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Authors: A Kiss in the Dark
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upstanding citizen. Back then the media was lobbying for mandatory
sentencing, so they ignored me, but it didn't matter. Royce knew what I'd
done."
"That's why you left the DA's office, right?" Paul felt
more than a little guilty. He'd returned shortly after Mitch had opened his own
office, but Paul had been too absorbed with his own problems to ask why Mitch
had left.
"Yeah. The DA returned—pissed big-time—and took all my
interesting cases and left me with a bunch of crap."
"I guess you can understand why Royce Winston isn't your
biggest fan."
"It's been years, dammit. If Royce were honest with herself,
she'd admit that ambition does things to people. And even if I'd been overly
ambitious, I was only doing my job. How was I to know her father was
suicidal?"
Paul could still see Royce's point, but he didn't even try arguing
it with Mitch. She'd lost her father and no doubt saw Mitch as the epitome of
the conniving lawyers she hated.
"Goddammit. After what she did to me on that talk show, I'm
going to be bird-dogged by reporters."
Paul had never heard Mitch this angry. He was one of the most
controlled men Paul knew; Mitch seldom lost his temper. Could it be he did
intend to run for office, and Royce had exposed his plans?
She'd cleverly picked up on something even Paul hadn't noticed
until she brought it up. Mitch refused to defend any man accused of rape. Why?
"Are you defending a cougar? That'll mean more
publicity."
"Actually I'm representing the Wildlife Foundation at a Fish
and Game hearing. They want to destroy some cougar because he attacked a
hunter." Mitch stabbed the air with his finger. "What I want to know
is how the hell Royce found out about it. They just hired me."
"Hey, Mitch, you know nothing can be kept secret. How else
would I make a living?"
"I don't like anyone meddling in my business. You know
that."
Paul nodded, thinking Mitch guarded his privacy—particularly his
past—like a pit bull. And he held a grudge like Kohmeni.
"Nobody treats me the way Royce did tonight and gets away
with it. She's had it. I swear, I'll screw her."
"Geez, you're a celebrity—-already," Brent exclaimed the
following evening as they walked into the elegant St. Francis Hotel for the
auction to finance the Center for Women in Crisis.
Did she detect a hostile note in his voice? Was her success going
to threaten Brent? This was a side of him that she'd never seen until this
moment.
A gauntlet of reporters with belted battery packs and klieg-light
sets greeted them. Pack journalism, Royce decided. If one station came, they
all did. The minicam crews were the harbingers of electronic gossip in the
la-la land of TV news—an amalgam of entertainment and journalism. Did she
really want to be a part of this?
One reporter lunged in front of her, his bald head sprouting a
lonely tuft of red hair like a patch of crabgrass. "Any truth to the rumor
you and Durant were lovers?"
"Don't be ridiculous." Butterflies the size of bats flew
through her stomach. A kiss in the dark didn't make them lovers. Besides, no
one could know—unless Mitch had told.
Would he retaliate for what she'd done to him last night by making
certain Brent found out about that kiss at the party? How could she explain
passionately kissing a man she hated? She couldn't even explain it to herself.
"That creep was Tobias Ingeblatt from the Outrage," she
told Brent.
The Evening Outlook was a local tabloid whose stories were
financed by supermarket ads touting the lowest prices in diapers and mayo. It
was such a joke, everyone called it the Evening Outrage, but it was
stocked near the registers beside national tabloids. The Outrage 's
circulation was awesome with its tales of the clandestine clenches of local
celebrities.
Tobias Ingeblatt was their star reporter, she thought with
disgust. He probably made three times what her uncle earned. Ingeblatt
frequently resold his stories to a national tabloid. Usually his pieces
featured the exploits of
sentencing, so they ignored me, but it didn't matter. Royce knew what I'd
done."
"That's why you left the DA's office, right?" Paul felt
more than a little guilty. He'd returned shortly after Mitch had opened his own
office, but Paul had been too absorbed with his own problems to ask why Mitch
had left.
"Yeah. The DA returned—pissed big-time—and took all my
interesting cases and left me with a bunch of crap."
"I guess you can understand why Royce Winston isn't your
biggest fan."
"It's been years, dammit. If Royce were honest with herself,
she'd admit that ambition does things to people. And even if I'd been overly
ambitious, I was only doing my job. How was I to know her father was
suicidal?"
Paul could still see Royce's point, but he didn't even try arguing
it with Mitch. She'd lost her father and no doubt saw Mitch as the epitome of
the conniving lawyers she hated.
"Goddammit. After what she did to me on that talk show, I'm
going to be bird-dogged by reporters."
Paul had never heard Mitch this angry. He was one of the most
controlled men Paul knew; Mitch seldom lost his temper. Could it be he did
intend to run for office, and Royce had exposed his plans?
She'd cleverly picked up on something even Paul hadn't noticed
until she brought it up. Mitch refused to defend any man accused of rape. Why?
"Are you defending a cougar? That'll mean more
publicity."
"Actually I'm representing the Wildlife Foundation at a Fish
and Game hearing. They want to destroy some cougar because he attacked a
hunter." Mitch stabbed the air with his finger. "What I want to know
is how the hell Royce found out about it. They just hired me."
"Hey, Mitch, you know nothing can be kept secret. How else
would I make a living?"
"I don't like anyone meddling in my business. You know
that."
Paul nodded, thinking Mitch guarded his privacy—particularly his
past—like a pit bull. And he held a grudge like Kohmeni.
"Nobody treats me the way Royce did tonight and gets away
with it. She's had it. I swear, I'll screw her."
"Geez, you're a celebrity—-already," Brent exclaimed the
following evening as they walked into the elegant St. Francis Hotel for the
auction to finance the Center for Women in Crisis.
Did she detect a hostile note in his voice? Was her success going
to threaten Brent? This was a side of him that she'd never seen until this
moment.
A gauntlet of reporters with belted battery packs and klieg-light
sets greeted them. Pack journalism, Royce decided. If one station came, they
all did. The minicam crews were the harbingers of electronic gossip in the
la-la land of TV news—an amalgam of entertainment and journalism. Did she
really want to be a part of this?
One reporter lunged in front of her, his bald head sprouting a
lonely tuft of red hair like a patch of crabgrass. "Any truth to the rumor
you and Durant were lovers?"
"Don't be ridiculous." Butterflies the size of bats flew
through her stomach. A kiss in the dark didn't make them lovers. Besides, no
one could know—unless Mitch had told.
Would he retaliate for what she'd done to him last night by making
certain Brent found out about that kiss at the party? How could she explain
passionately kissing a man she hated? She couldn't even explain it to herself.
"That creep was Tobias Ingeblatt from the Outrage," she
told Brent.
The Evening Outlook was a local tabloid whose stories were
financed by supermarket ads touting the lowest prices in diapers and mayo. It
was such a joke, everyone called it the Evening Outrage, but it was
stocked near the registers beside national tabloids. The Outrage 's
circulation was awesome with its tales of the clandestine clenches of local
celebrities.
Tobias Ingeblatt was their star reporter, she thought with
disgust. He probably made three times what her uncle earned. Ingeblatt
frequently resold his stories to a national tabloid. Usually his pieces
featured the exploits of
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