On Thin Ice (3 page)

The man who could ruin it.

Norris’s eyes had widened with alarm. “You’re not coming down with the flu, are you?”

She shook her head, but didn’t speak. After sipping some water, she took the handkerchief Devlin passed her to dab at the fine film of sweat on her forehead. “It’s not the flu,” she finally responded in a firmer voice. “I told you, it was just a touch of indigestion. I’m fine now.”

Looking poised for flight, the chief attorney stared at her. Could be those rumors of Norris’s ill health were true, Devlin thought. His skin carried a waxy pallor beneath the obligatory golfer’s tan, and his face was drawn, as though he was in pain. Added to that, his determination to bring Devlin to Dallas made him almost certain Norris was planning early retirement and looking for a replacement.

Devlin Sinclair, Partner, had a nice ring to it. So did chief attorney of criminal defense litigation, for that matter.

He had a hunch that Gabrielle Rousseau thought those titles would sound better after her name. Judging by her courtroom success rate, she should be a worthy rival. Good, he liked a tough fight. As long as he ended up winning.

Finally, Norris nodded, apparently satisfied with Gabrielle’s explanation. “Good.” He rose, indicating the meeting was over.

Devlin kept an eye on Gabrielle as she got up from her chair and walked to the door of the office. Her hand shook a little when she smoothed back her hair, but she seemed steady enough on her feet.

Norris picked up the file and tapped it against his palm. “I’ll leave the matter in your hands then. Go see Sabatino.” With that, he handed Devlin the file and practically shoved them out the door.

“I’m indebted to you,” Devlin told Gabrielle as they started down the hall toward the elevators. “Next time he gets too long-winded I’ll start the coughing.”

For a moment she stared at him, then smiled wanly. “Sid has a bit of a phobia about germs in the workplace.”

“Think he sprayed Lysol around after we left?” Devlin asked, hoping to drag a real smile out of her. She kept walking without responding. Apparently she didn’t have much of a sense of humor.

Changing the subject, he said, “You don’t seem too happy with our new client. Or is it me you’re not too pleased with?”

She halted outside the elevator door and jammed a finger on the up button before turning to look at him. “Frankly, neither one.”

Whatever had been wrong with her, he decided, she’d managed to pull herself together quickly enough after they stepped out of Norris’s office.

Tucking the file under his arm, Devlin stuffed his hands in his pockets and let his gaze linger on her face. Man, she had some beautiful eyes. Right now they flashed like murder in shades of green. “I can understand Sabatino,” he said. “I’m not happy about a Mafia case, either. But what have you got against me?” He offered her his most charming smile, the one that had melted more than one heart. “I’m basically civilized, and I’ve had all my shots.”

“Civilized is hardly the word I’d use. Not with your courtroom reputation.”

So . . . she knew his track record. Which meant she considered him a threat. And so he was, if her desire for advancement matched his. Pleased that she thought of him as dangerous, he grinned at her. “But that’s in court.” The elevator doors slid open, and he followed her inside. “Outside of court I’m as tame as a tabby cat.”

After a derisive glance, she ignored him and stared straight ahead, affording him an appealing view of her profile. Why was she so prickly? Because they were rivals? Or maybe, he thought, because she was embarrassed about falling at his feet with a load of lingerie flimsy enough to stir a dead man’s blood. Since Devlin wasn’t anywhere close to dead, his libido stirred just thinking about it.

Who’d have guessed that the Queen of Sharks harbored a secret addiction to expensive lingerie? Sexy, expensive lingerie. An interesting insight into her personality, that little incident. And doubtless something she’d rather he didn’t know about her.

Devlin followed her into her office, taking one of the chairs in front of her desk. Gabrielle didn’t sit. Instead, she stalked the floor with a restless energy. Odd, he thought, how five minutes before she’d been close to fainting and here she was circling the room like a shark scenting blood.

He flipped open the file and glanced at the entries. “Let’s get started here. What do you know about Sabatino?” he asked, leafing quickly through the pages.

“Nothing,” she snapped, halting and glaring at him. Resuming her pacing, she added, “And I don’t want to know anything, either.”

His sharp glance went unnoticed. “Yeah, I try to steer clear of Mafia too. Looks like we’re both in trouble this time. Funny, I thought CG and S normally avoided organized crime clients. Got any ideas why they didn’t on this one?”

“No,” she said flatly. “What’s in the file?”

Okay, she didn’t want to speculate yet. Why not? She was bound to have as much curiosity as he did about Norris’s turnaround.

Unless she knew something he didn’t. He studied her for a moment, noting her quick, jerky actions, the nervous energy that simmered under her skin. Was it just his suspicious mind or were her reactions a little out of kilter? He decided not to drop it just yet.

“You’re bound to have some idea. You know Norris better than I do. Why would he—?”

Gabrielle interrupted, exasperated. “Did you ever consider that Sid’s arm is being twisted? We’re talking Mafia here.”

True, he thought. It could be as simple as that. “You’ve got a point.” Dropping his gaze back to the folder, he said, “All the same, Norris didn’t do us a favor on this one. Sabatino’s no stranger to the system. He’s been charged twice before. Prostitution and gambling rings. Nothing stuck. Charges were dismissed, once because the arresting officer screwed up, and the second time the case was thrown out because of lack of evidence. Both arrests took place in New York.” He looked up to gauge her reaction. “Wonder why he decided to move to Texas.”

“Greener pastures,” Gabrielle said, finally sitting. Eyes narrowing, she drummed a pen on her desk.

She was about to jump out of her skin with nerves, Devlin thought. He wondered if that was normal for her. “Could be. Or maybe he had a falling-out with his boss, Vito Donati. We’ll know more after we talk to him. Are you ready to go to the jail? See what Sabatino has to say for himself.”

“There’s no need for us both to go,” she said.

Devlin lifted an eyebrow and stared at her. “Do you want me to handle it alone?”

“No! I mean, why don’t you let me handle it? You see what you can do about the hearing.”

Dream on, sweetheart, he thought. He wasn’t handing this case over to her or anyone else. Not when it could gain either of them a partnership, or at the very least, a stronger position. “Better both see him first. He’s liable to get huffy when he realizes we aren’t both there. Makes clients feel important to have more than one lawyer.”

“Suit yourself,” she said, shrugging. “I thought it might save time.”

Save time, his butt. He noticed the way the muscles in her jaw tightened. She didn’t want him seeing Sabatino. Obviously, she wanted the case herself. Not two minutes ago she said she didn’t know or want to know anything about the Mafia, yet here she was trying to see Sabatino alone.

He stood up. “Speaking of time, we’d better get over to the jail. Your car or mine?” he asked, smiling. Having learned the power of his smile early on, Devlin wasn’t above using it to charm a woman out of her secrets . . . or whatever else got between them.

“Both,” Gabrielle said, grabbing her keys. “See you at the jail, Sinclair.”

He shook his head ruefully, watching her leave. She didn’t seem to have any use for his fabled charms.

Gabrielle drove to the jail
on autopilot, thankful that the traffic was only mildly hideous. She wished she had the luxury of falling apart, but she didn’t have time—not with that sharp-eyed piranha watching her every move. She had better tread carefully around Devlin Sinclair. Dammit, she felt like a bug trapped in a glass jar. How much had she given away in Sid’s office with her unguarded reaction? Thank God, she hadn’t fainted.

Franco Sabatino. Her hands tightened on the steering wheel. Why did he have to show up now, when her career was taking off? Fourteen years without a sound from him and now . . .

Calm down and think, she told herself. Franco couldn’t have singled out CG&S by accident. He had to know it was the law firm she practiced with. Of course he did.

Forgetting caution as usual, she scraped the bottom of her Dodge Stealth when she pulled into the parking lot across from the jail. That stupid dip at the lot’s entrance had cost her more money than she liked to think about.

She took the only spot available, next to Sinclair’s silver-gray Beamer. He was leaning against the car door, hands in his pockets and legs crossed at the ankles, blond hair glinting in the sun. No wonder they called him Devil. Only a fallen angel could look so mouthwateringly good in hundred-degree heat. A tingle of pure lust shot through her veins. Idiot, she thought. This guy was her hottest competition.

Oh, he was hot, all right. Irritated at the stab of unwelcome attraction, she slid out of her car and scowled at him.

“You’re doing it again,” he said, taking her arm and walking beside her.

“Doing what?” Did he think she was going to fall down in the parking lot? She tried to remember the last time a man had treated her so courteously. If his manners hadn’t seemed so natural to him, she would have been more suspicious of his motives.

“Glaring at me,” he answered. “You’re about to give me a complex.”

“I doubt that,” she said, but she felt a twinge of guilt. Didn’t the man have any faults? He was supposed to be a piranha in the courtroom. Who would’ve thought he’d be so damned polite?

Smart. Sexy. Good-looking. His hand rested lightly, even respectfully, underneath her arm. Why was her skin tingling? What was it about this guy?

Well, for starters, she thought, he was gorgeous. She glanced up at him and, seeing his smile, wished she hadn’t. Talk about a dangerous attraction. He was the last person she needed stirring her up. Even if he weren’t her prime rival, she wasn’t his type. Leggy Miller beer models were more likely his taste. Probably had one waiting for him now—wearing a slinky black teddy.

But did he have to be so . . . sexy?

Forget that, Gabrielle, she told herself. Your career is hanging by a thread. Pay attention to saving your butt instead of indulging your suddenly overactive libido.

Seated at the scarred
rectangular table of the police station conference room, Gabrielle studied Sabatino’s file. Beside her, Devlin studied Gabrielle. A woman of contradictions, or at the least, many adverse layers. He hadn’t quite pegged her yet, and he was good at that. Contradictions, he knew, usually had reasons behind them. Her odd behavior at the office would bear further examination.

The door opened to admit Sabatino, striding in with a sublime disregard for his jailer. Devlin rose and thanked the police escort before turning to Sabatino. “I’m Devlin Sinclair and this is Gabrielle Rousseau. We’re your attorneys from Christian, Gilmer and Simmons.”

Sabatino ignored him, staring at Gabrielle instead.
“Bellisima,”
he said in flawless Italian. His mouth curved into a slow smile, not quite a leer. “Rousseau,” he added musingly, his eyebrows lifting. “Tell me,
signorina,
have we met before?”

“Not that I remember,” she said, her eyes flashing a warning Devlin could read as well as Sabatino. “And I have an excellent memory.”

She made it sound like a threat. Intrigued, Devlin watched both of them. Though pale again, Gabrielle didn’t look as bad as she had in Norris’s office.