All Night Long (19 page)

"Oh, Matt." Tears of emotion welled up in her eyes. "Matt. You make me feel like fireworks, too. You make me feel like circuses and birthday parties and Christmas morning all rolled into one, but I—"

He put his fingertip over her lips, stopping her. "That's all I need to hear for now," he said. "We'll talk about the rest of it later."

Chapter 9

Matt thought about stopping by his mother's favorite jeweler before he went to court the next morning but then decided not to. He was already running late as it was. And, alone in a jewelry store, he would probably opt for something traditional, like a simple diamond solitaire. He had a feeling Susannah would want something a bit more original for her engagement ring.

Not that she'd actually given him a
yes
yet; not the unqualified, unequivocal
yes
he wanted from her.

She'd said, "Yes, but we're such different people."

She'd said, "Yes, but let's see how just dating goes first."

She'd said, "Yes, but we really shouldn't rush into it."

She'd said, "Yes, maybe it would work."

She'd said, "Oh, yes, Matt, I love you, too."

Matt was whistling as he entered the courthouse, remembering the passionate circumstances that had engendered her breathy admission and what had come after it. She was his, whether she knew it or not. And he was hers, too. He'd been hers, he realized, since that first crazy, mind-boggling, toe-curling kiss in her office. They were made for each other and, despite politics or life-style or anything else she might come up with, they were destined to be together.

"Matt. Hey, Matt."

Matt slowed, turning to see who had called him, and then stopped. "Cal," he said, holding out his hand in greeting. Cal Westlake had been the man who'd steered him to The Personal Touch in the first place.
Wonder if I should ask him to be best man?
"Cal, how're you doing, buddy?"

"Not nearly as good as you, apparently," Cal said, looking askance at his normally reserved colleague. By tacit agreement, they resumed walking down the long corridor. "I guess you've already seen this morning's
Chronicle?"

"No, I haven't." He usually skimmed through it over morning coffee after he got to the office, but this particular morning he'd had other things to do. Like make love to Susannah once more before he took her home. He hadn't even been by the office, yet, but had headed directly to the courthouse. "Why?"

"They've endorsed your campaign. I thought that's why you were in such a good mood."

"No, I haven't seen it yet." Unaccountably, his mood dampened a little. "I'll have to pick up a copy during court recess."

"Here." Cal took the folded newspaper out from under his arm and handed it to Matt. "Be my guest."

"Thanks." Matt stopped, motioning toward a set of doors with the folded paper. "This is where I'm headed."

"Catch you back at the office later, then," Cal said and started off down the hall. "Oh—" he stopped and turned back around "—I almost forgot."

Matt paused, his hand already lifted to push open the heavy door. "Forgot what?"

"That dating service I told you about for your mother?" Cal said, walking backward down the hall. "The Personal Touch?"

Matt nodded.

"Seems their touch is real personal, if you know what I mean. I heard through the office grapevine that the place is under investigation."

"Investigation?" Matt echoed.

"Prostitution," Cal said succinctly. "Seems the matchmaker is pimping for teenage runaways on the side."

* * *

Susannah spent the morning feeling like a manic depressive, frenetically alternating between giddy joy at being loved and in love, and darkest despair because she knew, deep down inside, that, in the long run, nothing would ever come of it. Nothing
could
ever come of it, no matter how they made each other feel. Being together all night long was one thing. Being together for the rest of their lives was something else entirely.

They were just too different. Strange bedfellows, as she had tried to tell him before.

Matt was a traditionalist.

Susannah went out of her way to do things differently.

Matt had wholeheartedly embraced his family's upper-class life-style and values.

Susannah had turned her back on hers.

Matt was a middle-of-the road Republican.

Susannah was a liberal Democrat.

Matt believed in working within the system.

Susannah believed in challenging it at every step.

Matt was a prosecutor whose job was to put wrong-doers in jail and keep the streets safe for decent folk.

Susannah was a crusader bent on finding ways to help people find a way out of whatever trouble they were in.

Matt saw things in black and white, right and wrong.

Susannah saw infinite shades of gray and myriad extenuating circumstances.

But what it all boiled down to, really, was that Matt was destined for a brilliant career in politics, and Susannah would never, ever be a proper political wife.

He might try to deny it, to convince her—and himself—their differences didn't matter, but Susannah knew they did. Harry Gasparini knew it. Councilman Leeland knew it. When it came right down to it, the voters would know it, too.

Oh, she knew it might not matter to Matt right now, not in the beginning when they were still so besotted with each other and anything seemed possible. She strongly suspected he didn't really want to be a district judge, anyway. But if not now, next year or the year after. And if not district judge, then councilman, or state senator, or mayor. His eyes had certainly lit up when she'd spoken the words
governor of California.
And after that, who knew? As Harry had said, Matt had what it took to make it all the way to the White House if he wanted to—but not with her at his side.

"Excuse me, Susannah?"

Susannah looked up from the pad she'd been doodling on, grateful for the interruption. "Yes, Judy?"

"Teri Bowman is here for her interview."

"My goodness," Susannah said, jumping up from her chair. "Is it ten o'clock already?"

"Almost."

Susannah smoothed her hands down the front of her tapestry-brocade vest, tugging on the flared peplum hem to settle it into place over her hips as she came around the desk. She always made it a point to meet her clients in the reception area and escort them into her office. It made them feel more like guests.

"How's computer class going?" she asked pleasantly as Judy stepped back from the door to allow her to exit.

Judy shrugged. "If I don't completely flub the final next week, I'll end up with at least a B+."

"You'll do fine," Susannah assured her, reaching out to pat Judy's arm. She deliberately kept the gesture brief, quickly taking her hand away to hold it out to her new client. "You must be Teri Bowman," she said with a welcoming smile. "I'm Susannah Bennington."

"Ms. Bennington."

"Susannah, please. We're very informal around here. You've met Helen and Judy, haven't you?" she asked, smiling at her assistants. "Good," she said when the woman nodded. "Then we can get started." She gestured toward her office. "If you'll just step into my office, we can—"

The phone rang, cutting her off.

Both Judy and Helen reached for the receiver.

"The Personal Touch," Helen said as she lifted the receiver to her ear. "How may I help you?"

Susannah hesitated, waiting to see who it was. Even though Matt had said he would be tied up in court all day, she was halfway expecting—hoping—he would call. She hadn't heard his voice in almost three hours.

"Excuse me?" Helen said into the receiver. "Who did you want to speak to?"

Susannah suddenly knew by the older woman's expression that it wasn't Matt on the phone. Helen wouldn't get upset over a phone call from Matt.

"No," Helen said to the caller. "There's no one here by that name. Yes, I'm sure. No, I told you," she said, her voice rising with agitation, "there's no one here by that name." She slammed the phone down.

"Another call for Isabel?" Susannah asked with a grimace. Lately, they'd had a rash of unsavory massage-parlor-type callers asking for a woman named Isabel.

Too agitated to speak, Helen only nodded.

"Since the calls upset you so much," Judy offered, "maybe I should be the only one to answer the phone from now on when I'm here." Her expression hardened. "It takes more than a phone call to shock me."

"No," Helen said. "No, that's all right. I can handle it. It's part of my job, and I can handle it. Really," she said, looking up at Susannah. "I don't need to be protected. I'll be fine."

"All right," Susannah said. "If that's what you want." She turned and smiled at her new client. "Shall we?" she said, gesturing toward the open door of her office. "Before we get started," the two women in the outer office heard her say to Teri Bowman just before she closed the door, "I'd like to explain what that was all about...."

* * *

"You think
what?"
Susannah demanded, staring at Matt from across the width of her desk.

"You heard me. Judy Sukura is up to her old tricks."

"I don't believe it."

"Ask her," he challenged.

"I don't need to ask her," Susannah said, "because I know she isn't." She shook her head. "She wouldn't."

"Then how do you explain her meetings with Eddie Devine?"

"Meetings with..." Susannah stared at him, aghast. "She wouldn't meet with Eddie. She hates Eddie."

"She's met him twice right outside this building."

"Those weren't meetings. Not the way you're suggesting. Eddie accosted her. He—" She broke off. "How do you know that?"

"It doesn't matter how I know," Matt said, brushing her question aside. The particulars of a case under investigation were never up for discussion outside the DA.'s office until the case went to court. "All that matters is that she was seen meeting him."

"But those weren't meetings. Eddie accosted her on the street when she was coming out of The Tea Cozy."

"How do you know that?"

"I saw them. Both times. I was standing by the window and I saw them."

"Did you also happen to hear what was said?"

"I didn't need to, because Judy told me what was said."

"Which was?"

"That she wouldn't do what he wanted. That he couldn't make her do it."

"It being?"

"Well..." Susannah hesitated. "Going back to work for him. I think. She didn't say exactly, but I know that's what she meant."

"Hearsay," Matt said coolly. "Inadmissible in a court of law."

"Well, this isn't a court of law," Susannah snapped. "And I'm not on the witness stand," she added indignantly. "And I certainly don't appreciate you firing questions at me as if I were."

"You're right." Matt turned toward the closed door to Susannah's office. "The one who should be answering a few questions is Judy."

"No." Susannah jumped up from her chair. "Don't you dare." She ran around the desk, placing herself between him and the door. "I will not have Judy upset by a lot of unfounded suspicions. Especially not now. She's got finals coming up next week."

"Would you rather have her turning tricks in your office?"

"What a disgusting thing to say. Judy isn't turning tricks in my office or anywhere else."

"You don't know that for a fact."

"I
do
know it for a fact. For heaven's sake, Matt. When would she have the time? She works here all morning. She goes to school in the afternoons and most nights. And the nights she's not in school, she's in therapy."

"Are you sure she actually goes to school? To therapy?"

"Of course I'm sure. They're both conditions of her parole."

"People break parole all the time."

Susannah shook her head in exasperation. "Her teachers would notify her parole officer if she was cutting classes. So would her therapist. Believe me, Matt, Judy isn't turning tricks."