The Law And Lady Justice

“What brings you to my side of the tracks, Judge?”

“Uh, I…ah…” Jessica could not look at him and think straight.

“You must have a good reason for coming to a grimy police station weight room. I can’t recall seeing you on this side of the street before.”

She glanced at Doug, then quickly away. He was right. She rarely came to a station. Her job was at the courthouse. Though they were technically on the same side of the law, their jobs and their outlooks couldn’t be further from one another. Had she made a mistake in coming here?

“Listen, Judge, I had a lousy night, thanks to you. A cold shower didn’t do me a damn bit of good, but an hour in here was getting my head straight—until you showed up. I’m not in the mood for an argument, so if that’s why you’re here, you can just use those great legs of yours to take that sensational little tail of yours out of here.”

Dear Reader,

Welcome to another month of the most exciting romantic reading around, courtesy of Silhouette Intimate Moments. Starting things off with a bang, we have To Love a Thief by ultrapopular Merline Lovelace. This newest CODE NAME: DANGER title takes you back into the supersecret world of the Omega Agency for a dangerous liaison you won’t soon forget.

For military romance, Catherine Mann’s WINGMEN WARRIORS are the ones to turn to. These uniformed heroes and heroines are irresistible, and once you join Darcy Renshaw and Max Keagan for a few Private Maneuvers, you won’t even be trying to resist, anyway. Wendy Rosnau continues her unflashed miniseries THE BROTHERHOOD in Last Man Standing, while Sharon Mignerey’s couple find themselves In Too Deep. Finally, welcome two authors who are new to the line but not to readers. Kristen Robinette makes an unforgettable entrance with In the Arms of a Stranger, and Ana Leigh offers a matchup between The Law and Lady Justice.

I hope you enjoy all six of these terrific novels, and that you’ll come back next month for more of the most electrifying romantic reading around.

Enjoy!

Leslie J. Wainger

Executive Editor

The Law and Lady Justice

Ana Leigh

ANA LEIGH

a Wisconsin native, has three children and five grandchildren. From the time of the publication of her first novel, in 1981, Ana successfully juggled her time between her chosen career and her hobby of writing until she officially retired in September of ’94 to devote more time to that “hobby.” In the past, she has been a theater cashier (who married the boss), the head of an accounting department, a corporate officer and the only female on the board of directors of an engineering firm.

This New York Times bestselling author received a Romantic Times Career Achievement Award nomination for Storyteller of the Year in 1991, the BOOKRAK 1995–1996 Best Selling Author Award, the Romantic Times 1995–1996 Career Achievement Award and the Romantic Times 1996–1997 Career Achievement Award for Historical Storyteller of the Year. Her novels have been distributed worldwide, including Africa, China and Russia.

This one’s for you, Don, in celebration of our big 50.

And, if God choose, I shall but love thee

better after death.

—Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 1

“Good afternoon, I’m Sherilyn Matthews, speaking to you from outside of the Milwaukee County courthouse where, in an interesting turn of events Judge Jessica Kirkland has released LeRoy Gilbert, suspected murderer of his girlfriend, stripper Cindy Fires.”

Jessica stood just inside the courthouse entrance, safely out of sight of the human vulture with huge hair, several loose strands whipping dangerously in the wind. The reporter proceeded to caw into her microphone, sensationalizing the latest disaster in Jessica’s courtroom.

“Many of you will recall how Judge Kirkland, less than a year ago, released another murder suspect. Elected to the bench on a record of championing victims’ rights as a prosecuting attorney, it would appear that Judge Kirkland has left those days behind her.”

Jessica took a step forward, causing the police guard at the door to frown and shake his head. She sighed, knowing he was right. She was a judge. She did not have to explain herself to anyone—least of all blondie of the big hair and bigger mouth.

Just as she turned to leave, she saw him. Lounging against the courthouse wall, listening to Sherilyn as if he had nothing better to do in the world than look too good in a rumpled suit and loosened tie. How many times had she seen him in her courtroom looking just like that?

Tall and dark, he appeared just a bit dangerous, despite the well-trimmed hair and ever-present suit. She knew he wore a Glock 23 automatic beneath his jacket, which added to that high-powered energy he emanated. Although they’d rarely spoken beyond heated arguments, she’d been close enough to him to know that beneath those mirrored sunglasses his eyes were blue, and he smelled like a titillating blend of summer sunshine and midnight memories.

An obvious break in Sherilyn’s cawing brought Jessica’s attention back to the reporter, whose smile reminded Jessica of a cat with canary feathers hanging out of its mouth. Sherilyn had seen something she wanted, and she actually licked her lips in delight. Her cameraman barely had time to blink as he hurried after her when she made a beeline for the man still lounging against the courthouse wall.

He didn’t retreat, remaining motionless as the reporter rushed at him, microphone waving like a talisman.

Shoving the microphone into her quarry’s face, Sherilyn kept on talking. “Detective McGuire, you were the arresting officer on this case. What are your feelings on the matter of Judge Kirkland and her unfortunate habit of releasing your suspects back into the population at large?”

Jessica bit her lip. There was little love lost between her and homicide detective Doug McGuire. Though she might privately think he had the best pair of buns that ever graced a witness chair, in public, well—

“I wish just once a judge would put aside concern for the rights of the guilty and consider the rights of the victim.”

Anger propelled Jessica forward, and she now stood in the open doorway of the courthouse, her gaze focused on the scene playing out only a few feet in front of her. When the guard approached, Jessica’s glare halted him.

Raising his hands in surrender, he shrugged. “It’s your funeral, Your Honor,” he mumbled as he retreated, which only added to her frustration. Why did everyone but the judge get to have his or her day in court? Why did everyone, including the guilty, get to have his or her say on television?

McGuire looked straight into the camera, expounding his viewpoint to southern Wisconsin as Sherilyn gazed at him like a teenage girl salivating over Ricky Martin.

“What do you mean, Detective?”

The reporter bobbed her head and her hair tilted at a precarious angle. Jessica hoped the mass would fall off and hit McGuire between those sensuous dark blue eyes of his; but luck wasn’t with her, and Sherilyn’s hair appeared to do nothing other than whiplash his face with a few wayward strands.

“I mean,” McGuire said, “this man got away with murder! I know it. You know it. The judge knows it. The guy’s lawyer probably knows it for sure. So why is that man back on the street?”

“Because there’s such a thing as an illegal search, Detective.”

Jessica’s outburst fell into a silence so loud she could hear a siren wailing down Interstate 43 behind them. She hadn’t realized she’d stepped out of the shadow of the courthouse and into the bright June sunshine. All eyes turned toward her—so did the camera. The microphone nearly hit Jessica in the teeth as Sherilyn dove in her direction.

“Judge Kirkland, would you care to elaborate?”

Jessica ignored Sherilyn, for the moment concentrating on McGuire. She continued to glare at McGuire as he stopped lounging and stood up straight, seeming to tower over her even though a distance of several feet separated them. Slowly he removed his glasses, giving her an uncommon view of his eyes. She wished he’d put the shades back on. For once his eyes didn’t spark with annoyance or anger, instead they looked—interested. That difference disconcerted her.

Jessica pulled her gaze away as Sherilyn waved the microphone dangerously close. “Would you care to elaborate, Your Honor?” the pushy reporter repeated.

“If I allowed the case in question to go to trial it would only be thrown out. The search of the suspect’s premises was illegal. That is the law, not my opinion. My hands are tied.”

“So were the victim’s.” McGuire had crept up on her, startling her.

The man moved too fast and too quietly for someone of his size. “Excuse me?” she said in her best judicial voice. She could not allow him to see how much his nearness rattled her. She was a tall woman, with confidence to spare, yet McGuire always made her feel tiny.

“You said your hands were tied, Your Honor. Well, so were the victim’s. Do you think she’d want her murderer to go free over a legal technicality?”

Her mind flooded with memories, and she blinked at their vividness. The sun seemed to beat hotter; the voices around her buzzed louder—her temples pounded. Sweat trickled between her breasts, down her back, and she felt the silk blouse beneath her jacket sticking to her skin. She stared into McGuire’s angry blue eyes, forced the past back where it belonged, and then she got mad, too.

She understood about victims…pain…and the need for justice in an unjust world. She’d spent the past fifteen years of her life working for what she believed in. She’d given up any hope of a husband, a family. Heck, she had no life at all, because she searched for one thing—justice.

How dare McGuire question that?

“I’m sure the victim doesn’t care about the law. But I have to. If I don’t follow the law, I’m no better than the ones I presume to judge. And neither are you, Detective. Do the job right next time, and we’ll have no further problems.”

“I did the job.” He stepped closer, crowding her. “I got the warrant.”

“With false information.” She took a step forward, determined not to be the one to back off.

“I didn’t know it was false at the time.”

“That doesn’t make it right.”

“Well, this is very interesting,” Sherilyn interrupted, her microphone separating the two of them, who were nearly nose-to-nose. “If you two could answer a few questions for our listeners…”

Jessica flushed. She’d forgotten she was on television. McGuire made her forget a lot of things. She glared at him and turned toward the camera.

“I just want the people to know that something has to be done to stop criminals from being set free on technicalities before the case reaches the courtroom. If anyone has a solution, I’d be glad to hear it.”

She turned on her heel and marched back into the courthouse, ignoring the shouted questions and the scent of that man, which she knew would taunt her long into the evening ahead.

She spoke directly to me, begging for help. She has such a strong sense of justice and tries so hard, but the legal system—what can she do? It’s her job—no more, no less—even if doing that job allows the guilty to go free.

I have a solution. I’ll make her so happy. She won’t have to be sad any longer. Since she can’t do it, someone has to.

That someone will be me.

“Judge Kirkland, wait up.”

The low-pitched command resonated with a feral undertone that suggested menace, while at the same time plunked sensuously on her backbone with the potency of Pablo Casales strumming a Takamine guitar.

Jessica halted, took a deep breath, and turned. “What is it, Detective McGuire?”

He pulled up, enveloping her again with the force of his male energy. “Just what in holy hell do you have against me?”

She raised her head in the hope of getting the full stature out of her five feet nine inches. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

“You know damn well what I mean. Hours and hours of investigative paper and legwork goes up in smoke in the couple of minutes it takes for a judge like you to throw a case out of court. First you did it with Bellemy, now Gilbert.”

“Detective McGuire, you and your partner are quite aware that Sam Bellemy’s admission of guilt would never have stood up in court.”

“He confessed, didn’t he?”

“Before his lawyer arrived! Why didn’t you halt your questioning the moment he asked and wait until one was present? Instead, your partner made matters worse and beat the confession out of him.”

“He didn’t beat him. So he shoved him around a little bit. You can’t blame Vic. He has an eight-year-old daughter. Any parent on a jury would have done the same if they’d seen what that sick pervert did to that little girl.”

“I have no doubt you’re right, but, unfortunately, Mr. Bellemy was spared the jury process because of Detective Peterson’s actions—and yours for not restraining your partner.”

“I had all I could do to restrain myself. My mistake was stopping Vic from killing the bastard!”

“Oh right, Detective, that would make Peterson a condemned murderer and he’d be the one who would end up serving a life sentence.”

“Not if he came up before you, Your Honor. Seems like murderers get an easy walk in your court.”

Jessica watched him storm off with that panther stride of his.

When Jessica entered the office, her distress must have shown on her face. Liz Alexander glanced up with a sympathetic smile. “I watched it all in living color. I see he got to you again, honey,” she said, in reference to Nemesis-Detective Douglas I. McGuire.

Liz had been Jessica’s secretary when they worked together in the D.A.’s office, and had come with her when Jessica had been chosen to fill a sudden vacancy on the circuit court. She had toiled tirelessly to help get Jessica elected to that seat when the temporary term had expired. But Liz was more than a secretary to her. The fifty-year-old widow had become her confidant, her counselor, the sympathetic ear to her tribulations—the joyous smile to her accomplishments—a shopping companion, or the one to share a pizza and gabfest over a current novel or show. Mother or sister, whatever the moment called for, but above all—best friend.

Whether one liked or resented Jessica, everyone in the courthouse loved Liz: police officers, detectives, bailiffs, sheriffs, court reporters, clerks, maintenance crews—even the media. They gravitated toward Liz’s desk, and she mothered them all. The consensus among them that Liz could probably be a better counselor to the prisoners locked behind bars than the lawyers who defended them or the clergymen who attempted to offer them spiritual guidance.

Sighing deeply, Jessica shook her head. “That man drives me wild.”

“You and probably every other woman he knows. He’s one sexy hunk.”

“I meant he makes me so angry I want to scream.”

“Oh yeah, right.”

“You don’t believe me.”

“I don’t believe you haven’t noticed he’s sexy.”

“Too much for his own good. That’s probably why he’s so arrogant. God’s gift to womanhood!” She headed for her chambers. “I pity his poor wife, if he’s married.”

“He isn’t,” Liz replied.

Jessica halted and turned around. “Really? How do you know?”

“His partner told me.”

“Ex-wife?”

“Nope.”

“Well, I’m sure he’s got a live-in girlfriend.”

“Nope. No wife, ex-wife or live-in girlfriend.”

“Boyfriend?” Jessica asked, hesitantly.

Liz rolled her eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding!”

“Well, obviously, no woman can tolerate him. He’s arrogant, overbearing, short-tempered, foul-mouthed and…” She stopped and bit her lip to cut off her words.

“And what?” Liz asked.

Jessica expelled a deep breath. “The sexiest man I’ve ever met.” Both women giggled.

“I never heard you say that about Dennis Wolcott in the whole seven years you went with him.”

“We’re not exactly comparing apples to apples here, Miss Elizabeth.”

“In fact,” Liz tapped a fuchsia-tipped finger against her chin, “I don’t remember you even mentioning poor Mr. Pomp and Circumstance from the time you broke your engagement to him six months ago. I think I’ve just figured out what the problem is here.”

“And just what would that be?” Jessica asked.

Liz leaned back in her chair, folded her arms across her still firm and very trim breasts, and poked her tongue in her cheek. “You’re horny, Judge Kirkland.”

Still steaming from his talk with the judge, Doug waited outside of the courthouse for Vic. Thankfully, Sherilyn the shark had left and had taken her microphone, camera and rawhide hair with her. Normally, he didn’t blame anyone for trying to make an honest buck—but making money off of other people’s misfortunes left him cold.

Too bad Sherilyn didn’t have the class of the judge—or her legs. Those legs of hers! His thoughts immediately conjured up one of his favorite images—Judge Jessica’s long legs. Keeping them hidden under that black robe was criminal.

A dark blue Crown Victoria pulled up. Doug walked over and opened the car door. Vic Peterson grinned at him from behind the wheel.

After removing his suit jacket, Doug climbed in, then tossed the jacket into the back seat. “What kept you?”

“I was watching the Judge Jessica Meets The Wolf Man show. It’s a sure bet for renewal in the fall.”

“She’s something, isn’t she?”

“You talking about the judge or the blonde?” Vic asked. When Doug threw him an exasperated look, Vic said, “You’ve really got a thing for her, don’t you? Since when are you the shy type? Why don’t you just ask her out?”

“I’m preserving my virginity for when Bev dumps you,” Doug said. “Besides, Judge Jessica can’t stand the sight of me, and she’s engaged to that prick lawyer Wolcott.”

“Boy, partner, you’re really slipping. Don’t you read the paper? They broke up six months ago.”

Doug’s pulses shot into overdrive. He grinned with pleasure. “No kidding?” Knowing Vic would spare no mercy if he suspected Doug was serious, he quickly tried to cover up. “I didn’t think you read anything but the sports section.”

“I don’t. Her secretary told me.”

Vic wheeled his way through the traffic to the House of Correction, where the criminals with minor offenses were incarcerated.

After signing in, and handing over a carton of cigarettes, they sat down in a small, private room. In a short time, they were joined by one of the convicts, his skinny five feet two inches decked in a bright orange jumpsuit of the Milwaukee County penal system.

“Hey, McGuire. Peterson.” He nodded his head, sparsely covered with strands of dank, dark hair. His wide grin revealed a mouth of nicotine-stained teeth in an advanced stage of decay.

“How ya doin’, Paulie?” Vic said.

“Good. Grub’s real good here,” he said.

“Must be. You’re sure eager to come back often enough,” Doug said. “What’re you in for this time?”

“Just passing some checks,” Paulie said. “I got a bum rap.”

“Right,” Doug said.

“You bring the smokes?” The little man nervously threaded his fingers through what was fast becoming a receding hairline.

“Yeah,” Vic said, “you ought to give ’em up. They’re gonna kill you.”

Paulie chuckled. “Naw. That’s why I smoke filter tips.”

“So, what have you got that’s so important?” Doug asked.

“I wuz talkin’ to this fella who wuz jest brought in today. He told me somethin’ you guys oughta know.”

“That’s what we’re here for,” Doug said to the snitch.

“I figure it’s worth a sawbuck to ya.”

“We already brought you a carton of smokes. It cost a damn sight more than a sawbuck.”

“You sure they’re filter tips?”

“Get on with it, Paulie,” Doug said impatiently. “If you’ve got something good, we’ll throw in the ten dollars.”

“Okay, okay. This fella lives in the Third Ward and said the word on the street is that someone’s lookin’ to hire a hit man.”

Paulie paused to let his words sink in as Doug and Vic exchanged a long look.

“Who’s the target?”

“He didn’t know.”

“Who’s putting out the contract?”

“Didn’t know that, either. He only heard it involved a case McGuire and Peterson had handled.”

“Which case?”

“He didn’t know.”

“You’re saying he doesn’t know the case, the victim or who put out the contract,” Doug said. “You wouldn’t be holding out on us, would you, Paulie?”

“No, I swear, fellas, that’s all he told me. Ain’t I always been up front with ya?”

The guy was clueless. Doug headed for the door. “If you hear anything more, give us a call.”

“What about the sawbuck?”

“You’ll get it when you give us something more,” Vic said. “The name of the game is names, Paulie. We need names.”

On the way out, Doug stopped and added a ten-dollar bill to the carton of cigarettes.

Vic shook his head. “Under all that skepticism, you’re a real marshmallow, McGuire.”

Chapter 2

Vic maneuvered the Crown Victoria into their parking space and killed the engine. He glanced at his watch, then at Doug. “You going home?”

Doug had already gotten out of the car and retrieved his jacket, shrugging into the sleeves, despite the late-afternoon heat. The captain frowned on detectives walking around without jackets in public. No displaying your weapon in front of the citizenry—probably wasn’t a good idea for the criminals to see it, either. Like nobody knew they were wearing Glocks. Right!

“I think I’ll go in for a while.” Doug’s gaze met his partner’s across the top of the car, just in time to see the flash of concern in Vic’s eyes. “What?”

“Why don’t you come over for dinner? You’ve got to eat.”

“Thanks, but no. I was over twice last week.”

“Bev loves to have you—and the kids do, too. Andrea has a crush on you a mile wide. Right now it’s cute, although I will have to kill you in about eight years. Justin and Brandon would love to toss the ball around.”

Doug ignored the stab of envy for his friend. Vic and Bev had been married twenty years. They had two teenage sons and an eight-year-old daughter—who was going on twenty-five. Vic was lucky. He was one of the few cops who had a marriage that had survived. His children were healthy, happy and thriving, and the Peterson clan always welcomed Doug with open arms. But lately he’d started to feel just a bit sad when he was there, and for the life of him he couldn’t figure out why.

“I’ve got paperwork.” He slammed the car door. “See you in the morning.”

“Just don’t stay here until all hours drinking coffee and skipping dinner.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“I mean it, McGuire. You’re turning into an old man before my eyes.”

And since Vic was too close to the truth for comfort, Doug forced a grin and a lighthearted wave. “You should know, old man.”