Forbidden (3 page)

“Sounds like a case of the flu.” Liz opened her door and tossed the manila envelope inside.

“Say hello to the elusive Mr. McKenzie for me, will you?
And ask him why he hasn’t deigned to grace us with his presence since we’re slaving away for
his
career.” Molly frowned at her thumb. “I even chipped a nail today. Damn, I hate that.”

“Beyond the call of duty,” Liz agreed, sliding behind the wheel. “You definitely deserve a day off with sick pay.”

“See you tomorrow.” Molly moved toward her Mustang.

With a wave, Liz backed out of her space, then turned onto Broadway, heading for North Harbor Drive. First Street would be
faster, but since she was going to be late anyway, she might as well enjoy the scenery.

Loving the feel of the wind in her hair, she drove as fast as the traffic and speed limit allowed. This was why she’d gotten
a convertible, against all advice. Her parents were only in their fifties, yet they were both conservative enough to be downright
boring. Had they no memory of being young, feeling glad just to be alive, wanting to experience everything?

Liz sighed as she passed a slow-moving station wagon driven by a harried-looking woman trying to control three small children.
In all fairness to Katherine and Joseph Townsend, Liz knew exactly why they’d been so restrictive of her: her sister, Nancy.

Nancy, the impetuous, rebellious, wild one. Two years younger than Liz, Nancy had eloped with a sailor at seventeen, divorced
at eighteen, been kicked out of two colleges by nineteen, and been giving her family all manner of grief ever since. Nancy
had tried drugs, been cited for DUIs, moved out of California and back several times. Sometimes no one heard from her for
months; then, suddenly, she’d reappear, vowing she was truly sorry and forever changed. Liz loved her sister but considered
her a case of arrested development.

Passing Anthony’s Fish Grotto along the waterfront, Liz watched a gull dip low into a foaming wave, then quickly soar upward
into a balmy blue sky. Nancy’s irresponsible ways were the main reason Liz had tried so hard not to displease
their parents. One disappointment in the family was difficult enough for them to handle. Two would be devastating. Still,
at times she couldn’t help resenting the situation.

Turning onto Laurel, she spotted the six-story beige structure known as Century Plaza Towers just ahead. Liz had looked at
apartments in the Towers weeks ago but had decided they were a bit pricey for her budget. Volunteer work didn’t provide an
income. Of course, she had the trust fund from her maternal grandmother, but she’d also inherited a propensity for careful
money management. The three-story Miramar Apartments she’d finally chosen were just as nice, though they didn’t offer an ocean
view as Adam’s building did.

Since she wasn’t going to be long, she parked the Mercedes in the circular drive alongside a cluster of oleander bushes. In
the small foyer she checked the list of names by the buzzer buttons and pressed 6-A.

It was answered in moments by a deep, impatient voice. “Yes?”

Liz leaned into the intercom. “Hello, Mr. McKenzie. I’m—”

“Thank goodness you’re here. Hurry on up, will you? There’s blood everywhere?”

“Blood? I don’t—” The buzzer releasing the lock on the outside door interrupted. Stunned, Liz stared at his nameplate for
a long moment, then grabbed the handle and pulled open the heavy door. Undecided whether to ring him back, to go on up, or
to get the hell out of there, she paused in the doorway. What on earth was she getting into?

Feeling uneasy, she walked across the tiled floor to the elevator and stepped inside, then pushed the button for floor six.
Whom was Adam McKenzie expecting? Whose blood was all over? Should she have called the police instead of riding up to Lord
only knew what? The door slid open silently and she stepped out, wiping her suddenly damp
hands on the pant legs of her slacks. Cautiously she walked down the short hallway, checking the numbers on each door.

The one to 6-A was ajar. She could see nothing through the small opening except pale gray carpeting in what was probably a
vestibule. Swallowing around a nervous lump, she knocked twice.

“In here,” the same deep voice called out. “Hurry!”

Liz took a deep breath and walked in. There was no one in the large living room directly beyond the half wall divider. She
turned toward the archway to her left that led into the kitchen and recognized Adam McKenzie from his campaign posters. He
was wearing navy slacks and a white shirt streaked with blood as he leaned over the Formica counter. Cradled in what appeared
to be his suit jacket was a calico kitten looking ragged and pitiful.

“You must be Mitzi,” Adam said, his voice filled with relief. “Thanks for coming so quickly. I hope you can do something for
her. I’m pretty sure her leg’s broken. Maybe there are internal injuries. She cried when I first picked her up, but she’s
been quiet for so long now.”

An injured kitten. Feeling foolish that she’d imagined a human massacre, Liz waked down one step into the kitchen.

Adam’s brow furrowed into an angry frown as he went on. “I don’t know who hit her, but they were gone when I found her. As
I told Iris, people race around our parking garage as if they were trying out for Indy. I’m going to talk to management as
soon as I get a chance and see what I can do about getting speed limits enforced. I don’t know what kind of coward would drive
away from a bleeding kitten.”

“Maybe the driver didn’t even realize he’d hit the cat,” Liz suggested as she set her purse and the manila envelope on the
other side of the counter.

Running out of irate steam, Adam took a moment to check out the woman standing beside him, suddenly puzzled. “Where’s your
medical bag? I told Iris her leg would probably have to be set.”

An animal lover from her early youth, Liz ran a hand gently over the kitten’s front paws. “You’re right, but I can’t set it.
I don’t know who Iris is or Mitzi, either. I’m Liz Townsend from your campaign headquarters.” She indicated the envelope.
“Fitz asked me to get your signature on some letters.”

Adam stepped back, looking chagrined. “Fitz called a few minutes ago, but I told him I couldn’t talk just now.” He glanced
down at his hands. “I had blood all over me, and…” He met her eyes, feeling stupid. “I thought you were the vet.”

“You have a vet who makes house calls?”

The kitten meowed pitifully, and Adam automatically reached to soothe her. “Not really. I don’t have any pets at the moment.
I’ve known Iris Wagner forever. Her clinic’s not far from here, and when I called, she said she was too tied up to come, but
she’d send over her best assistant. I thought you were Mitzi Porter.”

“Understandable mistake. I guess she’ll be along any minute.” She studied his stained clothes, more than a little surprised
that he’d wrapped the bloody kitten in what was obviously an expensive jacket. “I’m fairly good with animals. If you have
an old towel, we could wrap her in that.” She reached for a dishcloth hanging next to the sink. “Why don’t I wash the kitten
a little while you get cleaned up? That shirt’ll be ruined if you don’t set it to soaking soon. And you’d better put something
on those scratches.” Apparently the frightened animal had clawed her rescuer.

Not only practical but pretty, Adam thought. She had nice eyes and gentle hands. “I haven’t seen you around the office.” He
knew Fitz had recruited more volunteers since the last time he’d been in.

Dampening the cloth, she smiled at him over her shoulder. “That’s probably because you haven’t been around in the last couple
of weeks.”

Adam reached into a drawer and handed her a clean white
towel. “I’ve been up in San Francisco, establishing a campaign office there while Fitz handled things down here.” He smiled
at her appreciatively, revealing a deep dimple in the left corner of his mouth. “Now that I see what I’ve been missing, I’m
going to have to remedy the situation right away.”

Liz tried not to be charmed as she carefully placed the kitten on the towel. While Adam’s reputation didn’t exactly label
him a ladies’ man, she had heard that women easily fell under his spell. She had to admit he was certainly attractive, with
an intensity that was apparent moments after meeting him. Powerful, ambitious, charismatic men drew women like magnets, she
was well aware. Men like her father.

Yet Adam had a soft spot for injured animals, disregarding the possible ruin of a costly suit. A passionate crusader with
a tender heart. A lethal combination.

She would be well advised to move with caution.

A soft knock on the door saved Liz from having to comment. “Hi. Adam McKenzie?” The short woman wearing a white lab coat and
carrying a black bag hurried in, all business bustle. “I’m Mitzi Porter. Iris sent me. Sorry it took so long. Traffic’s just
nuts this time of evening. One of your neighbors let me in downstairs.” She approached the kitten as Liz and Adam stepped
aside. “Well, what have we here?”

Gratefully Adam explained the situation, introduced Liz, then excused himself to clean up.

Stepping aside, Liz watched Mitzi give the kitten a shot, then go to work with quiet efficiency. It took the vet no time at
all to set the right front leg, check for further injuries, and finish cleaning her up. Mitzi settled her into a towel-lined
makeshift bed in the corner of the kitchen, and the kitten’s eyes were closing just as Adam reappeared.

Thanking her profusely, he paid Mitzi, saw her to the door, then turned back to Liz. “I apologize; I must have scared the
hell out of you over the intercom,” he said returning to the kitchen.

“I must admit I wasn’t sure what I’d find,” she replied. He’d changed into cotton slacks and a blue chambray shirt, the sleeves
rolled up on tan arms. He was taller than she’d thought, judging from his photos, taller than his brother by four or five
inches. She watched him walk barefoot to the kitchen, then squat down to pet the small, sleeping bundle.

“She’s out like a light, poor little thing.” He rose and walked to a wine rack built into the far corner. Thoughtfully he
selected a bottle. “The least I can do is offer you a glass of wine for your trouble,” he said, reaching into a drawer for
a corkscrew.

“Oh, that’s not necessary.” Liz glanced at her watch and realized she was going to miss cocktails at her parents’ home, which
wasn’t going to sit well with either of them.

Adam padded over to reach for two wineglasses from the cupboard. “Come on. Just one?” He looked at her, his brows raised in
question. “Or are you afraid to be here alone with me?”

She sent him an amused look. “Should I be?”

“No.”

He was waiting. How had he known she couldn’t resist a challenge? “All right. Just one.” Undoubtedly Katherine had invited
several other guests who’d keep the conversation going. And she could still be there in time for dinner.

Adam poured, then carried both glasses into the living room, where he settled on the long couch facing the floor-to-ceiling
windows that looked out on a calm sea. As Liz joined him, he handed her her wine and held up his own glass. “Here’s to kittens,”
he toasted.

She touched her glass to his, then sipped. The Beaujolais was smooth and warming. She turned to the window. “Your view’s wonderful.”

“It’s the main reason I rent here.” He settled back comfortably, glad she’d stayed. He’d been in this apartment over a year
and couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a woman in. All work and no play was probably making Jack a dull
boy, Adam reminded himself. He angled his body :oward her. “Tell me about yourself.”

Liz shrugged and set down her wine on the chrome-and-glass coffee table. “Not much to tell. I’m a recent graduate of Stanford,
and I decided to spend the summer seeing if I like politics.”

“Then what?”

“I’m not sure yet. I majored in art with a minor in political science. My father’s a lawyer, and I grew up listening to some
of his more outstanding cases.”

“I remember now. Fitz told me about you. Your father’s Joseph Townsend. Forgive me. There’ve been so many people…”

“Don’t apologize. I’ve followed your cases, too. Tell me about Sam Lorenzo. You did a fantastic job on that one. Is he a friend
or did he just come to you?” She leaned forward, took another sip of wine, and swallowed appreciatively.

Adam had deliberately chosen a full-bodied red wine, wondering if she were the wimpy white wine type. She surprised him by
seeming to enjoy his richer Beaujolais. He stretched his arm along the couch back. “I’ve known Sam for years. He used to be
our greengrocer. You know, the white truck with the green lettering. Fresh vegetables brought to your door.”

“Sure, I know the ones.”

“Sam still calls on my mother. Anyhow, his daughter married this real sleaze, and… You sure you want to hear about this?”
It was his most publicized case, the one that had netted him so much press coverage that the party had come to him asking
him to run for attorney general. And Adam had been ready.

“Yes, I really do.”

She didn’t seem to be listening to be polite, but rather as if she were truly interested. Adam loved to talk law cases, so
he settled back and told her about how Sam had come to him only a year after his daughter Angie’s wedding, asking for
help, sure that Gene Fleming was knocking his little girl around. “But Angie would always deny it, explaining away her bruises
by saying she fell or that she slammed herself with a cupboard door.”

“I’ve heard that most battered women protect their men. I’ve never understood it.”

“Nor do I. Naturally, as a lawyer, I couldn’t do anything. Neither could the police unless she pressed charges. Finally, it
all came to a head one night when Gene came home roaring drunk and beat the hell out of Angie. She wound up in the hospital,
and this time Sam got her to open up to the police.”

“And they sentenced him to three years.”

He smiled. “You did follow this, didn’t you? Yeah, three years with the stipulation that if he were released on parole or
even on day leave, Sam and Angie were to be notified.”