me so good with computers, pal; I think outside the box.”
“In this case, there's no box.”
“The hell there isn't. You think she's hot, and you won't give me her number. The evidence is in, and the prosecution rests.”
“You're not harassing me into getting that number for you. Hell, for all I know, it's in the book. You haven't even looked yet.”
“What good is having a friend who's a cop if he won't give me inside information?”
“So you can ask him to look at a piece of shit pistol
after
you've already bought it, and pronounce it a piece of shit.”
Rick's quick grin flashed. “Well, there is that, but don't get me sidetracked. I'm on a roll here. You're attracted to this woman. You went over to talk to her, even though, in your own words, you
know
she isn't a one-nighter. My friend, you may not realize it yet, but you're on the road to recovery. Before you know it, you'll be smiling at her across the breakfast table.”
“I don't smile,” Cahill said, though he was having to fight his amusement.
“So you'll be scowling at her across the breakfast table. That isn't my point.”
Cahill gave up on convincing Rick of anything. “Okay, you're right; she's so hot I could walk on three legs every time I see her.”
“Now you're talkin'.”
“I'll break your back and chop off your legs if you call her.”
“That's my boy!”
“Now, what's taking so long on those burgers?” He looked around and, right on cue, there came the waitress carrying two plates almost smothered with spicy fries.
Rick stared at him, then mournfully shook his head. “You're hopeless, Doc. Hopeless.”
“So I've heard.”
Sarah arrived back at the house feeling both tired and jazzed after a hard workout with her karate instructor. Judge Roberts
was having dinner out, as he usually did on Wednesday so she wouldn't feel any need to check on him, as she would if he was anywhere in the house. She did a quick tour of the house to check that all the windows were closed and the doors locked, then headed upstairs to her quarters.
The Judge had put her mail on the small table beside the door to the stairs. She leafed through it as she climbed the stairs: a
Consumer Reports
magazine, a couple of catalogs, and a letter.
She placed the mail on her small two-person kitchen table, put a cup of water in the microwave, then went to the bedroom and stripped off her clothes. She had showered after her workout, but her clothes still felt sticky; she sighed in relief as the ceiling fan sent cool air washing over her naked skin. She'd had two hard workouts today, and tonight she was going to pamper herself. A facial was on her agenda, as was a long, relaxing soak in lavender-scented water.
She turned on the water to fill the tub, dumped in a pack of bath salts, then pulled on a robe and returned to the kitchen to dunk a tea bag of Salada green tea in the cup of hot water. While it was steeping, she flipped through the mail-order catalogs, then dumped them in the trash. The first sip of tea was heavenly; sighing, she sat down and opened the letter.
Dear Miss Stevens:
I would like to offer you a position in my household, in the same capacity you now fill. My estate is large and would benefit from your competent management, but I believe the benefit would be mutual. Whatever your salary is now, I will increase it by ten thousand dollars. Please call me with your decision.
Hmm, that was interesting. She wasn't tempted, but it was interesting all the same. She checked the return address; it was a street in Mountain Brook. Judging from the date at the top of the letter, he must have sent it right after seeing the television spot.
Somehow she hadn't expected other offers of employment. It was flattering, but she had no intention of leaving the Judge, no matter how much money was offered.
The offer deserved immediate attention, though, so she picked up the phone and dialed the number on the letter. After two rings an
“In this case, there's no box.”
“The hell there isn't. You think she's hot, and you won't give me her number. The evidence is in, and the prosecution rests.”
“You're not harassing me into getting that number for you. Hell, for all I know, it's in the book. You haven't even looked yet.”
“What good is having a friend who's a cop if he won't give me inside information?”
“So you can ask him to look at a piece of shit pistol
after
you've already bought it, and pronounce it a piece of shit.”
Rick's quick grin flashed. “Well, there is that, but don't get me sidetracked. I'm on a roll here. You're attracted to this woman. You went over to talk to her, even though, in your own words, you
know
she isn't a one-nighter. My friend, you may not realize it yet, but you're on the road to recovery. Before you know it, you'll be smiling at her across the breakfast table.”
“I don't smile,” Cahill said, though he was having to fight his amusement.
“So you'll be scowling at her across the breakfast table. That isn't my point.”
Cahill gave up on convincing Rick of anything. “Okay, you're right; she's so hot I could walk on three legs every time I see her.”
“Now you're talkin'.”
“I'll break your back and chop off your legs if you call her.”
“That's my boy!”
“Now, what's taking so long on those burgers?” He looked around and, right on cue, there came the waitress carrying two plates almost smothered with spicy fries.
Rick stared at him, then mournfully shook his head. “You're hopeless, Doc. Hopeless.”
“So I've heard.”
Sarah arrived back at the house feeling both tired and jazzed after a hard workout with her karate instructor. Judge Roberts
was having dinner out, as he usually did on Wednesday so she wouldn't feel any need to check on him, as she would if he was anywhere in the house. She did a quick tour of the house to check that all the windows were closed and the doors locked, then headed upstairs to her quarters.
The Judge had put her mail on the small table beside the door to the stairs. She leafed through it as she climbed the stairs: a
Consumer Reports
magazine, a couple of catalogs, and a letter.
She placed the mail on her small two-person kitchen table, put a cup of water in the microwave, then went to the bedroom and stripped off her clothes. She had showered after her workout, but her clothes still felt sticky; she sighed in relief as the ceiling fan sent cool air washing over her naked skin. She'd had two hard workouts today, and tonight she was going to pamper herself. A facial was on her agenda, as was a long, relaxing soak in lavender-scented water.
She turned on the water to fill the tub, dumped in a pack of bath salts, then pulled on a robe and returned to the kitchen to dunk a tea bag of Salada green tea in the cup of hot water. While it was steeping, she flipped through the mail-order catalogs, then dumped them in the trash. The first sip of tea was heavenly; sighing, she sat down and opened the letter.
Dear Miss Stevens:
I would like to offer you a position in my household, in the same capacity you now fill. My estate is large and would benefit from your competent management, but I believe the benefit would be mutual. Whatever your salary is now, I will increase it by ten thousand dollars. Please call me with your decision.
Hmm, that was interesting. She wasn't tempted, but it was interesting all the same. She checked the return address; it was a street in Mountain Brook. Judging from the date at the top of the letter, he must have sent it right after seeing the television spot.
Somehow she hadn't expected other offers of employment. It was flattering, but she had no intention of leaving the Judge, no matter how much money was offered.
The offer deserved immediate attention, though, so she picked up the phone and dialed the number on the letter. After two rings an
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