Читать книгу Knock 'Em Dead - Rhonda Pollero - Страница 12

Liv was waiting for me outside the police station. “What are you doing here?” I squinted against the harsh sunlight as I looked beyond her. “Where are Becky and Jane?”

“Hold that question,” Liv said pointedly. The area was full of people to-ing and fro-ing. And staring. We made quite a pair. She started walking and I fell into step as she shifted several pieces of crisp paper from one hand to the other, then moved her fabulous tortoise Coach sunglasses from securing her pale brown hair down to shield her stunning violet eyes. Not tacky contact-lens violet—my original assumption—but genetically perfect, exotic violet. Liv is probably one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen. The kind you want to hate on sight, but truth be told, she’s so nice you just can’t help but like her.

It was a struggle for me to keep up with her long strides. Liv is five-seven to my five-three; plus, she’s got on killer Anne Klein sandals, adding three and a half inches to her statuesque frame. Her casual couture sundress and spanking new Coach signature soft duffel made me feel even more self-conscious as my flip-flops slapped and echoed along the stone walkway.

I quelled the urge to smack the two lowlifes giving me the once-over as they shuffled past. As if I didn’t know I was out in public in my robe probably looking a lot like something a dog chewed on and spit out.

“Becky called.” With her thumb, Liv clicked the silver keypad to open the doors of her champagne-colored Mercedes. “She needs you to notarize this.”

She passed the pages to me as she rounded the back of the Mercedes.

I flipped through the papers as I slid into the passenger seat. The tan leather burned the back of my thighs and the air inside the car was hot and thick. I left my door open until Liv got in and turned on the engine. I suffered the blast of superheated air knowing cool was coming. “Why do you need a financial power of attorney?”

“They’re charging Jane with voluntary manslaughter,” Liv said in a frustrated rush, adjusting her air vent. “Can you believe it? Our Jane?” She glanced my way. “What’s the difference between manslaughter and murder?”

I blinked and opened the glove compartment, hunting around until I found the extra pair of sunglasses I knew Liv always kept on hand. She was more than just a fashionable business owner.

“Intent and/or premeditation,” I answered. “And no, I can’t believe it. Jane couldn’t have killed Paolo. Not even in the heat of passion, no pun intended. The charge doesn’t make sense, unless they’re planning on upping it to murder after they gather all the evidence.”

“Oh, speaking of evidence, they’re also charging her with littering.”

“Excuse me?” I said, turning to look at Liv’s profile as she started the car. Another blast of hot air whooshed out of the vents, then immediately began to cool the interior.

“Littering,” Liv repeated, jamming the car into gear. “Someone in the state attorney’s office decided they’d include that because they still haven’t found the penis.”

Placing the pages on my lap, I pressed my fingers into my temples. Insufficient caffeine and knowing my dear friend was under arrest were making my head throb. “So why the power of attorney for Jane’s assets?”

“She needs a good criminal lawyer and Becky said bail might be as high as a hundred thousand dollars.”

I felt my stomach plummet. “Jane has that kind of money?” The mental image of my friend in some dank, nasty holding cell gave me a shiver. She must be scared out of her mind. Anyone with half a brain would be under the circumstances. She was my friend, I loved her, and knew she wasn’t guilty of anything other than poor judgment in taking a strange man home with her. I fumbled with the seat belt. Jane wouldn’t hurt a fly. Especially one with a zipper.

“Not enough, but she’s got some savings and a credit line. When the bank opens in the morning, I’m going to get her cash and pull every penny possible out of Concierge Plus.” Liv leaned over and cranked up the air as she glanced over her shoulder, then pulled out in the inch or so of space left between the two beaten and mangled pickups parallel parked in front and in back of her. Damn, she was good.

“Can you do that?” I asked over the sound of the pickup honking behind us, as if Liv would care that she’d cut the guy off. In Palm Beach, she who has the best car wins. “I mean, not Jane’s money, the POA covers that. But Concierge Plus? You’ve got a partner and I’m sure Jean-Claude won’t let you bleed all the operating capital.”

Liv shot me a quick look. “Forget him. I’ll deal with Jean-Claude. Becky gave me a list of lawyers’ names and said either you or one of the bigwigs at Dane-Lieberman should contact them. It’s the last page.”

Like I had the clout to get any of the senior partners to do my bidding on a Sunday afternoon. I hurriedly checked the attorneys listed and whistled. “These are heavy hitters.” I flicked my fingernail at one name. “This guy gets fifty grand up front. Why can’t Becky represent Jane?”

“I asked the same thing. She said she’s a contacts attorney and unless Jane and Paolo agreed, in writing, that he’d be breathing and have all his body parts at the end of the date, she doesn’t feel qualified to do it.”

Valid argument. If you’re having a heart attack, you don’t go to a pediatrician.

Liv’s cell phone gave a muted chime from inside her purse. I started to reach into the back footwell to retrieve her bag when she yelled, “Don’t!”

“Why?”

“Go ahead and check the ID. Unless it’s Becky, let it go to voice mail. I’ve already blown off calls from nervous clients. Not to mention two from Shaylyn and Zack.” I glanced at the blue LED as the phone vibrated against my palm. I recognized the 561 local area code and read out the telephone number.

Liv muttered a curse. “Ignore them.”

“Them?”

“Shaylyn Kidwell and Zack Davis.”

“Who are?”

“The owners of Fantasy Dates. I’m guessing they need to fire me before they sue me.”

“They can’t sue you,” I said, trying—and failing—to sound positive. “Okay, anyone can sue anyone, but suing and winning are two different things. Besides, you should sue them. They’re the ones who hooked Jane up with a guy who had a serious enemy. Serious enough to slice off his genitals.”

Liv shook her head as she shivered. “And took the penis. What kind of nut job—sorry, poor word choice—would do that?”

“Someone either seriously disturbed in general, or someone who had a real issue with Paolo.”

Liv stopped at the traffic light a block from my apartment complex. “Great. Nothing like knowing there’s a deranged, penis-lobbing psycho roaming the streets with Paolo’s privates in his pocket.”

The light changed and we drove forward. A remnant of torn yellow crime scene tape dangled from one of the trees at the entrance to the parking lot. It was a grim reminder of the morning’s events, but at least it provided a momentary distraction from the scenario Liv had described.

She pulled into a spot two cars down from my leased BMW but left the engine idling. “So, you’ll notarize that stuff and find an attorney? Becky said the arraignment would be sometime tomorrow morning and that we all needed to be there.”

“Tomorrow?” I cried, slumping deeper against the seat. “Crap, I forgot. Judges don’t sit on Sundays. No judge, no bail hearing.”

“Poor Jane,” Liv sighed heavily.

“We can’t think about that now. We’ll keep busy getting everything squared away.” A very, very selfish thought ran through my mind. I was out of vacation days, so I’d have to find a creative way of getting out of work tomorrow. Screw it. I’d think of something. “My notary seal is at the office. I’ve got to shower first. And I’ll find a lawyer, but usually they want something that resembles a retainer before they set foot inside the courthouse.”

“I’m assuming you’re tapped out?”

The best I could muster was a guilt-ridden shrug. “Personally? Yes. Flat broke, sorry.”

“Can you ask Patrick to front you some cash?” Liv asked. “Unless you’ve already started easing into the breakup.”

I ripped the borrowed sunglasses off my face as my eyes narrowed in her direction. “Excuse me?”

“Becky might have made reference to the possibility that you were considering making a, er, change.”

I felt a flash of anger and betrayal. “Obviously Becky missed the part of that conversation where I specifically asked her not to say anything to the rest of you.”

“Minor slip,” Liv insisted, flicking her hand so the collection of chunky bracelets on her wrist jingled. “Last week at lunch I brought up the Gagliano Labor Day party I’m doing. It will be one of the hottest parties of the summer, so I mentioned I might be able to swing invitations for all of us, including Patrick. All Becky said was I should check with you before I had anything engraved with his name on it.”

“Nice,” I groaned.

“So?” Liv asked, shifting in her seat as she pushed her glasses on top of her head. “Are you?”

“Probably not.” I felt a rush of fear. What was I thinking? Patrick was perfect. So what if the sex was getting routine and boring? “No,” I said more forcefully, not sure which one of us I was trying to convince.

I could tell by Liv’s expression that she wasn’t buying any of it. Since the best defense is a strong offense, I smiled sweetly and asked, “Speaking of boyfriends, how is Garage Boy?”

My friend let out a haughty little scoff. “He serves his purpose, thank you very much. Unlike perpetually traveling Patrick, he’s always available.”

I reached for the door handle. “Of course he is, he doesn’t have a job and he still lives with his parents.”

“His apartment has a separate entrance.”

“Right. Put that in the win column.”

I started out of the car when Liv grabbed my forearm.

“This will all work out, right? Jane can’t be tried and convicted, can she?”

I turned back and we hugged. I didn’t have an answer, at least not one I could offer with any degree of certainty.

“I’m going over to Jane’s to get bank statements and Becky told me to put together some clothes for the arraignment. She’s going to stay with Jane for as long as possible.”

That was good. That meant Jane would be in the counsel room instead of dumped into the general population at the county jail. Of course, I also knew that they wouldn’t let Becky spend the night, so at some point Jane was going to be on her own.

I knew a thing or two about county lockup. During the Hall case, a part of my investigation resulted in a B&E charge. I’d spent four very creepy hours in a holding cell until Becky came to my rescue. Well, not just Becky. Liam had played a part as well. He’d not only gotten the garage owner and his friends on the police force to drop the charges, he’d also retrieved my impounded car. And ragged me. For some unknown reason, I still had the Monopoly Get out of Jail Free card he’d given me tucked into my wallet. I don’t know why I hang on to it, especially since he’d scrawled a mocking note on the back. I didn’t want to dwell too deeply on my motives. Liam was not an option. But Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, he was hot.

The sound of Liv’s voice yanked me back to reality. “I’ll call you in a couple of hours for a progress report, okay? Unless you find a lawyer before then. If so, we’ll talk sooner.”

I nodded. “I’m on it.”

The first thing I noticed when I stepped from the car was the querying eyes peering out from several of the neighboring condos. The second thing was the layer of grimy black fingerprint dust on my doorknob. Great. I’d probably be cited by the condo association for failure to maintain the exterior of my unit. Or worse, they could ask me to vacate. Stretching on tiptoes to reach up behind the light fixture above the door, I retrieved the emergency key I kept taped to the back. Turned out to be a wasted effort. The door wasn’t locked. I added that to my growing list of things to be pissed about.

My mood didn’t improve much when I opened the door only to be greeted by the smudged, bloody outlines of Jane’s footprints. Footprint, I mentally corrected. As if it mattered. In my mind’s eye, I could see the crime scene techs photographing the stains, their L-shaped rulers marking the size and context of the evidence.

I shivered as the reality continued to set in. My apartment was a crime scene. But I didn’t have the time to dwell on it. I needed to shower and dress so I could get to the office to notarize the POA and try to find a criminal attorney for Jane. I said a silent prayer that none of the Dane-Lieberman employees—specifically one of the partners—would be in the office. It was rare, but not unheard of, for one of them to drop in on a Sunday.

Apparently the blood evidence wasn’t the only focus of the crime scene people. The pashmina I’d draped around Jane was gone. And I could tell my things had been moved. The picture of Patrick and me on vacation in the Bahamas last year wasn’t in its usual place on top of my entertainment center.

As I put it back where it belonged, I fleetingly recalled the trip. Even though we’d gone on lots of weekend getaways, I’d kinda thought that particular Bahamas trip might lead to a proposal. That was thirteen months ago and I guess I might have said yes before he’d even finished asking the question. Now I wasn’t so sure. Which made no sense.

I decided my vacillation was a result of the unpleasant combination of insufficient caffeine and lack of sleep. I couldn’t do anything about the sleep deprivation or my possible Patrick issues, so I started a pot of Kenyan coffee. Instantly, my apartment filled with the tantalizing aroma as the dark, rich coffee dripped into the carafe of my brand-new DeLonghi coffeemaker. Okay, so “my” was a stretch. Technically, about ninety percent of it belonged to Visa, but I was making the minimum monthly payments. It, and the DVR, were anticipation-of-my-Christmas-bonus purchases. Now I felt more than a little guilty for maxing out my credit cards.

I’d feel like a better friend if I could contribute financially to freeing Jane. I wished I had more than eleven dollars and sixteen cents in my pitiful savings account. Hell, even selling everything I owned, I in all likelihood couldn’t help with the retainer a criminal attorney would demand. Mainly because I owned very little. I’m in debt up to my hairline. My car is leased, my condo is rented, and I basically live paycheck to paycheck.

It was a depressing thought that a twenty-nine-year-old woman couldn’t splurge on a really good attorney when she needed one. Luckily I was distracted by a knock at the door. It was my neighbor Sam. I adore him and we have a lot in common. We’ve both spent our adult lives hunting for the perfect man.

Sam’s expression was all scrunched with concern as he dramatically threw his arms around me and gave me a tight squeeze.

“Thank God you’re okay. I’ve been worried sick since I watched them put you in the back of the squad car. What on earth happened?”

I poured coffee for the two of us; then Sam followed me into my bedroom and sat on my bed while I turned on the shower and went to my closet to decide what to wear. I gave Sam a brief version of the events while I inventoried possibilities. Guilt hit me square in the chest. Here I was worried about my clothing options when Jane was undoubtedly wearing an ugly county-issue orange jumpsuit. “I’m a horrible person.”

“We know that,” Sam called from the bedroom. “So, did you see any hot guys in jail?”

“You’re a horrible person too.” Grabbing a gauzy white cotton skirt, I paired it with pink and lime-green tank tops I could layer. On my way between closet and bathroom, I shot Sam a nasty look. “Hot guys? You trolling for felons now? Just for the record, I wasn’t in jail, just interviewed.”

“So why the handcuffs?”

I walked into the bathroom, leaving the door ajar as I striped off my clothes and shoved them in the overflowing laundry basket. I considered tossing the boxers and the cami and I will, eventually. They’d forever be known as my jail jammies. Not very conducive to a good night’s sleep.

I showered quickly, washing my hair and accepting that I didn’t have time to properly blow-dry or flatiron it. Subjugating my vanity to help Jane was a no-brainer. With one towel securely twisted around my hair and another tucked around my still damp body, I did the magical “Mac face in five minutes” thing. I had enough of a tan—I know, bronze now, pay later—to forgo foundation, so I simply swiped a pinky peach blush on my cheeks and lids. A little mascara and some translucent rose gloss on my lips and I was set. In record time, I completed the transformation from pj-clad prison bitch to blond-haired, blue-eyed, cultured, casual, drop-by-the-office weekender chick.

After squeezing as much water as possible out of my shoulder-length hair, I ran a wide-tooth comb through it. A single spritz of Lulu Guinness perfume at my throat and I was done.

Sam, a consummate neat freak and talented interior decorator, had been busy. In the short time I’d left him alone, he’d refilled my coffee mug, made the bed, rearranged the symmetry of the items on my dresser, and draped a scarf over the bedside lamp. Oh, and the three throw pillows I’d just bought were nowhere in sight.

“I hate when you do that,” I said, completely comfortable wearing a towel in his presence. I knew full well that if Sam ever saw me naked, he’d critique my body and suggest various plastic surgeries. Well intentioned, of course. Just like his need to redecorate my room. He was into visual perfection and he’d probably find my body was on par with my decorating skills. Like I don’t already know that I’m entering the danger zone.

Things are starting to droop and sag. Thanks in large part to my addiction to Lucky Charms. At least I’m a purist—I eat them straight from the box and delude myself into believing I’m saving calories by nixing the milk. But, as usual, I digress.

“Those pillows were all wrong. Much too large. They overwhelmed the bed and the lime green was more yellow than the lime in your bedspread.” Sam laid on the bed, lacing his fingers behind his head, his eyes fixed—critically, I’m sure—on the ceiling fan.

I grabbed panties from my dresser—my irritation renewed when I realized someone had rifled through my undie drawer—and stepped into my walk-in closet and began dressing. That accomplished, I twisted my damp hair up to prevent it from soaking a big wet spot on my tops. I didn’t have a hope in hell of it drying while I made phone calls.

When I returned to the bedroom, Sam was still contemplating my fan. “You know, there’s a great lighting place in Boynton Beach.” He waved his hands around in small circles. “I’m seeing something bolder than that fan. Something with a little color that would anchor the room.” He looked over at me. “How is it you can have such impeccable taste in clothing and yet your home, your personal sanctuary, looks like a cross between yard sale and college dorm?”

This too was an ongoing lament. There was nothing soothing about having the same conversation over and over again with Sam. Very Groundhog Day–ish. “It’s a work in progress. Where are my pillows?”

“Under the bed next to that ugly Christmas wreath you insist on displaying for two weeks every December even though the ribbon desperately needs to be replaced.”

“My friend is in serious trouble. Do you think you could save your Extreme Apartment Makeover for another time?”

Sam had the good sense to look ashamed as he pushed off my bed. “What can I do?”

“Have any cash?”

“I’ve got an emergency hundred in my wallet.”

Sam had only recently struck out on his own, and while his decorating business was growing, I knew he was pouring all his money into the new venture.

He checked the diamond Bulova watch that was a gift from the cute brunette he’d dated last year. “I can swing by the ATM and see how much I have in my checking account. Will that help?”

“Everything will help,” I said, placing a kiss on his cheek. “The more I can borrow from friends means the less I have to beg from my mother.”

“You aren’t!” he exclaimed, clearly horrified.

“No choice. A criminal attorney is going to cost a small fortune and I want to make absolutely sure we have enough money to bail her out in the morning.”

“But you told me you’d gnaw off your tongue before you’d ask the Wicked Witch of the East for money. What about your sister?”

“See, this should tell you precisely how desperate I am. I can’t ask Lisa. I still owe her for the loan she gave me in April.”

Sam followed me through the living room to the kitchen. My ground-floor apartment was small, but the walk-out patio made it seem larger. Percentage-wise, I was much more likely to be robbed living on the ground floor, but I’d decided the patio was worth the risk. An eight-year-old could jimmy the lock on the sliding glass doors. An accomplished and/or determined thief would probably just do a smash and grab.

The message light was flashing on my machine. My body tensed with impending dread as I gulped the rest of the coffee. Sam must have sensed my fear because he said, “You knew she’d call. Your arrest was on the morning news like every fifteen minutes. Plus, she was doing drive-bys.”

My head whipped around. “What?”

“Well, either it was your mother or there’s another woman driving a white Rolls-Royce with a nasty little Yorkie in one of those pet seats. She was very stealthy, though. She circled the parking lot a few times wearing big, dark sunglasses with a scarf tied on to obscure a lot of her face. Very Jackie O, dodging paparazzi.”

“Great.”

“Oh, and Patrick called.”

“How do you know that?”

“You assigned a unique ring tone for him on your cell. I heard it when I came down earlier to see if you were back. I’m off to hit the bank. I’ll call you from there.”

“Thanks. Call my cell, okay? I’ve got to go to the office.”

“Will do.”

Yes, I’m a wuss. Instead of checking the messages on my home phone, I dug into the white, slightly irregular Dooney & Burke–logo purse I’d gotten on my last clandestine run to the Vero Beach Outlets. Unless you really looked, you didn’t notice that one tan handle was a little shorter than the other. Thanks to that small manufacturing defect, I’d scored the purse for under one-fifty, a major D&B discount.

Scrolling through the missed calls on my cell, I discovered that Patrick had called five times in the past three hours. I smiled halfheartedly. If he really, really loved me, he would have shown up at the police station, right? Maybe not. Patrick was very considerate about my personal space. Besides, I hadn’t called him. Did that mean that I didn’t really, really love him? Had I wasted the last two years on a relationship with no future?

Patrick had all the qualities I was looking for in a man. All save for one. The initial physical spark had kind of fizzled. But I’d read in Cosmo that that was pretty normal. Something about greedy lust being replaced by comfort and security the longer two people were together. That was probably it. I was comfortable with Patrick and God knew he treated me well. But secretly, I longed for passion with a capital P, underlined in red and italicized. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt the tingle of excitement in the pit of my stomach. Or anywhere else for that matter.

Well, that was a lie. I do remember it.

It happened a couple of months ago when Liam McGarrity walked into my office and shook my hand for the first time. Zing.

I closed my eyes briefly and dismissed all thoughts of Liam. Sucking in a deep breath, I pressed the Redial button. Patrick picked up on the second ring.

“Fin, honey, I’ve been worried.”

He sounded so sincere that I felt more like a creep for replaying the Liam moment in my head. My guilt was so palpable that I was certain I was sending out a telepathic confession that bounced from cell tower to cell tower.

“I’m fine.”

“You can’t be fine,” he insisted. “I saw the footage. What happened?”

I told him the sordid tale, finishing with, “So I’ve got a tight window to raise some cash.”

“I can help with the cash,” Patrick offered without hesitation, tugging at my heart. “I can get my hands on three, maybe four grand by tomorrow. Just tell me you won’t do anything wacko like doing your own little investigation. Yes, you had some measure of success on that Hall thing, but you also nearly got yourself killed in the process. You’re Finley Tanner, not Jessica Fletcher.”

Three or four grand.

He didn’t ask me to promise about the investigating thing, so I didn’t feel bad about not doing so. But I crossed my fingers behind my back just in case the promise was implied despite my nonanswer. Those gods could be tricky.

Three or four grand. Three or four grand. I kept repeating that over and over. I needed the money more than I needed to comment on the dismissive way I’d taken his remark. Besides, he was right. I had gotten in way over my head in the Hall thing and had almost been killed. Patrick was just expressing concern for my safety, not diminishing me. That was my mother’s domain. We agreed that I’d call him as soon as I knew the who and how much.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come over?”

“Thanks, no, I’ve got a lot of calls to make and I’ve got some stuff to do at the office.” Investigating? Until that moment it hadn’t even dawned on me that I could look into a few things. I knew the details of the date and I had a key to Jane’s place. Wouldn’t hurt to gather some preliminary information for the as-yet-secured attorney and might just give me some leverage in the hiring process.

“Fin?” Patrick prompted.

“Sorry. No, thanks. I’m fine and I know you just got back last night. How was your trip?”

“Uneventful. I got you presents.”

“Thank you. Do I get a hint?” Patrick always brought me thoughtful gifts from the cities he visited for work.

“Sex on the beach.”

“Ah, peach schnapps, vodka, cranberry juice, orange juice, and pineapple juice?”

“Not the cocktail,” he said, his voice tinged with amusement. “Think black and red.”

“A sunburned zebra?”

“Lousy guesses, Fin. You’re slipping. I can swing by FedEx and get them to cash a check. I’ll bring you the money and then take you out for dinner. You can probably use the diversion.”

He was so sweet. How could I even think of dumping him? How stupid would that be?

After thanking him and agreeing to dinner at seven o’clock, I paused for a minute to steel myself before I called my mother. Every muscle in my body tensed as I punched her number and waited for the connection. Three rings, four rings; then her machine picked up.

“I apologize but I’m unavailable right now. Please leave a message at the tone.”

Beep.

“Uh, Mom, it’s Finley. I guess you saw the news this morning and, well, I need—”

Click.

“Finley Anderson Tanner,” my mother cut in, using the tone a parent uses on an errant four-year-old. I had various visceral reactions to the various disapproving tones my mother used on me. This one crawled down my back like a particularly nasty black spider. I was going to have to buck up. I was going to have to beg the spider for a hefty chunk of change.

She’d probably do more than crawl up and down my back. Knowing my mother, she’d want her pound of flesh. Which was mixing metaphors, but that was my mother. A mixed bag of unpleasant metaphors.

“You were screening?” I practically choked.

“Of course. Do you have any idea how many of my friends were tuned to Channel 5? My phone has been ringing nonstop. You can’t imagine how distressing this morning has been.”

“My morning wasn’t all that great either.” I winced. Now was so not the time for sarcasm. Unfortunately, my mother had a unique ability to bring out the worst in me. Which under normal circumstances was okay, since I brought out the worst in her. I figure that makes it pretty much of a wash. But today was a long way from normal.

“What have you gotten yourself into now? And what on earth were you wearing? Your hair wasn’t even combed. You looked absolutely dreadful.”

“I was caught a little off guard.” A little off guard? I admired my own subtlety.

“Without a brush or a proper negligee? What happened to the satin lilac one I gave you for your birthday?”

It’s in the top of my closet with the other lilac things you insist on buying me even though I look like an autopsy photo in lilac. “It’s so…lovely I save it for special occasions.”

“I think an arrest would qualify as a special occasion. What happens if the St. Johns get wind of this? The wedding is ninety-one days away and now is not the time to upset them.”

“I won’t tell them if you don’t.”

“Do not get flippant with me. I’ve already had to cancel the Junior League luncheon today because of your antics. What were you thinking, Finley! How could you become involved in the murder and mutilation of a man?”

Like the murder and mutilation of a woman would have been okay? “I’m not involved,” I said, striving for an even tone. “My friend Jane is.”

“Then you need a better caliber of friends.” I could just imagine her tattooed eyebrows trying to squeeze through the Botox into a frown. “I think you should do everything possible to extricate yourself from this mess expediently.”

Ease into it. “It will all go away as soon as Jane is cleared. You remember Jane. You liked her.”

“That was before she was accused of cutting off a man’s…his…”

“Penis?” God, why were those two syllables so difficult for people to say? “At any rate, once Jane has a proper attorney, she’ll be released on bail and I’m sure she’ll be cleared in no time.”

“For everyone’s sake, I hope that’s true.”

“I’m glad you feel that way.” I took a deep breath. “An attorney and bail are expensive and I don’t have any cash. I’m not saying I need money right now, but just in case, will you help me?”

There was a deadly silence that didn’t bode well. My mother won the battle; I cracked after sixty seconds. “I wouldn’t ask but Jane is a dear friend and you just said that the best possible course of action was to get this over with quickly.”

“I don’t recall offering to pay for it. Really, Finley. You’re almost thirty years old and you don’t have any money saved?”

“It’s on my to-do list.” I grimaced while a neon sign flashed “Wrong Answer” in my head.

“That’s your problem. The minute I got into the musicians’ union, I signed up for the pension plan. Your sister, who is nearly five years your junior, has a 401K and an IRA. Granted, my pension is small, but at least I understood the value of saving and of maximizing my earning potential. You’ve chosen to be a secretary.”

She said it as if “secretary” and “serial killer” were synonymous. I badly wanted to say, “Never mind, forget I asked,” but my pride wasn’t going to help get Jane a good attorney. “I’m a para—” Don’t go there. “Mom, will you help me if it comes to that?”

“How much?”

“I don’t know. Maybe nothing, maybe a lot. Or, whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“How do you plan to repay this money? If I decide to help you.”

I felt a small flicker of hope. She hadn’t said yes but she hadn’t said no either. “I’ll, um, make monthly payments.”

“Are you willing to sign a note?”

Absolutely. So long as it says, “Screw you for making me grovel,” in big, bold letters. “Whatever you want.”

“I’ll speak to my financial adviser and call you back.”

“I’m in a bit of a time crunch here.”

“Do you want the money or not, Finley?”

That big black spider was now crawling up my ass, but I managed to say politely, “Thank you for your generosity.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Any chance your divorce lawyer has an in with any of these criminal attorneys?” I read off the list provided by Becky.

Her industrial-strength Botox must be fighting the good fight against the weight of her attempted frowns today. “So you want me to have my attorney vet these names for you as well? Am I going to do everything?”

No, just two things. And I’ll be paying for them for the rest of my natural life. “I would appreciate any help. As I said, time is an issue.”

“You work for a gaggle of lawyers. They can’t help you?”

“My firm doesn’t do criminal stuff.”

“It isn’t your firm, Finley. You’re an employee.”

The spider was eating my liver. Slowly, I repeated myself in my most humble tone. “The firm I work for doesn’t do criminal work.”

“I won’t make any promises, but I’ll see what I can do.”

I thanked her and hung up feeling like I’d gone all fifteen rounds in a prize fight. And lost. Deep down she was a good person. It was just hard to remember that fact when she wrapped everything in a blanket of disapproval.

With funding in the works, I needed to get to the office and touch base with Liv. I called Concierge Plus and got a busy signal. Which was weird since I knew they had four phone lines, so I tried her cell.

“I’ve got my loan officer on hold, he’s crunching numbers to see how much I can pull out of the company and my house. I’ve got the Mercedes dealer on another line, trying to negotiate a decent buy-back price for my car. I’ve got concerned clients calling for reassurance and five more messages from Shaylyn Kidwell and Zack Davis.”

“Sorry.”

“Forget them, we’ve got to focus on Jane.”

I told her that both Patrick and Sam were willing to contribute money to the cause. Then I sucked in a deep breath, let it out, and said, “My mother will probably come through with some money.” My call waiting signal beeped, cutting Liv’s words into undecipherable syllables. I ignored the incoming call. “Say that again.”

“You called your mother? Finley, are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“She’s got it and—” The call waiting cut me off again. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Got it. We should—”

“I’d better take this,” I said apologetically. “It might be Patrick or Sam.”

“We’ll touch base soon,” Liv said. “Bye.”

I tapped the Flash button to switch calls and practically growled into the phone. “Yes? What?”

“I’m guessing by your tone that handcuffs don’t agree with you.”

Liam’s deep voice resonated through my entire body. “You saw the news?”

“Everyone saw the news. Nice robe, by the way.”

“Did you call to mock me or do you have a point?”

“I called to offer my services.”

That stunned me stupid but I recovered nicely. “That’s fabulous. Really. Jane didn’t do it.”

“I don’t really care whether she did or not.”

“Then why are you offering to help?”

“I’m a sucker for a challenge. But you already know that.”

It would help my composure if I wasn’t picturing him gloriously naked in my mind. He had that kind of voice that dripped with sensuality without the slightest effort on his part. While I didn’t want or need a distraction, a P.I. would be a great addition to the Free Jane Team.

“Finley? You there?”

“Yeah, I was just…” I stopped talking and started shuffling papers around on the countertop. He didn’t have to know the papers were takeout menus. “Thank you. Can you meet me at my office? I’ll fill you in on the details and then we can decide on the best plan of attack.” Something, please, God, more appropriate than my overwhelming desire to jump your bones. The image of his gloriously naked body was burned into my brain.

“Sure, whatever you need.”

Sex. Lots of sex. “This is really nice of you.”

“And it gets better.”

Naked. Naked. Naked. Stop it! “How?”

“Because Jane’s a friend of yours, I’m even willing to cut my fee in half.”

Prick. Prick. Prick.