Chapter Eleven

It was late afternoon by the time Luke sat on Julie’s couch reading the journal, with Cici, the ever-friendly feline, purring and brushing back and forth against his leg. With her stockinged feet tucked under her, Julie was glued to his side, trying not to miss a word. A guy could get used to having Julie this close and this involved in what he was doing.

“Wait,” she said as he started to turn the page. “I’m not done yet.”

He arched a brow at her slow perusal of the material.

She gave him a disapproving look with those gorgeous blue eyes. “You might miss something reading so fast.”

“This isn’t a contract,” he reminded her. ”It’s a woman’s thoughts. Some of which are none of our business.”

Julie leaned back against the couch cushions as she considered his words. “I know. It is kind of creepy reading a dead woman’s journal, isn’t it?”

“Very.” Luke set the journal on the coffee table in front of him. "I don’t like this entire situation. Most importantly, I don’t like you involved.”

“I don’t like me involved,” she agreed. “But I am and we can’t change that.”

He studied her a long moment, saw the pink flush of her cheeks, read the guilt she felt over Elizabeth and didn’t deserve. “You’re involved because the judge and Elizabeth both pulled you into this. Not because of some sort of responsibility.”

“Yes,” she insisted. “There is responsibility for me in this.” He started to object and she held up a hand. “Please hear me out. I know you’re trying to protect me, Luke. I appreciate it, probably a whole lot more than you understand. But there’s right and wrong in life, and I try to do right. Doing something about this is the right thing to do.”

Luke leaned back next to her and turned to face her, falling harder every time he got a glimpse of who she was as a person. “I understand.”

“You do?”

“Yes,” he said, stroking her cheek. “We have to look into this, and we have to decide if, and when, to go to the police. And yes, it’s the right thing to do.”

“What if someone on the police force is involved in this?”

“We don’t even know what ‘this’ is or isn’t, at this point. Let’s not assume anyone is corrupt.”

“Come on, Luke,” she pressed. “You read what I did in that journal. That man Elizabeth wrote about, what was his name,” she paused and snapped her fingers, “Paul Arel. That’s it. And then someone called ‘Dragonfly’. Clearly, that’s a code name. It sounds like the judge and that Dragonfly person were doing deals behind Arel’s back. And then there’s the stolen artwork. The journal says it’s hidden behind a wall in the study.”

“We don’t know if it’s true or who the real players are,” he countered. “Give me time to investigate. And for all we know Paul Arel is a code name as well.”

“What if Elizabeth’s threat related to Dragonfly? Maybe the judge didn’t want her to tell him he was being cheated.”

“Dargonfly could be a man or woman,” he reminded her. “It could even be Elizabeth’s sister, and she could be setting us up.”

She sat up. “Surely not? Do you think that is possible?”

“Everything is possible.” Hell, he’d seen SEALs he’d have believed to be unbreakable cry under imminent threat of capture.

“I should know that,” she said tightly. “The judge alone should have been a wake-up call, if not the very dark side I see divorce bring out in people.”

There was that cynical part of her that kept the wall wedged between them. “Lauren mentioned you were thinking of leaving your firm, and maybe doing something other than divorce cases?”

“Not really,” she said thoughtfully. “I mean, yes, I’ve given it consideration, and at times, fairly seriously. In the end though, I’m making money that I can set aside, and I’m secure. I can’t lose that.”

Because she felt alone. He knew it, but he didn’t say it. Putting her on the defensive was a move that hadn’t worked well for him thus far. “You never see your father?”

She chewed her bottom lip and cut her gaze. “Not since I was a child.”

“And you don’t want to see your mother?” he asked, recalling the past talks they’d had, back when she thought he’d be gone and her confessions wouldn’t matter.

She shrugged and hugged her knees to her chest. “I never know where she is. Vegas, or off traveling with some new man or husband.”

“She still performs?”

She nodded. “She’s still gorgeous, even in her forties. She had me when she was only eighteen and I think she resented being held back, but then, she never really was.”

“Do you talk on the holidays?”

“We talk on Christmas and occasionally on Thanksgiving.”

Not her birthday, he thought. Not in person. “When was the last time you saw her?”

“Her and her new man stopped by three years ago. He hit on me and suggested a threesome.”

“What?” he asked, astonished. “With your mother?”

“Sick, right?”

“And your mother said?”

“She’s a prim and proper princess. She doesn’t do those things.”