"So, what's the story?"
Nita Reynolds glanced up at her law partner, Brad
Knopfler, who stood framed in her doorway, without really
seeing him.
Brain tumor. A couple of bad headaches, and now they
said she had a tumor in her head. Just like her father.
God, she'd only had that MRI because her mother had hounded
her within an inch of her life to ask for it.
Neuro–imaging was not the medical community's usual
first response to a complaint of migraine with aura, and
she'd felt like a major hypochondriac even asking her
doctor about it.
"Nita?"
She blinked. Shit. "Sorry, Brad, what was that?"
Taking her question as an invitation, he crossed the
plush carpet to settle in one of the leather armchairs
opposite her desk. "Your meeting with the Crown Prosecutor
this morning," he prompted, loosening his tie and lounging
back in the chair. "How'd it go?"
Better than the visit with my doctor right after that.
"Good." When that came out as little more than a croak,
she cleared her throat. "It was good. I talked her down
from indictable to summary offence."
Brad lifted an eyebrow. "Good job. That'll save your guy
four or five years, if he's convicted."
"Yeah, and there's a pretty good chance he will be."
"Hey, are you okay, Nita? You look a little ... I don't
know. Wiped."
Wiped? Try dying.
She bit back on a bubble of laughter that threatened to
erupt. Gawd, if she laughed now, she'd start crying.
"You know what? I am tired." She closed the file she'd
been staring at for the past half hour. "I think I'm gonna
play hooky and go home."
"Nita, Nita, Nita." Brad shook his head sadly. "It's
four o'clock in the afternoon. That hardly qualifies. Hooky
is when you call the office whilst tangled with your lover
who is nibbling you in places that make your voice go
husky, thereby lending you some credibility when you plead
swine flu or bubonic plague or something."
At his words, a mental image sprang to life.
Specifically, the image of Detective Craig Walker's hulking
length sprawled on her five–hundred–dollar
Egyptian cotton sheets, and her own body sprawled atop
his....
Suddenly, her heart beat faster. And not at the mental
image alone. She'd conjured it too often in these past few
months for it to have that dramatic an effect. No, her
heart beat faster at the idea taking root in her mind. The
mind that could be lost to her all too soon, like her
father's was after his first surgery. But it wasn't lost
yet. She still had full mental capacity, full motor
function. Full control of her life, at least for the
immediate future.
Time to put it to good use.
She stood, smiling for the first time since leaving Dr.
Woodbridge's office. "You know what? You're right again,
Brad. You're absolutely right."
Grabbing her purse, she strode out.