But, my dress She caught the look in his eyes and snapped her mouth shut.
You wont need a dress where youre going.
Shelby swallowed, gaze sliding away from his, her optimism bottoming out. You mean, the station house, right?
I meant the lockup.
They might put me in jail?
Thats the usual procedure.
But, I didnt do anything.
The cop reached down to open the back door of his cruiser. Thats what they all say.
Dont I get a telephone call? Allisons new fiancé was a lawyer. Maybe Greg could rescue her.
Not yet. Watch your head.
Staring into the murky, pungent depths of the cruisers back seat, Shelbys entire body recoiled in a wave of instant claustrophobia. She had to fight an urge to kick the cop in the shin and make a run for it.
She was going to Balleys tonightto drink shooters and laugh with Allison about rotten, cheating boyfriends and their nasty blond floozies. She wasnt going to get strip-searched, eat gruel and sleep on a lumpy prison mattress with a woman named Spike.
But the cop was a whole lot bigger and stronger than she was. He planted her firmly on the bench seat.
Theres been a mistake, she whispered.
Then you have nothing to worry about. He slammed the handleless door shut and headed around the hood of the car.
Shelby hated to disagree with the nice policeman, but she had plenty to worry about. The cops didnt believe she was innocent. Gerry wasnt going to help her. And they had her on videotape making an Uzi pickup at a coffee shop cum firearms depot.
Her shoulders slumped and she let her head drop back against the hard seat, closing her eyes in defeat.
Gunrunner was going to look even worse than philosophy major on her résumé.
IF HONOR and principles werent already keeping lawyer Dallas Williams on the straight and narrow, the thought of spending more than ten minutes in the Haines Street lockup certainly would.
It had to be one of the most depressing places on earth. Fluorescent overheads buzzed and flickered against faded, gray ceilings. Prisoners shouted profanity from the long lockup hallway behind the desk sergeants counter. And the smell of mildew permeated the punky, dark walnut paneling, circa 1930.
Got that arrest report ready for Dallas Williams? the desk sergeant called to the officer behind him as two uniforms brought a man and a woman to the desk for processing.
Dallas automatically shifted away from the handcuffed female. He was here to get background information on a witness in an embezzlement hearing, and then he was out of here.
Be about two minutes, the sergeant called to Dallas. He gestured to the royal-blue, molded plastic chairs that lined the opposite side of the hallway. Want to have a seat?
Dallas shook his head. No thanks.
Rule number one in the Haines Street lockup was to stay well away from both the furniture and the clientele. He didnt need gum stuck to the backside of his Armanis. And he had no desire to chat with the colorful southside characters camped out, waiting for friends and relatives to post bail.
He felt the female prisoner staring up at him and glanced down to meet green eyes that were surprisingly clear and lucid.
Are you Dallas Williams? she asked.
She was five-foot-six, with wavy auburn hair that just brushed her tanned shoulders. She was too fresh-faced to be a Lakeshore Drive hooker, but that black tank top and the tight miniskirt gave him pause. She was willowy thin, and he was sure she wasnt nearly dangerous enough to warrant the cuffs.
Of Turnball, Williams and Smith? she continued when he didnt answer.
I am, he acknowledged with a cautious nod.
She smiled, tipping her head to one side, revealing white teeth that had probably cost her parents a fortune. She looked instantly relieved, as if hed just admitted to being her guardian angel. Thank goodness. I was going to try calling Greg, but this is even better.
The desk sergeant pushed a manila envelope across the scarred countertop. Heres your report, Mr. Williams.
Thanks. Dallas picked up the police report and started past her for the door. Last thing he needed was to let this woman pour out her soul.
Wait, angel-eyes called, lurching toward him before the arresting officer grabbed her firmly by the elbow and yanked her back.
Focusing on her hairline, and ignoring a jolt of hostility toward the officer, Dallas gave her a polite nod of goodbye and kept moving.
You have to help me, she cried.
Dallas shook his head, and fixed his focus on the exit door. Fresh-faced or not, he didnt represent hookers, drug addicts and petty southside criminals. Not now, not ever.
Please, she implored, even louder.
Dallas stopped, gritted his teeth and pivoted to face her. I charge three hundred dollars an hour.
She drew back in surprise, her eyes widening, their color seeming to lighten. Tank top and skirt not withstanding, she suddenly looked out of place in the harsh grunge of stained walls, scarred furnishings and world-weary cops. Really?
Really, he answered. Not that her looks made one iota of difference. World-weary or not, the Haines Street squad wasnt in the habit of bringing in innocent people.
They didnt need to. They had plenty of criminals to choose from.
How fast do you think you could get me out of here? Ten? Fifteen minutes?
I have an eight-hour minimum on new cases, he lied.
She blinked, and this time her eyes looked turquoise.
That cant be legal, she said.
I assure you, its perfectly legal. They make you study that sort of thing for the bar exam.
Well its definitely not moral.
You want to debate morality? Youre the criminal. Im a law-abiding businessman.
Im not a criminal.
Dallas couldnt even believe he was having this conversation. Couldnt believe she had the audacity to take him on. Couldnt believe she was standing here in handcuffs, eyes shooting sapphire sparks at him for absolutely no reason.
Pirated software and illegal firearms, said the arresting officer to the desk sergeant.
Dallas cocked his head sideways, raising his eyebrows at her. Part of him couldnt wait to see what she had to say about that.
I was in the wrong job at the wrong time.
The uniformed cop beside her chuckled and shook his head. Like Dallas, hed heard every excuse in the book. This one wasnt even particularly creative.
The woman shot the cop an annoyed glare before turning her attention back to Dallas. She squared her shoulders. Im innocent. And Im Allison Kemplers roommate. If you wont help me, perhaps youd be good enough to let Greg know Im here.
At the mention of Allisons name, Dallas groaned inwardly. Leaving the woman here to be booked and locked up suddenly ceased to be an option. Greg was batty about his new fiancée. If Dallas upset Allison, thered be hell to pay.
Greg Smith, she elaborated. Allisons fiancé.
Name and address, said the sergeant.
Son of a bitch, Dallas muttered under his breath, stuffing the envelope under his arm and taking two steps back to the counter. Whatve you got on her? he asked the arresting officer.
Im not paying you twenty-four-hundred dollars, she said.
Well talk about the bill later, he said.
Oh, no, we wont. Do I look stupid?
No. Crazy, maybe. But definitely not stupid.
You may think youve got me right where you want
Shut up.
Excuse me?
Dallas turned and subjected her to a long, steady stare. It was unseemly to argue about fees in front of the police department. And, quite frankly, right where he wanted her wasnt in the Haines Street lockup.
It was
He pulled his thoughts up short, clamping his jaw. Where the hell had that come from?
Well come to a mutually agreeable fee once I get you out of those cuffs, he said.
Her eyes narrowed. She nodded, but he could see it cost her a lot to keep her latest opinion to herself.
The arresting officer flipped open his black notebook. We have three-hundred pirated copies of Midnight Run, two dozen Uzis, ten AK-47s and a bazooka. And weve got another warrant for the garage across the alley.
Shelby sucked in a quick breath. I didnt
As your attorney, Ive advised you to keep your mouth shut.
Her eyes emitted some more sapphire sparks.
This time Dallas felt them all the way to his toes.
Perfect. Sexual awareness. Perhaps one of the officers would be good enough to shoot him now.
Name? the desk sergeant repeated.
Shelby mutinously kept her mouth shut.
You can answer that, said Dallas with a sigh.
Why, thank you. Shelby Jacobs. I didnt know about any of the guns. Ive only been at Game-O-Rama for a week. Ask Allison
Just your name, said Dallas.
She clamped her jaw shut again and muttered something between her clenched teeth. He was pretty sure it concerned his parentage.
Like he was the problem here.
Anything connecting Ms. Jacobs directly to the evidence? he asked.
We have videotape of her making a pickup. The cop paused significantly. She claims she thought it was coffee.
I
Dallas rapped Shelbys ankle with the side of his foot. To his shock, she actually did shut up this time.
Did you see her make a payment? he asked.
The cop shook his head. No.
Did she handle the merchandise?
No.
You have her fingerprints on the guns, the warehouse, the crates?
Not so far. Forensics is still working.
The desk sergeant leaned forward and pointed to the sign dangling above his head. This is booking, not a courtroom. And Im a sergeant, not a judge. Any chance we can we get her processed before a lineup forms?
Is she formally under arrest? asked Dallas.
Of course
Think hard. Dallas stared at the arresting officer. Did you arrest her? Or just bring her in for questioning? Do you have a warrant? Did you follow due process to the letter?
The officers gaze slid to the sergeant. Sarge?
Dallas stared at the sergeant with a you-dont-want-to-mess-with-a-high-priced-attorney-this-close-to-quitting-time expression on his face.
Kick her loose, said the sergeant.
What about me? the man beside her sputtered. If her arrest was bogus, then mine
You wanna share a cell with Buba Junuh? asked the sergeant, waving his pencil in the direction of the mans nose. You just keep talking.
The man swallowed, his Adams apple bobbing once as he suddenly became fascinated by the scarred, wood countertop.
Make sure your client doesnt leave town, the sergeant warned Dallas.
No problem, Dallas quickly replied.
As soon as Shelbys cuffs were off, he hustled her toward the door. He was getting out while the getting was good. He wasnt about to give the officers time to reconsider and end up stuck in a dingy interview room for the next four hours.
He had things to do, places to go.
Thanks. Shelby gasped, struggling to keep up with his long strides.
They burst through the door into a spring evening and some comparatively fresh air. Dallas breathed a sigh of relief.
Finally. His duty was done. Another couple of hours at the office and he could grab dinner at Sebastians on the way home and let life get back to normal.
The damp pavement glowed under the streetlights as the commuter crowd spilled from the El Station onto the street. A couple of middle-aged men in business suits gave Shelby speculative looks.
Dallas tossed them a dont-even-think-about-it glare. You got cab fare home? he asked her.
She rubbed her arms against the growing chill. Of course Ive gotoh, no She stopped short. My purse!
Dallas stared down another passerby. This one looked like a construction worker, with a navy work shirt and a black lunchbox. Didnt this woman know not to wander the streets of Chicago in a miniskirt?
I left my purse at the Game-O-Rama, said Shelby.
So, have the taxi stop and get it.
They locked it up. I dont have a key. Gerry has the key.
Dallas tipped his head back, stared at the streetlamp and swallowed a few cusswords. Why him?
His dad might have taken on every stray south of Jackson Park with a decent sob story, but Dallas definitely wasnt his father. Hed never be that naive.
With no other choice, he shrugged out of his suit jacket and dropped it around Shelbys shoulders. Dont talk to anyone until I get back.
She nodded, glancing around the damp, darkening street.
The male pedestrians lurked in the shadows like a pack of jackals, and Dallas could almost feel his fathers genetic code springing to life inside him.
He tamped down the silly urge to keep her close. Theyd made it out of there by the legal skin of their teeth. There was no way he was taking her back inside.
Shoot.
Damn.
He let out a chopped sigh. Forget the key to the Game-O-Rama. Ill get us a cab.
2
DALLAS SLAMMED THE DOOR behind her and strode around to the drivers side, while Shelby swore shed never complain about taxis again. It was so much nicer in here than in the police cara cushioned seat, handles on the inside of the doors, a window that opened, and no lurking aroma of vomit, sweat or urine.
She glanced at her watch, wishing shed thought about her purse on the way out of the Game-O-Rama. Who knew when shed get it back? Not that she could have managed to grab her purse with the cuffs on. And not that the young cop was likely to have helped her.
The opposite door opened and Dallas slid insidesix feet two, gray eyes, short, dark hair and a set to his jawline that said hed rather be cleaning his oven than escorting her home.
Had she thanked him? Should she thank him? It wasnt like his help had come cheap. And she was already planning to dip into her meager savings to pay half of Allisons rent at the end of the month.
She guessed she could kiss that new pair of Bjorn shoes in Holsteads window goodbye. Along with the matching leather purse. It was a great sale, too.
She sighed inwardly. How much do I owe you?
Forget it, said Dallas, slamming his own door.
What do you mean, forget it? That was ten minutes work. I figure its fifty bucks, easy.