Karen Young - Never Tell

Lisa, a defense lawyer, was as tough—and tough-talking—as any male counterpart and twice as smart. She had a reputation among lawyers for taking no prisoners. “It’s good to see you, Lisa. You’re making quite a stir yourself with your client. This time, he’s got to be worried.”

“I wish. Maybe then he’d keep it in his pants, but he’s mine and until he runs out of money or I simply kill him myself, I guess I’ll have to stay in there pitching. No pun intended.”

Erica laughed. “As his attorney, should you be saying things like that?”

“Shit, you’re family, darlin’.” She paused, took a good, long look into Erica’s eyes, and when she spoke, her tone gentled. “Tell me, how long has it been?”

“Nine years,” she said quietly. Nine years since Lisa Johns had shared an office with Erica’s husband, David. Nine years since those carefree evenings when Lisa and her current lover would pop in at Erica and David’s house to drink wine and talk, plan and dream. Nine years since it had all ended.

“Yeah. God, how time flies. Nine years.” Lisa grabbed a fresh glass of champagne from a tray-bearing waiter as he passed and took a good gulp. “You know, every now and then when I’m slogging away on a case, I’ll come across something David wrote, or some research he authored, and it’ll hit me in the tummy. It still seems so unfair, so senseless. If I could ever get my hands on the bastard who did that, I think I’d forget my calling as a defense lawyer. There’s nothing mean enough to throw at people like that, you know?”

“I try not to think about it, Lisa.”

“Jesus.” She reached over and hugged Erica. “I’m an idiot. I’ve had too much champagne. Let’s change the subject, ’cause I haven’t seen you in so long and when I spotted you across the room, I couldn’t wait to get over here.” She finished off the rest of the fresh glass, deposited it with another tray-bearing waiter and gave a big sigh. “I meant it when I said you’re looking fantastic. And it’s great your label is taking off big-time. I saw one of your quilts in a house a year or so ago. This gal had it hanging on the wall of her den, Erica. God, it was stunning, a piece of art in fabric. And those fabulous jackets you’re designing are all the rage. I’m gonna have one, I swear.”

“Come by the shop,” Erica said, smiling. “I have a couple that would look wonderful on you.”

Lisa cocked her head with a bemused look. “But I thought painting was your forte, not fabric design. I read the Zest article in the paper, but I didn’t see any evidence of your art from the pictures they took of your shop. Which reminds me, when do you have time to paint?”

“Actually, I don’t.” She managed a smile and gave her stock answer to the familiar question. “What with the shop and keeping up with demand, I’m just too busy.” Painting had once been as vital to her as the air she breathed, but that, too, was nine years past. She had discovered then that only a very few things in life were really vital for survival.

Suddenly, Lisa paused and looked about curiously. “Where’s your date? You didn’t come to this thing stag, did you?”

“No, he’s around somewhere mingling, as he calls it.” She turned, scanning the floor trying to find Jason in the crowd. And then her heart skipped a beat. Threading his way through the crowd—and the object of more than a few admiring female glances—was Hunter McCabe. Even half a ballroom away, she could see that he was heading directly to her. What was he doing here? She knew—knew—this was not Hunter’s kind of thing.

“Well,” Lisa said, following Erica’s gaze, “I don’t think I’d let that one mingle any farther than two feet from my side. Are there any more like him? I’m available.”

“He’s not mine,” she murmured, but Lisa was right. He did look good in a tux.

“Then if I were you, I’d do whatever it took to remedy that.”

Erica watched him with the eye of an artist, thinking he looked almost as good as he did in that battered bomber jacket and jeans. The truth was, he was a man who was so comfortable in his skin that he’d even look good in nothing. At that thought, she caught herself up short, because it was too incredibly easy to imagine him wearing nothing but confidence and that rakish grin.

“Hey, there.” Before she realized his intent, he’d caught hold of both her hands and pulled her toward him in a move so natural that she never thought of resisting. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” he said after kissing her cheek.

Flustered, she inhaled subtle aftershave and not-so-subtle male. “I didn’t expect to see you here,” she said.

“And I may not last much longer,” he told her, looking over the crowd with something in his face—a subtle twist of his mouth—that told her she’d been right. This wasn’t his kind of thing. So what in the world was he doing here? He glanced then at Lisa. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Not a bit,” Lisa said, extending her hand with a speculative look in her eye. “I’m Lisa Johns, an old friend of Erica’s.”

“Hunter McCabe,” he said. Then, after a beat, he recognized her. “Joe Crenshaw’s defense attorney, right?”

“That would be me, yes. God bless cable TV.”

He was shaking his head, smiling. “Crenshaw’s something else. I can’t wait to open the sports page to see what he’s been up to next.”

“Me, too.” Lisa took a healthy swallow of her drink. “But, unlike you, I pray his antics are confined to the sports page and not the headlines.”

“I hear you,” Hunter said, still smiling. “I suspect you’d have to lock him in his room every night to keep him out of trouble.”

“I keep thinking he’ll grow up,” Lisa said, “but when will it happen? He’s thirty-four.” She glanced beyond them and made a face. “Uh-oh, I see I’m being summoned.” She flashed a smile at Hunter, then gave Erica a warm hug and whispered, “If he’s not your date, sweetie, he should be. Bye now.”

Erica watched Lisa make her way across the ballroom toward a tall man with iron-gray hair and an air of authority. She turned away, putting a hand over her tummy.

“What’s wrong?” Following her gaze, Hunter frowned, looking over the crowd.

“It’s nothing.” The man who’d summoned Lisa was the firm’s senior partner. And David’s mentor. If Edward Kerr realized she was here, he’d probably feel honor-bound to speak to her. She couldn’t allow that.

She turned to look at Hunter. “I’ve been circulating, as Jason calls it, for an hour. I’d like to get away from the noise for a few minutes. Would you excuse me?”

“A break sounds good to me, too. Let’s try the mezzanine. C’mon.” He settled a hand at her waist and made a startled sound as he encountered bare skin. Her dress had long sleeves and a boat neckline that came up to her throat in front, but in back it plunged almost to her waist. “Jesus, you almost gave me a heart attack,” he said, eyeing the enticing line of her spine.

She knew the dress was a bit risqué, but Jason had persuaded her to wear it. This was her first appearance in public, he told her. She should make a statement. In fact, it had been Jason who had chosen the dress for her in a chic little boutique in River Oaks, telling her that if she refused to wear one of her own designs, she needed to wear something equally stunning.

Apparently, Hunter thought it was stunning.

Without another word, he guided her toward an area at the edge of the room. Several people recognized him as they wove through the crowd, but other than brief nods and even briefer smiles, he didn’t stop until he reached the wide stairs that led to the mezzanine.