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He could see her annoyance building in the way the muscles worked in her delicate jawline. Tense silence stretched taut between them, but he held his ground.
She aimed a finger at him. “Listen, Nelson, I’ve been practicing law as long as you have. This kind of ploy—”
“Here we go,” said the waiter, in an oblivious singsong tone. “Be careful now. The plates are hot.”
Colleen pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers while the waiter presented each, but her hard gaze never left Eric’s face.
“Can I get you anything else?”
“No. Thank you,” Eric replied.
After the waiter had left without so much as an acknowledgment from Colleen, she started to sputter again, but Eric held up his palm. “Look, there’s no ploy. I don’t operate that way. But don’t take my word for it. Research me. Dig up everything you can about the way I practice.”
“I will. And I’ll prove you wrong about Jones.”
“Think about this logically. You’re the opposing counsel, Colleen, and aside from that, we don’t exactly have an uncheckered past, you and I.”
“You always did have a knack for putting things mildly.”
“I’m speaking truthfully. If I didn’t have respect for you as an old friend, a colleague, and from everything I’ve read, a damned sharp attorney, I’d keep my theories to myself until I had enough to annihilate you and Ned Jones in the courtroom. Which I would.” He paused, letting that sink in. “Lucky for you, that’s not how I practice law.”
“So you’re doing me a favor?”
“No. I’m—” He lowered his chin, measured his words. “I’m not about the show, I’m about the truth, and I think we’re missing parts of the truth in this case. You can ignore what I’m telling you and let the cards fall, or you can look into it. I don’t care.” He took a languid bite of his sandwich and shrugged while he chewed. After swallowing, he added, “But I know you’re one step from partner at that firm of yours, though God only knows why you’d want to work with that pack of old-school drones.”
Colleen’s mouth dropped open, but she quickly closed it. Her reaction told him she thought they were old-school drones, too, which made him wonder why she wanted to build a career there. An imponderable for another day.
“That’s not going to happen if you miss something major like, say, an extortion plot in which your client is a player,” he said. “I promise you that.”
“God, Eric, you sound like you’re writing a cheesy legal thriller.”
“Maybe so, but I think I’m onto something.” He shrugged. “Frankly, I’d love to see you make partner at your firm. Framus would bust a vein.”
Whoa, had she almost smiled there?
She still hadn’t touched her burger. Instead, she stared at him with incredulity overlayed by a film of worry she couldn’t quite hide, then huffed out a nonlaugh. “So you’re telling me I have no case in order to save my career? How chivalrous of you. Don’t take me for an idiot.”
Eric didn’t react. He didn’t engage. He didn’t want their every interaction to end this way. “I take you for a lot of things, but idiot isn’t one of them,” he said, even-toned. Suspicion crossed her expression, but he’d just let her wonder about the subtext of his statement. “This one’s on you. I’ve shared what I suspect.”
“And what am I supposed to do with it? Take your word? Drop the case on the basis of an unproven theory? I don’t think so.”
“Colleen,” he said smoothly, measuring his words. “Your burger’s getting cold. Eat your lunch. Then research me. Research Drake Thatcher and any possible connection he may have to your client. Research Robby Axelrod’s clean work record. That’s what I’ll be doing, and that’s what you should do, too. For your own sake.”
Chapter Four
Colleen glanced up from her laptop screen when her mom padded into the dark kitchen, yawning.
Moira Delaney stopped short, clapping her hand over her heart. “Lord, you scared me.”
“Sorry,” Colleen croaked, before clearing her throat.
“Sweet pea, what on earth are you doing up at this hour?”
“I’m working, Mom,” Colleen said, her voice hoarse from exhaustion. Tension. “What else?”
“But it’s nearly four!” her mom exclaimed, glancing at the wall clock. She pulled a tumbler out of the cabinet and filled it with filtered water from the fridge door. “You need your sleep.”
Colleen wanted to disagree, but her eyes felt scrubbed with steel wool, and her limbs ached deep into the bone. She simply hadn’t been able to tear herself away from the mother lode of information she’d dug up on Drake Thatcher. Eric had been correct about one thing—Thatcher was dirty, and he had a history of trying to take the Hansons down. The question remained, was her client mixed up in any of it?
If so, she’d be screwed. Utterly screwed.
She needed to talk to Ned, get to the bottom of this fiasco before it blew up in her face, and she was intent on gathering as much background data before she dragged his sorry ass into her office tomorrow morning.
Robby Axelrod came off as squeaky clean.
As did Eric, naturally.
She sat back and rubbed her palms over her face, then slapped her cheeks, hoping for a jolt of alertness so she could draw out a game plan. It didn’t come.
Her mom poured a second tumbler of water and set it on the table next to Colleen’s computer, then brushed her daughter’s hair back with a gentle hand. It had to be exhaustion, because the sweet, motherly touch nearly brought Colleen to tears, and she wasn’t usually susceptible to sentiment. Especially not from her mother. Thanks to seeing Eric again, thanks to his typical altruistic gesture of bringing Thatcher to her attention, her deeply buried emotions had risen to the top of her skin like raw sores. Usually, her mother’s innuendos that she worked too hard—even something as innocuous as bringing her water or brushing her hair back—would irritate her, perhaps provoke an argument. Right now, she felt too vulnerable to react in her usual mode.
She smiled weakly. “Thanks.”
“I know you’re working an important case, okay? But go to bed. Whatever it is you think you have to finish will wait a few hours. And you’ll be better able to handle it if you’re rested.”
Colleen nodded, bit her bottom lip. As she powered down her laptop, she asked, “Why are you up?”
“Oh, the knee.” Mom tightened her robe around her waifish middle. “Just a little ache.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“Yes.” Moira smiled. “You can go to bed. I’ll be fine in about half an hour. I’m just going to watch television until the painkiller kicks in.”
The mood felt so intimate, so neutral, so unlike their norm, Colleen ventured further into the emotional minefield she usually avoided. “You need to get out more now that your knee’s almost healed, Mom. Enjoy the city. Visit a museum.”
“Oh, well…”
Colleen closed the top of her computer. “What are your plans for tomorrow?”
“I thought I’d tidy up. Read some.” She avoided her daughter’s gaze.
“Are you depressed?” Colleen asked, in a soft tone. “The doctors said that can happen after a surgery like the one you had.”
Moira Delaney sighed, raked her fingers through her hair, crossed her arms. “Do you want me to move out? Is that it?”
Colleen stood and held her hands up, palms forward. “No. No, Mom. You’re welcome to stay here as long as you want. I just want you to…I don’t know, enjoy life.”
Those cornflower-blue eyes so much like her own pierced Colleen. “Do you enjoy life?”
Wow. Hadn’t seen that blow coming. It landed right in the sweet spot and made her see stars. “Yes. Of…of course. My work is—”
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