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A Man To Count On
Helen R. Myers


She was looking for a man of justice.Dylan Justiss, that is. Because when high-powered district attorney E. D. Martel found her whole world falling apart, she needed one man she could trust who was upright, protective and fair. Sexy as hell was just a bonus. All his adult life, Dylan had been in love with E.D. (Eva Danielle) Martel.And now, when he was poised to have all his professional dreams come true, was hardly the time to make his move. Because E.D. was in trouble, big-time. And anyone who associated with her could kiss his reputation–not to mention his impending judgeship–goodbye. Too bad he found kissing E.D. more to his liking….









A Man To

Count on

Helen R. Myers





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


For my Robert

So many miss you

Me most of all




Contents


Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Epilogue




Prologue


“Congratulations, Judge. I’m so proud and excited for you.”

“Thank you, Paulie.” Stopping just outside his Austin chambers, Texas Court of Appeals Judge Dylan Justiss smiled fondly at his longtime secretary, Pauline Lawrence. He wasn’t surprised she had got wind that the governor himself had encouraged him to file and run in the autumn election to fill a vacancy on one of the state’s two highest courts, the Court of CriminalAppeals. If elected, he would replace TheaYork, who’d been named to a federal position in Washington, D.C. “But I’ll resist upgrading my jogging shoes, until I see who the competition is.”

“Once word gets out that you’re a candidate, I’ll bet you’ll be unopposed,” Paulie gushed. “Everyone admires and respects you.”

“Well, just for that bit of flattery, if you’d like to leave now, I’ll sign whatever is on my desk and lock it in yours. I’m going to wait and watch the five o’clock news here before I head home.”

The silver-haired woman sporting a flattering wedge beamed at him like an adoring parent. “You’re always so thoughtful. How on earth you remembered tonight is my eldest grandson’s district play-off game and that he’s pitching is beyond me.”

Unzipping his black robe, Dylan nodded to one of the photographs on her desk. “Must be the Post-it notes stuck all around the frame of his picture. Let me know how he does.”

Enjoying her chuckle, Dylan continued into his suite, quickly rid himself of the robe, and reached for the TV remote. Considering the pace of state, never mind world events, he didn’t expect his news to be covered at all, but he wanted to be prepared for anything. Most of the time, judges were invisible beings who were credited, or blamed, by a choice few for decisions that could have widespread and lasting results. However, while in his current position, he presided over one of fourteen courts; if elected in the fall, he would join an elite nine. Anytime change incorporated elevation, he approached it with as much caution as he did respect.

At forty-two, Dylan thought he’d had a good run so far. Great mentors, a phenomenal stretch of pretty smooth sailing regarding cases on his docket, as well as bipartisan support, all of which had allowed him a steady rise up the career ladder. His setbacks had been few and personal—the worst was the death of his wife and best friend, Brenda, eleven months ago after a long illness.

What about a missed, possibly great love?

It was best not to go there.

Then First News at Five came on to mock that cautionary thought.

“Good evening, I’m Ross Kendrick. Our top story tonight involves the shocking revelation made by the husband of prominent Deputy District Attorney E. D. Martel. Tonight KTXA can confirm that Trey Sessions has filed for divorce from Ms. Martel, the darling of the D.A.’s office, often called the Black Widow for her consistency in winning the death-penalty verdict. Her latest victory is Ed Guy, convicted only minutes ago for the rape and murder of UT-Austin coed Misty Carthage.

“KTXA News has also learned that Sessions has obtained a restraining order to keep Martel from their two children, ages eleven and seventeen, claiming negligence and endangerment of a minor. While we haven’t been able to confirm the allegations behind these two career-shattering moves, this also could spell trouble for District Attorney Emmett Garner—his party’s likely candidate in the next gubernatorial election—since Martel is said to be his handpicked successor. So far neither D.A. Garner nor Ms. Martel have been available for comment.”

And who could blame them? Dylan fumed. Damn. Damn Sessions’s useless hide. If anyone was guilty of neglect, Dylan would bet it was E.D.’s house-pet of a husband. What on earth had happened?

While co-anchor Lynly Drew went on to a report about an armed robbery in an Austin hotel parking garage, Dylan dealt with E.D.’s shocking news. He knew—at least he’d heard rumors—that there might be problems in her marriage and that she had been putting a good face on a difficult situation for some time. Whatever househusband Trey thought he’d come upon to make himself less indebted to E.D., it sure as hell couldn’t have been her parental neglect. As for endangerment, Dylan would bet a year’s salary that allegation was nonsense, too. She would and did do everything and anything it took to give her daughter and son a stable home life. Dylan considered himself proof of that.

He rubbed his face and struggled to keep his thoughts in check. The strength of his impulse to reach for the phone jarred him. They hadn’t said more than a few dozen words to each other since Brenda’s memorial service last June, and then he couldn’t deny being relieved that she’d barely looked him in the eye for fear of what his own gaze might have exposed. Nevertheless, he could remember the poignant encounter down to the second; how she’d first squeezed his hand, how without thinking he’d turned that into a hug and whispered so softly that only she could hear, “Eva Danielle.” He need only to close his eyes to recall the warmth and softness of her skin, the silk that was her hair, the subtle scent of lily of the valley that always whispered of her presence. The memory continued to haunt him and his insides ached with the deepest hunger pang.

Eva Danielle.

How she hated for anyone to use her given name; his tightened lips couldn’t help but twitch into a brief smile. Too romantic for an attorney, she’d claimed in interviews. She’d once confided to him that she’d been cringing over it since the fifth grade when she’d first become fascinated with law. Eventually, she refused to answer to it, especially after she’d begun to hear people predicting her future as a debutante or some version of trophy wife instead of a determined prosecuting attorney. That charming disclosure had occurred at the University of Texas when she’d been his student escort at an evening lecture he’d been giving there. She had been a senior and he only a few years out of Baylor Law School, but already touted as a rising star in the profession.

A year later they’d met again…on his wedding day, when she’d appeared as the date of one of his grooms-men, Cole Bryce. That had been the oddest of ego blows, although he’d known instinctively there was nothing but affection between them. Regardless, when in six months she’d invited Dylan to her wedding to Sessions, he couldn’t bring himself to go.

E. D. Martel—the beautiful, brainy blonde, sharper than many in her field, the woman as devoted to her family as she was to her work—a bad mother? Sure, and the president was a flag burner.

Having tormented himself enough, Dylan reached for his desk phone, hesitated, then snatched up his personal cellular model.




Chapter One


The moment the judge leveled his gavel and announced, “Court is dismissed,” E. D. Martel began shaking. Act One, Scene Two accomplished, but she didn’t give herself good odds for making it through the next one, let alone the rest of the day.

“We’ve received word there’s a growing swarm of reporters outside, Ms. Martel,” her associate and junior counsel Bruce Littner said near her ear. “Some are unfamiliar to me and probably from out of town. I don’t know that we can assume they’re here for this verdict. You want me to ask the bailiff for a sheriff’s deputy to escort you out of here through a back exit?”

More than that, she wanted to wake up in her bed and realize the last several hours had been a bad dream; but she knew better than to accept any protection from the press. There was no denying she was breathless from shock, hurt to the point of wanting to dive into the ladies’ room and sob, and angry enough to show Trey what a receding hairline really looked like. None of that was an option, though, as Bruce was right; this extra media attention was personal business. Hers. Any outward sign of distress or resentment on her part would serve her, Emmett and the office badly.

With a veteran’s ability to press her lips into a semblance of a smile, she touched the concerned young lawyer’s shoulder, hating that his biggest professional moment to date ultimately would be reduced to trash. “With your help, I think we can manage. If you’d be so good as to accompany me,” she told him, “I’ll make the usual ‘justice has been served’ statement and then, as the give-us-gossip queries begin, excuse us.”

The brown-eyed blonde, who could have passed for her kid brother if she’d had one, nodded with emphasis. “You’ve got it, Ms. Martel. And if any of them get pushy, don’t worry. I was a champion wrestler in high school and college. Nobody’s going to muscle us.”

He was as sweet in his concern as he was thorough in his work. She made a mental note to mention his value to their boss, D.A. Emmett Garner. Who could say—with her luck, he’d be replacing her before Christmas. “Make that E.D. You’ve earned it. As for trouble, I suspect the only threat we need to worry about is a chipped tooth from having a microphone jammed into our faces.”

As she slipped the strap of her purse over her shoulder and reached for her briefcase, she wondered at her calm voice and hoped that the sweat starting to trickle down her back and between her breasts didn’t bleed through her red suit. She traditionally wore this suit with the double-breasted gold buttons on final arguments day, when murder one was on the table, to keep the jury’s attention. She opted for a black one on the day she expected a jury verdict, to signify her awareness that another life had been lost, and that everyone loses in a conviction.

Only today the jury hadn’t taken two hours to reach their decision.

It was just as well, she reasoned. The red could substitute as her internal grieving for what her children must be going through.

So help me, Trey, you will pay for this.

Operating on reflexes that she’d honed from almost sixteen years with the district attorney’s office, E.D. accepted the teary thanks, emotional hugs and powerful handshakes from poor Misty Carthage’s family and friends. That barely slowed her path toward the double doors, beyond which cameras would click madly and video cameras would catch every nuance. Knowing she had seconds before the full circus started, she told Bruce, “When you get out of here, take that patient girl of yours out for a terrific dinner. If you want to try Bruno’s, use my name and have them charge it to my account. One of us deserves a good meal out of this.”

Usually someone with above-average reflexes, the attorney had to reach twice for the door handle. “Uh…thanks. You’re sure?”

E.D. blocked thoughts of what Trey had done with their joint accounts while she’d been tied up in court. “Absolutely. Now let’s get this done.”

Bruce opened the door to a barrage of people and electronics. From the bulwark poured eager and strident appeals.

“Are you pleased at putting another defendant on death row, Ms. Martel?”

“E.D., is it true your husband has locked you out of your own home?”

“Did you know the photos you approved would end up on the Internet?”

“The word is that Playboy is offering you a million for a mother-daughter layout. Gonna take it?”

Wishing she could broadside smug Josh Perle with her briefcase, E.D. paused and began, “Thank you for your interest in Misty Carthage’s devastating case. The state of Texas is grateful that justice has been served once again and that other studious coeds, the Austin community as a whole, will be safer—at least from the likes of Ed Guy.”

“With this being May, you’ll soon have two condemned men facing execution,” another reporter she didn’t recognize called from the back. “New DNA tests are being requested by their attorneys. What’s your reaction to that?”

“It’s their right, of course. That said, the Sandman did not beat Debra Conyers to death in her bed, her husband did, despite his recant after excessive publicity attracted a high-profile defense team to his case. As for Counselor Baltow’s claim regarding his client, science has already shown the state will not be putting an innocent person to death and I expect that new appeal will be denied, as well. Thank you for your time.”

After a speaking glance to Bruce, she started down the hall. Undaunted, several reporters matched her stride.

“Would you make a statement about Mr. Martel’s decision to sue you for divorce and get a restraining order, Ms. Martel?”

“No.” But E.D. wished Trey could hear himself being referred to by her maiden name. The reporter had to be new.

“Have you talked to your daughter or son?” someone else asked in a sharper voice.

Caught off guard, she ignored the question due to the sudden boulder lodging in her throat. Thankfully, Bruce forced his way forward and stretched out his arm to deter the persistent.

“Back off! You have your statement.”

Three minutes later she reached her office, rejecting Bruce’s offer to escort her the rest of the way. She’d expressed her gratitude again and urged him toward the parking garage. Now she drew in a long, deep breath knowing she wouldn’t get off so easy. The sound reminded her of a rattling shutter in a storm.

Don’t.

As her throat began to hurt anew, she tried to ease that by swallowing several times. She had no time for tears, forget outright panic. But vulnerability was compounding on itself. Sure, for the moment she had a job where she would be defended in any public forum. All it would take to end that, though, was a few more crass comments by Trey, Dani in hysterics…and the photos showing up in more and more places. Then, whether it was fair or not, E.D. would be asked for her resignation, left as raw meat to the voracious media hounds.

One thing at a time. Get through here, and then figure out where you’ll sleep tonight.

She honestly didn’t have a clue. By the first break in court today, Trey had left a message on her cell phone warning her not to return to the house because he’d had the locks changed so she wouldn’t be able to get inside. Supposedly, her luggage was waiting for her in her office. Not only hadn’t the bastard had the decency to let her pack her own things, he was subjecting her to the humiliation of the whole office seeing evidence that she was being ejected from her own home—for reasons as bizarre as they were infuriating.

As E.D. walked the long halls, she again tried to call her seventeen-year-old daughter, Dani—but without success. Mac, her eleven-year-old son, didn’t answer his phone, either. Trey must have had some input there. As bad as Dani’s situation was—and she had yet to get to the bottom of it—surely he hadn’t succeeded in convincing her son that she was in any way responsible?

Walking through the halls, she willed her expression to remain blank and only murmured, “Thanks,” to the half-dozen people who were still there working on their own cases, looking up to congratulate her. She’d encouraged her secretary, Nita, not to wait on her—a good thing because as she opened the door to her office, the sight of her three red suitcases had her slumping against the door, her vision blurring from tears.

Remember where you are.

Real help came as her phone started vibrating. Hoping it was Mac or Dani, she straightened and reached into her pocket. When she checked the caller ID screen, she couldn’t believe her eyes.

Dylan Justiss!

Why she continued to keep his number on her personal phone she couldn’t say—or didn’t want to admit. But realizing that she was a button click away from hearing his strong, reassuring voice had her insides fluttering in excitement.

Someone discreetly coughed behind her.

Pivoting, she saw a suave-looking, mature man, his hair barely a shade lighter than his steel-gray eyes and suit. “Sir.”

“Congratulations, E.D.,” Travis County District Attorney Emmett Garner said with a regal nod. “You’ve done me proud again.”

“Thank you. Though considering the amount of DNA evidence, I think a final-year law student could have handled this case.” Pocketing her phone, she gestured. “Care to come in?”

Apparently, he did, and while he eyed the luggage, it was noteworthy that he made no comment. Instead, he shut the door, leaned back against it, and assumed a deceptively casual pose of folded arms and crossed ankles. Cary Grant never did it better. E.D. had once read that while in college, Emmett had done Shakespeare onstage, earning reviews that could have launched a stage career if he’d wanted it. Aside from his smooth, sophisticated features, his precise diction and lack of any Western twang seemed to support that; however, his performance hall had become a Texas courtroom, and he’d tried some of the most important cases in the state’s history, winning the majority soundly.

“I hope you didn’t stay late because of me?” E.D. asked, preferring to get this over with rather than deal with a prolonged silence. Reaching her desk, she set her bag and briefcase onto it and met his shrewd scrutiny straightforward.

“Because of and for these few words, my dear. Delayed an engagement after I heard the verdict,” he intoned. “I wanted an opportunity to salute Le Martel and see for my own eyes how, under the circumstances, the day’s events affected my faithful soldier. Elegant, but a gladiator still,” he added with a satisfied gleam in his eyes. “You reassure me.”

Meaning he’d heard the worst and had questions about his “best and brightest” being in deep domestic trouble. E.D. admired and often liked Emmett, but she had no illusions about how fast he would give the thumbs-down signal to feed her to the two-legged lions if she polluted his precious department and crippled his political future.

“You trained your protégée well, sir. I, too, would like to recognize someone—my assistant, Bruce Littner. He deserves a letter in his file for his part in this verdict.”

“See that it’s done. At the rate we wear out staff, it’s always good to remember to stroke the young talent, and I’ve long admired your nose for potential stars.”

“Thank you.”

Without breaking eye contact, Emmett tilted his head toward the luggage. “I’m not going to meddle, unless you feel the need for a confidant…and I think that same fine mind is far too intelligent to want me to be one.”

Velvety words barely cloaking a steel-hard warning had the desired effect on E.D. This wasn’t the first time she had heard them, although it was the first since rising so high in the department. “You flatter me, sir. But I plan to continue separating work and family.

“This should be simply a divorce case at worst,” she continued, holding his penetrating gaze. If she’d had a choice, she would as soon take her chances with a great white shark. “As for the T.R.O., I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do tonight about the media’s carnivorous interest in the temporary restraining order. However, I’ll seek injunctive relief first thing tomorrow morning. In the meantime, you can be assured I signed no authorization whatsoever for my daughter to model, and would certainly never approve of those kind of photographs.

“Danielle is barely seventeen.” She lowered her voice to a near whisper to guarantee his focus. “As a mother, my heart is aching for my daughter’s humiliation. As an attorney, I’m furious that yet another predator has apparently taken advantage of a minor and I plan to make him—or whomever is responsible—rue the day they hatched this plan.”

Despite her quiet dignity, Emmett looked only marginally reassured. “You have my deepest sympathies and support, as well as the resources of this office to prosecute what I’m hearing from you is a criminal act. But…I would prefer it not to be played out on the front pages of the newspapers and on TV. At least not now. I think you agree with me that this would be in no one’s best interests?”

E.D. clasped her hands behind her back to keep him from seeing her fist them. No one, meaning Emmett Garner. She could see the gears in his mind working and knew that he was concerned about a “guilt by association” implication. At fifty-eight, he was in prime professional and political condition to take the governor’s seat in the next election. It was critical for him to leave the D.A.’s office on a high note. E.D. had no intention of making a public show of her daughter’s naiveté or foolishness—whichever this proved to be—but she would be damned if Emmett’s ambitions cost her child legal justice.

“Protecting the privacy of a minor is my first and greatest concern,” she said coolly.

Ever the image of self-containment, Emmett checked his watch. “Initially, this is bound to impact your schedule.”

The nerve of the man, she fumed in silence. E.D. had successfully juggled a tough schedule through two pregnancies, and had returned to work early each time. As an aspiring novelist, Trey had been eager to stay at home with the babies. Oh, she thought with a new sinking feeling, how she had played into her husband’s hands.

“There. That’s exactly why I came to see you,” Emmett snapped, pointing a professionally manicured finger at her. “There’s self-doubt on your face. Since when does E. D. Martel let anyone see anything less than resolve?”

Since her I’m-writing-the-great-American-novel spouse pulled something she had yet to fully comprehend. Since their daughter had walked, tripped or otherwise been lured neck-deep into a disaster that could haunt her the rest of her life. Dani couldn’t begin to know the breadth and width of what she’d done, but E.D. dealt with such things 24/7.

Drawing a steadying breath, she offered, “This is Wednesday, and as you know I have the Horvath case starting Monday, which will bring the office as much attention, if not more, than the Guy case did. If I haven’t shown you that I’m up to your standards by the end of opening remarks, replace me.”

E.D. had no idea if her challenge was all bravado, let alone sensible.

What she was convinced of was that she hadn’t spent the last thirty-eight years of her life building to this, only to chicken out even before she fully understood what she was dealing with.

Emmett studied her another moment and then pushed himself away from the door. “I’m glad that we understand each other. See you at seven-thirty for the regular java and jockeying session.”

As he let himself out, E.D. responded to the sudden weakness in her legs and lowered herself to sit on the edge of her desk. She had no illusions as to what he meant by the word understand: If she didn’t lead the D.A.’s team in the Horvath case—and win—her future here was over. It didn’t matter that it would require two clerks to assist her and Bruce in the face-off with Lester Horvath’s pricey defense team. Somehow she would still have to figure out a way to reason with Trey, as well as help the children. Where would she find the extra hours in her already crammed days, let alone the energy to use them wisely?

A knock on her door had E.D. starting. Had Emmett changed his mind and decided he wanted her off the case after all?

“Come in.”

A young man poked his head inside. “Ms. Martel?”

“Yes.” A courier, she thought with relief, noting his cyclist’s helmet tucked under his arm.

“I have an express for you.”

Praying it wasn’t another present from Trey, E.D. accepted the small padded packet, only to stare at the sender’s bold initials. D.J. Incredible! So the call wasn’t an accident. But what was Dylan doing and could she afford to satisfy her curiosity?

For a moment she was tempted to reject the delivery; her instincts told her it was the wise thing to do. The use of just his initials was proof that this was personal and for her eyes only. Dylan needed a paper trail to her right now about as much as Emmett wanted one; after all, she’d heard the latest rumor about Dylan filing for the upcoming election.

Feeling caught in some game where she didn’t know the goal let alone the rules, E.D. yielded to temptation and signed the appropriate line on the delivery record. Plucking out a folded bill from the side compartment of her purse, she handed it over along with the clipboard. “Thank you.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

As she waited for the gangly, spandex-dressed youth to leave, her thoughts circled around the ludicrous concern that her signature didn’t resemble her usual confident flourish and that her hands refused to stop trembling. But as soon as she heard the door click closed, she tore at the padded envelope.

He had to have seen the news this morning, she thought as she pulled out the smaller envelope inside. Maybe he—her breath caught as she felt something hard inside.

Oh, no!

He’d been bold. Mad. So out of character for steady, live-by-the-rules Dylan.

E.D. tore the smaller envelope and dropped the contents into her cupped left palm. As she’d surmised, a shiny brass key landed there. She closed her fingers around it and pressed her fist to her pounding heart.

You dear man. You crazy, idealistic man.

Shaking her head, she checked the envelope to see if he’d included a message. A brief note had been handwritten on a blank sheet of notepad paper.

You know what this goes to. Use it.

Scrawled below were four numbers. As the past rushed forward to replay itself before her eyes, E.D. shook her head and debated over the options that unfolded before her. There was no mistaking that she’d been reminded of the rest of his cell-phone number; she didn’t need to check her directory to confirm that. The question was should she respond?

She had to. Such a gesture—regardless of his motives—made some response mandatory. But as she retrieved her phone out of her pocket, she didn’t deceive herself; the pounding in her ears was less about what common sense demanded she say than eagerness to hear his voice again. That shamed the woman who was a mother and, until today, a damned faithful and caring wife.

Navigating to the correct memory code, E.D. punched the call button. After only half a ring, she heard the voice that embraced and reassured like no other.

“I was beginning to give up hope. What else can I do?”

The part of her that had been increasingly ignored and becoming repressed whispered, “Ah.” Dylan’s voice had always reminded her of profound things: the baritone bell ending a monastery prayer, the timely discovery of a quilt during a hard winter freeze. The professional man inspired equally stirring and lasting feelings in people. He stood statue tall and was built as physically well as he was mentally solid, more than capable of enduring strong political winds and ethical challenges. It was difficult to look into his ink-blue eyes and not be overwhelmed; framed by a strong-boned face, they radiated wisdom, wit and a patience honed from years of watching and listening. E.D. missed that face, that voice, and more, their strange, indefinable friendship.

Wondering if his pitch-brown hair was tumbling over his broad brow by now from hours bent over files and law books, she managed a smile, wistful though it was. “You shouldn’t have done anything in the first place.”

“I’ve already worked through that argument myself and found it wanting.”

She cupped the phone as though it were his cheek. “I think you let sympathy override sensibility. As generous as the gesture is, it’s impossible.”

“Why? You need to sleep, a quiet place to think.”

When Trey had first hit her with his accusations and threats last night, E.D.’s impulse had been to call Dylan—not for aid, but advice. If anyone could think of something that could be done to stop this insanity before it mushroomed into a blinding, noxious cloud that permanently damaged her children, she’d suspected he would. However, just as quickly, she’d reasoned she would be every bit as poisonous to Dylan. Any contact could potentially stain a brilliant career that seemed to be about to take off to new heights; and so she’d resisted.

“I don’t know what to say.” She studied the key to the comfy but rustic cabin west of the city, about forty minutes into the hill country. “I’m grateful, of course, but…this is so embarrassing.”

“If anyone should be embarrassed it’s your—” Dylan’s sigh spoke of frustration “—it wasn’t my intention to make you feel awkward. After I saw the report on TV, I could only imagine what hell this has been for you. How’s your daughter?”

“I wish I could tell you. I haven’t been able to reach either of the kids.”

“And you?”

“I’ve had excellent training at hanging on by my fingernails.”

“You can’t ask me to stand by and do nothing.”

No, not the man whose last name perfectly described him; Dylan Justiss had been born to serve the law. However, this time he’d picked the wrong battle.

“You’re wonderful.” She hoped her sincerity carried through in those two simple words. “But that doesn’t change that I can’t let you do this.”

“So you’re going to a hotel and face curious stares from staff when they deliver room service? Reporters paying for a heads-up call that you’re leaving, or details about where you’re going and with whom?”

He had her there. She was dreading that possibility, so much so that she’d considered driving out of town to find a sanctuary. Trey had already blocked her from their joint checking account and put a freeze on everything else they held jointly, but she had enough personal resources to survive for a while without having to borrow from the firm or friends. The added lure of Dylan’s offer was that his retreat would make her truly invisible…if the arrangement could be kept secret.

“It’s been years since I’ve driven out there, and it would be perfect, except for—”

“I know we’re both being careful not to say too much because we’re not on secure lines,” Dylan replied. “All I want to do is assure you, it is private and exactly what you need. My caretaker will know to expect you and unless you ask for help, you’ll be left alone.”

He’d put serious thought into this and that added to E.D.’s torment. Despite her concern for security, she needed to take a risk and make him see what an error he could be making. “This is supposed to be the happiest professional day of your life—and I am so pleased and proud for you—but look at what you’re doing. Why would you risk your future by having any contact with me? If this gets out, don’t you realize what conclusions people will draw?”

The sigh that came over the line sent her heart sinking as deeply as when she’d first heard of Dani’s crisis. So he was only being a gentleman and would let her talk him out of this. Well, she appreciated the gesture nonetheless. No one else had stepped forward so gallantly.

After a considerable silence Dylan opined, “And here I thought you knew me better than that.”

Could she have underrated him that much? E.D. pressed her fingers to her lips to fight back a building sob. “The fact is I don’t claim to know anyone anymore,” she forced herself to admit.

“Oh, I think we know each other so well, it’s scaring you,” he countered. “Use the key or I’ll come get you myself.”




Chapter Two


Usethe key…

It should have been impossible for E.D. to smile, but she did, several times on her drive to Dylan’s personal refuge. First because he’d pulled the kind of threat that should only be successful on puppies and kids under the age of five. When she was a child, her family had had a rebellious, independent pup that had never obeyed the simplest command until he’d heard her father’s warning, “Don’t make me come get you.” And then the leggy critter would charge for the stairs as if a T-bone was on the other side of the kitchen door. Dylan couldn’t possibly know that story, but he’d used the technique with her father’s intonation.

Next she smiled appreciating the man’s tenderness and compassion. What a pity that she couldn’t extol his goodness publicly. Regardless of what lay down the road, she would cherish his friendship and generosity.

Dylan’s ranch—although he was the last to call it that due to its modest size by Texas standards—was five hundred-plus acres in the Hill Country, property that he’d inherited from his parents after their untimely death while on vacation. He kept it because he wisely knew the most patrolled property in Austin couldn’t assure him the serenity and privacy these rolling hills of the rough prairie did. E.D. suspected that Dylan also kept it because a part of him clung to a dream never voiced to anyone but himself.

It took close to an hour to get there, her fault thanks to a wrong turn that cost her extra time. At the electronic gate, she spent another minute figuring out the keypad code. Dylan hadn’t provided it, which told her that he knew she could figure it out—and wanted her to. Suddenly reminded of the note with the last four digits of his phone number and his appreciation for puzzles, she tried it two different ways without success, then thought of “gate” and split, then inverted the two sets of numbers…and the real gate opened.

Shaking her head at his wit, as much as his determination not to allow her to get buried in fear and self-pity, she drove in. Mesquite, cedar and rock outcroppings protected the view of the house from the main road. Originally a one-bedroom log cabin, the building had been renovated to add on another bedroom, bathroom and a dream kitchen. E.D. remembered the layout only slightly from the wedding, but knew one thing for certain—she wouldn’t be sleeping in the bed where Dylan and Brenda had spent their honeymoon. That would finish denying her a wink of rest. One of the couches would serve her fine for this short stay.

As she pulled up to the house, she saw the lights on and a Jeep in front. A wiry-built man in his early forties pushed himself up from one of the large cypress rockers on the porch and stepped out to greet her. He wore a worn straw hat and denim work clothes, and politely removed the hat.

“Ms. Martel?”

How not surprising, E.D. thought. Dylan had obviously instructed his foreman how to address her. “E.D., please,” she said extending her hand. “You’re…?”

“Coats, ma’am. Chris Coats.” After the handshake, he pointed west of the house. “My cabin is down by the creek about a quarter of a mile. Press one on the phone’s memory dial or use the walkie-talkie if you need me. You’ll find your radio by the bed stand. If you’re planning to walk around outside after dark, I’d appreciate you letting me know. We have our share of snakes and varmints, you know.”

“I think I can safely assure you that I won’t test my luck.”

He nodded approvingly. “The fridge is freshly stocked and all utilities and linens have been checked. Is there anything else I can do, ma’am? Did you have dinner? My cooking won’t keep you up all night if you have a taste for a steak or an omelet.”

E.D. smiled. She felt comfortable with this what-you-see-is-what-you-get throwback to a fast-fading era, but suspected he’d already put in a long day with the stock and repairing fences, or whatever his job description included. “You’re kind, but I suspect it’s already been a long day for you, and I—” she’d almost said I lost my appetite before I went to bed last night. Quickly editing herself, she continued, “I’ll be fine, thank you very much.”

“My pleasure, ma’am. Having anticipated that you may be tired, there’s a salad, also a stew in the fridge that only needs warming. I’ll just get your luggage inside and be on my way.”

E.D. waited for him with her shoulder bag and briefcase in hand, wondering what his story was and how long Dylan had entrusted this mystical place to him. On further study she noted that he moved like a man of thirty-five or so, but his weathered features suggested adding some years. Suspecting that as much as he liked it here that life wasn’t a free ride, she appreciated Chris all the more for making this so easy for her—at least as easy as an already humiliated woman could feel at this point.

Minutes later, she stood alone in the cabin. It wasn’t her familiar two-story Tudor with halls full of family photos, hutches of antique crystal, silver and china, some that she could trace back to great-grandparents. Yes, there were antiques, but of a more primitive Mexican design. Interspersed with large leather couches and chairs, they reflected Dylan’s grounded, stable personality well and she could see him everywhere she looked.

Strangely, that left her feeling all the more of a fraud what with her home being predominantly about status and image and less about who she was. Save for her sunroom-breakfast nook, it struck E.D. that the word home had become mostly a lie to her. At least in the nook she could corner the kids long enough to share their experiences and ask about anxieties. It was also where her African violets and orchids caught her attention, getting the water and fertilizer they needed to bloom. She shook her head, realizing she’d have been willing to sacrifice the plants if her kids could have thrived more. The den was well lived in, thanks to the kids’study marathons and movie parties. But except for their bedrooms, the rest of the house was all for appearance—the French provincial dining room, the equally formal parlor. As for Trey’s office, it was known as No Man’s Land to everyone including her, and yet also furnished to give the impression of intellectualism and success. That was the biggest joke considering that all those wooden file cabinets contained were unfinished manuscripts and rejection letters.

As bitterness rose again like bile in her throat, the phone rang.

E.D. glanced around and found the remote on the sofa table. Grabbing it, she saw the caller ID information and smiled. “Yes, I’m here,” she said in lieu of a greeting.

“Good. I was beginning to worry.”

Aware she was breathing like a sprinter, E.D. pressed a hand to her heart.

“I made a wrong turn and almost ended up in El Paso.”

Despite the hilly terrain, a baritone chuckle came back clearly over the wireless connection.

“You’d be thirsty and hungry long before you got there.”

No doubt. She dismissed that to communicate her reactions to what he was making available to her. “Oh, my. I’d forgotten how refreshing yet peaceful it was here.”

“Sorry that I didn’t have time to do anything special.”

E.D. supposed he meant flowers. “Your man was here waiting. He’s been very kind—and thorough. Thank you.”

“You’re most welcome. Now that that’s out of the way, how are you, really?”

Several people had asked her that, but this was the first time that E.D. felt she could dissolve into a puddle upon hearing the question. She had to swallow hard not to embarrass both of them. “Stunned. Worried. Hurt. Getting angrier by the minute.”

“All understandable and probably healthy reactions. I’m particularly supportive of the latter one.”

“Unfortunately, it’s a luxury I can least afford. He may not let me speak to them, but I need to look into who he’s hired to represent her.” He, meaning Trey. Her, meaning her daughter. E.D. knew better than to give out names on yet another open line and suspected from his careful wording that Dylan continued to share her mindset.

“Is there something I can do from this end?” he asked.

Any queries he made would immediately make him vulnerable to public speculation. She had no doubt he could handle that, but could his career at this fragile juncture? “Thank you, but opening your home to me is more than enough.”

There was a slight pause on the line, then he said, “Since it’s obvious you’re not going to rest, I can help you think things through.”

E.D. covered her eyes with her left hand. “It’s humiliating to know you’ve heard what you have. I can’t bring myself to discuss them with you at this point, even if I had all the truth, which I don’t. He won’t talk to me, and he’s cut me off from my own children. Me! I’m the one who can actually help.”

As her voice broke, she compressed her lips and shifted her hand from her eyes to her mouth to help fight back a sob.

For a good while there was only the sound of Dylan breathing on the other end of the connection. Finally, he said with new determination, “There’s a fax machine in my office. Why don’t you go turn it on?”

“Excuse me?”

“You need an attorney willing to do what you’re in no condition to do for yourself. I’m writing down a name and number.”

How did she tell him that her finances were complicated right now, that Trey had locked her out of their checking and savings and had changed the passwords on their money market account? She had funds to secure a divorce attorney, but a top gun to go after the scum that was hurting her child? That was a different matter entirely.

Her silence apparently spoke fathoms to Dylan.

“Let me cover whatever retainers you need.”

She couldn’t believe he would make such an offer, let alone not recognize what a paper trail that would leave. “I’m sorry,” she said abruptly, “but I need a minute.”

Without giving him an opportunity to protest, she disconnected, and with her insides roiling for the second time today, E.D. sought and found the bathroom and became physically ill. The day’s events were taking their toll and the only good news was that her stomach was mostly empty, which made her discomfort thankfully short-lived. Unfortunately, after she washed her face and rinsed her mouth, she was left back where she’d started—gruesomely aware of the long journey ahead, a journey full of traps and pitfalls regardless of the route she chose to take. Like her day job didn’t provide plenty of that.

Worried that Dylan would assume the worst and charge over here, she forced herself to key his number. Once again he answered immediately.

“You do know how to keep a guy’s attention. Better now?”

He spoke with a suspicious calmness and E.D. had the strongest urge to go to the window to make sure he wasn’t parked outside. “Ask me in six months…more likely a year.” God have mercy, she thought, please don’t let it all take that long. But it probably would—or longer yet—and Dylan’s failure to contradict her told her that he believed much the same thing.

“The good news is that often cases like your daughter’s have a tendency to settle out of court,” he said at last. “As to the other, let’s hope his attorney will see what prolonging the divorce would do to the kids.”

“We both know what his divorce attorney is thinking,” E.D. replied. It had nothing to do with their children’s well-being and everything to do with her willingness to pay to keep this out of the press as much as possible. Since both attorney fees would, inevitably, be coming out of her pocket there was no thought of hiring a private judge to assure that. “I’m heading toward the office and the fax machine. That said, as much as I appreciate your input, please know your offer is out of the question.”

Not surprisingly, her tone had him pausing again. Finally, he told her, “I’m only keeping my peace because I want you to continue talking to me.”

She wanted to. Their profession kept her busy and she knew many people, but trust was hard earned and allegiances too easily bought—and sold. Real friendships were priceless. That didn’t mean she didn’t feel the need to keep warning him off. “You should have clued me in on your predilection for gut-stomping punishment.”

“Takes one to know one.”

He had her there, she thought, flipping on the light switch in his office. “All right, moving on then. Give me a second to figure out how this thing works. Wait—we have this model in our office.” She turned on the machine. “Assuming you have a separate line for this, go ahead.”

After only a half minute the motor hummed to life. A single sheet printed in Dylan’s strong handwriting slid into the tray. E.D. narrowed her eyes on the name. “You can’t be serious?” Ivan Priestly. “He’s the Mount Rushmore among attorneys. Good grief, he’s as old as Rushmore!”

“Don’t let that unruly mane of white hair fool you. He’s only seventy-two.”

“Meaning if he hasn’t retired, he’s bound to at any minute.”

“Correction, he’s discriminating about what cases he takes. He’s fit for his age and enjoys fishing too much with the grandkids to accept every request that comes along,” Dylan informed her. “And trust me, he still gets plenty of them.”

“Yet another reason why this isn’t a good idea.” With defeat looking increasingly probable, E.D.’s tone exposed her plunging spirits. “This sleazy dilemma is going to be a turn-off to someone so esteemed. I need a snake masquerading as a fox, and you’re proposing a cross between Moses and Peter Pan.”

Dylan laughed. “He’s exactly who isn’t expected. Though you’re right about his bringing gravitas to the table. Between the two of you, whoever ends up the sitting judge for the trial will damned sure check his law before allowing any nonsense from the other side.”

She could feel herself blush. “That’s undeserved flattery for me. I’ll need to wear slacks to court every day for fear my knocking knees will disrupt the sessions. Please—” she barely caught herself from blurting out his name “—you know this is impossible. He’ll never say yes.”

“You won’t know unless you ask him.”

“Which I won’t do. It would be an indignity, an insult to his reputation.”

“Apply that same conviction to yourself. Someone has dared to compromise your dignity by using your child. Your reputation demands the best.”

E.D. closed her eyes against the wealth of emotions rushing through her. This was why she kept his number in her directory. He was so compassionate and good. He was her ideal on virtually every level.

“Do you trust me?” he asked quietly.

With all of my heart.

But she had no right to think with it. It was her daughter’s future she needed to focus on. “Hold on. I’m shutting off the machine.” The request was a pitiful feint; however, it bought her the precious seconds she needed. Slumping into the plush leather chair behind his desk, she flung the sheet of paper with Ivan Priestly’s phone number onto the spotless blotter.

“I can hear you breathing.”

His words couldn’t remotely be called chiding, but E.D. hid her face in her hand nonetheless. “You should do yourself a favor and say good night.”

“Is that a serious request or more self-derision?”

Was he kidding? She was partly being so hard on herself because she was afraid of when he did hang up and left her alone to deal with her own mind. There were thoughts buried deep behind walls and under thick floors constructed to never allow what he was making her feel or fantasize…those thoughts would want air. Free will.

“If you’re going to make me work this hard at reading your mind,” Dylan said, his voice gruff, “I should at least be allowed to see your eyes.”

His tender complaint sent a new delicious trembling whispering through her, one she didn’t have the energy or desire to repress. Ridiculous, she thought in the next instant. She was a married woman, eyebrow-deep in scandal—besides, surely he had someone, the proverbial significant other in his life by now…?

“You can’t come out here.” She didn’t need a mirror to know she looked like death warmed over, the last of her makeup just washed off, her eyes bloodshot from strain as much as from fighting tears the entire day. Dylan would be a dangerous mix of gentle strength and undeniable masculinity. Too tempting.

“All right. Not tonight…if you’ll promise to have a hot bath and go to bed. Whether you sleep or not, your body needs to stop,” he continued as though sensing her protest coming. “You’re too exhausted to reason clearly. You’re aware of that, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Good. We can debate things further tomorrow if you insist, as long as you understand that I am serious about being there for you. Try not to file that away under D for denial, okay?”

“Getting Mount Rushmore’s support could be a coup,” she said, feeling a need to give him some ground.

“Who were you considering to handle your divorce? Or do you see the potential for reconciliation?”

E.D. almost choked. “That’s not remotely funny.”

“Stranger things have happened,” he said with no inflection whatsoever.

“Well, it won’t here.”

The anger in her voice made her wince, but on the heels of that rushed certainty: her marriage had been suffering for a good while. She’d been delaying looking at the possible reasons, aware that inevitably she’d contributed to some of the problems between her and Trey. But his conduct was offsetting any guilt she had been willing to accept.

“Have you heard of Alyx Carmel?” she asked. “She’s risen to be one of the best divorce attorneys in the South.” And as luck would have it, they’d belonged to the same sorority at UT. E.D. hoped that would help her to negotiate some financial compromises as she worked out her financial bird’s nest.

“I’ve heard of her,” Dylan replied. “Didn’t she win a tough suit a few months ago for some widow-real estate heiress?”

“Benton versus Benton, that’s right. The stepkids were so power hungry they attempted to even dig into assets derived by the stepmother’s first husband.”

“Unusual. There wasn’t a trust? Those are difficult to invade.”

“That bottom line fell just below the requirements. And thanks to the new and ferocious generation of legal minds, many previously solid wills are considered breakable.”

Dylan sighed. “Dare I hope you don’t have to navigate those tricky waters?”

“Who knows what else Trey has up his sleeve? Let’s just say that imagining the attorney fees reminds me that I’m in the wrong side of this business.”

“Your problem is that you were never a bottom line person, though I must admit it’s another thing I admire about you. After you talk to Mount Rushmore, call me.”

“All right.” E.D. wanted him to know one thing. “You’re wonderful, you know that?”

Before he could reply she disconnected.

Energized by his support, she reached for her cell phone.




Chapter Three


E.D. waited for the phone to start ringing. Dylan was right; she was the wronged party and she knew of no judge who would look into this situation and not wonder, “Why?”

Almost immediately Trey came on the line with a curt, “You shouldn’t be harassing me.”

E.D. opened her mouth to define exactly what harassment he deserved, then considered that he might have a recording device handy. Editing herself, she replied, “It’s barely past eight, Trey, and you know we have things to discuss. But first I’d like to speak to the kids.”

“You know how restraining orders read. You can’t.”

“How you managed that I don’t know, but understand this, you are doing more damage than you can imagine.”

“I’m only protecting my daughter and son.”

“Our children, Trey. And you know damned well I know nothing about this mess with Dani. If anyone should, it’s you, since you see her more than I do.”

“How long does it take to negligently sign something she shoves under your nose?”

His condescension made her empty stomach burn. “I told you last night that I did nothing of the kind, and when that hack photographer is ordered to produce my signature in court, your apology won’t be enough. The fact that you so easily believe him over me is beyond insulting.”

“I believe my daughter.”

That was what had made her physically sick earlier, the assertion that Dani supposedly claimed E.D. had signed the document. Tonight, she was desperate to determine why her child would say such a thing. “She couldn’t possibly have said that.”

“Oh, stop pretending. You haven’t been a wife or mother in longer than any of us can remember. I had no choice but to conclude you were so preoccupied with your career that you’d approve anything just not to be bothered.”

E.D. cringed. She had shortchanged her kids due to her workload. But unlike her kids, Trey had no business judging her. “Has the reason for that crossed your mind? How else are the bills to be paid? We can’t both sit at home and languish in a fantasy world.”

“Smart move insulting my misfortune.”

“Dani is the only victim in this house. No one owes you a writing career. Either you produce something people want to read, or you face reality and get a day job like everyone else. The kids are old enough to manage on their own an hour or two after school. Good grief, with Dani’s dance lessons three times a week, she’s already under adult supervision.”

After a slight pause, Trey taunted, “Want to go for the full strikeout?”

His smug tone was inflaming her long-repressed resentment and E.D. could barely contain herself. If only she’d put her foot down sooner. If only she’d listened to the small voice in her head warning her that if she waited too long, her marriage would be a weight that could sink her in more ways than one. Hindsight was going to prove as bitter a pill as the rest.

Drawing a deep breath, she forced herself to ask calmly, “At least tell me if Dani ate something today?”

“She tried, she couldn’t keep anything down.”

Her poor baby. “Please call Dr. Warren if things aren’t better tomorrow. What about Mac? How’s his asthma? He was pretty upset after he heard us last night.” E.D. had come home late yet again and at first had assumed all was well and that the kids were in their rooms doing homework or visiting with friends. Within minutes that assumption had been shattered, and by the time Trey had stormed off to bed, it was obvious that all of their lives were changing forever.

His silence brought her attention back to the present. “I’ll hold. Please go check on him. Do it, Trey.”

After another hesitation, Trey muttered, “Okay.”

His acquiescence surprised and worried her. Did this mean he’d not seen Mac for hours and only now remembered him? Their son was the true introvert, a quiet soul who could get lost in his projects and painstaking study forgetting everything including the need to breathe.

“He’s fine.”

Startled at Trey’s abrupt bark, E.D. took a second to regroup. “He has his inhaler? There haven’t been any episodes?”

“I said he’s fine. Don’t start acting like I don’t know what I’m doing. Everyone in the neighborhood knows that I’ve been holding down the fort for years. Now if you’ll excuse me—”

“Trey, wait!” E.D. hated the sound of desperation in her voice, but she hadn’t nearly covered all that she wanted to. “Just do me the courtesy of answering one or two more questions. Please.”

“What?” he snapped.

E.D. wrapped her free arm around her waist. The ache there warned her that if she didn’t reduce the stress and intense emotions in her life, she would soon be fighting an ulcer. “Has that Web site you mentioned that has Dani’s pictures on it been shut down?”

“Uh…I don’t know.”

What did he mean he didn’t know? “Every hour it’s up has to be an unbearable humiliation for her, Trey.”

“I’ve been busy!”

Doing what? Figuring his options after he finished taking her to the cleaners? “What do the police say? Have you hired someone to take on this photographer? If you haven’t, please don’t. I’m working on—”

“It’s too late for you to try to insinuate yourself into this,” Trey interjected. “You’ve done enough damage.”

E.D. barely held back an expletive. Insinuate? Dani had acted with lightning speed on this modeling opportunity and had ignored their one conversation where E.D. had voiced her reservations and refusal to commit without more information and a meeting with the photographer.

“Just give me the Web site address,” she pleaded.

“I don’t know it offhand. Do you think I have the stomach to look at it?”

“Take an antacid because the longer you allow it to stay up, the more perverts and testosterone-flooded schoolboys will be drooling over our daughter.”

“I didn’t say—it’s being looked into,” he amended sullenly.

“By whom? Damn it, give me names. That’s what my office is for!”

Instead Trey hung up on her.

Breathless, impotent with fury, E.D. stared at the dead phone. Last night when he’d declared their marriage was over and that she was to blame for Dani’s troubles, she’d been too dumbstruck and horrified for her daughter to really take in what was about to happen. Today with the restraining order and the appearance of her luggage, he’d humiliated her. She’d stood by and taken it, mostly because she had a case to finish, but nonetheless, she’d done nothing thinking it was all a bad dream that could somehow be worked through for the sake of the kids. But this…this set her free.

Dylan was right in his thinking. First thing in the morning, she was cutting her husband loose and going on the offensive on behalf of her daughter…and for herself.

Trey better find the common sense he hadn’t shown yet and get out of her way.




Chapter Four


“You’re kind to fit me into your schedule.” E.D. smiled at Ivan Priestly as he beckoned her across the patio of his home toward an umbrella-covered table. It was only hours after she’d called him on this Thursday morning, and she still couldn’t believe that he had not only agreed to meet with her, he’d invited her to lunch. Easing down onto the white wrought-iron chair he drew out for her, she wondered if this, too, was somehow Dylan’s doing? She hoped not. Gratitude aside, her wounded self-esteem needed to believe her reputation as well as the summary over the phone had convinced this icon in their legion of her worthiness.

Smaller built and frailer than she’d expected, the famous litigator suavely took his time taking his seat to her left, which shrewdly kept his back to the sun. She noticed the hearing aid in his right ear and wondered if it was fine-tuned to capture soft sighs or to make her grit her teeth if he asked, “Pardon?” once too often because he wanted to get rid of her. She quickly got her answer.

“I have no schedule, my dear. I’m at an age where I take leisure seriously, and no longer need to suffer fools or be nice to boors because it’s politically correct. I had no plans for today except to finally drag out War and Peace and read it in a week as has been recommended.”

E.D. nodded at the tanned grandfather with his shock of white hair that looked as if it hadn’t seen a comb since the last blue northern. “I have heard about your sense of principle, but I’ve never read as much as a whisper that you’re indifferent about anything.”

His laughter held private merriment. “Stay tuned. My detractors will have plenty to say when my ashes are thrown to the wind. In the meantime, you’re right, the cunning remain like hyenas in the shadows and call their conduct circumspect.” He gestured to the glass-topped table laden with beautiful china, fruit, a seafood salad and crackers. “Will you pour the tea? I miss my wife spoiling me and I’m sorry to say a neurological condition makes me too unsteady to do it without embarrassing us both.”

She had noted his subtle trembling and immediately reached for the elegant teapot trimmed in what had to be eighteen-karat gold. “Should I leave extra room for milk?”

“No, I drink mine as is, thanks.”

“Ah, a purist.”

“More like a doctor’s senior nurse nipping at me like a rabid terrier to cut calories and cholesterol.” Sighing, Ivan sat back in his chair and studied her. “I won’t pretend any longer—I’m intrigued with your dilemma.”

E.D. glanced into his wise, gray eyes and thought she saw sympathy as much as curiosity, even for a privileged child of a successful prosecutor. “I know my daughter’s situation suggests an outrageous negligence.”

“Which on first and second glance appears so incredibly unlike you, that I didn’t easily accept it as a possibility. If anything, I see you carrying over your meticulous work patterns to where you should be a borderline suffocating mom.”

She accepted his deduction with a nod that felt like an apology. “I may have ended up so, except for a life decision or two along my way.” Such as whom she had chosen to marry and the demands of her job that made family often come second, whether she liked it or not. Perhaps marrying Trey had been something of a rebellion, but it had also been liberating. If so, though, she was paying—would be paying—a hefty price.

“Indeed. Which is why I suspected immediately that you’re not part of this situation at all—unless you’re the most foolish person ever to pass the bar, let alone become Emmett Garner’s pride and joy. Since neither seems likely, it suggests a third intention more distasteful.”

Momentarily lost in her thoughts, E.D. struggled. “Excuse me?”

“I’m wondering if you’ve been set up to carry someone else’s guilt.”

Hours after the first blow, she’d begun to wonder much the same, but she hadn’t yet managed to convince herself as to the why.

“Yes,” he murmured studying her, “and the who is key. Stick to a narrow field.”

“If my husband signed something using my name and is trying to hide it, my daughter would tell me.” She would, wouldn’t she? E.D. thought with less confidence than before. Naturally, Dani had her own moments of rebellion, but there’d been nothing so negative between them to warrant any behavior like this.

“I’m not saying this is representative of your situation, but my granddaughter recently got caught in such a serious fib on behalf of a friend to where she’s now going to miss out on a class trip she’d greatly looked forward to and that has considerable educational impact.”

As his words registered, E.D. focused only on the message behind it. “You’re not going to make me go through more of an emotional wringer. You’re going to take my case.”

Ivan smiled as he lifted his teacup. “I hope you get some rest before your next case, Counselor.”

“That’s unlikely, but I’ll do my best.” E.D. could barely contain herself to speak the rest of her mind. “Dare I ask what else you are thinking?”

“I’m wondering why your husband was so quick to accept your guilt?”

E.D.’s pride had to take another blow. “Our marriage has expired from neglect. It’s embarrassing to admit, but a fact I can’t deny.”

“Was that decision one-sided?”

“No, we were equally responsible.” Worse than that confession, she was realizing she no longer cared, either.

“I’m simply wondering if it’s feasible that he would enjoy seeing you suffering some public ridicule?” he continued.

He already had. Hopefully, it was enough. “Whatever impulses he experiences, he’s not stupid. He has no income and needs my support. Ruin my career and he risks losing that comfort zone.”

Ivan looked momentarily uncomfortable. “He suffers from a handicap of some sort?”

“You mean because he doesn’t keep a day job himself? Only a lack of talent—he’s an unsuccessful writer.” As soon as the words were out, E.D. grimaced. “I’m sorry. It’s too soon for me not to swan dive into bitterness.”

“Understandable. How long has he been pursuing this goal of his?”

“For virtually all of our married life.”

Ivan Priestly coughed behind his linen napkin. “It strikes me that you’ve been extremely tolerant, Ms. Martel. Who’s your divorce attorney?”

“I have a dinner meeting tonight with Alyx Carmel.” Noting his startled reaction, E.D. pressed, “You don’t approve?”

“On the contrary, I’ve never met her. But from what I’ve seen and heard…her approach seems to go against your grain.”

“Well, from where I’m sitting, my grain doesn’t seem to have been serving me very well, has it?”



As she left the Priestly residence, E.D. remained lost in a maze of wonder and inspiration. Ivan was remarkable and he’d not only boosted her ego, he’d raised her optimism and buffeted her fighting instincts. Energized as she drove down the avenue back toward her office, she did a double take at the black Navigator that was heading in the opposite direction. Dylan? She hit her brakes and saw him cut a sharp U-turn on the otherwise empty street. He then passed her, signaling her to follow him.

Two turns later, she found herself at a small, woodsy park that was virtually empty. Bemused, she watched as he exited his vehicle and, when she released the passenger door lock, slipped into the seat beside her.

“At the risk of appearing like a stalker,” he began, “I came up with two free hours and wanted to see if you were still with Ivan.”

He looked elegant and smelled even better, his navy-blue suit intensifying the deep blue of his eyes. At the same time, she was dismayed that he’d ignored her plea and had taken this risk. “What if someone followed you, or me for that matter?”

“You give me far too much credit for being newsworthy. As for you, I didn’t see anyone back there, did you?”

“No.” E.D. checked again, though, and then came up with another concern. “You weren’t planning to come in, were you? What would Ivan have said? He’s admitted he’s sympathetic to my case, but I doubt he would be if you appeared. He’d likely reinvent math.”

Looking wholly nonplussed, Dylan replied, “I wouldn’t care…would you?”

What was he saying? How could he say that?

She had to stop jumping to conclusions. He was just being a truly lovely and caring friend. “Ivan has agreed to represent me,” she said going for the safest response.

“Good man!”

“I’m so grateful—and he was wonderful. Dignified, yet concerned and compassionate.” Like the man who’d first come to her aid.

“Ah, E.D., I’m so relieved for you.”

“Thanks.” Immeasurably glad to see him on the heels of this news, she tried and almost failed to keep emotion locked in her throat and had to look away.

Dylan tenderly brushed the back of his fingers against her jawline. “It’s been a helluva couple of days for you.”

Couldn’t he tell it was the mere sight of him that was turning her to mush? That the way he was looking at her tempted her to release her seat belt and throw herself into his arms? She was a married woman being carried at white-water-rapids speed into an ugly divorce and he was a professional friend—more mentor than friend—and fast becoming the dearest personal one. No, it couldn’t happen with his future in such important transition.

“Well, I’d better get a grip. Emmett wouldn’t take seeing me getting emotional.” While she spoke out loud, the words were a warning for her alone.

“He’s not here. And you’re not on the clock—or he should cut you some slack all things considered.”

Even his voice was a husky caress. Heaven help her. “I need to act as though I am.”

“You’ve been dealt back-to-back emotional and psychological blows. I’d be concerned if you did succeed in behaving like a robot…or an Oscar-caliber actress.”

Drawing a deep breath, E.D. glanced back at him. “Okay, confession time. I am glad to see you.”

“Then my impulse was well worth it. When I first spotted you, I worried you’d keep driving.”

“That would have been inexcusably rude.”

“I’d have understood. You know what your problem is? You don’t know what it’s like to be supported outside of the office.”

They’d never discussed their spouses before except in a cursory reference, and she wasn’t sure she was ready to. “This doesn’t sound like you, Dylan.”

“I apologize for the bad timing, but we play the hand we’re dealt. One door closes, another opens, and all that.”

“What door am I supposed to be to you?”

“Ouch.” He cleared his throat. “I suppose you’re seeing this in the worst possible way.”

She didn’t want to—that was what made this conversation critical because they shouldn’t be having it. Not for some time, if ever. “I apologize if I sound suspicious or ungrateful.”

“You sound gun-shy and scared—which is totally understandable.” Dylan lowered his head a fraction, an old habit due to his height to hold someone’s gaze whether on the bench or in a toe-to-toe conversation. “I simply want you to understand that I’m here for you, E.D.”

She studied him a moment longer then turned away again to digest what she’d taken in. Hoping to slow what was beginning to feel increasingly, intensely, intimate, she added, “I can only imagine what Trey’s reaction will be to Ivan’s suspicions of him. Ivan thinks if Dani didn’t forge my name, Trey did.”

After a slight pause, Dylan asked, “Do you agree?”

“At this point, I suppose nothing should surprise me. But what happened to make either of them willing to do that? To hurt me to protect themselves?”

“You’re sure this isn’t a case of a terrible misunderstanding?”

“Even if it is—which I doubt—what he said and did the other night and yesterday makes excuses an impossibility.” E.D. had to swallow the frozen block wedged in her throat. “No one prepares you for this kind of betrayal, Dylan.”

This time when he reached out, he cupped his hand at her nape beneath her neat chignon. “I can’t imagine.”

“He should have just asked or at least challenged me. I deserved that much. He had to know I would give him the benefit of the doubt if things were reversed.”

“Generous of you to credit him with your sense of logic and fair play.”

E.D. felt another stab that made it all the harder to breathe. “Imagine coming to the realization at this point and position in my career that I don’t know the man anymore. Maybe I never did. What does that say for me as a litigator?”

“I think you should come to the condo. It’s only a few blocks from here.”

Gathering herself, she shook her head enough to encourage him to remove his hand. “Impossible. I have to get back—and you have to stop being so reckless.”

“Determined, not reckless,” he said softly.

E.D. frowned at him. “Dylan, have you had a bad health checkup or something? You’re acting—scary.”

“I’ve never felt more clearheaded in my life.”

She could barely think when he locked those dark blue eyes on hers. “Okay, dare I threaten a gentle censure for some bad timing?”

“You want to hear about timing, Eva Danielle?” Dylan worked her right hand free from the steering wheel to transfer it into his warm grasp. “I’ve been dealing with the results of that for almost twenty years.” He glanced down at her modestly manicured fingernails painted only with clear polish. “I should have followed a gut hunch the moment you extended this hand the night we met.”

Torn between pulling free and tightening her fingers, E.D. all but choked. “Sure. I always have that effect on people. When I got home that night, I found four voice messages from the president, governor and two senators.”

“You didn’t sense I was captivated by you from the moment you welcomed me with that smile?”

“Frankly, no. And my mouth was so dry, it’s a miracle I could speak, while you were kind and patient with everyone who gushed over you.”

Dylan tightened his grasp. “E.D., I was one step away from suggesting we ditch the seminar that night and find a cozy pub booth.”

She wouldn’t, couldn’t, believe it. Oh, she knew he’d admired a smiling blonde but he never could have taken it beyond that. “You had too much professional integrity. Besides, you were engaged to Brenda.”

“And you were seriously dating Trey.”

It was disturbing how easily her husband slipped from her mind when in Dylan’s presence. “Brenda was right for you. She understood how hard you had to work, and had the generosity and willingness to support that.”

“I won’t disagree. She was a lovely person and a good partner.”

“I don’t want to think how my husband is going to describe me in hindsight. I suppose all I can hope for is to never be near him again when holding a sharp object.” She’d aimed for humor—somewhat—and came up unconvincing.

“How do you think Trey conceives your marriage?”

“I—” Honestly hadn’t thought of that in years. E.D. looked at her hand in Dylan’s and gently disengaged herself. “I can’t have this conversation. Not with you, not now.”

“We can’t always get the timing we want, and history has proved we both made decisions based on mitigating circumstances.”

“But I have two children, Dylan, and I need to be focused on them.”

“Agreed. That said, when I turned on the TV yesterday, heard your name, and saw the wolves licking their chops and circling in, I felt things I don’t even have words for yet.”

She risked a great deal to meet his steady gaze and felt it in places long shut down and repressed. “You got me through yesterday. I was fantasizing about sending a personal note once you were confirmed and then burying myself deep in work again. Maybe you should have waited. Maybe you should have let that call be enough.”

“That’s one option. The other is that if you’re going to take one step, you might as well take two.” Dylan bent to place a kiss on the back of her hand. “I’ll stop. Just make me one promise—don’t lock me out?”




Chapter Five


E.D. didn’t lock out Dylan, but fate intervened elsewhere and business forced Alyx Carmel to postpone her meeting with E.D. until Friday evening. It was just as well because E.D. already felt run through the wringer by the end of Thursday, and Dylan’s declaration certainly compounded that.

Alyx ultimately invited E.D. for dinner to her home in a posh Austin neighborhood. E.D. brought a bottle of pinot noir that a trusted wine expert in her office had recommended. Because of Alyx’s reputation as a true professional, she was surprised by the invitation to meet away from an office environment. Alyx was notoriously private and no one seemed to know anything about her personal life except that she was single and rejected all personal social invitations. Naturally, that triggered some comments about her sexuality. E.D. didn’t care one iota about that; she had enough of her own concerns to deal with. Then, upon pulling into Alyx’s driveway, she was met by a uniformed cop who stepped from his squad car parked out front. That triggered different concerns.

While the officer didn’t smile, he also didn’t rest his hand on his holstered gun in a way to suggest he thought her a threat. Small gifts, E.D. thought, wondering what was up now.

“ID, ma’am.”

This wasn’t a gated community and Alyx hadn’t warned her of trouble. Wondering if she was about to get back into the evening news again, she reached for her purse. “l’m E. D. Martel… D.A.’s office,” she added because although she’d met many of Austin’s finest in court, she hadn’t yet met this gentleman and wanted to send a signal that they were on the same team. “I have a dinner appointment with Ms. Carmel.”




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