Spying in High Heels

“I’m sorry, but only lawyers and clients are allowed back there,” she said, pointing to the frosted doors. “We can’t have just anyone roaming around.”

“But I really need that phone,” I whined. Jasmine shrugged her shoulders as if to say, tough luck, chickie.

I pouted, then faked a thoughtful face as I stared at the frosted doors. I paused, counted to three Mississippi, then opened my eyes wide as if I’d had a light bulb moment. “I know! Jasmine, you could go get it for me.”

She looked doubtful, glancing at her computer screen. Before she could argue the importance of her solitaire game, I rushed on. “Oh please, Jasmine? I really, really need that phone. You’d be doing me such a huge favor. I’d really owe you one.”

She bit her oversized lip and stared at me so long I thought maybe she’d forgotten the question. Finally she let out a long suffering sigh. “Fine. I’ll go check. But stay right here.”

I held up two fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

That was almost too easy.

I waited until she’d disappeared into one of the conference rooms before bolting through the frosted doors and fairly sprinting down the hall to Richard’s office. I quickly slipped inside and closed the door after myself.

As expected, there was no sign of Richard. Though the scent of his Hilfiger aftershave still hung in the air. I inhaled deeply, suddenly all the more desperate to find him.

The office held three bookcases, filled with impressive looking volumes, and Richard’s honey oak desk, situated in the center of the room. His desktop held an oversized, leather bound calendar, a computer monitor, a telephone with about a gazillion little extension buttons, a penholder, and a stack of bulging file folders. The message light on his phone was blinking double time. Not a good sign.

I gingerly sat down behind the desk, flicking the monitor on. Luckily, Richard hadn’t logged out of the system the last time he’d been here, and it only took a couple minutes of clicking around until I found his address book with his mother’s phone number in Palm Springs. I pulled a sticky pad out of the desk and wrote the number down, slipping it in my back pocket. I flipped the monitor off again and stood up. Mission accomplished. I was actually pretty good at this cloak and dagger stuff.

I pushed the chair back in, put away the sticky pad and was just about to leave when I caught sight of the stack of files again. Bulging with forbidden documents. I took a quick look over both shoulders in a totally unnecessary move that somehow made me feel safer. Nope. Nobody watching. Just me and the files. Alone.

I tried to resist… but I was only human.

I picked up the one on top, knowing that if Richard ever saw me looking at these he’d have a cow, then give me an endless lecture about client-attorney confidentiality. But this was an emergency. I was late. And there was no way I was going to take that damn test and deal with the results without him. He got me into this mess, he was damn well going to be there while I peed on the stick.

So, fully justified, I opened the first file.

Worthington v. Patterson. To my disappointment it contained one legal sized document after another that I could have sworn were written in a foreign language. The only words I understood were “the” and “party.” So much for juicy stuff.

I dropped that one back in the pile, hoping that at least one of these included a blackmail demand, death threat, or secret cover up. I hated to think my snooping was just nosiness.

I picked up Elmer v. Wainsright.

“What are you doing?”

My head snapped up so fast I feared whiplash.

Standing in the doorway was none other than Mr. Nobody. My heart froze in my chest and I quickly checked his person for a gun. Fortunately I didn’t see one. And considering how tightly his navy t-shirt and Levis were hugging the form in the doorway, there wasn’t much chance of hiding it from view. He looked like he worked out. A lot. Dana would have been proud of him.

“Well?”

Well what? Oh, right. What was I doing here.

“Looking for Richard,” I squeaked. Suddenly at the sight of him I’d turned into Minnie Mouse. I cleared my throat, trying to convince myself that this guy didn’t scare me. We were in a lawyer’s office for crying out loud. He couldn’t very well kill me here. Right?

I took a step backward anyway. Better safe than sorry.

“What a coincidence,” he replied, his voice much deeper and smoother than I’d imagined. “So am I. Any luck?”

I shook my head no, afraid I’d sound like a mouseketeer again if I spoke. This guy seriously flashed “danger” in big, bold neon. And it wasn’t just the potentially concealed weapon. It was the hard set of his jaw, the steadiness of his dark eyes as they quickly swept the room, the white scar over his eyebrow that I’d bet my Spigas he hadn’t gotten from a paper cut.

He walked slowly over to Richard’s desk and glanced down at the file I’d been attempting to read. “Anything good in there?”

“I don’t know. I don’t speak attorney.”

The corner of his mouth quirked up ever so slightly. “Cute.”

“Thanks.”

He leaned his back casually against the desk, crossing his arms over his chest. His biceps strained against the sleeves of his T-shirt, the tattoo on his right arm peeking out again. It looked like a panther. Dark and sleek. With razor sharp claws. “So, you want to tell me what you’re really doing here?”

“Nuh uh.” I shook my head again.

He grinned. A slow, wicked grin that reached all the way to his dark eyes. It was the kind of grin that made women either cower in fear or want to rip his cloths off.

I licked my lips, my mouth suddenly filled with sand.

“Okay,” he said, cocking his head to one side. “How about this. How about you tell me who you are then, huh?”

“Maddie.”

“Maddie what?”

“Maddie Richard’s girlfriend.” I was reluctant to give him my last name as at the moment I couldn’t remember if I’d been talked into a public listing by the phone company.

“His girlfriend? Really?” He raised one eyebrow at me.

“Yes. His girlfriend.”

“Huh.” He looked me up and down, his eyes doing a slow, thorough appraisal.

“What?”

“Nothing. I just didn’t see him with someone so girly.”

Hey! I planted my hands on my hips, throwing on my best tough chick voice. “This happens to be my Bond girl outfit. It is not girly.”

“Easy, Bond girl.” That slow, wolfish smile slid across his face again. “I didn’t say I didn’t like it.”

Gulp.

“Oh.” Dang it, I was going for tough chick again, but somehow in the wake of that I’ll-huff-and-I’ll-puff-and-I’ll- blow-your-clothes-right-off smile, Minnie Mouse was back. “So, um, who exactly are you?”

“Detective Jack Ramirez. LAPD.”

Ugh. Mental forehead slapping. That explained the gun. I silently hoped that snooping hadn’t been upgraded to a misdemeanor.

As if he could read my mind, his lips quirked again. “Jasmine doesn’t know you’re here, does she?”

I did not dignify this with an answer. Which seemed to amuse him even more, his eye crinkling at the corners. However, he didn’t comment, but instead changed his line of questioning. “When was the last time you saw Richard Howe?”

“Friday. We were supposed to have lunch together. What is this about anyway?”

“Did he cancel?”

“No, I was late.” I cringed at the sound of the word echoing through my own head. “When I got here he was talking to you, then he…” I trailed off, remembering the way Richard had stared after Ramirez, then abruptly