M.J. was late, as usual.
Kelly Wainwright sat in one of the trendy swivel chairs in Sunny Jones's elegant beauty salon and tried not to think about the stack of contracts waiting for her perusal on her desk at Wainwright & Wainwright, or the deposition in the Thompson probate case she was supposed to be taking in just a few hours.
She wasn't going to worry about any of that, not when she was here with two of her four best friends in the world — Sunny and Pat Turner, in town from New York for a long weekend with her fiancé, Gray Lee. Investigative journalist M. J. Carter was supposed to meet them any minute now for lunch. The only one missing from their group was Isabella Sanchez, the world-famous cover model who was off on a photo shoot in Brazil.
"When are you going to let me give you a makeover, Kel? Top to bottom," Sunny asked. "A few highlights, a new style, and a brighter shade of lip color and you'd be a brand-new woman."
Kelly raised one eyebrow at Sunny, who stood over Pat with weapons in hand — a blow dryer and round curling brush. While they waited for M.J., Pat had convinced Sunny to give her sleek hair a trim.
"I like the old woman, thanks all the same," Kelly murmured.
"We like her, too. You know we do. You look great, as usual — poised and professional. But no offense, hon, you look like a lawyer."
"Isn't that a coincidence? I am a lawyer," Kelly replied, smiling.
"What legal code says you have to look like you just stepped out of the courtroom every moment of your life?"
Coming from anyone else, Kelly might have been offended. But she and Sunny had been having variations of this argument for years, since their days at Freemont High School, better known by its inmates as Cagemont. Even in high school, Kelly had never had an easy time dressing casually. On the rare occasions when she wore jeans, she topped them with an Oxford shirt and blazer.
Her parents had had some influence on her fashion choices. Both lawyers themselves, they'd emphasized the importance of looking the part to instill confidence in their clients. William and Nadine Wainwright wanted their daughter to dress like a junior associate in their firm.
She hadn't minded. Kelly liked looking professional, serious. In high school it helped keep her focused on her goals: a 4.0 grade point average, being class valedictorian, and eventually graduating from Yale Law School. Two out of three wasn't bad, she reminded herself as she once more felt the familiar sting of failure. After her mother died in a car accident the month before high school graduation, Kelly had traded in her Ivy League dreams and full-ride Yale scholarship for a perfectly respectable — if unremarkable — education at the University of Denver.
She had done the right thing. Her father had needed her. He'd been adrift without Nadine — they all had, William, Kelly and her two younger brothers — so she had stayed. She was still here, 10 years later, despite the offer of her dream job after she graduated — as a trial associate at a leading New York firm.
Once more fate had intervened, though. Three years ago her father, William, had been diagnosed with cancer. He'd needed her help again or Wainwright & Wainwright would have folded.
She sighed. Why did she continue to angst about this? She didn't regret any of her choices. Not really. She had done the right thing by staying. Sometimes she just wondered what might have happened if her life had taken the road she'd mapped out for it.
"As always, I appreciate the offer," she told Sunny. "But I'm going to pass."
Before Sunny could push the matter, M.J. rushed in, out of breath, and threw her leather backpack on one of the chairs. "Sorry I'm late but you'll never guess what I just heard."
All three of them waited expectantly, used to M.J.'s little announcements. She lived for moments like this, when she could spring juicy tidbits of information on them. "Don't keep us in suspense," Kelly finally said. "Give."
"Okay, but you're not going to believe it. Do you remember Jackson Hunter from Freemont? Big, gorgeous guy a few years ahead of us?"
"I think so." Pat frowned. "Didn't he have detention with us?"
The five of them had become lifelong friends after spending six memorable weeks in detention for their free-for-all with the Four Queens, the self-proclaimed social rulers of Cagemont.
"I remember him," Sunny said. "Dark, sexy. Never said much, just brooded a lot."
"What about him?" Kelly asked, trying to calm her suddenly racing pulse. She hadn't thought about Jackson Hunter in years. He'd been one of those unwilling fascinations. She wouldn't call it a crush, exactly — how could it be when she'd never even talked to him? They moved in completely different circles. Well, she moved in a different circle, anyway. Jackson Hunter always seemed to stand alone. Still, she used to watch him sometimes, and a few times she had even caught him watching back.
"Apparently he's been a Denver cop all these years and a pretty good one if my sources are accurate. Won several commendations and made detective after just a few years."
"And?" Kelly prodded.
"Hold your horses. I'm getting to that, counselor." M.J. paused for dramatic effect. "And, word in the newsroom is that he was arrested today for murder."
Kelly stared at her friend while shock and dismay churned through her. "Who is he accused of killing?" Her voice sounded funny, Kelly thought. All hollow and distant.
M.J. didn't seem to notice. "Get this. Another cop. A woman he recently had an affair with, apparently. They broke it off a few months ago and the speculation is that he didn't take it well. Too bad this isn't my beat. It has all the elements of a huge story. A decorated cop is accused of killing another cop over a secret affair that went wrong. The tabloids are going to have a field day over this one. I bet the wolves are already circling."
"Poor guy." Sunny was always on the lookout for a cause. "It sounds like what Jackson Hunter needs is a good lawyer."
As if they were joined at the earlobes, all three of Kelly's friends turned their heads to look at her.
"No. No way. Absolutely not."
"Come on, Kelly." Sunny's eyes gleamed with excitement. "This could be your big chance!"
"My big chance to what?"
"To get some trial experience, just like you've always dreamed. It sounds like it's going to be the murder case of the year. Think of the exposure!"
"Think about how my father would have a heart attack if he knew I ever even thought about defending an accused murderer!"
Pat spoke up for the first time since M.J. joined them. "At some point, you have to think about your own dreams, Kel. You've given 10 years to your family. Don't you think that's enough?"
Trust Pat — a syndicated advice columnist — to cut right to the heart of the matter. No matter what she might think, Kelly's family still needed her. Her father's cancer was in remission but chemotherapy and radiation had left him permanently weakened.
"I'm sure Jackson Hunter already has a lawyer. Even if he didn't, why would he want me as his counsel? I've never even tried a case."
"Because you're the Brain of Cagemont High. If I were accused of killing someone, I wouldn't want anyone else to defend me," Sunny said loyally.
"According to my sources, he's being arraigned this afternoon at three," M.J. added. "If I didn't already have an interview lined up, I'd run over just to get a look at him, to see if he's as hot as he used to be."
"The man's accused of murder," Kelly said dryly. "He's probably been interrogated for hours. I doubt he's going to look his best."
"Why don't you go? Check it out for us?"
What in heaven's name was she doing here?
Kelly slipped into the back of the courtroom where her old high school classmate Jackson Hunter was being arraigned for the murder of another police officer. He was the next one on the docket, the bailiff at the door had told her.
She hadn't meant to come. Despite her friends' urging, she left Gray Lee's Fifty Yard Line restaurant after lunch fully intending to stay as far away as she could from Jackson Hunter and his troubles. But she had been at the courthouse anyway for another hearing in a probate case. She had finished up just a few moments ago and remembered his arraignment was scheduled for 3 p.m., so here she was.
She scanned the packed courtroom — full of other defendants on the docket, their attorneys, and no small number of media representatives — and wondered if she would even recognize Jackson Hunter. It had been more than a decade since she'd seen him. For all she knew, he'd lost his hair and developed a beer gut.
The courtroom suddenly buzzed with excitement and an instant later, two sheriff's deputies led in a handcuffed man. It was Jackson, no doubt about it.
Okay. He hadn't gone to fat. Kelly caught her breath. The aloof, brooding teenager she had known at Freemont High School had become a hard, dangerous man, big and muscled and heartbreakingly gorgeous. He had straight black hair cut short, piercing dark eyes and a mouth that would have sent her imagination into overdrive under other circumstances.
He looked arrogant and aloof as he scanned the courtroom but as he looked toward the back of the courtroom at the rapacious crowd — most here for his hearing — she couldn't control her shiver. She had never seen such pure, undiluted fury. She thought she saw something else there, a deep, baffled betrayal, as if he couldn't quite figure out what he was doing there, then his gaze suddenly landed on her and those intense dark eyes narrowed with shocked recognition.
She shouldn't have come. He must think she was no better than the rest of the vultures come to pick his bones clean.
Before she could slip out of the room again, the gray-haired judge called for counsel to approach the bench. Martin Frinkel, who had been a year behind her at law school and now worked for the district attorney, stepped up to the bench. She waited for defense counsel to approach but no one stepped forward.
"Where is your attorney, Mr. Hunter?"
Jackson lifted his chin. "I haven't retained counsel yet, your honor."
"Then I'll assign you an attorney, just for these proceedings." He scanned the courtroom. "You, Mr. Huang. You've just won the lottery."
The young public defender in question looked up from a pile of briefs in his hand, horror in his eyes. "But...but, Your Honor, my caseload is full."
Kelly couldn't let Jackson Hunter be represented by a green kid who couldn't have passed the bar more than a month ago. Not after seeing that raw emotion in his eyes. Her heart started to pound, a wild panic flared in her stomach. No. She couldn't do this!
She fought the instinct as long as she could. Then, with a sense of grim inevitability, she stood up on knees that suddenly wobbled. "Your Honor, if you have no objection, I will represent Mr. Jackson in these proceedings."
All the heads in the courtroom swiveled toward her. The judge frowned down at her. "And you are?"
"Kelly Wainwright, sir. Of Wainwright & Wainwright."
"I know your father, young lady. He's a good man. Well, Mr. Huang, you're off the hook. Step forward, Ms. Wainwright."
She grabbed her briefcase and walked to the front of the courtroom, afraid to look at her new client for fear of what expression she might see in those dark eyes now.
* * *
As a whole, the past 36 hours had really sucked.
From the moment he'd woken up with only hazy memories of the night before and found Crystal McCall's body in his living room, his entire world had shattered.
Now he watched Kelly Wainwright — the Brain of old Cagemont High — walk to the bench in a slim gray suit and high heels, looking cool and composed. His life had only needed this to go from horribly surreal to truly hellish.
Kelly Wainwright. He hadn't seen her since those miserable days of high school, when she used to figure very prominently in his more lurid teenage fantasies. He never expected to run into her again. Last he heard, she was heading for Yale, for fame and fortune and stunning success as a lawyer.
But here she was, coolly announcing to the world she would represent him. He wanted to tell her to go straight to perdition, the same place he wanted to consign every last person in the courtroom :— and most especially his former brothers on the force who had been so damn quick to send him here.
Fury prowled through him, wild and dark. How in the hell had he ended up here, charged with Crystal's murder? He never would have killed her. Not in a million years. He didn't know how she ended up dead in his living room but he did know he wasn't the one who put her there. All he knew was he'd woken up at 3 in the morning feeling woozy, went to get a drink of water from his kitchen, and practically tripped over Crystal's body.
He watched the judge finish conferring with the Brain and that weasel Marty Frinkel from the district attorney's office. The lawyers returned to their respective tables, then Kelly spoke. "Your Honor, may I have a moment to confer with my client?"
"Yes, but just a moment. We have a packed house today, Ms. Wainwright."
She turned toward him at last and he cursed again the circumstances that had brought him to such a low point. Fury turned his voice sharp, mean. "Are you so desperate for clients that you go trolling for them in bind-over hearings?"
Hurt flashed briefly in those hazel eyes so stunning in her café au lait features, but she blinked and it disappeared, leaving her cool and professional once more. "What do you plan to plead to the charge against you?" she asked quietly.
"Not guilty, damn it," he growled, ashamed of himself for taking out his emotions on her. "I did not kill Crystal McCall. I swear it."
She nodded, as if his answer was just as she expected, then told the judge they were ready to begin. Jackson listened to the prosecution lay out the preliminary evidence against him. Even though he knew how important these proceedings were — this was where the judge would determine if there was enough evidence against him to warrant a trial and where a bail amount would be set — Jackson had to fight off exhaustion. Between being interrogated, fingerprinted, searched, and booked, he hadn't slept in 36 hours, since finding Crystal's body.
The D.A. laid out a grim picture, he had to admit. Hell, if he'd been the investigating officer on the case, he no doubt would have arrested himself, too. Crystal's body was found at his house; she was killed with his Glock 9 mm service weapon, left at the scene with only his fingerprints on it; he had no alibi after Tony left him at his apartment. Not only did he not have an alibi, he didn't have any memory of most of the night. All he remembered was feeling sick, loopy, after only two beers at Seymour's.
As he listened to the steady litany of evidence, he wanted to scrub his face in frustration, to pound his fists into something hard. The people had a terrifyingly strong case against him.
He was being framed. It was the only explanation he could come up with. He wouldn't have killed Crystal. He knew in his gut he couldn't have done it, even though his memory had huge, glaring gaps in it.
But if he didn't, who did?
He jerked his mind back to the court proceedings in time to hear the little weasel of a prosecutor finish up. "Mr. Hunter, you've heard the evidence against you," the judge said. "How do you plead."
Kelly stood up along with him. "Not guilty, Your Honor," he said.
"The people are seeking to have the defendant remanded to custody without bail," Frinkel said.
No! He was going to be stuck in a damn jail cell until his case went to trial. He hitched in a breath as rage and hopelessness buffeted him.
He didn't make a sound but some of his sick dread must have shown on his features. The Brain reached out and squeezed his arm for an instant before turning back to the bench.
Just that one simple, comforting touch completely took his breath away. He felt as if he'd finally gotten his first glimpse at humanity again after 36 hours in hell.
"Your Honor," Kelly said, her voice strong, persuasive, "The people's case against my client is completely circumstantial. Detective Hunter is an exemplary police officer who has dedicated his life to serving and protecting the people of this city. He has strong ties to the community and poses little flight risk."
The judge frowned for a moment, then nodded. "I'm inclined to agree with you, Ms. Wainwright. The defendant is hereby bound over for trial and bail is set at $100,000."
With the bang of a gavel, it was over. The bailiff came forward to lead him to the holding room outside the courtroom. Kelly aimed a killer smile at the man that had him gaping at her elegant features. "Deputy Nichols, would there be an open interview room where I might confer with my client before he is returned to the holding cell?"
The bailiff looked dazed, as though he'd just stared a few seconds too long at the sun. "I'll see what I can do."
Good, Jackson thought. He had a few words of his own to say to the Brain.
Her stomach still twitched with nerves as Kelly followed Jackson Hunter and a bailiff into the small room where defendants in criminal proceedings could meet with their attorneys. Jackson was one of those defendants, charged with murdering his ex-girlfriend and fellow police officer Crystal McCall.
She had only come to his bond hearing out of curiosity — he had been the bad boy of Cagemont High School during the years when she had been known as the Brain. Somehow, though, she had ended up stepping forward to defend the man.
The room felt as small and claustrophobic as a broom closet when Jackson took a seat at the small table across from her. He was too close. Even though he was still cuffed — and even though she somehow knew instinctively that he wouldn't hurt her — she was intensely aware of his size, his strength.
"I'm sorry I just barged in there and took over. I'm not usually so impulsive. Or so presumptuous."
"Sorry? I don't know what I would have done without you. I was sure I was going to be remanded without bail. I wouldn't have survived months in jail until my trial date."
"You still have to come up with $100,000 bond. Is that going to be a problem?"
His shrug was a vivid reminder of the strength in those broad shoulders. "I'll figure something out. I can always put my house up against it."
"Good." She pulled out one of her business cards from her slim leather briefcase. "When you hire counsel, have your attorney contact me and I can brief him — or her — on today's hearing."
He frowned. "What do you mean, when I hire counsel? You're my counsel."
Kelly's eyes widened in surprise. "I only stepped in today so you wouldn't get stuck with an overworked public defender."
"And you did a hell of a job. I can't imagine anybody I'd rather have defend me than the Brain of Cagemont High."
"You don't want me as your counsel, I promise you."
"Why not?"
She debated how to answer that and finally admitted she had to tell him the truth. "Because I'm worse than the most inexperienced public defender. I've never tried a criminal case before. I'm sorry."
"Never? Last I heard you were heading to Yale."
She swallowed the bitterness of unfulfilled dreams. "Things change, Officer Hunter. Fate sometimes makes different plans for us."
He lifted his handcuffs, his dark eyes wry. "You don't have to tell me that. But you are an attorney, right?"
"Yes. I went to school at the University of Denver. I'm qualified to try criminal cases. I've just never had the opportunity. I work with my father, and his firm specializes in corporate and contract law."
"So you could still defend me."
"Theoretically."
"Then why won't you do it?"
"You're on trial for murder! You need a defense attorney who knows her way around a courtroom."
"I've been a cop for a long time, Kelly, and I've testified for the prosecution in my share of trials. In my experience, most defense attorneys only care about getting their client off any way possible."
"Isn't that what you want?"
"I want justice! I didn't kill Crystal McCall and I want the whole damn world to know that."
She believed him, she realized. Despite all the evidence she had heard against him in that courtroom, she firmly believed Jackson was telling the truth.
"You're the smartest person I've ever met," he went on. "More than that, you were also one of the most decent people at Cagemont High. I want you to defend me. Please?"
How could she possibly agree? She hadn't been joking when she'd talked to her friends earlier in the day — her father would be aghast at the idea of her defending an accused murderer.
She thought of what Pat had said. For 10 years she had sacrificed everything for her family. How much more did she have to give them? This had been her dream all through high school, undergraduate work and law school. She wanted to be a trial attorney more than anything else in the world. This could be her chance to follow that dream — and help an innocent man in the process.
"I hope we both don't regret this, but yes. I'll defend you."
His smile took her breath away. "With the Brain on my side, how can I lose?"
* * *
Kelly gazed out the window of her office at the crocuses beginning to poke through the cold earth around the renovated Victorian that housed the offices of Wainwright & Wainwright.
Spring was on its way. The sun was shining, the snow was all but melted, a warm Chinook breeze blew off the Rockies. And she was stuck alone at the office on a Saturday afternoon, trying to catch up on work.
She had a feeling she would be putting in many 80-hour workweeks in the next few months, especially if she was to prepare adequately to defend Jackson Hunter.
She blew out a breath. She still couldn't believe she had actually had the temerity to stand up in court the day before on his behalf. And then to actually agree to take on his defense! She must have been temporarily insane.
Just as she expected, her father had been incredulous. She grimaced, remembering their strained conversation the night before.
"The man's an accused murderer, Kelly." William Wainwright had said, his still handsome features stiff with dismay and disappointment. "Not the sort of person I want my firm — or my daughter — to represent."
"He's innocent until proven guilty, remember? He deserves a fair trial."
"Let someone else help him get it, then. Not my little girl. We don't need the work. We have more than enough to keep us busy."
She had tried to explain to him as gently as she could that this was about far more than "keeping busy" to her. She couldn't let Jackson Hunter go to prison for a crime he said he didn't commit.
As usual, her father heard only what he wanted to hear. She couldn't blame him for his obstinacy. Not really. He couldn't help that his dreams and expectations for her didn't mesh at all with what she wanted for herself. Sometimes she felt so tangled up by those dreams and expectations of his, she couldn't move.
In the end, she had been firm. "I'm going to represent him, Dad. I gave him my word and you always taught me a Wainwright's word is more binding than the most ironclad contract."
He hadn't been happy about it but he had dropped the subject. She knew her father's patience with her decision wouldn't last indefinitely but she would enjoy it for now.
Kelly sighed and turned back to her computer. She was trying to immerse herself in her work when the silence was shattered by someone tapping on the glass of the big picture window in her office. In startled reaction, her fingers flexed on the keyboard and she typed a string of gibberish. She mumbled an oath then turned to see who had scared her half to death.
Jackson Hunter stood on the other side of the glass, looking dark and dangerous in jeans and a worn leather jacket the color of deerskin in the spring.
He must have made bail! Relieved that he was a free man again, she smiled at him then gestured toward the front door.
She unlocked the door, then let him into the spacious reception area of the firm. "How did you know I was here?"
"I just took a chance. This was the only address I had from your business card. Look, I know it's Saturday but I could use your help. Do you have a minute to talk?"
She had a desk full of work but she suddenly couldn't think of one thing she'd rather do than talk to him again.
Kelly led Jackson Hunter into her office, wishing she had on one of her power suits to help her feel more in control of the situation. Instead she sported the casual look her friend Sunny found so entertainingly uncasual — a pair of jeans and a man’s dress shirt topped by a navy pinstripe vest.
Inside her office, she went behind her desk, needing the security of its solid bulk and the space it put between her and the virile strength of the police officer who had been charged with murder.
"How can I help you?" she asked.
Instead of answering, he looked around her office, with its antique furnishings. "This is nice. Comfortable. I would have expected you to work in some glitzy high-rise downtown. And you have your name on the door and everything."
"Not really. Wainwright & Wainwright is the firm my parents built together."
"Both your parents are lawyers?"
"My mother died in a car accident a month before I graduated from Cagemont. My father still practices but he had to severely cut back on his hours the past few years because of some health problems."
"So you’re running the show?"
I wish. She felt disloyal for the thought and chose to change the subject. "You said you needed my help. What can I do for you?"
A muscle in his jaw tightened and she thought again how extraordinarily handsome he was. "Somebody went to a hell of a lot of trouble to make it look like I killed Crystal McCall. I intend to find out who."
"That wouldn’t be wise. We can hire a private investigator to look into it. I have a few contacts who might be able to help."
"Why can’t I do it? God knows, I have all the time in the world now since I’ve been suspended." The bitterness in his voice was painful to hear. He loved being a cop, she realized. "Besides that," he continued, "no private investigator you hire will have as much at stake here as me."
"That’s exactly my point. Any evidence you uncover indicating someone else committed the murder would be tainted simply because you’re the one who uncovered it. The prosecution could say you manufactured evidence just to beat the charge against you."
She could feel the restless energy radiating from him as he rose and paced to the window. "I have to do something, Kelly. I can’t just sit by and let someone get away with this. Crystal deserves justice."
Her heart softened. This must be so horrible for him, to be accused of killing a woman he had cared about. She wasn’t sure why she was so completely assured of his innocence but she had not even the smallest sliver of doubt. "Let me talk to one of our private investigators," she said gently. "Maybe we can use him in an official capacity while you and I look into the matter behind the scenes."
Jackson studied her across the desk. Those exotic hazel eyes shimmered with compassion, with determination. He couldn’t figure her out and it bothered him. This brilliant, stunningly beautiful woman wanted to help him — the bad-ass punk she had barely known in high school. She had no reason to believe him when he said he was innocent, but somehow she did. He didn’t think he’d ever been handed so precious a gift.
She pulled a legal pad from a desk drawer then picked up a pencil already sharpened to a lethal point. She looked so adorably businesslike that he wanted to lean right across the desk and kiss those serious lips. He blinked at the sudden impulse.
"If we’re going to figure out what really happened," she began, innocent of the dangerous direction his thoughts had taken, "the first thing you need to do is tell me everything you remember about that night."
He jerked his mind away from his hazardous thought and focused on the question. "It was my partner’s birthday. A half-dozen of us from the precinct went to this bar, Seymour’s, to celebrate."
"Was Crystal there?"
"No. It was strictly a guy thing. Anyway, she and Rob Elliot, my partner, didn’t get along."
"Did he dislike her enough to kill her?"
"Robby?" Jackson laughed abruptly. His partner was one of the few on the force who had stood by him these last miserable days. "Hell, no."
"Who else was at the party?"
"Four other cops. George Ramirez, Joe Chambers, Gary Howard, and Tony Martino."
She wrote the names down in a neat, precise script, then looked up again. "So you had a few beers?"
"Barely. I was on my second when I started feeling sick. Queasy and a little out of it. I figured I was coming down with some kind of bug, so Gary drove me home early, about 10. I went straight to bed and didn’t budge until morning."
To his fascination, she started doodling on the legal pad. Curlicues and lines and odd little shapes, all while he could practically see the wheels turning in her head. "You felt fine before your second drink, though?"
"Yeah."
"So if someone wanted you out of the way while he killed Crystal at your house, he could have slipped something into your second beer that would make you feel sick enough to go home and pass out."
He stared at her, stunned by the implication. "You think whoever killed her was at Robby’s birthday party?"
"That makes the most sense to me."
All five of the others at the party were cops, men he worked with, men he respected, for the most part. The idea that one of them would set him up like this made his gut churn.
"Using that as our hypothesis," Kelly went on, "we need to isolate which of those five other men at the party might conceivably have a grudge against both you and Crystal McCall." Across the desk, he watched her write down his name and Crystal’s, then the others at the party. "It’s only a theory. We have no way of proving it. I imagine by now whatever it might have been has worked its way out of your system."
"I gave a blood sample when I gave my statement. The detectives on the case wanted to test my blood alcohol level." He refused to think about how debasing that had been, just one more in a long string of humiliations.
"Good. I can petition to have the sample tested for other drugs that might have made you sick. In the meantime, we have to figure out connections between Crystal and the men who were there."
They spent a frustrating hour while he told her all he knew about the other officers, and about Crystal and their brief relationship, which had ended amicably on both sides, not with bitterness and anger as the press had speculated.
Finally, after they had pored over everything he could think of, she stood to stretch. "Well, that gives us some places to start, anyway."
He studied her, struck again by her unconscious grace and by her keen, analytical mind. "You know, if you weren’t an attorney, you’d make one hell of a detective."
"Well, that’s something. I guess I can always be a cop, then, if the lawyer gig doesn’t work out." Her delighted smile sent heat blowing through him like a Chinook through the treetops.
He did his best to ignore the attraction simmering between them. "Thank you for your help. I needed an objective eye to look at the facts here."
She shook her head. "I’m not objective, Jackson. I don’t want you to go to prison."
"Why? You barely know me. How do you know I’m not lying? Maybe I really killed Crystal and I’m just trying to cover it up."
She was quiet for several moments, then she looked up at him again, her gaze clear and filled with so much faith it made his throat tighten. "It may sound crazy but I have to go with my instincts on this one, Jackson. You didn’t kill her. I know you didn’t. And I will do whatever it takes to make sure you don’t pay for a crime you didn’t commit. I promise."
Damn. He was going to go and do something stupid like kiss her. What else was he supposed to do, after she said something like that?
Those hazel eyes widened when he leaned forward, but she didn’t back away as his mouth descended to hers.
Kelly forgot about the case, forgot about the pile of work on her desk, forgot about breathing as Jackson’s hard, beautiful mouth descended toward hers.
He was going to kiss her.
This wasn’t right. The sane corner of her mind tried frantically to make itself heard. She was his attorney, he was her client. She couldn’t allow this misplaced attraction churning between them to screw up a case so important to both of them.
Still, anticipation buzzed along her nerve endings like a muted jazz trumpet. Finally his mouth met hers and any sliver of common sense she might have had left was completely overwhelmed by a torrent of sensations whirling through her.
Jackson Hunter — wild and gorgeous and dangerous, the subject of all her silly schoolgirl fantasies — was kissing her as though he meant it. His kiss was determined, persuasive, enticing, and completely purged any objection she might have been able to weakly summon.
He drew her to him and she shivered at the leashed strength in those muscles, at the way her body molded so perfectly to his, as if she had been suspended in breathless animation, waiting all her life for just this moment. His kiss was beyond anything in her experience, hot and tumultuous and gentle all at once.
Her heart seemed to sigh with the sweet, satisfying joy of coming home after a long and arduous journey.
She didn’t know how long they stood by her elegant old desk wrapped together. She could have stayed there for weeks, lost in the heat and seductive magic of his mouth and his hard strength around her. She might have, if not for the sudden harsh bleating of her cell phone.
At the sound, Kelly jerked away from him and stared at the phone on the edge of her desk as though it were some kind of hideous creature that had suddenly slithered into her office.
"Do you have to get that?" Jackson asked, his voice ragged and his breathing harsh.
It took her several seconds of fierce concentration to gather the scattered remnants of her composure. She picked up her phone and pressed the talk button with fingers that trembled.
"Hello?"
Her father’s careful voice on the other end of the line was like a cold, hard slap across the face. "Kelly? Is everything all right? You sound…different."
Stunned by what had just happened, she stepped away to put even more space between her and Jackson. She didn’t dare look at him just now. "Everything’s fine," she lied.
"Are you sure?"
"Dad, I’m fine. A little out of breath but fine."
"Where are you?"
"At the office." She clenched the edge of the desk. "What did you need?"
"I’m just double-checking on the Simms contracts. All the paperwork will be ready for the meeting Monday, right?"
She closed her eyes to shut out not only Jackson watching her from a few feet away but also the familiar frustration weighing down her shoulders. Would her father ever completely trust her to do the job he was no longer physically capable of? "I’m working on it now."
William paused in one of those eloquent silences of his. "You understand this should be your top priority, don’t you?" he finally said. "This is an important client, Kelly. Donald Simms has done business with this firm for 25 years. He’s not some wild, troublemaking police officer who might have blood on his hands."
She ruthlessly kept her gaze away from that troublemaking police officer who was shamelessly eavesdropping on the conversation. "Yes, Dad. I understand. I’ll make sure the contracts are ready for Monday morning’s meeting, I promise."
"You’re a good girl, Kelly. You always have been."
She was so tired of being a good girl, she thought as she said goodbye to her father and severed the connection. Didn’t she deserve to be selfish and irresponsible just one time in her life? To take what she wanted instead of always doing what was right?
She turned to face Jackson again and found him watching her out of hooded dark eyes.
No. As much as she wanted fiercely to be in his arms again — to do far more than just kiss, if she were honest with herself — she knew it was impossible. She had already risked far too much to let things go as far as they had.
"Don’t kiss me again." With herculean effort, she forced her voice to be brisk, cold.
He raised an eyebrow. "You weren’t exactly an unwilling participant a few moments ago."
Her face flamed. "Nevertheless, it was inappropriate. You are my client. I’m your attorney. That’s the full extent of our relationship. Anything between us on a more personal level would be grossly improper."
"Don’t you think you might be exaggerating a little?"
"Jackson, this is not some bad dream that’s going to go away when you wake up," she snapped. "You’re charged with murdering a police officer. My obligation is to make sure you don’t go to prison for that crime and as I said, I intend to do everything within my power to make sure you stay a free man. I don’t have time for any kind of distractions. Especially not from you."
That muscle clenched in his jaw again and he was quiet for several seconds. "You’re right," he finally said tersely. "I apologize if I did anything that might have been 'grossly improper.'"
She hated the sudden coolness in those dark eyes. She wanted them hot and wild and aroused again. But she knew this was the way things had to be.
"Thank you for your help. You know where to find me if you need me." With another solemn look, he turned and walked out of the office.
The man completely terrified her, she thought as she watched through the window while he made his way to a black SUV parked down the street. Not his strength or his size or his overwhelming masculinity. Somehow she knew he would never hurt her. No, what had her shivering in delayed reaction, what sent cold fear settling on her nerves like hoarfrost on leaves, was her own response to him.
She worked hard to stay in command of every situation, to be poised and composed and restrained. With Jackson, all her hard-earned control had flown right out the window. If not for that fortuitous call from her father, she would have lain on the desk and made love to Jackson right on top of Donald Simms’s contracts if he’d asked. She had been reckless and foolhardy, completely heedless of the consequences.
She had made a grave mistake and now she had to make it right. She had to do everything she could to climb back into the tight confines of her reserved composure. If she didn’t — if she let her guard slip any further — Kelly knew it would only take a slight push for her to fall headlong in love with him.
* * *
She was criminally insane. She had to be.
Kelly sat in one of Sunny’s swivel chairs and gazed at Pat, M.J., and Isabella, who had returned from her overseas photo shoot the day before and had the audacity not to look the least bit exhausted. All three of them studied her with varying expressions of shock on their faces. Not a very encouraging sign when she had just spent the past hour letting Sunny have free rein over her hair.
The day had started out innocently enough. The detention gang had met for Sunday brunch at Gray Lee’s restaurant, as they tried to do whenever Pat and Isabella were both in town. Her friends had been eager to pump her about Jackson and the case.
One too many mimosas later, she remembered mumbling some silly thing about how the prospect of defending him scared her senseless, how she was afraid she wasn’t competent, experienced, enough to win. How she feared he would go to prison and she would carry the guilt for the rest of her life.
She was also very much afraid she had mentioned that steamy kiss in her office the day before, and her angst over the way he made her feel. She hadn’t meant to, but somehow the words had spilled out.
They had all been full of advice, as they always were. "What you need is a makeover," Sunny, being Sunny, had finally exclaimed. "A whole new look will give you confidence to realize what a brilliant lawyer you are."
Everyone else had fixated on the suggestion. What had seemed like a good idea at the restaurant now seemed as stupid as the time the five of them had taken on the Four Queens, the snobby cheerleaders who ran Cagemont when they were there.
"A mirror. I need to see a mirror." She tried to turn around but Sunny held a hand firmly on her shoulder.
"Not yet. I’m almost done."
She faced the others. "Does it look horrible?" M.J., at least, would tell her the truth.
Sunny sniffed, offended. "Of course it doesn’t look horrible. I’m a master at my craft. You look fabulous, just as I promised you would. There. You’re finished."
"Wow," Isabella exclaimed. "Just wow."
Sunny stepped back and Kelly turned with trepidation to look in the mirror. The woman gazing back at her was a stranger. She was softer somehow. Gentler. With new highlights and a different cut, her hair framed her face in lighter wispy curls.
So much for that cool professionalism she’d been so desperate to attain. This woman looked about as cool and professional as a week-old kitten.
She wanted to tell Sunny to change her back, to take out the highlights and give her back her old, comfortable, conservative style. Before she could say anything, Sunny spoke. "So what do you think?" she asked, just a thread of uncertainty in her voice.
She was nervous, Kelly realized. The woman who had made a fortune in the dot-com explosion, then left it all just before the big bust to open this elegant salon, was actually nervous about her reaction. She couldn’t tell her how terrified that image staring out of the mirror made her. Instead, she grabbed Sunny in an embrace, suddenly moved almost to tears by the love and unwavering support of these four women who had done so much to shape her life. "It’s fabulous, just like you said. I should have made a change years ago. Thank you, honey."
"Now you are ready to kick some serious prosecution butt." M.J. grinned.
"And show Jackson Hunter you’re a force to be reckoned with," Pat added with a wicked smile.
Kelly smiled weakly. Now if only she could convince herself.
Jackson felt the weight of dozens of curious gazes on him as he walked into the Fifty Yard Line restaurant. He should be used to it by now. In the week since he’d been arrested and charged with murdering his fellow police officer — and former girlfriend — Crystal McCall, his name and face had been plastered on every newspaper and TV screen in the city. The media had picked up on the story with a vengeance and he had become a household name in Denver, as well-known as John Elway and the mayor.
He hadn’t gone out much since his release on bail exactly for this reason. This trip couldn’t be avoided, though. Kelly was meeting him here at her friend Gray Lee’s restaurant, along with the private investigator she had hired.
He tried not to let the stares bother him as he walked through the busy restaurant toward the back room Kelly had arranged for them to use. He knew he didn’t kill Crystal, so what did he care what other people thought about him? Still, the heat of those avid stares and whispers burned through his skin like acid.
Damn it, it wasn’t fair. He had spent 10 years protecting the people of this city, risked his life more times than he could count. He had loved being a cop, had worn his badge with a fierce, warm pride that he had been able to rise above the rough poverty and hopelessness of his youth to a life where he could make a difference.
Now some son of a bitch had taken it all away from him and left him the object of scorn and scandal.
Not for long. He was going to find the person who'd killed Crystal, no matter what it took. With firm resolve, he reached the door the hostess had pointed out.
He heard Kelly speaking to someone inside the private room, and her low, smooth, articulate voice strummed down his spine like a lover’s fingers.
He pushed open the door, then every single thought in his head blew away as abruptly as dry leaves on a hot wind. He could only stare at her, stunned. She had done something to her hair, to her makeup. Something softer, gentler.
He had thought her beautiful before, coolly elegant. Now she was breathtaking. It was the only word he could come up with. Like something out of a Renaissance painting.
He wanted to say something but he knew she wouldn’t welcome the words. She had made it abundantly clear that she wanted nothing to do with him on anything but a professional level.
He would respect her wishes — her steep wall of separation — even if it killed him. He owed her too much to do otherwise.
She smiled a greeting at him. Was it his imagination or was her smile a little strained? He wondered if it was because of their last encounter at her office, that kiss that had left him stunned and aching.
"Jackson, this is Mike Malone, the private investigator I told you about. He’s been busy and has already found out some interesting information. I thought it would be a good idea for all of us to meet and compare notes."
"Right." He nodded to the other man and took a seat at the table.
"I have some bad news first," Kelly said. "The blood test we sent out came back inconclusive for any kind of sedative. The lab said it just wasn’t enough blood to adequately sample. I’m sorry."
She shook her head. "I think I’d better go alone. He might be more willing to talk if you’re not there."
"To talk about what? We’re partners. He won’t say anything to you that he wouldn’t say in front of me. I want to go."
She paused, studying him closely. "It’s killing you to sit by while others help you, isn’t it?"
His shoulders itched under her scrutiny. He shrugged it off. "I’m used to taking care of myself. I always have been. Hell, I’ve been on my own since I was 16."
He hadn’t meant to tell her that. She stared at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. "Sixteen? But what about...what about high school?"
Thanks to the inquisition he’d just endured, she already knew every other detail about his life. He might as well tell her this, too. "My mom died when I was just a kid and my dad and I never got along. When I was 16, he took a mining job in Nevada. I didn’t want to go with him, so I stayed in Denver."
"By yourself? How did you survive?"
"I was big for my age so I worked construction jobs during the summer and after school and made enough to pay the rent and keep food in my stomach." Most of the time, anyway, but he wouldn’t tell her that. Especially not with her staring at him as though he were some kind of alien creature that had just landed at her feet.
"It must have been so difficult! I’m surprised you didn’t just drop out of school."
"I nearly did just about every day. But something kept me coming back." He would die before he admitted that part of what kept him at Cagemont were those rare and precious times he would pass her in the hallway on the way to class and she would give him one of those sweet, hesitant smiles.
"Don’t look at me like that," he muttered, hating the shocked sympathy in her hazel eyes. "I did fine."
"You did better than fine." She smiled at him with far more warmth than she ever had in high school.
It was that smile that did it. He suddenly burned with the need to kiss that mouth, to taste that sweetness. Before he had a chance to curb the impulse, he stepped forward and pulled her into his arms.
So much for proving that major element of their theory — that he had been framed by someone who had drugged him, then killed Crystal at his house with his service revolver. He tried to ignore the phantom sound ringing through his head, of prison doors closing tightly behind him.
"What else?" he asked gruffly.
"Well, on a more positive note — if you can call it that — we might have a possible motive for Crystal’s death. Tell him, Mike."
The private investigator had a steel-gray buzz cut and a slight paunch and looked as if he’d once been on the job himself. Jackson’s guess was confirmed when he leaned forward and spoke in a no-nonsense voice. "I still have a few contacts on the force and I’ve been hearing a few rumors that the victim might have gone to internal affairs a few days before her death with information about a dirty cop."
"What information?"
"I don’t know that yet. All I have are rumors. One of my old partners works at the internal affairs bureau now. I can get him to tell me what he knows, but he’s out of town on a fishing trip until tomorrow."
"This could be good news, but it could also backfire," Kelly warned.
"How?"
She didn’t say anything, just watched him out of solemn hazel eyes, and he suddenly knew exactly what she meant. Any information they got from Malone’s friend at the rat squad could come back to bite them all hard in the butt if he was the dirty cop Crystal had reported. It would give the prosecution an even stronger motive for him to kill her.
"I wasn’t dirty," he growled, chagrined that Kelly’s unspoken implication could wound him so deeply.
"I never thought you were. But what I think doesn’t matter."
It matters to me, he thought. Her unwavering faith in him was like a solid granite handhold in a storm-tossed sea. Before he could come up with the words to tell her how very grateful he was to her for all she was doing, the waitress came in to take their orders.
He spent the next hour being grilled by the P.I. on everything from his relationship with Crystal to his service record, while Kelly looked on quietly. By the time they finished what under other circumstances would have been a delicious meal, he had had enough. His entire damn life was under the microscope and he hated it.
After the investigator left, he walked Kelly out to her car, wishing he could protect her from the stares and whispers that shadowed him. To his relief, she didn’t seem to notice.
"I’m meeting your partner, Rob Elliot, tomorrow afternoon at his house," she said when they reached her car. "I want to see what he remembers about the party, if he might have seen anyone near your drink. And I’d also like to ask him if he will testify as a character witness."
"I’ll go with you," Jackson said immediately.
She shook her head. "I think I’d better go alone. He might be more willing to talk if you’re not there."
"To talk about what? We’re partners. He won’t say anything to you that he wouldn’t say in front of me. I want to go."
She paused, studying him closely. "It’s killing you to sit by while others help you, isn’t it?"
His shoulders itched under her scrutiny. He shrugged it off. "I’m used to taking care of myself. I always have been. Hell, I’ve been on my own since I was 16."
He hadn’t meant to tell her that. She stared at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. "Sixteen? But what about...what about high school?"
Thanks to the inquisition he’d just endured, she already knew every other detail about his life. He might as well tell her this, too. "My mom died when I was just a kid and my dad and I never got along. When I was 16, he took a mining job in Nevada. I didn’t want to go with him, so I stayed in Denver."
"By yourself? How did you survive?"
"I was big for my age so I worked construction jobs during the summer and after school and made enough to pay the rent and keep food in my stomach." Most of the time, anyway, but he wouldn’t tell her that. Especially not with her staring at him as though he were some kind of alien creature that had just landed at her feet.
"It must have been so difficult! I’m surprised you didn’t just drop out of school."
"I nearly did just about every day. But something kept me coming back." He would die before he admitted that part of what kept him at Cagemont were those rare and precious times he would pass her in the hallway on the way to class and she would give him one of those sweet, hesitant smiles.
"Don’t look at me like that," he muttered, hating the shocked sympathy in her hazel eyes. "I did fine."
"You did better than fine." She smiled at him with far more warmth than she ever had in high school.
It was that smile that did it. He suddenly burned with the need to kiss that mouth, to taste that sweetness. Before he had a chance to curb the impulse, he stepped forward and pulled her into his arms.
Kelly sighed his name when he kissed her.
Through a jumbled mix of tenderness and raw need, Jackson heard the low, throaty sound of it. The noise of passing traffic, the din and bustle of a busy restaurant parking lot, all faded to nothing. She tasted like raspberries and cream from the dessert she’d only picked at during lunch. Decadent and cool and so delicious he wanted to gobble her up in one bite.
She felt so right in his arms, so completely perfect. This tall, slender woman fit him as if they were two halves of a whole. He was falling for her, hard and fast. Had been since those days back at Cagemont High School when she had seemed as out of his reach as the moon and the stars.
Now she was his defense attorney on a murder charge, some corner of his brain reminded him, and she had asked him not to kiss her again. He was betraying her trust by ignoring her wishes.
He growled a curse and stepped away from her, shoving suddenly unsteady hands into the pockets of his leather jacket.
Her eyes were wide, unfocused, and it was the hardest damn thing he’d ever done not to reach for her again.
"I know," he muttered. "Don’t say it."
"Say what?"
"That I shouldn’t have kissed you. I was being grossly improper again."
"It wasn’t completely your fault," she admitted in a small voice. "I wanted you to kiss me."
Heat rocketed straight to his groin at her words.
"I’m attracted to you, Jackson," she went on. "I can’t lie about that. But we have to stop this or I simply can’t represent you. There’s just too much at stake here for both of us." Her face was tight with an emotion that looked suspiciously like regret.
He studied her, ashamed to admit he was glad she was suffering, too. "When this is over — when you get the charges dropped against me, as I know you will — I can promise you one thing. You won’t be able to hide behind our lawyer-client relationship or any other excuse you might come up with. I won’t let you. We’re going to see this through, Kelly."
She hitched in a shaky breath, then climbed into her car and drove away, leaving him watching after her.
* * *
She was still haunted by their kiss and by his words the next day as she drove to his partner’s home.
Was she hiding from her feelings? Was she making up excuses to keep herself from facing the truth? If she wasn’t his attorney, would she still feel so compelled to keep this distance between them?
Yes, she thought, answering her own questions. The grim truth was, nothing would change when the case was over. There could never be anything between them. She wouldn’t let there be anything else. Not when he had the power to send her emotions into such a flustered tumult.
She was falling in love with him and the prospect terrified her. For all these years, she had avoided serious entanglements, concentrating solely on her career. Now a troubled cop with dark eyes and a devil’s smile had tangled her up so tightly she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to break free.
She had to be strong. She had worked her entire life to achieve her goals. She couldn’t lose sight of them now, not when she was so close.
She sighed as she pulled into Rob Elliot’s driveway. She was going to do her best to help Jackson beat this murder charge. And then she would slip quietly back into her safe, secure world. It was the only choice she had.
* * *
Jackson had just reached Seymour’s — the bar where he had gone to celebrate his partner’s birthday on that fateful night when Crystal had been killed — when his cell phone rang. He pulled into the parking lot and put his plans to grill the bartender about what he might have seen that night on hold while he answered the phone.
"Hunter, this is Mike Malone. I’m trying to reach Kelly. Is she with you?"
"No. I haven’t seen her since yesterday." Although she hadn’t left his thoughts since their fervent, soul-stirring kiss outside the restaurant.
"Well, she’s not answering her cell phone. I wanted to let her know I had some news. I just talked to my buddy at internal affairs."
He sat a little straighter. This might be the information they were looking for. "I can pass it along to her."
"I wish I had more but they’re being pretty closemouthed about this one since it’s an ongoing investigation. All I know is that Crystal had been working vice, undercover on the street corner. She apparently heard a rumor from some of the other working girls that the madam of one of the new call girl services isn’t a madam after all but a man. And a cop."
"Did you get a name?"
"I’m still digging. Like I said, internal affairs doesn’t want to talk."
"If somebody got wind that Crystal was on to him, it might be enough of a motive to kill her. But why me? I don’t know anything about any call girl service. I work in the violent crimes division, not vice."
"Maybe you saw or heard something. You just don’t realize it yet. Think about it. The call girl service apparently goes by Sleeping Beauty. Maybe that will ring a few bells."
The name slithered through his subconscious. There was something there, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Jackson stared out the windshield, wracking his memory, then the connection clicked into place and he swore, low and pungent.
"What is it?"
"The day before Rob’s party, I took a call at his desk from some woman. The only message she left for him was two words. Sleeping Beauty. I thought it was some new girlfriend he hadn’t told me about, so I razzed him about it later."
It couldn’t be possible. Rob was his partner. His friend. Was he capable of cold-bloodedly killing Crystal to cover his illegal activities, then framing Jackson for the crime? The caustic bile of betrayal seethed and churned in his gut.
"It’s a good lead but we’ll need more to go on. I’ll push a little harder at internal affairs and…" The private investigator paused. "Wait a minute. Didn’t Kelly say she was talking to Elliot today?"
Fear suddenly gripped Jackson with steely talons. If Rob had killed Crystal, he wouldn’t have any qualms about trying to silence Kelly, especially if she came snooping around, asking questions about that night.
This time his oath was more a prayer than a curse. "I’m on my way," he growled, shoving the Jeep into gear and wishing like hell his Glock wasn’t sitting in an evidence room downtown.
Chapter Eight: Page One
"Thank you for talking with me, Mr. Elliot. You've been very helpful. And I'm sure it will mean a great deal to Jackson that you're willing to testify as a character witness if we need it."
"I'm glad to help." Rob Elliot smiled and Kelly wondered why his blond movie-star-handsome good looks somehow left her cold.
"He's always been a great partner," Elliot went on. "If there's anything else I can do, just let me know."
"Thank you. I'll be in touch." She rose to leave when the doorbell rang.
An instant later, Jackson shoved open the door without waiting for his partner to answer. Her heart gave a sharp, joyful lurch at seeing him again, then her welcoming smile slid away at the wild, fierce fury on his features.
"Jack! This is a surprise," Elliot didn't look at all pleased by the interruption.
"Kelly, is everything okay?" Jackson asked, looming over her like a big, ferocious wolf standing guard.
"Of course. Everything's fine. Why wouldn't it be? We were just finishing up."
"Go on outside and wait for me. I need to talk to Rob."
She opened her mouth to argue — the last thing in the world she needed was another man telling her what to do — then she caught wind of the strange undercurrents of tension here. That wolf image sprang into her mind again. The two men were squaring off like two feral creatures getting ready to lunge for the throat.
"What's happened?" she asked, her voice low and urgent.
"Just go on outside."
She couldn't move suddenly. "I don't think —" she began, then froze at the sight of the deadly black pistol that had suddenly appeared in Rob Elliot's hand. His manner of friendly cooperation had disappeared, leaving behind a man with the edgy desperation of a caged animal.
Kelly froze. "What's going on here?"
Even through her sudden terror she was aware of Jackson edging almost imperceptibly in front of her. "Tell her, Rob. You're the one who killed Crystal, aren't you? You killed her then drugged me so you could make it look like a lover's quarrel."
Elliot took a step closer, the gun in his hand unwavering despite his edginess. "I'm sorry, man. I didn't know what else to do."
"Why?" Kelly asked, her heart beating out a frantic rhythm.
"I had such a good thing going. You wouldn't believe how much money I was making! There are a thousand poor lonely jerks in this city who are looking for a good time and I was giving it to them. And who better to keep out of view of the law than a damn cop? Then Crystal had to screw it up by nosing around. I offered to cut her in and she laughed in my face."
His features darkened. "I had to kill her, Jack. I didn't have a choice. She would have ruined everything. I thought I could cover my tracks without anybody getting hurt. Then Crystal called and left that message to let me know she was on to me. I knew it wouldn't take you long to put it together so I had to get you out of the picture."
Now he planned to put them both permanently out of the picture, Kelly realized in horror.
"You had everything figured out." Jackson didn't show the slightest hint of nerves. "How are you going to explain this away if you kill both of us?"
"I won't have to explain anything. I've got plenty of money stashed away in the Caymans and a first class ticket to St. Croix. I'm leaving this afternoon. My bags are already packed."
"Smart," Kelly murmured, hoping to distract his attention away from Jackson. If they had any chance of survival, they were going to have to work together. "Very smart, to choose a place that doesn't have an extradition treaty with the U.S."
He turned toward her, his nervousness suddenly replaced with an oily smile that made her stomach pitch and roll. "You want to come with me? I bet all that sexy dark skin would look hot in a bikini."
Before she could answer, Jackson pounced. He lunged for his partner, taking him off guard. He didn't have time to fire the gun before Jackson grabbed his weapon hand. For several taut seconds, the two of them wrestled for control of the gun. Finally Jackson plowed a fist into Elliot's stomach and the other man's breath left him in a whoosh. He relaxed his hold on the gun just enough for it to clatter to the floor.
He recovered quickly and tried to retrieve it but Jackson shoved him against the wall so hard a framed landscape there fell and shattered. The next few moments passed in a blur as the two evenly matched combatants grappled to overpower the other and to gain control of the firearm. Kelly watched, frozen with fear that Jackson would be hurt.
They were inching closer to the gun, Kelly realized. She couldn't just stand there like an idiot. She had to do something. Her breath heaved in and out in frantic gasps as she picked up the only weapon at hand. She watched, choosing her moment carefully, then lifted her heavy briefcase over her head and brought it down with a sharp crack on Elliot's blond head.
The two men froze. Then Elliot slumped to the floor, out cold. Jackson shoved him off, then climbed to his feet, wiping blood off his mouth with the back of his hand. He grinned at her, looking big and solid and so wonderful she wanted to sink into his arms and never leave. "Nice work, counselor."
She gave him a shaky smile. "What's a defense attorney for if she can't watch your back?"
He laughed at that and Kelly felt her wobbly knees begin to give way in delayed reaction.
"You okay?"
"Yes. I — I just need to sit down."
She slumped to the sofa and watched as Jackson found his partner's handcuffs and secured Elliot while he was still unconscious, then crossed to the kitchen to call 911.
The next few hours passed swiftly as officers responded and Elliot was taken into custody. They both gave statements about Elliot's confession and soon the place swarmed with detectives looking for evidence against him. They found more than enough — a bottle of illegal knock-out drugs in his bathroom cupboard, Crystal's purse under his bed, and even more damning, his ticket to St. Croix, as well as financial records for the escort service.
At last, when the flurry of activity began to subside, Kelly walked outside into the clear, pure Denver afternoon and found Jackson standing with several other police officers, looking just as if he had never left their tight circle. She was happy for him, that he could once more return to the life and career he had loved, yet she ached at the bleak knowledge that her tenuous connection with him would soon be severed. She would have no reason to see him anymore, not after he was cleared of all charges.
He caught sight of her and gave her a wide smile that had her knees threatening to give way again. Then he broke away from the other officers and joined her.
"We did it, counselor."
"I'm so glad for you." She smiled back, even as she felt her heart shatter into jagged little pieces. "I'll contact the district attorney immediately and petition to have the charges against you dropped, then we can see about getting your badge reinstated. You shouldn't have any trouble."
"Good." His smile slid away, his features suddenly solemn. "Then you're fired."
She stared at him. "Excuse me?"
"I don't want you to be my attorney anymore, Kelly."
"You — you don't?"
He shook his head slowly. "You have to know I want much, much more."
Her heartbeat sounded loud and harsh in her ears as she thought of all the compelling reasons why they could never have more. All her old fears and protests rattled through her head like dry bones but before she could answer, he spoke again.
"Look, I know my timing stinks but we've done things your way long enough. I'm in love with you, Kelly. I have been since high school, when you were the brainy girl with all the answers who wouldn't look twice at a big, stupid troublemaker like me."
In love with her? He was in love with her? His words filled her with heat and a sweet, fluttery tenderness. How could she walk away from that? What good were her dreams if reaching for them alone left her with this hollow, lonely ache?
"I looked," she admitted. "More than twice. A lot more."
He blinked at that, then smiled again, that sexy bad-boy smile she loved so much. She loved him. She loved this hard, tough cop with all her heart.
She thought again of all the things she had worried about since walking into that courtroom and meeting him again. Yes, when she was with him she felt off-balance, as if the poise and control she prized so highly hovered just out of reach. But maybe that wasn't necessarily a negative thing. Maybe her friends were right — maybe she needed someone to tease her and fluster her and shake her out of that cool composure.
All she knew was that since their worlds had collided again, she felt more brilliantly alive than she ever had before — and that the thought of returning to a life without him in it filled her with sorrow.
She thought of what her father would say — then she gave a mental shrug. Once he came to know the good, honorable man Jackson was, her father would come around. All he wanted was the best for her and she suddenly knew without question that Jackson Hunter — with his dark eyes and his devil's smile — was exactly what she needed.
She smiled at him, knowing by his quick intake of breath that all the love in her heart shone in her eyes. "Before you fire me, you might want to think about keeping me on retainer. You never know when you might need a good defense attorney. I should warn you now, though, my rates are pretty exorbitant. All the kisses I can ask for."
He gave a low laugh and reached for her. "That's a price I'm more than willing to pay."
The End