to brush against the spiky overgrowth of graythorn bushes.
A sound ahead of her in the brush sent a chill up her spine. She’d never encountered one on her property before, but the telltale maraca-like sound of a rattlesnake gave warning. And Lila was directing her right to it.
Phoebe tried to stop, but her feet continued moving forward. She dug her nails into her palms and gritted her teeth, slowing a little but still walking.
“Lila.” The sound of her voice seemed to shake Lila’s hold, and Phoebe managed to stop herself in her tracks, though she couldn’t yet persuade her limbs to turn back. “Lila, what are you doing? What do you want?”
“Stop fighting me.” The throaty Kathleen Turner voice came out of her. “He wants you to go.”
“Who wants me to go?” Her own voice was stronger now. She was breaking Lila’s hold.
“Tloque Nahuaque. Lord of the Near and the Nigh.”
The rattler sounded again, threatened in its hiding place.
Phoebe lowered her voice to a whisper. “Why? What does he want with me?”
Lila let out an exasperated sigh. “He wants you gone.” The irritation apparently distracted Lila. Phoebe regained control, backing away from the brush before turning tail and hurrying back toward the house. Lila still lingered but she could sense the shade’s frustration at having failed in her mission.
“Who is this Taloque...?” She couldn’t remember exactly how the name went, though Lila had just used her mouth to pronounce it.
“Tloque Nahuaque.” Lila sighed. “He keeps my Jacob from me.”
“Maybe I can help you.” She’d barely gotten the words out before Lila followed them with a sharp laugh. “If you don’t try to force me to do things against my will, I can be much more helpful to you, Lila. It’s what I do.”
“You can’t help me. The only way you can help is if you go. If you go, I get my Jacob.”
“How do you know?” That seemed to give the shade pause. “Has this Tloque Nahuaque kept any promises to you or does he keep holding them out as something you’ll earn from him eventually when he’s decided to grant them?” She’d managed to reach the back door as she spoke, and Lila was no longer resisting her movements. Phoebe dashed inside and closed the door, locking it behind her. “Lila.” She’d gone quiet in Phoebe’s consciousness, but Phoebe could tell the shade was still there. “Has he done anything but exploit your need for Jacob?”
“Titlacauan commands us. We are his slaves.”
How many names did this guy have? Phoebe leaned back against the door, her hand still on the knob. “And if you could have your Jacob? If you could be with him...what would you do?”
She felt the shiver of arousal run through her, from the top of her head to her core, like a little shock of lightning.
Lila’s voice on her tongue was full of both anguish and desire. “If I could be with Jacob as we were meant to be, just once, I could be at peace.” With that, she was gone.
It was absolutely out of the question. Phoebe shouldn’t even be thinking it. But if she offered an exchange—the evidence against whoever this Tloque Nahuaque or Titlacauan was, as the price for giving Lila what she wanted—wouldn’t that be worth the minor inconvenience of being temporarily at the mercy of someone else’s desires?
Of course, it didn’t hurt that Phoebe was hopelessly attracted to the vessel Lila’s Jacob had chosen to occupy. Phoebe covered her face with her hands and groaned. What was the matter with her? She couldn’t make that kind of deal and involve someone else. What was she really thinking, anyway? That she could blackmail Rafe Diamante into having sex with her in exchange for exonerating him of a murder charge? How pathetic was that? She’d sunk to a new low.
* * *
When Phoebe checked her messages in the morning, her caseload had tripled. As the lowest on the totem pole at the Public Defender’s Office, she had to take what she could get—especially if she wanted to have any hope of eventually removing “assistant” from the front of her title. That little word meant the difference between getting a mix of grunt work and the cases no one else wanted and getting to work serious cases that would challenge her. And it also meant the difference between people like Ione seeing her as some kind of glorified legal secretary and respecting her as an actual lawyer. Not to mention not having to always live hand to mouth.
After the forty-five-minute drive to the county courthouse at Camp Verde, Phoebe met with her first client, a scared eighteen-year-old kid charged with a DUI who’d spent the night in lockup, afraid to call his parents. Since it was his first offense, she managed to bargain the charges down to reckless endangerment. The prosecutor owed her one, and he was in a good mood.
Phoebe glanced at the time while she scheduled her next client consult and found it wasn’t quite eleven. Not bad for a morning’s work. She even had time to grab a scone and a latte.
Heading upstairs from the basement café with the latte in hand, Phoebe nearly ended up wearing the drink when she took a corner too swiftly and met someone else coming down.
She held the sloshing beverage out of the way as the lid popped off the cup and a dollop of foam hit the tip of an expensive Italian dress shoe. “Shoot. I’m so sorry. Let me get that.” She’d knelt to dab her napkin on the mess without waiting for an answer, but an amused voice made her pause.
“That’s really not necessary, Ms. Carlisle.”
The face she glanced up into was familiar but she couldn’t place it. Thirty-something and blond with soulful blue eyes, he looked like he ought to be on the cover of GQ.
Phoebe straightened with the napkin wadded in her hand. “Sorry—have we met?”
“Just briefly. Carter Hanson Hamilton.” He held out his hand and Phoebe pocketed the napkin before extending hers, still not sure where she’d seen him before. He had a firm, easy grip. “I’m representing Rafael Diamante in the Barbara Fisher case.”
“Oh.” Phoebe pulled back her hand. Of course. She’d seen him yesterday when Ione had blindsided her.
“I hope there are no hard feelings. The Covent only has Mr. Diamante’s best interests in mind.”
“No, I get that, Mr. Hamilton. I do.” She might as well be gracious. “I wasn’t sure why he called me, anyway. He was probably in shock and just dialed the first number he found in his pocket.”
“Please, call me Carter. And I’m sure you’re selling yourself short. Your sister speaks very highly of you.”
Phoebe couldn’t contain the short outburst of laughter. “Ione? She did not. That’s kind of you to say, Mr. Hamilton—Carter—but I’m not exactly the Covent’s favorite person. As I’m sure you know.”
Carter smiled. “You may not be the poster girl for Covent doctrine, but I think you may be wrong about your sister’s regard for you. Blood transcends belief.”
Phoebe regarded him quizzically. “You’re not exactly what I expected from a Covent lawyer.”
“And
