Verdict: Daddy. Charlotte Douglas

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СКАЧАТЬ tops of his work boots. A spanking-white, short-sleeved polo shirt revealed his knotted biceps and sported the logo Adams Landscape Designs with a stylized palm tree embroidered above the pocket.

      Marissa grabbed the doorknob to support her weakened knees. It was her Blake, all right. Not the lean, lanky insecure boy she’d known and loved, but a mature man, even more attractive than the teenager had been. “Beefcake,” her sister, Suze, would call him, a man with the physique and steamy sex appeal of those featured on calendars of firefighters and police officers.

      Marissa gave herself a mental shake and tried to slow her pulse and order her racing thoughts. She doubted anyone produced calendars of hunky landscape designers, and even if they did, Blake’s glowering expression would negate his participation. He looked ready to chew nails and spit.

      Marissa eased the door closed and turned to Kitty. “What’s he done?”

      Marissa was a defense attorney, and since Blake had demanded to see her, she assumed he was in trouble with the law. All her clients were, in one way or another. Lots of folks in Dolphin Bay had prophesied years ago that Blake, with his checkered background, would probably end up behind bars. But Marissa hadn’t.

      Sure, Blake had been impulsive, even reckless at times. She recalled that August night when she was thirteen, when Blake had thrown rocks at her bedroom window to awaken her. He’d talked her into sneaking out of the house at midnight to go down to a darkened stretch of beach. They had lain on their backs and watched the spectacular shower of Perseid meteors until just before dawn. She’d been grounded for a week for that particular trick, but the experience had been worth it.

      Then there’d been the time he’d enlisted her help to steal a dog from old Mr. Sellars, who’d kept the poor animal chained in a shadeless yard with no food, water or shelter. They’d taken the pathetic pooch back to her garage, where Blake fed it, bathed it, then dyed it black with Grecian Formula that had cost him a week’s allowance. Once the dye had dried, they’d placed the dog in the basket of her bike and ridden to Clearwater, where they turned the lucky pup over to Doris Fitzgerald, who ran an animal rescue service out of her home. Checking later, they’d learned that Doris had placed the dog in a loving home with a lonely old man who’d needed a canine friend.

      Yes, Blake had often bent the rules, but he’d never hurt anyone. Marissa hadn’t paid any attention to the local consensus that the untamable boy was eventually destined for jail. She’d known him too well to believe such nonsense.

      Or had she?

      Evidently, he had fulfilled the expectations of the small-town gossips or he wouldn’t be sitting in her waiting room now, demanding to see a defense attorney and effectively terrorizing her usually unflappable receptionist.

      “He wouldn’t tell me what his problem is,” Kitty answered. “Refused to speak with anyone but you. Not even your father.”

      Marissa raised her eyebrows in surprise. Morgan Mason, her father and senior partner of the firm, had a reputation as one of the foremost defense attorneys in the nation, right up there with Alan Berkowitz and Johnny Cochran. Morgan had appeared on Court TV as a commentator and special guest and had taken part in many of the country’s highest profile cases. If Blake Adams had broken the law, he was an idiot not to demand to see her father. Marissa couldn’t figure why he wanted her instead, or how he’d even known she was here. She’d only been back in town a few weeks, joining her father’s practice after her divorce was final.

      Shoving away the pain that always surfaced at the memory of her disastrous marriage and its bitter ending, she nodded to Kitty. “Let me finish this brief. Then I’ll buzz you to send him in.”

      Kitty looked skeptical. “If he doesn’t eat me alive first.”

      Marissa shook her head. “Not Blake.”

      “You know him?”

      “We grew up together. He’s a good guy.”

      Kitty frowned. “That’s what they all say.”

      “This one really is.”

      “Then what’s he doing in your office?”

      “That,” Marissa said, her curiosity piqued, “is what I’ll have to find out.”

      BLAKE GAZED at the closed door of Marissa Mason’s private office where the skittish receptionist had disappeared. Now would be a good time to escape. Coming here had been a mistake.

      He glanced at his watch. If he broke a few speed limits, he could still make his appointment with the developer and cinch the deal on landscaping three new malls scheduled for construction in the Tampa Bay area. Those projects would triple his income for the year, not to mention cement his reputation as one of the premier landscape designers on Florida’s central Gulf Coast. Remaining in Marissa’s office and following his present course would bring him nothing but trouble.

      So why was he still sitting here and not making tracks?

      He raked his fingers through his hair and resisted the urge to stand and pace. The events of the morning had blown his mind, and he struggled to get his thoughts in order. Staying might lose him the deal of a lifetime, and what would it get him?

      A meeting with Marissa, for one thing.

      That fact alone had its appeal. He hadn’t seen her since Christmas vacation of their freshman year in college. Since then she had graduated from law school, married and moved away, divorced—according to the local gossip—and finally returned to Dolphin Bay to join her father’s law practice. A lot had happened in eighteen years. He hoped she’d agree to see him, that the fact that they’d been good pals from elementary through high school would offset his not answering her letters in college.

      Marissa had been one of the few kids on her side of the tracks who’d had anything to do with a boy who’d been moved continually from one foster home to another. She and Blake had spent weekends during the school year and entire summer vacations sailing Marissa’s small boat to the barrier islands. There they’d searched for shells on the white sand beaches, counted osprey nests in the tall pines, and routed sting rays by shuffling their feet through the clear shallow waters. She’d been more fun than any of the guys he’d known. And more accepting of him.

      They’d also studied together. Marissa had helped him with English composition and French, and he’d explained to her the mysteries of calculus and trigonometry. They’d made a good team. Nothing romantic, just good buddies, and they’d lost touch when Marissa went to the University of Florida and Blake was awarded a scholarship to North Carolina State.

      He looked forward to seeing Marissa again, but meeting with her about the problem at hand would open a whole can of worms that would take time and energy away from his increasingly successful career.

      Better for him just to forget the whole scheme. He’d been crazy to think of it in the first place. He pushed to his feet to leave.

      At the same moment Marissa’s office door opened, and the receptionist approached, looking as if she were afraid he’d snap her in two.

      “Ms. Mason will see you in a few minutes.” Kitty Stancel, according to the nameplate beside her computer, scurried behind her L-shaped desk, as far from Blake as the room’s arrangement allowed.

      Imagining the criminal element that frequented this particular waiting area, Blake didn’t take her skittish attitude personally. СКАЧАТЬ