Attractive Nuisance (Legally in Love Book 1) Read online

  “Jimmy Hoffa.” Someone always guessed Jimmy Hoffa. It was required.

  “In Prescott? No, my friend. But about that big. I’m here to tell you, Sheriff Woodston arrested the Beemer Bandit.”

  The air sucked out of Camilla’s lungs. The Beemer Bandit! Here, in Prescott? Murmuring erupted among the staff. But Camilla had a question.

  “Sir, his crimes have been committed in other jurisdictions. Won’t he have to be prosecuted there, rather than here?”

  “Yes, he’s been active all over Arizona and other states. He’ll have to face prosecution for each of those crimes, but he’s been arrested for something perpetrated right here in our county. And I intend to make an example of him—let the whole criminal underworld know that Yavapai County Arizona is not a place for them to do business.” Falcon’s voice had taken on a timbre like he was stumping for his campaign. He really did kindle a fire when he orated. This speech served as good practice for what he’d have to do at his press conference on the steps of the courthouse later tonight. But before then, Camilla intended to secure the lead on this prosecution, even if it meant being bolder than she’d ever been to get it.

  If she had anything to do with it—and Camilla Sweeten intended to have everything to do with it—the Beemer Bandit was going down. Her hand balled into a fist because this was about more than “crime doesn’t pay in Prescott.” This time it was personal.

  The staff filtered away, but Zane muscled his way up to Falcon, and the two of them started walking toward the exit. “Hey, I’d like to take lead prosecution on this, if you don’t mind. I know I’m new, but it’s going to be a jury trial, and, well, that’s kind of my specialty.”

  Camilla’s innards exploded. “Wait! No! Falcon, I mean, Mr. Torres.” She chased them down. All these weeks of being a total chicken and not telling him exactly what she wanted—she was going to have to shove all that aside immediately, trounce her fears, and tell him what she wanted. “Nothing against Mr. Holyoake, here, but I would very much like to take lead on this case. It’s important to me.”

  “You own a BMW, Sweeten. It’s a conflict of interest.”

  “Oh, please. Irrelevant. Sustained.” She swept her hand through the air. “Come on, Mr. Torres. You know how hard I will work on this. It matters to me. I’ll make the Yavapai County electorate proud of this office and the job it does.” There! She’d hit on his soft spot—his reelection chances. It might have been a bit underhanded, which wasn’t usually her thing, but she’d never wanted an assignment so much in all her life.

  Falcon chewed on her offer, his fuzzy eyebrows furrowing. Oh, he just had to accept. She was senior here, and she’d worked like no one else. Suddenly she remembered her recent gaffes, denying his request to go out with his boss’s son, and the botch when she first saw Zane. Falcon couldn’t hold those against her, could he? This was too important. And, there was a side benefit looming: if Camilla did this job well, really plastered the criminal into his spot behind bars, Falcon would have to see her as a viable option for deputy county attorney. She’d prove herself to be his Girl Friday.

  Please? She plead with her eyes.

  But Zane cleared his throat and stood taller. As if he needed to. Tall people! Ugh!

  “The Beemer Bandit case will be before a jury, sir. You know what that means.”

  Everyone knew what that meant—Zane, Falcon and Camilla. Falcon pushed his lips forward and began nodding.

  Sheldon came up behind Camilla and rested a hand on her shoulder. He was coming to her defense! Bless his fifty-eight year-old heart. “Mr. Torres, I want to point out that Camilla won the Tipton case, as well as a dozen other cases in the last six months. She’s tried and true.”

  Why did he have to mention the Tipton case? That’s the one where her closing arguments sounded like a six year-old. Curses. Camilla steeled her emotions so they wouldn’t show on her face.

  Falcon spoke at last. “It’s great to see you both so eager. And you’re right, Sheldon. Camilla has been the bread and butter of this office all year. For the past two years, actually.” His look spoke, too. It said, even if she won’t do everything I request. Dang it. “But we all know where our strengths lie.” He looked at Zane, who turned on his thousand-watt smile. Oh, he had to be using teeth whitening strips during every lunch hour. They seriously glowed, messing up both Camilla’s focus and her chances at the job. Curse him!

  The boss reached out and put a hand on each of their shoulders. “Let me tell you what I’m going to do.” At last. “This is a high profile case. The local news is already pouncing on it like hungry coyotes, and national media are going to ooze their way to Prescott any minute. For that reason, I intend to take lead on the case. I’ve got to be the face of the office, you know.” He was right. So right. Neither of them could argue. Falcon had the PR skills to deal with the microphones and cameras. Camilla deflated, but not as much as she would have if Falcon had chosen Zane. At least there was that.

  Falcon squeezed her shoulder, and she saw that he squeezed Zane’s too. “However.”

  There was a however?

  “I’ll be taking the lead on the case only nominally. I’ll deal with the press, but for the day to day details, the two of you eager youngsters will be doing all the work. Camilla, you’re our workhorse. Zane, you’re our show pony. We’ve got a good stable. I don’t want to let either strength go to waste. Together, along with my handling of all the extra publicity, we can put this bad boy away. Car owners won’t have to worry about this guy ever again.”

  Camilla’s eyes shot over to Zane’s. He was looking at her, grinning from ear to ear. Her heart caught flame, but not with love—with irritation. More like heartburn than a burning heart. This slacker? Who spent zero time working on details, who simply showed up at court with an arsenal of camping stories and a nice suit? That kind of fluff might work in magistrate court, but there would be reporters—national reporters—in the Superior Court of Yavapai County this time, pal. His debonair charm and jaunty personality would be as transparent as the emperor’s new clothes.

  And Camilla’s reputation would be at stake too.

  She exhaled a slow, disgusted sigh and looked heavenward for help.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Misdemeanor

  Camilla pulled up the footage of Falcon’s words to the press last night again.

  “I’ve got a team of my strongest attorneys on this job.” Falcon nodded a stately nod at the crowd, furrowing those fuzzy brows of his. They looked smaller on camera. The compliment was flattering. Falcon looked good—better than in real life. That was a rare gift. He looked stately, almost gubernatorial, standing on the front steps of the Yavapai County Courthouse with its Doric columns and walkway leading out to historic Whiskey Row, where locals and tourists came to feel like Arizona was still part of the Old West.

  “We’re building a solid case already.” Falcon had announced it with flair, and Camilla knew he referred to her own speedy find of another case on Lexus Nexus, a precedent related to repeat offenders in car thefts. In fact, the database for lawyers’ use had seemingly endless references for their Beemer Bandit arguments, as Camilla was still discovering this morning in her search. Man, how many car thieves were there in the U.S.? It seemed like the whole country was one big Grand Theft Auto video game. She shuddered but reflected that her own car sat safe in the courthouse parking lot today—safer because of the temporary jailing of one Veldon Twiss.

  Veldon Twiss, age thirty-three. Resident of Prescott for eight months, according to DMV and utilities records. Previous criminal record—in this county—an accusation and acquittal for shoplifting mouse traps at Walmart; a speeding ticket that was dumbed down to a “waste of finite resources” charge for going six miles per hour over the limit on Highway 89; a charge of parking in a handicapped spot without proper authority, which was later dropped when he produced his hanging tag that had fallen onto the floor of his car.

  Huh. Not exactly a hardened villain. However, three ru
n-ins with the police in eight short months did smack of guilt on some level. Some people couldn’t stay off the cops’ radar, no matter what. These petty offenses, three of them, waved a serious red flag in Camilla’s face. Guilt. Even though courts ruled him innocent. She laced her fingers behind her head and leaned back to stretch out her neck. She could see a pattern emerging.

  The office was silent, other than the occasional tapping of her own fingers on the keyboard. Where was Zane? It was after eight o’clock already, and he was supposedly coming in at seven this morning to get down to business. Camilla had come in at six, just so she could be as ready as possible with facts, orient herself to the details of the case. For one, she needed to purge her personal emotions on the subject—since Falcon himself accused her of having a conflict of interest by being a BMW owner. And two, she intended to chuck a tsunami of preemptive research at Zane. That way he couldn’t simply steamroll her when he came in. Camilla needed them to be equally yoked oxen in the team pulling the wagon, and she didn’t know if she trusted herself to keep on task or to not let him take the lead. He was such a natural leader. She wanted him to lead the jury, not lead Camilla.

  Back at the computer, she clicked on an old story featuring the Beemer Bandit. He’d swept through Maricopa County, one of the highest population counties in the United States, and plucked out BMW after BMW from the front yards and carports of Scottsdale mansions. Only about half of the stolen vehicles, and there were about fifty of them, were ever recovered. He’d done the same thing in Denver, in Bel Air, California, and in Henderson, Nevada, with no better recovery rate.

  Cretin.

  The front door to the office closed with a bang, making Camilla jump in her seat. “Hey. What did I miss?” Zane’s shoes clicked on the tile floor as he came toward Camilla’s cubicle. He toted a dual-carrier of paper cups with lids in one hand, and a bulging white and red paper sack in the other. “We could use some food for thought, right?” He plunked the sack and drinks down on Camilla’s desk, a grease stain oozing from a splotch on the bottom of the sack onto the papers she’d been working on. She plucked it up fast, before it could spread onto anything important.

  “I know, I know, I’m late. But before you get out your yardstick to rap me across the knuckles, I have an excuse.”

  “You had to wash your truck again from spending all night four-wheeling in mud?” She peeked under the lid of the paper cup. Orange juice. She loved orange juice. She hadn’t had any in weeks, not since she started making payments on her car. It’d been too dear a luxury. It tasted like sweet, tangy heaven and slid down her throat in a cool line to her stomach that made her eyes close reflexively. He didn’t say anything for a minute. She peeked open her eye and saw him staring at her. He coughed a little.

  “No, but that was a good guess. I like the way you think. In fact, for that, I’m going to offer to take you out hill climbing with me and my buddies next time we go.” He jostled her arm, making a drop of juice splash up and hit her on the lip. She looked up at him. He was wearing Saturday clothes, dark jeans, a nice-fitting polo shirt that hugged his biceps, and had a tweed jacket over his arm. It was fall, after all. Dang it. She’d secretly been hoping that ninety-percent of his attraction was housed in those slick suits he wore on weekdays.

  No such luck. And she didn’t respond to the invitation to join him in the mud.

  “So. Back to my excuse.”

  “I don’t need to hear it. Look at what I found.” She pulled out her files and began to explain the things she’d dug up about Veldon Twiss.

  “Who names a kid Veldon these days? It’s just asking for a life of struggle. You’ve got to be pretty strong to endure something like that.” Zane pulled a sandwich from the sack and took a huge bite, then spoke through the food. “When I was out rock hunting with the Boy Scouts last time, that story I was telling down in magistrate court, you remember—that trip? Anyway, there was one kid who came along with them, not a regular, and his name was Scrogan. I mean, talk about a handicap.” He took another bite.

  Could they move on? “See, he’s got a bit of a record here in Prescott.” She handed him her printout of Twiss’s petty crimes.

  “Not very damning. What else have you got?” He wadded up the wrapper, the crinkling paper making quite a real racket, and tossed it in the trash in the cubicle across from Camilla’s. “Two points. Ahhhh!” He made the airy “crowd goes wild” sound effect. When she shot him a get-serious stink eye, he said, “Look, I just don’t think three acquittals makes a man guilty. That’s three ‘innocent’ declarations. How can we even bring those up?”

  She quirked her lips. Zane just wasn’t getting it. She had to make it personal. “Tell me. How many times have you been stopped by police in the last eight months?”

  He looked at the ceiling as if counting. Great. And exasperating.

  “Fine.” Idiot. She explained. “I haven’t been stopped by police three times in the last eight years. Or eighteen. Or my life. This guy is a cop magnet. And chances are, the cops’ instincts are good. Where there’s smoke there’s fire.”

  Zane frowned. “Tell me about this Beemer he swiped. Allegedly swiped, I mean.”

  Lawyers. They always had to speak so technically. “Fine. If this is the Beemer Bandit, and if this method of operation he’s been using in three other cities of targeting open carports or garages and hot wiring the car with some kind of computerized skeleton key that seems to work on all BMWs, then this fits the profile.” And from what Camilla could tell, it did. She was convinced they had their man.

  Zane snagged a rolling chair from the next cubicle and slid close to Camilla. Too close. So close she could smell the faint hint of diesel fumes lingering on his clothing. Dang it. Diesel fumes were her Achilles’ heel. “Let me see this.” He reached his arm across her, grazing her shoulder and sending one of those zings she dreaded up her arm to her neck and head. Those zings—they were the bane of her existence. She couldn’t think straight for a good sixty seconds after one of them. They were like a Taser shot to her brain.

  Zane sat back and scanned the printout. Camilla spent the time reorganizing the zapped gray matter. Eventually he said, “Wait. What does this say here?” He shot up to his feet, his leg brushing hers. “You’ve got to be kidding me. This jerk!” He slapped the file down on the desk, sending his chair rolling into the carpeted wall of her cubicle and knocking her picture of a kitten askew. “He stole it from the fundraising raffle for Wishes for Kids? Why didn’t anyone mention that?”

  Camilla, back on point and snapped awake by this outburst, frowned. “Falcon told us that yesterday on our way down to the press conference. He mentioned it twice in his interview with the Daily Courier. Didn’t you read the links to the articles I sent you? I emailed you like fifteen different news reports so we could help Falcon figure out how to steer the stories our way.”

  “Yeah, I must have missed a message or two.”

  Or fifteen. The bum. What was he doing with all his time?

  “It just chaps me that this guy thinks he can go and highjack a donated vehicle like that—one that is meant to raise funds for sick kids.” Zane paced back and forth, randomly punching the various cubicle walls, sending tremors through the potted plants. “You know who’s sick? Veldon Twiss. Sick! Or if he’s not, I’m going to make him sick when he sees me wind the jury around my little finger in court. That guy is going to swing from the gallows if I get my way.”

  Wow. When Zane came on fire, he came on fire.

  “Then I hope you get your way. We BMW owners everywhere will thank you for it.”

  Zane stopped his pacing. “You? You own a BMW?”

  “Yeah. And?” What was he going to say about it? How insanely jealous he was that he didn’t think of it, and instead put his hard-earned money into a jacked up monstrosity of a truck with mud flaps and too much chrome? Well, not that there could ever be too much chrome. Camilla had a soft spot for chrome…

  “And…” Zane broke into laughter.
It went on for a while, until Camilla began to feel insulted by it. “I guess I pegged you differently, that’s all.”

  “You pegged me?”

  “Sure. Everybody pegs everybody else. It’s what we do.”

  “Judge not that ye be not judged. That’s what the Bible says.” Camilla didn’t like being told she’d been pegged.

  “Oh, get off that. We judge people all the time. It’s character assessment, not ‘judginess.’ And we’re lawyers. We have to make judgments every single day. And we ask for them day and night. Lenient judgments, harsh judgments. It’s all about judging in this business. So get over it.”

  In through the nose, out through the mouth. Breathing became a focused chore, as did not lashing out at him with her sharpest tongue. If you can’t say anything nice…

  “Be real.” Zane opened the sack and took out another breakfast sandwich, shoving a huge bite in his mouth. “I know you pegged me. First day we saw each other. You had a ‘first impression.’ And what did you think? I’ll bet I know.”

  “Oh, really. Astonish me with your insight.” Yessireebob. She’d very much like to know what he thought she thought. This should be instructive. She sat back and folded her arms over her chest and crossed her legs. Oh, she’d worn too short of a pencil skirt for that today. She had to tug it down. What was she thinking when she got dressed this morning? Snap.

  Zane finished the whole sandwich in a second bite and got a pensive look while he chewed, and then he gulped. “You thought…” He stepped back into her cubicle and sat himself on her desk. “‘There goes the best looking guy I’ve seen all day.’ And then you thought, ‘He’s a cocky son of a gun. I wonder what makes him think he’s so great.’” He leaned down and looked right into Camilla’s face. She could see how thick his dark hair was, right down to the roots. “And then you thought how much you hoped I was the new attorney on staff here you’d heard about. I’m right. Right?”

  Her heart rate went Benedict Arnold on her, the turncoat, and sent heat to her cheeks. How was she supposed to answer that? Exactly, I thought you were the hottest thing I’d ever seen and couldn’t even get my bearings—so badly that I botched a court case? She hated him so much right now.