Nora Roberts - High Noon

"It's in my purse. I-"

"Right here." Duncan set it on the bed.

"You're good with details," Phoebe commented.

"Wouldn't you like to go down and sit in the parlor, Duncan?" Essie began. "Carter, he'll fix you a drink. And…" She rubbed her fingers on her temple. "And you'll stay for dinner. You'll stay for dinner, of course."

"That's nice of you, but I'll leave y'all to tend to Phoebe. I hope I can have a rain check."

"You're welcome anytime. Anytime at all. I'll walk you down."

"You stay right here." He gave Essie's shoulder a pat before he looked down at Phoebe. "That goes for you, too."

"I think I'm going to do just that. Duncan-"

"We'll talk later."

As he left, Carter bounded up the stairs. Carter stopped, gripping a pair of ice bags. "Sorry about jumping on you out there."

"Forget it. Natural."

"Do you know who punched my sister in the face? I took enough fists in the face to know what the results look like," he said when Duncan lifted his brows.

"I don't know who hurt her, but I'm going to find out."

"When you do-if it's before I do-I want to know."

"Sure."

"Carter MacNamara." Carter shifted ice bags, held out a hand.

"Duncan Swift. See you around."

Duncan let himself out, glanced up toward the bedroom window as he walked to his car. Gorgeous house, he thought, and just full of problems. He had enough experience with problems to know they came in all flavors and varieties.

Just as he knew, without question, that whatever the problems, Phoebe was the glue that held the family together.

Gift or burden? he wondered. And decided it was probably a good chunk of both.

A smart man would drive away from the gorgeous house with its va riety of problems. Drive away and keep on going. That's what a smart man would do.

Then again, Duncan thought, there were times it was more interesting, and certainly more rewarding, just to be dumb.

He ended up at a bar. The after-work crowd wouldn't flood into Slam Dune for nearly an hour, so despite the multiple flat screens rolling out ESPN, and the scatter of customers playing pool or air hockey, Duncan figured it was quiet enough for a meeting.

Anyway, he wanted a beer, and felt after the afternoon he'd put in, he'd earned it. He kept an eye out for Phin, and when he saw his friend come in, Duncan signaled the bar.

"Already ordered you a Corona, and some nachos." Phin slid into the booth. "Left me hanging today."

"I know, I'm sorry. Couldn't be helped. What do you figure?"

Phin puffed out his cheeks. "Jake, who you also left hanging as he got there two minutes after you split, did a walk-through. He's going to work up a detailed estimate of what it'll cost you to do what you want with the building. But his eyeball opinion? You're going to have to sink minimum of one-point-five into it, over and above the cost."

"Okay."

Phin leaned back as the nachos slid between them and the waiter set the Corona with its slice of lime on the table. "You ever look back, wonder how we got to be sitting here talking about a million and a half dollars like it was pocket change?"

"How much did that suit cost?"

Phin grinned, picked up his beer. "Fine-looking suit, isn't it?"

"Dude, you're my fashion god. Figure two for the overhaul; let's not be pikers. Add in what I'll pay that squirrel for the property."

"Does look like a squirrel," Phin commented.

"Maybe he'll take some of the buy money and spring for a decent toupee. Anyhow… Got a pen?"

Phin took a Mont Blanc out of his inside jacket pocket. "Why don't you ever have a damn pen?"

"Where am I going to put it? And you always have one." Duncan scribbled figures on a napkin.

And that said it all, Phin thought. The man might look like your average guy-the worn jeans, the untucked, rolled-up-at-the-sleeves shirt, the hair begging for a trim. He might come across to most as an extraordinarily lucky guy who happened to pick the right numbers at the right time. Appearances didn't mean dick when it came to Duncan Swift.

He'd use that borrowed pen and a napkin to figure out cost runs, overlay, buffer, outlay and potential income. He'd do it while eating nachos and drinking a beer, and by the time he was done, he'd have his projected cost and future returns figured as close to the mark as any fleet of accountants.

The man had a knack, Phin decided as he-with care-transferred some loaded nachos from platter to plate. "Where'd you take off to?"

"That's something I want to talk to you about. Or more specifically, with your lovely wife."

"Loo's in court."

Duncan glanced up, over, and smiled. "Not now, she's not."

She wore a conservative blue suit that managed to showcase her mile-long legs. Her sexy curls were tamed back into a clip so that her sharp cheekbones, deep brown eyes, wide mouth were subtly framed. Her skin was the color of rich caramel.

Duncan always wondered how any judge or jury could look at that face and not give her whatever she wanted.

Duncan slid out of the booth, wrapped his arms around her and spoke into her ear just loud enough for Phin to hear. "Dump him. I'll buy you Fiji."

She had a big, strong laugh, and let it rip. "Can I just keep him to play with when you're busy?"

"Give me back my wife."

"Not done with her." Taking his time with it, Duncan gave her a long, dramatic kiss. "That'll hold me. Thanks for coming, Loo."

"Thought you were in court."

"I was." She sat next to Phin, nuzzled her lips to his. "Prosecution asked for a recess. I've got them on the ropes. Now, which of you handsome men is going to buy me a martini?"

"Being shaken even as we speak. One minute. Here's what we'll offer the squirrel and here's where we top off." Duncan pushed the napkin over to Phin. "Okay?"

Phin glanced at the figures, shrugged. "It's your money."

"Yeah. Isn't that a kick in the ass?" Duncan picked up his beer. He knew Phin and Loo would be holding hands under the table. They had the thing, the it, whatever that it was that locked people together and kept them damn happy about it.

"Y'all want something more than nachos?" Duncan asked them.

"Just that martini. As our gorgeous and brilliant offspring is spending the night with her cousin, I'm going to have this fine-looking man take me out to dinner."

"Are you?"

"I am, but not until I've had that drink and am finished playing footsie with my lover here." Loo winked at Duncan. "So, baby doll, what can I do for you?"

Duncan said nothing for a moment, then grinned. "Sorry, my mind went in all sorts of interesting directions." He listened to that terrific laugh of hers again. "It's about something that happened to a friend of mine today, and my curiosity over what gets done to the guy who did it when he gets caught."

"Criminal or civil?"

"It's pretty fucking criminal."

Loo raised her eyebrows at the tone, then accepted the martini she was served. She took the first, slow sip. "Should this individual be charged and indicted, I take it you'd object if I or my firm represent him."

"I can't tell you what to do, but I figured you'd know the ins and outs of what he might try to pull, legally, when they get him."

"Not if, but when." She broke off a minute corner of a chip. "Okay, tell me what this man allegedly did."

"Before I tell you what he did, I'd better tell you, he's a cop."

"Oh. Well. Shit." Loo blew out a breath, drank again. "Tell me."

Interesting. From his seat at the bar, he nursed a beer, ate some cheese fries and pretended to be interested in the reports on March Madness that dominated the near screen.

He had a perfect view of the booth where Phoebe's screw-buddy sat with the duded-up black couple. Interesting, damn interesting-and fortunate that he himself had been watching the house on Jones when the fancy car pulled up.