Risking It All. Beverly Bird
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doing my job. Keep your mouth to yourself.”
She was rattled, he thought. Interesting.
Since he wouldn’t be spending tonight in a cell, maybe he’d keep her for an attorney after all. Of course, that would involve deciding just how he was going to deal with that jet-black hair and those Violet Eyes. And the legs. Miles of them, he thought, watching her.
They were nearly back at the desk before someone noticed him strolling down the corridor as free as a bird. Four more guards came running. They seemed to come out of the crevices between the bricks in the walls, appearing out of nowhere. They included the man who’d listened to him earlier, the guard who had been reasonable enough to bring him back to the first floor. Aidan was almost sorry for that. Almost, but not quite.
“What are you doing?” the guard yelled. “What is this?”
“Please bring this man his wallet,” Grace said pleasantly.
“Are you crazy?” he demanded.
“Not in the slightest. There’s an easy way to do this and a hard way. You can compare this man standing beside me with the face on his driver’s license or we can call in various members of the P.P.D. to identify him—as one Aidan McKenna. Correct?” She glanced at Aidan.
He nodded agreeably. “That’s me.”
The guard looked frantic. “Hold it, just hold it. I need to call Chief Baines. Or the arresting officers. Jeez.”
“By all means,” Grace agreed. “Call someone. Maybe they can get the proper paperwork here in the next few seconds before my client and I walk out the door. Perhaps then—with the proper paperwork—you’d have cause to detain him, because as it is you have nothing on the basis of which to hold him. You are not going to incarcerate him as Bran Downey because that, you see, is against the law.”
Guards went running. He loved her, Aidan thought.
“Come on,” she said to him in an undertone. “We’re out of here.”
He loved her less. “What about my wallet? I had damned near a hundred dollars in there.”
“You’ll be back here in the morning, I’m sure. In the meantime, they’re not allowed to spend it.”
“Where are we going?” he asked outside as she hailed a cab.
“To track down a man who might or might not begin to regret hiring me.”
It was difficult to tell if Dan Lutz was annoyed or impressed when they finally found him at Bistro Romano, a historic restaurant in Society Hill near South Street. The maître d’ was much easier to read. He was appalled by their gutsy intrusion.
“This way,” he said, his voice as stiff as a pair of new jeans.
“I’m not dressed for it,” McKenna replied.
“I know,” the maître d’ agreed.
The man pulled a little ahead of them as they crossed the dining room. McKenna leaned closer to her to speak in an undertone. “Must be your legs,” he murmured. “That’s why he let us in without a reservation.”
“Leave my legs out of this.”
“Let me make sure I have this straight. I’m not allowed to kiss you and your legs are not a fair topic of conversation. Is there any part of your body you don’t get defensive about?”
Grace stopped dead in her tracks. “How is that any of your business?”
“I’m curious.”
“My body parts are the last thing you should be worried about right now.”
“They’re an intriguing alternative to thinking about my problems. Besides, I have you to think about my problems—at least until I fire you.”
That momentarily quelled her, but Grace rallied. “You won’t have to worry about firing me if you don’t cease and desist with this nonsense.”
“Cease and desist? Is that lawyer-speak?”
“It’s woman-speak. Trust me when I tell you that you’ll recognize the difference.”
“I’m not sure my feeble brain can handle the nuances.”
That startled her. “I never said your brain was feeble.”
“You were looking down your nose at me back there in the prison.”
“I was not.”
“You definitely were.”
He was relentless.
The maître d’ came back to them and cleared his throat. Now kissing was on her mind. Grace decided she would gladly pucker up for the dour-faced little gnome in gratitude for the interruption.
“If it wasn’t my intelligence you were casting aspersions on back there, then what was it?” McKenna asked as they started walking again.
Grace almost choked. “I never cast aspersions.”
“Lady, you had aspersions stamped all over that pretty face of yours.”
She decided to ignore him.
Dan Lutz rose when they reached him. He held a hand out to her. Grace braced herself and took it, knowing he would hold on for a while. It was his habit and it always made her uncomfortable.
There was a second place setting at the table with a half-touched plate of hors d’oeuvres, but Lutz was alone. Ah, she thought, this was a time to tread delicately.
“How in the world did you find me?” he asked.
“I called your secretary at home. She suggested that I contact Lou Russell,” she replied, referring to the firm’s other senior partner. “He said I might find you here.”
Lutz sat again, waving a hand at the other chairs to indicate that they should do so as well, then he motioned to the maître d’. “More wine, please, for my guests.”
They exchanged small talk until the wine steward brought two more glasses and another bottle. Lutz never liked to rush into anything. When the steward began to pour, McKenna held a hand out to prevent him from filling his glass.
“I’d prefer a Guinness,” he said.
Grace felt her blood pressure swell a notch. “Drink the damned wine.”
Lutz cleared his throat. “How did you manage to get a bail hearing so quickly?” he asked.
Time to get down to business, Grace thought. “Actually, I…ah, didn’t.”
“Yet here sits a man I presume is Mr. McKenna. Tell me.”
So she did. She explained about the paperwork glitch and how the authorities had no basis on which to hold him, while a waiter brought McKenna the beer. “By now they’re checking the computer system, of course,” she finished. “I’m sure someone has unearthed his proper paperwork and there are probably cops combing the city looking for him. That’s why I came here to find you and solicit your advice.”
“Some of those cops are my friends,” McKenna offered.
“They won’t look very hard.”
Grace felt something go ping behind her eyes. “Will you please shut up and let me handle this?”
“It was a salient point.” He lifted the Guinness to his mouth.
“I never said you were stupid!”
He ran his tongue over his lip to catch the foam, then he replaced his glass to the table. “Sorry, you lost me there. Must be those quicksilver turns of your own mind. What does my stupidity or lack thereof have to do with this?”
“You keep using college-degree words to prove your point.”
“I