Just one more thing on the to-do list.
He realized Pratt was waiting for him to answer the question. His collar felt tight as he cleared his throat.
“I don’t think so, sir.” Hard as it was, he kept his tone level. Pratt obviously had him dead to rights, but there was no reason to give him more ammunition. He’d be stupid to argue that he felt nothing for her. His poker face wasn’t good enough, especially since he could still imagine her in his arms.
“You might want to keep it that way until she’s cleared of murdering her former fiance.” He winked at Paul as he handed the list back to him. “I’m presuming you don’t think she did it.”
“She didn’t,” he said with conviction. Now that he knew about Bear, he knew she wouldn’t have had time to murder Todd and put him in the church. “Timing’s off, personality type doesn’t fit.”
“Because you don’t want it to? Or because you think the DNA swab they took this morning will clear her?”
Paul hesitated. He’d questioned that. A lot. Ever since he’d gotten the news. He’d been disconcerted to find a technician at the office, ready to swab Torie’s cheek the minute they walked in the door.
Pratt waved at a chair. “Before you answer that, take a seat.”
Paul sat. Waited while Pratt stared. It was a tactic he recognized, and he wasn’t going to fall for it.
The older man finally smiled. “So, no cat and mouse. Tell me your thoughts on this, Paul. And tell me why you haven’t told her how much Todd left her in his will.”
Clearing his throat, Paul began. “I haven’t told her because she is still a suspect. The inheritance just adds fuel to that fire.”
“Press hasn’t got wind of it, have they?”
“Not officially, but there’s gossip. One of the tabloids already has a reporter here. He’s been digging old pictures out of the society pages from back when…well, their engagement picture, and all that.”
“Hmmm. Yes. That’s unfortunate. That type can dig out a lot of information in too short a time span. I often wish they worked for us. Or for the police, rather than some rag of a grocery-store newspaper.”
“Good point. We could use those kind of research skills.”
“Indeed. So far she’s avoided the press, yes? When are you planning to tell her?”
“Yes, they’re focusing on the men, and on her office. As to when to tell her about the money, I don’t know. One of the things I need to ask you, though, as a point of law—can I represent her? Do I need to get Myra or—” a terrible thought crossed his mind—“You don’t want Melvin Jr. in on this, do you?”
Pratt looked irritated, then sad, before quickly covering it up with a smile. “No, Melvin’s better suited to corporate work. I think Myra would be superb for handling the estate matters with you. You stay on as defense council while she needs it. I think it would be best to recuse yourself for the estate matters.” Pratt laughed suddenly. “After all, we’ll be billing for two sides of the cookie. You’ll be closing out Todd’s affairs, Myra will be handling Ms. Hagen’s. A nice fee for us.”
Hating the sound of it, as Pratt put it in terms of billable hours, Paul nonetheless nodded. “True. Though he’s gone, I still represent Todd.”
“Exactly.” Pratt nodded and looked satisfied. “I didn’t think I was going to need to remind you of that. You are going to have to tread very carefully between being in conflict of interest and in being downright over the line.”
“For the firm’s sake,” Paul said, choosing his words with care, “do I need to disconnect entirely, turn her case over to someone else?”
Pratt cocked his head, and focused his entire attention on Paul. The old man was intimidating most of the time. The weight of years and skills gave him an aura of power and knowledge that no amount of joviality could mask. It was an uncomfortable feeling, like talking to The Powers That Be or something.
“Can you walk that thin line?”
Paul waited before answering. Thought about it. Could he? Now that he’d touched her again, tasted her again, held her again? Could he defend her?
Absolutely.
Could he keep his work for Todd’s estate separate?
That he wasn’t so sure about.
“I think so, sir. However, I will understand if you want to put someone else in the saddle.”
“You’d hate that worse than being fired,” Pratt said bluntly.
Paul couldn’t help it; he grinned. “Well, yes.”
Pratt returned the smile, and Paul could see him relax into his chair. “You know, that’s what got you promoted to partner so quickly. You have just enough killer instinct, tempered with what works for the long-term good. You balance them both,” Pratt said, holding out heavy gnarled hands to pantomime a tipping load. “Too much one way and you become a shark, dedicated to the thrill of closing cases. Too much the other way, and you might as well be working for the state.”
Paul laughed. “The state doesn’t bill enough hours. You know that.”
It was an old joke between them. Pratt had asked why he wanted private general law, instead of the more high-profile defense positions available with law enforcement or government agencies. He’d always claimed he liked keeping score with billable hours.
“Here’s the compromise. I want you to report to me every few days. If I think the balance is tipping—” he let his hands slide down to the desk—“then we’ll talk about a second set of eyes on everything, and another set of ears in the discussions. Until then, you’re point.”
“Thanks.” Paul rose to take his leave, extending his hand to shake the older man’s hand.
