Anything You Can Do (17 page)

She flipped open the first file on her desk. A lease for Larry Haynes. She ought to dive into it and boob
y trap the document with all sorts of loopholes he'd never notice until it was too late.

Better shelve Larry Haynes until her mood changed.

The next folder opened to pictures of Candy Miller's wreck with—what was the little guy's name? Alvin Wilson. From the looks of their cars, this wasn't the first wreck for either of them. The background scenery was nice, though. Springcreek Park, as she recalled from the file. A great park to run, though she hadn't been there in a while. Lots of trees, path marked in half miles. A good place to blow out the cobwebs, push the body till it hurt, set the mind free to work out difficult decisions.

Not to mention the park was across town from Austin's apartment. No chance of running into him and having him complicate matters even further.

*~*~*

Bailey chugged along the path, cursing the late afternoon heat and humidity. Though most of the track was shaded from the sun by the thick forest of trees on both sides, those same trees kept out any stray breezes. Even her sweatband was unable to keep the perspiration out of her eyes, and there was no such thing as an upper
lip band. This was not one of her better runs.

Add to that the fact that neither her mind nor her body seemed to be working quite right. Her legs felt strange and hard to control, which was a pretty good description of her mind. She'd give it another half mile, then turn around and go back. Best not to be in such a wooded area alone after dark, and the sun was getting pretty low.

A looseness on one foot caught her attention, and she looked to see her shoelace flying. It figured. Stooping beside the path, she yanked the lace tight and knotted it. Resting felt good, and she pondered turning around and going back.

A bicycle passed her as she straightened, and she glanced with idle curiosity at the rider. He looked vaguely familiar though it was hard to tell from the rear. Short, pudgy, and wearing a baseball cap. Not anyone on her "A" list.

Drawing in a deep breath, she resolved to continue to the next half-mile marker before she headed back. With everything else, she didn't need to feel like a quitter.

Rounding the bend, she saw the man on the bicycle slowing as he neared a picnic area. Another rider swung onto the path and joined him. Even from the rear, there could be no mistaking the pink spandex and blond hair. Candy Miller. That's why the man looked familiar. Alvin Wilson, the party whose insurance company they were suing.

Ain't love grand?
Bailey thought wryly. Run into somebody, wreck her car, injure her back, and find the girl of your dreams.

The next half-mile marker should be just ahead, and she'd definitely turn around there. She pounded noisily across a wooden bridge, then noticed two abandoned bicycles beside the path. A high-pitched giggle from beneath the bridge elicited a soft groan and an immed
iate U-turn from Bailey.

This run had been going down the tube from the first step, and it had finally reached bottom. That was all she needed, to see the evidence of a couple of adults who ought to know better making out in the middle of a park. It called to mind all too vividly the activities of another adult couple who'd briefly acted like teenagers in a yard near
a park.

Bailey's feet pounded wildly down the path, her speed increasing, her heart racing. Was there some sort of cosmic conspiracy to keep Austin, with his electric eyes and electric touch, in
the front of her mind? She raced from the park, as though pursued by demons.

The third time Austin drove by Bailey's condo, he finally saw her car in its assigned space under the co
vered parking. He smiled smugly as he parked and headed for her door, anxious to confront her face to face.

He had a legitimate reason to be at her door, a reason that went beyond his desire to see her and touch her again, an impersonal reason
—to continue the discussion she'd started before the arrival of a mythical client when she'd hung up on him. He understood what she'd told him, her intimation that she was in control of his destiny, that they had another contest going. He could, after all, read between the lines when they were Bailey's lines.

He rang the doorbell and waited, rehearsing his script, preparing to win the day before she even knew what was going on. He could almost see her moving into position behind the door, her sleek, warm body disguised in one of those prim suits she always wore, her demeanor cool and regal. Two lawyers, dressed for battle.

Then she opened the door.

"Austin, come in."

His script went right out of his head, along with any other coherent thoughts he might have had.

She wore a short, white terry cloth robe, her long legs emerging from the bottom and going on forever. Her wet hair was tousled atop her head, damp tendrils trailing onto her face. And to make matters worse, it took her several seconds to mask a look of delight at seeing him.

"I thought I'd see if Gordon was anywhere around," he mumbled, seizing on the first thing that came to mind.

"I haven't seen him. Did you check his office?"

"Ah, no. It's almost eight o'clock. Surely he's not still working." Eight o'clock and she'd obviously just showered. "Are you getting ready to go out?"

"No, I've been for a run. Would you like to come in and call Gordon's office? He's been working some long hours."

She held the door wide for him, and Samantha dashed out, plumed tail wagging in greeting. He reached down for the little dog then straightened, his gaze scant inches from her long, long legs.

"Thanks," he choked out, sidling past her into her living room. Cradling Samantha in one hand, he went to the wall phone above the kitchen bar and punched
in his home number, the only number he could remember at the moment. "No answer," he said, a misleading but not false statement.

Bailey had, meanwhile, taken a seat on one end of the sofa, tucking her legs and bare feet under her. Even if he'd been under oath, he couldn't have remembered what he'd originally planned to say to her.

"You're welcome to wait a few minutes and call him again," she invited.

He made his way to the opposite end of the sofa, facing her. That robe scarcely covered the essentials. How could she have answered the door wearing it when she had no idea who was out there? At the thought of her naked body barely hidden by the tiny garment, he squirmed uncomfortably. Samantha abandoned him with a disgusted look at his inability to remain still and moved to the middle cushion, settling down as a furry chaperone.

"So Gordon's not at home or at work?" Bailey asked.

Since Austin hadn't been checking on Gordon's whereabouts, he had no idea. "Hot day for a run," he said, electing to change the subject rather than have to lie.

She shrugged, leaning forward to stroke Samantha's head. The V-neck of her robe fell away, and he glimpsed the ivory contours of her breasts. "It was an okay run," she answered.

So distracted was he by her provocative attire that Austin almost missed the subtle changes. Her voice was different, and she tensed ever so slightly. Someone who knew her less well than he would never have noticed.

"Where'd you run?" he asked, trying to keep his thoughts on her odd reaction and off his reaction to her.

"Springcreek Park." She kept her gaze averted from him.

Springcreek Park?
Why had she gone all the way across town to run in a park that just happened to be the scene of the Miller/Wilson accident? "That's a long way from here," he said, leaning closer to study her expression.

"Do you want to try to call Gordon again?" she asked.

"Call Gordon? What for?" The words were out before he remembered his excuse for coming by.

But Bailey hadn't forgotten. Her eyes lifted boldly to his. Damn! For a minute there, he'd had control, but now he'd lost it.

Bailey exulted in her victory. She'd not only diverted him from her embarrassed thoughts, but had actually caught him. He hadn't been looking for Gordon at all. He'd come to see her.

"Would you like a drink?" she offer
ed, gracious in her triumph. "I'll get us some sodas."

He'd had her off balance for a while, she admitted to herself as she rummaged in the refrigerat
or, staring at her as if he was ready to spring across the sofa and grab her, making her all too aware of her state of undress. Okay, she'd deliberately chosen not to change clothes when she'd seen him walking across the parking lot. Her attire might, she had hoped, give her the advantage. And he had been flustered, all right, but somehow she hadn't been able to capitalize on it.

Then he'd started talking about Springcreek Park, reminding her of the scene she'd almost witnessed as well as the similar scene she'd been a part of. And she'd become the flustered one. 

"Would you like a glass?" she asked, offering him the cold red can.

When he shook his head, she sat back and waited for him to make the first move.

He raised his soft drink. "To your new status as a partner of Hoskins, Grier and Morris."

"My unofficial status," she corrected.

"Of course. But not for long. When it becomes official, we'll have champagne instead of soda."

They sipped their drinks and eyed each other warily, gleefully.

"Kind of a rough thing to do to a new partner, though," he said, leaning back into the corner of the sofa in pretended nonchalance. "Hitting you with such a major decision before you have time to catch your breath."

"Actually I'm flattered that they respect my opinion so much." She leaned back too, stretched her legs out, then remembered her attire and tucked
her legs under her. Damn! If she had the guts to wear it, why didn't she have the guts to use it to advantage?

"I'm sure, as a ne
w partner, you'll probably just go along with the majority." He clasped his hands behind his head and smiled.

"How simple you make things sound, assuming there is a majority to go along with." She returned his smile, swirled the liquid in her can. "And assuming I'm a follower."

He leaned forward, set his empty can on the coffee table, then flattened his palms on his knees, crushing the sharp creases in his dark slacks. She could almost feel the warmth from those hands, and instinctively her hands found the same position on her own knees.

"I'm sure it
must be difficult, though," he said, "for somebody who's just achieved a small plateau to be able to visualize the larger scope of things, to conceive of attaining more distant but vastly more satisfying goals." He moved closer, leaned toward her urgently.

"Probably as difficult as it would be for an entity interested only in self-advancement to allow for anyone else's growth in a way that didn't benefit him."

"Or her." He raised his hands to her shoulders, and she thought for a minute he was going to shake her, but he only held her very still, forcing her to look directly at him. "If everyone else wants a chance to move ahead, it's not fair for one person to hold them back."

They were almost nose to nose. She could feel his warm breath on her face, reminding her of the warm night air. Her own breath came faster.

"I guess if everyone else wants something, one person's vote won't be enough to stop them, will it?" she asked, struggling to remember what they were talking about.

His hands moved from her shoulders to her face, gently caressed her cheeks. "One person can frequently change the way things are supposed to go." His voice had become softer but more intense.

She braced her hands on his chest to keep from toppling forward against him, to hold him in place while they settled this. "Not without cooperation." Whatever the hell it was they were trying to settle.

He was talking again, but she couldn't hear what he was saying. A great wind roared inside her head. Through a fog, she could see his lips moving, coming closer, so close she couldn't see them. Since there was no point in trying to see, she closed her eyes and raised her face.

The door slammed. "I think he's following me!" Paula announced. Samantha flew out from her position between Bailey and Austin to climb over the back of the sofa, racing toward the sound of Paula's voice.

Bailey pulled away from Austin, felt his touch leave her, drew in several deep breaths, tried to orient herself in time and space.

"Oh, crud!" Paula gasped. "Excuse me, I didn't realize—I'll just pop into my bedroom. If somebody comes to the door, you never heard of me."

"
Paula, wait!" Bailey exclaimed. "Come back here. What are you talking about? Who's following you?"

Paula
cast Austin a wary look. "Seven o'clock," she answered. "We'll discuss it later." She darted into her bedroom, closing the door behind her.

Her seven-o'clock date, Bailey interpreted. She glanced at Austin to see how he was reacting to
Paula's erratic behavior.

He blinked rapidly a couple of times, but not before she'd seen the remnants of a glazed expression in his eyes. He cleared his throat. "Is
Paula okay?"