Authors: Doreen Owens Malek
“Politics?”
“The goals of the NFN, while they may be laudable, are a political matter. I am here to represent the federal government to the best of my ability in a court case, and that I intend to do. It would be unprofessional and unethical of me to do anything other than my level best to win the case for my client.”
“Well said,” Jack observed, watching her face.
A waitress arrived to take their order.
“What will you have?” Jack said, looking at her.
“Club soda with lime.”
“And a bourbon for me. Thanks.” He waited until the woman had departed and said, “You’re a last minute replacement, aren’t you?”
“How did you know that?”
“The papers your firm filed indicated that somebody named Arthur Winston was going to be representing the feds. Then you showed up at the preliminary hearing. Even before I heard the judge address you by name I would have bet good money that you weren’t Arthur Winston.”
“Arthur was in a car accident and I had to take over when it was clear he wouldn’t be able to continue.”
“I see.” He sat back in his chair and folded his arms. “I’m going to be frank with you, Ms. Hancock. There is much more at stake here than a cemetery or a highway. The Seminoles are using this hearing as a forum to air a long history of unfair treatment by the government. The protesters, the editorials in the local papers, the tempers flaring all over the county have little to do with the court case. They have much more to do with the poor conditions of reservation living which have left all of the Indians in this area bitter and malcontent.”
“I’m aware of that,” Marisa said evenly.
“You’re now at the center of this whirlpool, the most visible representative of the government and therefore identified with its position. Do you realize this could be dangerous for you?”
Marisa met his eyes levelly across the tiny table. “Are you threatening me, Mr. Bluewolf?” she asked quietly.
His face went blank. His drink came at that moment and he gulped about half of it before he replied.
“You’ve got me wrong,” he said huskily. “I was only trying to warn you to be careful.”
“I’m sure it won’t shock you to learn that a warning like that could be viewed as intimidation.”
“You’re jumping to the wrong conclusion, Ms. Hancock.”
“Possibly, and if I am, I apologize. I’m merely basing my reaction on my past experiences. You wouldn’t be the first person to try scare tactics when I turned out to be a little more formidable than I look. Some threats are more subtle than, ‘Catch the next plane out of here, lady, or you’ll be sorry.‘“
“Do you really think that of me?” he said softly, holding her gaze deliberately.
“Mr. Bluewolf, I don’t know you. I do know that my arrival here was not exactly good news for your organization, and even though my case has not been going well lately each day I keep on fighting. It would be much easier, and cheaper, to drive me out of town than to bear the expense of countering every motion that I file. If I’m terrified into dropping the case, you win. If I’m terrified into leaving it to someone else, the confusion and delay caused by replacing me can only work to your advantage. Am I making my position clear to you?”
“Perfectly,” he said tightly.
“Good,” she said, rising smoothly. “I’m so glad that we understand each other.”
He shoved his chair back and stood also, his eyes blazing.
“Thank you for the drink,” she said primly, leaving it untouched at her place as she turned and walked away.
Jack drained his glass as he watched her go, then slammed it onto the table so hard it cracked.
Damned impossible woman. She had completely misinterpreted his intentions. But somehow, instead of turning him off her cool, determined response had only gouged the hook in deeper.
He could hardly wait to see her again the next day.
* * *
Marisa unlocked the door to her hotel room, feeling very satisfied with herself. Did Bluewolf actually think she would fall for that tired old bullying routine? And even if the man was sincerely concerned for her safety she had shown him that she wasn’t going to turn tail and run.
The message light on her telephone was flashing and she called the desk. Charles Wellman, the head of the litigation department at her firm, had called while she was at court.
Marisa looked at her watch. Charlie often worked until six and would probably still be in his office.
“Charles Wellman,” he said, after two rings.
“Answering your own phone?” Marisa said teasingly.
“Margaret’s left for the day. How’s it going down there?”
Marisa sighed heavily.
“That bad?” Charles said glumly.
“Oh, come on, Charlie, you knew what this would be like when you asked me to take Arthur’s place. The courthouse is ringed with protesters every day, the editorial page of the local paper is filled with commentary about the big bad feds moving in to destroy a revered cultural site, and the judge is up for reelection next spring. How do you think it should be going?”
“Are you holding your own?”
“I guess so. Judge Lasky even ruled in my favor today. Once.”
“Remember what I said. Lean heavily on how much money the taxpayers are going to save if the highway goes through the cemetery.”
“I have, I have. But it’s a political football, Charlie. Even if there are some people who would rather save the money than the site, nobody is going to say so. Not out loud, not around here. Oh, and I forgot. The head honcho of the NFN asked me to have a drink with him this afternoon and then gave me a nice little speech about how concerned he was for my safety.”
“Jackson Bluewater?”
“Wolf. Bluewolf. The very same.”
“What’s that supposed to mean, ‘your safety’? Are you getting hate letters or anything?”
“No, no. I guess it’s possible that a few of the protesters could get carried away or something, but I personally think he was just trying to rattle me.”
“Did he succeed?”
“Please. You’re talking to the woman who went up against Big Jim Lafferty and the United Dock Workers last year. I’m fine.”
“What’s he like, Bluewolf?”
“About what you’d expect. Lots of teeth and charm. I’m sure he’s a very effective spokesperson for his cause, the wattage from his smile alone must be good for quite a few petition signatures.”
“And Ben Brady?”
“The NFN lawyer? Very good, as befits a full partner of Henner, Wilson and Drumm. Did you know they were doing the whole thing pro bono? Very good publicity. It’s mentioned in the papers about three times every day, how the noble NFN legal team is working for free, along with speculation about the outrageous amount the evil feds are paying us to do their dirty work.”
“Sounds like it’s getting to you.”
“It isn’t the first time I’ve been unpopular.”
“Well, anyway, I’m sending you some help.”
“You’ve resurrected Clarence Darrow?”
“Next best thing. I’ve arranged for Tracy Carswell to take her exams early so she can fly down there and assist you with the case. She doesn’t have to be back at school until the end of January so you’ll have her at least until you break for the holidays.”
“Charlie, that’s wonderful! I could sure use a research assistant. I’m trying new things practically every day and barely have time to look up the precedents.”
“She’s yours. She’ll be there tonight. Margaret already booked the room adjoining yours—it opens into a suite.”
“Best news I’ve had since I got here. Tracy’s a terrific intern. Things are looking up, suddenly.”
“Keep the faith, kid. The firm’s not expecting miracles, we just have to show the government guys that we put up a decent fight for them. If the decision goes against you no one will be shocked.”
“Or disappointed?”
“That I can’t promise. It would be wonderful if you could pull this one out of the hat.”
There was a long silence. Then Marisa said resignedly, “I’ll do my best.”
“I know you will. I’ll be in touch. Take care.”
“Goodbye.” Marisa hung up the phone just as someone knocked on her door.
“Yes?”
“Delivery,” a man’s voice said.
Marisa opened the door and was handed a small wicker basket covered with green glassine florist’s wrap.
“Are you sure this is for me?” she asked, puzzled.
The delivery man looked down at his manifest. “Marisa Hancock, Room 213?”
“Yes.”
“It’s for you.”
Marisa fumbled in her handbag for a tip and then closed the door. She ripped off the wrapping and saw a small white card nestled in a bed of fragrant local orange blossoms.
“You have misjudged me. Give me another chance,” was scrawled in bold handwriting, covering most of the card. It was signed, “Jack.”
Typical egotism, Marisa thought. As if he were the only Jack in the world. She lifted the basket to her nose and inhaled the heady, haunting perfume. Then she set the basket on the end table next to the phone and picked up the room service menu to order dinner.
* * *
Marisa was reviewing her notes from the day’s proceedings when there was a knock at her door followed by Tracy’s voice calling, “Yoo-hoo, it’s me!”
Marisa pulled the door open to admit Tracy, who was wearing a T-shirt emblazoned with “Welcome to the Sunshine State” and a straw hat decorated with plastic lemons and limes.
“Your research department has arrived,” she announced, and threw herself full length on the bed.
“And costumed for the part,” Marisa replied, laughing.
“I bought this stuff at the airport. I’ve never been to Florida and so I thought I’d get into the spirit. Not exactly Maine, is it? At home the temperature was twenty-eight degrees.”
“And how are things in Bar Harbor?”
“Frigid. I can’t believe old Charlie decided to fly me down here. You must have convinced him it was time to send in the marines.”
“We’ve been talking every day.”
“I see. Well, I can’t say that I was depressed to hear that I was about to depart the frozen tundra and arrive in lotus land.”
“Don’t get too happy. You won’t have time for the beach. You’ll be working.”
“What about weekends?”
“Weekends, too.”
“You can’t spare Sunday afternoons for two hours? I can’t go back without a tan, nobody will believe I was ever here.” Tracy rolled over on the bed and spied the flowers on the table. “What’s this?”
Marisa made a dive for the basket but Tracy got there first. “Give me another chance,” she murmured. “Jack. Who’s Jack?”
“Nobody, forget it,” Marisa said, snatching the card away.
“Jack, Jack, Jack,” Tracy muttered. Her expression brightened. “That’s the NFN leader, Jackson something, right? I just saw him on TV last week.”
“Coincidence,” Marisa said, not too convincingly.
“It is not,” Tracy said, grinning. “You’ve been here three weeks and you’ve got the head of the opposition team sending you flowers. Why is it these things never happen to me?”
“You’re making too much of it. I hardly know the man. He thinks I misunderstood something he said and this was his way of...”
“Courting you?” Tracy supplied.
“Don’t be ridiculous. He was trying to apologize, I guess.”
“I suppose you haven’t noticed that he’s gorgeous.”
“Tracy, give me a break. I’ve been far too busy to ogle anybody at the opposition table.”
“Oh, I see. You’ve been struck blind.”
Marisa threw Tracy a look which would have silenced anyone else, but Tracy was more persistent than the average busybody. “So what did you misunderstand?” she inquired.
“He asked me to have a drink with him...”
“Aha!” Tracy said triumphantly, sitting up alertly.
“To warn me that my high profile defense of the federal government’s position might be dangerous for me.”
“Oh. That was nice of him.”
Marisa stared at her.
“What?” Tracy said, turning her hands palms up innocently.
“That was just a little more sophisticated form of intimidation, Tracy. Letting me know, under the guise of concern, that there was definitely something to be worried about.”
“Marisa, you’re paranoid.”
“Am I? Do you know how many times during the Lafferty trial one of those goons took me aside for a little friendly chat, warning me, very nicely and politely, that if I kept on with the case I could wind up in a pair of cement shoes?”
“They actually said that?” Tracy muttered, aghast.
“Of course not. They were more subtle about it, though none quite approached the smoothness of our man Bluewolf. He practically oozed solicitude.”