Trouble with the Law (5 page)
Mark pressed his foot on the brake and joined the snarl of cars exiting the expressway. Ahead of him, the
Philadelphia
skyline resembled a vertical pattern of prison bars that kept people locked inside the city.
Damn, he’d forgotten how much he hated the urban sprawl. Whatever had possessed him to get tangled up with a woman like Justine Whitmore? A wry smile twisted his lips as he recalled his first glimpse of her, huddled in the corner of his office, clad in nothing but a few scraps of silk. Her luscious mouth had twisted into a sulky pout when she spotted him, and her eyes had narrowed into angry slits as she watched him striding up across the floor.
His hormones had kicked in with a fury more fitting for a teenage stud than a jaded man of forty-two. Mark spun the wheel to avoid being hit by a battered white
Toyota
shoving in from the right. He expelled a tired sigh. What had caused him to take leave of his senses and dip his pen in that particular well of ink was obvious. Even now, his groin tightened at the memory of the attraction that had electrified the air in his office the instant he entered.
There was something fresh, something innocent about Justine Whitmore, despite her glossy glamour and haughty demeanor. Before he learned what she did for a living, he could almost have believed she was a warm and vibrant woman who by some trick of fate had ended up living in the city.
Then he found out that she worked in Public Relations, and adjusted his thinking. The woman could barely be classified as a human being. He wanted as little to do with her as possible. He’d be civil, he’d be polite, but he’d keep his distance, apart from the necessary physical part.
It was like a dirty job that had to be done.
He swung his truck into a lot, swearing under his breath when he saw the sign with prices. Almost ten bucks to park for a few hours! How in hell did people get by in the city? He killed the engine and hopped out. Exhaust fumes filled his nostrils and horns blared down the street. As Mark stopped to pick up a ticket from the attendant in stained jeans and a psychedelic polyester shirt, he gave a fleeting thought to the appropriateness of his own clothes.
It didn’t matter. With a dismissive shrug of his shoulders, he strode off to find the restaurant. He wasn’t out to charm anyone. He just wanted to keep out of trouble, so he could get on with his life.
Liar.
He silenced the inner voice that whispered the truth at him, just like he ignored the tentacles of excitement that uncurled in his stomach at the thought of spending another night with Justine Whitmore.
* * * *
Justine adjusted her little black dress and threw a jacket over her arm. She was running a few minutes late, but it was the least of her worries. Her boss would be there to welcome the guests, and the restaurant on
All day her fingers had itched to dial the number to Sheriff Taylor’s office. By late afternoon, she knew that if he really intended to make the three-hour drive to
Philadelphia
, he’d already be on the road. And if they were supposed to be madly in love, she could hardly call his office and ask for his cell phone number without appearing to be a scatterbrained idiot.
She would just have to brazen out the situation if he turned up in his khaki uniform, looking like a straggly lion amongst a flock of smartly shorn sheep.
Justine sighed as she raced in her high heels along the uneven pavement, avoiding the steam rising from the vents. She hadn’t found a chance to explain to Steven and Sandra that they might have an extra guest. But the lack of opportunity to talk to her boss and his wife hardly mattered, as she wouldn’t have known what to say anyway. After their conversation yesterday about her brush with the law, Sandra would smell a rat, and Steven would blow his famously short fuse about some country hick barging in to spoil the smooth running of an expensive PR event with clients.
“I’m sorry,” she said as she breezed into the bar at Brasserie Perrier, where Sandra’s scarlet evening gown created a splash of color amongst the guests mostly clad in black. “Where is everyone?” Justine glanced around her. “They can’t have sat down to dinner yet?”
“They’ve gone to the private dining room at the back,” Sandra said.
“But it’s only twenty past.” Justine checked the time on her watch. “It was supposed to be cocktails at seven and the meal at
“There’s some unscheduled entertainment,” Sandra explained in a dry voice.
“Entertainment?” Justine said. “Why do I suddenly feel worried?”
“Guilty conscience?” Sandra suggested. She drained the last of her fruit juice and set the empty glass on the counter with a clunk. “Follow me,” she said as she slid down from the barstool and steered the course toward the rear of the room.
Justine cast a longing glance at the rack of bottles behind the bar. “I think I might need a drink.”
“Truer words were never spoken,” Sandra said, and something in her voice told Justine that she had with her actions managed to upset the kindest person she knew.
She increased her speed until she caught up with Sandra. “I can explain.”
Sandra halted her progress and directed a level look at her. “Yes. I would very much like to hear your explanation.” The beginnings of a smile softened her stern expression. “But that can wait until Monday.”
Justine heard the flurry of voices as she stepped after Sandra into the long and narrow dining room. Half a dozen men sat at one end of the table, with women in cocktail dresses clustering behind them.
“Lower,” said one of the important clients.
“You’re lying,” said Sheriff Taylor.
“Damn it!” The client threw the nine of clubs on the table on top of the seven of spades. “How do you do it?”
“You glanced at the card when you said lower. When you tell the truth, you don’t do that.” Sheriff Taylor smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
“Lower,” said the building inspector, whose goodwill was crucial to Chandler Developments.
“You are trying to lure me into thinking that you’re lying, but you’re not.”
“Son of a bitch.” The building inspector flipped over the five of diamonds.
“When you lie, you fidget with the card,” Sheriff Taylor explained. “I made you aware of the habit, so this time you fidgeted on purpose. It looked false.”
“Justine!” Steven lifted a hand in greeting, making no comment about her late arrival. “Mark is teaching us how to spot when someone’s bluffing.”
Sheriff Taylor turned to look at her over his shoulder, then rose to his feet and strode up to her past the crowd of staring women. He wore a crisp white shirt with the top two buttons undone, and pleated black trousers cut to perfection. “I didn’t want to be in your way while you were getting ready, so I came straight to the restaurant.” He bent to brush a kiss on her lips.
“That was very considerate of you,” Justine stammered. Her stomach lurched when he placed his hand over the small of her back and held it there, heavy and warm.
“Mark told us he didn’t know until yesterday that he could make it,” Sandra said, watching Justine’s every move. “I guess you forgot to mention it today.”
“I knew he was coming, but I didn’t think he’d get away early enough to join us for dinner.” Justine nearly choked on the words. “It’s a three hour drive.”
“All in the name of love,” said one of the older wives, reaching to take her husband’s hand. “Do you remember when we were young?”
Justine was grateful for the chorus of comments that burst out, because it covered up the voice of Sandra whispering, “You’re lying.”
“I’ll explain when I see you on Monday,” Justine muttered and pinned a smile on her face as she turned to face the clients.
“I’m afraid we’ll have to go now,” Steven said, taking Sandra’s elbow. “But I’ll leave you in good hands.” He grinned at Mark, and then cast a hurried glance at Justine to include her in his comment before he addressed the guests again. “Thank you for your support of Chandler Developments. Eat, drink, and be merry.” He saluted the crowd and made his exit with Sandra in tow.
* * * *
Justine swallowed the last sip of Baileys in her glass and sneaked a glance at her watch. Almost eleven. The party had been a roaring success, with Mark amusing the clients with anecdotes about law enforcement in a small town where everybody knew each other. Thank heavens the table had been laid out without chairs at the ends for the host and the hostess, so she didn’t have to spend the entire evening facing him. Everyone sat along the long sides, and although Sheriff Taylor sat across from her, he was three chairs over to the left, out of her direct line of vision.
She’d worried that he’d flounder with the sophisticated crowd and embarrass Chandler Developments, but instead he proved to be the kind of man around whom the laughter always rang the loudest and the conversation sparked the brightest.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that,” Justine said to the quiet accountant from the City Hall on her right. She strained her ears to hear what the building inspector’s wife had said to Mark, who appeared to be choking into his brandy glass.
“I asked if you follow the Flyers at all,” the accountant said.
Justine sent him a professional smile. “No, hockey isn’t my thing. We sponsor the Eagles.”
“I prefer hockey,” the accountant said. “I get hay fever in the summer.”
“Un-huh,” Justine said. Her eyes narrowed as the woman on Mark’s other side clutched his arm, shaking with laughter. This really was getting to be too much. Didn’t Sheriff Taylor realize that the husbands were present? Justine craned her neck and raised her voice. “Can we share the joke?” she called out.
“Honey, you
are
the joke,” cried the flamboyant woman in her forties who was the electrical contractor’s escort. Justine frowned as she tried to recall the woman’s name.
“
Sharon
asked how we met,” Mark said, his eyes glittering under the beam from the ceiling lights.
Justine stiffened. Panic lurched in her stomach. Everyone had been drinking wine throughout the meal, and brandy and liqueurs afterwards. She had no idea how well Mark tolerated alcohol. Did drink loosen his tongue and cloud his judgment, the way it did with most people?
“And how did you tell
Sharon
that we met?” Justine forced out the question.
Sheriff Taylor sent her a mocking smile across the table, and she realized that he knew exactly what was going through her mind.
“I told her that I arrested you.” He raised his voice to carry past the people between them. The rest of the guests interrupted their conversations and turned to watch him.
“What did you arrest her for?” asked the building inspector. “Speeding?”
“Soliciting,” Mark said calmly. “She barged into someone’s hotel room in the middle of the night, wearing not very much at all, and the gentleman’s wife made a complaint.” He swept a look around the table to include everyone. “Of course, I knew it was a mix-up with the reservations, but when I saw Justine, I simply couldn’t let her go. I arrested her and told her I’d hold onto her until she agreed to go out with me.”
Laughter rippled around the table, and Justine heaved out a sigh, exhaling the air trapped in her lungs. Grudgingly she gave a mental round of applause to Sheriff Taylor. By getting his version out first, he’d neutralized any rumors that might start circulating about the incident at the guesthouse.
When the party broke up, Justine bristled with unease. She ought to have been relieved that Mark had charmed everyone, including her boss, but instead it rankled that he fit so easily into her world.
“I hope you didn’t mind my gate-crashing your event,” Mark said as they walked back toward Academy House. “It made sense to be seen together in public.” He reached for her hand and laced his fingers into hers. Justine tried to tug her hand free, but his hold tightened, and he slanted an amused glance at her. She told herself that for just a couple of blocks it didn’t matter.
