A tall man with curly blond hair, a lanky build, and a suspicious gaze appeared in a corner doorway. With sleeves a hint too long, and pants the same, his suit fit him about as well as the furnishing. It didn’t. There was an air about this man that said money. A complete contradiction to his surroundings.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m looking for Sullivan. David Sullivan.”

“I’m Sullivan. Who are you?”

Royce sensed nervousness in the man. “Royce Walker. I handle security issues for individuals as well as businesses. I’m here to discuss Marvin Sheridan.” It wasn’t a request, nor was it meant to be.

“What of him?” he questioned with narrowed eyes.

“There is suspicion that he could be involved in some threats one of my clients has been receiving.”

Sullivan studied Royce for several long moments as if he was deciding if he should talk to him. Finally, with a nod, he said, “Come this way,” turned and started walking.

Odd man, he thought, following him, noting the man’s jerky movements, almost like a machine fighting a mechanism.

Inside the corner office, Sullivan sat behind a bigger version of the scuffed piece of wood in the center of the lobby. Royce settled into a worn blue cloth visitor’s chair. He would have preferred to stand but he sensed Sullivan’s unease and didn’t want to intimidate him by hovering. He wanted the man to talk.

Leaning back, Sullivan rocked in a squeaky leather chair. Like nails on a chalkboard, the sound raked on Royce’s nerves. “Sheridan is scheduled to be executed,” he said. ”What harm is he to your client?”

Royce narrowed his gaze on the man. “Kept up with him, I see?”

“Wouldn’t you if you were the attorney who defended a man being put to death?”

Royce shrugged. “He’s a killer.”

“He was temporarily insane.”

“The jury said differently.”

Tapping the fingers of one hand on his desk, Sullivan studied Royce. “What are you after here, Mr. Walker?”

“How do you feel about Lauren Reynolds?”

“Is Lauren your client?”

“My client’s identity is confidential. Again, how do you feel about Lauren Reynolds?”

“How does anyone feel about the opponent that brings them to their knees?” His tone was hostile.

“You tell me,” Royce challenged.

“It doesn’t really matter. It’s past history.”

“What does that mean?”

Sullivan snorted. “What do you think it means? The man is going to die, end of story. He’s out of appeals.”

“How’s Sheridan handling that?”

Sullivan raked a hand through his hair. “He’s accepting. He met a woman who helped him find God. He says he’s been forgiven and ready to face his maker.”

“Should you have won the case?”

A frown dipped his brows. “Should have, yes.”

“Why didn’t you?” Royce pressed.

His fist balled on top of the desk. “I had some bumps during the trial, and Lauren Reynolds milked each and every one of them. Surely you read the press I got over the ordeal. I lost my job, my wife, everything.”

“And you blame her?”

He grimaced and seemed to stiffen. “I did, but not anymore. I stumbled. She did what any good attorney would do and took advantage of opportunity. There’s no room in the courtroom to screw up. You just can’t do it.”

Royce stood to leave. “One more thing,” he said. “Is there anyone around Sheridan who might want revenge on his behalf?”

“Other than me and the ten partners in the law firm I worked for, no one.”

Ten partners who had suffered the bad press of losing the trail. Damn, the list of possibilities just got longer and longer. Royce turned to leave. “There is one more person who hates Lauren,” Sullivan said. Royce turned and arched a brow.

“My ex-wife. She lost all the prestige and money she thought I was about to give her. The bitch married me for money and power, and nothing more.”

Chapter Sixteen

In a few short hours, Lauren had negotiated plea bargains on four cases. She was zapped and she still had hours of work to do. It was taking every ounce of concentration she had to keep focused on the words she was reading as she clicked through her e-mail. She had forty new items in her inbox since she cleared it two hours before.

“Lauren.”

Lauren jumped at the unexpected, familiar voice of her ex-fiancée, Roger. “You scared the heck out of me. How did you get past the front desk?”

He leaned against the door frame, looking every bit like Tom Cruise in ‘The Firm’, one leg crossed over the other, his thousand dollar suit fitted, his hair and nails perfectly groomed. “She was on the phone and I waved and walked by.”

So easily. Too easily. She was fooling herself to think she was safely nestled in her office. “What are you doing here, Roger?”

“What kind of way is that to greet your ex-fiancé? I am, after all, the man you almost pleaded never ending love to.”

“I’m tired. I have a big trial starting, and I don’t have time for this.” She refocused on her computer screen intent on dismissing him.

“I worry about you.”

The sincerity in his voice surprised her. She gave him a curious look. Suddenly, the past came back in a rush of memories, but none of them were good. She couldn’t remember why she’d ever said ‘yes’ to marrying him.