Somebody's Lady Read online

  "Thursday afternoon."

  "Does her family have any money?"

  "To pay for a murder defense?" Zachary didn't try to temper his skepticism. After seeing her firm's offices, the issue of money seemed a petty one.

  "To pay her bail, on the off-chance that the judge grants it."

  "No, the Morrises don't have any money." Ignoring the food in front of him, he rested his arms on the table and asked once more, "Are you going to take her case?"

  "There are a dozen reasons why I shouldn't."

  "Because it will be controversial."

  "To say the least."

  "And expensive."

  Beth nodded.

  "And you're not totally sure Carrie should go unpunished." He knew that was the most important objection, the strongest one. She couldn't commit herself. She couldn't say yes, even though Carrie had murdered an unarmed, sleeping, defenseless man, she should go free. Yes, she should be given the chance—the same chance she had chosen to deny Del—to live the rest of her life as she pleased.

  "I believe in self-defense," Beth said slowly. "But I don't believe in disguising murder as self-defense."

  "You're not the judge and jury, Beth," he said mildly. "Your job is to provide your client with the best defense you're capable of presenting. It's not up to you to determine guilt or innocence, and even if it was, even the guilty have the right to a fair trial."

  She fixed her gaze on him. "Why did you bring this to me?"

  "Because you're one of the best lawyers in the state. Because you represented Sarah when she couldn't afford anyone's help. Because you're the only lawyer I know in the city." He broke off then and grinned as he gave her the last reason. "And because I wanted to see you again."

  For a moment her gaze remained locked with his. He saw faint surprise at his last remark, and an even fainter hint of feminine interest that was overshadowed by caution. Then she looked away, pushed her chair back from the table and rose gracefully to her feet. "I need time to think about this," she said, her manner thoroughly professional. "I'll let you know by this evening."

  He stood up, too, dropping his napkin on his chair. "And if the answer is no?"

  "I know all the criminal lawyers in town. I'll help you find someone else."

  It was the best she could give him, he thought as he followed her out, so he might as well accept it gracefully. He couldn't blame her for being reluctant. There was a lot to consider here. The cost of a murder defense could easily exceed two hundred thousand dollars. She had to consult her partners; that was one of the responsibilities she'd taken on when she had accepted the partnership. And even though she didn't have to believe in a client's innocence to present a good defense, it would certainly help, especially in a case like this one.

  They stopped on the sidewalk outside the restaurant. It was a few blocks in one direction to Beth's office, a few blocks in another to his truck.

  "Are you going back to Sweetwater today?"

  He shoved his hands into his pockets. "I'm meeting Carrie's parents when they come to pick up her kids, then I'm going home."

  "I'll call you around seven." She hesitated a moment longer, simply looking at him, then turned and walked away.

  Zachary watched until she was out of sight. Then, slowly becoming aware of the chill and the passage of time, he spun around and headed for his truck. It was time to meet the Morrises and their grandchildren.

  * * *

  The Lewis children were four of the most somber kids Zachary had ever seen. There was a brief flash of pleasure in the little ones' eyes when they recognized their grandmother, but it quickly faded. The three-year-old clung to his older sister while his brother clutched a handful of her sweater, and they were all fiercely guarded by fourteen-year-old Tyler.

  The younger three were mostly afraid, and Zachary figured they would come out of it once they realized they were safe at their grandparents' house. Tyler was afraid, too, but he was also filled with anger, the cold, destructive kind that could last forever. He was a good-looking kid, in spite of his painful thinness and the bruises that shadowed his cheek and jaw. A recent gift from his father, Zachary thought grimly. He must have tried to help his mother or to protect his brothers and sister. What an overwhelming responsibility for a fourteen-year-old boy.

  Crying softly, Ruth hugged each of the children, including Tyler. He didn't shy away, but he remained stiff and unyielding in her arms, and his eyes were empty of all emotion but bitterness—and rage.

  "Look at his face," Dutch said, moving close to Zachary so he could speak softly. "Look what that bastard did to him. I always figured there must be a special place in hell for people who hurt their kids. I hope Del's burning there now."

  Zachary murmured his agreement.

  "Have you found a lawyer for Carrie yet?"

  "I'm working on it. I should have an answer tonight."

  Dutch's voice was uncharacteristically emotional when he asked, "How is my girl?"

  "She's still pretty shaken by what happened, but she'll be all right." He picked up his coat from the chair behind him, then looked at the older man once again. "Why don't you take the kids home and get them settled in? I'll get in touch with you as soon as I hear anything."

  Dutch took his hand in a bruising grip. "Thanks, Zachary. Thanks so much."

  * * *

  The sky was dark, and the few stars that shone were no match for the brilliance of the city lights. It wasn't like that out in Sweetwater, Beth thought somberly. If Zachary was looking out right now, he was seeing the same black sky dotted with hundreds of distant stars, each separate and distinct from its neighbors.

  Zachary. She had promised to call him with her decision around seven o'clock. It was ten after now, and she still didn't have an answer. It rarely took her more than a few minutes to make up her mind about a case. Her choices were usually clear-cut: yes, she could defend this client, or no, she couldn't.

  But there was nothing clear-cut about Carrie Lewis's case. The very definition of self defense ruled it out as a defense in this case. How could Carrie have been in fear for her life at that time when the man who so terrified her was sound asleep? What harm could he have done her then?

  And so Beth had spent the afternoon in the firm's library, combing the law books for precedents, reading about similar cases in California, Texas, Colorado, North Dakota—the list went on. She had gained a more in-depth understanding of battered woman syndrome and had begun to understand the reasoning that had led courts to accept the syndrome as a defense, to place the victim in the role of villain, responsible for his own death.

  But she still wasn't convinced that what Carrie had done was right. She wasn't convinced that it was self-defense. She wasn't convinced that it was justified.

  Sighing, she reached for the phone on her desk, punching in Zachary's home phone number. She knew as the first ring sounded in her ear what her answer would be. In the end it was simple enough. As Zachary had reminded her, it wasn't her job to judge Carrie's guilt or innocence. All an attorney was obligated to do was provide the best defense possible, and she, better than any other lawyer in town, could do that.

  When he answered on the third ring, she didn't bother to identify herself. "The next time you want to see me, just pick up the phone and call. Don't go looking for some impossible case for me to take on."

  "I take it that means you're going to represent Carrie." He sounded amused and more than a little relieved. That was another reason she'd said yes, she silently acknowledged. She hadn't wanted him to think that she chose her clients on the basis of their bank accounts rather than their needs. She hadn't wanted him to believe that her sense of justice and fair play had been warped by the money.

  "Yes, I'm going to represent her," she replied, her ambivalence audible in her voice. "Even though I have a full schedule of paying clients. Even though the partners abhor anything sensational or controversial, and this case is going to be both. Even though they'll probably want to buy out my part
nership when I tell them that I'm going to tie up most of my staff for God knows how long on research and interviews on a case I'm handling for free."

  "Let me help," Zachary offered.

  Beth saw her hand tremble slightly at his suggestion, matching the fluttery feelings in the pit of her stomach. Hunger, she told herself as she slowly, deliberately folded her fingers into a tight ball. It had been a long time since lunch. "Help in what way?" she asked cautiously.

  "I told you that I'm willing to learn. Research isn't one of my favorite jobs, but I can do it, and I know I can conduct interviews as well as any junior attorney in your firm."

  She forced herself to consider his offer. It would certainly make the partners happier if she could tell them that a major portion of the work was being handled at no cost to the firm. But did she want to work that closely with Zachary?

  No. She'd had no problem deciding after Sarah's wedding that she couldn't go out with him because he was so different from the men she normally dated. Wouldn't working with him for weeks at a time be almost as bad as dating him? Their differences still stood between them, and so did their attraction. She had been pleased to see him this morning, disappointed to discover that it was business that had brought him to her office. She had been all too aware of how handsome he was, how charmingly he smiled, and how sincere and real he seemed.

  Considering all that, how could she let herself even think about working with him?

  "I thought you offered this case to me because you couldn't afford it?" she asked, keeping her voice coolly neutral.

  "I can't. But I can afford to spend a few days a week in the city. I can help cut your costs by doing some of the work myself. You won't be saving a lot, but maybe it will be enough to satisfy your partners."

  "Have you ever worked for a woman?" Was she actually considering his offer? she silently moaned. Wasn't it enough that she'd taken this case, that she was giving up the next few months of her life to help out his friends' daughter? Did she have to take him on, too?

  "I've followed orders from my mother and my grandmother all my life," he replied with a chuckle. "I don't have any problems with that, Beth. If it's my ability as a lawyer that concerns you—"

  Pressing her fingertips to her temples, she interrupted him. "No, not at all." Her dealings with him on Sarah's behalf had been extensive enough that she knew he was more than competent. Some people might be fooled because he practiced small-town law, but she knew that was his choice. If he'd wanted to work in the city, he could have.

  He had brought the case to her attention. He was largely responsible for her taking it. And any help that would minimize the firm's losses would be greatly appreciated by the partners. And he was a good attorney, willing to work hard for nothing more than the learning experience.

  They were both professionals. Working with him didn't mean getting involved with him. She worked with male attorneys all the time without ever getting personal … though none as handsome as Zachary. None who tempted her to forget everything she'd ever learned, everything she'd ever promised herself, everything she'd sworn she would never do.

  She heard her voice, heard the faint echo of the words as they passed through the telephone lines, and wondered dimly how her mouth could form words without the knowledge of her brain. Surely she wasn't agreeing to this. Even if it was sensible. Even if it was the most prudent course of action.

  But she had agreed. She'd heard the words clearly.

  "All right. When can you come back to Nashville?"

  * * *

  Zachary compressed the rest of the week's work into one morning, then headed back to Nashville Wednesday afternoon. He had a suitcase in the back of his Jeep Cherokee, packed with his usual attire—jeans and comfortable shirts—plus the one suit he owned. He might not need it, but, on the other hand, it never hurt to be prepared.

  Beth hadn't been too happy about accepting his help on this case, and on the return trip he allowed himself to wonder why. Because she knew his education and previous track record didn't begin to measure up to her own? Because she didn't want the added complication of teaching a relatively inexperienced lawyer? Because she didn't want anyone's input but her own?

  Or maybe it was something personal. Maybe she disliked him and didn't look forward to spending time with him, not even working. Or maybe, as he'd once told Sarah Ryan, Beth disliked men in general. Sarah had suggested that perhaps it was because Beth handled a lot of divorces; too often she saw the darker side of men. And now she was going to be spending her days thoroughly examining Carrie's relationship with one of the most brutal and vicious men Zachary had ever come across.

  Well, if nothing came of this but a better understanding of how a brilliant lawyer operated, he would be satisfied. If he gained Beth's friendship, he would be lucky. And if he somehow managed to earn her trust…

  Laughing aloud at his optimism, he left the freeway and pulled into the parking lot of a popular budget motel. It took him less than five minutes to fill out the registration card and get his key, and another five minutes to hang his clothing on the bar beside the sink. Then it was back to his truck, back onto the freeway and downtown to Beth's firm.

  The stern-faced secretary escorted him to Beth's office, announcing him in a formal manner that made him uncomfortable. The only secretary he'd ever had was his younger sister, and she'd been more likely to announce a client with a yell through the open door. She'd made mistakes in her typing and hadn't been particularly picky about her filing system, but he'd been comfortable with her. The ever-efficient Mrs. Taylor would intimidate him right out of business.

  Beth was on the phone, but she gestured toward one of the chairs. Instead, he took advantage of her busyness to look around her office.

  Yesterday he'd been—all right, admit it, he teased himself—awed by the books that lined the shelves. He could practice law the rest of his life and never need anything that wasn't contained in those rows of law books and reviews and codes. She had a not-so-small fortune tied up in those alone, to say nothing of the furnishings.

  The desk, credenza, file cabinets and tables were all teak, gleaming and sleek, with graceful curves and clean lines. The chairs and the sofa in the corner were also sleek and graceful, and the desk chair was undoubtedly fine-grain leather. A blown-glass decanter filled with what he assumed was some expensive brand of aged whiskey sat on one table, along with a half-dozen fragile matching glasses.

  Above the table was a portrait of a woman, undoubtedly one of Beth's relatives. The resemblance between them was strong—the fiery red hair, the green eyes, the porcelain skin, the stubborn jaw. But what added up merely to character for the woman in the portrait had become beauty in Beth. The woman's strength was in Beth, but toned down, gentler. Beth had inherited the passion, too, but it was harnessed, under tight control. He wondered idly if she ever released it, if it was reserved solely for her work rather than her personal life, if he could ever coax a bit of it out of her for himself.

  "That's my great-grandmother, Althea Townsend."

  He turned and saw that she had finished her phone call and was watching him from across the room. "Townsend, huh? As in the Townsends who once owned most of Nashville, half of Tennessee and about a third of the South?"

  "That's us."

  He finally accepted her offer of a seat. "Then that means you're also part of the Gibsons who owned everything the Townsends didn't."

  She nodded.

  He had known from the first time he'd seen her that she came from money. A person had to be born to the kind of sophistication, elegance and class that came so naturally to her. But he hadn't suspected she came from that kind of money. From Townsend money. From those Gibsons. No wonder she'd been the youngest partner in the history of this old and prestigious firm. Even if she were totally inept as a lawyer, her family name and money could have bought her any position she wanted.

  "Does that make a difference?" she asked, sounding more than a little cautious.

  D
id it? he wondered. Now that he knew her family could buy and sell small nations if they wanted, did it change his opinion of her? Did it make him think less of her skills as a lawyer? Did it make him more reluctant to think about her in terms of a relationship, desire, sex?

  "I don't know why it should," he remarked with a shrug. "You're the same person I thought you were yesterday, only richer."

  "The family's got the money. I manage on my income."

  "Does it make a difference to most people?"

  She laced her fingers loosely. "Of course. I spent my first five years here at the firm trying to prove to everyone that I was getting by on ability and not the family name. I've spent most of my life trying to judge people's motives for wanting to be friends with me. Do they like me for myself, or for my name or my money?"

  "That's an easy way to become cynical."

  Beth smiled dryly. She'd been cynical about most things for longer than she could remember. Her grandparents had made her cynical of marriage, her parents, of love. Her friends had made her question loyalty, her one and only great love had taught her to doubt trust, and her clients had given her a pessimistic view of honesty.

  What could Zachary teach her?

  She'd thought about him too much after their phone conversation last night. When she should have been concentrating on briefs and opening statements and giving her clients their money's worth, instead her mind had been on him. She had agonized over whether letting him in on this case had been a mistake. She had drawn on every ounce of professionalism she possessed to prepare herself to deal with him today.

  And she had wondered almost wistfully why he had never called her after Sarah's wedding, why he had never made an effort to see her.

  Wistfully. She hadn't been wistful about anything since she was eight years old and had cowered in her closet, hands over her ears to shut out the screams and crashes coming from her parents' bedroom during yet another of their spectacular disagreements. She had longed for parents who didn't despise each other, for a home that wasn't rocked by anger, jealousy and rage, for the nighttime peace that she imagined other children enjoyed, that she all too often hadn't found in her own home.