excerpted from

Dead Mom Talking

by Kate Carlisle

 

“Are you wearing any underwear?”

Christy Lovejoy skittered to a stop, glanced around, then blew out a breath. “I’m losing it.”

She straightened her shoulders and continued her march toward the law school building on the other side of the campus. She was going to be late. It was useless to dwell on it, but she really hated to be late. It was rude, number one, plus it made her feel stupid and inadequate and socially irresponsible.

Yes, maybe she had issues, but--

“Cheeez, you think?”

“Oh, be quiet,” Christy said, then rolled her eyes. Just because she occasionally heard her mother’s voice in her head, didn’t mean she was going crazy. Of course, the fact that she was actually arguing with that voice was another problem altogether.

This was all Della’s fault.

Okay, maybe that wasn’t quite fair. Maybe it was wrong to blame an unfortunate wardrobe choice and subsequent mini-psychotic breakdown on her devoted secretary. Even though, wasn’t it Della who had insisted that Christy buy these new high heels? These gorgeously chic high heels that were just too perfect for this sassy little business suit Della had picked out? And wasn’t it Della who--

“Glad to see you’re not blaming Della.”

“It’s completely her fault.”

“Why, that interfering bitch.”

“Mother?” Christy shook her head rapidly. No, no, no. Her mother was dead. Had been for almost ten years. Christy was simply experiencing a little freak-out moment, brought on by overly stylish new clothing, painful shoes, and extreme lateness.

Deep cleansing breaths. In. Out. Better.

Even though her being uncomfortable and oh yes, late, was totally Della’s fault, it was probably a good thing she’d taken her secretary’s advice today, because she had a very important meeting later this morning and she really needed to look sharp. And to be perfectly honest, Christy didn’t know much about style. Some might even say she had the fashion sense of a trout.

“Some?”

“Was I talking to you?”

“Touchy.”

Christy sighed and continued along the walkway. She didn’t usually talk to herself. Usually, she was completely in charge, self-confident--but how in the hell could she be Ms. Super Lawyer while wandering around in anything remotely labeled “sassy?”

As she hurried past the math building, she pulled discreetly at the elastic band around her waistline.

“Hey, you’re sporting one of those thong thingies!”

“Mother!”

“That thing goes right up your butt!”

“Oh, my God.”

“That’s gotta chafe.”

“This is ridiculous.” She had to get a grip. Yes, sometimes she imagined having conversations with her mother. But arguing? Out loud? This had to stop.

Besides, so what if she was wearing a thong? Aside from the terminal wedgie situation, she was perfectly comfortable.

Right.

She whipped around another corner and the world opened up before her. From this spot on campus, she could see clear down to Parker’s Bay and the Pacific Ocean beyond. Blue water sparkled like a thousand sapphires in the morning sun. Towering pine trees and massive redwoods peppered the hills surrounding the university.

Christy felt a tingle of happiness skip through her. After so many years in the clear and sunny hellhole that was Los Angeles, she was back home in Parker’s Folly.

            The air was glorious after days of summer rain, and a quiet breeze rustled the leaves of the trees. Christy couldn’t help but slow down and admire the view.

Even at this ungodly hour of the morning, the campus teemed with humanity. It was the first week of school, and people rushed in every direction. Students in baggy cargo pants hauled backpacks stuffed with books and paraphernalia. Natty professorial types carried briefcases and Starbucks cups. Everyone had that first-day-of-school glow about them.

“Couple of goons at five o’clock, gawking at your butt. Don’t bend over or they’ll get themselves a view clear to the Rockies.”

“Stop that!”

“You tell ‘em!”

“I was talking to you, idiot,” she muttered to herself, then whipped around as two male students came to a rigid halt. One of them wore a ski hat topped by a flaccid pompom which dangled obscenely over one eye.

She waved them off. “Am-scray.”

The startled twosome skulked past but couldn’t resist one last furtive glance at her legs.

“Little perverts. Don’t worry, girlfriend, I got your back.”

“Whatever.” She reached the law school building, checked her watch and noted that she was only five minutes late. Not bad, really, considering she was now officially insane. I got your back? Christy was absolutely certain she’d never used that phrase before.

 

            Police Chief Jack McKay watched from the sidelines as Professor Daniel Lovejoy pounded the podium with a gavel, then tapped the microphone to life.

“Let’s settle down,” Dan intoned as he shuffled through some papers. “I know you’ve been tied up in knots just waiting for this day.”

That earned him some snickers, as well as one “Yeah, right, dude.”

“That’s Professor Dude to you,” Dan muttered, then glanced up. “Let’s get started. Today we’ve got two experts who will demonstrate the proper way to cross-examine a police witness in a criminal trial. I like to call it Law and Order. Original, eh?”

There were more titters, and Dan took a moment to hand a stack of paper to a teaching assistant, who began passing out forms to the class.

“I have every confidence,” he continued, “that you will actually learn something today that has nothing to do with the Bar Exam and everything to do with being a working lawyer. But just in case you’re worried, there will be a test later.”

            Lounging in the makeshift witness box a few feet away, Jack gazed up at the motley crowd of almost one hundred law students who shifted and chattered and finally settled into silence. The arena-style classroom was packed, with all eyes focused on the feisty yet distinguished man standing at the judge’s podium of the mock courtroom in front of them.

            Dan swept his arm in Jack’s direction to direct the students’ attention to him. “Some of you may recognize our new Police Chief, Jack McKay. Recently arrived from Los Angeles, Chief McKay distinguished himself as a highly decorated member of the L.A.P.D. homicide team. Among the countless cases he’s been involved in over the years, Chief McKay was credited with solving the notorious Sun Valley Slasher case, as well as last year’s Boardwalk murders.”

            Jack felt his eyes glaze over as Dan continued the effusive introduction. Finally, applause erupted, along with some appreciative female giggles. He tried not to frown.

Dan held up a hand. “Try to control yourselves. Chief McKay will represent the ‘Order’ side of business today.” He stared up at the doors at the back of the classroom. “I have a few announcements to make while we wait for our other guest–-” Dan glanced at his watch. “Who is now officially late.”

Already on his third cup of coffee, Jack was primed and ready to be pounced on by whichever attorney friend the professor had goaded into volunteering to cross-examine him today, all in the name of higher education. Jack shuddered to think he was simply a means by which these kids could polish their trial techniques in hopes of becoming the next generation of litigation sharks.

But what the hell? It kept him off the streets.

The back door of the classroom swung open. Jack glanced up--and felt his world shift.

Legs, long ones, attached to a stunning body, began the slow walk down the stairs toward the front of the class--toward him. She was a tall one. And built. Someone must have poured her into that suit. It was the color of ripe, healthy peaches, and the jacket accented her slender waist and what he imagined just might be perfect breasts.

She had lots of light brown hair that curled down her back and bounced as she slowly took each step in those sexy, flimsy heels she wore. She lingered at every level, taking her own sweet time, reminding him of honey dripping off a spoon.

When she reached the bottom step, her lips curved into a smile as she wiped her hand across her forehead.

“Made it,” she said to the room in general, and at least fifty young men sighed in relief. She turned her gaze toward Jack and her smile turned tentative, vulnerable.

A ripcord pull of desire almost made him double over.

Damn, her eyes were the color of the sky over the ocean. Who was she? What was she doing here? Would someone please help him pick his jaw up off the floor?

Professor Lovejoy coughed, and Jack snapped back to reality. As he did, he noticed that the eyes of every guy in the class were riveted to the woman’s backside. Jack growled instinctively.

“Glad you could join us, miss,” Dan said dryly.

“Thanks for the invite, Professor,” she said in a voice warm enough to melt wax. She walked around to the judge’s podium and kissed Dan on the cheek with a smack that must have brought chills to every male in the room.

“Behave yourself,” Dan said off‑microphone, then grinned with affection. “Ladies and gentlemen, my late but lovely daughter, Christy Lovejoy, former public defender for Los Angeles County, now in private practice here in Parker’s Folly.”

She smiled. “Hi, everyone.”

“Good morning, Ms. Lovejoy,” the male students sing‑songed.

Jack sat back in his chair. How had he missed this one? Hell, he knew Dan had a daughter. She was all the man ever talked about. Brilliant lawyer, third in her class at Harvard. Jack had always pictured a stoop‑shouldered, goggle‑eyed woman with her hair in a bun, but this lady definitely had good posture, among her other attributes.

Too bad he wasn’t in the market for a lawyer. That could change, though. You just never knew.

Dan stepped away from the microphone and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “You look snazzy.”

“Thanks, Dad,” she whispered. Jack watched her close her eyes and inhale, as though she were memorizing her father’s after-shave. Jack felt a rush of something he couldn’t begin to name. Her hand was tucked into her father’s arm, all cozy-like and sweet.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said softly.

“No problem. I’m glad you’re here.”

She squeezed his arm. “Me, too.  But don’t forget, I haven’t cross‑examined a cop in a few years.”

Dan waved away her concern. “Like riding a bike, honey.”

 

Christy gave her jacket a surreptitious tug as she rounded the podium with her dad. The gorgeous man sitting in the witness box met her gaze and didn’t look away as they approached.

“Christy,” Dad said. “This is our new Chief of Police, Jack McKay. Jack, my daughter, Christy Lovejoy.”

The Chief scraped back his chair and stood, taking hold of her outstretched hand with both of his. He was tall. Really tall. Well over six feet. Christy had to look up to hold his gaze and that was saying something, because at five-eleven in her stocking feet--although her driver’s license insisted she was merely five-ten--she rarely had the pleasure of looking up into a handsome man’s eyes.

She liked it.

“Like it? Oh, baby. Boom-shaka-laka-laka. He’s hot.”

Christy flinched at the boom-shaka thing happening in her head but had to agree. He was hot. She knew she was staring, which was probably rude. She’d stop it any second now and say something brilliant. Yeah, any second now.

Say anything, she urged herself with a hint of desperation. But his overt masculinity was causing her brain to vapor lock.

“Nice to meet you, Christy,” he said, his voice smooth and deep. She watched his lips move. Then he smiled and dimples appeared in his cheeks, bracketing his mouth.

Chief Hottie had dimples.

Christy felt as though she’d been walloped with a cartoon mallet and little birdies were circling around her head.

“Earth to Christy. Where’d you go, girl? Say hello to Chief Hottie.”

He’s beautiful, was all she could think. Big and blond and beautiful. Green eyes were flecked with gold, like bits of sunlight peeking through trees. His shoulders were broad, his thick hair cut in a close-cropped brush style. She could feel the power in his big hands, rough yet warm against her own.

God, she missed sex.

“You and me both, punkin’.”

Christy’s brain clicked back into gear.

“Um, nice to meet you, too, uh, Chief,” she managed, and wondered when, exactly, had she turned into such a moron in front of good-looking strangers?

A good-looking stranger. In her father’s classroom? Suddenly uneasy, Christy turned and shot her father a suspicious look. His grin was so smug, she almost groaned out loud.

Damn it. He’d set this whole thing up. Why did he think she needed some gorgeous cop messing up her life?

Oh, wait, that’s right. She had no life.

The Chief continued to grip her hand. “Call me Jack. I’m glad to finally meet you after hearing your father go on and on about you for the last few years.”

She gulped. “On and on, really?”

“Yeah, really,” he replied with that dimple-inducing grin. “Still, I had no idea what to expect.”

Was he ever going to let go of her hand? Did she care? There were actually tiny specks of blue in his eyes. And he had a small, sickle-shaped scar over his right eyebrow.

Fascinating.

He bent over to whisper in her ear, “Is something wrong?” His voice was resonant, sexy. Intimate.

“No, uh--” What was his name? She groaned inwardly. Her mind was a colander and brain cells were slithering like angel-hair pasta through the holes. “I’m sorry. Please tell me your name again.”

Dad poked his head between them. “What’s with you two? It’s Jack. Christy and Jack. I know it’s early, children, but let’s get this show on the road.”

Her mortification was complete. In a perfect world, she would simply sink through the floor, never to be seen again.

Dad stepped back to the podium and pounded his knuckles on the wood. “The name of the game is Law ‘n’ Order. Let’s begin.”

The students shuffled in their seats, rustling papers and dropping pens.

But Christy paid no attention. She and the police chief were encased in their own little cone of silence. She gazed up at him, then back down at her hand. “I’ll take that now.”

But he held on to her, his lips curved. “You forgot my name?”

She breathed in deeply. “I really apologize for that. I was, um, just having a moment there.”

“Yeah? That’s too bad.” He nodded in sympathy. “So what’s my name?”

She chewed one corner of her lip. “I’d prefer to call you Chief, sir.”

“I’d prefer you didn’t.”

She raised one eyebrow.

“It’s Jack, you ninny!”

“It’s Jack!” Christy cried out.

He looked taken aback, then slowly grinned. “I like your enthusiasm.”

She was starting to sweat. And he was still holding on to her. She glanced down. “My hand?”

“Oh, yeah.” He chuckled. “Just having a moment myself.” He took his time sliding his hand back, but finally Christy could turn away and take some deep, calming breaths. That’s when she noticed the students, staring in fascination at the two of them.

Christy glanced back at her father, certain of one thing. She would kill him after class. A slow, painful death. Maybe on the barbecue.

 

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