could be there when it opened, then started cruising the web for offshore banks in Switzerland and the Caymans, because she’d have to move the money one more time. By the time anybody realized she was gone for good, the money would be gone for good, too.
When she looked up again, it was eight o’clock. The computer screen glowed, and the hallway had darkened. Outside the window, the city lights were coming up, white squares from office buildings and neon lines on the spiky skyscrapers. She packed the Rexco file in Bennie’s knapsack, because no lawyer ever went home without work, then grabbed her messenger bag. She hit the elevator, put on her game face, and walked toward the security desk, where she signed out with Bennie’s signature.
Steve looked up from his newspaper, his eyes unfocused behind his glasses. “Good night, Bennie. Like I said, don’t worry about a thing.”
“Thanks.” Alice left and pushed through the old-fashioned doors, and outside it was sweltering, even at this hour. The street was congested, and she hailed a cab, which pulled over quickly. She opened the door and slid into the backseat, sticky on her bare thighs. “No air?” she asked, but the old cabbie shrugged his shoulders.
“Sorry.”
She gave him Bennie’s address and sat back, letting the hot air blow on her face. The ride wasn’t long, and she eyed the couples walking hand-in-hand, going out to dinner and clubs, all dressed up. It was Saturday night and she was horny as hell, but her only date was the Rexco file.
The cab reached Bennie’s neighborhood and cruised down the street toward her house, but there was someone sitting on her front step. In the dark, it looked like a homeless guy, but as the cab got closer, she could see that he was a total hunk, tall and blond. He looked too straight to be her type, but he was still hot, even in glasses and a striped tie. She couldn’t see his features clearly, but he had light, wavy hair, an old-school white shirt, and his suit jacket was slung over one shoulder.
She handed the driver a ten, grabbed her messenger bag and knapsack and got out of the cab, rearranging her features into the Bennie mask.
The man gave her a wave, obviously mistaking her for Bennie, and rose to meet her, his smile partly in shadow.
She finally recognized him. It was the one who got away. Bennie’s old boyfriend, Grady Wells. She remembered him from the trial, where he sat in the gallery to observe one or two days.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he said softly, embracing her. “Surprised to see me?”
“Happily so,” she answered, hugging him back. The Rexco file would wait. Her Saturday night had fallen into place.
She smelled reunion sex.
Chapter Twenty-five
Mary was trying to make a decision, which wasn’t her strong suit. This time the choice was BF or BFF-should she go see her boyfriend or her best friend forever? She hoped to decide on the walk home. The only downside to having a boyfriend was that you were supposed to spend time with them, even when they were cranky.
She had stopped off and done some shopping, but it hadn’t helped her make a decision, and now she owned three shirts she didn’t need, even at ten percent off. She always bought all the stuff she didn’t need on sale, so she could save money as she wasted it, which seemed time-efficient and very partnery.
She sighed, walking in the heat. It was dark, and weekend traffic clogged the street. A couple hurried past her, the guy holding a dry-cleaned tuxedo in a plastic bag. Another couple strolled by, laughing. It was Saturday night, and under federal law, Mary wasn’t allowed to spend it with a BFF if she had a BF. But she and her BF didn’t have any plans, and a sick BFF trumped a healthy BF, especially if the Phillies were playing, but they weren’t. The laws of dating could be so complicated, and it was lucky she had a J.D.
The shops were locking their doors as she passed, and the restaurants beginning to form lines out the door. She was coming to a decision. She didn’t think Anthony would mind if she spent the evening with Judy. Maybe he was as bugged as she was, though it wasn’t his partnership in question, his boss in trouble, or his parents headed for
“Hey, babe,” he said, breathless.
“How are you?”
“Working away. I left the library to take your call.”
“I’m sorry. Do you mind if I don’t see you tonight? Judy’s sick, and I should go over.”
“No problem, I’ll just work. Call me later?”
“I won’t be done with her until late.”
“Okay, I won’t wait for your call. Have fun. Are we gonna look at houses tomorrow?”
“Really? Sunday’s a big open-house day, and the weather’s supposed to be less humid. It would be fun.”
Mary felt a guilty twinge. “I know, but I have that brief to write for Bennie.”
“Okay, call me whenever, tonight or tomorrow. Let me know what you want to do.” Anthony was silent a minute. “Babe, you mad at me?”
Mary’s throat caught. “No. Are you?”
“Not at all. I love you.”
“Love you, too. Good night.” Mary pressed END, placated. She did love him, and he loved her. They were in love, and nothing was wrong. She pressed J, and Judy picked up, croaking a hello. Mary said, “I’m coming to check on you. What do you need beside Haagen-Dazs?”
“Fresh limes.”
“For what?”
“Margaritas, of course.”
“See you in half an hour, crazy.” Mary pressed END and picked up the pace, satisfied she had made the right decision. Sometimes BFFs were better for Saturday nights, especially when limes were involved.
Half an hour later, one look at Judy, in her gray hoodie and blue gym shorts, told Mary her BFF was sick. Her fair skin was pale, her blue eyes washed out, and a short yellow ponytail sprouted from her head like the Lorax.
“Feeling crummy, honey?” Mary asked.
“Yes.”
“Poor thing.” Mary closed the apartment door, then trailed Judy into her tiny galley kitchen, where she dropped her purse and briefcase on the cafe table and set the shopping bag on a butcherblock counter. “Did you sleep?”
“No, my head hurt too much.”
“Did you have some soup?”
“I hate soup. I like tequila.”
Mary stowed the ice cream in the freezer and unpacked five fresh limes, which rolled around on the counter. “You really think alcohol’s a good idea?”
“Yes. Tequila’s like Vitamin C, without the Vitamin or the C.”
“I can only have one drink. I gotta get up early and finish that brief for Bennie.” Mary sniffed the air, which reeked of the turpentine and oil paints that Judy kept in her studio/apartment, which really was a studio and an apartment. “You know, that smell would make anybody sick.”
“It’s not the smell, it’s the spell.”
Mary looked over. “Did you just make that up?”
“Yes.”
“Then we should get you to a doctor.”
“Please call Fiorella.”
Mary rolled her eyes. “You, a woman of genius, can’t actually believe that you have the evil eye. It’s folk medicine. It’s what peasants made up to explain their lives, like sacrificing goats.”
