Anything You Can Do (5 page)

Everyone smiled. Gordon and
Paula smeared on more suntan oil and stretched out.

Austin reached over and scratched behind Samantha's ears, accidentally brushing Bailey's hand in the process. Her skin was smooth and firm and warm.

"We always had big dogs," he said, jerking back, pretending he hadn't noticed the contact.

"We?" she asked. If it had been any other woman, he'd have thought she was trying to find out if he was ma
rried. However, he felt sure Bailey was simply requesting information.

"My family," he told her. "Not me. I don't have time to care for an animal. Besides, my town house in St. Louis is no place for a Doberman."

Bailey nodded. "I feel guilty about leaving Samantha alone all day. Sometimes I take her to the office with me on Saturdays."

"You're kidding! What does Stafford Morris say about that?"

"He doesn't. The view of the office is a little obscured from his golf course at the country club."

Austin laughed delightedly at Bailey's sardonic humor. Her mouth q
uirked upward, and those incredible sea green eyes danced.

"How about a swim?" he asked, suddenly unable to sit still. "The sun's getting pretty hot."

"Paula, can you hold Samantha?" She turned the leash over to her friend, who accepted it without opening her eyes.

The pool was a decent size, as condo pools went. The space appeared more than adequate for its purpose since most of the residents were lying beside it. Only four other people were actually in the pool, including one tan lady floating lazily on a raft. Austin almost sighed as the cool water enveloped his overheated body. The day had turned into a scorcher.

Beside him Bailey slid completely under the water and came up, shaking her short hair. Not many women could still look good with no makeup and wet hair, Austin thought, falling into a leisurely backstroke, watching Bailey as she joined him.

At the end of the pool, they turned and launched into a crawl simultaneously, laughing at the coincidence. Bailey was a relatively strong
swimmer, Austin thought. She didn't seem to have any problem keeping up with him. They hit the other end and flipped over.

Austin stretched out, reaching, feeling the rush of adrenaline from exercise. Through the churning water, he could see Bailey beside him, and they shared a smile. Austin increased his stroke. They hit the opposite end at the same time.

Of course, Bailey would be faster than most women. She had nothing on that sleek body to slow her down. Even her small, high breasts appeared aerodynamically designed.

Damn her, he thought, stroking as hard as he could, hitting the end of the pool and flipping back the other way, didn't she know he was physically stronger than she was? Hadn't he proven that at the run?

"Get out of the pool," he heard someone shout, and looked up to see Gordon and Paula on the edge, glaring down.

Were they crazy? He was pulling ahead of Bailey. He wasn't about to get out now.

They bounced off the edge and started another lap.

He'd pass her for sure this time. Again and again his arm
lifted out of the cool water into the warm sun, back into the cool. His muscles stretched, lengthened, contracted. He couldn't see Bailey from the corner of his eye anymore. He'd passed her! He was winning!

A hand grabbed his as he neared the end of the pool again. "If you don't get out of the pool, I'll throw in your Cartier," Gordon promised, dangling the watch over the water with his other hand.

Austin stared uncomprehendingly at his friend's face, at Bailey pulling up beside him. Damn! She hadn't been very far behind, but with a few more laps...

Were Gordon and
Paula conspiring to keep him from winning?

"Why?" he demanded angrily.

"Look around you," Paula invited. "You've succeeded in clearing the pool. You've embarrassed even Gordon and me, and that isn't easy to do."

Austin looked. The bronzed lady clutched her raft and glared. He and Bailey were the only ones in the water. Reluctantly he pulled himself up. Bailey followed suit, and they sat on the concrete rim, breathing hard, staring across the water.
Paula and Gordon moved back to the ice chest, and he heard a beer can pop.

"Pretend you don't know them,"
Paula advised from the background.

I won,
Austin wanted to shout.
I was ahead when they stopped us.
He couldn't say that. They hadn't been racing. "You're a good swimmer," he said, grudgingly.

"Thanks. So are you," she replied. Her response wasn't very hearty either.

"Don't feel bad because I was ahead of you. Men are inherently physically stronger than women." There! He'd managed to remind her of his victory by putting it on an impersonal basis. Just a simple statement of biological fact.

"That's true," she agreed sweetly, green eyes dancing. "It's Mother Na
ture's vain attempt at compensation for shorting men in the brains department."

Bailey opened her briefcase and laid a couple of file folders along with a yellow legal pad on the conference room table at Kearns, Worley's law offices.

"Nothing for me," she told the secretary taking coffee orders. She didn't need any caffeine. She was wide awake.

In fact, she was experiencing some distinctly odd sensations not usually
associated with taking a deposition, including an impulse to bolt out of her chair and do some stretching exercises, take a few deep breaths, gear up for a race.

Of course, this was business, not a race. She knew that.

The door whispered open, the faint sound demanding Bailey's attention. Her heartbeat accelerated perceptibly as she looked up then returned to normal when the secretary came into the room bearing a tray of steaming cups.

Sitting next to her, Margaret accepted coffee. "Thank you," she mumbled, then gave one final blot with a crumpled tissue to her pale, damp forehead.

Not all the perspiration came from anxiety, Bailey reflected. Margaret and Candy Miller, the client, had puffed their way to the office building though it was only two blocks from their own. Bailey had to stop every few steps and wait for them to catch up.

No wonder Candy's back hurt. Bailey watched the woman accept a cup of coffee with cream and sugar. She was in lousy physical condition. Cellulitic breasts protruding above the open buttons of her purple blouse bounced on her stomach. A good bra and a healthy diet would probably solve most of her back problem
s.

She pulled her attention a
way from the woman, mentally rebuking herself for her unkind thoughts. Just because she herself was obsessed with physical fitness didn't mean everyone else should be.

Thoughts of physical fitness returned her focus to Austin. The door opened again, but it was only the secretary leaving.

Bailey drummed her fingers impatiently. The court reporter was there, Mark Powell was there, the insured, Alvin Wilson, was there, the men from the insurance company were there—but Austin Travers was noticeably absent.

They began the deposition.

The testimonies of Alvin Wilson and the insurance company representative were brief and unremarkable. Alvin had rear-ended Candy at a red light. Responsibility clearly lay with the defendant. The extent of Candy's injury was the sole issue in dispute. Able to contribute only a few pertinent questions, Bailey had begun to doubt the necessity of her presence when Mark excused himself and left the room. Bailey waited impatiently for his return, bored and anxious to get the proceeding over with.

Then the door swung open and Austin Travers surged in, impressive in a gray pinstripe suit only a few shades darker than her own. As he entered, the air in the room seemed suddenly charged, alive.

His electric blue gaze swept the room, zoomed in on Bailey. She'd heard of auras surrounding people but had never given the idea any credence. Nevertheless, she could have sworn an aura crackled around Austin's head. The hair on her arms stood up inside her white cotton blouse. She felt alive and vibrant, eager to get on with things, to engage in battle.

Austin sensed a rush of unleashed energy as he stepped into the conference room where Bailey Russell waited, her svelte body hidden by a tailored gray suit. She looked up at h
im, her eyes wide pools of innocence, as though her mere presence wasn't an alert that something was going on. Deliberately he looked away from her, reached for the knob to close the door behind Mark, jumped as static electricity sparked to his hand. For a brief, illogical moment, he blamed—credited—Bailey.

"How nice to see you, Mr. Travers." Her voice was deceptive, a soothing cello in the supercharged atmosphere.

"Ms. Russell. I didn't expect to see you here." She smiled sweetly, savagely. What on earth was she up to? From what he had observed and Mark had told him, the case involved no special circumstances. Yet Bailey had brought it up when she'd met Gordon and him at Reilly's, had called it
important
, and now she'd come to the deposition and so intimidated Mark that he'd felt it necessary to seek Austin's advice.

Austin took over. Mark had briefed him on the situation prior to Candy Miller's deposition, and he knew that the testimony of Harold Graham, the investigator, should put an end to her claims. He put the witness through his paces, established the fact that Graham had been observing her periodically for several weeks, cited inconsequential activities such as working in her yard or taking out the trash. Then he moved in for the kill. "You are aware that the plaintiff
is claiming loss of income in her profession of cocktail waitress due to this injury."

"Yes."

"Please tell us what happened on the evening of June twelfth."

"That'd be Friday week ago?"

"Right."

"Well, she gets all dolled up and goes down to this bar where she used to work. She's been there several times already, so I follow her, like I've done before. Friday nights are real crowded, and next thing I know, she's up hustling drinks."

"You actually saw her serve drinks to customers?"

"Hell, she served me."

"What kind of shoes was she wearing?"

"Red sandals with real high heels."

"Did she exhibit any signs of difficulty in walking, such as limping, clutching her back, moving slowly?"

"Nope. She was whipping around pretty good."

"Did she grimace, groan, give any evidence of being in pain?"

"Nope. In fact, she was laughing and having a big time."

Austin stole a look in Bailey's direction and made a mental note never to play poker with her. She was observing dispassionately, not even bothering to take written notes.

"May we have a couple of minutes to confer with our client before cross-examination?" she asked smoothly when Austin passed the witness.

The three of them were out of the room less than five minutes during which time Candy, wearing thick glasses, stuck her head back in the door once, peered at Harold, then retreated. When they returned, Bailey, rather than Margaret, took charge, as he'd expected she would. Standing directly across the table from the witness, she began to question him in a quiet voice.

"Did you actually see Candy Miller accept drinks from the bartender and serve them to customers?" she asked after a few preliminary innocuous questions.

Austin watched Harold's complacent expression. The man was too macho to be frightened of a woman. Austin tried to catch his eye, to warn him to be on his guard, but Harold was smiling stupidly at Bailey.

"She served me," he drawled.

"What kind of a drink? Big? Little?" The volume and speed of her words increased, and she somehow gave the impression of becoming taller.

"Seven and Sev
en. Big glass." He seemed hypnotized by her steady gaze, unable to look away from her.

"How many other tables did she serve?"

"A couple."

"You saw no visible signs of any ill effects from this stint of working?" Her voice was rising and speeding up again.

"Nope."

"Not at any time during the evening?"

"Nope."

"How many times did you follow Candy to this club?"

"A couple."

"More than one."

"Sure."

"More than two."

"Yeah, probably."

"Three? Four?"

"I guess."

"How long did she usually stay?"

"Until midnight, two o'clock."

"And you only saw her wait tables the one time?"

"Isn't that enough?"

"Of course," Bailey agreed, her voice suddenly soothing again. Harold grinned proudly. Austin groaned silently.

The air in the room seemed so charged with trapped electricity, Austin half expected to see lightning flash over the table.
Watch out
, he wanted to warn Graham.

"So you went to the same bar as the plaintiff on three or four occasions, stayed until she left, and watched her carefully the entire time." She looked down at the table, shuffled through some papers, released Harold from her gaze.