Double Trouble (3 page)

I faced him down. “You chose your profession, sport. Don’t look to me for sympathy.”

His eyes narrowed. “Do not go there, little miss bleeding heart. You can’t begin to know...”

“Oh, cry me a river, James. Why don’t you hire someone to fix your troubles? Isn’t that the usual solution around here? Someone to clean, someone to cook, someone to garden—book a hooker and you won’t miss Marcia at all!”

His features set. “Not funny, Maralys.”

“But true, all the same. You’re not defending a crack dealer and I know it as well as you do. What would you be—the number three criminal lawyer in the city? You’ve got to be making what, seven figures? Eight in a
good
year? You’ve got all sorts of fancy clients paying big bucks for your silver tongue and oh boohoohoo, you’re not having everything go your way today.” I clutched my chest. “It wounds me, it really does.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about...”

“Oh, but I
do
. My dipshit sister has left you, a bonus no matter how you slice that pie. You’ve got two great healthy kids upstairs, somewhat against the genetic odds I might add. This house is big enough to house a family of twenty and wait, I forget, are there three or four German luxury sedans in the garage?” I patted his arm even though I knew damn well that he was seething. Talk about tickling the dragon’s belly. “Poor baby. I don’t know how you drag yourself out of bed in the morning.”

His lips thinned. “You made your choices, too, Maralys.”

“But you’ll notice that I’m not the one looking for a pity party.”

“Fair enough.” James leaned in the doorframe, so suddenly relaxed that I didn’t trust him. Not at all. I took a step back. “Sorry to break your record, Maralys, but this time you’ve got it all wrong. Your sister did the only sensible thing I’ve ever seen her do—she bailed out of a sinking ship.”

I made no comments about rats. You should be proud of me.

I did laugh though. “Sinking? This? Don’t tell me you haven’t been prudent with your assets, James. What kind of a moronic investment banker do you have?”

James shook his head. “No banker, no bad investments.” He shoved his hands into his trouser pockets and surveyed me, daring me to figure it out. I was trying, but no luck.

What the hell was going on here?

He spoke quietly, but his eyes were still too dark. “Just bad blood.”

“Bad blood? Where? Not my sister—our genetic strings are perfect, if I do say so myself.”

“Nope, not Marcia.”

“You?” I snorted. He was pulling my chain, there was no doubt about it. “You’re the straightest shooter I’ve ever met in my life, every mama’s dream for her little girl.” I tweaked his lapel, knowing he had more bucks invested on his back than I had in my closet. Maybe more than I’d ever owned. “Check out the suits and the Italian shoes. Lalala. Bad blood, my ass.”

“Wrong, Maralys.” That exhaustion claimed his features again and I felt more sorry for him than I should have done. “You’ve got it all wrong.”

“Bull. You’ve got everything going for you. You’re not going to make me feel sorry for rich and successful James Coxwell.” I picked up the receiver to call a cab.

James put his thumb on the rest, breaking the connection. I could feel him right behind me, the heat from his skin pressing against my own. It was tough to take a breath. He was close, too close, and smelled too goddamned good.

And truth be told, I was enjoying myself. It’s not often I meet someone who gives as good as they get. Nothing like a worthy sparring partner. I was all tingly for more than one reason.

Lust, my cookie, is not just about physical stimulation. Engage the mind and oh boy, things get mucho hot. They were toasty right about now. I could have wrapped my tongue around this boy’s tonsils and enjoyed it thoroughly—from the heat wave of tension emanating from him, I guessed that I might not be alone in that urge.

Interesting.

“Well, how about this?” James’ face was right beside mine, his eyes glittering. “My father is ousting me from the partnership in his own subtle but effective way. I’m losing it all and your sister knew it. That’s why she left.”

It wasn’t just his proximity that shut me up. This was a choice bit of news.

I stared at him, incredulous, noticing all the hues in his eyes. He has hazel eyes, James does, and they change from gold to green to grey. Right now, I could see all the slivers of color, the star of dark gold around his pupils, as well as the thickness of his lashes.

He was looking at me, hard, challenging me to challenge him and it just about stopped my heart. My brain, mercifully, kicked into gear and ran.

Everyone knew that James was the pride and joy of Judge Robert Coxwell, as well as his hand-chosen successor. James was partner in his father’s legal practice and had benefited from his father’s connections. He’d also worked damn hard to get to where he was—I knew that because my sister had bitched about his long hours for years. And he’d played to his daddy’s rules for as long as I could remember.

Despite myself, I wanted to take his side on this one. “No.”

“Yes, Maralys.” James bit out the words, his bitterness clear. “Oh, yes. I really am defending two-bit hoods these days.” He shook his head, then rolled his eyes. “And oh, I have the pathetic billings to show for it.” He walked back across the kitchen, peeled off his jacket and slung it over a chair.

I went after him. “But that’s nuts. You are good at what you do—whatever value to society it is to get big-time crooks free.”

James chuckled and leaned against the counter, looking more relaxed for having spit out the truth. “Thank you. I think.”

“So, what gives?”

“Luck of the draw,” was what he said, then looked away, but I knew even then that there was more to it than that.

“Bullshit.”

James looked me in the eye then, considering. “My father’s brought my brother Matt into the practice.”

“But I thought Matt did real estate law?”

“He did. He’s changing specialties.” One brow lifted as if daring me to believe what he was going to say even though he spoke with deceptive mildness. “Matt’s going to be the new courtroom star.”

“By winning those big nasty cases?” I rolled my eyes. I’d met his bookish brother and couldn’t see it happening. “I don’t think so. Matt could never be a shark like you.”

James’ lips quirked. “Two almost-compliments in one evening. You’re losing your touch, Maralys.”

I smiled at him, I couldn’t help it. He has a nice dimple.

Not that it mattered to me. “Hey, well, you know how I like to back an underdog. Looks like you’ve joined the ranks.”

He sobered and sighed, frowning again at kitchen as if he could conjure food by will alone. “Don’t I know it.”

James needed a good hard kick and I was just the one to give it to him. I leaned on the counter beside him and sighed. “You poor old bastard. Is this what I have to look forward to at the ripe old age of forty-two? Hey, you might as well chuck it in. Drive that big ol’ sedan right into the Atlantic and call it quits. Leave me the Cuisinart, would you?”

He looked down at me and smiled then, a teasing smile that didn’t last nearly long enough. “You really are a little pit bull, aren’t you?”

“Live and learn. When life gives you lemons and all that.” I nudged him, enjoying this unexpected moment of conviviality. “I’ve got to tell you that I make a mean jug of lemonade. Experience is the key.”

James grinned and that dimple took my breath right clean away. “I bet you do,” he murmured and there was something other than animosity in the air.

“Whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger,” I chattered. “That’s my theme song.”

“No wonder you’re so tough.” There was admiration in his voice, unexpected admiration and I felt myself blush.

Blush! It was a bit too cozy for me, thanks. I was having palpitations but knew damn well that the last person on the planet I needed nookie from was James Coxwell. Talk about losing my pointer. The man was wrong for me in just about forty-five thousand ways.

Each and every one of them independent of the fact that he was married to my sister.

I stepped away and put my hands on my hips, just to show that my shields were up. “But this thing with Matt and the partnership. It’s not fair.”

James watched me, his voice hard and his expression inscrutable. “But that’s how it is.”

I understood that there were a lot of things James wasn’t going to tell me, because telling them to me wouldn’t change their outcome. For whatever reason, James wasn’t the star rainmaker at his partnership anymore. Maybe he lost one too many big cases, maybe it was something else.

Either way, he was no longer the apple of his father’s eye. Well, I could relate to that, even if I might have preferred otherwise. Trick was that I had never been the apple of my father’s eye, but had the bonus of being able to contrast his response to my twin to his treatment of me.

James was right in saying that the exact reason for his fall from grace didn’t matter.

I didn’t know what to say. We stared at each other, a whole lot of understanding telegraphing back and forth, at least when it didn’t get choked out by the sizzle. I swallowed and he watched my throat move.

“Maralys...” He took a step toward me, then chaos erupted from the stairs in a most timely fashion.

The boys had realized that he was home. They descended upon the kitchen and much family mayhem ensued. It got a bit cuddly for me but James noticed that I was starting to twitch. He called me a cab and watched from the doorway until I was safely inside, in that old-fashioned protective male way that isn’t all bad.

My gaze slipped over the trophy house as the cab pulled from the curb and I thought that maybe I understood why my sister had left. The goodies were going away—and James Coxwell without his money hadn’t been enough to persuade Marcia to stay. She’d always liked good things and good living, and a man who couldn’t supply them, well, just didn’t interest her.

It was that simple. We slipped through the affluent neighborhood, past the horse farms, past the long winding driveways with distant lights partly obscured by trees, and I wondered how many other tasteful entries hid similar stories.

I had a funny feeling that Marcia, not atypically, had it all wrong. Even though he wasn’t my type, James Coxwell’s bank account wasn’t his only asset.

See? I’m a sucker for a dimple.

But what I didn’t realize then was that the exact reason for the change in James’ circumstances
did
matter, it mattered a lot.

Which was why, of course, he kept it to himself.

----

Subject
: this must be love!

Dear Aunt Mary -

I’m in love! I’ve found my PURRfect soul mate in a chat room!

:-D

Any advice on that 1st live meet? Or ::ulp:: on moving across the country?

Smitten in St Paul

----

T
hey do say that curiosity killed the cat.

This would have been the perfect opportunity for me to just shut up and get on with my life, such as it was. Certainly no one was asking for my help.

But then, they also say that satisfaction brought that cat back, right? That’s one of the major scores of my life.

That night, back in what passed for my cozy, safe haven (i.e. a drafty warehouse in a wicked bad neighborhood), I couldn’t let it go. Now, I’m not going to tell you exactly where in Boston this warehouse is, because I don’t want to be responsible for keeping you up nights, fretting yourself senseless over li’l ol’ me.

Trust me—I can take care of myself. I’ve been doing it for thirty-eight years.

Maybe we should take a moment to set the scene, now that you think I’m living in a former pickle factory with broken windows and gangs members doing dastardly deeds in the dark streets hereabouts. It’s actually a 19th century candy factory, the windows aren’t broken because they’re made of glass bricks and the graffiti from the gangs has a certain artistic flair. If nothing else, it decorates the outside of what is otherwise a breathtakingly functional structure. As far as I know, they limit their expressions to calligraphy.

That’s all I want to know.

Okay, it may not be precisely legal in terms of the zoning for me to be living here, but that’s immaterial—I live in my office. Why not? I work a ton of hours, live, eat and breathe my sweet code.

Besides, with two thousand square feet of brick walls, twenty foot ceilings and ancient hardwood factory floors, it’s not as if there isn’t room for me too. I have a lot of stainless shelving on wheels—an assembly of that in the vicinity of the sink passes for my kitchen. I sleep on a futon, which makes for a ‘reception area’ by day and offers no privacy whatsoever.

Maybe there’s something paranoid deep in my psyche, some forgotten trauma which left an indelible scar, but I need to see all of my surroundings all the time. This place gives me that. I can see all the way to the walls in every direction from any position.

What’s beyond the walls I can ignore. How’s that for a trick?

There’s only one entrance—a big steel sucker that rolls up like a garage door. You don’t trot too fast over that threshold—the freight elevator shaft is on the other side and some illustrious soul once saw fit to remove the safety grate.

There’s a fire escape too, but that door is bolted down hard and rusted too. So, yes, I need to duck not only the zoning inspector but the fire marshal. It adds a certain spice to life.

The place is cheap, for how big it is. And the windows are amazing. Rows upon rows of glass bricks, stretching all the way to the ceiling. They have just a little ripple in the glass, not a pattern, so the world beyond looks like a reflection of itself. Or a Monet painting. The light is awesome—not that I’m often awake to see it.

It’s a great space and one that took me half of forever to find. I have half of the second floor of the building—the first floor is more showy, but I had security concerns. I can lock down the door and disallow access to my space from the elevator—there’s another smaller elevator at the back of the building to service the other part of this floor.