hadn’t been watching him, she would have never seen the way his eyes went
flat. As quick as they did, they shot back to their normal, lazy glare.

  He shrugged, and for a moment, Abby got sidetracked by the erotic way his arms rippled with the movement.

  “Remember the little talk we had last night about me not knowing anything about you, Bannerman?”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “Now would be a good time to start sharing. What’s with the tattoo? Because I’ve got a feeling there’s a story involved.”

  “Don’t you have to get ready for court?”

  “I can spare a minute.” She grinned. “And you’re deflecting.”

  When he dragged in a deep breath, Abby feared he wasn’t going to answer her. When he stayed silent, she knew he wouldn’t. “You know what? Forget it.”

  She made it halfway to her bedroom before he said, “Wait.”

  She turned around and tossed him the stink eye she’d perfected for staring witnesses down.

  Rick ran a hand through one temple. “I never intended on getting a tat at all.”

  “And yet…” She waved her hand at him.

  He blew out a breath. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t exactly in my right mind when I did.”

  “What does that mean?” She moved back into the kitchen and lifted the cat when she started weaving around her legs.

  “If was after…a mission. Me and some guys from my unit got drunk. We wound up in a back-alley joint. The owner didn’t speak English, or anything resembling it. Couple guys went first. When it came time for me, I said no way. I’d already watched two things crawl across the counter. I knew no way was this place clean. But, like I said, there was a lot of alcohol involved. One thing led to another, and the next morning, I woke up in my bunk with a killer headache and a tattoo I never wanted. Scared me deep for about a year. Every day I got up wondering if I was gonna wind up with hepatitis or something worse.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  “Thankfully.”

  “Bit of a germaphobe, are you, Bannerman?”

  “You would be too, if you saw the size of those bugs.”

  She grinned into her mug. “You said the guy didn’t speak English. Where were you?”

  He stared at her a moment, and she swore she could hear his brain working.

  Finally, he shook his head. “Somewhere in the Middle East.”

  “Why? Top secret locale? You’ll need to kill me if I know what your location was?”

  She’d said it lightly, hoping he’d take it as the joke she’d intended. He’d been so serious while telling her the tale, the notion it might be bringing up unpleasant memories shot through her.

  “Something like that.” He didn’t smile when he said it.

  “Okay. Well then.” She put her empty cup in the sink. “On that a happy note, I’m going to shower.”

  “I’ll go in when you’re done. It won’t take me long.”

  She nodded, the mental image of him naked, wet, and soapy in her shower rendering her speechless.

  A half hour later, dressed and ready for the day, she found him typing on his laptop at her kitchen counter, still shirtless. A filled mug of coffee sat next to him.

  “Bathroom’s all clear,” she said.

  He glanced up, did a double take.

  “You look nice,” he told her, his eyes taking their time trailing down her body. “Very professional.”

  A sleeveless pewter wraparound dress drifted down to just above her knees. Abby loved how the cut showed off all the triceps pushups she’d done over the winter to tone and define her upper arms. She’d top the dress with a matching jacket before leaving and slip into the black heels she’d bought with the money she’d saved walking to her office for a month instead of taking a cab each day.

  “Very…lawyerish,” he added.

  Abby squinted up at him and cocked her head. Pointing her index finger at her chest, she said, “Lawyer. Remember?”

  His gaze dropped to her finger and its target. Like they had the night before when his eyes settled on her breasts, her nipples pulled and rolled into two hard balls under his concentrated scrutiny. Pressed against the satin cups of her bra, the sensation was equal parts sublime and tortuous. The slow, sensual smile that started in one corner of his lips and took its time traveling to the other had her holding her breath in anticipation.

  When his smile finally bloomed full force, Abby wondered how any woman possessing a pulse could resist him. One glance at him shirtless and grinning in her kitchen, made her want to grab hold of his naked shoulders, jump up and circle her legs around his waist and lay claim to his fabulous mouth.

  Been there; done that; not doing it again.

  Despite the way her body reacted to him, her head was still in charge, so she took a mental breath. Using the voice she used with recalcitrant witnesses, she said, “And due in court soon, so since you insist on hovering around me, get in the shower or I’m going to leave without you.”

  She turned, dismissing him, to rinse her mug. His hand wound around her upper arm and gently turned her back to face him.

  Gone was the sensual smirk and laughing eyes. His expression was as serious as a heart attack and equally as deadly. “Not gonna happen, Abigail. I’m sticking until I’m convinced you’re safe.”

  “Fine,” she said with a great deal more calm than she felt. “I’m stuck with you for the duration. But you can’t screw up my schedule. I have client obligations and can’t be late for court, so get your ass in gear, Bannerman.”

  When she tugged, he let go of her arm. With a final eye rake at her outfit, he left her alone.

  The thought to have another cup of tea raced out of her head as she placed a hand across her shaking abdomen.

  Damn the man for being so…so…male.

  Chapter Six

  The woman was a helluva litigator as well as a walking wet dream wrapped in body-hugging silver.

  From the back of the courtroom, Rick sat, silently observing Abby argue the case for her client. With each passing moment, he grew more and more impressed.

  And hard.

  Ever since she’d walked out of her bedroom, dressed for success in a color that turned her eyes the shade of freshly mined sapphires, Rick’s body had gone on hyperalert. The ice cold shower he’d doused himself under had done nothing to cool him down. One glance at the opened shoe closet in her bedroom, an image of Abby wearing any of the dozens of ice-pick stilettos sitting on the shelves—and nothing else—had severed the command connection with his brain and the lower half of his body.

  From the looks of her closet, she had a serious and expensive shoe fetish. Rick sent himself a mental reminder to talk about the little obsession with her. Hopefully while she was wearing one of the sexy pairs.

  And nothing else.

  “Your Honor,” Abby said, “from everything Mr. Jansen’s client has stated today, you can see the reasons why my client should be granted primary custody. Mrs. Gillespie is simply the more stable parent. Job-wise, environmentally, and emotionally. She doesn’t travel for work like Mr. Gillespie does. Her parents live down the street and are available to help care for the child any time it would be necessary. Mr. Gillespie’s parents live in California, so anytime he’d need to travel for work—which is often, by his own admission—he would need to employ professional child care to ensure the child wasn’t left alone. It simply makes sense to grant primary custody to Mrs. Gillespie.”

  The judge lifted his gaze to the opposition’s table. “Mr. Jensen, everything Ms. Laine says is true. You client travels extensively for his job. Granted, it’s a job paying more than three times what his ex-wife’s does, but a child needs more from a parent than merely a sound financial situation.”

  “Of course, Your Honor.” The opposing lawyer stood. “My client understands that, which is why he’s been seeking an alternative to his present position that would afford him the luxury of traveling less.”

  “Really?” The judge, to Rick’s mind, wasn’t impressed. “Any idea when or if that change might be coming abou
t, Mr. Gillespie?”

  The man rose. “I haven’t been given official word yet, Your Honor. But I’m hoping it will be soon.”

  “Your Honor, if I may?”

  “Go ahead, Ms. Laine.”

  “This is the first mention of any change in his status. Nothing was said during the numerous custody negotiations nor prior to coming into court this morning. Respectfully, I’d like to ask when Mr. Gillespie was made aware of the possibility?”

  With their heads together and their voices lowered, the men conferred with one another.

  Getting their stories straight, ran through Rick’s mind.

  “Your Honor?” Abby repeated.

  “Mr. Jensen?”

  The man stood again, buttoned his suit jacket, and slicked a hand through his temple.

  “Your Honor, Mr. Gillespie has been working behind the scenes for some time to try and get his work situation changed. He never said anything before now because he wasn’t sure it was going to come to fruition.”

  “And is it?” the judge asked.

  “He’s…hopeful.”

  “Be that as it may, Your Honor,” Abby said, “at present his position is unchanged. The minor has spent the last year shuffled between the two households due to the temporary custody agreed upon at the divorce. The child moves between his two parents every week, some weeks never even seeing Mr. Gillespie for more than a day due to his travel obligations. This is beginning to take a toll on the child. He is emotional, often inconsolable when he moves from one place to the other. His grades have begun to slip, and he was recently involved in a minor physical altercation in school. On behalf of my client, I implore the court to offer the child some sense of continuity and stability.”

  Rick knew if he was the deciding judge, he’d rule in Abby’s favor. Her argument was heartfelt, well constructed, and had been delivered coolly yet compassionately, everything a legal argument, in his opinion, should be.

  Fifteen minutes later, he followed her into the hallway, the judge informing both parties he’d have a decision by the end of the week.

  Rick gave Abby and her client a moment of privacy once they were out of the courtroom. The middle-aged, slightly plump woman pulled Abby into a firm hug, murmured something in her ear, and then kissed her cheek before leaving.