Best laid schemes, p.9
Best Laid Schemes, page 9
Sam let out a bark of laughter before moaning at the pounding in her head.
She pried her body out of bed and ventured into the rest of the apartment behind Dean. He wasn’t lying, it did look like a tornado had touched down.
Dean pulled another trash bag out of the closet and set about cleaning up trash. Astrid wandered out of her room, opting for a mop while Sam tackled the kitchen. Dana and Emma joined them soon after to work on the stairwells.
Dean was carrying his third bag of trash out of the kitchen when he stopped suddenly.
“You do hear that, right?” he asked, holding still.
Sam listened for just a moment before nodding her head. “It’s another mouse. Hold on, I’ll go get you the hammer.”
“Wait, what?” Dean called after her as she fished in the broom closet for their small toolbox. Returning to the kitchen, she handed the hammer to Dean.
“I’ll pull it out if you’ll whack him.” She eased down next to the fridge, stretching to reach behind it.
Dean stared in horror as she drew out a strip of sticky paper with a mouse attached to it.
“We can’t get them free. If we leave it, it’ll scream until it starves to death. You just have to hit it on the head to kill it.”
Dean dropped to his knees next to her, the hammer in a death grip. “I’m begging you, dorms are better than this,” he said in sincere horror.
Pulling the paper to him, he folded it over the poor mouse before bringing the hammer down on its head. At the crunching noise, he gagged. Sam watched as he rocked back on his knees, gagging again. She picked up the trap, tossing it into the open garbage bag he had been carrying.
“Max has had to kill several of them, Karlie has too,” she said.
He gagged one more time before looking at her.
“I’d never suspect you of having an extremely soft spot for mice.”
“Go pack a bag. You’re coming home with me. I’ll bring you to class if they reopen tomorrow.” Standing, he gagged once more before tying up the trash bag, and hauling it downstairs.
“Is he okay?” Astrid asked from the kitchen door.
“So bloody crime scene photos are no problem, but apparently whopping a tiny mouse on the head undoes him. I’m heading out. See you tomorrow,” Sam answered, standing.
Looking around, she was confident that the apartment looked as back to normal as it ever did. She would check up on Karlie on her way to Dean’s.
Sam stopped to marvel at the thought that nothing about spending more time with him made her panic. Of course, who wouldn’t want to spend time in his high-end condo with its soft leather couches, gourmet kitchen, and enormous bed that lulled you to sleep?
“Ready to go, babe?” Dean asked, sticking his head into the kitchen.
Shaking herself out of her reverie, she quickly walked to him. She placed a quick kiss on his lips.
“Let me grab my stuff.” Sam walked into her room, snatching the first bag she found.
She put two changes of clothes, her toiletries, spare gloves, and scarves into it. She picked up her backpack and added her laptop and several notebooks she needed to work on a paper. When she had everything packed, Dean reached over from his spot in the doorway to pick up her bags.
“Are you hungry? I was until the whole tiny innocent creature bludgeoning, but I thought we would stop for lunch on the way,” Dean said.
“There wasn’t anything innocent about that creature. He has been getting into our stuff and pooping everywhere all week. Don’t you feel sorry for him, Dean Mercer. Is this why you chose to be a defense attorney?” Sam asked, scowling at him on the way by.
“No,” he said, following with a grin. “That was about making a ton of money while pissing off my father.”
Sam stopped halfway down the stairs. She turned around to look up at him. “You might need to see someone about that,” she said.
Dean stood for a minute, considering her words. “Nah, I’m good with it.”
Dean took her to one of her favorite lunch spots, a little French bistro that served almost everything on a croissant. She would eat sawdust covered in motor oil if it included a croissant. They were shown to a seat just close enough to the front windows to watch it snow but not so close they froze.
Sam ordered a heaping mug of hot chocolate covered in whipped cream just to make sure she stayed warm. Yeah, that seemed like a plausible reason. Dean stuck with coffee and corn beef on a bulkie while she ordered chicken salad on, of course, a croissant.
“So what are the plans for the rest of the day?” she asked, wrapping her hands around her mug.
Somewhere Dean had found a newspaper and was casually looking through it. He folded it and set it under his chair.
“I need to start on an opening statement for a case that goes to trial next week. It’ll just take a couple of hours. It looked like you brought plenty to work on too.”
“What’s the case about?” Sam asked.
She would love to actually see him in action. It was hard to reconcile the fact that the mild-mannered man across from her had a reputation as one of New England’s best attorneys. Karlie had told her that man could play a jury like nothing she had ever seen. Her friend caught one of his cases last year when she was trying to decide if she wanted to pursue law. Sam wondered if Karlie was a little starstruck by him at times.
“Have you ever heard of a red-collar crime?” Sam shook her head. “It’s when someone is killed during the commission of a white-collar crime. The client is accused of beating a bookkeeper to death who threatened to rat him out to the feds for money laundering.”
“Holy crap. So you have to represent this guy?” Sam asked.
“Unfortunately. When Jerry blew himself apart, I didn’t just inherit his class, I got this case as well. The father of the accused is a shady guy. He’s smart and never draws attention to his business dealings. Jerry has represented him for years.
“The son, however, is an idiot with a temper,” Dean continued. “Hopefully, the state will offer a decent plea deal before we go to court. I’m not holding my breath, though.”
Dean grew silent when the waitress arrived with their food. After assuring her that they didn’t need anything else, he took a bite of his sandwich. Sam waited to hear more details. When he said nothing else, she couldn’t stand it anymore.
“What happens if you don’t get him off?” she asked, forgetting about her whole infatuation with the bread sitting on her plate.
“Oh, he’s not getting off. He beat that man to death, there were witnesses. My job will be to get the sentence reduced from felony murder to second degree. That makes him eligible for parole eventually.”
“Will you be in danger if he gets sent up the river for life?”
“Listen to you being all gangster movie,” he said, teasing her. “No. The kid’s an idiot, but even he knows you can’t kill someone in front of witnesses and walk away. That, on top of the money laundering, only allows for a murder charge.”
Sam watched as Dean ate a bite of the macaroni salad he got with his sandwich. She picked at her sandwich for a minute before resting her chin in her hand on top of the table.
“Can I ask you a question?” she said.
“Sure,” Dean answered, glancing up at her. Had she always found glasses on a man this sexy?
“Is this what you were talking about when I jumped you last night?”
Choking on his salad, he took a long drag on the water that the waitress had brought with his coffee.
“No. One of your roommates brought up why Max had been fired for seeing Karlie. I simply said if I had been around then, I could have found a loophole. I could have had the whole thing thrown out. There is always a loophole in an employee manual.”
Sam sat staring at him, her sandwich completely forgotten now as she drummed her nails against her chin.
“Um-hum. Do you know how you said I rode you like a bull at the rodeo last night?” She watched his Adam’s apple jump as he swallowed with a nod.
“If you think that was crazy after just that slight mention of using the rules for your own purposes, just think what I would be doing to you right now after telling me you have a ruthless mobster you have to defend.” She watched as his bright-blue eyes grew a shade darker, his breathing became a little shallower.
“Ma’am, we’re going to need a couple of boxes,” he called to the waitress behind the counter. “The check also, please.”
Chapter Ten
“What did you call that again?” Dean asked, trying to catch his breath.
He was positive he set a land speed record over snow getting them back to his apartment. Somewhere among the clothes strewn across the living room was their leftover lunch. It didn’t matter. Right now he was trying to stave off a heart attack as it tried to pound out of his chest. Maybe he was too old for someone so full of life. He was definitely going to start hitting the gym on a more regular basis.
“I’ve heard it called the wheelbarrow,” Sam answered from the floor next to him. She had dragged the blanket he kept on the back of the couch over them until they could get off the floor.
“It’s possible I pulled something,” he said.
She responded by snorting out a laugh. It wasn’t a joke, his left thigh muscle was still quivering.
“So is this how you’re going to react every time I talk about work? I’ll bring home one of those fucking boring law journals to read to you if this is the response I’ll get.”
She rolled on her side, studying him for a moment before she wiggled closer and laid one long leg over his. He kissed her temple as she settled on his shoulder.
“I think we trashed this room,” Sam mumbled.
“That seems to be a recurring theme this week. If class and work don’t reopen soon, I’m not sure the world will survive us.”
Sam laughed before she let out a deep sigh.
“What do you think about us heading to the city for the weekend?” Dean asked. “We can eat somewhere nice, see a show. I’ll get us a room at the Four Seasons, we’ll order all the room service we can hold. No mice have to be harmed in the making of this weekend.”
Sam laughed again, turning her face to look up at Dean. “That sounds amazing. Instead of a show, can we see if there’s a game in town?”
“We can do that,” he said with a smile. “We’ll leave Friday after work.”
“Can I ask a question?” she asked, placing a kiss on his jaw. “Do you have any idea what happened to our sandwiches?”
Dean got up from the floor, pulling Sam up behind him to begin the hunt for their lunch.
An hour later, Dean was spread on one of his couches in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt working on his laptop. He had the case file sitting next to him as he searched for the perfect words to convince the jury the kid sitting at his table wasn’t a complete monster.
Sam had pulled on a pair of yoga pants, digging through Dean’s closet until she found a Boston College sweatshirt he didn’t even remember he had. It completely engulfed her. But she seemed happy with it, so he was good.
“Uggg,” Sam moaned in dramatic fashion. Looking up from his laptop, he waited for her to elaborate. “Why did I have to take a class on law and ethics? The sexy man who teaches it gave me an impossible assignment.”
“What case are you supposed to argue?” he asked, looking over the top of his glasses.
“The one about artistic appropriation. I can’t decide how I feel. Everyone agrees when something as mundane as a soup can is made into art, right? We can also agree the Hope poster Frairey made of the photo taken by AP photographer Mannie Garcia is inspiring.
“I don’t know that I would like someone taking my art and altering it for their own work. But by the same token, I don’t see any problem with taking the design of a Campbell’s soup can without recompense. It’s driving me crazy!” She huffed out a breath, sitting back up to glare at him.
“It’s a conundrum,” Dean said, turning back to his computer.
“Dean! If I’m going to sleep with the professor, he can at least give me a little extra help.”
“Okay, don’t get your panties in a knot,” he said, grinning when her eyebrows rose at his statement. “You’re trying too hard. You’ll never be able to do this if you’re trying to find a black-and-white answer. All ethical cases have proponents on both sides.
“Pretend you have a boss that has assigned you to either prosecute or defend, then build an argument based on that. Whatever side you decide, there will be those in class that will argue with you.”
Dean stood up and walked into the kitchen. Opening the refrigerator, he pulled them both out a bottle of water before walking back into the living room.
“In high school, I was on the debate team,” he continued. “I had to prepare both sides of the argument on the death penalty and assisted suicide. Whatever side we drew, I had to be ready to argue to the best of my ability. I think that’s why I like being a defense attorney. It’s harder to argue the unpopular side.” Sitting down, he pulled the laptop back on his lap.
“Are you in favor or against?” Sam asked, cocking her head slightly at him.
“About artistic appropriation? I’m not sure I care that strongly either way.”
“No, about the death penalty and assisted suicide?”
He thought seriously about her question for a second before answering. “I’ve never been able to decide.”
“Have you ever felt that someone you defended didn’t deserve his sentence even though he was guilty?”
“I have.” He took a long pull from his bottle. He hoped she would drift onto another subject. It was a tragic story.
Unfortunately, she sat watching him, waiting for more.
“He was a kid really,” he sighed. “He had grown up in bad circumstances and decided to rob a convenience store. When an off-duty policeman approached him, he panicked and shot the officer. The whole thing was a horrible situation. The cop left a family behind, the kid is in prison serving twenty-five to life. No one won in that instance.”
Dean went back to working on his opening, but he could feel Sam watching from the other side of the coffee table. Was she wondering what she was still doing with him? She was so full of life and he was just so… boring. He typed for a few more minutes until he heard her ask him a question.
“Hum?” he asked, looking back up.
“I asked if there are cases you won’t take.”
“Yeah,” he said. “No rapist or pedophiles. Really no abusers of any kind. I’m not interested in defending anyone who commits a crime against women or children in general.”
“Is there a circumstance that would make you change your mind?”
“No.” There was no hesitation in his answer. “Representing someone who hurt a child is a hard no for me. Why?”
A slow smile spread across Sam’s face. “I was just wondering where your moral compass lies.” He narrowed his eyes, giving her his best stern look over his glasses.
“Are you giving me grief because you don’t like the assignment I gave you?”
Standing, she walked slowly around the coffee table to him. He could already feel his heartbeat fire into overdrive when she set his laptop on the table. She slid onto his lap, straddling his legs.
“Maybe, a little. But I figured if we were going to start spending more time together, I should poke the hive to see what flew out.”
What did that even mean? He already felt lost trying to follow her train of thought most of the time. She must have read his mind when she rolled her eyes.
“You’re so sexy when you’re confused. I’m just trying to learn what makes you tick.”
“I’m afraid you’re going to be disappointed. This is it,” Dean said, waving at his apartment before letting his arms drop to the couch. “I go to work, come home, and spend the rest of the evening here. Sometimes I go have a drink at Donnelly’s, but that’s it. I’m really a very boring man.”
She sat back on his knees, giving him a disapproving smirk. “Dean Mercer, you are a lot of things, but boring is not one of them.”
“You just haven’t seen it yet. You will soon. Then you’ll be ready to find someone as exciting as you are. I’m not fishing, it’s inevitable.”
“Why would I look for anyone else when I have a man right in front of me that checks all the boxes,” she asked. “He has this perpetually messy golden hair that doesn’t know the word behave. His blue eyes are the color of the sky and I don’t get me started about these sexy glasses. I get wet just looking at them.”
Sam slowly lifted the glasses off his face, leaning back to set them on the laptop behind her. “Then there’s this body. The perfect combination of hard planes and soft touches with a cock that just begs me to sink onto it any time I’m around.”
“God, Sam,” Dean rasped out. He leaned forward to feather kisses up the side of her neck.
“But do you know what I want more of, need more of?” She ran her hands up inside his T-shirt. “I want more of this fucking brilliant mind.” She pulled the shirt over his head and wrapped her hands in his rebellious hair, messing it even more.
“So why would I look elsewhere when I already have the most beautiful, stunningly intelligent man I’ve ever met hard under me?” She pulled him to her, sealing their lips together.
Sam pulled his sweatshirt over her head and tossed it onto the other couch. How had he missed the fact she had been sitting across from him without a bra on? Actually, there should really be a law preventing ever covering something this perfect up.
He pulled her to him, sucking one of her taut nipples into his mouth. Nipping it, he then ran his tongue over the bite, knowing it drove her crazy. She began grinding on his lap. She moaned with a mad grip on his hair as she held him to her.
“Dean.” With one moan of his name from her, he was hard to the point of painful.
Lifting her off his lap to her feet, he quickly pulled the yoga pants down her legs. He held her steady as she stepped out of them. Moving to remove his own pants, Sam batted his hands away. She dropped to her knees in front of him. Spearing him with her hazel eyes laced with lust, she slid the tips of her fingers into the top of his jeans to unhook the button.
