"Trust me, Ian. You want to be in on this one. The plane will be ready in an hour. Get your a.s.s on it, and I'll pick you up."

"Wait ... if you're picking me up, that means I'm coming back to Slowville. Back to Noville. Back to-" Ian had never refused Tripp's business offers before, and the excuses only escaped out of pure frustration over a woman. One woman. One d.a.m.n woman. He thumped his forehead against the gla.s.s of his balcony door, inciting a headache the size of Mount Rushmore. "You're not telling me everything."

"I'll fill you in when you get here."

"Oh, no. If I have to come back-" The line died. Ian held the phone away from his head. "b.a.s.t.a.r.d." He slipped back through the doors and grabbed his bag-one he hadn't even unpacked-ripping through it for clean clothes.

Michael appeared in the frame of the door, yet another piece of toast in hand. "South for the winter?"

"It's spring, but apparently so."

"Coming back?"

"Of course I am. Why would you even ask?"

a a a The clang of nightsticks against steel bars forced Taylor's eyes open. She hadn't even realized they'd closed. She'd been roused at six for square meal number one and replaced in her cell immediately afterward. As nine rolled around, her cell mates had been taken away, and three new ones returned, each with a brighter smile on her face than the previous. By ten, she'd grown restless and almost considered asking to make another phone call.

Though she'd talked with Tripp Fox about becoming her attorney, she hadn't called her parents and wouldn't dare interrupt their annual vacation. Riley, though, he'd help if he could.

She just wouldn't ask. Doing so would put him in an unfair position.

When the clangs continued, Taylor's heart raced with memories of her time in Alabama.

"Something freak you out up there, honey?" Her lower bunkmate's drawl carried over the sounds.

Taylor hadn't realized she'd moved enough to bring any attention to herself. Unsure whether she should play tough, demure, or be herself, she rolled to her side and said, "It just never gets quiet."

"Nope, never does." The voice came from the lower bunk on the other side of the cell. "I been in-" The woman tapped one bright red fingernail against the other. "-fourth time this month." She lowered extended-length lashes, revealing bright browns a second later. "Prolly gonna stay inside this time. Might as well get used to the noise."

"Why?" Taylor held back the cringe at an extra-long stay. She hoped for a summons to the magistrate that morning. Expected it even, if Tripp could get her on the docket.

"Done did it this time. Actually killed the b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Thought I did it last time, but he prit-near killed me instead. I got him, though, this time. d.a.m.n cops didn't help one d.a.m.n bit before. Had to take control. Use my own hands. Shoulda done it three tries ago, but I kept thinking I'd change him."

The other two women hummed agreement.

"I'm Tanya, by the way." She held out a hand.

"Taylor."

"You got a boy name?"

Taylor gave a small snicker. "How else would I get by owning a construction company?"

"Girl, you got it goin' on. What'd you do? Stiff a client? Shoot someone with a nail gun?"

"Plaster their head into a wall?" one of the others asked.

"Put up the wrong tile? You know them southern women. You mess with their s.h.i.t, and they'll sue." The third whooped.

"Actually, I didn't do anything," Taylor said.

Loud guffaws accompanied hoots of laughter. "That's what they all say."

It seemed the game called *Taylor Marsh's innocence' had already created two sides.

a a a The flight back to North Carolina proved uneventful. Tripp picking Ian up at the airport's curb in his black Jaguar suggested nothing out of the ordinary. Though, when they bypa.s.sed the turn-off from the freeway that would take them to Tripp's house, Ian narrowed his eyes. "Where are we going?"

Tripp gave a slight bobble of his head. "We have a client to see."

"Is this the client you wouldn't tell me a rat's a.s.s thing about? Or something else? Because if it's something else, drop me off at your house first."

Tripp's eyes stayed fixed straight ahead. "It's the client."

"Why the h.e.l.l are you being so secretive?" Ian twisted so he could face Tripp. The Jag blew past the few cars on the road with them. Ian glanced at the speedometer, found Tripp going over ninety. "I hope you got your can't-catch-me-o-meter on."

A light chuckle breezed from the driver's side. "You know I can't use my talents without Lexi right next to me."

"Get a radar detector then."

Tripp shrugged.

"Your funeral, if you get a ticket and Lexi finds out." Ian smiled at the thought of the argument the two would have. Lexi would tear into Tripp without a doubt. "So, you wouldn't tell me when I was in New York, and you're not telling me now. What gives, Fox?" Ian's body tensed. "Wait ... you're not telling me because something happened. What happened? Is Lexi-"

"Lex is fine. This is about the woman you so affectionately refer to as *blondie'."

"Wait ... you brought me back here for her? Her! What the-"

"She was arrested last night, Ian."

"Blondie? You're s.h.i.tting me." Ian's mind whirled with curiosity and uncertainty. "What for? She saw someone up with one of those power tools? Drill into them with one of those thingamabobs? Ooh ... a wood chipper-"

"There were bones found on her property."

"She buried someone? That's not very creative for someone in construction."

"And, that's a pretty big leap for you to a.s.sume," Tripp said. "Why'd you jump to her burying someone?"

Ian realized he had no idea why. "Logical guess." He rubbed a hand across his face. "So, tell me why you're involved."

"She hired me as her attorney."

"For what? I mean, why would you even take a criminal case? Which again, since you haven't said, I'm guessing is the truth. That's not your kind of deal."

Tripp glanced toward Ian. Trees lining the edge of the freeway rushed by as Tripp picked up more speed. "Because, sometimes, it's necessary."

"Necessary?"

Tripp eyed Ian as they came to a stoplight. "Yes. Necessary. We can't have the girl of your dreams rotting in jail, Ian." Tripp oozed sarcasm.

"She's not-" Ian couldn't finish the comment without lying. She'd been exactly that for months and throughout the previous night. Any time he closed his eyes, she took over. He thought himself good with women, attentive and never shy, but the fantasies that played in his mind put her in the lead with him following. In everything. "Why would you tell me we got a gig then?" Ian's earlier curiosity moved into downright suspicion.

"I didn't, remember? You a.s.sumed. Would you have come down here if I told you blondie asked for a lawyer because of some bones in her yard and cops in her face?

"Of course ..." not. A knuckle to the temple relieved some of the pressure building behind Ian's eyes.

Tripp shook his head. "Ian, Ian, Ian. I took it because I know she's innocent."

Ian's eyes widened. "You convinced Lexi to use your moojoo-joojoo on a person?" According to Tripp, and Lexi herself, she refused-as in flat-out, punch in the face, don't-go-there-to use her Zeus-given gift to search for people.

"Sorta."

Ian huffed. "So, now that the fun is gone from the game, who dunnit?"

"No idea."

"What the h.e.l.l?" Ian thumped the dash with his fist. "How do you-what do-what good is your voodoo-mental-mojo if you can't even find that answer?"

Tripp chuckled. "I didn't say we looked for a killer, Ian."

"You know that's the logical thing to do, right?"

"Who says it's a murder?"

"Well, if she's in jail ..."

Tripp eyed Ian.

"Okay, so yeah, there are innocent people in jail." Ian waved a hand through the air and air quoted. "I'll believe that when I see it. What did you look for, what did you find, and if she's *innocent', why is she in jail?"

"I don't kno-"

"f.u.c.k that, Fox. This whole marriage thing went and made you soft. If you wanted an answer before, you'd have gone and gotten it." Frustration ebbed from Ian. "You know what? I'm calling a cab when we get to wherever-the-h.e.l.l we're going and getting on the next flight home. This is not a job I signed up for. We don't do stuff without information. We made a deal twenty-five years ago, and until now, you've stuck to it. But I'm not-"

"You didn't let me finish, Ian." Tripp brought them into the jail's parking lot. "And, you're not going anywhere."

"Watch me." Ian kept his voice serious, with a hint of *don't f.u.c.k with me'.

The jail, in all its bland glory, loomed ahead of them-a ten story building in sandstone brown. As soon as Tripp pulled into a spot, Ian unbuckled, jumped out and slammed a fist on the roof.

His emotions went every which way when Taylor became a part of the conversation. He had to get her out of his system-to purge her from his mind.

Tripp walked around the car and laid a hand on Ian's shoulder. "Have I ever, in those twenty-plus years you referred to, done anything to steer you the wrong way? Ever?"

Ian clenched his teeth. Tripp hadn't. "There's always a first."

From within the car, Tripp withdrew a briefcase and a stack of folders. "And, it's not now." He handed Ian the pile. "You get to be my a.s.sistant in here. Take copious notes, keep your mouth shut, don't ask any questions, don't say a word, and no matter what you do, don't touch her." He strode off. "Oh, and I am going to need you to bail her out."

"What the-Fox! Have you gone f.u.c.king mad, man?" Ian stood, gawking, waiting for Tripp to return. When he didn't, but drew closer to the building's entrance, Ian took off after his so-called friend. "You want me to give up my money for a woman I know nothing about. Son of a b.i.t.c.h got b.a.l.l.s." Ian nearly b.u.mped into Tripp as he reached the doors. A grab of Tripp's bicep had him spinning toward Ian. "Say something ... anything ... that'll make me want to walk through those doors."

Tripp closed one eye, scrunched his nose and shut the other. "I'll give you five million dollars if you don't ask her to marry you by-" He turned his watch toward himself. "-the end of May." The sliding gla.s.s opened on a whoosh, and Tripp slipped inside, leaving Ian standing alone.

On a deep sigh, and with multiple head shakes, Ian followed.

5.

The buzz of the lock release sounded a moment before Taylor's cell door opened. "Taylor Marsh?" a guard asked.

"That's me." She held up her hand as if in kindergarten, waiting to be picked by the cool kids.

"This way."

Being escorted by two armed guards to a small, empty, white-walled room had an upside. The claustrophobia Taylor had begun to experience faded.

The small conference room held one table, three seats and nothing else. Taylor sat when told to sit. Walked when told to walk. Waited when told to wait. If she had a clock, she'd have guessed five minutes pa.s.sed before the door opened.

Tripp, in tieless suit, and Ian, in cream slacks and a seafoam green b.u.t.ton-down, strode in.

Taylor's breath stuck even as her eyes riveted themselves to the second man. Her heart hammered in her chest. She hadn't expected Ian. Hadn't he gone to New York? She drew her fingers through her mess of hair as if that would do any bit of good and tucked them below the table, between her knees.

"How are you, Taylor?" Tripp asked.

She eyed him before answering, "Peachy."

Ian snorted a laugh but hid it between pursed lips a moment later.

"You look like a woman caught in the middle of a tragic comedy," Tripp said after a few seconds.

Her head tilted. "What exactly does that look like?"

The two men pulled chairs from across the table and sat. Ian dropped a stack of folders and paper on the solid surface and, with pen in-hand, began to write. From upside down Taylor could read her name. A moment later, Ian rested his elbows on the flat surface, fingers intertwined.

"So ... tell me what you found yesterday," Tripp said.

Taylor's entire body tensed. They were just bones. Someone's skeleton. A cemetery for sure. That's all. She relayed what she'd been doing before they showed up-as if they didn't know. "The bones though-I don't know. It was ... really weird. I mean ... the face was pointing to the sky with the jaw open. That's all I saw." With my eyes. "I don't know where it came from or why it was there. I have no idea who they were. Are." She shook her head at herself. "I bought the house with the shed. I tore it down so I could put in a garden. I don't understand any of this, or why they think I'm connected to this in any way." Taylor clasped and undid her hands underneath the table.

"Can you tell me about the previous owners of the house?"

"Not really. Other than it came through the original estate, but the place had been a rental for years. I s.n.a.t.c.hed it up on a foreclosure. Did the entire renovation myself-just like on your place." She closed her eyes, bringing to mind Tripp's farmhouse. "I picked my house because I fell in love with the land and the possibilities ... and because it's the last of the Weaton farm bungalows." The image of cars, people, equipment, tools and anything else running itself over her roses and the new lawn she'd sodded no more than a few weeks before had her grimacing. "I'd just bought it when I came back from Alabama and was just starting my company. I wanted a showpiece, but not like this."

Ian separated his hands and fiddled with the gaudy, gold monstrosity of a ring around his finger.