to her terms. As she assembled her stack of papers she intended to present, she couldn’t deny a certain eagerness. But behind it was a dark cloud of impending doom she couldn’t shake.
If Daniel succeeded in his quest, her job was in danger. Certainly her chances of rising to any level of prominence in the district attorney’s office would be quashed. Winston Chubb had been livid when she’d told him what Daniel Logan was up to. Though he feared the man, Chubb had instructed her to neutralize Logan and his do-gooder efforts using any means at her disposal.
Any means.
As she returned to her desk to check messages one last time before the meeting, the phone rang. The number on caller ID was blocked and she considered letting it go to voice mail. But at the last minute she picked it up. If it was Daniel, telling her he was delayed, she would politely remind him she couldn’t rearrange her schedule—just as he’d done to her.
“McNair.” Her voice came out a bit sharper than she’d intended.
“It’s Daniel. I’m in front of your building now, but I’m trapped. There’s a media frenzy going on out here, and if I step out of my car I’ll become a part of the uproar.”
“Oh, for the love of—” She tried mightily to hold on to her patience as she moved to the window and looked down. From her sixth-floor office she had a perfect view of the front entrance, and it was exactly as Daniel had described.
“It’s the Judge Harlow thing, I imagine,” Daniel said.
Jamie sighed in frustration. She hadn’t yet read her newspaper today, but she’d heard about the judge. The whole office buzzed with the news. Just what the city needed, another scandal.
“Is there a back entrance?” Daniel asked.
“I’m afraid not. With our heightened security, everyone has to come and go through the front doors. You’ll just have to cope.”
“I can’t.” His voice held a note of panic. “It’s highly unlikely I would make it into the building unobserved. And I don’t think either of us wants to see our business splashed on the front page until we’re ready.”
He did have a point. “What do you suggest? My time is extremely limited. I’m awaiting a jury verdict, and I could be called back into court at any minute.”
“We can meet in my car. There’s a big backseat—it’s private, it’s roomy and very secure.”
Jamie didn’t like it. Not at all. Was he simply manipulating her, forcing her to abandon her plans and conduct the meeting on his turf—again?
But she couldn’t deny that a security problem existed. That crowd outside looked hungry, and if they couldn’t get a glimpse of the judge or at least get a statement from someone in Public Relations about the situation, they would take what they could get.
And they would have a heyday with the juicy combination of Daniel Logan trying to free Christopher Gables. They would grab on to the surface similarities between the cases, and she would have to spend all of her time chasing down rumors and denying, denying, denying.
“All right, we can meet in your car,” she said, barely able to part her jaws to get the words out. “Give me a few minutes to gather my materials.” And her wits.
She was about to get in the backseat of a car with a man who had the ability to short-circuit her rational mind and possibly tank her whole career.
“Thank you,” he said, sounding like he meant it. His relief was almost palpable. “It’s the black Mercedes limo parked near the corner.”
Five minutes later, she was wending her way past reporters and cameras on the walkway leading from the criminal justice building to the street. Despite her efforts to appear insignificant and ignorant, one reporter jumped into her path and stuck a microphone in her face.
“Ms. McNair, can you comment on the situation with Judge—”
“Even if I knew anything, which I don’t, I wouldn’t comment. Excuse me.” She stepped around the microphone, hoping the reporter holding it would focus on someone else.
A few more steps, and she reached the longest, blackest, shiniest vehicle she’d ever seen. A uniformed driver popped out to open the back door and she slid in as quickly as possible, praying no one noticed. The only time she’d been at the center of media attention—during the Christopher Gables trial—she hadn’t liked it. It was something she needed to get comfortable with, though, if she wanted to advance in her chosen profession.
Jamie kept her eyes focused down on herself as she smoothed her skirt and gathered her thoughts. Only then did she look up and face Daniel Logan.
At least he had clothes on this time. But the effect of Daniel in a well-tailored gray suit and silk tie was no less devastating to her hormones. Her heart gave a little jump, and she sucked in her breath.
He held out his hand. “Jamie. Sorry for the inconvenience.”
She took his hand. “Daniel. Thank you for coming.”
It was the first time she’d called him by his given name. She’d been avoiding it, because it seemed a bit too chummy. Too intimate, given their adversarial relationship.
But it seemed positively Victorian to keep calling him Mr. Logan.
As soon as she could do so politely, she eased her hand away from the warmth of his. His handshake absolutely oozed confidence. How did he do that? And what did hers communicate? Shivering nerves?
“How was the traffic?” she asked, because that was what everyone in Houston asked first thing in any meeting.
“I wasn’t really paying attention,” he admitted. “I was going over my notes. But I guess it was okay. We got here quickly.”
Of course he didn’t have to concern himself with mundane matters like traffic. He had a chauffeur and a limousine the size of a battleship. She tried to imagine living like him—hot and cold running servants, mostly hot from what she’d seen—a three-story mansion, polo ponies and tennis courts. She couldn’t even wrap her mind around it. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to not work like a dog every day, watch her spending, save for retirement.
She resented the ease of his life. Yeah, six years on death row wouldn’t have been a picnic. But he’d been convicted of murder. And here he was, flaunting his wealth and dabbling in “charitable” work, helping others like himself escape retribution for their crimes.
“So,” she said crisply, imagining a clear shell around her that would make her immune to the handsome billionaire’s physical proximity. “The driver can’t hear us, can he?” She glanced at the glass partition that separated the driver from the passenger seating.
“Not a word. We could scream at the tops of our lungs and he wouldn’t hear us.”
That thought didn’t particularly cheer her.
“Yes, well. Since I called this meeting, and we have limited time, let’s get started.”
“All right. Tell me about Theresa.”
That was a good place to start. “She was credible. Sincere. My investigation leaves me certain she is the same Theresa who made the 9-1-1 call, bringing the police to El Toreador. And her statement about seeing a stranger in the restaurant kitchen sounds plausible.”
“Only plausible? You don’t think it rings with truth?”
“Plausible,” she said firmly.
Daniel’s eyes almost twinkled as he listened attentively with his whole body. She liked that about him, even if she disapproved of everything else. So many people—men especially—might appear to be listening, but they were actually waiting for their turn to speak.
“I’m very glad to hear you say that,” he said. “Can you show her mug shots? Have her work with a sketch artist? I have an artist on call for