Dianne Drake - Lilly's Law

Dear Reader,

Wow! My third book. It’s hard to believe that I’m doing what I always wanted to do—writing for Harlequin.

Before this, I used to give advice to my university students—all aspiring writers. On the first day of class I would tell them to give me a good Elvis snarl, growl, then say, “I can do that!” Surprisingly, I got a lot of resistance, but after a couple of minutes of good, solid growling I explained how that pit bull attitude is the start of achieving anything they want. It’s all about the attitude.

My friend Toni—who was the inspiration for Lilly, the heroine of this story—had that “can do” attitude. An immigrant from Italy, she went after what she wanted. Her dream was to be an attorney and later, a criminal court judge. She snarled, growled and she did it! Just like Lilly does. And you can do that, too. So let me see that snarl, hear that growl and say, “I can do that!”

I’d like to thank my editor, Wanda Ottewell, for letting me do that.

Wishing you love, laughter and a pit bull attitude!

Dianne Drake

P.S. There was only one time Toni didn’t succeed in her “can do” attitude and, sadly, that was in her battle with breast cancer. So, about those monthly breast exams and mammograms—let me hear you say, “I will do that!”

“Do I get to speak candidly here, or are my rights forfeited the minute I step into your courtroom?” Mike Collier glanced around, shook his head in disdain, then added, “Such as it is.”

“By all means, be candid, Mr. Collier. I certainly wouldn’t want you leaving my courtroom—such as it is—feeling like you didn’t receive every opportunity to tell your side of the story before I make my judgment and tack on an extra hundred bucks for that little insult.”

Lilly dropped her gaze to the file containing copies of all nineteen tickets, not to peruse it so much as to stop herself from glaring at him.

Of course, she already knew what he looked like—in vivid detail, right down to the lips tattooed on his derriere. Right side, midcheek. A drunken college escapade. And of course she could conjure up that eye candy in minute detail—along with every other Collier detail—even when she wasn’t looking at him, which she was trying not to do, especially in court.

Jeez, where was an iceberg when you needed one?

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What’s life without a few pets? Dianne Drake and her hubby Joel have seven—four dogs and three cats, all rescued strays. In the few spare minutes her animals grant her, Dianne goes to the Indianapolis Symphony, Indianapolis Colts games and the Indiana Pacers games—can you tell she lives in Indianapolis? And occasionally, she and Joel sneak away and do something really special, like take in a hockey game.

HARLEQUIN DUETS

58—THE DOCTOR DILEMMA

106—ISN’T IT ROMANTIC?

To Toni—an extraordinary judge, an extraordinary woman. The world is a little less bright without you.

And as always, to Joel.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Friday morning, and what a way to end the week!

“OH, NO!”

Lilly moaned the words louder than she intended, and his speedy response to what she’d meant to keep under her breath was, “Oh, yes! And I want a change of venue, Your Honor.”

“Change of venue, Mr. Collier? You’re telling me you want a change of venue?” She was struggling to preserve what was left of her judgely comportment. “This is traffic court, sir. We don’t do change of venue here.” Even though she’d like to have changed his venue to an iceberg somewhere way up in the Arctic, and personally paid for his one-way ticket to ride.

“But don’t I have the right to be tried in an impartial court?”

Big iceberg, she decided. Huge, with lots of freezing-his-butt-off jagged edges. “And you’re suggesting, sir, that my court isn’t impartial?” An iceberg at least as cold as her voice.

Mike Collier stepped away from the rickety wooden podium, which was scarred by fifty years’ worth of fist-pounding, pencil-gouging defendants, but he didn’t cross the yellow tape on the floor—the tape designating the one thin line separating the Honorable Judge Lilly Malloy from the accumulation of humanity on trial in her courtroom. The warning sign, posted clearly on the wall directly above her head, read Stay Behind the Yellow Line at All Times. Those Who Cross over the Line My Be Subject to a Fine and/or Arrest. Someone had doodled a happy face with devil horns on it. “What I’m suggesting, Your Honor, is that under the circumstances, I don’t think you’re the right person to hear my case. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Your case, Mr. Collier, is nineteen unpaid parking tickets, pure and simple. And my impartial decision is that you’ll pay them to the tune of fifty dollars apiece, plus throw in an extra couple hundred dollars for the use of this courtroom and all of its fine amenities—you know, the paper we used for your subpoena, the expense of having our diligent sheriff hand-deliver it to your office. All according to the statute, by the way. It seems pretty simple to me, under the circumstances, since you’ve already admitted your guilt.” She scowled across at him. “You did admit your guilt, didn’t you? The statement to the effect that you willfully parked in a posted no-parking zone…that would be a straightforward guilty plea, wouldn’t it, Mr. Collier?”

“Straightforward? You call turning my parking space into a no-parking zone straightforward? I call it extenuating circumstances,” Mike grumbled. “And I don’t believe you’re going to set aside your personal feelings to listen to my version.”

“Your version,” Lilly muttered, shaking her head. She already knew that version—she’d been on the receiving end of one of Mike’s versions a time or two. “Well, I have a version, too, Mr. Collier. You’ve stated for the record that you don’t believe I’m able to be unbiased here—that I’d allow my personal feelings to interfere with the law.” She shot him a caustic smile across her desk—an old, gray, metal office desk hunkering down into the sixty-year-old grooves in the unpolished linoleum floor. Unlike the judges upstairs, who towered above their domains at fine, hand-carved mahogany desks designed for looking down—desks that belonged in a courtroom—Lilly sat level with everyone else. Her official judge desk was plainly a castoff appropriate for her castoff court that convened in a damp, dim corner room in the city hall basement. “So let me tack a little something onto my version for you. Your first insult to the court is a freebie. My gift to you.” Leaning back in her seat, folding her arms across her chest, she continued, “But the next one will cost you, I’m thinking about a hundred bucks an insult, by the book, by the way. Sounds fair, doesn’t it?” She glanced over at her court clerk, Tisha Freeman, an early twenty-something who spent more time in the courtroom making eyes at the men than observing the proceedings. Tisha nodded her approval, not that she knew what she was nodding at, then smiled at the biker type seated in the second row who, with ripped-out shirt-sleeves, was flexing his muscles and tattoos for her.