Turn on a Dime - Blane's Turn (3 page)

“Let me out of here or she dies!”

The man’s arm jerked toward Kathleen’s throat, causing every muscle in Blane’s body to momentarily freeze as a bright gash of red appeared on her pale skin. Blane’s hands clenched into fists. Sometimes, he really missed being able to bring a gun into the courthouse.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kade raise his weapon to take quick aim—

But suddenly, Kathleen moved, and before Kade could get off a shot, Blane’s client had crumpled to the ground, the knife embedded in his side.

Kathleen ran to the far wall as the security guards surrounded the fallen man. Blane gave her a quick once over. She was okay. In shock, but okay. He saw Kade moving toward her. Blane would have liked to see for himself that she was all right, but he had to take care of his client, the fucker.

Hurrying back into the courtroom, Blane grabbed his briefcase and headed for the judge’s chambers. They’d take his client to the hospital and he’d meet up with him there.

Blane wondered if this was the idiot’s idea of trying to get an insanity defense. The guy had been harping on Blane for weeks now, no matter that Blane had explained several times that embezzlement wasn’t something that could be defended with an insanity plea. And now he’d just added hours of work for Blane to his case, not to mention putting the firm in jeopardy from a lawsuit.

He could use a cigarette, but tamped down the craving, which only put him in an even shittier mood.

Hours later, Blane hit the key fob to lock his Jaguar as he headed into the firm. Dealing with the mess at the courthouse from his idiot client had taken most of the day. Needing to blow off steam, since beating the shit out of your clients was bad for business, he’d stopped by the gym afterwards to work out. Gladly discarding his suit and tie, he was now in much more comfortable jeans and black Henley.

The wind had picked up, turning the October evening chilly, but Blane didn’t feel it as he crossed the lot, his mind elsewhere. He hoped Clarice had gotten that brief typed up before she’d left for the night, though he’d given her little notice. She was divorced with a couple of kids, though Blane couldn’t say how old or if boy or girl. She’d told him at some point, but he couldn’t remember. What he did remember was that Clarice had trouble staying later than six or so because of them.

The elevator deposited him on the fifth floor and it was quiet when he stepped out, the only sound that of the grandfather clock ticking in the corner and the quiet clacking of a keyboard as Clarice typed.

Blane glanced at his watch, surprised. It was nearly seven. Damn. Now he felt bad. Clarice had probably had to jump through hoops to get someone to watch her kids so she could work late. Secretary’s Day was going to be expensive this year.

But it wasn’t Clarice typing at her desk.

Blane stopped a few feet away, staring at the woman concentrating so hard on typing that she hadn’t even heard him come in. He knew her without even seeing her face.

It was that girl. Kathleen.

He’d watched her, been aware of her, ever since her unfortunate introduction to him. She left every day around the same time, staying later than she needed to, her long hair blowing in the wind as she crossed the lot to a decrepit Honda that looked at least a decade old. Blane wondered what she did after she left the firm. Maybe she went to night classes. Had a roommate. A lover.

He hadn’t allowed himself to find out the answers to those questions. She was off-limits. Not only because of her age and status as his employee, but he’d have been blind not to see how she avoided him like the plague in the weeks and months since the tripping into his lap debacle.

If he turned a corner and she was there, she immediately found a reason to go the other direction. If she was talking to Clarice and he came by, she beat a hasty retreat. She wouldn’t even look him in the eye, instead studying the floor as though it held a secret code.

Blane had thought about stopping her, talking to her, just so she knew there weren’t any hard feelings. But what if she was a ditz? It would ruin the fantasy image of her he had in his head.

It was strange, her being here, especially after what had happened today. Crazy ass clients. Sometimes he wondered if he’d chosen the right profession. Blane was damn lucky, as was the firm, that the guy hadn’t done more harm. The liability damages on that lawsuit would’ve been painful to see.

Blane stepped closer, but Kathleen still didn’t look up. Finally, he said, “What are you doing?”

She shrieked, a piercing sound that made Blane flinch. Jumping up, she overturned her chair in a cacophony of noise as she spun around to face him.

“Jesus,” he said, shoving a hand through his hair in irritation. “What was that for?”

“You scared me,” she snapped, her blue eyes flashing. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people.”

Was that a reprimand? “I didn’t sneak,” he corrected her. “And you didn’t answer me. What are you doing?”

“I’m typing, obviously.”

Her tone oozed you’re-a-dipshit and Blane’s eyes narrowed. She had spunk, he had to hand it to her. It had been a while since anyone had dared to take that tone with him. Even as he thought it, she seemed to realize she might have overstepped. Her pale cheeks flushed pink and her eyes dropped from his.

Her gaze seemed to give him a slow once over, taking in his torso, his jeans, all the way down to his shoes. Then she licked her lips and swallowed.

Well. That certainly got his attention. Blane wondered if she did it unconsciously or if she was trying to send a signal. Was she interested?

“Clarice had plans so I offered to help finish this for her,” she said, finally lifting her eyes back to his.

Ah. That explained it. But it was a Friday . . . “Don’t you have plans for tonight, too?” She was young, pretty. She had to have a boyfriend waiting for her. No ring, so not married or engaged.

Kathleen turned pinker and shook her head, looking away as though embarrassed. Blane debated saying anything more, but she looked nervous now, her earlier bravado gone. She righted her chair and threw him a quick glance before resuming her work.

Her movements were quick and jerky. Blane frowned as he saw the screen beyond her. Gibberish, it looked like. He hoped she could type. Maybe he was making her uncomfortable. Probably best to just leave her alone.

But he hesitated just a beat longer, watching her. She was very . . . innocent. It was practically stamped on her forehead. With an inward sigh, Blane turned his thoughts away from the direction they’d been heading and went into his office. An unexpected treat, seeing her here and talking to her, but he should keep his distance.

He thought about asking her about today, if she was all right, but he didn’t think she’d seen him at the courthouse. If she knew it was his client, would she see dollar signs on the horizon? Best not risk it.

Maybe ten, fifteen minutes later, there was a tentative tap on his open door. Blane glanced up.

“Clarice said to leave these for you,” Kathleen said, handing him the file.

“Thank you.” The temptation to say something more, prolong their interaction, was great. But she was his employee. His very young, very pretty, and no doubt very naive employee. And possibly a sexual harassment lawsuit waiting to happen. Blane turned back to his computer.

After a moment, she seemed to realize she’d been dismissed, turned, and left. A draft of air and Blane caught the slightly floral scent of her perfume. It was fresh and light, reminding him of spring near the ocean. It suited her.

Two minutes later and Blane knew he wouldn’t be able to concentrate any more tonight. He had to run that file by anyway. Definitely couldn’t ask Kathleen to go there. Besides, it was dark. Shouldn’t he head outside and make sure she’d left safely?

That thought had him hurrying to pack his things in his briefcase and lock up the office. Moments later, he was scanning the deserted parking lot as he walked to his car.

There. Blane frowned. Odd she was still here, though his reaction was far from disappointed. He switched directions and headed for her car. When he got closer, he heard what the problem was. A telltale clicking sound when she turned the key. Dead battery.

Approaching the driver’s side window, he saw Kathleen bang her forehead lightly against the steering wheel. The sight made his lips twitch.

Blane tapped lightly on the glass and she jerked upright. She seemed less than pleased to see him as she opened the door. “Yeah?”

“Car trouble?” he asked.

She nodded. “Guess so.” Her tone was comically miserable. Blane hid a smile.

“Need a lift?” No, she needed someone to jump her car. Even as Blane thought of the jumper cables in his trunk, he still heard the offer come out his mouth.

To his surprise, she shook her head. “No, thanks. I’ll just call a tow truck or something.”

This was a first. Blane didn’t usually have women turn him down—for anything. For some reason, her refusal made him persist in this idiocy. “It’s late and it’s cold. Let me take you home.”

Kathleen was shivering and Blane wished he’d worn a coat just so he could offer it to her. Tiny as she was, she had to be cold.

She still seemed to hesitate and Blane decided to take matters in his own hands. She’d freeze to death deciding whether or not he could give her a ride home. He knew she wanted to avoid him, as was her practice, but it was getting ridiculous.

“Come on,” he said, pulling her door open the rest of the way. His hand had grasped her arm before he realized he’d wanted an excuse to touch her. “I have to run an errand first, but I should be able to get you home before a tow truck would show up here.”

It wasn’t until she finally acquiesced, grabbing her things from the passenger seat, that Blane realized he’d been holding his breath. She walked beside him to his car, her stature diminutive, and Blane’s every sense was focused on her. He didn’t release her arm and he wondered slightly at the feeling of satisfaction it gave him to be able to help Kathleen tonight.

He handed her into his Jag, and judging from her sharp intake of breath, his car had made a good impression. As Blane rounded to his side, he realized that this probably wasn’t the best idea he’d ever had, but surely he’d spend a few minutes talking to her, assuage his curiosity, and that would be that.

As he settled himself into the driver’s seat, she shivered. “Cold?” he asked. When she nodded, he started the car and pressed the button for the heat.

Blane drove south on Meridian, casting glances at Kathleen as he drove. She resolutely refused to look at him, instead her attention was focused on the passing scenery out her window. Maybe he’d been wrong earlier. Maybe she wasn’t interested. She wasn’t trying to make conversation. Or she was shy?

That would be new. “Shy” was not an attribute often given to the women Blane dated. Well, if she was shy, he’d get her to talk. He was her boss. She couldn’t very well ignore him.

“Kathleen,” he said, rolling the name on his tongue. He liked the sound of it. “What’s your last name, Kathleen?”

She seemed to hesitate before mumbling, “Turner.”

Kathleen Turner. Like the actress. Her parents must have had a sense of humor. Blane imagined she rarely gave people her name that someone didn’t make a comment, so he refrained.

“Do you go by Kathy?” he asked. She’d already looked back to the window, so she had to turn again to face him.

“No.”

“Katie?”

“No.”

Blane’s lips twitched at the disdain in her tone. Yeah, he’d never met a Katie he liked either.

“You prefer Kathleen.”

“Yes.”

Her monosyllable answers amused him. A pretty, shy, young thing she was. What was he doing? “You seem to be a woman of few words,” he teased, but Blane didn’t think she caught on. She didn’t crack a smile as she said, “Sometimes.”

Kathleen glanced away and Blane read embarrassment on her face. Thankfully, his job had given him plenty of practice at reading facial expressions and body language, especially if she wasn’t going to say much.

“We didn’t get off to a great start, Kathleen,” he said, hoping to put her more at ease. That plan backfired. Badly. She stared at him, her mouth falling open slightly in dismay, and even in the faint light from the dash Blane could see her face drain of color.

It took Blane just a split second to realize his mistake. Of course she thought he meant her fall into his lap. He hastened to fix that.

“Why don’t you tell me where you’re from?” he asked. To his relief, she visibly relaxed at the question, releasing a pent up breath.

“I’m from Rushville, Indiana,” she answered, “a small town east of here. I moved here six, seven months ago.”

“And what did you do in Rushville?”

“Not much,” she said. “Tended bar. Took care of my mom.”

“Took care of your mom?” Blane repeated.

“She had cancer.”

Her bald reply might have been mistaken for a lack of feeling, but Blane saw the almost imperceptible flicker of sadness cross her face.

“Did she . . .?” he asked, leaving the rest unsaid. He thought he already knew the answer.