A Legal Affair (8 page)

L
ate Thursday morning, Daniela was on her way out of the classroom after Legal Research and Writing when she was stopped by Shara Adler’s voice. “Miss Moreau, may I speak to you for a minute?”

April, walking beside Daniela, arched a questioning brow at her.

“I’ll catch up to you later,” Daniela told the girl, then turned and made her way to the front of the lecture hall where Shara stood, stuffing files into an expensive-looking leather briefcase. She was understated elegance in a teal silk blouse worn over tan linen slacks, and her long, dark mane gleamed under the room’s warm, recessed lights.

“Is something wrong?” Daniela asked, stopping in front of her.

“Depends on whose perspective you’re talking about,” the woman answered without looking up from her task. “What I may consider wrong, you might find perfectly acceptable.”

Daniela frowned. “I’m afraid I don’t understand,” she said, though she had a sinking feeling she understood perfectly.

Amber eyes lifted and bore into hers with arctic intensity. “I understand you and Caleb Thorne had coffee together yesterday.”

“That’s right. He was kind enough to answer some questions I had about an assignment.” She didn’t add that the assignment was for Shara’s class. Why add fuel to the fire?

“Oh, I’m sure kindness had little to do with it,” Shara said in a voice laced with cynicism. “And I would imagine you both had more on your minds than coffee and homework.”

Daniela bristled. “Is there something you want to say to me, Professor Adler?”

“Yes,” Shara snapped. “I’ve been around a long time, Miss Moreau, long enough to know how things work around here. Every semester, I watch pretty young things throw themselves at Caleb—some are subtle, some not so subtle. For the most part, Caleb pays these girls no mind, enduring their advances like minor annoyances. But there’s always that one who sneaks beneath the radar, the one he simply can’t resist.” Her smile was cold and narrow. “I guess you’ve drawn the winning lottery ticket this semester, Miss Moreau. Congratulations.”

Daniela kept her features carefully schooled, though inside she was shaking with anger and an emotion that came too close to disillusionment. Raw, gut-twisting disillusionment. Which was ridiculous. Why should she care that Caleb engaged in meaningless flings with his students? Given that the success of her mission
depended
on his susceptibility to temptation, she should be relieved.

She wasn’t. Far from it.

Looking Shara Adler squarely in the eye, she said coolly, “It must be very difficult to watch the man you love drift from one affair to another right in front of your face.”

Shara flinched, then inclined her head slowly, conceding the match point to Daniela. “How astute of you, Miss Moreau. I
do
love Caleb. Indiscretions aside, he’s a wonderful man, and great with my thirteen-year-old son, who adores him. I’m idealistic enough to believe that someday, when he’s finished sowing his wild oats in an attempt to escape his demons, Caleb will be ready for a serious commitment. And when that day comes, Miss Moreau,” she said with absolute certainty, “you’d better believe
I’m
the one he’ll come running to, not one of his starry-eyed students.”

Daniela could feel the blood rushing through her veins, making her skin hot. Mustering a smile etched in steel, she said, “In that case, I guess I’d better enjoy him while I can. And I trust you won’t hold it against me when it’s grading time?”

Shara’s expression hardened with contempt. Without waiting for her response, Daniela turned on her heel and strode out of the classroom.

She fumed all the way to the library, where she retreated to a table in a remote corner of the reading room and hoped she wouldn’t run into any of her classmates. She wasn’t in the mood for small talk, or to play the role of overstressed law student.

Her emotions were in turmoil, and she needed time alone to sort through them and regain her equilibrium.

It shouldn’t have stunned her to learn of Caleb’s exploits with his students. As Shara Adler had told her, and as she herself had witnessed firsthand, Caleb didn’t lack for opportunities to indulge his sexual needs. He was a handsome, virile man who was constantly ogled, admired and—apparently—propositioned by women. Experience had taught Daniela that few men could resist that kind of temptation. Certainly not the losers she’d dated in college, or the one on whom she’d wasted two good years of her life, only to discover he had a fiancée waiting for him in Dallas.

After that disaster, Daniela had thrown herself into work like never before, climbing her way through the ranks at the large accounting firm where she’d worked since graduating from college. Still, she hadn’t exactly lived like a puritan. On the few occasions when she surfaced from calculating balance sheets and escrow accounts, she’d sought male companionship, someone with whom to explore a new restaurant or enjoy a night at the symphony, or to share courtside tickets to watch the Spurs. And although she’d always told herself otherwise, in the back of her mind lingered the hope that she was one candlelight dinner away from meeting Mr. Right. That hope grew dimmer and dimmer with each passing year, after each outing with attractive, intelligent men who failed to interest her on any meaningful level. The sexual relationships she’d had had run the gamut from disappointing to satisfactory, but nothing had ever ventured close to being the stuff of fantasies. After one too many go-nowhere dates, Daniela had finally declared a moratorium on dating, which, she’d come to decide, required too much effort for the nonexistent return-on-investment.

Now, at the age of twenty-seven, she’d all but resigned herself to the idea that she would never find her soul mate—if indeed such a person existed.

She’d filled her life with other, more important things, like taking care of her mother and helping her brothers establish the detective agency. She didn’t have time to do much more than daydream about Prince Charming, and on those rare occasions when she did daydream, it was almost always about kissing. A simple yet powerful thing that few men, at least in
her
experience, had taken the time to master.

Caleb Thorne was probably a great kisser, she thought, which was followed by an image of his full, sensuous lips glistening with moisture after he’d sampled her ice cream.

Daniela scowled, even as she crossed her legs under the table.

She wondered how many eager female students Caleb had kissed, caressed, then taken home to seduce. And how many times had he and Shara made love? If Daniela was foolhardy enough to sleep with Caleb, would she become just another notch on his bedpost? Was he rogue enough to take from her, without giving anything of himself in return? He’d obviously done a number on Shara Adler, who’d heretofore struck Daniela as a smart, savvy, no-nonsense woman who would
never
be reduced to waiting on the sidelines for a man to finish sowing his wild oats.

Daniela frowned.

Somehow she’d thought Caleb Thorne was different from the other men she’d encountered in her life. And although she knew it shouldn’t matter that he wasn’t, it did.

Mattered more than it should have.

Crandall Thorne grimaced as two needles were inserted into his vein, then connected to a plastic tube suspended from the dialysis machine beside his chair. Lights blinked on the machine that monitored and maintained his blood flow while administering dialy-sate, a clear fluid used to draw waste products from his blood. For four hours he would be chained to the detested machine, with nothing more to occupy his mind than reviewing the case files his associates had couriered to him that morning.

And then Caleb sauntered into the room, and suddenly the required four hours of treatment became a great deal more bearable.

Caleb saw the way his father’s face lit up when he entered the sunroom that doubled as Crandall’s home treatment center. But by the time he sat down in a wicker armchair beside him, Crandall was wearing his typical poker face.

“You know you didn’t have to come all the way up here,” he said gruffly. “I don’t need my hand held.”

“Do you see me holding any hands?” Caleb retorted. He grinned at the woman standing beside Crandall, adjusting levers on the dialysis machine. “How ya doin’, Ms. Ruth?”

“I’m doing just fine, Caleb. And don’t you pay your father any mind. You know he’s happy to see you. He’s just too proud to say so.”

Ruth Gaylord had been hired as Crandall Thorne’s private nurse over the summer, shortly after he was diagnosed with acute renal failure. Although she’d only been around for three months, she already seemed like a member of the family.

Her skin was the color of melted brown sugar, her black hair liberally woven with strands of gray that she claimed had been put there by her ornery employer. But, as she told it, thirty years of marriage to a temperamental man had been her proving ground for working with the likes of Crandall Thorne. Widowed three years ago and retired from a stressful career in oncology nursing, she’d been working as a home healthcare provider as a way to keep herself occupied between visits from her four grown children, who were scattered around the country.

“Are you done fooling with that machine?” Crandall groused at her.

“Calm down, or you’ll get your blood pressure up.” She made one final adjustment, then patted his arm, gentle despite his brusqueness with her. “I’ll be back to check on you in a little bit. Caleb, would you care for something to drink? I believe Gloria made a fresh batch of sun-brewed iced tea this morning before she left. Sweet, the way you like it.”

Caleb smiled at her. “Maybe later, Ms. Ruth. I drank nearly a gallon of water on the way up here. But thanks anyway.”

After the woman left the room, closing the door behind her, Caleb shook his head at his father. “I don’t know why anyone puts up with you.”

“They put up with me because I pay them more than they’ve ever received anywhere else,” Crandall asserted. “That includes everyone who works at the firm, right down to the administrative assistants.”

Caleb considered it, then gave his head another shake. “Nah, I don’t think that’s it. Hard as it is to believe, I think they genuinely like you, old man.”

“Old man, nothing. I may be hooked up to this confounded machine, but I can still take you across my knee, boy.”

Caleb chuckled, stretching out his long legs. “You heard Ms. Ruth. Don’t get your blood pressure up.”

Crandall scowled without any real rancor. With his free arm, he set aside the paperwork he’d been preparing to review and slowly removed his wireless reading glasses. He regarded his son in silence for a prolonged moment. “You didn’t tell me you had a visitor on Tuesday.”

Caleb stiffened at the reminder, then said levelly, “I didn’t think it was worth mentioning. Besides, you obviously didn’t need to hear it from me.”

“Still, it would have been nice.”

“Why?” Caleb challenged. “Would it have changed your mind about taking Lito’s case?”

Crandall’s lips flattened with displeasure. “I haven’t agreed to take his case.”

“But you will. I know you will.”

“What choice do I have? If I don’t, we both know what will happen.”

“Then let it happen,” snarled Caleb. “Maybe it’ll put an end to this senseless feud once and for all.”

Crandall’s nostrils flared. “There’s nothing ‘senseless’ about any of this. Your mother died—”

“That’s right, Dad, she
died!
Died because of a horrible secret you kept from her, from us, until it was too late!” Angrily he sprang from his chair and thrust his hands into his pockets to keep from smashing his fists through the wall and bringing the glass roof down on their heads.

Crandall watched as his son paced the floor, a caged panther dressed entirely in black—black T-shirt, black jeans, black boots. “We both know Philbin is bluffing,” Caleb growled. “If he really knew anything, he would’ve gone public a long time ago.”

“Be that as it may,” Crandall said tersely, “I can’t afford to take any chances. My sources tell me he’s digging for information again.”

“He’s been
digging
for years.”

“Yes, but now he may have employed the services of a private investigator. I have my people looking into it.”

Caleb’s harsh crack of laughter reverberated around the glass-walled room. “When does it ever end?” he bitterly demanded. “You have
him
investigated, he has
you
investigated, back and forth, so on and so forth. When does it ever end?”

“Dammit, Caleb—” Beside Crandall, the dialysis machine beeped loudly in protest.

Half a moment later, the door swung open and Ruth strode into the room, her brisk, purposeful strides carrying her swiftly to Crandall’s side. She checked the machine, then made an adjustment that quieted the alarm.

In the ensuing silence, father and son glowered at each other like a pair of gunslingers facing off in an old Western.

Ruth frowned, holding Crandall’s wrist and checking her watch. “Your blood pressure’s skyrocketing,” she scolded. “What on earth have you been doing in here?”

“Nothing,” he grumbled, sounding like a recalcitrant child.

Ruth sent a stern look over her shoulder at Caleb, who stood with his hands braced on his hips, vibrating with restrained fury. “If this were a clinic, you know I couldn’t allow you more than ten minutes an hour with him. Do I need to escort you out, Caleb?”

“No, ma’am,” he mumbled, shamefaced. “It won’t happen again.”

“Be sure that it doesn’t.” With one final warning look at her patient, she stalked out of the room—this time leaving the door wide open.

For several moments neither man spoke.

At length Caleb scrubbed his hands over his face and shoved out a deep, weary breath. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t come here to argue with you.”

“I know that,” Crandall said gruffly, “and believe me, I don’t want to argue with you, either. Truth be told, I’m glad you stopped by today. You’re a sight for sore eyes, son.”