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" I should have shoved Sarah overboard when I had the chance," I muttered.

"What?" Charlie was chewing on the corner of his lip, and he looked moderately freaked out, so I tried to tamp down the steam boiling out of my ears.

"That's very interesting – not to mention completely unethical – considering my current suspicions. Why don't you come back and have some coffee? I have something very interesting to show you," I said.

As he followed me back to my office, he made a few throat-clearing noises. "Look, I'm sorry, but I need to know what's going on with you. First, there was that article about the drugs, and now they say you're running around with known drug dealers who get murdered. I can't trust Faith's case to you, if you're caught up in your own craziness, right?"

I stopped in the kitchen on the way and checked for coffee, but figured the sludge in the bottom of the pot wouldn't help, so I grabbed a couple of bottles of water from the fridge, and we went to sit down in my office.

"Who called you? Was it Sarah Greenberg?"

"No, it was some guy. I don't remember his name. He said that they have the home field advantage, because the judges in Claymore County love them and usually rule in their favor. So I'd be better off with them even if you weren't . . . didn't have drug issues." He mumbled the final few words, not looking at me.

I studied him for a long moment, trying to decide whether to share my suspicions at this early stage. "Oh, what the heck? The smarter thing might be to roll over, with the way they're going all full court press about this, but I have a tendency to get obstinate when people push me," I finally said. I stood up and pulled my whiteboard closer to us. "And since the people involved with this case are really pushing me, I want to show you something."

I used my diagram and told him about my suspicions of some kind of BDC cover up. By the time I explained it all, Charlie was sitting straight up in his chair, eyes narrowed. He made the leap I didn't want to explain all by himself. "From the way things are going, it sounds like the defense lawyers might be in on it. But why are Greenberg and Smithies coming after my case so hard?"

I shrugged. "They have their stated reasons – that I'm too small to handle your case, so I'll risk putting bad precedent, or bad judge's decisions, on the board. But I have a lot of experience with cases like this, so I'm a little suspicious."

I leaned the whiteboard against the desk. "Plus, none of this explains S&G taking the wholly unethical step of soliciting another lawyer's client like that. Not to mention that they could actually be sanctioned – punished – by the bar association for that crack about the judges here giving them the 'home field advantage.' That's casting aspersions on the integrity of the judicial process, and it's a huge no-no."

Although it occurred to me I was getting my panties in a twist about a relatively minor ethics violation by the same firm I suspected of covering up a defective drug. Na?ve, much?

He shook his head. "I don't like anything about this, but I especially don't like being pushed. If S&G is practically in that BDC firm's pocket, who says they'll fight for my Faith like you would? Faith was the most honest person in the world. If they did something like this, she would want the world to know. I'm sticking with you, December, and I'm not signing any secret settlement agreements."

"That's good to hear, Charlie, because I think we should fight this one out. I don't think they'd be so worried if there wasn't something big and bad to hide."

We sat there mulling that over for a few minutes, then he stood up. "I need to get going. Stay in touch, okay?"

I stood up and shook his hand. "I always do. I have a feeling BDC will want to set your deposition soon, so we're going to need to discuss that."

"Sure, just let me know," he said.

"Hold on, and I'll walk out with you. I just need to shut down a few lights." I walked through the place, shutting off lights on the way, and we left the office. He waited while I locked the door, then we both headed for our cars.

He quit walking and stared at my car as I opened the door. "Um, December, was your car pink the last time I saw you?"

I sighed. "No. It's a long story. Trust me, this is better than how it looked before."

He gave me a dubious look, but didn't ask. I waved to him as he got in his Ford Ranger and pulled out. Putting the pink mobile in gear, I started to follow Charlie, but then I saw a flickering light out of the corner of my eye, from the corner of the building. When I turned my head to look for it, it was gone.

"Great. Now I'm hallucinating lights. Those little green men can't be far behind," I mumbled, then pushed the lock button on my car in case aliens liked pink Hondas. As I drove off, I searched the darkness beside the building for any other flickering lights, but didn't see any. A cold tingle had taken up residence down my spine, though, and I spent more time watching my rear-view mirrors than the road in front of me on the way home.

By the time I pulled up in my driveway, I had a serious case of the jitters. First, a yellow sporty-looking car, like an old Camaro or something, had seemed to trail me a bit too closely. Then the Camaro turned off and a dark blue sedan took its place. The sedan followed me all the way to my street, but turned off before I'd rounded the last curve.

My hands were shaking as I fumbled for my keys at the door. Too many coincidences. Way too many coincidences. Concussions, dead bodies, and threats. I finally jammed the key in the lock, and somebody touched the back of my arm.

I screamed, dropped my purse, whirled around, and punched my attacker in the face. He jumped back, clutched his jaw with one hand, and said, "What the hell was that for, Vaughn?"

Oops. Well, the best offense is a good defense, right? Or something like that.

I poked him in the chest with my finger. "This is totally your fault. What kind of idiot sneaks up on a woman who discovered a dead body? Plus got a concussion? And a hot pink car? You scared me to death!"

He rubbed his jaw and grinned. "I scared you to death? You decked me! Pretty good right hook, too, Counselor. I may have to sue for assault."

I poked him again. "Get off of my sidewalk. Get out of my life."

He held up two paper bags, which I was finally noticing smelled deliciously like Chinese takeout. "Are you sure about that? I'd hate for all this food to go to waste."

My stomach growled, and Jake laughed. "There's one vote for dinner."

Leaning down, I picked up my keys and purse and unlocked the door. "Oh, all right. You can come in and eat, since you brought food," I said, trying to be gracious. It probably wasn't his fault that he was always around when my life blew up.

Or maybe it was.

I whipped around and held up a hand to stop him from following me inside. "Wait one minute, Brody. I want the truth right now. Are you stalking me for some nefarious purpose?"

He blinked, then grinned that slow, dangerous grin that made my brain cells go all mushy. "I've never known anybody who used the word 'nefarious' in conversation before, Vaughn. Maybe I have a fetish for women with big vocabularies."

I rolled my eyes, but moved away from the door and headed for the kitchen. "Well, we know it's not my big bazumbas," I muttered.

"What?"

"Nothing. You can put the food down here, and I'll get out my lovely fine dining china." I opened the nearest cupboard and grabbed the paper plates, trying not to notice how great he looked in jeans and a plain black t-shirt.

Trying really, really hard not to notice.

Jake looked around the house, then down at the paper plates, as he started opening the bags. "I've been meaning to ask you, where is your furniture, Vaughn? Or is that some kind of deep, dark secret?"

"No, no secret," I said, sighing. "Well, the only secret is where in the heck my furniture is these days."

He quirked an eyebrow at me. So I told him the story of my happy-go-lucky nepotist, bender-going, furniture-thief driver.

When I was done, he whistled softly. "You're a magnet, aren't you? A tall, beautiful trouble magnet."

I scooped a big pile of fried rice on my plate carefully, then glared at him. "It's not my fault trouble . . . did you say beautiful?"

"Maybe not with your mouth hanging open like that."

I resisted the urge to stab him with his own chopsticks and carried my plate over to the card table. "I only have water and Diet Coke in the fridge, but help yourself."

He opened the other bag. "I brought beer. Want one?"

I started to say no, then stopped. "Why not? If ever a week deserved a beer, it would be this one."

He opened the bottles and brought them to the table, and we made quick work of the food, not talking much. By the time we'd cracked open our fortune cookies, I was stuffed.

"Ha! 'Nothing can keep you from reaching your goals.' Yeah, right. This week, everything is keeping me from reaching my goals," I said.

"One battle isn't the war, Vaughn." Jake looked at his own fortune and smiled, but didn't read it to me.

"Hey! All fortunes must be read out loud, Brody," I said, snatching the piece of paper. I read it and groaned.

"Trouble will arrive in the shape of a woman," he said. "Seems pretty apt to me, even if I am a nefarious stalker."

"That's not exactly what I said. Anyway, thanks for the food."

"You're welcome," he said. "Now, how about we talk?"

"About what?" My DANGER, DANGER alert shifted into high gear.

"About your client, Mrs. Zivkovich, and how her son-in-law cleaned out her savings account today," he said.

I drained the rest of my beer before answering, frantically trying to remember if I'd ever mentioned Mrs. Z to him.

I hadn't.

Putting the bottle down on the table between us, but near enough so I could grab it if I needed a weapon, I still said nothing. I stared at him in silence.

He stared back.

Great. Now you think you can out stare a Navy SEAL. They probably take classes in the psychology of eye contact, you moron.

I finally had to blink. "Fine, fine. So somehow in the magic, psychic world that is the wonder of Jake, you know about Mrs. Zivkovich, her son-in-law, and that she's my client. Care to elaborate? Electronic listening devices? Retasked a satellite? Planted a tracking chip in my underwear?"

He laughed. "Actually, Henry told me. But let's go back to that underwear idea for a minute . . ."

My face flamed up to the color of the Orange Grove fire truck. "Forget underwear. Who's Henry?"

"Henry Ellison. Your employee," he said, giving me a weird look.

"Oh, right. Mr. Ellison. I keep forgetting he has a first name. What is he doing talking about my cases? That violates client confidentiality. I'm going to have to fire him," I said, not as happy about the idea as I should have been.

"No, you don't. He didn't violate anything. He mentioned that Mrs. Zivkovich was a 'real looker,' and I extrapolated from there. Especially since I knew her car had been in your parking lot."

"He's got to quit hitting on the clients. If – what ? What do you mean, her car had been in my parking lot?"

He stood up and started collecting dirty dishes, not quite looking at me. "Nothing."

"Are you spying on me, Brody? I can get a restraining order against you, too, you know!"

"Right. Like the one against Croc. Except all that did was piss him off, so he cleaned out her bank account, and now he's planning to leave town. Maybe do a snatch and grab on his mouse of a wife and his infant son on the way. Great job, Counselor," he said, shoving plates and bags in the trash.

I jumped up. "We have to call the police. We have to warn her. We have to?—"

"We don't have to do anything, because he's sleeping off a drunk right now," he said, putting a hand on my arm. "Relax. Wrench is monitoring his place and will call me the minute Nervil does so much as roll over. I think you can call your client in the morning."

"How do you know? Maybe he'll wake up in the middle of the night, and?—"

"He won't, trust me."

I folded my arms across my chest. "How do you know? What aren't you telling me?"

He leaned back against the counter. "There's a lot I'm not telling you, and it's probably going to stay that way. But here's a tip. If I were a scuzzbag who'd just raided my mother-in-law's bank account, I'd have it in cash and ready to go with me. Be sure and mention that to the police when you call them."

"I – you — oh, fine. You be all Mr. Secret, and I'll just go along. That's how this is going to work, right?" I walked past him to the door, but he gently caught my arm in his hand.

I pretended the touch of his hand was not burning three layers of skin off of my arm. That electric tingle thing never happened, either, I told myself. But I couldn't help gasping a little.

Slowly, I turned to face him. "Is there something else? You've completed all the Social Security paperwork for the rest of my clients, perhaps?"

He pulled me closer. "No, but there's always tomorrow."

"Look, Jake, this is a bad idea. I think?—"

He touched my face. "You think a lot. Must get tiring, having such a huge brain, Counselor."

I felt his breath on my face and tried not to melt into a speechless blonde puddle on the floor. Talk about deprived hormones going into overdrive. "Why don't you ever call me by my name?" I whispered.

"I'm going to kiss you now, December," he said. Then he touched his lips to mine, and my eyes fluttered shut, and my entire body seemed to relax into his.

The man is a great kisser.

About three seconds before my nerve endings spontaneously combusted, he stopped kissing me and stepped out from between my limp body and the kitchen counter. I stood there, blinking, wondering what the heck had just happened.

He smiled at me again. "Good night, December," he said, then he walked over to the door.

"What? You can't just kiss a person and then leave!" I shouted. "This is not some western movie where you get to ride off into the sunset, guns blazing, after you kissed the girl."

He shook his head, but said nothing. As he turned the doorknob, I tried to think of a blistering put down, but my brain cells weren't back to the correct working order. So I stalked out to the foyer after him. "You, you, you—cowboy! Fine! You want to kiss and leave, fine. It wasn't all that great of a kiss, anyway."

I shoved him out of the way, grabbed the doorknob, and flung the door open. That's when it exploded.