The Kiss That Counted Read online

  The face remained impassive. CJ glanced at his wedding ring.

  "If I quit I'm going to have to tell my boyfriend why and then I'm going to have to figure out how to keep him out of jail for beating up my ex-boss." The sun was so hot and bright she didn't have to feign tears in her eyes.

  After a long moment of studying her, the officer. sighed. "If you had any priors, I'd take you in, but you did pull over and stop your vehicle as you say. I'm writing you for the right-of-way violation and the failure to stop at the sign back there. I'm noting on the ticket your breathalyzer result, which will require you to make a court appearance."

  "So that means a fine? Points on my license?" Her heart rate declined a little. She didn't want to go into a courtroom ever again, but traffic court, surely, couldn't be that bad.

  "There's also the option of traffic school and community service. It depends on the DA, you and the judge. Sign here, ma'am."

  She signed her legal name, the name on her license, the name she'd used for so long she sometimes forgot she'd had another. CJ Roshe would pay her fines with a check on a real bank, and with sufficient funds to cover it. CJ Roshe would do traffic school and community service, litter patrol, whatever it took to keep anyone in Colorado from looking further back than the eight years she'd lived here.

  She'd left Cassiopeia Juniper Rochambeau in Kentucky, and that was the way it was going to stay. Everything depended on it.

  "Skinny mocha, Turkish, capped!" The overworked barista glanced around the small mob waiting for their orders and Karita realized it was probably hers. She moved toward the counter but the barista didn't see her. "Skinny mocha—for Kari–Rita!"

  "That's me. Thanks." Karita scooped up the cream-topped cup and headed for the condiments.

  "I'm sorry, that might be mine." A woman who'd been lingering nearby gestured at Karita's cup.

  Karita paused. "No, it's mine." She pointed to her name. "Karita."

  "Oh." The other woman, her dark, elegant hair and features vaguely familiar, smiled an apology. "Sorry, I didn't hear what name they called."

  "That's okay."

  "Skinny mocha, Turkish, capped for CJ!"

  After a husky laugh, the woman said, "Now I really apologize. That one's mine."

  Karita was more than halfway through her ritual addition of sugar and milk when she realized she might have just been chatted up by that woman. A glance to her right revealed skinny-mocha-Turkish-capped CJ looking far too innocent as she added artificial sweetener and more nonfat milk.

  "Very clever," Karita said. "You could have just asked me my name."

  "That's not very subtle."

  "Subtlety is your specialty?"

  "I try."

  "Why did you want to know my name?"

  "I would have to be three days dead not to want to know your name."

  In spite of her better judgment, Karita laughed. "And that's subtle?"

  CJ's dark eyes took on a gleam of mischief. "Subtle didn't seem to be working."

  She recognized the dark-haired woman from somewhere. The sleek, short hair pulled back with two tight clips allowed a spill of natural black curls over the mandarin collar of a tailored dark plum suit. The button-up blouse of pale blue was undoubtedly silk, and wrapped tightly across a slender torso that filled out nicely in the very best places. Unusual, and very attractive, Karita thought. She went for the obvious. "Come here often?"

  "Yes, and so do you."

  "How do you know that?" It was a bit of a novelty to look another woman right in the eye. At five-ten, it wasn't often she got that pleasure.

  CJ gestured at the condiments. "You know where everything is, and you didn't hesitate in the amounts you wanted." Lips of dusty rose curved in a genuine smile and Karita had a peculiar sense of vertigo.

  "Sherlock Holmes in a prior life?"

  "Plus I saw you here a few weeks ago."

  Oh, that was it, Karita recalled. She'd seen skinny-mocha-Turkish-capped CJ with another woman and it had looked very next-stop-is-the-bedroom cozy. "How was your date?"

  "Just fine when I last saw her."

  It wasn't egotistical to assume that CJ was hitting on her, not after the three-days-dead remark. She wasn't all that used to flirting from women and the novelty had made her a little slow in discouraging it, but she wasn't going to be another notch for CJ, even if the clothes alone said she was probably more successful than most of the Brents who crossed Karita's path. So what if she was quick-witted, admittedly charming, very nicely put together and—most importantly—female? "Give your girlfriend my regards."

  She was in her car and already turning out of the parking lot before she was willing to admit that she was bothered that CJ had let her go so easily. If she didn't count Emily, and she shouldn't since her private relationship with Emily wasn't about romance, she hadn't had a real date in a very long time. Saying yes to dinner or a movie wasn't yes to breakfast, as well.

  That the gleaming bedroom eyes, the sultry aura and repartee vividly reminded Karita of Mandy had nothing to do with her rapid exit.

  CJ watched the elderly Subaru make its way into traffic before carrying her own coffee out to her car. When she'd realized that the eye-catching platinum blonde she'd noticed before was also waiting for her coffee it had been a bright spot in an otherwise unpleasant day. She'd already been told by a client that he was going with a different deal, and one of the two remaining hot irons was getting cooler every minute. Next up was traffic court.

  She knew now what people meant by "long, tall drink of water." It described Karita perfectly. And what had she done with the opportunity to talk to the intriguing Nordic beauty? Blown it, and thoroughly.

  It was a bit of an ego stroke that Karita remembered seeing her around, too, but definitely it counted against her that Karita had seen Abby as well. Now she looked like a two-timer, and it wasn't as if she was planning to change anything in her life in any form. Abby and she had the perfect relationship. Flirting with Karita—or anybody else—was pointless. She just hadn't been able to help herself when the opportunity presented. That kind of thinking, she scolded herself severely, was greedy, and greed was dangerous to anyone who had everything to lose.

  Maybe it was a good thing that she had gone about meeting Karita entirely the wrong way. Used to flattery and flirting, a woman like that couldn't be rushed and would definitely be choosey. She hadn't batted an eyelash over a woman hitting on her, either, which probably meant that the faint ping on CJ's gaydar hadn't been wrong. The way CJ read her, all cool on the outside, Karita didn't have a thought that didn't show in her face. Behind those ice-blue eyes was a perceptive wit, passionate heat and lots of it. She was a woman who gave without counting the cost.

  In the parlance of the Gathering, Karita was the perfect mark.

  More than twenty years out of that life and she still couldn't stop herself from thinking of people in the language of theft.

  Aunt Bitty's voice, ever the harbinger of doubt, reminded her as it had the last time she'd encountered Karita, that a woman like that would never be interested in a filthy, smart-mouthed little tramp, if only she knew what CJ really was underneath the fancy suit. Karita would never give CJ anything. Like everything in life, if CJ wanted something she had to lie, cheat and steal to get it.

  Though she had for the most part learned to ignore Aunt Bitty's lingering voice of doom, one thing was true. A woman like that wasn't worth the effort. Abby was the perfect not-quite girlfriend, and her passions were at the surface, easy to tap. She'd told Abby no lies, whereas a woman like Karita would require a lot of planning, time and, yes, lies to get close to. CJ had other things to focus on besides unattainable treasures. Even if she could capture the prize, no way would she be able to keep it. Treasure attracted thieves, and thieves attracted the law. She couldn't afford the attention of either.

  Yet, she told herself, your stupidity over a half-glass of wine and bailing out that kid has you heading into the arms of the justice system.


  She parked in the designated courthouse lot, gathered her summons, made sure she had her checkbook and wallet and called up all the confidence she could to quell her shaking hands. She was here for legitimate reasons, going to traffic court like thousands of people did, and there was nothing to be afraid of today. Traffic court used a different entrance than the criminal courts, and no one in sight had "federal" written all over them. The matter was routine and there was no reason to think anyone would attach importance to her case. She was a fine to be collected, and nothing more.

  "Citations starting in letters A through F go to the room on your left." The woman in the white shirt and dark slacks of court personnel pointed toward Room 101 and CJ went that way, peeked inside and then read the sign that said to have a seat and wait to be called.

  She waited, watched the black-robed, blank-faced judge assign numerous fines to people who had been driving without insurance. She played a game on her BlackBerry, wished she were at the gym or doing useful work, waited some more and was actually relieved when her number was called.

  A brisk young woman with a firm handshake introduced herself as a deputy district attorney and they sat down in a cubicle to one side of the courtroom.

  "Let me review the citation." The woman's dark skin was sleek and smooth, and her neatly trimmed hair and economical movements suggested she wouldn't be easily swayed from whatever she believed was the correct path. "I see. Are you here because you dispute the breathalyzer result?"

  "No, I don't. I want to pay my fine for the moving violations, but the officer. said I had to appear."

  "I see." Her quick sigh told CJ she had a low opinion of officers who tried to direct the court. "There was no field sobriety test in addition to the breathalyzer?"

  "No, there wasn't."

  "His reasoning is circular in the citation."

  CJ knew when to say nothing.

  "This is a first offense?"

  "I'm a careful driver, and the moment I realized I wasn't concentrating on my driving I pulled over. Then the officer. caught up to me."

  "I see." She pursed her lips. "You can pay the fine for both violations, but the fact that you had been drinking, even if under the legal limit, means your choice of treble the fines or community service and online traffic school."

  "What's the fine?"

  "One hundred seventy-three for each, then times three."

  She stopped herself from saying "shit" just in time. The estimated increase in her insurance was already bad enough. "So a little over a thousand dollars?"

  "Be thankful you had proof of insurance."

  "What does traffic school entail?"

  "It's an online course that takes four to six hours and costs about forty dollars in fees."

  "That's a no-brainer choice, isn't it? The base fine plus traffic school is okay with me."

  "And community service."

  "Wait, you said I had a choice between—"

  "Online traffic school and community service of twenty-one hours is required as well if you don't want to pay the treble fine. The court clerk will provide you with a list of entities that need volunteers for which hours during the week so you can select something that does not require you to miss work. You will need to select one within fourteen days and the entity must forward proof that you fulfilled your obligation within forty days."

  Twenty-one hours of her life spent picking up litter instead of paying seven hundred extra dollars? She thought ruefully that it wasn't all that bad a rate of pay for trash patrol. Three Saturdays in the great outdoors, fine, whatever. She wanted out of the courthouse and the matter completely closed.

  "I'll take the community service."

  Chapter 4

  "I don't know what I'd do without you, Karita." Marty Hammer, the sweetest boss on earth, beamed at her from under two of the bushiest eyebrows she'd ever seen. Even after more than a year working for Marty, she still found them adorable. "Are you sure you don't want to take the paralegal training?"

  "Quite sure," she answered. "I may not know what I want to be when I grow up, but I'm pretty sure what I don't want to be, which is working eighty hours a week. I'm happy with my schedule as it is."

  "You do all that volunteer work, and I admire that." He gave her a fatherly look. "But there's your future to think about, princess."

  She patted his hand as he leaned on the counter that framed the reception desk. "Money isn't everything."

  "No," he agreed readily. "It's just most things."

  Thankfully, a messenger tromped in with another package for one of the attorneys and Marty headed for his office without suggesting she meet yet another of his nephews, cousin's sons or a wealthy client's spare heirs. She appreciated his concern, but the time just hadn't been right to tell him she was looking for a princess, not a prince. She felt bad about that, too. The day she'd interviewed with him she'd sensed he was a good, honest man. Her intuition told her to be truthful, but Colorado was far more conservative than Minnesota. Plus her faith in human beings had been sorely tested by Mandy and she'd erred on the side of caution.

  Once she'd not said "I'm gay" to the first blind date he'd offered, how did she suddenly admit it at the offer of the fourth or fifth? See what happens when you're not honest up front? The Brents of the world take you out for coffee, and because people think you're attractive enough to catch a man, they presume you don't have one because you don't know how to find and kiss your own frogs.

  A pox on the closet. The world ought not be this complicated over the matter of love.

  It was just a bit vexing, too, to remember that woman at Gracie's—CJ. She'd seemed charming, but obviously was out for just one kind of experience. In some ways, Emily was right. Their occasional night together did keep her from taking chances on other women. If hit-and-runs like CJ were her alternative, as far as she was concerned, those nights with Emily were keeping her from making big mistakes. Emily, at least, was someone she respected and cared about, someone who believed that one person could make a difference. She would think of CJ as a frog—that would do it. The last thing she needed was another disastrous, soul-crushing experience with a woman for whom money wasn't a means, but an end. She wasn't going to be anyone's accessory, a piece of pretty jewelry for show-and-tell. CJ was a frog that all the kissing in the world wouldn't change.

  Her phone chirped and she tapped it.

  "Karita, sweetie, there's no air in conference one. Could you be a doll—I never can remember that code."

  Speaking of frogs, Karita thought. "Sure, I'll punch it in for you. You should feel it in just a few minutes."

  The honeyed tones in her ear went away and Karita quickly keyed in the conference room's HVAC setting from her computer. Brent returned from lunch while she was occupied on a call, but she responded to his distant smile with a cheerful one of her own. He was still not quite over her "thank goodness we can be friends" speech. The messenger arrived on schedule to pick up all the paperwork going to the courthouse so far, and, from her perspective, everything was tidy.

  The smile she gave Susan House, who left for the day shortly before three, was not nearly so cheerful as the one she had shared with Brent. If she had her druthers, someone like the grand dame Susan House would feel a great deal of heat, and for a very long time. If Susan weren't Marty's brother's widow she'd have probably been fred over the way she could go off on people, especially her last assistant. Most people seemed to think that insults and invective were part of some kind of necessary hazing to become a lawyer, but Marty didn't behave that way. When he was unhappy he could make it very clear without resorting to foul language and personal attacks.

  Nevertheless, Karita was pretty sure she was the only one who knew that Susan had slept with the poor girl, too, and getting seduced by your boss was not in the lawyer-training handbook. Pam had been the one person at work to suspect Karita was gay after they'd spotted each other at the Tattered Cover in front of the LGBT books section. A few days later Pam had been summarily dismisse
d after a classic Susan House tirade. That glance in the bookstore was probably why Pam had told Karita about the affair while Karita helped her carry her things to her car the day she was fred.

  "I told her if she wanted to break it off, I could handle it," Pam had said between sobs. "She said she treated me like shit so no one could accuse her of favoritism. Suddenly it's my work deserved all that criticism. All I did today was misplace a file for ffiteen minutes, and then I found it. It was on her desk the whole time."

  Standing at Pam's car, holding one of the two small cartons of her personal items, Karita hadn't known what to say that might comfort. She'd overheard some of the things Susan had called Pam, words that could cut a smart, ambitious woman like real knives. It wasn't fair.

  Sighing, Karita tried to stop stewing about Susan House. She made a note to herself to call Pam and see how she was doing, though. It had been a week since she'd been fred, and Pam probably felt like she didn't have a friend left in the world.

  Unlike the paralegals, Karita closed up her desk promptly at five thirty, forwarded her switchboard to night greetings voice mail and headed out into the warm night. The heat was receding, however, and at home the temperatures would be comfortable with cool evenings over the weekend.

  She avoided the freeway out of habit and stubbornness, instead taking the route into the foothills that was both scenic and fun to drive. A quick stop in Morrison for her favorite gyro and lemonade sherbet filled the empty pit in her stomach, then she resumed her journey toward home and her evening plans. For twenty minutes the gently curving road climbed steadily, passing through thick spruce-fr forests and exposed granite scrub. Her spirits elevated along with the roadway, until the final curve nearest home presented a vista of craggy cliffs above and below the highway. To the west the green-crusted foothills seemed like hundreds of children gathered close to the knees of dozens of strong, white-haired grandmothers who in turn linked their arms in a protective embrace for as far as she could see.