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  Margaret named a sum within a few thousand dollars of what Bailey had expected. Bailey leaned back in her chair and smiled at the ceiling.

  "It's not enough," she told Margaret. "You need to call the client and tell her about the offer, but advise her not to take it. They'll come up with more."

  "What if she wants to take it?"

  "If she wants to take it, that's her decision, but as her attorney, you need to offer sound legal advice."

  "Do you want to call her? I think she'd listen to you."

  Obligingly Bailey returned to her office and placed the call. She wasn't surprised when Candy's initial reaction was to accept the money. However, when Bailey emphasized that the attorneys' fees would be deducted from the amount, that the first offer was always low to allow for bargaining room, and that the company would almost certainly increase their offer, she agreed to reject it.

  "I'll contact opposing counsel if you'd like," Bailey offered when she called Margaret to report the outcome of her conversation with the client.

  Margaret accepted gratefully.

  Bailey smiled at the phone. It would give her great pleasure to be the one to refuse Austin. Even though Mark had presented the offer, she saw no reason to go through him; Austin was obviously in charge. However, when she called, the receptionist told her Austin was out to lunch. She left her name then decided to go eat also. Gordon was among the missing, but an educated guess told her he would likely be down the street at the deli that featured his favorite beer cheese soup on Tuesdays.

  Entering the deli, she immediately spotted Gordon at a table with a large crock of soup in front of him. Seated opposite him, Austin was talking rapidly and waving his hands, his face stormy. Bailey smiled as she ordered a sandwich. She'd caught the man in a foul mood, and her news wasn't likely to improve things. However, when Austin raised his head and saw her approaching their table, his expression lightened so noticeably, she almost lost her train of thought. He did know how to make a woman feel desirable. Damn! She shoved that idea out of her head. All he made her feel was determined, she assured herself.

  "Bailey, my friend, come join us," Gordon invited.

  "I just tried to call you," she said to Austin after the amenities had been observed. "I spoke with our client, and she feels the amount of your client's settlement offer is inadequate and insulting." Bailey took a satisfying bite out of her sandwich.

  Austin leaned back in his chair and studied her for a minute, eyes half-closed and glittering. "It would seem," he drawled, "that you don't have much control over your client or you'd have persuaded her to take my client's generous offer."

  Bailey took her time chewing and swallowing then leisurely sipped her iced tea, drawing out the pleasure of the encounter, of the preliminaries to winning. "On the contrary," she said, tenting her fingers beneath her chin. "My client asked my advice, and I told her we should let the jury decide. Obviously this is another case of a corporate entity trying to take advantage of the little man."

  "Your client can scarcely be considered little."

  "Personal insults are uncalled for."

  "Perhaps, but relevant all the same." He leaned forward over the table toward Bailey. "If your client is indeed having back problems, which I doubt, I'd say she should start to solve them by joining a health club, not by trying to defraud an insurance company."

  Bailey leaned forward, too, invading his space, refusing to take the defensive, though his comment about Candy, echoing her own feelings, was something of a jolt. She'd hate to think she had anything in common with this arrogant, pushy man.

  "I don't think discrimination against out-of-shape people is going to go over too well with a jury, since, by law of averages, several of them will be couch potatoes."

  "What makes you think this case will ever get to a jury? Your client is a fraud, and our investigator will prove it."

  "If that's your intent, I suggest you change investigators. The man is a total idiot. He gets drunk on the job, makes a pass at my client, can't keep his story straight."

  "Our investigator would have to be a total idiot to make a pass at your client, not to mention half-blind."

  The movements of Austin's lips as he spoke seemed to fill Bailey's field of vision and absorb her attention to such an extent, she had to concentrate to hear his words. She realized with a start they had both gradually risen from their chairs, and his face was only inches from hers. Her heart pounded, her breathing came shallow and rapid.

  His lips had stopped moving. It was her turn to speak. She forced her gaze from his lips to his eyes. Bad move. Electrical currents leaped and sparked in those eyes, holding her as surely as if she'd grabbed a live wire.

  "Poor eyesight in a detective is another valid reason for having the man disqualified," she managed to say. "Are you wearing contact lenses?" Oh, jeez! Why had she said that?

  "What? What does that have to do with anything? My vision isn't in question."

  "No, just your judgment." But the fight had gone out of her. Suddenly very aware of Austin's warm breath on her face, Bailey fell back into her chair.

  He sank back too, apparently a little confused, as well he might be. She couldn't believe she'd asked that last stupid question. Fortunately, he'd thought she was referring to his vision when she'd actually been questioning the vivid color of his eyes. She really had to keep vagrant thoughts like that out of her head or risk losing her edge.

  "Where's Gordon?" Austin suddenly asked, and Bailey noticed for the first time that the chair Gordon had occupied was empty.

  "Maybe he finished early," she suggested guiltily.

  "His bowl and glass are gone," Austin observed.

  A quick scan of the small room revealed Gordon sitting a couple of tables away. Upon being discovered, he smiled and waved. Bailey motioned for him to return, and he sauntered over.

  "Is it safe?" he asked, resuming his seat.

  "Gordon, how can you possibly expect to be a successful lawyer when you can't stand a little controversy?" she asked him.

  "Simple, my dear. I don't. In years to come, I'll probably set a record as the oldest associate at Hoskins, Grier, as well as the lawyer with the fewest ulcers."

  Bailey shook her head fondly. "You're hopeless."

  "Unless, of course," Gordon continued, "management should change at the old place and someone come in with streamlined, efficient ideas."

  "Then what would you do?" Austin asked, sounding suddenly solemn.

  "I don't know. Travel, maybe. Write a book. Paint."

  "Not likely since the terms of your trust fund require you to practice law." Austin's gaze never left Gordon's face, and Bailey wondered if he knew something she didn't.

  "You're such a stickler for facts! Okay, I'd open my own firm and hire you two enthusiasts to carry the work load while I play." He rattled the ice in his plastic tumbler, tossed a piece into his mouth, and crunched. "Or maybe I'll discover the ever elusive reason for working and then become a better lawyer than you two put together. That is to say, a more successful lawyer, not a more aggressive one, since that would not only be undesirable but impossible."

  What a strange thing for him to say, Bailey thought. Why would he call her aggressive?

  CHAPTER 4

  As Austin walked back to his office after lunch, he found that a smile kept sneaking onto his face for no reason. He hadn't won the argument with Bailey, though he hadn't lost either. Still, he should be upset because she had rejected the settlement offer. In all honesty, though, he had to admit he'd known she would. She was tough, a worthy adversary. Battling with her certainly got his adrenaline pumping, not to mention the effect she had on his hormones.

  Inside the building, he punched the button to call the elevator, and his smile slowly dwindled. He had to meet with Daniel Lewis, third in overall seniority in the firm and managing partner of the Kansas City branch for fifteen years, and that wouldn't be nearly as much fun as sparring with Bailey.

  A few minutes later Austin ent
ered the corner office and faced the older man. Even seated behind the desk, Lewis was obviously tall. Of course, some of that was probably an optical illusion created by his gauntness and long, drooping facial features. He reminded Austin of a skinny basset hound, but his tenacity was that of a bulldog.

  "Have you started negotiations with Stafford Morris yet?" Austin asked without preamble, taking a seat without invitation. He knew Lewis resented this intrusion into what he considered his territory.

  "I've talked to Stafford."

  Probably about where to go for lunch, Austin thought wryly. "And what was his feeling about a merger?"

  "Negotiations take time."

  Austin's fingers drummed silently on the padded arm of the chair. "As we discussed before, perhaps I should help with the negotiations since you and Stafford are friends."

  "I've been doing business with Stafford Morris for a lot of years."

  "Tell you what. Why don't you arrange a meeting to include me, just as an observer? Shall we say next week?"

  "I'll see what I can do."

  That meant about a fifty-fifty chance.

  "Fine. Don't forget our meetings with public relations firms on Tuesday and Friday."

  With a vague nod, Lewis turned his attention back to the papers on his desk, dismissing Austin. As he left the office, he heard the older man mutter, "Public relations for lawyers. Humph!"

  Returning to the tiny cubicle he was using as a temporary office, Austin flopped into the creaky chair and made an effort to unclench his teeth. Damn it, he'd been chosen for this job because of his proven abilities. But these people were fighting him at every turn, making him prove everything all over again.

  Picking up a pencil, he tapped the eraser end on the scarred desktop. Well, if he had to, he would, starting with this merger. The firm had approved the merger by majority vote. Now it was his job to see that the deal was consummated.

  However, while the idea of taking in Stafford Morris' group had its merits, he'd recently come to realize there could be a problem. The pencil snapped in his fingers. What about Gordon? Kearns, Worley expected all their employees to maintain a consistently high level of productivity. Somehow he'd have to protect Gordon or make him work harder.

  He tossed the broken pencil into the trash. Protecting him would probably be the easier way to go.

  *~*~*

  "Can't do lunch today," Gordon advised Bailey on Friday when she called him. "I'm taking Paula over to the newspaper office to pick up her replies to her personal ad so she won't have to wait for them to be mailed."

  "Good thinking," Bailey responded. "If she gets any, take them away from her and burn them."

  "Mm, well, got to run. Okay if I come by tonight?"

  "Of course. You know where the spare key is if I'm not there. Some of us have to work."

  "Paula'll be there," he reminded her.

  Bailey breathed a sigh of relief as she hung up the phone. Good old Gordon. He'd see that Paula didn't get involved with any nuts as a result of her impetuous ad.

  When she finally made it home after an extra long day, she found the two of them on the white sofa in her living room, reading, discussing, and grading Paula's replies.

  "That one is a definite No Way, " Gordon advised as Paula's hand hovered uncertainly over the three stacks of letters on Bailey's glass and brass coffee table.

  "I don't know," Paula demurred. "Sipping wine in front the fireplace, walking in the rain—he sounds kind of sweet. I think the Maybe stack."

  "You're both nuts!" Bailey exclaimed, picking up Samantha and heading for the kitchen. "All those letters belong in your No Freaking Way stack. Sipping wine and walking in the rain—they're probably all wet, drunk mass murderers, and married besides." She scowled over the pass-through bar from the kitchen into the living room. "And you, Gordon! I can't believe you're aiding and abetting this insanity."

  "Ignore her," Paula said, dropping the letter in her middle stack.

  "I usually do," Gordon drawled.

  "I suppose you'd rather I went to a bar to meet somebody." Ripping open a cream-colored envelope, Paula raised an eyebrow in Bailey's direction.

  "I'd rather you joined a nunnery," she retorted. "Go back to school. That's where you met your ex-husband."

  "Right. In grade school."

  Unable to argue with that, Bailey turned her attention to scooping dog food into a royal blue bowl with SAMANTHA in white letters. "Come see what I cooked for your dinner, sweetheart," she said, placing the bowl on the white kitchen tile.

  The dog pranced over, sniffed, then looked at Bailey with an aggrieved expression.

  "Okay, so it's only dog food out of a can. You ought to be glad. What if you actually had to eat my cooking?"

  "Hey, listen to this," Paula called.

  Bailey scratched Samantha's head and, leaving her to her repast, crossed the room to join Paula.

  "Dear Cinderella," Paula read from the ivory paper. "My faithful servant brought me the copy of your note, and I hastened to reply lest you be overwhelmed by an army of unreasonable facsimiles. For, of course, I am the only real Prince Charming. Actually, I'm king now since my father retired and moved to Texas, but King Charming doesn't have quite the same ring, does it? Since the post office system is so mundane and totally unsuitable for use by such as we, may I suggest we maintain further contact via the secret royal chamber for missives. If you go to the park named Regency and travel twenty paces from the northeast corner of the rose garden, then turn and go twelve paces to your left, you will come upon a large tree. There you'll find said chamber cleverly disguised as a hole beneath the roots. Do respond soon as I shan't be able to attend to the duties of the kingdom until I hear from you. Faithfully, PC."

  "You have to make a new stack for that one," Gordon declared. "Definitely at Once."

  "Absolutely," Paula agreed. "The kingdom might be besieged and lost, all because I didn't answer the man."

  "You're going to write a letter to that lunatic?" Bailey asked in amazement.

  "At least he's a romantic lunatic." Paula stood and raised her head haughtily. "Come along, Gordon. We'll find my laptop and compose a suitable reply."

  Gordon stood and took Paula's arm to escort her from the room. "A laptop sounds sort of mundane. Do you think maybe this letter should be handwritten on perfumed stationery?"

  "Nah. My handwriting is totally illegible. It's why I had to learn to type. Anyway, PC typed his letter."

  "Dictated it to the court stenographer, probably." The pair went into gales of laughter as they disappeared into Paula's room.

  Bailey reached down and scooped up Samantha as the little dog strolled into the room. "I do believe you're the only sane friend I have," she told her.

  Samantha snuggled in, twisting and turning before finally settling with a contented sigh in a fuzzy ball in Bailey's lap. Bailey stroked the soft fur and wondered why she didn't feel content. Usually Friday nights left her with a sense of accomplishment and an anticipation of the weekend. Saturday work was leisurely compared to the rest of the week so Friday evening started a time of relaxation, but tonight she felt unsettled.

  "Want to go get something to eat?" she called to her demented friends.

  "How about we send out for a pizza?" Paula asked.

  "Sounds good to me," Gordon seconded.

  Resignedly Bailey reached for the phone, wondering if they planned to come out of the bedroom to eat. Just as her hand touched the instrument, however, it rang.

  Her lack of surprise at hearing Austin's voice gave her a moment's pause, but she assured herself it was only because they'd talked at least once a day concerning the Miller case during the past week. Expecting his voice was a normal response, not a psychic link or anything weird.

  "Yes, Gordon's here," she replied in response to his query. "At least, his body is. He's totally lost his mind." She explained what Gordon and Paula were doing, expecting a sympathetic ear.

  "They're both writing a letter to Prince Charmi
ng?" Austin asked, the emphasis indicating it would be okay if only one of them was doing the writing.

  "Hang on. I'll get your friend for you," Bailey offered. Apparently Austin wasn't going to be an ally—was, in fact, involved in the nuttiness.

  Gordon's first response to Austin was laughter, then a cryptic "Guidance could be critical."

  The entire conversation sounded suspicious to Bailey—Gordon's tone as well as his avoidance of coherent statements.

  "See if he wants to come over for pizza," she invited. Best to find out what the two of them were up to, she told herself, justifying the action.

  "He says he'll even bring the pizza," Gordon informed her.

  An hour later Austin arrived with cold beer and hot pizza. Bailey directed him to the refrigerator while she set the cardboard box in the middle of her dining room table.

  "I'm surprised you have a table," Austin said, coming up behind her, leaning over her shoulder to peer at the polished wood with glass inserts. "I mean, since you don't have anything in the refrigerator except dog food and mayonnaise."

  "I keep sodas in the vegetable bins," she snapped, suddenly acutely aware of his closeness, afraid to move for fear she'd touch him, uncertain and fearful of where that touch might take her.

  For a moment they stood, a tense tableau, then Gordon and Paula burst into the room. Austin stepped backward, and Bailey darted into the kitchen for plates.

  "Austin, you wouldn't believe how many replies I've already got to my ad," Paula announced. "Here, listen to this one."

  Paula read her letter from Prince Charming while the others consumed pizza. Taking a huge bite of her piece, she chewed a couple of times then declared, "And now you have to hear this really incredible letter Gordon and I have composed in answer."

  "No!" both men objected at once.

  "Why not?"

  "That's very personal, Paula," Austin replied. "I think you should keep the contents strictly between you and this—this PC."

  Bailey studied Austin's face as he spoke. Something about this deal wasn't on the up and up.

  When the last piece of pizza had been consumed, Austin and Gordon settled comfortably in the living room chairs facing Bailey and Paula on the sofa. Bailey felt satiated, relaxed, and surprisingly comfortable in spite of Austin's presence.