Ah, that was a bit more difficult. She definitely liked them. Fergus was a good nurse and a fascinating dinner companion. Cam had a lighter spirit, and was more inclined to make jokes and tease, but he was an excellent dinner companion, too. If they’d been her table companions at some of the formal events she’d sat through this past year she would have had a much better time than had actually happened. She would have enjoyed the functions instead of suffering through them at the very least.
So, at this point in time, I’m prepared to move on toward the idea of a ménage, with two wolves, who happen to be Cam and Fergus. Is that correct?
Sierra switched the treadmill off and stood still. Yes, I think so. They’re both extremely good looking. They’re entertaining to talk to. They struck me as caring and sensible people. But I’m not going into the dungeon or into bed with them yet. I need at least a couple more dates first to ensure I haven’t misjudged them, and to give them time to show their true personalities if they’re just messing with my head right now. The last thing I need is a video of my naked ass being whipped up on YouTube. I’d never make partner then.
Satisfied with her decision, Sierra ran across to the stationary bicycles, climbed up on one, and began pedaling as fast as she could. Today was a workday and she had so much to do. She had no more time to waste on personal issues. It was time to plan her next case.
* * * *
Several weeks had passed since Sierra had requested that Harry Harrison, a six-foot-four-inch former policeman turned private detective, look into George Thorne’s attorney’s background. She’d had one of her paralegals give her the information on him in various legal directories, but apart from telling her that he’d graduated in the middle of his class ten years before she’d passed the bar exam, it really didn’t give her the kind of answers she was after. Answers such as the type of client he frequently represented.
When she’d subpoenaed George Thorne’s financial records and been prepared to offer Oscar Thorne’s financial statements in return, George’s case had been thrown out by the judge. However, he’d said, in court and in the presence of the judge, that he would take the clinic from Oscar. That made her wonder if he was linked to crime or semilegal activities. They’d make him want to hide his financial status. But in that case his attorney would most likely have links she could identify, too.
Harry, who was not only an extremely good private investigator but also a bear shape-shifter, had turned up nothing underhanded about the attorney. He was an ordinary middle-of-the-road attorney, making a reasonable living but nothing unusual.
So she shrugged and endeavored to put that case out of her mind while Harry delved deeper into George’s activities and motivations. Oscar was paying him to do that and she had other cases needing her attention.
Until she received a phone call from Oscar.
“Hey, Sierra, George’s attorney’s sent me another letter. I may have misunderstood all the legal jargon, but it seems to be saying I don’t have the correct permits to have a clinic on the land here.”
“I can assure you, and George Thorne’s attorney, the paperwork on your clinic permit submission was above reproach.” She’d done all the due diligence tests herself. She knew everything was perfectly correct.
“I knew it would be, Sierra, but if I scan this letter and e-mail it to you, can you please send them whatever they need to leave me alone?”
“Send it to me. I’ll deal with it.”
Sierra clicked her cell phone off, but kept the e-mail on her computer open. I wonder what that goatish, fly-bitten maggot pie of a cousin of his has done now?
The attorney had once again used a large number of very long words and complicated sentences to say not much at all. Oscar had expressed it quite accurately. George was challenging their right to have a clinic on that land.
She buzzed her secretary on the landline phone. “Please may I have the Thorne files?”
Ten minutes later the papers were on her desk and it didn’t take her long to check. Yes, everything that was required was there.
Except—the clinic had not been named when the paperwork went through. It was simply referred to as a “small private clinic,” which it undoubtedly was.
Quickly she flicked an e-mail to Oscar. Send me scanned copies of the registration of the clinic’s business name, too, please, and the data about the number of beds and number of parking spaces you have.
She was certain Oscar wouldn’t have more patients than he was allowed, or too many vehicles parked on his property, but it was as well to check these things right from the start.