“I never expected to see a Rochelle dare appear in my chambers again,”

Winewski’s legendary sonorous voice boomed.

No doubt the family scandal was about to be rerun.

I straightened my shoulders and managed a cool smile. “Nice to meet you, Judge.”

“We’ll see about that, Ms. Rochelle. Unlike your grandfather, I run a tight courtroom and tolerate no improprieties.”

His implication was clear. My grandfather had become a crooked judge. I had paid enough for my family’s sins. No one was going to make me turn tail.

“I don’t intend to make any.” Keeping my gaze locked on the judge’s I experienced a small victory. He looked away first.

Courting Danger
Carol Stephenson

MILLS & BOON

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CAROL STEPHENSON

credits her mother for her love of books and her father for her love of travel, but when she gripped a camera and pen for the first time, she found her two greatest loves—photography and writing.

An attorney in South Florida, she constantly juggles the demands of law with those of writing. I-95 traffic jams are the perfect time oases for dictating tales of hard-fought love. You can drop Carol a note at P.O. Box 1176, Boynton Beach, FL 33425-1176.

To my agent, Roberta Brown, for your unwavering belief and support; you are a writer’s dream guiding light.

My deepest gratitude goes to Judith Arco for patiently answering my questions about the criminal law process. Any errors are mine or artistic license.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 1

I’m a hired gun.

Not the blazing bullets kind…the legal kind.

After all, attorneys are the only publicly sanctioned form of revenge and payback our society allows. If someone damages your car or hikes your rent, instead of stringing him or her from the nearest tree, you go to court and duke it out.

However, if you do decide to take matters into your own hands or otherwise flaunt the laws of our country, you’ll still need someone like me: Katherine Rochelle, criminal defense attorney, the ultimate in legal weapons.

We can be found in the yellow pages; you can’t miss the ads with the pictures and bold assurances of our qualifications to defend you. If we appear to be larger than life, we have to be, for you are placing your life in our hands.

What you don’t realize is that behind our serious demeanors, diplomas and certifications are individuals as flawed as you are. My brethren drink, gamble, lie, cheat and steal. They fight with their spouses and raise kids who land in trouble.

For some that’s a dollar sign above their heads, not a halo, having sold out their ethics for the almighty buck or other glory.

For others, like me, the struggle to keep our principles and honor intact as we fight for justice leaves our armor dented and tarnished. Sometimes we needed crutches, like the kind I had now.

I paused before the double wood doors and fumbled in the pocket of my ivory silk jacket for the ever-present roll of antacid tablets. A little stomach insurance wouldn’t hurt before I entered the chambers. Even this early in the morning, a cacophony of sound filled the Palm Beach courthouse hallway: heels clicking on the marble floor, briefcase locks snapping, voices echoing—questioning voices, irritated voices, hurried voices. I tuned it all out to focus on the challenge before me.

A familiar burn began in the pit of my stomach so I took a few deep breaths. Here in the alcove, ammonia and orange furniture polish from last night’s cleaning warred with attorneys’ colognes. Inside a new scent would be added: fear. Fear of the accused, fear of the judge, fear of failure.

Anticipation stirred to life, kick-starting my pulse. It had been six long months since I’d had been in a courtroom. What did it matter that this was only a county court misdemeanor hearing where the main thing heard was criminal traffic offenses?

It was action. Soon enough I would work my way into circuit court where weightier crimes, such as battery, armed robbery and murder, were tried.

Granted, the hiatus I’d taken to work with my two girlfriends, Carling Dent and Nicole Sterling, in setting up our own criminal defense firm certainly had been fulfilling. Our law school dream—the Law Offices of Dent, Rochelle and Sterling—was now a reality.

However, it still bit that I had been a casualty in a scandal at the U.S. Attorney’s office. Losing my job hadn’t sat well. Neither had waiting for our offices to be finished.

Practicing law was like falling off the horse; if you waited too long to get back on, you wouldn’t.

I was more than ready to get back in the legal saddle. I reached for the door handle, but the overweight bailiff standing to the side shook his head. “You can’t go in yet, miss. The judge don’t let anyone inside until ten minutes to court time.”

The docket was scheduled to start at 9:30. I glanced at the slender Chopard watch on my wrist: nine-sixteen. I cocked an eyebrow at the bailiff, but he merely folded his arms across his stomach in an “I won’t be budged on this” manner. The way he kept looking around indicated tension.

In a low tone I asked, “Is there a problem?” X-ray machines and guards at every entrance were a way of life at the courthouse, but you never knew.

“No, but we had an incident last week.”

A male attorney, checking the docket sheet, glanced up. “The judge pissed someone else off?”

The bailiff’s lips quirked but he managed to keep a straight face. “The judge was just doing his job.”

The attorney grimaced. “Great. Can’t wait for today’s performance.” He moved away and I crossed the hallway to wait.

“Well, look who’s here.” A man’s loud nasal voice scraped my eardrum. “If it isn’t Katherine Rochelle.”

After I could get past the vision of six wiry hairs combed across the gleaming pale skin of the man’s head, I locked gazes with Leo Feinstein. Age wasn’t being kind to my former law school classmate. In fact, it was gouging his face with a steel brush.

“How nice that the state attorney let you out of your cubicle, Leo.”

His flush did nothing for his massive bald spot. “You were a nice woman, Katherine, until you hooked up with those two pals of yours.”

He meant that I had been an amenable debutante, in danger of fading into nonexistence as a human being, until Carling and Nicole had rescued me. A man like Leo didn’t care for strong women attorneys like Carling or Nicole who ran circles around him every day in court.

“Hey, someone left today’s paper.” Always the cheap-skate, Leo bent over, his faded navy-blue polyester tie dangling forward.

The bold headline of an article on the front page caught my attention: Is The Courthouse Restoration Jinxed?

The answer? Absolutely.

Unable to stop myself, I gazed through the wide bank of tinted windows that lined the main corridor. Across the street shimmering under the bright Florida sunlight was the old courthouse. Black skeletal fingers of scaffolding encased it much like the frustration that gripped me whenever I looked at the 1916 structure.

Would it never release its secrets?

When the 1970s brick wraparound was first stripped away, revealing the building’s facade as it had existed thirty-five years ago, I had haunted the construction perimeter. Had I half expected to see my grandparents walk down those steps as they had when they had disappeared all those years ago? Had I hoped their unknown killer would experience contrition at the déjà vu of seeing the original courthouse and confess?

How much death had those halls witnessed?

So lost was I in my contemplation of the past that I jolted when Leo spoke. “Isn’t it something that a woman was killed there the other night?”

The woman had a name and a life she hadn’t deserved to lose in that tomb of horrors.

“Her name was Grace Roberts,” I stated.

“Hey, that’s right. Your family’s a big supporter of the restoration. Did you know her?” Leo’s greed for gossip hadn’t lessened in the years since graduation.

I shifted my briefcase from one hand to the other. “Love to chat, but I’m due in court.”

Leo jerked his head, dislodging one precious hair so that it spiraled straight up. “Are you here for Winewski?”

My stomach did a perfect flip. “Yes.”

“God, how the mighty have fallen.” His smile reminded me of a vampire all set for the final love bite. “Katherine Rochelle attending a lowly misdemeanor hearing rather than gracing the lofty halls of federal court. Not to worry. I’m the prosecutor today, and I’ll keep in mind that you won’t know your ass from your head in there. I’ll try to go easy on your poor sucker of a client.”

Terrific. It appeared the rumor mill that was the West Palm Beach legal community had generated a nasty spin on my leaving the U.S. Attorney’s office. Either Harold Lowell, my former lover, or the female U.S. attorney who had replaced him, had been bad-mouthing me.

“Don’t do me any favors, Leo. I can handle myself.”

He sneered. “Yeah, I heard plenty about how you handle yourself outside the job.” His attention zeroed in on my chest. That ruled out the U.S. attorney even though she had fired me for “incompetence.”

To my chagrin, I had learned a hard lesson about being a whistle-blower: your co-workers avoid you like the plague. After all, you’ve brought disruption in their jobs and gotten a popular man into hot water. When they had looked at me, I had seen their speculation—had I turned him in merely because of a lover’s quarrel?

Yet underneath the speculation I knew their real fear was they would lose their jobs because they had illegally contributed to Harold’s campaign fund for attorney general.

However, I knew the current chief attorney was smart enough not to risk a lawsuit by maligning my reputation.

Since Harold was already on the slow road to disbarment and conviction for all sorts of federal crimes and had nothing to lose, my money was on him. The bastard.

In times of trouble, though, adages are wonderful crutches, especially ones drummed into the very pores of your being. If my great-aunt Hilary had said it once, she had said it a thousand times, “Rochelles never sweat in public.”

I arched a brow, giving my aristocratic freeze-in-hell look. “Gee, Leo, I’m quaking in my shoes. Don’t tell me that you actually manage to stay awake for a whole hearing nowadays?”

Law school classmates have long memories and one of mine was that of Leo snoozing through nine a.m. Criminal Law.

Leo’s mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for breath. He stormed across the hall into the courtroom, sending the doors swinging so wildly that the bailiff rushed to steady them.

Was my petty moment of besting Leo worth a guaranteed payback from hell? My lips twitched.

Definitely.

I strolled across to the chamber and nodded to the still-huffing bailiff as I entered. I made a beeline to the opposite side, away from where Leo stood, and sat at the end of the bench seat. Letting him cool down wouldn’t be a bad idea.

Studiously ignoring Leo’s glare, I read the graffiti etched on the back of the wood bench before me. Although cameras and microphones had been installed in the rooms when the current courthouse had been built ten years ago, technology hadn’t defeated the artistic endeavors of the accused and defiant.

The newest artist had definite opinions on Judge Kurt Winewski’s anatomy. I chuckled, but the laugh died in my throat as I glanced up. A group of attorneys had gathered around Leo, who was talking a mile a minute. A few gawked at me, their expressions ranging from curious to baleful. The latter belonged to those lawyers whose clients I’d prosecuted during my days as an assistant U.S. attorney. I hadn’t won any popularity contests then, either, due to my prosecutorial zeal, and it appeared I wasn’t going to now.

Let them look and gossip.

But it wasn’t fair that my own integrity was getting maligned. A crook was a crook, right? So what if the criminal happened to be a fellow attorney? I was the one who had been wronged, not Harold. My only fault was once more having no—that’s nada, zilch, zero—judgment in men.

Absently I watched people fill the room. Why hadn’t I immediately seen through the charisma of my boss and lover to his rotten inner core? It wasn’t as if sex with him should have blinded me; that had been uninspiring and blessedly infrequent.

For whatever reason, I hadn’t suspected anything until I had found Harold’s little black book in between my sofa cushions and, after decoding it, realized it didn’t contain women’s phone numbers but illegal contributions for his campaign fund. I had been faced with only one option: I had gone straight to the federal authorities.

“All rise.” The bailiff adjusted his utility belt around his girth as he struggled to stand.

Tucking away the past, I stood with everyone else and watched the judge march to his bench. For one moment the seal of Florida hanging on the wall framed Judge Winewski’s head like a gold halo…or a crown of thorns some would mutter, given the judge’s use of his power.

Beneath white bushy brows his piercing regard swept the courtroom, a maneuver designed to keep the audience standing a moment longer. At once he honed in on me with a look of condescension and distaste, as if a disgusting bug had crawled into his domain. Even though we had never met in person, I knew he recognized me.

Sometimes bearing the Rochelle trademark looks of honey-blond hair, vivid blue eyes and tall, lithe build was a definite negative. I didn’t need to open the gold filigree locket I wore to realize that I was the spitting feminine version of my grandfather. The family had harped on that unfortunate fact my entire life as if they expected my soul to have been stamped with all his faults, as well, like a generational doppelgänger.

“I never expected to see a Rochelle dare to appear in my chambers again.” Winewski’s legendary sonorous voice boomed to the courtroom’s farthest corners.

What was this? Sweep-out-Katherine-Rochelle’s-dirty-linen-closet day? No doubt the family scandal was about to be rerun.

I straightened my shoulders and managed a cool smile. “Nice to meet you, Judge.”

“We’ll see about that, Ms. Rochelle.” The man who once had bounced my mother on his knee wagged his finger as if I was a recalcitrant child.

“Unlike your grandfather, I run a tight courtroom and tolerate no improprieties.”

His implication was clear. My grandfather had been a crooked judge. The cold flame of injustice replaced the nerves churning in my stomach. I had paid enough for my family’s sins and my own stupid mistakes. No one was going to make me turn tail.

“I don’t intend to commit any.” Keeping my eyes locked on the judge’s as he plopped into his seat, I experienced a small victory. The judge looked away first.

“Call the first case,” he ordered.

Everyone sat and the court fell into a rhythm of defendants and their lawyers presenting their cases.

I flipped opened the client’s folder and studied the charging affidavit. Simone Jean-Charles. A thirty-year-old Haitian immigrant with four children to support on her housekeeping earnings. The divorce settlement obligated her ex-husband to pay the car-insurance premiums for one year. Of course, he hadn’t and when Simone had been stopped for a busted taillight six months ago, she’d been ticketed for expired insurance. Then the ex had promised to take care of the ticket. Of course, he hadn’t and her license had been suspended.

Simone’s bad luck continued when she had been stopped by an Officer Pitt because her car resembled one involved in a jewelry store robbery. He had checked her license and charged her for driving with a suspended license. A misdemeanor but my client needed to drive to keep her job. Although I was working on straightening out the insurance mess, a conviction on the latest charge could be economically devastating.

I glanced at the police report and compared the entry to the arresting affidavit. I smiled. Glancing up, I spotted Simone entering the room. I gathered my briefcase, rose and crossed to the center aisle, preparing to take my place by her side when her name was called.

The current on-deck attorney was pleading his case. Judge Winewski rapped his gavel. “Denied. This man’s driving license is suspended.” The attorney shrugged and turned to his client.

“You can’t do this!” his client yelled. “I’ll lose my job.”

His counsel tried to calm him, but the man cursed a blue streak, drew back his arm and landed a direct blow to the attorney’s nose. Blood spurted as the lawyer fell backward.

“Bailiff,” the judge called out, but the guard, sitting in a chair too tight for his girth, could barely lumber to his feet.

As if on cue, everyone raced for the exits, including the judge.

Self-preservation warred with the ingrained Rochelle family code of conduct, but since the wounded lawyer kept yelling at the top of his lungs, I knelt beside the attorney trying to silence him.

Mistake. Berserko’s fingers gouged my shoulder. He locked his arm tight around my neck, dragging me to my feet. Not an easy task as I’m five-eight and had four-inch heels on.

“We’re going out that door, girlie.” Berserko’s breath stank of booze, garlic and desperation.

No, we weren’t. He had picked the wrong woman on the wrong day. I faked a stumble, twisted and whacked him over the head with my briefcase.

Berserko shrieked in pain but he wasn’t down.

Yet.

I spun and jammed my Jimmy Choo stiletto heel into the man’s groin. White-faced, the man dropped like a stone to the floor, writhing in agony.

“Would someone like to arrest this man?” I called out. “I’d like to get on with my hearing.”

The judge’s door cracked open. The bailiff scrambled up and rushed over to cuff the prisoner. Winewski ventured out, his incredulous gaze darting from the prisoner to me.

I tugged the corners of my fitted jacket. “Judge, I believe next on your docket is the case of the State versus Simone Jean-Charles. If the Assistant State Attorney can be located…” I lifted a brow.

“Feinstein, get in here!” the judge bellowed.

The hall door creaked and moments later Leo stood behind the opposite table, but he kept casting a nervous glance at Berserko being escorted outside.

“Mr. Feinstein, if you can quit worrying about your hide and focus on the matter of Simone Jean-Charles, we might finish before lunch.”

“Judge, I have an ore tenus motion to suppress,” I said.

“The excitement going to your head, Ms. Rochelle?”

“No, Your Honor. If you would look at State’s Exhibits One and Two, the arresting officer’s affidavit and police report.”

Leo, his face flushed as he struggled with his file, snapped, “Which exhibits?”

“One and Two. Get with the program, Counselor.” The judge shuffled a few papers. “I have the exhibits. Proceed, Ms. Rochelle.”

“The probable cause basis for the traffic stop of my client was information Officer Pitt received when he called in her tag number that her car was connected to a robbery.”

“So? That’s a textbook stop.”

“Compare the number the officer called in and the number on his report. He transposed the last numbers.”

“Eh?” The judge’s brows drew together.

“The officer stopped the wrong car for the wrong cause, Judge. Anything he found is the result of an illegal search. The charges should be dismissed.”

“Any response, Mr. Feinstein?”

Leo’s mouth opened and closed.

“Thought so. Defendant’s motion is granted. The charges are dismissed. Next case.”

Oh yeah, I felt like doing a happy dance, but instead I whispered to Simone that everything was going to be okay. I sauntered across the courtroom out into the hall. The moment the door swung closed behind me, I pumped my fist in the air. “Yes!”

I was back.

An hour later I squealed my gold-colored Jaguar to a stop behind the shell-pink stucco one-story building that housed the Law Offices of Dent, Rochelle and Sterling. I entered through the back door into the warren of offices and cubicles that was the heart of our operations. I paused, absorbing the dull clatter of keyboard keys and low voices on phones.

Not for the first time, pride burned in me. This was ours. This law firm represented the hopes, dreams and wills of three women who had formed a bond in the early days of law school. I would do my part to hold up my end. I wouldn’t let my friends down.

After walking down the abbreviated hall, I entered the second office on the right, dropping both my purse and briefcase on my desk. As I sat with relief, I noticed a telephone message propped against the phone and grimaced. Big, bold letters, words underlined.

“Great. Perfect morning so far.”

“Talking to yourself?” Carling Dent, her sharp elfin features split by a wide grin, asked as she entered. Because she was dipping a tea bag in her mug, her normal bounce was more like a flounce.

I motioned for her to close the door. Halfway across the room she stopped and stared.

“What happened to you? Since when did morning hearings turn into a demolition derby?”

“Just my luck.” Shucking off my jacket, I examined the gaping side seam, mentally adding a trip to the cleaners on my to-do list.

“All right, Kate. Give.” Carling plopped herself into a plush client chair. “Did Winewski and you go a round?”

I wiggled out of my ruined panty hose, balled them up and tossed them into the wastebasket. “Hardly.”

Anyone who saw this dark-haired babe and what they imagined to be a vapid gaze with her soft green eyes was in for a rude awakening. Carling was sharp as a tack and had the instincts for nailing a person to the wall.

“Wasn’t he a friend of your grandfather’s?” she asked.

“Former,” I corrected as I pulled out a package of panty hose from my bottom drawer.

“Gave you a hard time?”

“Started to.” I slid the nylons over my pedicured feet and stood to pull on the hose. “Then the defendant on the docket before me took exception to Winewski’s suspending his driver’s license. After decking his lawyer, he made the mistake of grabbing me. He figured because I was a ‘girlie’ he could use me as a shield.”

“Next time he’ll be sure to ask about your sports trophies. Naturally, you were the victor.”

I smoothed out my skirt but smothered an oath when I spotted the blood on my favorite royal-blue blouse. It would never come out. “You should have seen Leo Feinstein run for the high hills the moment trouble broke out.”

“Leo had traffic detail?”

Rummaging in the drawer, I found a patterned silk scarf that wasn’t too bad a match for the remnants of my outfit. “He’s down to six hairs.”

My friend snickered. “Get this. I heard that he’s planning to do hair implants.”

I suppressed a shudder. “I don’t even want to think about where the hair will come from. He’s too cheap to spring for anything on the high end.”

As I wound the scarf around my neck, Carling sprang up and rushed around the desk. “My God, Kate. Your throat!”

Granted, it hurt to swallow, but her look of horror sent me scrambling for a mirror. Gingerly I peeled away the collar. The vivid bruise ran from red to purple in a solid band across the base of my throat. Carling’s fingers were gentle as she touched the skin, but I still winced at the stab of pain.

“That bastard had you by the throat, didn’t he!” she demanded.

“Yes.” I buttoned the top of my blouse. The material was silk and wouldn’t scratch the abused skin too much. I then looped the scarf one more time around my neck for extra coverage.

“You should see a doctor. What’s your schedule for the rest of the day? I’ll cover. You leave now and seek medical attention.” She snapped out the series of orders like a general going to battle.

“You’ll even cover the summons from Aunt Hilary?”

The look of abject horror on her face tickled me. I gave her a quick hug. “I didn’t think so.”

She swallowed, hard. “I can call and tell her you’re indisposed.”

I opened the door to the small closet, took out a black blazer and put it on, remembering to transfer the antacid roll into the pocket. Although it covered only part of the damage, this jacket would have to do. No time to go home and change. Aunt Hilary needed to make her club luncheon.

I pivoted. “Well, how do I look?”

Carling folded her arms and took her sweet time surveying me from head to toe. “Like someone who has been through the ringer and is trying to cover up.”

My arms dropped. “Thanks a lot.”

My friend’s lips curved in a big smile. “You’ll do, Katherine.” Her emphasis on my name didn’t go unnoticed. In the world I had once inhabited, my formal name was always used. Carling had been the first daring enough to shorten it. And it was into that former environment I was now heading.

Carling gave me a thumbs-up. “Good luck.”

“I’m going to need it,” I said under my breath as I crossed the room.

“If you don’t return in an hour, we’ll send out a search party to the cemetery of dead debutantes.”

“Ha-ha.” I opened the door and reached into my pocket.

“Kate.” I looked back. Carling would make a great mother. “You’re stronger than you think.”

I slid my hand clear and displayed my empty palm. “This advice from a woman who would rather cut a vein than confront my great-aunt.” I winked and left before she could recover. Getting the last dig in was always a challenge with her.

Outside I blinked against the glare of the sunshine and crossed the postage-stamp parking lot in a few strides. As I drove out of the lot I thumbed another antacid tablet from the roll.

For once traffic wasn’t snarled along Flagler Drive. While oil tycoon Henry Flagler may have started West Palm Beach as a bedroom community for the servants and workers of Palm Beach, to keep them out of sight from his rich cronies he brought in on his railroad, today West Palm Beach was its own city. Technology, banking, tourism, and even the entertainment industry had prospered here. True, it had a tawdry underbelly, but it had a personality of its own.

I loved it.

I drove across the bridge over the Intracoastal Waterway and on the other side entered the preening world that was Palm Beach. Regal royal palm trees lining the pristine road swayed in the breeze. Chic shops and restaurants thrived with customers. Valets in jaunty white jackets or crisp white shirts ran back and forth, parking a succession of Mercedes, Rolls-Royces and Jaguars.

I turned onto Ocean Boulevard and drove past one stunning mansion after another. Only light waves ruffled the Atlantic Ocean while the late March sky was crystal blue, not a cloud in sight. A picture-perfect tourist day in paradise. So why couldn’t I relax and enjoy it?

Because I no longer belonged here.

Turning onto a driveway of hexagonal pavestones, I punched in a security code and waited for the massive wrought-iron gates to open. I passed immaculately cultivated gardens, lush with fronds of palmetto, areca and foxtail palms and vivid blossoms of verbena, hibiscus and bougainvillea. I parked in the semicircle at the front of the palatial house, took a deep breath, and with the practiced grace of the debutante, swept from my car.

I needed to be at the top of my game. This morning had been a cakewalk when compared to the judge, jury and executioner waiting inside.

Chapter 2

“Good morning, Edwin.”

“Good morning, Miss Katherine.” Edwin greeted me from the Palladium-styled doorway. Although he had been my great-aunt and uncle’s butler for only a few months, he was cut from the same mode as the long line of Rochelle butlers before him. Always there before you knew you needed him.

Of course the household staff was so large that there were many unseen eyes and ears to note the arrival of a car. Still, it was decidedly spooky how Edwin would appear at the door before the bell sounded.

“Madam requests your presence on the rear loggia.” In keeping with his training, Edwin’s only reaction to my less than stellar appearance was a micro-fractional disdainful lift of his brow. Otherwise, his face remained expressionless as he stepped back to let me inside. “She’s finishing her laps.”

But of course she was. If there was one constant in Hilary Rochelle Wilkes’s life, other than duty, it was her swimming.

“Thank you, Edwin.”

I moved across the spacious foyer, skirting the center dominated by the overhead Baccarat chandelier. Suspended from the thirty-two-foot domed ceiling, the dazzling gilt bronze fixture dripped with opulent crystals. Once as a kid, I had watched as a hurricane-force gust of wind caught the chandelier and tossed it up in the air like a tennis ball before letting it drop. A falling shard of glass had speared my upper arm. Even the top plastic surgeon called to the emergency room by my aunt and uncle hadn’t prevented the half-moon scar that was a permanent reminder.

As I reached the hallway leading to the ocean side, I cast one regretful glance toward the twin stairways that curved and twisted to the upper levels. A cautious person would’ve kept a change of clothes in her former bedroom. Only a rash person would burn all bridges by removing all her possessions in a desperate bid for identity.

I straightened the edge of my jacket and walked down the sweep of marbled corridor. For a moment I paused in the double French doors framed by amber silk brocade curtains to collect myself.

The view was primo Palm Beach: bands of green, gold and blue. Every rainy season the beach, like a worn wedding ring, would be tarnished, narrowing to a slip under the onslaught of storm-driven waves. Every year the inhabitants would lobby to have the beach restored. Mustn’t mess with property value. The rich and famous had seasonal homes on the beach, so that the beach must be perfect.

I used to believe the city council sent workers onto the beach every day before dawn to arrange shells so that the temporary residents would have the thrill of finding one. Once I crept down in a quest to catch the shell scatterers at work, but I only managed to step on a Portuguese man-of-war left by the tide. That ill-advised outing had catapulted me to a finishing school in Switzerland.

I crossed the patio and then went down the steps to the pool deck. With a smooth flip that barely rippled the water, my aunt made her turn at the deep end of the pool. In her youth Hilary’s prowess as a swimmer had earned her a spot on the Olympic team. Her bronze medallion held a place of honor over the fireplace in her sitting room. Although her years of competition were long behind her, she maintained a rigorous swimming regimen. I would match her stamina against today’s generation of women anytime.

“Are you going to stand there all day dreaming?” Wearing a peach tank swimming suit that showed off both her athletic form and golden tan to their best advantage, she stood in the shallow end. Ignoring the steps, she placed her hands on the side and pushed clear of the pool.

“No, Aunt Hilary.” I walked to the stack of towels and handed one to her. Although her actual date of birth was a secret as safeguarded as the gold in Fort Knox, Hilary had to be in her late sixties, early seventies, but she radiated the health of a forty-year-old. Her strict swimming regimen kept her thighs firm, her body lithe. Although her wet hair was sleeked back, I knew a superb hairstylist kept the trademark Rochelle hair a gleaming blond and arranged in a style contemporary in fashion but not inappropriately youthful.

After she dried off, I handed her a terry-cloth robe. Only then did she present her cheek for my air-kiss. She crossed to the wrought-iron-and-glass-top table and sat down. I followed, taking a chair that faced the sun and the inquisition I knew was coming.

“You look like something that dreadful cat of yours dragged in.”

“Gee, thanks, Aunt Hilary. You look fabulous as always.”

“Don’t get cheeky with me, young lady. Not after all I’ve done for you.” Hilary could look down her regal nose and make a person squirm at twenty paces. I resisted the fidget but issued the expected apology.

“Sorry.”

Without a word a maid appeared with a tray of frosted Waterford glasses of iced teas, and after serving us, just as silently disappeared. While Hilary sipped the sweetened brew with a twist of key lime, I studied her over the rim of my glass.

I had to hand it to her. No matter what the situation, my great-aunt always radiated strength, power and composure. Too bad Hilary was as cold as the Hubbard Glacier inside.

Whoa, watch the poor-little-rich-girl routine. After all, where would you have been without Hilary when Mom so lovingly dumped you on the doorstep?

Presented with a wailing baby, Hilary with her code of family duty had more than risen to the occasion. She had given me a home, such as it was. She had given all that she could.

It was not her fault that the burden of being a Rochelle had long ago burned out any softer emotions in her. And not my fault that I could never measure up to her level of perfection.

I placed the glass on the table without the slightest clink, as I had been taught. I folded my napkin, and along with it a child’s desperate need for love, and tucked it beside the glass.

“Aunt Hilary, you know I’ll always be grateful for what you did for me.”

The faint lines of displeasure framing her mouth eased. She nodded and leaned back in her chair.

“Your new office is doing well?”

I couldn’t resist a quick grin. “The Law Firm of Debt, Default and Miscarriage is doing great.”

Her fine brows knitted. “I beg your pardon?”

“An insider’s joke. When Carling, Nicole and I were in law school, we used to joke about opening a practice with that name.”

Remembering those days in the local bar frequented by the law students, and my friends’ discussions late into the night, satisfaction once more surged in me. By God, we had done it. After all the pain, setbacks and disappointments the three of us had experienced in our careers, we had joined forces to open our own firm. We would make it on our own, defying the all-old-boys’ network that still prevailed in this neck of the legal world.

“Oh, I see.” My aunt cleared her throat. “I would imagine you’ll be handling only civil matters given what happened to you at the U.S. Attorney’s office.”

Ah, here we go. She finally was getting to the reason she had summoned me. She was going to make a last-ditch effort to convince me to take a “title only” position with one of the family’s businesses. Hilary always manipulated a person until she had you trapped in a corner with no escape.

I kept my voice cool and level; she must not hear any uncertainty or vulnerability in my tone.

“No, we’re a criminal defense firm, which means I’ll be helping people charged with anything from misdemeanors to felonies.” That is, as soon as I could get my own clients rather than taking files over from Carling and Nicole. Their former positions with the Public Defender and State Attorney offices had given them a decided advantage in referrals. My past wasn’t so kind. It was not every day a CEO caught with his hand in the employee pension cookie jar—the kind I used to prosecute—walked off the street into a small law firm.

Maybe, just maybe, my victory this morning would help to rebuild my damaged reputation. Using my trust-fund monies for the start-up costs of the firm only made me a financial partner. For my self-respect I had to pull my own weight with client referrals.

“I have a…favor to ask of you.”

Although I maintained a relaxed pose, my Hilary antenna quivered. What was she up to? She demanded, ordered and, in short, expected people to snap to do her bidding. The word “ask” was not in her vocabulary. Certainly, her imperious summons this morning hadn’t suggested this new approach.

“A favor? From me?”

“On a professional basis.”

I couldn’t help myself, I gaped. “You want legal advice?”

Anger sparked in her crystalline blue eyes. “You still call yourself a lawyer, don’t you?”

Ah, her infamous disdain. With one efficient slash she could cut you off at the knees.

My own temper flickered. “Not call. Am.”

“Have you heard the latest about Grace Roberts’s death?”

Disbelief once more swelled inside me. Grace, the vivacious and efficient young woman who had maneuvered her way into becoming my aunt’s assistant, was dead. Violent death to people I knew was becoming a constant in my life, and that nasty realization had caused more than one sleepless night this past week.

“Nothing more than the brief coverage in the morning paper.”

“You’re aware she was killed in the old courthouse.” Hilary kept her eyes on my face. If she was waiting for a reaction she was going to be sorely disappointed.

“Yes.” Then, damned if my hand, on its own volition, didn’t stray toward the tube of tablets concealed in my pocket. My aunt’s eagle-sharp gaze tracked my movement. I brought my hand forward, empty.

“They’ve arrested Lloyd Silber for her murder.”

“What?” My mouth dropped open. Lloyd, director of the courthouse restoration project, was about as debonair and dedicated as they come.

“Close your mouth, Katherine. You could catch every mosquito along the beach the way you’re gaping.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I swallowed. “Why do the police think Lloyd killed Grace?”

Hilary shrugged. “The usual. A young, pretty volunteer. A straying man who wasn’t about to divorce his wife.”

“Lloyd and Grace were an item?”

“That’s the rumor.”

No way. Grace was engaged to a drop-dead gorgeous executive of a high-tech company. More than once she had rubbed my nose in the fact after my relationship with my former boss had crashed and burned. Grace had had visions of a many-carat diamond ring and a waterfront mansion dancing in her head. She wouldn’t have wasted one flutter of her eyelashes on an older man like Lloyd who had lost everything when the limited-partnership tax laws had changed.

“I can see your mind is already at work, springing to Lloyd’s defense.”

“It’s just not possible—”

Hilary held up her hand. “This is exactly why I wanted to see you. For once in your life, I want you to leave well enough alone and say no.”

“You’ve lost me.”

“Meredith Silber, poor fool, believes her husband is innocent. She called me this morning to ask if I thought you would represent him.”

My breath hitched and excitement skittered along my nerves. The Silbers wanted me?

“I want you to refuse.”

My brief spike of adrenaline flattened. “Why? I know you’ve never wanted me to become an attorney but—”

“But would you listen to reason? Of course not. You talked grand plans about the pursuit of justice. Where has this insane need gotten you? Once more in disgrace. Do you enjoy dragging the Rochelle name in the mud?”

Indignation frosted my voice. “I had nothing to do with that mess at the U.S. Attorney’s office and you know it. Harold Lowell was accepting campaign contributions under the table from his staff and other influential people. What was I supposed to do? Just sit there and let him get away with it?”

“No, for once your moral fanaticism exonerated you. But your taste in men remains abominable.”

She had me there. I attracted every loser in the universe.

My face must have reflected some of my chagrin, for Hilary nodded with satisfaction. “Exactly. If you had done what I had advised and gone into the family business, you would’ve met some nice executive and be married by now. But no, you never would listen to me.”

I pinched my nose. “This is getting us nowhere.”

“So typical of you, Katherine. Changing the topic when I’m trying to talk reason.”

“I’ve lost track of what you’re trying to get me to do.”

“Not represent Lloyd, dear.”

“Why not? He needs a good attorney who’ll believe in his innocence.”

“What he needs is a great criminal attorney, and quite frankly, that’s not you, Katherine. What did you do at the U.S. Attorney’s? Prosecute a few executives who stole from their companies? Give them a slap on the wrist with a fine and send them to one of those white-collar prisons for a few years?”

Hilary leaned forward. “The government plans to seek the death penalty against Lloyd. This is his life at stake.”

She was right. I had dealt with only high-brow criminals in a world where the sole stake was money. First-degree murder was a different matter.

“Dear, Lloyd is going to need an attorney who can get him a good deal and you’re not up to it. How many of your so-called court victories can be attributed to the fact that you were dating the boss? That he might have given you easy cases? Even your uncle and godfather noticed that Harold sat as second chair on your trials more than was normal.”

Resentment burned in my stomach. It looked like the rumors had literally hit home. Only Carling and Nicole believed in me and my capabilities. Granted, I might not be experienced enough to try a murder case, but I certainly could plea-bargain with the best of them.

“Glad to know you think so highly of my abilities. Just for the record, I never rode on Harold’s coattails.”

“Be reasonable. You can help best by steering Lloyd’s wife toward the names of several good attorneys. A few of us on the restoration board are quietly raising money to help out. Of course, we can’t do so openly because of Grace.”

“Of course.” Mustn’t take a stand that the press could pounce on. I rose. “I have to be going.”

Unease clouded her eyes. “Katherine, you won’t do anything foolish?”

I crossed the terrace to the doors. “Now why would I start being anything but a disappointment to you?”

“Katherine!”

I paused.

“Why do you always fight me? I only want what’s best for you.”

“If that’s the case—” I turned halfway “—then why don’t you ever listen to what I want?”

“Oh, I’ve listened.” My aunt’s lips thinned. “But you never seem to know what’s best for you. At times you are utterly unreasonable just like…” Her voice trailed off.

I stilled. “Like my mother?”

“No, like my brother. Always so righteous. Always so wrapped up in such an abstract concept of what justice is that you never can recognize the realities of life. Life isn’t black-and-white, Katherine, it’s filled with gray.”

“That’s a lesson you’ve taught me well.”

All too well. The defining moment had been when I was fifteen and home for summer-school break. My aunt had accused a servant of breaking a Dresden figurine, even though Uncle Colin had been the culprit because he’d had one too many. All my arguments and pleas had fallen on my aunt’s deaf ears. When it came to her husband, Colin could do no wrong. He denied the incident and that was enough for her. Not only had the servant Carmelina been fired, she had been deported back to Colombia.

Six months later Carmelina and her family had been at the wrong place when a gunfight had broken out between a drug cartel and the police. Carmelina had died instantly, the earnest eighteen-year-old girl who had only craved and worked for a better life for her family. When I had come across another Colombian servant, distraught and crying in the kitchen over a letter from home with the news, I had gone to Hilary. Her only comment had been, “Death happens,” and that I should get use to it.

As if I wasn’t already all too familiar with death and the everlasting grip of its consequences. Exhibit One, my grandparents. Exhibit Two, my mother.

It had been at the moment I stared at her in disbelief over her callousness that my desire to be a lawyer who fought for others had been born.

Hilary rolled up a cuff of her robe. “I’ve tried my best to steer you from going down the same reckless path Jonathan traveled.”

To the point of suffocation. “If you had only answered my questions about my grandparents—”

Hilary’s chair scraped as she rose. “And tell you what? That Jonathan and Marguerite vanished one night? That the ensuing investigation uncovered his dirty secret—that he took bribes as a judge? That the police closed the case after concluding my brother and his wife had probably been murdered and their bodies dumped in the ocean? I see no need to display the family’s soiled linen.”

Only the barest flush across Hilary’s cheeks betrayed her anger. “As much as you love putting them on a pedestal, Jonathan and his treasured Marguerite weren’t perfect. She wanted too much and he was too weak. If you don’t learn to control your rash ways, you’ll share the same miserable fate as my brother.”

Even as I stared at her, the abyss between us widened, a lifetime of missed opportunities. As I stood on that knife-thin edge of no turning back, in a protective reaction I wrapped my fingers around the locket at my neck. Luckily it hadn’t been damaged in the courtroom scuffle.

Oddly, the piece of jewelry containing my grandparents’ pictures had been my guiding light since I had found it in my mother’s jewelry case in her former room.

No matter what Hilary and the rest of the world said about my grandparents, I had never believed it. True, as a lonely child surrounded by self-absorbed adults, I had fantasized that they were the parents I never had. As a young girl I could only see the warmth of their smiles the camera had captured. As an adult I recognized the core-deep integrity in their expressions that the camera had captured. Maybe I didn’t know who I was, but I knew in this moment the person I didn’t want to be.

“I’m sorry that you don’t understand me, Aunt Hilary, but I have to lead my own life and make my own mistakes.”

“I give up trying to reason with you.” She gave a slight dismissive movement with her right hand and turned away to walk toward the entrance to her suite of rooms. “Try not to drag the family name through another escapade.” She disappeared into the house.

I tucked the locket under my blouse. Hilary was right on one point. While I couldn’t do anything about the old family scandal, I could undo the damage I had done to the Rochelle name by getting my own act together. Time to get started.

As I hurried down the hallway, a door opened and a man emerged. “Katherine, hold on a minute.”

So much for making a clean escape. I halted and plastered on a smile. “Hi, Uncle Colin.” I kissed his ruddy cheek and then spotted another man inside my uncle’s den.

“Paul, what a surprise! I thought you were in D.C. before the Judicial Committee.”

The tall man stepped forward to the doorway and pressed a cool kiss to my forehead. “The approval process is on hold while the senators go home to make sure their constituents know they exist.”

I chuckled. My godfather, Paul Schofield, an U.S. appellate judge, had received the nod from the President to be the next U.S. Supreme Court Justice, but the approval process was taking forever.

“How much longer, do you think?”

His shrug was casual but I could see the tension in his lean, tanned face.

“Who knows? Perhaps when they’ve determined I was bottle-fed and wore cloth diapers.”

“I can’t believe how invasive this inquiry must be for you.”

However, if ever a man had a clean slate for prying eyes, it would be my godfather: a state prosecutor who became an extremely successful personal-injury attorney, married well like my uncle, a U.S. District judge and now on the appellate bench. As cogent and articulate as his written opinions were, he would be a tremendous Supreme Court Justice, perhaps going down in history as famous as Justice Learned Hand.

“Katherine, there’s something we would like to discuss with you. Could you step inside for a moment?

This sounded like trouble and I had already had my fair share in the span of two hours. I dragged in a deep breath before moving into the den. I had always hated this room and the heads of dead animals staring at me from the walls. I understood Colin’s need to escape from his rarefied world married to a Rochelle, but couldn’t he hunt with a camera rather than a gun?

“What’s up?” I folded my arms and studied the two men as they glanced at each other.

What a contrasting pair. My great-uncle’s stocky build had served him well as a college football player on a scholarship, but age had thickened his middle and transformed his lantern jaw into being jowly. Still, my uncle remained a good-looking man. His thick tawny-gold hair had silvered without thinning, lending him a genteel look. Blessed with a generous mouth, an easy disposition and twinkling hazel eyes, he had cut quite a charming swath in social and political circles until he had landed my great-aunt as his wife. Only his splotchy complexion betrayed his recurrent escape from being henpecked via one too many bourbons.

On the other hand, time had weathered Paul’s craggy features into handsomeness. Underneath heavy brows, his deep-set gray eyes glinted with intelligence. White frosted his ebony hair at the temples. Italian-tailored wool suits transformed his rawboned frame into old-world elegance.

Still, the men had forged a bond. One a public defender, the other a prosecutor, they had met at opposite sides of the bench and litigated their way up to fame and fortune. Only Colin’s legal career had stalled after a stint as Florida’s Attorney General.

Colin cleared his throat. “Katherine, what Paul hasn’t mentioned is that the appellate investigation is now focusing on his family and immediate acquaintances.”

“That’s because Paul is too good to be true.”

“Exactly.” Colin nodded, his expression grave. “We need a man like Paul on the highest court bench.”

“Absolutely.”

“That’s why I have to add a special plea to Hilary’s request that you not represent Lloyd Silber.”

Betrayal sliced deep, the hurt curdling in my heart. Of all the people in my life I thought would understand the need to find justice for the wrongly accused, it should have been Uncle Colin.

He had been my father figure, the man I had emulated. His tales about cases he had heard on the bench had been my inspiration to go to law school.

“Don’t look so stricken, dear.” Colin awkwardly patted me on my shoulder. “I know it’s been unfair what you have gone through, that you’re a good girl.”

I cleared my throat. “Woman, Uncle Colin. I’m a woman now.”

He turned even a deeper shade of red. “Of course you are, dear. But you’re just getting back on your feet, building a practice. Taking on what will be a news-headliner case would do more harm than good right now.”

My lips were stiff. “And be an embarrassment for Paul.”

Paul shook his head. “Don’t ascribe sentiments to me. I’m very proud of how you’ve pulled yourself together. But you need to work up to handling the big stuff. Even Colin and I paid our dues before trying murder cases. In the hands of an inexperienced attorney, more harm than good may be done. A man’s life is at stake.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Katherine! Don’t take that tone with Paul. If you want to blame anyone, blame me. I was the one who thought we should discuss the matter with you.”

But behind Colin I felt the presence of my aunt, manipulating the strings, to give me a double whammy. I turned and walked to the door.

“Where are you going?” Concern edged Colin’s voice. I knew he loved me, but when it came to choosing between me or Hilary and Paul, I knew the answer wouldn’t be me.

“Oh, I thought I’d hang out at the county jail and maybe watch some real attorneys at work during arraignment hearings since, according to you, I don’t qualify as one.”

I shrugged. “And while I’m there, I just might arrange to meet with Lloyd Silber.” Without waiting for Colin’s reply, I went down the hallway.

I couldn’t leave fast enough. The house had never been my home.

The afternoon passed in a blur. I first contacted and met with Meredith Silber at the couple’s town house in North Palm Beach. A petite, elegant woman, Meredith could speak with me in private for only a brief period of time. Family and friends filled the rooms and kept interrupting any attempt at conversation. Thank God, I was able to sit with my knees together during the crucial interview. Otherwise, Meredith would’ve noticed that they were quaking from nerves.

However, I held myself together and came away with her quiet plea to at least meet with her husband. After checking in with my office and telling my partners about the possible case, I drove to the jail and took a seat in one of the facility’s conference rooms. As I waited at the utilitarian table for the guards to bring Lloyd in, I wrinkled my nose.

The meeting room smelled the same as ever. No matter how strong the cleanser used, it could never erase the pungent smell of sweat, anger and fear.

Then a guard opened the door and let Lloyd in. I sat back, startled by the change in his appearance. In the course of two weeks, when I last saw him at a social function, the director had aged considerably. His brown eyes were tired with deep grainy circles of black under them. A heavy five-o’clock shadow stood out against the pallor of his skin. However, his background as a naval officer left its stamp in the way he sat ramrod straight in his chair.

Life had dealt him a number of hard knocks, but Lloyd always brimmed with energy. Now he sat almost lifeless, as if the very vitality had been sapped from his veins. His face was devoid of any expression. Only if a person looked carefully would they spot the resentment burning bright in his eyes.

“Thanks for seeing me, Katherine.” His voice was rough. “Not many of my friends want that pleasure at the moment.”

“They’ll call once we get you out of here.”

“Am I getting out?”

“You’ll have a first appearance hearing tomorrow morning. With your clean record, family and community ties, I anticipate the judge will allow bail. It may be high because of the murder charge.”

Embarrassment flickered across Lloyd’s face before the shuttered expression resumed. “At the moment I don’t happen to have any spare change lying around.”

Oh yes. His wife, Meredith, had been quite clear about their financial situation. In the past I had wondered why a man like Lloyd would take on a low-paying job such as the restoration project, but now I knew. At his age without money, he had been hoping to make prestigious contacts.

“You do have friends, Lloyd. A few are raising the collateral for the bail.”

He looked down at his hands clasped on top of the table. “Another debt to repay.”

“It’s either that or stay in jail.”

His lips twitched. “Always the pragmatist, Katherine.”

I cleared my throat. “Speaking of being pragmatic, I have to advise you that I’ve never represented a client charged with murder. However, I’m quite an experienced negotiator. I reviewed the charges before meeting with you, and I’m confident that I can get you a good deal.”

Without warning, he leaned across the table and snagged my wrist.

My mouth dried. We were in a conference room without windows. If the on-duty officer wasn’t paying attention to the security cameras, Lloyd could break my right wrist and worse before help could arrive.

With my left hand I carefully palmed my pen, prepared to jab him if need be.

“I didn’t kill Grace.” His blunt nails cut into my tender flesh. “I wasn’t having an affair with her. I love Meredith too much to betray her like that. You must believe me.”

I sensed the anger through his grip, I heard the conviction in his voice, and when I gazed into his haunted eyes, I recognized the truth. Hadn’t I looked into a mirror countless times during the U.S. Attorney corruption investigation and seen that same lost expression in my own eyes?

Lloyd hadn’t killed Grace Roberts.

I released the pen and laid my hand on top of his. “I believe you.”

“Thank you.” He swallowed, blinking back tears. He released me and slowly leaned back into his chair.

“Now what?”

Under the cover of the table, I massaged sensation back into my right hand before I picked up my pen. “Now tell me everything you know about Grace, about the restoration project and any enemies you may have made.”

Lloyd groaned and scrubbed his face. “How many hours do you have?”

I flipped to a fresh page on my paper pad. “As many as it takes.”

Chapter 3

The stadium-size parking lot had emptied considerably during the time I had been meeting with my client. Only a scattering of patrol and civilian cars remained. The late-afternoon sun cast deep shadows in the corners. Of course, my car was parked on the far side so I cut a diagonal toward it.

Halfway across the lot I heard the slight sound of rubber scuffing against the pavement. I glanced around but saw no one. The fine hairs on the nape of my neck lifted as if stirred by a nonexistent breeze.

I picked up the pace and at the same time shifted the car key into my right hand. Although I heard nothing else, I still breathed a mental sigh of relief when I reached the Jag. Being a city girl, I flicked on the miniflashlight clipped to my key chain and panned the narrow beam into the back seat. No one.

Who could blame me for having jumpy nerves? I’d had one miserable day. I inserted and twisted the key.

Someone jerked my briefcase from my left hand, almost dislocating my shoulder.

I spun only to see a hooded person running toward the street.

“Hey!” I took off after the thief. “Give that back!”

After a few steps I kicked off my shoes, wishing I could throw them like a knife and impale him right between the shoulder blades.

In my stocking feet, I continued the chase, zigzagging among the cars. If I could maneuver him toward the south edge, then maybe I would be in luck and the security for The Donald’s golf course might be on patrol. The Trump course was more closely guarded than the jail any time of the day.

I winced as a stone sliced my foot. There went another pair of hose! The kid was fast, I had to grant him that. In my tight skirt I wasn’t gaining any ground. Time for a different strategy.

At the top of my considerable lungs, I yelled, “Take the bag but dump the contents!”

The thief ignored me and cut around one of the county buses used to transport prisoners. I pumped my arms and put on a burst of speed, but by the time I reached the bus, he had disappeared. I paused, catching my breath, while I tried to gauge where he had gone.

No movement, no sound, no clue.

Now, like an idiot, I could stumble about in the gathering dusk, giving him an opportunity to jump me again, or retreat to my car.

“Damn!” Turning, I gimped back to the jail parking lot, picking up my discarded shoes along the way. I rather liked that briefcase, but thank God, the jerk had gone for the blatant designer initials on the case and not for my more discreet Hermès tote. Although it was a pain in the ass, I could’ve easily recopied the court files contained in the case. Not so for the contents of my tote. Unzipping the top, I pulled out the slim leather portfolio.

My notes from the Silber interview were irreplaceable. I’d dictate them up as soon as I reached the office. I opened my car door and slid inside.

But first, I had a bone to pick with the sheriff’s office about the security of its parking lot.

Nearly an hour later the Jag and I, mutually running on empty, crawled into the firm’s parking lot. Given the time, the staff was gone for the day although I could hear voices from Nicole’s office located diagonally across from mine. Without making a sound, I limped down the hall.

Once I was inside the seclusion of my office, my aching feet demanded that I kick off my shoes. The next article of clothing to go was my jacket. With a mingled sigh of relief and groan of pain, I shucked off my ruined hose.

“Hey, sweetheart. Don’t you think we should get business out of the way before we get down to hot and sweaty?” A man’s voice, as rich and smoky as aged whiskey, emanated from the depths of the Queen Anne chair I had placed beside a table in the corner for working at nights.

I froze, my skirt still hitched around my waist and my heart doing a perfect backflip. I didn’t have any appointments. My sole client was in county lockup.

As I yanked my skirt down, I squinted but couldn’t make out my unwanted visitor’s features. As I hadn’t bothered to turn on the overhead light, the room remained dark. Good, he couldn’t have seen much.

“Of course, I’m for skipping business altogether. Stripping off that blue silk thong over your endless legs would be a lot more interesting. It’s been a hell of a day.”

My face burned. Of all the obnoxious men, this one took the cake. Carling’s office was next to mine so he had to be her client. Let her take his gigantic ego down a peg or two. In the meantime I wrapped the shreds of my dignity around me.

“Excuse me, but you’re in the wrong office.” Each word dripped with the iciest disdain I could muster. “If you’re here for Carling—”

“Hey, you’re here! For once I didn’t hear your car squealing to a stop.”

I looked around. Carling stood with her shoulder propped against the doorjamb. “I see you two have met.”

I was supposed to meet this oaf? With a tinge of desperation, I said, “I was just going to escort your client to your office.”

She let out a hoot of laughter. “In my dreams. After you told me about your new case, I knew you would need an investigator so I called the best. Kate, meet Gabriel Chavez, P.I.” She flicked the switch on so the room flooded with light.

Oh no, not him, although I probably should be grateful for the opportunity to meet the infamous police detective whose dismissal had actually bumped me and the federal corruption investigation of the U.S. Attorney’s office from headlines.

I blinked against the glare as the man rose and sauntered toward me. He had chosen that chair deliberately, I realized, both to protect his back and to see who entered before he was spotted. Here was a man accustomed to danger and wanting the upper hand.

Then I saw his face and was blindsided. God, talk about gorgeous.

Gabriel Chavez personified Latin virility: jet-black hair that curled, golden skin stretched taut over knife-edged cheekbones, eyes the shade of dark Godiva chocolate, a sculpted poet’s mouth designed for long, soft kisses. Dressed in black jeans and black T-shirt, he had a tough, compact build with broad shoulders.

Then he smiled, a flash of strong white teeth. Oh yeah, here was a man who could charm the pants off any woman within a hundred feet with one glimpse of that dimple.

He extended his hand and manners dictated that I hold out my own. I intended only the briefest of grips, but nothing prepared me for the jolt of his skin against mine. A wave of heat singed every nerve ending from the tips of my fingers to the soles of my feet.

I stepped back and nearly fell when my heel banged against a chair. With a smooth move, Gabriel caught and righted me. His arms slipped around me, bringing me into perfect alignment against the hard, muscular angles of his body.

With an effort, I found my voice. “Um, I’m fine. You can let go now, Gabriel.”

His bedroom eyes couldn’t have been hotter and more amused as he slowly shook his head. “Call me Gabe. And I’m quite happy with the way things are.”

I inhaled, to blister him, and gasped. Even the smallest movement on my part caused us to rub together.

He grinned. His warm masculine scent filled my nostrils, making me feel even woozier.

Setting my teeth, I wiggled my hand trapped between our bodies. I caught a pinch of his rib flesh and gave a sharp twist. He yelped and released me. I shook my fist at him.

“Listen macho man. I have been mauled and mugged two times already today and I’ve had it up to here!”

My outburst finally got a rise out of Carling, who had contented herself to watch our play-by-play with great interest. She rushed to me.

“What do you mean, you were mugged?”

“A guy…at least I think the thief was male…grabbed my briefcase as I was leaving the jail.”

Now that my hormonal surcharge was subsiding, my feet were back to screaming for attention. I limped over to my chair and sat, dropping the tote bag on the floor.

“I gave chase but lost him when he ducked behind a bus.”

“Let me see those.” Gabe knelt before me and lifted a foot. His dark brow arched. “You chased him without your shoes on?”

I winced as he prodded a cut. “I thought it was wiser than breaking my neck from running in four-inch heels.”

“You actually think? Did you think about the consequences of chasing some punk by yourself?”

I tried to tug my foot free, but his strong fingers were like a vise.

“I can take care of myself.”

“Right, that’s why you look like you’ve been run over by a truck.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Carling, can you bring me a washcloth and a first-aid kit? These cuts need to be cleaned and bandaged.”

No way did I want to be left alone with this man. We could call Nicole for help. I shot a pleading glance at Carling, but my traitorous friend was already out the door.

With as dignified tone as I could muster, I said, “You don’t need to stay, Mr. Chavez. Carling and I can manage.”

He winked. “We have business to discuss, remember?” His touch was gentle but impersonal as he examined the cuts on my sole. Wow, were my feet throbbing! I tried to see around Gabe’s head to see how deep the cuts were. Then I caught sight of the fire-engine-red toenail polish the manicurist had talked me into yesterday instead of my usual pink.

What messages did a woman send with that color? I almost surrendered to the urge to wiggle my toes to see if any polish was chipped.

I heard Gabe’s low voice rumbling. With an effort, I focused.

“What did you say?”

“Carling says you need an investigator for the old courthouse murder case.”

“Mr. Chavez, I don’t think you’re suitable for the position.”

Uh-oh. He released my one foot only to wrap his fingers around the other ankle. Good thing I’d had my legs waxed as well yesterday. As he pressed his fingers, the action took on the semblance of a massage.

“It’s Gabe, remember.”

“What?”

“My name.”

“I know who you are.” My embarrassment made for loose lips. “Your exploits as a detective were headline news up right through the time you punched out your captain and you were fired.”

My God, was that Aunt Hilary’s biting primness I heard coming from my mouth?

Gabe lowered my foot; I could have whimpered.

“Was that a rebuke I heard? You of all people should understand about being on the receiving end of a scandal.”

He had me there. Leaning forward, I looked into his dark fathomless eyes. “I’m…I’m sorry. It’s been a long hellish day. No.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “That’s a cop-out. You ever have a frightening moment when you become exactly like the people who raised you…even when you swore a million times you wouldn’t?”

He nodded. “Both the good and the bad of our folks are stamped upon our makeup.”

“Exactly. I just had an ‘Aunt Hilary’ moment and I apologize.”

Gabe stayed in a crouch, his arm resting on his knee. “This Aunt Hilary raise you?”

I never spoke about my family with strangers, but in the quiet of my office, with this man who appeared willing to listen, the temptation was strong. Too strong. I needed to steer the conversation back to business.

“Gabe.”

“Yes?”

“Carling and Nicole both speak highly of your investigation skills.” If fact, they had waxed poetic about his results. When their regular investigator had suffered a heart attack and retired two months ago, he had recommended Gabe. At that time I had no clients of my own, so I hadn’t bothered to meet Gabe and hadn’t bothered to check his references.

“They’re dynamite women.”

The obvious admiration in his tone gave me a pause. Was his relationship with one of my friends personal? Jealousy’s claws needled me.

“Look,” I said in desperation. “I’m sure you’d be fine to use on a case with not as high a profile….” My voice trailed off. My family had said the same about me.

Gabe winked at me. “We’re quite a pair with our history, aren’t we?”

I nodded.

His expression intensified as he studied me. “Your partners said you got a bum deal at the U.S. Attorney’s office.”

My cheeks warmed.

“But you made a mistake and paid for it.”

Even months later, chagrin was a hot ball in my throat that I had to swallow.

“Slept with the top guy—”

Oh no, not again. I wasn’t about to listen to the career-favors-for-sex intimation. “Don’t go there.” My voice was tight with anger.

“Don’t go where?”

“I did not get any special breaks for dating Harold. Period.”

Gabe’s eyebrow arched in skepticism. “I know Harold Lowell and you’re a looker.”

Just like a man to assume the worst. This time I welcomed Hilary’s reproving tone in my voice. “What you don’t know is that I eloped when I was eighteen, only to learn the boy had visions of trust funds and not love.” I snapped my fingers. “My family secured the divorce within a few weeks.”

He whistled. “Talk about a quickie.”

Perhaps. But not quick in terms of emotional toll, although I wasn’t about to admit that. I settled for a frosty glare. “Call my mistakes with men lessons learned the hard way.”

Moreover, I wasn’t about to follow my mother’s path and blaze a sexual trail through the opposite sex.

“You must be talking about that rat Prince Harold.” Nicole Sterling, carrying a white terry washcloth and first-aid kit, walked toward us. Tall and slender in her navy pin-stripe suit, she was model-perfect. Her concerned gaze absorbed my condition in one glance.

“You look like hell.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Carling needed to take a call so she asked me to bring in the first-aid kit.”

Gabe leaned back on his heels and flashed that killer smile. “Hello, Red. Looking gorgeous as usual.”

“Looking to die young, Gabe?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Then don’t call me Red.” She handed him the cloth.

“Sure thing, Red…I mean Nicole.” He winked before he looked down as he probed and cleaned my wounds. I bit back a whimper.

“Did Katherine also mention that she was the one who figured out Harold’s scam and turned him in to the federal authorities?”

“No, she forgot that fact.” He squeezed a drop of salve onto his palm and carefully applied it to the cuts.

“Fine.” I leaned back into the chair. “Let’s talk about me as if I wasn’t present.”

Nicole propped her hip against the edge of my desk. “Lucky gal. Nothing like having a tall, dark and handsome man attend to you.”

And dangerous, I thought. Very dangerous to a woman who lacked any intuition about the opposite sex. I said coolly, “If you see a man like that, let me know. Ouch!”

Gabe’s expression was pure innocence. “Sorry. Did that hurt?”

“You know it did.”

Nicole laughed. “Sounds like you two are going to have a great time working together.”

I cast her a withering glance.

“Kate here hasn’t made up her mind whether I can stand up to public scrutiny on this case.”

I squirmed. I hadn’t decided, but the truth said out loud sounded shallow.

“Nonsense. Your credentials are impeccable.” Nicole paused a beat and fluttered her eyelashes. “And you owe me a beer for landing you another case.”

Gabe grunted as he wrapped gauze around my foot. “Thanks a lot. Your partner is already skittish as a perp under questioning.”

Nicole picked up the Saint Louis paperweight on my desk and tossed it from hand to hand. Its facets flashed a rainbow of colors in the light. When my friend was working on a problem, she liked to keep her hands busy.

“We all appreciate the best.”

He patted my bandaged feet and rose, spreading his hands. “Working for three beautiful women. How can life get any better?”

I rolled my eyes, and Nicole laughed. She put down the paperweight and walked over to the corner of the room where I kept a huge dry-erase board. “Since you’re the walking wounded, Katherine, I’ll man the marker. What do we know so far?”

Gabe proceeded to wander around the office, pausing here and there to check out a photograph or a knickknack.

I squelched a Hilary urge to instruct him not to touch anything, but instead removed the portfolio from the tote, and flipped through my notes.

“Grace’s body was discovered at ten-twenty p.m. when the guard was making his rounds. Approximate time of death speculated to be after eight. Our client was home alone.”

“So no alibi.” Nicole’s marker squeaked on the board as she wrote down all the facts.

“Police theory of motivation was lover’s quarrel.”

“Were they having an affair?”

I shrugged. “He denies it.”

“Good-looking older man, pretty young girl. Jury may disbelieve him.”

“True.” I frowned at one page. “He mentioned the restoration has run into major snags. Additional subcontractors had to be hired in the hopes of bringing the project in on time.”

Gabe paused in his prowling. “What kind of snags?”

“Delayed shipments, busted or stolen equipment, accidents.” I lowered the pad. “The workers are complaining the site is jinxed. A few have even quit, saying the fourth floor was haunted.”

Gabe examined the array of my skeet-shooting and swimming trophies on a shelf. “That’s the floor where the woman was murdered.”

Nicole chose a different colored marker. “So for suspects we have our client, his wife….” She wrote rapidly.

“Why Meredith?”

“Jealousy.” Nicole and Gabe spoke in unison and grinned at each other.

“Textbook suspect,” Nicole added.

“All right.” Personally I doubted that Lloyd’s small, reserved wife could muster the energy to kill anyone. She was more into complaining about her lowered financial situation. If she killed anyone, it would be her husband, to collect insurance payments.

“Others on the restoration committee, as they would have access and motive.” My partner continued down the suspect column. “Any mutual friends and acquaintances of Grace and Lloyd. Of course, Grace’s fiancé. Construction people. Who else?”

“No one—” I broke off as a horrible idea took hold. Oh brother, opening that can of worms would make my life miserable.

“What is it, Katherine?”

“Nothing.” I shook my head. “Bad idea.”

Gabe turned around and folded his arms. “Can’t be that bad, Katherine, if it caused that panicky expression.”

What, did he have eyeballs in the back of his head? I sulked.

“Grace’s job was to collect memorabilia from the days the courthouse was in use. Art, books, furniture, photographs.”

“We’ll call this pool of suspects ‘donors.’” Nicole added another line on the board.

Oh goody. My aunt and all her friends would be simply thrilled to be questioned in connection with a murder case. It would be the talk of the town for weeks.

I rubbed my temples where the telltale throbbing of a tension headache was starting. “So where do we start?”

“The murder scene.” Gabe jerked his head toward the door. “Come on, beautiful. Let’s get going.”

“Where?”

“The courthouse. I’ll make a call on the way to clear our admittance.”

“Now?” All I wanted to do was crawl home, straight into a hot shower.

“Our client’s first appearance is in the morning, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“The murder occurred at night, didn’t it?”

“Yes.” I frowned. “Who’s the attorney here?”

With studied nonchalance he shrugged. “I’m attending law school at night.”

Uh-oh.

“Look, there’s no time like the present. I need to see how the scene looks like at night. Besides, with all the construction people, the integrity of the crime scene is going to be shot to hell if it isn’t already.”

He extended his hand. “Go home, change, and I’ll pick you up in thirty.”

I forced my aching body to leave the chair’s comfort without his assistance. “Make it an hour and you have a deal.”

“Thirty.”

“Forty-five.”

“Thirty.”

I sighed. “Okay, thirty, but don’t be on time.”

“Seven sharp and I’ll pick up burgers along the way.”

True to his word, Gabe arrived promptly at seven, charmed my cat Willy, handed me a hamburger and pulled me toward his battered black Dodge truck before I could catch a breath. I had raced home, jumped into the shower and pulled on the first available outfit.

I wore jeans, whose crisp crease had earned a withering glance from Gabe, a black cashmere V-neck sweater, and no makeup. I was tired, my feet hurt like hell, and my temper simmered due to the irritating man beside me, but I was having the time of my life.

What I was doing was so totally removed from the glittering balls of Palm Beach society that I could’ve hugged myself for joy. Oh heck, why not? I wrapped my arms around myself.

“Are you cold?” Gabe asked as he pulled his rattling monster of a truck into a spot in the parking garage.

“No.”

He leaned across me, and I got another tantalizing whiff of him as he reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a large flashlight. Oh dear. Gabe was one of those MacGyver types—prepared for any emergency.

Within a few minutes we stood before the old courthouse. My breath caught. At night with the glow of lights, it shimmered. The first stage of the restoration had consisted of removing the 1970s brick facade that had wrapped around the original 1916 structure. Now the neoclassic building with its graceful pillars stood out among all the other governmental buildings.

Such pretty trappings for so much heartache. It’s just a building, I reminded myself. It simply served as the site of tragedy.

At the entrance Gabe exchanged a few words with the security guard and then we were inside, crossing the hall to the stairway.

My shoes echoed on the marble steps in the old courthouse. Had my grandfather placed his foot in this slight depression? Had he held this banister? Had he and Grandmother walked through those doors and simply slipped away into the night? Had they been dragged out kicking and screaming?

We reached the top floor and took the passage to our left. Gabe switched on the flashlight and its high-powered beam sliced down the long dim corridor.

I smiled. “I was right.”

“About?”

“You’re like MacGyver.”

“Loved that show as a kid.” He patted his back pocket.

“Don’t tell me. Let me guess. Your pocketknife?”

“You bet. As a top-notch investigator, I like to be prepared.”

Ahead of us, the shadows stirred as if a darker one moved in their midst. For a moment I wondered if we had disturbed one of the building’s alleged ghosts. Then I narrowed my eyes.

“I thought the guard said we were the only ones up here.”

“Yes—” Gabe broke off as he swung the flashlight. The shadow moved as the person took off in the opposite direction.

“Hey, come back here!” I yelled and broke into a run. Someone was up to no good.

“What the hell? Kate!”

The beam of light bounced as Gabe started after me. I called over my shoulder. “He must have been after the artifacts housed up here.”

The light steadied and I saw the dark shadow turn and lift its arm. Metal glinted.

A Mack truck in the form of Gabe rammed into my ribs as a loud crack reverberated.

“Umph!” The force threw me forward yet twisted me at the same time. I landed not on the floor but on something only a bit softer.

Before I could draw in a breath, Gabe rolled me underneath his hard body, drew his gun, braced his arms and fired off one shot.

The ringing spread from my ears to my temples as if I was in the London Tower at noon. I could see that Gabe had pulled out his phone and was talking, but all I could hear was a buzz interfacing with the ringing.

He rose, tugging me up along with him. “Come on. Hurry. The police are on their way, and I want to get a look at what he was doing before they get here.”

He reached into his jacket pocket and brought out latex gloves. “Here, put these on.”

I snapped on the icky plastic. As we approached the vicinity where the intruder had been, I saw the strips of yellow tape strewn on the ground in front of one room.

“Ah, so someone else was interested in the murder scene.”

“Gabe.” I halted and gripped his arm.

“What is it?”

I swallowed, knowing that indeed the courthouse ghosts were alive and well tonight, for they had materialized to haunt me.

But I had to circle around to the truth. I couldn’t immediately confront it.

“That can’t be the room where Grace Roberts was killed.”

“Duh.” Gabe pointed the flashlight at the door. “Tape with the words crime scene on it. Surely you left the ivory tower at the federal level on occasion to know what the tape looks like.”

So much for circling. I took a deep breath.

“That’s my grandfather’s old chambers.”

“What?” He turned and gripped my upper arms.

I nodded. “That’s the office where he and my grandmother were last seen before they disappeared thirty-five years ago.”

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