Like some banker from Greenwich at the yacht club. Sitting next to him was Katrina Barksdale, laughing with the trill of a mockingbird. Having too d.a.m.n much fun for a woman about to be indicted. And check out the lipstick-red, low-cut, one-shoulder spandex halter. The slit skirt was white and low on the hips, exposing her bare, tanned midriff at the top and a lot of thigh below. The shoes were strappy slingbacks, and the toenails were the same color as the halter. No, this would not do for booking.

"Vic-tor-ia," Katrina sang out. "Join us!"

Katrina's makeup was a little heavy for a Monday morning. Her raven hair cascaded over her shoulders and stopped at the top of her creamy white b.r.e.a.s.t.s. It gave her the overall look of a hot fudge sundae.

As Victoria approached, Katrina crossed her long legs, and the slit slid higher up her thigh. "Victoria, we were just talking about you."

"Oh, really?" Victoria forced a smile that stopped before it got to her eyes.

She knew that Katrina had started life as Margaret Katherine Gustafson in c.o.o.n Rapids, Minnesota. Not that she hid her background. On the contrary, Katrina bragged about each step up. She had twirled flaming batons at halftime at St. Cloud State football games, then took a snow princess act onto skates in a traveling Ice Capades show. According to the b.i.t.c.hy set at La Gorce Country Club, Katrina had supplemented her wages by twirling other batons at night in various hotel rooms along the tour. Then a feathers-and-b.o.o.bs skating show in Las Vegas, where she met the newly widowed Charles Barksdale, and it was love at first double axel. For him, at least. Victoria preferred to believe that Katrina loved Charles, too, but when a hardscrabble young woman marries an older, wealthier man, questions are raised. Pincher would certainly raise them.

"How clever of you to team up with Stephen," Katrina said. "He was just telling me about all his exciting trials."

This couldn't be happening, Victoria thought. She half expected a low-flying gull to drop another load of s.h.i.t on her.

"h.e.l.lo, partner." Steve popped up and pulled out a chair. The perfect gentleman. The perfect, bird-d.o.g.g.i.ng, client-rustling, case-poaching gentleman. Just when she was starting to feel all warm and fuzzy, he had sandbagged her.

Dammit, how could I have been so stupid!

"Iced tea?" Steve asked, reaching for the pitcher even as he slid the chair beneath her. "If my taste buds are in tune, it's pa.s.sion fruit."

"Pa.s.sion fruit it is," Katrina said. "You have a good tongue, Stephen."

Good tongue? Did she really say that?

"But perhaps you both want something stronger," Katrina said.

Even on the precipice of jail, she hadn't forgotten her Gables Estates etiquette. Victoria forced herself to remain calm. "Iced tea's fine."

"Stephen?" Katrina asked.

"I usually don't imbibe until sundown," he said. Putting on airs.

"Somewhere in the world, it's got to be dark." Katrina's voice swirled like wine in crystal.

"In that case, a single-malt Scotch, if you've got it."

"How's a twenty-year-old Glenmorangie?"

"Like a Sunday stroll through the heather," he purred. "Three fingers neat ought to do me."

Katrina smiled coquettishly and called for the housekeeper. Victoria gave Steve a look that could leave second-degree burns, then asked: "So what have I missed?"

"Stephen was telling me about your new partnership," Katrina said.

"Was he now?"

"Solomon and Lord," Katrina said. "It has cachet, no?"

"Cachet, yes," Steve said, and Katrina giggled like a schoolgirl.

"And what have you told Stephen?" Victoria asked her, trying not to exhale the steam she felt rising from deep inside.

"Everything. What happened that night. And other nights. He'll fill you in."

"I can hardly wait."

"Believe me," Katrina said, "some of the details make me blush."

How could we tell through all that Deep Cover Number Nine?

"For a guy his age, Charlie had some appet.i.te." Katrina's laugh jangled like a pocketful of coins.

The widow Barksdale seemed to be handling her bereavement quite well, Victoria thought.

"The night it happened," Katrina continued, "Charlie had this stomach virus, and I thought no way he'd want to fool around. But he hauled out the latex and leather and popped a hundred milligrams of v.i.a.g.r.a. I mean, there was no stopping the guy."

"I wonder if I could talk to my partner for a moment," Victoria said, resting her hand on Steve's, then digging her fingernails deep into the underside of his wrist.

"Don't be long," Katrina said, winking at Steve.

Victoria dragged Steve to his feet and led him to the dock. They stopped in the shadow cast by the flying bridge of the Kat's Meow.

"What do you think you're doing?" Victoria meant to whisper but it came out like a hiss from a punctured tire.

"Interviewing our client."

"My client."

"I think she likes me."

"She'd like a Great Dane if it had b.a.l.l.s."

"This is for your own good, Victoria. You need me on this."

"You lied to me! Last night you said, 'It's all yours.'"

"I semi-lied. It's half yours."

"Just when I was starting to think you were almost human."

"Really? Thanks."

He seemed genuinely moved, like the nicest thing anyone ever said to him was that he wasn't just a lump of useless protoplasm.

"I'm sure we'll work great together," he said.

"Forget it. I'm reporting you to the Bar."

"Be sure to tell them you misled Katrina about your trial experience. Naughty. Very naughty."

"Are you threatening me?"

"I'm trying to get you to redirect your anger. Think how good it would feel to beat Pincher in court."

"Almost as good as it would feel to see you disbarred."

"When I said you had the makings of a great lawyer-"

"It was a con, a pickup line."

"It was the truth."

"Forget it. I can't work with you."

"Too late. Katrina already wrote a check. Payable to Solomon and Lord."

"There's no such firm. Never will be."

Steve looked back toward the courtyard and gave Katrina a little wave. "Okay. We're a one-case firm. Win, lose, or draw, we split up. But for now . . ."

"No way. I'll tell Kat you're an impostor and a shyster."

"We'll look like clowns. Neither of us will get the case."

"You b.a.s.t.a.r.d. You low-life, bulls.h.i.t-slinging b.a.s.t.a.r.d!"

"Go ahead. Get it out of your system."

They were at the edge of the dock, the huge yacht looming over them. A three-foot metal gaff was mounted on hooks attached to a piling. She could grab it, bash his skull, and push him into the water. When he tried to crawl out, she'd clobber him. Again and again. Watch him slip under in a mess of splintered bone and bubbling blood. Justifiable homicide. No jury would convict her.

"Trust me," he said. "Someday you'll thank me."

"Someday I'll kill you."

"Like it or not, we're attached at the hip."

Furious, she spun around so she wouldn't have to look at him. She needed a plan. She could torpedo him, no doubt about it. But what would Katrina think? That she didn't have her s.h.i.t together. Solomon was right, d.a.m.n him. If she opened her mouth, they'd both lose the case.

She wheeled back and faced him. "Katrina really wrote a check?"

Smiling like a lizard on a sunny rock, Steve patted his jacket pocket. "It's right here. Ten thousand dollars."

"Ten thousand? For a murder case? Are you kidding? It's got to be six figures."

"Sure, it should be. But Barksdale's kids have filed suit against Katrina for wrongful death, tied up all the money. She's got hardly anything in her own name."

"She's got more than ten thousand."

"Jeez, one day in private practice, you're greedy already. Look, we'll get a million dollars' worth of publicity, and if we win, the money gets freed up and we get paid."

"I can't buy groceries with publicity."

"Why do you rich people worry so much about money?"

"I'm not rich, you jerk."

"But your clothes."

"Consignment shops."

"And jewelry?"

"My mother's castoffs."

"Princeton? Yale?"

"Scholarships and loans."

"Oh," he said, downcast. "And I was hoping you could front the expenses for expert witnesses, lab tests, consultant fees."

"You are so totally dim. I'm broke."

"All the more reason for you to tag along."

"I don't tag along."

"Okay, you take the law, I take the facts."

"I'll consider it if we split fees, sixty-forty my way," she said.

"Sixty-forty, my way. I'm providing you with free s.p.a.ce in my penthouse office."

"You have a penthouse?"

"Top floor. Of a two-story building."

"I'll bet it's a real showplace," she said. "Fifty-five, forty-five, my way."

"Fifty-fifty. You can use my secretary. She types a hundred words a minute. In Spanish. In English, she spells everything phonetically, so you gotta really proof it."

"She won't mind the extra work?"

"Doesn't matter. It's a term of her parole that she have a job."

"Great," she said, feeling her temples beginning to throb. "Just great."

"So, we have a deal?"