Fiancé at Her Fingertips (21 page)

“Oh, Debra, you can’t go!” Her mother grabbed her elbow. “You see, uh…you, uh, haven’t, uh, finished your pineapple cake. Yes, the cake. You need to sit right back down here and eat your cake—slowly—to give us time, uh, I mean give it time to, uh, digest. Say, I had an idea. Your old room is always ready. Why don’t you spend the night? Or two or three?”

Debra wrinkled her nose. “Why would I want to spend the night?”

Stuart Daniels gave his wife a dark look. “What your mother means is, we’d like to have you stay and visit for a while. We seldom see you as much as we’d like. Stay. Have supper with us. I’m sure your mother has something tasty planned.” He gave his wife a hopeful smile and rubbed his hands together. “By the way, Alva, what’s on the menu for this evening?”

Debra’s mother looked at her husband and managed a wilted, lame excuse for a smile. “Porcupine meatballs and pork and beans,” she said.

“I’m out of here,” Debra announced, and headed for the door. “Oh, and you two are so ready for prime time.
Ciao
, my dahlings!”

“Okay, you can cut the act.” Debra sat across from her friend as they shared a quick lunch at a nearby city park. “I have been paid back in spades, so you can abandon the role of accomplice that you undertook with so much enthusiasm.”

Her friend picked at her sandwich. Odd—Suzi never played with her food before she ate it. Guilt, Debra told herself. Pangs of remorse.

“What are you talking about? What role?” Suzi didn’t look up.

“It’s okay, you know,” Debra reassured her friend. “I’m not mad, so you don’t need to let guilt spoil what is always a very healthy appetite. I deserved some form of retribution. But this, now…this is a stroke of genius. Brilliant, just brilliant. And right up your alley, I might add. I bet you were chomping at the bit to play along.”

Her friend’s attention was still on her sandwich. “Damn! They forgot the extra onions,” Suzi said. “And is there a green pepper shortage I haven’t heard about? I need a magnifying glass to find the suckers.”

Debra grabbed Suzi’s hoagie. “Would you please stop obsessing over this ridiculous sandwich and come clean?” She leaned toward her friend. “You’ll feel much better when you’ve made your confession.”

Suzi frowned. “Who are you now, my priest?” Suzi snatched her sandwich back. “Besides, I have nothing to
confess—that is, if you don’t count the evil thoughts I’ve been having about our new CEO. Can you believe he offered me a breath mint in front of the entire management team?”

Debra shoved her tuna fish to the side and clasped her hands on the table in front of her. “I’m talking about the scam. The con. Logan’s little payback.”

“Oh, we’re back to
him
again.”

Debra swatted at a bee.

“We never left him. Or at least, I didn’t. Listen, Suz, I thought I could play along for a day or two, but I have to tell you, I’m finding this very tedious. It’s getting old fast. I spent the better part of two hours last evening trying to crack my own seventy-eight-year-old grandmother, for crying out loud. But F. Lee Bailey in his prime couldn’t crack her.”

Suzi gave her a bewildered look.
Nice touch
, Debra thought.
Very realistic. Super convincing
.

“I’m not following,” Suzi said.

“Gram stuck to her story like superglue between your fingers,” Debra enunciated. “Not one slipup. If it weren’t so irritating, it would be impressive as all get-out.”

Suzi wiped her mouth. Unnecessary, since Debra hadn’t seen her take a bite. “Debra, I hate to be the one to break this to you—”

Debra leaned forward. “Yes?”

“I talked to your folks last evening.”

“Yes?”

“They’re very concerned about you.”

“Oh, brother. Here it comes.”

“You’ve been acting sort of goofy since you returned from Chicago.”

Debra smiled. “Oh, goofy, you say?”

“And now this talk about being in love with a lawyer, of all people. A lawyer named Logan.” Suzi shook her head.

Debra crumpled her Styrofoam coffee cup. “Don’t you think this has gone on long enough?” she asked. “I don’t know how he ever convinced you all to go along with him on
this, but give it a rest. Would you end this tiresome charade?”

Suzi moved from the other side of the picnic table and took a seat beside Debra. “Deb, we’ve known each other forever. Maybe longer. I’m your best friend. You know that if there is something—anything—bothering you, you can tell me and I will do everything I can to help, but you must put this absurd delusion behind you.”

Debra turned to face her friend. “If you really were my best friend, you would put me out of my misery here and now and break this blasted conspiracy of silence. Admit Logan put you up to this and we’ll share a good laugh, eat our lunch, and plot how best to get back at him. That’s what you can do for me.”

Suzi took her sunglasses off and shook her head. “I can’t do that, Deej. As much as I’d like to, I can’t.”

Debra stood. “This has gone too far. He can’t hold you to some absurd practical joke into perpetuity.”

Suzi jumped to her feet. “Where are you going, Debra?”

“I’m going to pay a little visit to Lawyer Logan and tell him to call off his minions!”

“Debra! That is not a good idea! Debra! Get back here!”

Debra marched to her car and jumped in. Suzi caught up to her at her driver-side window.

“Deb, we’ve got to talk about this,” she said. “You can’t march into some lawyer’s office like this!”

“You had your chance, pal.” Debra started her car. “Now I’m going to put an end to this psychological warfare once and for all.”

“Holy crap,” Debra heard Suzi mutter as she drove away.

Twenty minutes later Debra stood in Lawyer Logan’s office reception area.

“May I help you?”

Debra gritted her teeth. Why did all receptionists in the private sector have perfect teeth and perky breasts?

“I don’t suppose you have an in with a polygraph examiner, do you?” Debra asked.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I’d like to see Lawyer Logan—I mean Logan Alexander— please.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“That depends. Do I need one?” Debra sensed that the perky receptionist was losing some of her perkiness.

“What is this in regard to?” the receptionist asked.

“Harassment,” Debra replied. “That’s it. A case of harassment. Very urgent.”

“And you don’t have an appointment?”

Debra moved closer to the receptionist, and her voice dropped to a conspiratorial tone. “I think Mr. Alexander will want to see me,” she said. “Tell him Snickers would like a moment of his time.”

The receptionist blinked. “Snickers?” she repeated.

“Yes, that’s right. Snickers, as in chocolate-covered caramel, peanuts, and a nougat center.
Snickers
.”

“One moment.” The bemused receptionist picked up the phone. “A…uh, Snickers is here to see you.” A short pause. Then, “Yes, that’s right. As in the candy bar. She said you’d see her regarding a harassment case.” Another pause.

Debra pilfered a mint from a bowl on the desk, unwrapped it, and popped it in her mouth while she waited. The receptionist took the receiver away from her ear. “May I have your full name, please?” she asked.

“Of course. Tell him Bond. Jane Bond. We met in Chicago.”

“One moment.”

Debra hummed while the efficient office worker relayed the information. She hung up the phone and looked up at Debra, satisfaction evident in her toothy grin.

“I’m sorry. Mr. Alexander is busy preparing for trial. If you’d like to make an appointment…?”

“An appointment?” Debra laughed. “Right. Your boss is
overly fond of a good joke. I’ll just run along and announce myself.” Debra turned and headed down the hall toward the offices.

The receptionist jumped up. “Miss Bond. Miss Bond! You can’t go back there!”

Debra waved her off. She located Logan’s office, opened the door, and walked in. She put her hands out in front of her, palms out, in an “I give up” stance.

“You’ve won, Lawyer Logan. I surrender.” She put her hands out as if accepting handcuffs. “Take me. I’m yours.”

Logan Tyler Alexander looked up from his desk, annoyed at yet another interruption when he was trying to read a trial brief and wolf down a sandwich before heading back to the court house for a pretrial conference. He was quite surprised—pleasantly so—to find a very attractive blonde leaning over his desk with her hands stretched out in front of her. Plucking the napkin off his lap, he jumped to his feet. The oddly familiar scent of peaches reached him.

Very attractive and very tall, he realized once he’d stood.

“Excuse me?” he said. “May I help you?”

She smiled. “The jig’s up, Lawyer Logan,” she said. “I’ve got to hand it to you: You certainly had me going.”

Logan tossed his pen on the desk. “I’m sorry—” he began.

“Please,” the woman said, and bowed her head so that she looked up at him with an almost shy, Princess Di look. “I’m the one who should be apologizing,” she said. “I am so sorry. What I did was inexcusable.”

To Logan’s dismay, tears filled the young woman’s eyes. They tugged at Logan’s heartstrings—maybe, he thought, because he sensed tears didn’t come easily to her. Now, why on earth would he assume that? He didn’t even know the woman. He held out a tissue.

“Listen…” he said.

She took the tissue and blew her nose, which resulted in a most unladylike sound. “Let me finish. Please,” she said. “I have no defense. I can only say I was scared.”

“Scared? Of who?”

“Myself, of course.”

Logan rubbed the back of his neck. “My receptionist mentioned a harassment case.”

“Well, what would you call it?” The woman sniffed, and Logan handed her the entire box of Kleenex.

“What would I call what?” he asked.

“Your little drama—this insane farce played out for my benefit, of course. I swear, if I hear the words ‘Logan who?’ one more time, I’ll go postal!”

Logan frowned and pulled at his tie. Go postal? She was kidding, right? From what he’d seen and heard, he’d say she was already signed, sealed, and stamped first-class certifiable. A shame. A damned shame.

“Uh, Miss Bond, was it?”

She gave him a weak smile and inclined her head.

“Miss Bond, I am due back in court soon. Perhaps Miss Collins can fix you up with an appointment if you have a legitimate legal concern.” He tossed the file he’d been reading into his open briefcase and snapped it shut. “If you’ll excuse me.”

His mystery woman’s mouth flew open. She put her hand to her chest and took a step back. She looked at him as if he’d dropped his briefs, and he wasn’t talking legal briefs.

“You can’t mean to continue this…this…this…Chinese water torture you’ve maniacally devised! Why, I’ve already been dripped on for a full two days! Drip. Drip. Drip. For God’s sake, turn off the faucet!”

Logan rubbed his temple. Bond? Jane Bond? Chinese water torture? Drip, drip, drip? “Listen, Miss Bond—”

“Stop calling me that!” she shrieked.

Logan took a deep breath. “I don’t mean to be unfeeling or impatient, but—”

“Ha, but you’re a lawyer, aren’t you? Those two qualities almost assure your admittance to the noble profession. Right up there with sadism and egomania. Wanted: lawyers. Individuals with hearts need not apply.”

Logan felt heat creep up around his collar. This strange
woman—and he meant
strange
in every sense of the word— had a hell of a nerve. “I don’t have the time or the inclination to discuss your grossly inaccurate perceptions of my profession. I have to be in court, and since I at least have enough heart not to leave you for my poor receptionist to deal with, I’ll see you to the door.”

Logan picked up his briefcase and walked ahead. He opened the door and waited for Jane Bond to precede him.

“This isn’t right, you know,” she said. “I acknowledged my wrongdoing and said I was sorry. What more do you want?”

“I’d like to get to court before the judge goes ahead and rules on my pretrial motion. If you will be so kind.” He nodded at the door.

She gave him a look that was filled with so many different emotions—disappointment, annoyance, hurt—he couldn’t decide which was going to win out. Then she shrugged and walked out of his office. Logan shut and locked the door behind him. No use taking chances. There was always a possibility she’d been sent to gather information on one of the high-profile cases he was working on. More likely, though, she was a run-of-the-mill 10-96. Okay, maybe not so run- of-the-mill. Logan stopped at the receptionist’s desk.

“I’m sorry, Logan. I tried to stop her.”

“That’s okay, Mickey. I’ll see Miss Bond here out and head to the courthouse. If the judge’s clerk calls, I’m on my way.”

What a waste
, Logan thought, watching the striking blonde walk ahead of him as they moved toward the elevator. Springfield, like any city its size, had its share of eccentrics, like the guy who routinely costumed himself in outlandish getups and walked around and around the county courthouse. You never knew who you might run into on a trip to court: a knight, a Native American, a cowboy, Zorro, a pirate, a priest, Carmen Miranda. Last week the man had been dressed as a yellow parakeet. That hadn’t worked out well. Rowdy youths kept plucking his tail feathers.

That guy was harmless, the police said. Still, it might not hurt to check this leggy blonde out. Of course, he’d have to
discover her real name. He could hear his cop buddies when he asked them to run Jane Bond through the system.

They reached the elevator, and Logan punched the down button. The door opened and they stepped in. No sooner had the door closed than Jane Bond was on him like cops on a plate of jelly doughnuts. She was all arms, legs—oh, and lips! Logan dropped his briefcase and grabbed at the arms she’d thrown around his neck. Her lips roamed over his face and neck, and she nipped at his earlobe.

Logan was stunned. He couldn’t believe this was happening to him. Oh, he’d seen movies where people made out in elevators, but they at least knew each other’s first names, didn’t they?

When her lips touched the corner of his mouth, Logan went still. When her tongue traced the line between his top and bottom lips, the overwhelming urge to open his mouth and take her tongue for a wild, wet battle with his own almost overcame his good sense. When she nipped his bottom lip gently, in just that special way that drove him wild, he moaned.

The elevator door chimed, and just as it opened Logan disengaged her arms from around his neck and pushed her away. His firm’s senior law partner, Anson Brown, was waiting to get on.

“Logan! Off to court, I see,” he greeted Logan.

Logan nodded absently and watched Jane Bond step out of the elevator in front of him. He started to follow.

“Uh, Logan,” Anson called. “This might be helpful.”

Logan looked back at his partner, who held up Logan’s briefcase. Chagrined, Logan walked back to retrieve it.

“Thanks, Anson,” he said.

A broad smile split the senior partner’s face. “Oh, and by the way, Logan, you might want to hit the men’s room before you make that court appearance. Last time a fellow appeared in Judge Peterson’s courtroom with lipstick, she held him in contempt. Literally and figuratively.” Anson was chuckling when the elevator door closed.