Make Mine Mystery, so if you wish you can hop over there and read that one first, but don't forget to come back here.
Here it is -
â€śThat son of a bitch.â€ť Dade heaved Jensenâ€™s book onto the chair in his office. It bounced off the black leather edge and landed open on the floor.
He glared at the offending present. His partner wouldnâ€™t admit it, but the mystery writer was after her. Danger rang loud and clear in Jensenâ€™s autograph.
When it came to book smarts, Julie ranked high in her class. Unfortunately, she was a kindergartener around guys and would be easy pickings. She didnâ€™t realize how sexy she looked with her wispy blonde hair, long legs and kissable mouth.
â€śHe wonâ€™t get away with it,â€ť Dade muttered.
Since grammar school, heâ€™d acted as Julieâ€™s protector, steering the scum away from her, as well as his sister, Avery, another looker. Only the few and the brave had dared approach them.
Avery had recently found her soul-mate, a fellow reporter. Dade wanted that for Julie, but his gut told him Jensen wasnâ€™t the one.
â€śRadisonâ€™s on line five,â€ť Nora Hampton, his efficient secretary, cut in on the intercom. He glanced at the digital clock on the phone. Half past eight, the start of the office day.
â€śGet rid of him. Hold my calls.â€ť
â€śWhatever you say, Mr. Donovan.â€ť
He gritted his teeth and jammed the files into his briefcase. Three trials ahead and every one of them a mountain to climb on bare feet. Well, that suited him just fine. He was itching for a good fight. Watch out world.
Julie turned as she was heading out the door. â€śCome on, birthday boy. Get moving.â€ť
He took in her appearance with approval. Her flyaway blonde hair made her look fragile, but that was a facade. The true indicator proved to be her navy blue suit, with the crisp white blouse turned back at the neck.
A Madonna-like smile lit up her face, but this Madonna balanced a briefcase, not a baby. A twinge of guilt hit him. Maybe he had protected her too well. Julie was thirty. By her age, many women were married with kids instead of facing a daily work grind, carrying heavy case loads and wearing power suits.
As they stepped into the elevator, she flashed him a nervous smile. He squeezed Julieâ€™s free hand to reassure her. He wished he could rid her of her claustrophobia, but that battle she must face alone.
They darted into the modern octagonal shaped glass building known as the Thompson Center. As usual, Julie bit her lip as the elevator sped upward to the eighth floor. Once at the Illinois Workersâ€™ Compensation Commission, attorneys milled about the open area, networking and exchanging rumors and sports scores. As they headed toward their respective hearing rooms, the slim-mustached Barabat, in a tailored gray suit, brushed past Dade and Julie with a perfunctory remark. â€śWell if it isnâ€™t Dade the Devil and his Avenging Angel.â€ť
â€śYour ass is grass, dude,â€ť Dade hissed back. â€śYou donâ€™t have a leg to stand on.â€ť
Julie flashed a stern look. â€śI can fight my own battles, thank you. The counselor will learn his lesson soon enough.â€ť
Dade smiled widely. â€śYouâ€™re so right.â€ť
They stopped at the door to one of the small courtrooms. Dade wished he could join Julie inside, but only in Display Comments Add a Comment