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  The music was so loud, she could hardly hear him at times. Ironic that the deejay had picked Ashanti's Happy, because she was anything but.

  Her mind kept flitting elsewhere, picking at memories, trying to find something that might help her pin the man who wanted to see her dead. Or at least the one willing to try, she thought as she mentally went over her client list and remembered threats—veiled and otherwise—of ex-husbands and soon-to-be exes unhappy with her.

  As they were locking up the club at one in the morning, she asked Blade, “Can you give me keys to my room? I need to go to my office.”

  “Now? What's so important?”

  “My files. I want to start digging, see if I can't make a list of suspects.”

  “At this hour?”

  “When better?” Knowing he was going to try to talk her out of it, Lynn dug in.

  “During the day, I would have to explain myself to fellow employees. Stella wanted me to think about it. I'm ready now.”

  “What about building security?” Blade asked.

  “The guards are always changing. They can't keep up with everyone in the building. I have my keys and my identification, so no one should question me.”

  Although she was sure her unusual appearance might cause some raised eyebrows.

  “You're not going by yourself, Lynn. I'm coming with you.”

  Her gratitude that she didn't have to go it alone outweighing her irritation that he seemed to be taking charge again, she didn't care to argue. “Thanks.”

  Settling into the Jeep, Lynn realized how exhausted she was, and she hadn't even done any actual waitressing. What would the next night be like?

  On the drive downtown, she turned her thought to the way Blade kept coming to her rescue. Part of her appreciated it, while part of her resented it, because it meant she wasn't really in charge of her own life anymore. The problem being she was stuck with the situation until the villain was brought to justice.

  She broke the silence by saying, “I'm not the type of woman who has to depend on a man.”

  “Who said you did? And what would be wrong with that anyway?”

  “A lot. So many women can't fend for themselves that it's unbelievable at times. I actually had a client who not only couldn't tell me what her budget was—I needed to know how high to set the alimony demand—she didn't even know how to balance her own check book. No wonder she stayed in a bad marriage until her husband met some little honey and decided he wanted a trade-in.”

  “And you made him pay.”

  “You bet I did.”

  Silent for a moment, Blade said, “You don't seem to like men much.”

  “I like them well enough. I just don't trust them.”

  “None of us?”

  “Well, I trust you.”

  “Why? Because Stella told you to?”

  “For one.”

  “How about for two?”

  “You haven't given me reason to distrust you.”

  “I'll bet that wouldn't be too hard,” Blade mused.

  He had a point. She'd seen too much wrong done to women by men to be unbiased, starting with her own parents. And her work had convinced her that women hadn't really come a long way when it came to personal relationships. She knew she was always wary, always waiting for the proverbial shoe to drop in her direction.

  “What happened? Did some guy you were crazy about dump you?”

  “I choose to be the dumper rather than the dumpee,” Lynn said lightly.

  “Often?”

  He made it sound like she'd had scores of men in her life, when in fact, she could count the repeaters on one hand, not one of whom had been charismatic enough to make her lose her head and plunge into a relationship with any fervor.

  “Always before things get too serious,” she said. “That way, no one gets hurt.”

  “But if you don't ever take a chance, you can't know where a relationship will go. What if you miss out on something really special?”

  “A romantic? Blade, I wouldn't have guessed. But, um, I don't see you wearing a wedding ring. And you haven't mentioned anyone special in your life.”

  That stopped him from pressing her.

  They rode in silence for a while. Lynn tried to get a sense of Blade' mood, but as usual, he kept low key. Whatever he was thinking, she couldn't tell. As her office building came into view amidst the high-rises west of the Loop, something made her try to explain.

  “I do have my reasons for feeling the way I do. My mother couldn't make it without a man. And my father took advantage of that every chance he could.”

  “He hit her?”

  “Not with his fists. With words. He made her feel small and weak and worthless. I never understood why she put up with it. Why she still does. She says she loves him

  and could never leave him. Now he's living with cancer and he's on another round of chemo. Mom is devoting herself to him and he's treating her worse than ever.” She sighed. “If that's love, I don't want anything like it.”

  “Who says that's what you'll get if you let yourself go?”

  “That's what Dani got. My kid sister Danielle is a lot like Mom. And unfortunately, she married someone like Dad. I tried to warn her, but she wouldn't listen to me. She was madly in love. Eventually she got the picture.”

  “Her husband hit her?”

  “No, of course not. Dani never would have stood for that. But her self-esteem certainly suffered. I don't know how long it took me to get her to see the light.”

  Blade pulled the Jeep next to a parking meter in front of her building. “And then she left him.”

  “Finally. It's common for women who grow up with any kind of abuse to be attracted to that kind of man.”

  Her constant fear for herself while growing up.

  “But not inevitable,” he countered. “It depends on the woman. And you're certainly not weak.”

  But for some reason, she'd never gotten over her fears in that area.

  She gave him a quick look. “You don't even know me.”

  “I know you well enough.”

  Did he mean he knew her type? Or would he claim to be psychic like Cass?

  “And you still want to help me,” she mused.

  Cutting the engine, he asked, “Don't you think you're worth it?”

  Was she? Sometimes she wasn't certain. Sometimes she didn't see clearly enough to make the right decisions. Or to give the right advice. Remembering how wrong she could be sent a chill through her.

  “I've made my share of mistakes,” she admitted.

  “Everyone makes mistakes.”

  Opening the passenger door, Lynn slid out, saying, “But not ones that get their older sister killed.”

  Chapter Five

  Blade wanted to demand an explanation on that one, but Lynn was too quick for him. She was out of his vehicle and heading for the building's entrance before he could so much as get a word out.

  “Better keep up, Blade,” she called to him as she went inside through the night door. “I work fast. You don't want to get left behind.”

  Blade hurried and caught up to her as just as she stopped at the security desk. The guard was young, fresh-cheeked, probably barely legal. And he was staring at Lynn in amazement. Mostly at the flesh bared by the midriff top, Blade realized, noting where his gaze was aimed.

  Blade cleared his throat and the kid looked up guiltily, asking, “Can I help you?”

  “You're new, Keith,” Lynn stated, obviously getting the name from the tag on his shirt. She pulled out her identification. “Or you would know I work late quite often. Evelyn Cross.”

  The guard started. “It's the middle of the night.” His eyes flicked from her to the photo ID “That don't look like you.”

  “I've been out on the town. I don't wear my civvies 24/7. Look at the face...” she said, brushing the hair back on one side “... not at the stomach.”

  Lynn was rising above the disguise to her professional self, Blade thought, enjoying watc
hing her work.

  The guard flushed and did as she asked. “Yeah, okay, I guess it is you.” He seemed agitated as he pushed a clipboard and pen at her. “You need to sign yourself in and out.” He looked to Blade. “What about him?”

  Lynn scribbled her signature and time and handed Blade the clipboard. “Apparently, he's with me.”

  She was all business and in charge, quite a turnaround from the frightened woman determined to run the day before.

  As they moved away from the desk, Lynn whispered, “Either they're getting younger or I'm getting older.”

  “Just old enough to handle that well.”

  Blade couldn't help but be impressed. Then, again, he knew Evelyn Cross was good at what she did. He'd made the effort to learn everything he could about her legal practice while she was having her make-over.

  Once in the elevator on the way to seventeen, Blade wondered what it might be like to work in a high-rise and be required to wear a suit and tie every day. Not anything he could see himself doing. Always a physical, outdoor type, he'd actually liked his long stint in the military, if not always what he'd had to do for the government, particularly not that last assignment.

  Which brought him back to the statement Lynn had made as she'd left the Jeep.

  “That comment about your sister—”

  “I shouldn't have said anything.”

  “But you did. Obviously, it's bothering you, so you need to talk about it,” Blade insisted. “What happened?”

  She sighed. “Lorraine was a social worker. I had a client living in a culture that pretty much kept her—all their women—from the real world, but somehow she came to me about a divorce. And then she changed her mind. I thought she was either being coerced or she was afraid of what would happen to her and her children if she left her husband, so I asked my sister to talk to her, to give her advice about shelters and programs for displaced women. Because of me, Lorraine ended up being in the wrong place at the wrong time. And now she's dead.”

  The elevator doors opened and Blade stood frozen. “But you weren't responsible.”

  “Yes, I was. I sent her into that neighborhood where she was shot and killed on the street. And the bastard who did it was never brought to justice. He was never even identified. But I'm equally guilty because I'm the one who sent Lorraine to her death.”

  She would never forgive the man who'd pulled the trigger, Blade thought, his gut tied up tight, not when she couldn't forgive herself.

  What would she do when she found out the truth?

  That he was the bastard who had mistakenly executed Lorraine Cross.

  ***

  Once in her office—spacious, carpeted and filled with classic wood furniture and plants

  the receptionist watered—Lynn went directly to the file drawers lining one wall. There, she pulled nearly a dozen folders pertaining to cases she'd either taken or settled in the last year or so and set them on her cherry wood desk.

  “Where do we start?” Blade asked. He'd entrenched himself in one of the upholstered client chairs across from her.

  “You don't. These are confidential records. At least some information related to my clients may be confidential.” Besides which, she wanted to feel like she was in charge of some part of her life. “Information pinning down the whereabouts of their spouses is another matter. I have no obligation to them, certainly.”

  Concentrating, she quickly considered each case that she'd retrieved, going over her copious notes. She always kept track not only of her thoughts, but of the threats from disgruntled spouses that seemed to be part of the job. That was the thing. Most of them were bigger talkers than doers.

  How did she decide whether a man was a true threat or not?

  She noticed that Blade was doubly into his low-key mode. Perhaps because he was taken aback by her admission of guilt in her sister's death? Nearly two years had gone by and still no closure. She would probably never know her sister's murderer. Would probably always carry the blame square on her own shoulders.

  Lynn couldn't help but wonder if the Cross sisters had each been born with big Vs for victim inscribed across their foreheads. Lorraine hadn't played the victim any more than she herself had, and what made her sister's death doubly tragic was that she'd been going to someone else's aid and had stumbled into something horrible by accident.

  Forcing away the dark thoughts that would do her no good, Lynn concentrated on the files before her.

  Rather she concentrated as best she could, considering Blade was watching her every move. She felt his dark gaze wash over her as intimate as any caress. Heat flushed along her neck and into her cheeks, and she only hoped that he didn't notice. Then, again, he claimed to be aware of everything around him, so she was probably doomed.

  Not that he said a thing.

  Even so, she found herself twitching with awareness of him as she did a cursory sweep of each folder and divided them into two piles, easily dismissing several candidates as she visualized them. One was too short to have been the man who'd grabbed her. Another too heavy. A third too slight in build. That left eight possibles.

  Through lowered lashes, she glanced at Blade, who seemed to be studying the details of her office as she studied him. He was a stunning-looking man, cover-model handsome with a body by Adonis. A sudden memory of her hands on his naked flesh made her squirm deep into her chair.

  “Problem?” he asked, his attention focused on her once more.

  “Of course I have a problem. I have to figure out which of these men could want to do more than fantasize some revenge against me.”

  “This is a job for Stella and her partner. She's probably been through those files already.”

  Even though she knew Stella had planned on talking to everyone in the office, Lynn laughed. “You don't know the partners in this firm.”

  “They wouldn't cooperate with the police?”

  “Only so far as they need to. Besides, no one really knows the details of encounters with a client's angry spouse like the lawyer who handled that particular case. If anyone is going to give your detective friend something solid to go on, it'll be me.”

  Not that she planned to hand over her list, then sit back and wait. This was her life and she would do what she must to protect herself.

  “Besides which,” she mumbled, “who else would know whether or not these guys wore glasses.” Her only lead so far.

  Forcing herself to ignore Blade, Lynn went back over the pile, eliminating two more possibilities, men whom she believed didn't have the backbone to stand up to a strong woman, no matter their threats.

  “That leaves six potential suspects,” she muttered, spinning in her chair to access her computer. “I'm going to bring up their records.”

  She eliminated two more candidates behind in child support when she found one was in jail and another had returned to his native country.

  On the remaining four, she printed up all the information she had about them, one

  copy for her, the other for Detective Stella Jacobek. But in the end, she eliminated one of those, as well.

  “Three candidates,” she told Blade, pushing the information toward him.

  Rather than reading, he said, “Why don't you tell me about them.”

  “Victor Churchill, owner of V.C. Technology. He also owns this building, and he's my highest profile case ever.”

  “Something about that name. I know it.”

  “Because it was in the news. He'd been siphoning off marital monies without his wife's knowledge. We found them and Carol got substantially more than she might have if he'd dealt honestly with her in the first place. The judge took offense on her behalf. And then there was an official and well-documented investigation into his business practices. Churchill wasn't happy. The woman for whom he left his wife wasn't happy, either. She then left him.”

  “Which made him even unhappier with you.”

  She nodded. “He promised to ruin me. He wasn't specific as to how.”

 
; “Who's next?” Blade asked.

  “Johnny Rincon.”

  “I know him from the old neighborhood.”

  “Right. Your friend Stella said she knew Carla, so I guess that means you did, too. It doesn't sound as if you like him much.”

  “When we were in high school, he tried forcing Stella and me into a gang.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I cut him.”

  Having seen the knife strapped to Blade's calf, Lynn swallowed hard. He spoke of violence so quietly, so matter-of-factly, that it sent a chill up her spine.

  “Rincon called me a whore and said that I would be getting what I deserved.”

  “You were raped?”

  “No. The man who abducted me didn't touch me sexually. Maybe that means Rincon wasn't the one. He's worn sunglasses every time I've seen him, but the attack was at night.”

  “Don't underestimate Johnny,” Blade warned her. “He's unpredictable. He was

  dangerous even back then.”

  But apparently Blade had been equally or more dangerous. And probably still was, she thought.

  “Who's suspect number three?”

  “Someone your friend Stella's not going to want to know about.”

  “On the force?”

  “Unfortunately. Roger Wheeler has a reputation for treating offenders with less than respect. When he brought that attitude home, his wife turned him in, said he bragged about the way he got off beating on offenders. She's afraid for her kids and we're asking for full custody.”

  “This case is still pending. Wheeler threatened you how?”

  “He told me that if he had his way, I would regret the day I'd been born.”

  She gathered her folders and sorted them alphabetically for return to the file drawers.

  “What about that one.” Blade indicated the last data sheet she'd eliminated.