LITMIR.BIZ

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      “Could?”

      “If we disclose the bank statements.”

      Blake slowed. “If we disclose them? Don’t we have to?”

      “It’s not that clear-cut.”

      Here it comes, Blake thought. Those shades of gray he’d been worried about. As good as she was, as much as he needed her, he just couldn’t let her do that. He really believed that his only hope of winning was to stand strong behind the values he’d sacrificed so much to find. If he wavered, if he lied, even by omission, he’d lose.

      Blake removed his sunglasses, sliding them into the pocket of his shirt as they walked toward their cars.

      “If the evidence is pertinent to the case, then, yes, we have to disclose it, but that’s completely subject to interpretation.”

      “I think pretty much anyone would agree that Cayman Islands bank statements are pertinent to this case.”

      She stopped, looked up at him. “That account is yours, then? The card attached to it has your signature?”

      “No.”

      “Then, as far as your case is concerned, I interpret those statements as false documents, and therefore, not subject to disclosure laws. Ethically, I’m obligated to research them and, if I find evidence that they’re legitimate, I have to disclose them.”

      “And if they come up later and it’s learned that we already had evidence of them?”

      “I’ll argue—and win—that they were subject to interpretation.”

      She made sense. And yet…

      “It’s not right.”

      “It’s right then for us to hang you before we have a chance to figure out why James prearranged to have that key come to me? Or why, for that matter, there’s apparently an account in the Cayman Islands with you as the principal signer? Because I can guarantee that if I turn these over now, Schuster sure as hell isn’t going to try to find out. He’s going to take them at face value and run with them.”

      Was it a statement of his emotional turmoil that Blake could accept so much of what she was saying? Was he, when times got tough enough, just as capable as anyone else of selling out?

      Juliet laid a hand on his arm. “It’s not an easy question, Blake. Both sides have perfectly valid arguments, but this one really is my call and I have to do what’s in your best interests.”

      In his best interests in terms of winning this case? Or in terms of being able to look at himself in the mirror for the rest of his life?

      Of course, if he lost the case and went to prison, he probably wouldn’t be facing a lot of mirrors.

      “You could turn them over and still do the research.”

      He was disappointing her. He could read that in those expressive green eyes—and in her sigh.

      “We only have two and a half months until the trial,” she said, still calm, but not as gentle in her delivery. “What if I’m not able to find anything in that time that’ll prove your name on that account was forged? It’ll be your word against a dead man’s, and the prosecutor is sitting there with paper evidence—bank statements that we’ve provided—that proves you the liar. What’s the jury going to think, Blake? What would you think if you were sitting in one of their seats?”

      What she was suggesting wasn’t against the law. Things like this were done all the time. It was how the world worked.

      And what if it somehow got out that he knew about those statements and his attorney hadn’t disclosed them? No matter the argument, he’d look like a liar by default, and his integrity would take a legitimate hit.

      Never in his life had Blake been up against a harder decision, or one less clear to him.

      “I want you to disclose them.”

      Juliet lowered her head. But she didn’t say what he knew she must be thinking. “You’re making my job a lot harder than it needs to be.”

      “I know. I’m sorry.” And he was. She was an angel there to save him and he’d always be grateful for that. Even from a prison cell.

      “You understand that there’s nothing illegal about what I’m proposing, correct?”

      “I do.”

      “And you still want me to go ahead and send the statements to Schuster?”

      “Yes.”

      “Okay.” She started trudging through the sand again toward her car. “I’ve done my best, which is all I can do.”

      It didn’t escape Blake that doing one’s best was a form of honesty all in itself.

      CHAPTER FIFTEEN

      MARY JANE GOT A PERFECT score on her math test that week. She said it was because the boy in front of her quit chewing gum so loud and she could hear better. Juliet believed that Mary Jane believed this was the reason. To Marcie she dared to express hope that their new plan to give Mary Jane time alone with each of them, and to reinforce the partnership she shared with her mother, was working.

      In less than two weeks’ time, Marcie had applied to all the key studios in the San Diego area and had already received calls for half a dozen interviews.

      And Juliet was busy systematically questioning every witness on Schuster’s list, looking at year-end business statements, comparing accounts payable with credit card and checking statements and tax category credits. And trying not to think about the tall, athletic and ethically uptight man running on the beach with his new puppy. Eating dinner all alone. And going to bed that way, too.

      He was a client. She could help him win his case. And as long as she was his attorney, she couldn’t do anything about any of those other things.

      On the last Friday evening in May, just a couple of days before Blake’s pretrial hearing, Marcie and Mary Jane were off to see a traveling dinosaur exhibit that claimed to have one of the world’s most authentic Tyrannosaurus rex specimens.

      Juliet was planning to go home, give herself a facial and curl up in a blanket on the back porch with a reading light and a good book. A motivational book for women who wanted to live up to their potential. And if she finished that one, there was another about staying focused when life was in chaos.

      And then, just as she was leaving the office, a letter arrived for her by local courier.

      “Hi, Jason, how’re the classes coming?” she asked the young law student who supplemented his scholarship by doing runs for a good many of the law offices in town.

      “Hard.” The tall, thin twenty-three-year-old grinned as he handed Juliet a clipboard to sign off on the delivery. “And long.”

      “You keeping up?”

      “Always.” With a nod and one last smile, he was off as quickly as he’d arrived, leaving Juliet in possession of a thick manila envelope from Paul Schuster.

      With that almost perpetual knot back in her stomach, she dropped her satchel and keys, sank down to her desk chair and slit the envelope.

      AN HOUR LATER, sitting in a quiet out-of-the-way bar not far from Mission Beach, Juliet waited for Blake Ramsden. Meeting for drinks might not have been the best idea, but she wanted Blake to have a glass of whiskey handy when she showed him what Paul Schuster had sent.

      Besides, it was Friday night and they would’ve been completely alone if they’d met in either of their offices.

      In spite of all of her advice to herself, her heart fluttered the second he walked in the door. He’d said he was coming straight from the office, and while he’d pulled off his tie, undone the top button of his white dress shirt and rolled up his sleeves, he still looked every bit the successful

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