Killer Career (3 page)

Still standing, Dade ripped open the wrapping. His whistle hurt
Julie’s ears.

“How did you pull this off?” He switched the book back and forth
in his hands.

“Oh, let’s just say I’ve got connections.”

“We’re in trouble now. This baby will seriously jeopardize client
time for at least two hours.”

Julie felt the warmth spread throughout her, as she gazed at her law
partner, taking in his azure eyes, the corners etched with thin
wrinkles, and his untamed dark hair which stuck out in all directions
as if he’d run a finger through it instead of a comb. That was Dade
for you. He never concerned himself with trivialities. Then again, he
didn’t need to, not with his God-given looks and his outgoing
personality.

Dade had been a member of her honorary family for ages, even before
her parents had passed away. He was a vital part of her past and
present. Thanks to their law practice, she saw more of him than of
his sister, Avery, whom she counted as her dearest friend.

“Sit down and read me the autograph,” she said. “I’m dying to
hear what he wrote. I forgot to look.”

Dade flipped open the book atop Julie’s desk, then raised his
eyebrows. “You know Jensen?”

“I just met him at the conference yesterday.”

“So you don’t know him that well?”

“Not really.”

“This autograph says different.”

“Let me see that,” Julie said, spinning the book around.

She stared at the tight script, her face growing warmer by the
second. It read, “Dade, your partner is worth stealing. Watch your
step.”

“That’s strange. Well, he is a mystery writer. He’s probably
staying in character.”

Dade snorted. “No, it’s more than that. He wants you, Julie.”

“I told you, we just met at a conference. He couldn’t be after
me. I doubt if I’ll ever see him again anyway.”

Dade stared at her with knowing eyes.

He had to be kidding.

“Don’t give me that look.” Reaching around the desk, she poked
him in the arm.

“I want you to stick around here, that’s all.”

“Well I’m not around for everything. Remember the agreement.”

“Oh, that,” he said, making it sound of little consequence. “You
wouldn’t break it for once, would you?”

“And ruin a good thing?” Although outwardly laughing, inside she
was serious.

She had something better than marriage. She could do whatever she
wanted and still see Dade more often than most wives saw their
husbands. They’d faced a lot together, business and personal-wise.
He was there for her and she for him. They were partners. She didn’t
need anything more.

She had all that, yet she was thinking of deserting him. Could she do
it?

Dade stood up to leave. “As usual, partner, you’re right. I
wouldn’t think of reneging on our agreement. On that note, I’ll
scram. I do have cases up.”

“And I’ve got Miller on trial,”Julie said. “Hey, don’t
forget your present. It should be a good read. Oh, and again, happy
birthday.”

Dade’s face looked grim as he swiped the book from her hands.
“Thanks,” he said curtly.

Julie stared at Dade’s stiff back as he lumbered off.
Disappointment washed over her. She’d just given Dade a terrific
birthday present. He should be happy. Was he upset about getting
older or was it something silly like Jensen’s innocent autograph?

* * *

“That son of a bitch.” Dade heaved Jensen’s book onto the chair
in his office. It bounced off the black leather edge and landed open
on the floor.

He glared at the offending present. His partner wouldn’t admit it,
but the mystery writer was after her. Danger rang loud and clear in
Jensen’s autograph.

When it came to book smarts, Julie ranked high in her class.
Unfortunately, she was a kindergartener around guys and would be easy
pickings. She didn’t realize how sexy she looked with her wispy
blonde hair, long legs and kissable mouth.

“He won’t get away with it,” Dade muttered.

Since grammar school, he’d acted as Julie’s protector, steering
the scum away from her, as well as his sister, Avery, another looker.
Only the few and the brave had dared approach them.

Avery had recently found her soul-mate, a fellow reporter. Dade
wanted that for Julie, but his gut told him Jensen wasn’t the one.

“Radison’s on line five,” Nora Hampton, his efficient
secretary, cut in on the intercom. He glanced at the digital clock on
the phone. Half past eight, the start of the office day.

“Get rid of him. Hold my calls.”

“Whatever you say, Mr. Donovan.”

He gritted his teeth and jammed the files into his briefcase. Three
trials ahead and every one of them a mountain to climb on bare feet.
Well, that suited him just fine. He was itching for a good fight.
Watch out world.

Julie turned as she was heading out the door. “Come on, birthday
boy. Get moving.”

He took in her appearance with approval. Her flyaway blonde hair made
her look fragile, but that was a facade. The true indicator proved to
be her navy blue suit, with the crisp white blouse turned back at the
neck.

A Madonna-like smile lit up her face, but this Madonna balanced a
briefcase, not a baby. A twinge of guilt hit him. Maybe he had
protected her too well. Julie was thirty. By her age, many women were
married with kids instead of facing a daily work grind, carrying
heavy case loads and wearing power suits.

As they stepped into the elevator, she flashed him a nervous smile.
He squeezed Julie’s free hand to reassure her. He wished he could
rid her of her claustrophobia, but that battle she must face alone.

They darted into the modern octagonal shaped glass building known as
the Thompson Center. As usual, Julie bit her lip as the elevator sped
upward to the eighth floor. Once at the Illinois Workers’
Compensation Commission, attorneys milled about the open area,
networking and exchanging rumors and sports scores. As they headed
toward their respective hearing rooms, the slim-mustached Barabat, in
a tailored gray suit, brushed past Dade and Julie with a perfunctory
remark. “Well if it isn’t Dade the Devil and his Avenging Angel.”

“Your ass is grass, dude,” Dade hissed back. “You don’t have
a leg to stand on.”

Julie flashed a stern look. “I can fight my own battles, thank you.
The counselor will learn his lesson soon enough.”

Dade smiled widely. “You’re so right.”

They stopped at the door to one of the small courtrooms. Dade wished
he could join Julie inside, but only in special instances were those
other than the attorneys of record, the Arbitrator, court reporter
and witnesses allowed.

Rumor had it Julie at trial was a sight to behold, blonde hair
flying, eyes flashing, as she annihilated her opponent. He was proud
of her but couldn’t take credit. She did it all with hard work and
a sparse social life. She deserved her victories, but he still
enjoyed sharing them with her.

As he continued down the hall to his designated courtroom, Dade
fought back a vague uneasiness. He sensed a change in the air, with
Jensen as the catalyst.

* * *

Despite Julie’s instructions, Miller called almost every other day
in the hopes of learning the trial results. Each time she had to tell
him the decision had not yet arrived. Finally, she spied it, the
telltale envelope with the return address of Illinois Workers’
Compensation Commission and the case number penned on the left side.

With fingers trembling, she slit open the envelope. Had the
Arbitrator agreed with her? She could only hope so. If not, Miller
was in sad trouble since he’d already borrowed from a loan company
so he could make ends meet. The man needed the money yesterday.

A glance at the print confirmed the decision was favorable. She’d
shot down Barabat’s defense. There was always a chance for appeal,
but from previous encounters she knew Barabat was smart enough not to
take such a case further. Thank goodness, Miller would get his
benefits.

Decision in hand, bursting to share the news with Dade, she rushed
down the hallway only to encounter a closed door. Maybe he had a new
client in with him. Whatever the case, the news would have to wait.

Nora, Dade’s assistant, walked by, flashing a quick smile which
didn’t reach her eyes. The woman set Julie’s teeth on edge. She
looked professional enough, with her shoulder length blonde hair cut
almost the same style as Julie’s. Also, the woman scored high marks
in aptitude. Dade set a fast pace, but Nora kept up with his
dictation and never complained about extra work. In fact, she’d
volunteered to handle the backups, which meant working late Friday
evenings and lugging discs home with her.

She could have been any lawyer’s dream of an assistant, but for
some reason Julie had never liked her from the start. Still, she
respected her partner’s decisions and tried not to let her distaste
for his assistant show. The fact that Nora enjoyed pointing out her
co-workers’ mistakes, no matter how trivial, bore out Julie’s
first impression of her. She got her job done and that’s all Dade
seemed to care about.

Why dwell on Nora or other trivialities when she could taste today’s
victory? If only Dade’s door would open and the client would
leave, so she could share the news and celebrate. Unfortunately, it
remained obstinately shut and she’d have to wait. With a sigh,
Julie turned toward her office.

Before Julie could step inside, her own gray haired, competent
assistant Dee said, “You’ve got a call on line three, Simone
Stratford.”

The name didn’t sound familiar. Normally, Julie would ask Dee to
screen further. Today, since she was in a spectacular mood, she’d
gamble. She reached for the phone. “Julie McGuire speaking,” she
said in a cheery voice.

“This is Simone Stratford, Tyler Jensen’s assistant.”

Julie’s heart hammered. “Yes, what can I do for you?” Her lungs
seemed suddenly constricted.

“You’ve been chosen to participate in the suspense workshop.
Might you still be interested?”

Chapter Three

Looking up from behind his glass desk, Tyler accepted the workshop
confirmation list from his assistant. Simone’s long crimson nails
had dug into the paper so hard they’d punctured its whiteness,
leaving a blood red trail of nail polish, as if marking her
territory.

She stood there like a dog waiting for a treat.

“It’s past eight. Go on home,” he said. “You don’t need to
stay.”

Stifling a sigh, he turned from the curvaceous brunette and pretended
to pull something off the credenza in back of him. She and her ilk
didn’t matter. As a diversion, he enjoyed hiring beautiful women as
assistants, but he never allowed it to become personal. From the
beginning he’d warned Simone of the rules, but like the other
sycophants, she’d chosen to ignore him. Instead of sex alone, she
wanted all of him. That made her yet another in the long line of
willing slaves who sought to change the immutable. The doors to his
soul remained barred. No one could get in, not even himself.

She stood in the same spot when he looked up.

“Go on home,” he said again, trying not to sound irritated. At
sight of her disappointed moue, guilt flickered inside him. Not for
the first time, he wished he didn’t have something missing. What
kept him from getting close to anyone?

She turned without a word. Her heels clicked on the hardwood floor.
The slam of the penthouse door punctuated her displeasure. Would she
return? Did he care?

His thoughts immediately fixed on the list. He tried to quell it, but
a tiny spark of hope grew within him.

He pictured Julie as he’d last seen her: shoulder length golden
hair, fiery emerald eyes, soft shoulders held back, a dichotomy of
vulnerability and invincibility. A man might conquer her physically,
but, to win her heart, he’d have to fall to his knees. She spelled
danger and much more.

He’d floundered attempting to answer her questions, revealing more
of himself than he’d intended. After the soul-baring process had
begun, he couldn’t control it. With each audience query, he’d
stripped off more layers, carelessly exposing himself for her
inspection.

While addressing the assembly, his mind had grappled with the
question of how to prevent her from escaping. The net must be loose
enough to draw her in, yet tight enough to catch her. She liked to
write. Where better than a workshop?

Had she changed her mind? His chest tightened as he glanced down at
the list of attendees he’d given to his assistant to confirm.

Was the intrepid one’s name still there?

Ah, yes, there it was. With a triumphant whoosh, he released his
breath. Gripping the paper, he smiled and rose. Possibilities, like
fireflies, flitted through his mind. Maybe she’d be the one. Maybe
she could accomplish what no woman had before. So much could happen
if only - - but what if it didn’t? He didn’t dare get his hopes
up. He’d been disappointed too often.

“They all want a piece of me. She’s just like the rest,” he
muttered.

With controlled deliberation, he placed the list in the top drawer of
his desk. Pretending it didn’t exist, he stepped into the adjoining
kitchen and brewed a pot of coffee. Mug in hand, he sat back down to
his computer.

His head pounded, but he relegated the pain to the background. It was
time to write. Eager to rake in more cash, his publisher had again
set a close deadline.

He opened his mind to his latest work,
Drowning in Your Love.

* * *

The air was warm, even at midnight. The park, densely lined with
trees and shrubs, had at one time been his haven. He’d spent
countless hours enjoying its serenity and beauty until they’d
violated his territory.

Frowning, he passed the lapping waters of the lagoon and the swaying
willow grove, until he reached the cover of the densely flowering
forsythias.