A Good Kind of Trouble (A Trouble in Twin Rivers Novel Book 1) (2 page)

“No, but don’t worry, I bill in six-minute increments.”

“You’re a jackass,” Lindsey said. “And for the record, you were the worst date I’ve ever had, and I’ve had some doozies.”

“Really? You think—”

Ben’s retort was cut off by the woman’s voice on the cell phone. “Lara Petrie.”

“What? Really?” Ben asked, confused. “
The
Laura Petrie?”

In his mind, he could clearly see the flickering black and white image of Laura Petrie, the pert and beautiful TV wife of Dick Van Dyke.

A long sigh. “No, a different one.
Lara
, not Laura. Is this Mr. Gillespie?”

“It is,” Ben said. “I’m with Lindsey Fox at the holding cell in Judge Kinley’s court. You coming down here to get her out?”

“No, I’m in-house counsel,” Lara Petrie said. Ben imagined her as a tall woman in slim capri pants with a flippy haircut. “I left a message for our—“

“Outhouse counsel?” he asked.
 

“Out
side
counsel,” she said. “They can’t be there today. Can you handle getting Ms. Fox out and setting this over for a hearing at a future date? The newspaper will pay you, of course.”

“Yeah, I think I can handle that,” Ben said. Lindsey was leaning toward him, trying to listen in on the call. He disconnected and gave her a grin. “Baby, you’re in good hands.”
 

She shook her head, her eyes wide with panic. “No, no, no.”
 

It almost felt too good to needle her. “Trust me, I’m a lawyer.”

This was possibly the worst day of Lindsey’s life. Worse than the time she got pulled over on the way to her brother’s wedding and had to do a sobriety test on the side of the road while wearing a bridesmaid dress. Worse than the time she accidentally gave her boss a peanut-laced cookie and he swelled up like a parade float and had to be revived by paramedics in the middle of the newsroom.
 

Even worse than the time she went out on a date with that lawyer who complained about his job all night, even though she was clearly trying to eavesdrop on what that sleazy lobbyist was promising the mayor, and then the jerk didn’t even call her again, even though the kissing portion of their date was fairly spectacular. Objectively speaking, she had to admit that her one and only encounter with Ben Gillespie had ended on a sour note. She probably wouldn’t have called, if their situations were reversed. Except for that part in the car. That sort of chemistry was definitely worth a phone call.
 

She certainly didn’t expect to see Ben ever again and especially not under these circumstances. Not sitting in a cell, waiting to face an angry judge. How had she ended up with her fate in Ben’s hands?

“This sucks,” she said.
 

“You do have a way with words,” Ben answered with a smug smile.
 

He wouldn’t be so smug if she could reach him through these bars. Stupid lawyers. She was stuck in this cage because of a lawyer.
 

“How long do you think I’ll be here?” She had a deadline to meet. She had a dog at home who needed to be fed and walked. And her feet were killing her.
 

“Not long. We’re going to set this for a hearing in a day or so, ask the judge to release you on O.R.—that’s ‘own recognizance’—and get you out as soon as possible.”
 

“I know what O.R. means,” she said.
 

“Well, someone’s been watching
Law & Order
reruns,” Ben said.
 

“No, I just date a lot of lawyers,” she said, feigning a yawn. “They do go on about their work.”

Ben gave her a tight smile. “I’ll tell the deputy—what was your charming nickname for him? Gomer? I’ll let Gomer know we’re ready to go before the judge.”

He left and Lindsey continued pacing. Three steps, turn, three steps. Was this what jail was like? Were the cells larger in the real jail? What if Ben couldn’t get her out and she had to spend the night in jail? What if, because of their disastrous date, he didn’t even
try
to get her out? There wasn’t another lawyer in this building who could help her? Maybe someone who didn’t have a grudge to avenge? The walls were closing in on her. She’d never been claustrophobic before. Then again, she’d never been in a jail cell before.
 

Ben didn’t return, but the bailiff did. He had a smirky look on his face, like he’d totally whip out that stun gun on his belt if she made any sudden moves. What had Ben said to him? Probably nothing good.

The deputy led her to the courtroom and minutes later, she was agreeing to return next week with the newspaper’s lawyer. Gomer handed her the confiscated cell phone and her leather messenger bag, and Ben practically pulled her out of the near-empty courtroom.

“What’s your hurry?” she asked, tripping as she tried to keep up with him. “I thought you’d want to slow down, bill another six minutes.”

“I want to get you out of here before the judge changes her mind.”
 

“Why would she do that? She’s not even the judge who threw me in jail.”
 

Ben glanced over his shoulder and tugged at her arm. “Let’s just get out of here,” he said again, tapping the elevator button repeatedly. When it didn’t immediately cause the door to open, he pulled her toward the steps.
 

“It’s the fourth floor,” Lindsey protested. She was wearing three-inch heels and a pencil skirt. Unless the building was on fire, stairs were not an option.
 

The elevator dinged and Lindsey dove for the barely opened door, Ben close behind her. He pushed the button to close the door, his eyes on the hallway outside the courtroom.
 

“I’m sure the judge isn’t going to chase me down the hallway,” she said. They were the only ones in the elevator. Ben’s eyes were on the door, so Lindsey studied his profile. Even though she was five foot nine with the extra height from her heels, she had to tilt her face up to look at him. His brown hair waved slightly and her fingers flexed at the memory of running through the soft strands. The overhead fluorescent light accented his chiseled face, but his cheekbones were softened by the shadows cast by his long eyelashes.
 

The door opened to let a group of jurors in at the third floor. Lindsey was pushed against Ben as more people crowded in. She could feel the heat from his body and before she could stop it, her mind flashed on the night of their date when they’d been in his car parked in front of her apartment building. The man looked good in a suit. And he looked
great
halfway out of one. She swallowed hard and tried to focus on something else. Anything else.
 

The doors opened and the crowd slowly exited the elevator. Ben pushed her toward the opening and away from him.
 

Fine
. She could take a hint. She hurried toward the courthouse exit.

Outside, a warm wind blew autumn leaves around the steps. Lindsey took a deep breath of freedom and promptly sneezed. The wind was also kicking up some dust.
 

“Where are you parked?” Ben asked.

“At the newspaper. I walked here from the office.”

“Okay, we’ll take my car,” Ben said. He still had her arm, as if she’d bolt.
 

“Why do you need to escort me back to the newsroom? I’m sure the paper is good for the money.” She paused, recalling the layoff rumors that had been circling lately. “Pretty sure.”
 

Ben put an arm around her shoulder and steered her through the courtyard and down the concrete steps to the street. He leaned toward her. She felt his breath on her ear and hated that the intimacy wasn’t altogether terrible.
 

“This source you’re protecting,” he said in a low voice. “Does this have anything to do with your coverage of the stadium contractor?”

How the hell could he know that? Her head jerked up and she met his gaze, but didn’t say anything.
 

If only he weren’t so good looking. It would be easier to hate him.
 

“Did you notice the couple of goons in the courtroom gallery?” he asked.

“No, I didn’t,” she said. She scanned the street. Just normal courthouse people—jurors on a mid-morning break, attorneys with briefcases, some clerks sitting on the benches across the street drinking coffee, a bike messenger speeding toward them. Nothing out of the usual. Certainly no goons.

As she watched, the bike messenger veered across traffic. His eyes were hidden by dark glasses, but he seemed to be looking right at her. Lindsey glanced around, but she and Ben were the only people on this side of the street. The messenger took advantage of a gap in traffic and crossed the street, bearing down on them, one hand off the handlebars.

“Oh, shit!” Ben pushed Lindsey out of the way just as the messenger took a swipe at her leather bag. Lindsey tumbled between two parked cars as the messenger’s grasping hand caught the edge of the strap and tugged. She hugged the bag to her chest, wresting it from the messenger’s hand. Her hands full, Lindsey couldn’t break her fall and hit the curb with her shoulder, her head snapping to the side and smacking the sidewalk. A flash of pain radiated from her temple to her shoulder.
 

The bike hit the side of a car with a thud and a long scrape of metal on metal.
 

“Oh, fu—” The man’s muttered curse was cut off as his midsection met the car’s side-view mirror.

“You okay?” Ben asked. Their legs had tangled on the way down and the weight of his body pressed her into the concrete. It was much less fun than the last time they were in this position.
 

“Yes.” Her vision had blurred from the pain in her shoulder and head, but the sound of his voice brought her to her senses. “I think so.”
 

She looked around, but the bike messenger was gone. She wiggled her fingers and started to stand. Her skirt was now split along the seam and a good six inches of her left thigh was now on display.
 

“I hope you’re wearing better shoes today, sweetheart,” Ben said, raising himself to a crouch. “Because we need to run.”

Chapter Two

Ben pulled Lindsey away from the gathering crowd at the foot of the courthouse steps and toward an alley between two parking garages. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the bike messenger heading toward them again. There was a deputy dozing off by the metal detector at the courthouse door, but Ben had a bad feeling that by the time he caught the guy’s attention, it would be too late.
 

“Hurry,” he said, tugging at Lindsey’s elbow. They ducked into the alley, Lindsey limping and struggling to keep up with him. He started to pull her into the entrance of the parking garage, but felt her resist.
 

“Over here.” She pointed to a gap between two tall buildings across the alley. A narrow staircase was crammed between the grimy walls of the office buildings and Ben would have walked right past it. He glanced back again, saw the bike messenger turning into the alley at the other end of the block.
 

“Run,” he said, grabbing her bag and pushing her in front of him. Lindsey pulled off her shoes and ran down the steps.
 

At the bottom of the staircase was a small courtyard park, opening up like an oasis. Ben glanced over his shoulder as they reached a decorative fountain. The bike messenger was at the top of the steps, heading their way.
 

He could have taken the messenger on—he probably had several inches and fifty pounds on the skinny kid, and he’d been in more than his share of bench-clearing brawls in his life. But he couldn’t know if the bike messenger had a weapon and his instincts screamed to protect Lindsey, get her away from the danger, then deal with the threat.

Lindsey had stopped at the fountain and made as if to sit on its edge. Ben grabbed her arm and she yelped.

“Sorry, but we can’t stay,” he said, looking around for the best exit route. None of the options were good. The park was bordered by buildings on three sides and a busy one-way boulevard on the fourth. The area had probably been a vacant lot before someone with a little vision and landscaping skills got to it. Ben led her to the double glass doors of one of the buildings, but they were locked.
 

“This way,” he heard Lindsey say behind him. He turned and saw she was heading toward the street.
 

He hesitated. The street option would give the biker an advantage because there would be fewer obstacles to negotiate, but Ben didn’t see any other choices. He quickly followed.

Ben glanced in both directions. Traffic zipped past on three busy lanes. He headed left against the flow of traffic, pulling his new client along with him.
 

“He’s still behind us,” Lindsey said, her voice betraying her panic as they jogged up the nearly empty sidewalk.
 

“Here.” Ben opened a metal door with a faded sign advertising hourly parking in the adjacent garage. They slipped in, closed the door behind them and started up the metal grated stairs. The stairwell was dim, the only sound coming from cars outside.
 

At the third level, Ben opened the door leading to the parking area. It was dark, filled with the cars of downtown workers who spent their days in the surrounding office buildings. Breathing heavily from his sprint from the courthouse, he rested for a moment, listening for the sound of someone coming up the stairs behind them.
 

Nothing. The garage was silent.

“We may have lost him,” Lindsey said.
 

“Do you know that guy?” Ben asked, looking her over. She was a mess. Her hair was mussed, her shirt filthy from falling into the gutter, her skirt was torn revealing a glimpse of her thigh. Despite their less-than-sexy situation, he couldn’t help remembering running his hand along that leg the last time they were alone together.
 

Bad idea,
he reminded himself.
Stay away.

“I have no idea who he is. I’ve never seen him before,” Lindsey replied in a tone that made him inclined to believe her. He’d been in a courtroom enough times to know when someone was lying. That made him even more unnerved. This guy wasn’t targeting a random stranger. Clearly, he knew who Lindsey was.