Just One Taste...(14)

       
           



       

But Gilbert Switzer had died last month of a massive heart attack at age fifty-eight.

"Kind of young," Lucas muttered as he gazed at the screen.

The article on his death was long on accomplishments, but short on details about what had led up to his death.

Mr. Switzer, away from Atlanta on a business trip to Florida, was pronounced dead at Halifax Medical Center in Daytona Beach.

So Switzer had died in Daytona Beach, where Anthony had said the  stripper lived. Interesting. A connection and a fact verified. But there  were no details about the manner of his death.

Frustrated, but still intrigued, Lucas went back to the Douglas search,  looking for anything mentioning Anthony or any vague reference to the  personal life of Joseph. Next to nothing. A mention of a Businessman of  the Month award. A few pictures at society functions.

Lucas called a colleague at the American Bar Association and left a  message for him to call Monday. Maybe there were complaints at the bar  involving Anthony or Joseph Douglas.

Back to the Internet, Lucas scrolled through the society photos.  Pictures of Douglas and his wife at something called the Peach State  Bowl, then him and his whole family at last year's Douglas Foundation  Christmas party.

A beautiful blonde smiled back at him. His heart jumped as he read the caption.

Pictured with Joseph Douglas are his wife, Elise, and his two daughters, Angelica and Vanessa.



"YOU GIRLS HAVE DONE a beautiful job," Rex Johnson said, raising his wineglass in a toast. "As always."

Vanessa was fairly certain she hadn't been a girl since age seventeen,  but she smiled benignly at her client anyway. "Thanks so much, Rex."

Mia-serving from the other side of the table-rolled her eyes. "We live  to feed people," she said, demonstrating what a good sport she was.

They ought to get an award for sportsmanship. One guest had shown up  drunk, then tried to make a sloppy pass at the chief of cardiology's  wife. Hoping to dilute some of the alcohol, Mia had stuffed him full of  French bread in the kitchen during the appetizer course. Meanwhile,  their host spent so much time patting himself on the back for doing  nothing more than making the phone call to hire them that Vanessa was  sure he'd have bruises.

The conversation that flowed among the men was boring and  self-promoting. The only thing the women seemed to be concerned about  was the latest designer handbag. At least Vanessa's sister had thrown an  encouraging smile her way every once in a while.

"How's your transplant patient, Dr. Orley?" her sister asked as she forked up a bite of shrimp.

Dr. Orley-whose young, pretty third wife had been the object of the  earlier pass-swirled lobster in butter sauce. "Very well. A challenging  case, as I'm sure you've heard … "

Vanessa tuned out their conversation as she strode into the kitchen. She started brewing the coffee just as Mia walked in.

"Girls?" her friend asked, her hands planted on her hips.

"It's a feminist thing most people don't realize bothers anybody."

"Humph."

"It doesn't help that our patience has waned."

Mia sank against the counter, her sassy bun drooping a bit. "Last night is catching up with us."

Vanessa stifled a yawn and glanced at her watch. "We should be out of here in less than three hours, then we can collapse."

"How did you leave things with Lucas this morning?"

"Vaguely open. He gave me his business card." And a fleece jacket that  she'd found herself holding to her face several times during the day,  just to breathe in his scent.

Mia wrinkled her nose. "Business card? Not very romantic."

But it suited her. How Lucas had known it would, she had no idea. "You and Colin seemed pretty cozy when he left."

"We're going boating on Lake Lanier tomorrow."

"You in a bikini alone with Colin?" Vanessa eyed her friend's petite but  curvy frame. "He might want to consider hiring a driver. He'll wreck  the boat staring at you."

"He's seen all there is to see already."

"I'd still keep a life jacket handy."

"You could invite Lucas to come with us and supervise."                       
       
           



       

"I doubt that's what Colin has in mind."

"Are you going to see him again?"

"Colin? Well, our taxes are already done, so-"

"I mean Lucas, goofy."

Vanessa retrieved stacks of coffee cups and plates from the cabinet overhead. "Maybe."

"Do you want to?"

Yes! But she bit her lip before quietly saying, "I think so."

Mia tossed up her hands. "Oh, good grief, Vanessa. What's with you  today? You don't have to marry the man. Just ask him to dinner."

For all her rebelliousness against her proper family, Vanessa couldn't  escape the idea that she'd done something bad. Something wild, reckless  and impulsive that-yet again-would lead to trouble. But how could  something that felt so good be wrong? On the other hand, didn't  rebellion always feel good in the beginning?

"Dinner?" How did she explain her feelings seemed too heavy to resort to  polite dinner conversation? They'd skipped over several  getting-to-know-you, dating and foreplay steps last night. Did they now  have to go backward to go forward? When he moved his hand she would  recall how his touch felt against her skin, the intense pleasure he  could create. When he smiled, she'd remember the taste of him on her  lips.

Mia leaned forward, staring into her eyes. "I suggest you do it quick-before you spontaneously combust."

Vanessa rolled her shoulders. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You weren't just thinking about hot sex with him?"

"Well … "

"I'd say you've got a little more passion to burn through."

"Is that what you're doing with Colin? Burning through your passion?"

"You bet your ass."

"I should call him." Though that would again make her the pursuer, not pursuee.

Mia snagged the coffeepot. "Yes, you should."

This indecision wasn't like her. She hadn't questioned her instincts in a  long time. Was Lucas the cause, or was this quest to reunite with her  family responsible?

Both ideas were troubling.

She and Mia returned to the dining room just in time to hear Angelica  say, "Speaking of lawsuits … have you all heard that the ambulance-chasing  Lucas Broussard has moved into our city?"

Vanessa nearly dropped her tray. Lucas wasn't-He couldn't be-

She exchanged an anxious look with Mia as her brother-in-law added, "He even showed up at the fund-raiser last night."

"He's known as a cold one," someone else said.

"And the best case-win record in the history of Louisiana law."

Hands shaking, Vanessa set a cup and saucer next to her sister, who  glanced up casually, as if she had no idea Vanessa's heart was beating  like a jackhammer. "No coffee for me, thanks."

Vanessa nodded mutely and moved the cup to the person next to her.

"I heard he signed on with Geegan, Duluth and Patterson," one of the  guests added. "He's supposed to be helping them defend against frivolous  lawsuits."

"A leopard doesn't change his spots," Dr. Orley put in, as if he knew jungle cats as well as human hearts.

"Well, I wouldn't be surprised if he came after us next," Orley's buxom wife said in an I'm-snooty-and-proud-of-it voice.

"How do you-" Vanessa began, her voice trembling with anger, until Mia intruded.

"How did everyone like the lobster?" she said cheerfully. "Just yummy, don't you agree?"

Several people nodded, and Vanessa managed to swallow her feelings as  she finished distributing the cups. A brief comment from her parents the  week before suddenly took on new meaning.

"I can't believe he's coming," her mother had said.

"You did invite him," her father had commented from behind his newspaper.

"I invited the firm, not that immoral ruffian."

Lucas. She'd been talking about Lucas, Vanessa now realized. The one  time she actually should have been paying attention to her mother's  complaining rants, and she'd been too busy planning the fund-raiser's  menu to listen.                       
       
           



       

The guests' compliments on the food died away, and her new lover again became the focus.

"I heard he once got a twenty-million-dollar judgment against a group of doctors and a hospital in New Orleans."

"Where did he go to law school?" someone asked haughtily. "Certainly not Ivy League."

"Supposedly his father's in jail."

"Why did he come here?"

"Do you really think he stakes out the emergency room?"