me there will throw you a curve,” he qualified. “I wouldn’t want you jeopardizing the case just because I’ve decided to go touring—”
Damn it, get a hold of yourself before he thinks you’re some weak-kneed loon.
Never mind that she was.
There was absolutely no reason for her heart to suddenly start pounding like this, not unless she was having a genuine heart attack. C’mon, c’mon, you’re made of sterner stuff than this.
A few weeks ago, she’d argued in front of a judge who routinely spit nails and chewed up lawyers for a snack. And she’d won. If she could do that, certainly she could survive having the most gorgeous man in God’s creation sitting in her courtroom, watching her plead a case, she reasoned.
If she kept Miguel’s face uppermost in her mind, she’d be all right, she told herself. And, after all, this was about what amounted to the rest of a man’s life. If she lost, the quality of that life promised to be unbearably low. It was up to her to raise it, to show Miguel Ortiz that not everyone was going to ignore him and the plight he found himself in.
Taking a breath, she found her voice. “No, having you there won’t jeopardize the case.” She jumped on the first excuse that came to her. “I just thought that you might be bored.”
Eric looked at her, that same sensual smile she knew she was never going to become immune to spreading over his generous lips.
“I have a feeling that boredom isn’t going to enter into the picture.”
Taking her elbow, he escorted her from the now crowded coffee shop and out onto the curb. Jenny felt as if she was floating and wondered if her feet actually touched the pavement.
They headed back to Logan Corporation’s building and its underground parking where his Ferrari was patiently waiting. He aimed his key ring at it and disarmed the alarm. “How strong is your case?”
“Very strong.”
She didn’t add that it was because of her endless digging that the case had shaped up the way it had. Every single spare moment after hours that wasn’t earmarked for Cole had been spent interviewing people, gathering information and compiling a case against both the surgeon, Dr. Wilson Turner, and the hospital that had neglected to police the derelict physician.
Because of her tireless efforts, she’d discovered that many in the tight Portland medical community thought Turner was a disaster waiting to happen.
And he had happened to Miguel Ortiz.
“Then this should be interesting,” Eric told her as he held the passenger side door open for her.
What would be interesting, she thought as she got into the vehicle, was whether or not she still remembered how to speak once they finally arrived at the courthouse.
Exposure to the virus, she thought, slanting a glance toward Eric as he started up the car, did not breed immunity.
It only intensified the fever.
Four
E ric negotiated through the early-afternoon traffic in the same manner he negotiated through life, skillfully slipping in and out of any available space and making good time. They made it to the courthouse with ten minutes to spare.
“Jordan didn’t tell me you drove on the NASCAR circuit,” Jenny commented as she got out.
He flashed her what she’d come to think of as a million-dollar grin.
“Just taking advantage of the opportunities, Jen.” He aimed his key ring at the vehicle, arming the security device. It squeaked in response. “You did want to get here on time, right?”
Jen. He’d called her Jen. No one called her Jen. It made her feel impossibly sophisticated and on top of things.
For about a second and a half, until he took her arm and escorted her to the electronic courthouse doors.
Having him within ten feet of her did some very strange things to her synapses. Having him touch her, even through clothing, all but short-circuited them. Remembering her name was a challenge.
“It’s on the second floor,” she told him as she held her briefcase open for the guard to check.
They took the escalator up because it was faster than waiting for an elevator. She was acutely aware that he was standing on the step behind her. The fragrance of his cologne made her grab onto her mind before it took off on the wings of fantasy.
Miguel Ortiz and his wife and daughter were already waiting for her. Jenny saw the refurbished wheelchair she’d managed to procure for the man, replacing the wobbly secondhand one he’d been using when he’d first brought the case to her.
The surgeon they were suing had put Miguel in that chair. Permanently.
It had begun as a simple case of a man being injured at his place of work. Something that happened every day somewhere in the country and was usually temporary. Working at the loading dock of one of the country’s more well-known overnight shipping companies, Miguel had hurt his back and neck on the job. After three months of futile visits to various HMO physicians, Miguel was referred to Dr. Wilson Turner, a noted orthopedic surgeon who had been with the HMO only a year. At the time, no one had known that Turner had lost his license in another state. Turner told Miguel that he needed a simple operation to correct the disc problem. One the surgeon had assured Miguel he could do with his eyes shut.
Which was almost the way he’d performed the surgery. It was later discovered that Turner had managed to chip the bone, lodging a sliver into Miguel’s spine. Miguel had emerged from the operation unable to move either one of his legs and was in terrible agony every single moment he was awake.
It took several more operations, done by someone who Miguel’s insurance deemed to be “outside the system” to get him to where his pain was bearable. But there was no reversing the ultimate damage done as a result of Turner’s incompetence. Miguel was disabled.
Stopping before the threesome, Jenny greeted each one warmly.
Alma Ortiz, Miguel’s sixteen-year-old daughter, took a deep breath, as if bracing herself for the afternoon that lay before them. “This is pretty much it, isn’t it?”
There had been investigations, miles of paperwork and scores of interviews. She’d flown to Utah to get firsthand information about the surgeon’s license being revoked and paid for the flight out of her own pocket. And now they were down to the wire.
“Yes, it is. Unless they turn us down,” she qualified. Jenny saw the look of disappointment descending over the girl’s face. “But then we have several ways to go.” She slipped her arm around the girl’s slim shoulders, giving her a quick hug. “I’m not giving up until your dad’s set for life, okay?” She looked at the couple before her, humbled by the trust she saw there.
Rosa Ortiz’s command of the English language was limited, far more so than her husband’s. But both reacted to the confident look in Jenny’s eyes. They nodded in response.
And then, curiously, they shifted their gaze to just beyond her shoulder.
Jenny
