Page 4 of Hazard

“Wait. You didn’t tell me your name.”

“I didn’t, did I? My bad.” There was that damn smirk again. He was annoyed that she’d duped him…again, but in such a small way he almost…almost felt petty. “See you around…Skully.”

Iceman walked in. “You okay?”

“Other than a bruised ego. I’m great.”

“Someone’s ass will be in the fire for that goat screw. It could have gone wrong out there.”

Skull realized that the blow to the head could have fractured his skull and put him down permanently. He was thankful it hadn’t. “It didn’t, boss. I’m fine.”

The femme fatales had cleverly outplayed and outmaneuvered them fair and square. He was just relieved that they had the HVT.

He scoffed at her play on the normal Sullivan nickname of Sully, but she cleverly mixed them together. Damn the woman. He didn’t want to like her, admire her, or forgive her for besting him. He got up and reached for painkillers. He needed them and had a feeling he was going to have one hell of a headache, along with a monumental pain in his ass all through this mission.

2

Leigh Waterford, newly sworn in as the Southern District of California US Attorney after the tragic loss of Betsy Marlowe parked her car in the driveway of her parents' upscale mansion. The wrap-around driveway made it easy to arrive and depart for guests. Her mother was certainly more enamored in the historic nature of the home than she was of the ease of coming and going. It was the former home of an architect who had it built in 1911, and the property taxes on the federal-inspired house with its charming front porch were more than most people made in a year.

She gritted her teeth as the high heels she put on for her mother’s birthday celebration pinched her toes, but her mother would expect Leigh to be dressed to the nines for dinner. She’d donned a navy Chanel suit she kept for the type of occasions that she found herself in when she’d visited her parents’ home for dinner when she happened to be back in DC. She was sure this was going to be another episode of talking Leigh out of serving justice and into doing what her mom and dad did…work for money. It was all about the Billable Hours God.

Her mom and dad had no clue who Leigh really was, and sometimes Leigh struggled on her good days to find that for herself. She’d grown a hard shell to either keep it all in or keep it all out and no one—not her family, her friends, or her coworkers could penetrate her shield. She could still hear her college roommate telling her that if she didn’t let someone in, she was going to grow old and die alone with twenty cats. There was nothing wrong with cats; she loved their independent and no-nonsense attitude, especially their confidence and arrogance that humans would do things their way…or else. But it was possible to go overboard, and a cat lady was not in her future…she hoped.

She’d envisioned a much more sedate life, but that had changed at a young age after she’d had a rude awakening, knocking her out of her daydreams and into corporate law hell. Her heart contracted when she thought about her younger self and all those stars in her eyes. She could lay the blame for those memories right at Archer Booth’s feet…Hazard. What a perfect call name. That’s exactly what he was to her. A dangerous temptation roped with muscle, quiet confidence, a husky, distracting voice, and an achingly gorgeous face. Working to get the man out of her head, and the memories that being in the same vicinity of a military man generated, she clicked up the brick steps onto the porch, admiring the immaculate landscaping around the walk. Well, at least to Leigh. She was sure that her mother would find something wrong with it.

The mansion was located in Georgetown, that beautiful historical area of DC that was nestled along the Potomac River and was heralded as one of the most iconic Washington neighborhoods with its old-world charm and sophistication. Traffic passed on the cobblestone street in front, flanked by other historical homes. She rang the bell and braced herself, thinking it would be strange to many that she was standing at the door of her parents’ home ringing the bell instead of walking in. But unannounced wouldn’t do for Marlene Waterford.

She had ceased to feel welcome in this house when she had gone against her mother’s wishes and ditched her corporate law position for an assistant district attorney position in Suffolk County serving in Boston. It was a job her mother looked down on, as if serving the public was something distasteful. Her mother hadn’t ever forgiven her, but if she knew what Leigh had planned all those years ago, it would have had an even worse outcome. The people in this house were strangers with the same last name. Those feelings brought on an even more complicated mix of emotions—resentment and guilt warring within for dominion over her soul.

As they waited, the memory of what had happened in her last year of law school, and the regret and loss she still felt, came back at her like a freight train. To her horror, her eyes smarted. She couldn’t let any moisture ruin her perfect eye makeup. That wouldn’t do.

A fist of anxiety tightened in her stomach. The same one she had felt as a child during her mother’s inspections.

She wished she could be anywhere but here. She had a mountain of work on her desk back in San Diego, feelers out for any scrap of news about Angel Alzate, and a burning stomach that really needed some antacid.

The door opened to a woman Leigh didn’t recognize, but that wasn’t a surprise. Her mother went through maids like water through a sieve. “Leigh Waterford,” she said, and the woman looked at her blankly. “I’m Marlene’s daughter…I’m here for dinner.”

The woman’s face brightened, and she gestured her inside. Leigh knew to remove her heels—no one walked on her mother’s priceless butter yellow and cream fleur-de-lis Aubusson rugs. It was a relief to take them off.

“Send her in.” Leigh heard her mother’s voice from the living room, acting like Leigh was more of a business visitor than her daughter. There was another voice, one she couldn’t place. It was definitely male but didn’t sound like her father. She started down the pristine white hallway, her bare feet quiet on the black-and-white marble floor, cool beneath her soles.

“I had so many billable hours, it was like a gold mine.”

Leight froze in her tracks, took a hard breath, and closed her eyes. The rush of anger was so visceral she almost turned on her heel, grabbed up her shoes, and left. But she couldn’t do that.

Rodney Mumford. Dear God, didn’t her mother ever stop meddling in her life?

Rodney had been one of her colleagues from Jackson, Collier, and Mumford, Leigh’s first place of employment. He had also been her fiancé. Past tense. That was, gosh, almost eight years ago. She heard he got married…and divorced. He and his dad were old friends of the family, which was another reason she wanted to leave the law firm. She didn’t feel she had gotten the position on her own merits.

Her mother had crowed about her good luck to land at such a prestigious law firm and to bag Rodney who was one of the partners’ sons. But a week before the wedding, she had been trying on her dress, and she’d broken out in hives, hyperventilating so badly, à la Carrie Bradshaw style, that her maid of honor, Bess Cummings, had to make her sit down and push her head between her knees. Leigh had bolted. Thank God not at the altar, but she’d flown out that night to her family’s Aspen vacation home, and she had called Rodney to tell him that she couldn’t go through with it. She had denied everything about herself to make everyone happy except herself, ignoring the whole thing had caught up to her. In between treatments of calamine lotion, she had also typed up her resignation at the same time she’d put in a job application for the ADA position in Boston.

She swallowed hard. It was bad enough that she would have to endure her parents, but adding Rodney onto this crappy sundae was the cherry on top.

She turned around, bypassed the maid, and returned to the foyer, slipping into her heels. She refused to face either of them barefoot. To hell with feeling vulnerable and her mother’s goddamned rugs.

Ignoring the maid’s scandalous and shocked expression, Leigh walked briskly back toward the living room, her heels snapping against the floor. The maid put her hand on Leigh’s arm. “You go, girl,” she said, then melted away as her father chose that moment to step out of his study, a glass of scotch in his hand. Leigh suppressed a laugh at the unexpected bonding with her mom’s employee, knowing all too well what she must go through every day.

Mitchell Waterford was tall and slim with a full head of sandy blonde hair and the distinguished appearance one would associate with a politician. He was a legend in corporate law, and she was the spitting image of him.

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