Spin Control. Kate Donovan
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shook her head in protest. “I’m guessing you’re on some sort of administrative suspension, aren’t you? I don’t think they want you running around trying to solve either case. You need to stay out of trouble, especially because you’re in my freaking custody. I’ll handle any investigating from here on out.”
“Just like I told the judge—you’ve got guts.” He reached across the table and grabbed her hand. “We’ll solve it together, then.”
“Are you nuts?” she demanded, pulling free, then glaring. “I don’t need to solve anything, and neither do you. The burden of proof is on them, and they don’t have a strong enough case to convict a respected federal agent. Fingerprints? A couple of hot dates? None of that adds up to motive, and jurors need a motive, not just evidence. Besides—” she settled down enough to give him a sheepish smile “—all I really have to do is load that jury with females and you’re as good as acquitted.”
To her surprise, the compliment seemed to rankle Justin. “I’d like to think it’s my professional accomplishments—not my sex appeal—that will give me credibility.”
“You’re charged with murder. We’ll use anything we’ve got. That’s my first strategy decision as your incompetent e-lawyer.”
He laughed. “Fair enough. Looks like we both have something to prove.” Pulling out his wallet, he dropped a handful of bills on the table. “So where do we go from here? Your law office?”
She studied him carefully, impressed by his enthusiasm, openness and clear desire to get to the truth. He was innocent—she’d stake the Twelve-Year Plan on that. And he needed more than a quick consultation under the dubious eyes of her senior partner.
He needed a lawyer.
“We’ll go to my apartment. I’ll wait while you get what you need from your room, then you can follow me in your car.”
His blue eyes widened. “You want me to move into your place?”
“I’m not that convinced you’re innocent,” she said, shaking her head in amusement. “Just bring what you need for the rest of the day. We can work at my kitchen table. It’s not as ritzy as this place, but it’s comfortable.”
“I’ll bet it is. And this hotel isn’t so great, believe me. The only thing it has going for it is a state-of-the-art fitness center.”
“You’ll be able to get a good workout in my bedroom,” she assured him, then she grimaced when he arched a playful eyebrow. “There’s a treadmill in there and some free weights, smart-ass.”
“Nice to know you’re getting some action at least,” he said teasingly. Then his smile softened. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Suzannah. I promise you won’t regret it.”
He followed her to her redbrick apartment house, parking in one of the visitor spots behind the four-story building, then catching up with her at the elevator. In some ways, it felt more like a date than a business meeting, which made a certain kind of illogical sense to Suzannah. Justin was sexy and charming and single, and while she rarely brought men home with her for any reason, she definitely never brought clients or associates to her apartment.
The reason was simple: this place was her sanctuary. Her refuge. An integral part of the Twelve-Year Plan. Knowing from the start that her decision to focus on her career might get out of hand, she had done virtually all of her law work downtown, even though it meant late nights and weekends at the office, returning home only when she was exhausted and depleted. Home was reserved for relaxation—watching movies and reading.
Fortunately her firm’s building had a guard in the reception area for anyone working late, and the office parking lot was well lit, courtesy of the all-night market adjacent to it. So all in all, the system had worked well for her.
Until today.
Opening the front door, she entered the apartment ahead of him and smiled proudly, reminded of the other reason she loved coming home to this tiny place. It was simply beautiful, with its gleaming hardwood floors, built-in shelves and cabinets and magnificent bay window in the eating area.
She had kept the living room furniture simple—two overstuffed chairs facing a matching sofa in front of a small brick fireplace, a brass trunk that served as a coffee table and additional storage and a pair of stained-glass floor lamps. Everything else, from the TV to the small desk accommodating her laptop and household files, was hidden behind cabinet doors.
“Nice place,” Justin murmured. “Sorta like a hideaway.”
She bit her lip, pleased by the description. “You can set up camp in the kitchen. I don’t have an office here, unfortunately.” Remembering the jigsaw puzzle scattered across the tabletop, she added quickly, “I’ll just clear my stuff away first.”
“I can work around it. Plus, when I want to take a break, I’ll do some of the easy pieces.” Still scanning the environment, he set his briefcase and duffel bag on a kitchen chair. “You’ve got yourself a busy schedule for a girl who’s supposed to be on vacation.”
“Pardon?”
He pointed to the large wipe-off board next to her refrigerator, where she had scribbled the date followed by a list of chores and appointments:
Court with Tony
Research, two hours
Confirm HA reservations
Reread P&P
Bubble bath
RS marathon
Call M&D
She knew her cheeks were flushed as she grabbed an eraser and got rid of the evidence. “Thanks to you, this list is irrelevant now.”
“M and D? Mom and Dad, right?” When she nodded, he smiled. “P and P?”
“Pride and Prejudice.”
“Are you running a marathon this week?”
Suzannah wasn’t about to admit that she had planned on watching at least a dozen episodes of Remington Steele. “RS is a guy I know. I wanted to remember that he was involved in a marathon.”
“And you actually schedule your bubble baths ahead of time? That’s kind of sad.” Justin’s finger tapped a piece of paper attached to her refrigerator by a magnet. “What’s this? More chores?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but that’s my shopping list.”
“Looks more like an anti-shopping list.” He began to read aloud. “‘No cookies, No candy, No ice cream.’”
“Never mind.” She snatched the page, crumpled it and threw it into the trash. “I’m going to change out of this suit. Make yourself comfortable, but no snooping. I mean it,” she added over her shoulder as she strode into her bedroom.
“I’ll just work the puzzle,” he promised.
She closed the door behind herself, then leaned against it and sighed. He was a little too observant and way too intuitive. What was it the prosecutor had said? That he had “made a career out of seducing and conning people”?
She definitely needed to stay on her toes. And she didn’t dare leave him alone for too long, so she quickly peeled off her clothes and wriggled into a pair of soft, faded jeans. Then she added a hooded sweatshirt of soft pink cashmere, zipping it halfway to partially obscure a white lace camisole.
Her pink fluffy slippers seemed a little much, so she put on pale blue socks instead. After checking her hair and makeup, she opened the bedroom door and stepped back into the living room, then froze as the sound of her best friend’s recorded voice greeted her.
“…and she says the killer’s gorgeous, but the little creep didn’t give me any other details. So call me! I’m supposed to be your best friend, but you’d never know it from the way you act.