4. Honoria
Chapter Four
Honoria
Holy panty-melting shit. Even in my wildest fantasies, I never had an inkling of what a long, sultry, visual caress could do to my libido.
It was as if Random had dropped a disguise to the ground and become someone completely different.
It was strange how he was somehow taller, or how his voice got deeper.
Its sensual notes sent a shiver through me.
And don’t get me started on the undeniable way I couldn’t stop staring at his lips. They were expressive, full, and surprisingly soft-looking. Would they be tender if they were on mine? Could they be rough, strong… consuming?
There was only one way to find out, right?
I leaned in…licked my lips…
And an intrusive voice that sounded way too much like my ex-husband repeated in my mind’s eye, “Listen, Honey, you need help with this client. He’s a Destroyer. They are listed on the FBI watch list.”
The reminder made me rock onto my heels.
First and foremost, Random was employed by my client.
And involved in an active case. Sure, most of the paperwork was resolved, but dating him would create a power imbalance, which also meant “conflict of interest” and that was a full, final punctuation mark on the topic.
While it wasn’t exactly illegal to date whoever you wanted if they weren’t the client or a deciding board member of the company, dating a known member of a “club” on the FBI’s most-wanted list was definitely a fast track to getting passed over for promotions.
Suddenly you were handed “easier” cases.
Your credibility would be shot to hell, and the fallout would kill your career.
I picked up the conversation where it had veered off course.
“Thank you for fitting me into the weekly schedule. I know it’s last minute, but…
” I cut myself off before I could wax extremely un-poetically about my ex-husband and his new wife.
A million confessions poised on my tongue that would paint him in an unflattering light.
He was at the hospital with Denise.
Just like he’d been there twice with me.
I swallowed.
Was I being mean to him because of my unresolved grief?
It didn’t take a rocket scientist, nor a therapist, to mentally note, That’s a big bull’s-eye there, chica.
Random blinked.
He’d been staring at my lips.
“I get it. Things change. You gotta flex. It’s cool.”
No, it wasn’t. “If it’s too much of an imposition, or if you need help with the capacity, I can—” What could I do? Not much. But I knew people. “I could put in a good word with a business lawyer I know.”
He smiled. “We’ve got a business lawyer. The club keeps one of those on retainer, too.”
Oh.
Another reminder of how closely he was tied to the person who hired the firm to represent him. “Not you and Lemon?”
His expression dimmed. “Listen, it’s—it’s no problem if you need change your mind. We got this, Lemon and I can… we got it.”
That wasn’t convincing.
“And what happens if you’re sentenced to county for that stunt you pulled last Friday night?”
There was a flash of something on his face. It wasn’t quite fear. Perhaps it was anger. I couldn’t tell. But I’d seen it several times before. Any time I broached the possibility that one of my cases would end with unpleasant results, I saw it. Only the most hardened career criminals didn’t flinch.
Or if they did, the emotion didn’t last long before they covered it up.
And that was proved true once again when Random smiled.
“I’ve got a good lawyer. I’m sure she’ll get me off.”
The last three words echoed in my head.
It was as if he heard them, too, because his eyes dipped to my crotch.
To break the spell, I finished untangling Molly’s leash and spoke. “I should go inside to talk to Lemon about the extra days, right? The contract I signed needs to be revised to full time.”
Random’s jaw worked. “Yeah, the contract. I’ll walk with you.” He pointed a thumb at the house.
Within a few minutes, the deed was done. I had Molly signed up for Mondays through Fridays with a clause in the paperwork that negotiated emergency drop-off on the weekend in case I was needed to bail someone out, or had other emergencies with work or family life.
It was Random who’d suggested that before he went back outside.
Lemon was more than happy to quote me double the hourly rate for those contingencies.
If I didn’t know better, I was being scammed.
But honestly? The facility was nice. Sure, it wasn’t state-of-the-art, but it was homey. The animals were well-cared for. Random and Lemon doted on each one.
And yes, he called the pit-rescue “Dumb Ass,” but it was never spoken angrily. In fact, it was plain to see the dog didn’t answer to any other name.
Or was it that he only listened to Random?
I asked Lemon for insight. “You said DA was a rescue. Are you trying to find permanent placement for him?”
She looked up from what she was doing. “No, he’s Wombat’s dog.”
Hearing Lemon call her brother by his biker moniker struck me as peculiar. “You call him by his nickname?”
“When I’m not calling him something worse, yes.”
“Does he prefer that?”
Lemon stared at me. Then glanced outside where Rand—Wombat played with the dogs.
“He’s always hated his name. When Walt called him Wombat, it stuck.
He even had the choice to change it once he patched in, but didn’t.
All I know is he prefers it, and that’s okay with me.
It’s not like he’s the first kid in this family to change their name. ”
That was interesting insight. “Who else did?”
“Hal is short for Hallelujah, but she insists on using Hal. And Sonnet went all the way off the reservation. She hated her name for a long-ass time. Whoops, sorry. A long time. Decided she wanted to be called Ella for a while. Then DumDum out there sang that song at her over and over, and she went back to her given name. But honestly? I think she’s still Ella inside. ”
Somewhere in those words, my insides froze.
I could relate. Before going to school, I loved my name.
I loved the way my father shortened it to “Honor.” He made a point to call me “your Honor” as if I were a judge.
Maybe that’s why I decided on a legal career.
But other variations of the name weren’t as kind.
And for the longest time, I’d picked Nora. That didn’t stick, however.
Jim called me Honey.
And that one spread through the firm. Grown-ass men calling a woman Honey in a law firm should know better.
It almost took a mandate from HR to stop it.
The ones who couldn’t make the shift avoided me or called me Mrs. Crowne.
Then the divorce happened, and I was Ms. Ryder with an emphasis on the Ms.
It was almost as if I didn’t have a real name. Not one of my own. Not one I was one-hundred percent comfortable with. I glanced at Lemon, who’d gone as silent as I had. “Did you ever think about changing yours?”
She shrugged. “Maybe once or twice, but I kind of like my name. It’s unique, it’s bright… it’s even sour and sharp when it wants to be. Like me.” Her smile was uneven.
But it was pure.
A cat jumped onto her lap. She petted it until it settled into a curled ball.
“How did you start this business?”
Her laugh unsettled the cat who glared up at her.
A few heavy caresses soothed the insult.
“It started when I ‘rescued’ a litter of kittens who were born in that barn.” She pointed toward one of the larger buildings.
“I didn’t even come inside to eat. Pop-pop sent Wombat out to check on me.
He ratted me out, but that was okay because Pop-pop pointed me at some books and said, ‘Those books will teach you how to do it right.’ And that’s all it took.
I took over all the farm chores with the animals, and Wombat tagged along because Pop-pop ordered him to make sure I didn’t get hurt.
I was five. He gave me veterinary books from a used bookstore geared for medical students. ”
Holy… “Could you read them?”
She shrugged. “Mom homeschooled us. Sonnet could read at college level by age ten, I think. Wombat didn’t learn to read until he was… eleven? I don’t know. I had to keep up with both of them, so when I started to beat Wombat, he buckled down and learned.”
The thought occurred to me that Rand—Wombat wouldn’t want me knowing this about his past. I finished the last paragraph and signed the papers. “Here you go. I would like to drop Molly off Monday morning. Is that okay?”
“Fine by me. We’re up at five.” She stopped herself. “Well, I’m up at five. Wombat sleeps until ten most of the time, unless I kick his ass out of bed. He’s a night owl. But that’s okay because at least someone’s awake when we get a night call. If he’s home.”
I nodded along with her, knowing at least one night in the last few days that he was riding through the streets of Hagerstown at two in the morning, frightening elderly piano teachers. “Good. Thank you.” I extended my hand to shake hers.
She eyeballed it. “You’re one of those.”
My hand dipped. “One of those, what?”
She straightened her posture, but her skin turned red. “A hand-shaker.” She sighed. “My parents were quite weird about that.” With that declaration, she stuck out her hand. “Sorry.”
I took her offer and noted the limp grip. I softened my own so it wouldn’t overwhelm her. “There’s a whole art to handshakes. Lawyers are taught how.”
“Really? Teach me. Please?”
It was my turn to flush. “Okay, first lesson, men will try to out-grip you. Don’t encourage them. That loose hand you have, it’s perfect, the more boneless the better, you’ll slip right out if they hold on too long. Let’s try that.”
Lemon stuck out her hand. I came in with a different grip, one used on me often. “They’ll trap your hand like a sandwich.”
Her eyes went wide. “I take it that’s not a good thing?”
“Absolutely not. It screams dominance. And the only people doing that want you to do something for them. Keep it limp, but slip your hand out as soon as I loosen the grip.”
She did.
“Now tuck it away or pick up something so they can’t recapture it. This is a battlefield and handshakes are the opening salvo.”
That made her mouth fall open. “No shit?”
“Yes. No shit.”
She realized that she’d used foul language in front of me and snapped her jaw shut. Then her face lightened by small increments. “You swear?”
I quirked an eyebrow. “What? Lawyers can’t swear?”
She weighed my words. “It’s just that… You’re like Sonnet. She’s scraped off everything Mom and Dad were. She won’t swear, she doesn’t visit the farm, and she’s… boring.”
“I’m probably boring. But I try not to judge anyone. That’s not my job.” The joke would be funnier among my circle of friends.
Lemon laughed, not because she understood, but because it was the thing people did.
“Now, if instead, they turn it into a caress, what do you think you should do?”
“Kick ’em in the balls.”
While a great idea in theory, it was also very difficult to prove it to be anything other than assault.
“That’s a last resort option. First, voice your disapproval.
Tell them, ‘Your actions weren’t invited and I want you to release my hand right now.
’ Then, as soon as you can, document it. It’s harassment.”
“What if they don’t let go?”
“Scream in their face,” I replied. While there was a pressure point in the hand which would loosen the attacker’s grip, it rarely worked immediately.
“Really?”
“Most men back down when you call attention to their bad behavior.”
“You obviously don’t have a brother who is immune to embarrassment.”
“I’m an only child.”
Lemon nodded sagely. “That tracks. You’re confident and give off that vibe. Plus, your aura is yellow. It’s logical, but intuitive. Only children often have to figure things out by themselves.”
I blinked.
Lemon shifted her eyes away. “I take it you don’t believe in auras.”
Not really. It was difficult to acknowledge something I’d never experienced, but I believed in visual and nonvisual cues.
It happened all the time in my line of work.
A subtle shift in tone, the pace of speech slows to keep up with the lie the mind forms, hesitation, a squaring of the shoulders as if bracing, or even a shift from contractions to more formal patterns.
You could read a lot into those things. But seeing colors?
No. “That would be really helpful if I could, but…”
She picked up my awkward hesitation. “Just because you can’t see things doesn’t mean they don’t exist. Oxygen? Germs?”
“Point taken.” I could keep an open mind about her and her brother. I needed to because I was running out of options for Molly.
Hours later I was home with Molly, going over my caseload for the upcoming week when Jim called.
“Hi.” I braced for another argument.
“Hey.” His voice sounded tired, almost sad. In the few heartbeats I hesitated to talk, the worst-case scenarios ran through my head like a nightmare.
“Is Denise okay?” I finally asked.
He sighed. “She’s hooked up to monitors.”
That was not good. “The baby?”
“Just fine.”
An anvil sunk in my stomach. I was happy for him, right? “That’s good. What’s wrong? Should I ask?”
“Her blood pressure, swelling… They’re keeping her overnight.”
I listened hard for the telltale sounds of a hospital. “Are you at home?”
“Yeah. She needs rest.”
She’s all alone in the hospital, and you called me?
I bit down on my anger so it wouldn’t come through in my reply.
This wasn’t about us, or the way he abandoned me.
Although I couldn’t help but see the parallels.
I changed the subject away from that topic just to be safe.
“Molly is doing well. We visited a doggie day care today.”
“About that.”
His tone shifted to the clipped, no-nonsense one he used for contract negotiations when they went south and he needed to fire legal bullets into someone. I braced.
“She tore up the couch. She’s not adjusting well at all, Honey.”
Another one? I turned my head to look at my pretty girl.
She was curled on a sleeping pad that had a place of honor in the quietest corner of the room.
It was elevated with a ramp leading to it and a slight lip so the pad wouldn’t shift as she settled in.
The height was tall enough that she could see me on the bed.
It was reassuring to see her content like that.
She hadn’t even woken up when the phone rang.
Funny, she never tore up my couches.
“How much?”
“It was a two thousand dollar set.”
My first reaction was to fire back, “You don’t expect me to buy the whole set?” But I counted to three, then five, instead. “Are you only going to replace the couch?”
His growl was not reassuring. “I think maybe it’s time to revisit custody.”
I saw red.
“No. You are not taking her away from me.”
Instead of listening to him like I should have, I hung up. Then I dialed my lawyer.
Even lawyers needed lawyers. Go figure.