Law already had that owner in mind. Her name was Margaret Whittaker. At fifty-two, Margaret had gotten pink-slipped from her previous position in publishing. She’d been an editor at Parker Press for twenty years, only to be replaced by a younger woman with a new vision.
Margaret lived and died books. Depressed and down to her last dime, she’d signed up for several business classes. The professor had brought her to Law’s attention as a prime candidate to be a store owner should an opportunity arise. The time was now.
“That’s all for tonight.” Catherine pushed the papers back into their proper folders and stacked them neatly. She glanced at her watch. “Thank you for dinner. It was amazing. But I should be heading home.”
“Do you turn into a pumpkin at nine?” he asked.
“I have a family obligation,” was all she’d give him.
He knew he couldn’t press her to stay longer. She’d already pushed back her chair and now stood, one hand on her abdomen, a woman well fed.
Law allowed her to escape, just this once. Catherine was smart and savvy and he liked her company. He was surprised that two hours had passed without a thought of Wonder Woman.
Trained in rapid departures, the wait captain and server had the dining room cleared and cleaned in under a minute. Dishes were reloaded on the cart and the two men hit the door seconds before Law and Catherine.
Law carried the files as they caught the elevator and descended to the parking garage. He’d promised Bouncer a late-evening run in the park. The boxer would hound Law if deprived of their usual outing. Law needed to jog off his horniness after he took Cat home.
They picked up his Bugatti and instead of punching in Cat’s address on his GPS, Law asked her for directions. She’d gone quiet on him and he liked to hear her talk. Her voice had a soothing, stroking quality like a mental massage. Following her instructions, he soon discovered she lived west of the city, close to an hour’s drive.
The suburb, a division of moderately priced homes, hugged the county line. Cat directed him to a cul-de-sac of six houses with postage-stamp yards. Night became day as strings of white sparkling lights lined driveways, hung in trees, and wrapped mailboxes and lampposts, illuminating the crescent curve of the street. Open garage doors and porch lights cast additional lighting.
An enormous barbecue bumped the curb, all rusty and rickety and bent in the middle. Several redwood picnic tables lined the sidewalk. People shouted and dogs barked.
“A neighborhood block party?” He put the car in park.
She shook her head. “My family.”
Holy crap. Cat had to be joking. He counted thirty people, only to lose track as the group took note of his Bugatti.
Cat eased out and faced an onslaught of questions. Law sensed the family’s closeness and protectiveness as well as a healthy dose of curiosity toward him.
Two young boys pressed their noses to the driver window, their breath fogging the glass. He saw a teenager drop to the ground and slide under the car like a mechanic. Law quickly cut the engine.
Cat cracked the passenger door and asked, “Care to celebrate my nephew’s C in algebra?”
All this commotion for a C? Law clutched the steering wheel, his knuckles now white. Crowds seldom bothered him. Rogues fans surrounded him hundreds deep after a game, requesting an autograph. Amid the stadium fanfare, he’d managed to keep his distance. Yet there was something about Cat’s relatives, gathered close, all expectant and welcoming, that suddenly suffocated him. He’d always avoided family gatherings. They were too damn personal.
Cat eyed him with understanding. “Too much?” she asked. “We tend to overwhelm.”
Law worked to control his breathing, which was as rapid as the beating of his heart. He’d look the fool if he started the engine and hit reverse.
“You don’t have to stay.” She stretched out her hand, pressing her thumb and forefinger together as if passing him something. Something invisible. “Here’s an escape card,” she explained. “Use it anytime.”
He brushed his fingers against hers as he accepted the invisible pass. Her energy buzzed him. “This works like the Get Out of Jail Free card in Monopoly?”
“Exactly,” she said. “Although meeting my family isn’t a jail sentence.”
“How many relatives do you have?”
“Forty-two show up for special occasions.”
“All for a C in algebra?” He couldn’t believe it. He’d dated numerous women over the years and never met their families. He now faced a village.
Cat lowered her voice. “My nephew Mike hates school. Last year he cut classes and ran with a rough crowd. He had to repeat the tenth grade. His parents enrolled him in vocational school, where he now takes auto mechanics and works on cars. He’s the one under your Bugatti.”
Law glanced out his window and saw the toes of the kid’s Converse sneakers pointing at the sky. He hoped the boy didn’t have a wrench in his pocket. The sports car needed every titanium spring and bolt.
“Five minutes.” Law sucked it up and agreed to stay.
Cat pulled back, set two fingers to her lips, and whistled like a man, so freakin’ loud she brought the crowd to silence. The lady had lip power. Even the teenager under the car crawled out to listen.
“This is James Lawless,” she informed everyone. “He’s a Richmond Rogue and a friend of Zen Driscoll’s. He’s now a client of mine. We worked late and he drove me home. We’ve had dinner, but he’ll join you for a beer. He’s got to get home to walk his dog.”
Her family accepted his short stay with agreeable nods and eager smiles. Everyone took one giant step back. Law counted to ten and swung his door wide.
“What kind of dog?” A little girl with blond pigtails hopped like a pogo stick.
Cat answered for him. “A big white boxer named Bouncer.”
“I have a cocker spaniel named Cookie,” the girl told Law as he dipped his shoulder and slid from the vehicle.
His foot had barely hit the pavement when young Mike the mechanic hit Law with, “Dude, pop the hood.”
An easy enough request, so Law obliged. The teenager wore a gray T-shirt scripted with DIPSTICK. He rubbed his palms on his torn blue jeans before diving shoulder-deep into the engine. “Bugatti Veyron is the fastest street-legal car in the world.” Mike’s muffled voice traveled to Law and all those gathered behind him.