Tomorrow morning! Amanda thought of her laden desk. Could she possibly be ready by tomorrow morning? She checked her watch. She had the rest of the afternoon and tonight, and if she made judicious use of every second... “Tell him I’ll be ready,” she said. “What time?”
“Eight-thirty. He has a trial scheduled at ten.”
“Right,” Amanda said. “I guess I’d better get going.” As she started into her office, she felt her secretary’s eyes follow her. Pretending to an innocence she didn’t feel, she paused to ask, “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“May I ask what that was all about just now? Or is it some kind of deep, dark secret?”
Amanda shrugged. “Oh, nothing. I just...” She stopped. Tessie would see through her in a second. “I ran into Ethan Trask,” she admitted wryly. “Literally! Well, I almost ran into him. Actually, we almost ran into each other. Neither of us was watching where we were going—him driving, me walking.”
Tessie lifted an eyebrow at her unaccustomed inarticulateness. To complete her humiliation, Amanda felt herself flush. And she was a person who never flushed.
Tessie’s eyes widened. “I’ve heard that he lives up to his reputation. Plus he’s even better-looking than his picture. Must be true,” she decided.
“It’s not that at all,” Amanda declared. “He almost ran me down in his car just now! Anyone would be upset.”
“Would anyone peek out the window to see what he did next?”
“I was merely—”
“Watching to see what he did next?”
“My behavior is strictly in the best interest of my client. Ethan Trask is the enemy. I was conducting a little surveillance, that’s all.”
“Did you learn anything?” Tessie asked dryly.
Had she learned anything? Amanda couldn’t answer truthfully. How did she explain that despite the man’s determination to prosecute her grandfather, she found him fascinating? He was so self-contained, so controlled. He barely ever smiled, and when he did, his lips made only the faintest movement, as if they were unaccustomed to the motion. His decisive intensity acted on her like a magnet, drawing her to him. When he first jumped out of the car to see if she was hurt, she had seen genuine concern in his eyes. But the hard, no-nonsense edge had soon returned. Which was the real man? she wondered. And should she care?
“He signaled properly before pulling into traffic,” she murmured in answer to her secretary’s challenge.
“That must have been a big disappointment.”
“Not really,” Amanda claimed. “Not when I’m looking for keys to his psyche.”
Tessie rolled her eyes. “That’s a bunch of baloney and you know it.”
“It never hurts to be prepared.”
Tessie snorted as she twisted back around. She hadn’t believed Amanda, hadn’t believed anything she’d said. Amanda recognized the fact and knew that she would have to live with it. Just as she knew that, whether she liked it or not, every time she went near Ethan Trask something seemed to happen to her internal balance wheel, and her equilibrium went right out the window.
So...how was she going to spend the next eight to ten hours? By preparing an argument that she hoped would allow her to continue to pit herself against him in a courtroom. Did that make sense? No. But these weren’t ordinary times. And it was her grandfather, not to mention the rest of her family, who would pay if she allowed any kind of reckless emotion to get in the way of what she had to do.
Reckless emotion! Her? Amanda almost laughed. She had always been the steadiest of the Baron crew. The middle child. The one who had never caused anyone a moment’s worry. Good, steady Amanda. Amanda, who had suffered quietly when her father had committed suicide. She still sometimes felt as if she’d never get over his death, yet she hadn’t gone off the rails like Liza and Jeff. Reckless emotion?
Amanda closed herself into the pseudowomb of her office. This was her domain. In here, she was in charge. She had hung every picture, arranged every book.
Her gaze drifted to the newspaper photograph of Ethan Trask. Since she had left the room earlier—how long ago was that, a hundred years?—the dart had fallen from his nose. Gravity had pulled it to the floor.
Gravity, magnetism...
Amanda snatched the photograph from the wall and crumpled it in her fist.
THE CONFERENCE ROOM was quiet as all the players involved waited for the court stenographer to load the shorthand typewriter with a long, thin strip of folded paper on which he would record the hearing. The judge, the Honorable Eustace D. Griffen, sat on one side of the long table, while Ethan Trask and Amanda sat on the other.
Amanda’s throat was parched, her palms sweaty. She had talked to Peter before leaving Tyler for the courthouse in Sugar Creek, and he had assured her that her arguments had strength. Still, sitting there, she wasn’t as sure. At her elbow, Ethan Trask looked formidable and efficient in a dark suit, his handsome features serious. He had murmured her name in greeting when they met in the hall and hadn’t said anything to her since.
The court reporter nodded to the judge. Judge Griffen was one of only two jurists who presided over the judicial system of Sugar Creek County. He and Judge Bolt took turns sitting for criminal and civil suits. October was to be Judge Griffen’s month to hear criminal cases. He was a long, thin man with a deeply lined face. Heavy bags hung beneath weary-looking brown eyes, giving him the sad appearance of a basset hound. But anyone fooled into thinking Judge Griffen indolent was in for something of a shock. He tolerated no nonsense in his court, and his mind was as sharp as a razor.
His gaze took in both Ethan and Amanda. “I’ve read your briefs,” he said. “Now I want to hear your arguments. Mr. Trask, you first.”
Ethan stood, accidentally brushing against Amanda’s arm. No one except them took notice of the contact or was aware of the way both instantly withdrew, as if from an electrical shock.
“Your Honor,” Ethan began, his voice giving no hint of his being disconcerted. “It is not the state’s contention that a defendant be denied representation by the counsel of his or her choice. The right to choice of counsel is a vital part of our system of justice. It is the state’s contention that in this instance the defendant’s choice can harm the people’s ability to present their case. It is out of the norm. Amanda Baron is the granddaughter both of the defendant and of the deceased.
“As prosecutor, I am of the firm belief that this representation will place an unfair burden on the state. To have her sit in court day after day at the side of the defendant would influence the jury to believe that she, a member of the family, believes him innocent. By her mere presence she presents herself as a character witness—but a witness I cannot cross-examine.
“In no way is she unique, except as this silent witness. She is not a criminal defense lawyer of any repute. In fact, she has never before been involved in a case of this magnitude. The simple truth is that the defendant has purposely set out to gain a lawyer who would make improper use of the familial relationship, and the state requests that he be directed to choose another.”
The judge nodded and turned his mournful-looking eyes on Amanda. Shakily, she stood as Ethan sat down. She reached for a glass of water to loosen her vocal cords. She