Jennifer's Garden (46 page)

“What the hell were you doing?” he railed into Vic.  “I told you she wouldn’t break.”

“She’s been the executive secretary at Morgan-Baxter for twenty years,” Sam cut in.  “We had to try.”

“Try,
hell—
you fumbled the goddamn cross-examination!”

Vic stepped forward to defend himself, but the man’s finger landed in his face.  “If you screwed this case I’ll have your ass in a canister, you hear me?”

Something inside him clicked.

Around him, people were shuffling about, stacking papers, making phone calls, the bedlam of a courtroom as it emptied, but Vic held steady.

Then there was Sam, staring at him.  He could feel her scrutiny.  Hovering like a helicopter over a hostage scene, she was waiting for him to lose his temper and tear into the client.

 “I’ve got a lot of money invested in this suit and if you’ve blown it...”  The man’s neck vein seemed about to burst through his skin, his anger was palpable.  “You’re
done
.  You hear me?  
Done.
”

Sam lifted a hand to cease the man’s tirade.  “Enough.  Morgan-Baxter knows nothing about where we’re headed.  When the trial resumes, we go in for the kill.  I’m calling Dave Brenner to the stand, first thing.”

The corporate bag-of-wind deflated.  “Dave?”

“Dave,” she repeated the name.  “He’s the key to the whole case and I intend to rip him open when we return.  Once I fill my belly.”  She winked.  “Snake meat tends to curdle on an empty stomach.”  Stuffing the last of the folders into her case, Sam slung the long leather strap over her shoulder.  Looking to the men, she asked, “Anyone care to join me?”

“I’ve got phone calls to make,” her client replied, then plowed into the sea of bodies making an exit out the back.

Sam turned to Vic.  “How about you?”

“Fine.”

# # #

Sam’s choice of restaurants was located just around the corner from the courthouse.  On a humid day the walk was unbearable, but this morning it wasn’t too bad, thanks to the breeze whisking in off Biscayne Bay.  It tamed the vicious heat rising from the sidewalks, but did nothing to alleviate the sweat climbing up the back of his neck.  Vic sighed.  But this was Miami, the tropical moisture something you tolerated.

Suit coat folded over his arm, Vic opened the door to Finkle’s Deli and Sam waltzed inside ahead of him.  Baskets overloaded with fresh-baked bread lined the top of the display case, the rich aroma of coffee and grilled meat saturated the air.

Sam paused.  “Save room for the Key Lime Fantasy Fest.”

“No thanks.  Not a fan of sweets.”

“Me neither, but that baby is pure fantasy when it comes to desserts.”

“Whatever.”

“What’ll it be?” asked a heavyset man behind the counter.

“Reuben,” Sam responded.

“Make it two.”

“You’s got it.”

Hearing the tough attitude, northeast accent reminded Vic of Philly.  So much, that eyes closed, he could have sworn he just walked indoors from a street corner back home, preparing to order up one of the city’s finest.

Sam plucked a plastic tray from the stack and reached for a glass.  “Water?” 

“Fine,” he replied, returning his attention to the counter menu.  Too bad he wasn’t hungry.  After his courtroom fiasco, food was the last thing on Vic’s mind.

At the soda fountain Sam filled two glasses, placed them on her tray then pushed it along metal rails, stopping before a young cashier.  Vic followed behind and yanked the wallet from his back pocket and flipped it open.  “How much?”

Sam eyed the twenty in his hand.  “Don’t worry.  I got it.”

He shoved the money toward her.  “Take it.”

About to refuse, she accepted the money with a shrug.  “Have it your way.”

The cash register clanged to life, the girl changed the bill and Vic pushed the remainder into his wallet and back into his pocket.  He trailed Sam to a table and pulled out a wooden chair.  When she hesitated, he fired a warning flare not to refuse the gesture.  She sat.  He tossed his suit jacket onto the back of the other chair while Sam did likewise with hers.  Dropping to his seat, Vic ripped the paper from his straw.

Sam leaned back into her chair.  “Can’t say I remember the last time I saw this place so clean.”

Vic loosened his tie with a forced tug.  “Tends to happen when you’re the first one here.”

“Good point.”  Running a hand through her near shoulder-length waves of auburn, she fluffed them off her neck, airing the skin beneath with the blast of air-conditioning blowing from the ceiling vent.  Wearing no red today, the feminine shade of yellow softened her strong features, enhancing the female in her.

“Chavez was in some kind of hurry, wasn’t he?”

Vic pinned her with a glare.  “Are you enjoying this?”

Sam zapped him with a feisty smile.  “Who, me?”

“Yes, you.”

She gave a few quick tugs to her silk blouse.  “Why, Victor Marin.  I am not so callous a woman that I derive pleasure from the pain of a fellow human being.”

“No sale.”

“You doubt my word?”

“I suspect your motives.”

“Is it my fault you got carried away with your witness?”

Vic expelled a grunt.  “I didn’t get carried away.”  He grabbed his glass of water.  “Joe Morgan is guilty.”

“I agree.”

Knocking back a swallow of water, he said, “And that woman knows it.”

“I agree.”

“Chavez was too quick to her defense.”

“Mmmm...”  Sam fudged with a grimace. 

“
You think I was badgering the witness
?”

“Borderline.”

“Give me a break.  The judge was out of line.  Her little old lady act was a sham.”  He glowered, every muscle in his body so tight they were about to snap.  No judge in Philly would have come down on him like that. Quite the opposite.  They would have thrown him some slack so he could hang the lady.

Bare elbows hit the table and Sam leaned forward, linking her forearms together.  “That may be true, but how you go about extracting the information is something else.  Not everyone caves under intimidation.  Especially experienced corporate felons.”

“I’m not a rookie,” he spit back.  “Check my record.  I’m good at what I do. 
Damn good
.”

“You may have an impressive track record to show for your years with Gilbert and Wiley, but we play with the big boys down here.  You’re not the big fish in the big pond, anymore.”

“That’s big fish in the small pond.”

“No,” she corrected.  “Big fish in the big pond.  Philadelphia is no cracker town, I’ll give you that.”  She shook the hair from her face and narrowed her gaze.  “You’ve got your mobsters, your crooks,
but it ain’t no
Miami
, either.  You’re in the ocean now, where the sharks swim.”  Brown eyes sparked.  “They swallow fish like you whole,” she said, “without even noticing the lump of your carcass as it passes through.  When you’re dealing with the sums of money we are, the rules change.  The players don’t play nice.  They lie, cheat and steal.  Morgan-Baxter has been around a long time.  They’ve gotten good at winning the game.”

“And you should know.”

“A piece of advice,” she said, a smile creeping onto her lips.  “You want to sneak up on someone?  Sneak up on the sloth, not the fox.  It’s why I’m calling Brenner to the stand.”

Vic’s resentment pooled in his gut.  Forget Brenner.  Where he came from, there was no "sneaking around" about it.  Sam may think she has all the answers—and when it came to Morgan-Baxter—she may.  But where he came from if a guy interfered in your business, he took a cruise—straight to the bottom of the ocean.

He shoved the subject from his mind.  Let her play her games.  There was only one case he was interested in and it wasn’t Morgan-Baxter.  It was Perry.

And it was hers.

A wave of determination swept over him.  Something he intended to change and soon.

Lunch suddenly landed between them.  Two plates piled high with golden brown bread, layered with meat, cheese and sauerkraut were delivered without fanfare.  Thick, fat French fries surrounded the sandwiches, a few enmeshed in the drippings of piping hot Swiss.  Both plates boasted mammoth pickle wedges.

“Do you guys need anything else?”

“Not at the moment,” Sam answered, sucking in a chest-full of the aroma steaming from her plate.

“I’m good,” Vic echoed the sentiment.

“Enjoy your lunch,” the server quipped and disappeared from sight.

Sam sighed, and threw the paper napkin in her lap.  “God am I hungry.”  She grabbed one enormous half of her sandwich and brought it to her lips for a bite, but as Vic watched the first chunk of sandwich vanish, he knew she wouldn’t give up Perry without a fight.  It was her ticket to partnership and from what he could gather around the office, she wasn’t sharing.

But Sam was gonna have to change her mind.  Resolve filtered through his system. 
Because it was the only reason he came to Miami
.

Taking his time, Vic reached for his sandwich and grasping it with two hands, rested forearms against the table.  Time to change the tide.  “So tell me.  If you’re such a rainmaker, why haven’t you achieved partner status?”

Sam offered a gentle smile.  “Deflect the attention from yourself.  Nice.”  She nodded.  “I like it.”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

Swamped by a shit-eating grin, Sam only stared at him.

"Well?"

But Sam said nothing, only stared, sporting a decisive gleam in her eye.

Vic felt the sudden zing. 
Damn
...  The woman wasn’t talking business, he’d be willing to bet.  Her thoughts were going underground.

Then, with surprising skill, Sam extinguished the flirtatious hint in her eyes.  Like it never happened.  “I’m on the edge of partnership, as we speak.”

Whoa.  Did he imagine it?

Not likely. 
No
.  No possible way.  You didn’t mistake a look like that one.  But with no room to pry, he returned to his question, though his edge had been considerably softened.  “More than ten years to make partner for a hotshot like you?  I’m surprised.”

“Don’t be.”  Sam swiped the napkin across her lips and took a quick sip from her water.  “I took some time off after high school.”

“Why?”

“Why not?  Nothing wrong with taking advantage of one’s youth, much like you’re doing now,” she reminded him with unwarranted thrust.  “Miami’s a long way from Philly.”

Vic tensed. 
Did she know something?

But he refused to rise to the bait.  There was too much riding on it.  “Backpack across Europe, did you?”

She smiled.  “Not my cup of
chi
.”

"Chi?  What the hell does that mean?"

Sam took a sip of water then said, "It's complicated."

Whatever.  Shrugging it off, he asked, “So what were you doing?”

“Having fun.”

Did she always speak in half-baked terms?  “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“Fun?”  She grinned.  “What’s not to understand about fun?”

“Sounds like someone was avoiding responsibility.”

“No, Vic."  She wiped a drop of grease from the corner of her mouth.  "I needed a little space and I took it.  A simple recipe for a simple life.”

“There’s nothing simple about you, Sam Rawlings,” he said, his gaze making a quick dodge toward the door.  “You’re about as complicated as they get.”

“I am not,” she shot back, but then laughed.  “Not really," she said, softening her tone.  "I’m a simple woman doing a simple job.  I fight for the good guys.  I right wrongs.”

Vic almost choked on his sandwich.

“Funny.”

Sam pushed her lunch aside and looked him square in the eye.  Customers pushed in across the black and white checkered floor, crowded the front counter as they called out orders, many met with shouted reply.  Most were professionals, a few construction workers, but Sam seemed oblivious.

At the moment, she only had eyes for him.  “You did well today, Vic.  You didn’t win your argument, your performance was a little overpowering, but you did well.”  She slid a hand across the table.  He would have sworn she was about to touch his, but instead, her fingers curled around the stem of her water glass.  “Chavez was out of line.  It’s his M.O.  Whenever there’s a new attorney in his courtroom, he parades power like a peacock.  Don’t take it personal.”

No longer sparring, Vic noted her removal of armor.

“You’re good.  Really good.  You have phenomenal energy in the courtroom—I mean you
had
the jury.”  A smile crept onto her lips, a gesture which reached deep inside him.  “I was watching.  Each and every one of them followed you around that courtroom, your every move, your every word, they were right there with you.  They didn’t believe her either.”

“Then why won’t you include me on Perry?”