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A mazing how a good night's sleep doesn't do a darn thing for you when you're about to go to court on your first criminal case. I stuffed papers in my briefcase, trying to remember if we'd confirmed with Bear more than once that he'd meet me at the courthouse. I had the feeling he was a guy who needed multiple reminders.

Max, sitting across from my desk, whistled. "Pop! Here's a million dollars? Just like that, before discovery even starts?" She shook her head. "Something smells fishy about that. Do you think they've already found out that BDC screwed up somewhere in production?"

"I don't know what it is. All I know is that Charlie said no way, even before I explained why he shouldn't take it. He's afraid that they're using the confidentiality agreement to get out of taking the blame for what they did. I can't say that I disagree with him."

"So I should start sending medical records out to your experts?" Max started making notes.

"Yes, please get the copying going on that. It's going to be a massive project. Also, let's follow up with Mrs. Zivkovich and see if my cease and desist letter worked on her son-in-law. If not, let's go for the restraining order."

"Okay, med records copy nightmare; see if slimeball backed off. Got it. I'll also follow up on the work we're doing for our various pro bono clients and ask Mr. Ellison to create files for our new clients from yesterday. Is that it?"

I stopped rushing around for a moment and stood perfectly still, mentally running through my to-do list. "That's it."

She sighed and stood up. Today's outfit was a champagne-colored silk dress that looked killer on her. I looked down at my dull blue suit and sighed. "You know what we need, don't you?"

"What?" I said glumly, feeling like the ugly duckling.

"Another lawyer. If you hired an associate, you wouldn't be running in fifty directions at once."

I tried not to laugh hysterically. "Right. If I hired an associate with what money, exactly? My savings are disappearing fast. I won't be able to afford you in another twelve weeks."

"Things always work out, D. You wait and see."

Much more waiting-and-seeing, and I'd be waiting-and-seeing in bankruptcy court. Too bad. I wouldn't be able to afford an engagement present for Mike and Brenda.

W hen I slipped into the back of the courtroom, one of the hottest guys I'd seen inside of a courtroom in . . . well, ever , was standing before the judge. He looked like an actor or a model or – well, anything but a lawyer. I wasted a few happy moments admiring the wavy blond hair and, when he turned around, the terrific cheekbones and gorgeous blue eyes.

He didn't look bad in a suit, either.

Stuffing my overactive libido firmly back down where it belonged, in repression and denial-land, I opened my file on the hearing. Then I scanned the rows of people, but Bear wasn't there yet, so I read over my notes for the thirtieth time since I'd woken up with butterflies the size of law books in my stomach.

Why had I ever agreed to do this? Sometimes good intentions can overcome good sense, as Dad used to say.

"First offense, first offense, first offense," I muttered to myself. A shadow fell across my notes, and I looked up. The calendar model-turned-lawyer was standing there, smiling down at me, and he looked even better up close and personal.

I'm guessing it's your first offense," he said, still smiling.

"No! I mean, yes, but no. I mean, it's Mr. Anderson's first offense, not mine. I've had lots." I was babbling. I could tell, but the words just kept on coming. "Not lots of offenses, lots of clients. Just not criminal clients."

His smile had changed into a full-on grin. "Judge Bertels is taking a short recess. Would you like to get a cup of coffee and tell me all about it?"

Luckily, Bear walked in right then and saved me from fumbling around to answer. My magic "client is in the room, December morphs into competent attorney" talent kicked in to save me. "Thank you, but I see my client. Perhaps another time," I said coolly, standing up to greet Bear.

A grin quirked at the edge of pretty boy's lips, and he pulled a business card case out of his pocket and handed a card to me. "Matt Falcon. Since I have to wait for the pleasure, let's make it lunch instead. Heightened anticipation and all that," he said.

"December Vaughn," I said, holding my hand out to shake his and making a mental note to check on the status of my business cards. Suddenly, I fiercely missed the good old days when business cards magically appeared in my in-box, and toilet paper magically appeared in the office bathroom.

"If you'll excuse me, Mr. Falcon?—"

"Call me Matt, since we're going to be friends." He nodded to me and walked down the aisle toward the courtroom door, passing Bear on the way. I never even peeked to see if Matt "I'm too smooth for my shoes" Falcon had a great butt or not. (He did.)

"Bear! I'm so glad you're on time. The judge is taking a break, and our case hasn't been called yet, but we should be soon. You look really nice." He'd tamed his bushy red hair, which looked damp, and trimmed his beard. Somehow, he'd even found a suit to fit his enormous girth.

I held out my hand to shake his, but he moved right past it and gave me a hug. I was so shocked, I just stood there, speechless.

Nobody ever hugged me when I did corporate work.

He let go and stepped back, biting his lip. "I'm so glad to see you, Ms. Vaughn. I told Grandma that if anybody could get me out of this mess, it was you. She can't wait to meet you," he whispered, looking around as if somebody might be waiting to handcuff him any second.

"It's okay. We're going to be fine. I talked to—" I broke off as I saw the bailiff come back into the room.

"All rise for the Honorable Judge Bernard Bertels. Court is now in session."

We all rose as the judge entered the courtroom from the narrow door which led back to his chambers. As he seated himself behind the bench, his judicial assistant handed him some papers and spoke to him in a low voice. The judge was a serious-looking man in his mid-fifties, maybe, with iron-gray hair and warm brown skin. His robe was so crisp and starched it seemed to crackle.

I motioned to Bear down to sit next to me on the hard wooden pew-like seat. No sooner had our bottoms hit the wood than the bailiff was calling out the next case. "Buford Anderson."

More nervous than I ever remembered being in court before, I stood up and started forward, then realized Bear hadn't moved. He was staring at the judge with terrified eyes. I walked back and grabbed his arm, then dragged him up off the bench.

Well, as much as I could drag a seven-foot-tall man. He got the point, though, and followed me up the aisle. We walked to the table, and the bailiff made a sort of hissing noise and pointed to the other table. I tried to pretend I'd been heading there in the first place, which fooled nobody, if the amusement on the judge's face and the disbelief on the JA's face were anything to go by.

A slender, ferret-faced man rushed up and stood behind the other table. "Your Honor," he said.

The judge nodded. "Counselor."

Then he turned to look at me again. "I don't believe I know you, Counselor. You are?"

I swallowed the lump in my throat, getting angry at myself. I wasn't some first-year baby lawyer. I'd been in hundreds of courtrooms in the past eight years. Standing a little straighter, I nodded elegantly. "I've not had the pleasure, Your Honor. December Vaughn for Mr. Anderson."

Judge Bertels narrowed his eyes. "Vaughn? The same Vaughn who was in the paper recently?"

Now would be a great time for that hole in the floor to open up.

I lifted my chin. "Yes, Your Honor. And no, Your Honor. Yes, I am that Vaughn, and no, I am not a whacked-out Yankee junkie lawyer come down to wreak havoc south of the Mason-Dixon Line. Whatever the Mason-Dixon Line is. Your Honor."

He grinned. "You don't look much like a junkie to me, Counselor, and you'll find I make my own judgments. Welcome to the Claymore County Bar. Now if we could proceed?"

Ferret face started to talk, but, bolstered by the fervor of the persecuted, I promptly forgot everything Jim Thies had told me and cut in. Bear was special, and I needed to make the judge see it. "If I could make a brief statement, if it please the Court?"

The judge looked at the prosecutor, who twisted his face up in a grimace, but shrugged.

Judge Bertels leaned back in his chair. "Well, this is unusual, but go ahead, Ms. Vaughn."

"Thank you." I took a deep breath and tried not to shift from foot to foot. "Your Honor, this country has a long tradition of recognizing and applauding differences among our citizens. In fact, the Founding Fathers worked on the principle that we were all unique and had the right to be free of oppression. If?—"

"Counselor."

"—you look at?—"

"Counselor!"

"Um, yes, Your Honor?"

"It's my understanding that the Founding Fathers worked on the principle that we deserved to be free from oppressive taxation by a king who wouldn't allow us representation in Parliament. Am I wrong?"

"Well, no, sir, but?—"

"And the . . . what was it you said? Oh, right? 'Unique.' The unique Founding Fathers were all wealthy white men who owned land?" asked the judge, whose ancestors hadn't been among that group any more than my own poor Irish forebears had been.

"Well, yes, sir, but—" Despite the frigid air conditioning, I was sweating. I snuck a glance at the prosecutor, and he'd dropped his papers and was staring at me, openmouthed.

"Then would you like to tell the Court what the Founding Fathers have to do with Mr. Anderson's petty theft charges?"

"No, sir. I mean, yes, sir. It's?—"

"Your Honor?" My opponent had finally found his voice, and either he'd suddenly developed a massive summer cold, or he was trying not to laugh, because he started coughing so hard he nearly choked.

"Yes, Mr. Allen? Do you have something to add that might illuminate me on the role of the Founding Fathers?" The judge smiled, but he narrowed his eyes, and I had the feeling I was in trouble.

Mr. Allen started choking again. "No, Your Honor. No illumination. Just a quick interjection to inform the Court that the state is dismissing the charges against Mr. Anderson. The complaining witness had—" he shuffled through some papers, then selected one and read from it. "An emergency nose-piercing infection emergency, and she thus cannot cooperate. Since it's a first offense, —"

"First offense!" I added, helpfully.

The judge's attention swung back to me, but he wasn't smiling anymore. "Ms. Vaughn, I'd suggest that you brush up on your criminal procedure before I see you in my court again. Mr. Anderson, despite your attorney, you are free to go. I would advise you to amend your behavior, as the luck of witnesses with infected piercings isn't likely to happen again."

Bear jumped up out of his chair to stand up. "Yes, sir, Your Highness."

"Honor," I whispered.

"Your Honorableness," Bear corrected himself. "I won't ever, ever take something and pay for it later, even if the clerk is very rude and calls me a bad word. I promise, cross my heart, but don't hope to die, because Grandma says that's wrong and an offense against God, just like Republicans."

The judge stared at Bear for a moment, then brought his gavel down. "I see that you two deserve each other. Case dismissed."

Bear looked at me. "Am I free? I don't have to go to jail?"

I could hardly bear to meet his eyes, as I grabbed up my files and hurried down the aisle toward the door, desperate to escape the laughter I heard behind me. "Yes, you're free. Please don't take anything else without paying for it, Bear. And if you get in trouble again, find a criminal attorney. I have a great one for you, even. His name is Jim, and you'll really like him."

Bear followed me out the door, but stopped me in the hallway with a hand on my arm. "But I don't want anybody else! You're the best lawyer in the world! You said I was unique, and you freed me from repression!"