Again, Loving kept Daily in check. The man on the sofa returned to his chemistry.

“What’s with your friends?” the man asked Lucille, glancing toward Loving and Daily.

She tried to smile. “They’re just looking for a good time.”

“Are they cops?” He turned slightly toward Loving. “Are you cops?”

Loving took the succinct route. “No.”

“You have to tell me if you are. Otherwise I can get you for entrapment.”

Loving remained stone-faced. Bless television for the stupid ideas it put into the heads of slugs like him.

The man turned his bleary gaze back to Lucille. “Little old for you, aren’t they?”

“I… think they like younger action,” she replied.

He grinned. “Then they’ve come to the right place.” He looked up, his eyes barely focused. “I can give you some X, for yourself or whoever, but it’ll cost you. I don’t get this stuff for free, you know.”

“How do you get it?” Lucille asked. “You got a doctor?”

“Sweetheart-I am a doctor. I can get all I want.” He handed Lucille the spoon.

Amber was too stoned to be smart. “I sssaid, I want to go first!” She reached for the spoon, but the man grabbed her arm, then slapped her across the face, so hard she fell on top of the coffee table. The glass cracked.

Loving wasn’t fast enough this time. Daily tore across the room. “You son of a bitch. I’m taking my daughter out of here, and if you try to stop me I’ll tear you apart!”

The two bodyguards were on him in a heartbeat. Damn! Loving swore silently. This is wrong, all wrong. But he had no choice. He rushed forward just in time to trip one of the guards before he got to Daily. While he was down, Loving stomped on the nerve center of the back of his neck. One down. The other one, unfortunately landed a roundhouse punch to the back of Daily’s head.

All hell broke loose. The orgy was over; everyone moved at once. Even though most of them were dulled by drugs, they could turn into feral beasts with astonishing rapidity. Daily moved toward Amber, but the remaining guard blocked his way. Lucille tried to help him, but one of the other men swatted her with the flat of his hand. She tumbled to the floor. Then the two bodyguards from outside the door came racing inside.

Loving knew he had to hurry. He jumped over the coffee table and, before the guard pummeling Daily could react, thrust a fist square onto his nose. Blood spurted everywhere. The guard dropped to the floor like an anvil.

The man on the sofa wrapped his arm around Amber’s neck. Loving gave him a chop just below the ribs; as soon as he loosened his grip Loving grabbed Amber by the arm and pulled her up to her shaky feet.

“Run,” he said. “Understand me? Get out of here. Fast!”

He wanted to say more, but was interrupted by a chair busted across his back. Loving fell across the table and onto the sofa, knocking drug paraphernalia everywhere.

His back ached as if it were broken. He could see that Daily had clocked the creep who was doing Vicky, but two of the bodyguards were converging on him, one on each side of the overstuffed chair. Loving forced himself up, his back screaming in pain. He stumbled across the room, grabbed one of the men by the arm, and gave him a quick jab to the solar plexus. While he was doubled over, Loving kneed him in the chin. He went tumbling backward and smashed into the wall.

One left. Loving was in such pain it hurt to move, but he knew Daily wouldn’t be able to take the man out himself. While Daily kept him occupied, mostly by acting as a punching bag, Loving raced behind him. Not very sporting, hitting a man from behind, but at the moment Loving didn’t care. There was no telling how long it would be before one of the goons on the floor got up or more arrived. Loving swiveled his foot around and knocked the man’s knees out from under him. Another blow to the front of the knees and he was down, howling in agony.

Loving leaned against the big overstuffed chair, heaving, gasping for air. He hadn’t fought like that in ages, and for a reason. He didn’t like to fight, didn’t like to put himself into situations where it was necessary. A smart man always has an alternative, that’s what Ben said. But when you’re traveling with an idiot who’s worried about his daughter, all bets are off.

Amber cowered beside the sofa. “Get your daughter,” Loving huffed. “Get her out of here before it’s too late.”

But Daily didn’t move. What the hell-? Loving pushed himself up, his back complaining bitterly.

Daily was pointing behind him.

He’d forgotten about the stonehead jerkoff on the sofa, dammit. He seemed so drugged and weak-

But even drugged and weak can be dangerous when it’s holding a gun.

“Put that away,” Loving bellowed. “You’ll miss, and after you do I’ll rip your throat out.”

The man’s hyperdilated eyes didn’t blink. “Die,” he said simply.

“Randy, no!” Amber threw herself across the sofa and grabbed the gun. “No!”

When the gun fired, her scream was like an ice pick piercing Loving’s brain.

12

W ith about half an hour to go before the trial resumed, Ben motioned Christina into an empty jury room. She wasn’t surprised. Even though they had been over everything a thousand times, she knew his personal insecurity levels were riding so high that he had an intense need to run through it again-not so much for her benefit as for his own peace of mind. As if there were such a thing as peace of mind when a trial was in progress, much less one of this magnitude.

“We couldn’t just whisper in the hallway?” Christina asked. She had gone the extra mile this morning, perfecting her makeup, her hair, selecting her clothes. The cerulean blue of her jacket matched her vivid eyes and contrasted perfectly with her radiant red hair. No doubt about it-thanks to time, observation, and the Yoda-like influence of Ben’s mother, she had learned how to dress herself up. When she wanted to.

“Did you see how many reporters are in the corridor? Those high-powered microphones can pick up anything. And Marshall told me that Amanda was on the warpath. Apparently she disagrees with our decision not to cross yesterday’s witness.”

“How can we conduct a defense when we have a spin doctor analyzing every decision based upon how it will play on the evening news?”

“By avoiding her as much as possible. I’ve asked the appeals expert Glancy hired to babysit her. It’s not like he has anything else to do.” Ben placed his hand firmly on her shoulder. “So, you understand what you need to do next?”

“Perfectly. Are you ready to cross the distinguished senator for the opposition?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be. There’s not that much I can accomplish.”

“You can prevent it from becoming any more lurid than necessary. This case has already had enough luridage. The courtroom should be declared a lurid-free zone.”

“We’re down on lurid.”

“Very.” She paused. “I mean, in the courtroom. In real life, between consenting adults, that’s a different matter.”

She leaned a little closer. Just before her lips reached his, Ben raised his hand. “Christina, we have to stay focused.”

“I am focused,” she said, her lips still hovering a breath away from his. “Oh-you mean on the trial.”

“Yes, I mean on the trial. We have to be at peak efficiency, free of distractions. A well-oiled litigating machine.”

“Right.” She sighed, then drew away. “That’s always been my dream.”

“You know the plan. Let’s get out there and make it happen.”

She nodded, gathering her briefcase and following him out of the jury room. It was just dandy, she thought, that he’d mapped out this wonderful master plan for the case. But what was his plan for her?

Marie Glancy sat in the backseat of the limousine, her hand covering her eyes. Christina climbed in beside her, although given the size of the car they could be two feet apart and still both be in the backseat. Fortunately, the windows were tinted black so none of the countless onlookers staked out in Glancy’s Glen could see inside. Only the chauffeur was in visual range, and Christina could see he had been trained to be discreet. More than discreet, in fact. Invisible.