Quint locked the door behind them. Of course, he knew why she was here. The mighty Tildens were pulling strings, jerking around Saxon Associates like marionettes controlled by tyrannical puppeteers.
But their script was more ludicrous than the Punch and Judy show at the Renaissance Festival. Without consulting him, the Tildens and Saxons had decided he must be present for a meeting at the Saxon Associates office this afternoon. They hadn’t bothered to inform him until this morning when Eve called, demanding his presence. Their arrogance—or was it idiocy?—took his breath away.
He had rejected the summons every time Eve Saxon phoned, finally directing Helen not to put any more of her calls through to him. Anticipating their next move, he’d instructed Dana to refuse when Wade tried to use their friendship to advance the Tilden-Saxon agenda.
“I know the guy’s a good friend of yours, so feel free to make me the heavy,” Quint told Dana shortly before Wade Saxon called her. “You can tell Saxon that I go psycho if somebody asks me for a favor, that my standard reply to any request is ‘No.’ Say whatever you want.”
“Sorry, Wade,” was what he’d heard Dana say, quite glacially, to Wade Saxon when he called with his predictable request. “I can’t get involved. Anyway, I don’t want to.”
Which wasn’t what Quint thought she would say when he made his offer to get her off the hook with her dear old pal. Dana didn’t seem to care if she angered Wade Saxon or not, which implied something about their friendship. Exactly what, Quint wasn’t sure.
Even odder was the call he’d received this morning from Nick Spagna.
“Those Tildens are a real pain in the ass but Eve Saxon is one classy lady,” Nick said in his rough-edged voice. “I think you should give her a break and go to that meeting today, Quint.”
Quint had been so astonished that Nick knew about the meeting that he hadn’t thought to ask how the chief had found out about it. And then the call was over, as was the chance to ask. He puzzled over it though. Chief Nick Spagna calling him to suggest a favor on behalf of Eve Saxon?
Dana didn’t get it either, when he’d told her about the chief’s strange call.
“Wade was worried Chief Spagna would end up arresting his aunt this weekend. He said she was as crazed as an animal-rights activist confronting someone wearing a Siberian tiger fur coat.”
“So she started out crazed and ended up a classy lady?” Quint and Dana exchanged glances. “Hmmm.”
It seemed inevitable that Rachel would make an attempt to get him to that infernal meeting. Which he had no intention of attending, no matter what, no matter who tried to coax, threaten, or weasel him into going. His mind was made up.
He prepared himself for Rachel’s call, to tell her that he would not, under any circumstances, go to the meeting. He would remind her not to take his refusal personally, that their professional adversarial roles had nothing to do with Quint and Rachel, the couple.
And they were definitely a couple. He stared blindly at a client’s will he’d been drawing up, and the printed words blurred as sensual images played before his mind’s eye.
He saw his hands on her soft silken skin, saw her lips parted and moist and swollen from his kisses. Desire surged through him, but he knew the need was emotional as much as physical. He didn’t even try to kid himself that what was between them was strictly sexual.
Not after spending time with her and the children and watching her lovingly care for Brady and Snowy, not after observing her kindness toward his little brothers. She understood his obligations to them and to Carla and he appreciated that. He admired her own concern for her small niece and rebellious sister, her willingness to step in and try to help.
He enjoyed her company. She was bright and outspoken, and once she dropped her rather formidable guard, warm and funny. Last night, she had definitely lost it all with him. For him.
Would refusing to attend the meeting if she asked—when she asked—rebuild the barriers between them? He found that prospect unacceptable, yet knew that a no-show by him today might very well cost Saxon Associates the Tildens as clients.
Professionally, he shouldn’t care, Quint reminded himself. The internal workings of a rival law firm might make for interesting gossip but really didn’t matter to him. Shouldn’t matter to him.
But it did, if it meant hurting Rachel. A frowning Quint recited his pledge to keep their professional and personal lives separate; he reminded himself it was absolutely necessary, like the separation of church and state was vital to the country.
He might’ve been able to pull it off if Rachel had subjected him to an obnoxious harangue by telephone or barged into his office imperiously demanding compliance with the Tildens.
But she hadn’t called, she’d arrived quietly and when he saw her walking toward him, her eyes huge with uncertainty and fear, his firm resolve was suddenly as squishy as a plate of Jell-O.
He didn’t want her to be afraid and unsure of him. That was a professional plus in the courtroom but not what he wanted in an intimate relationship. Especially not after last night, when she had trusted him so completely, so openly.
A civil war raged inside him. Quint-the-cut-them-off-at-the-knees attorney on one side, and Quint-the-man on the other. Suddenly, the difference between profession and person wasn’t so clear-cut. But he wasn’t ready to call a truce.
Strive for professional distance, Quint silently asserted. Keep it cool, impersonal. He gave it his best shot. “We’ve been fielding calls all morning from our esteemed colleagues at Saxon Associates. I figured it was only a matter of time till you checked in.”
Rachel saw her courtroom nemesis standing before her, the skilled smooth operator who delighted in making a fool of her. When she remembered the warm tone of her thoughtful, tender lover of last night, her eyes filled with tears. Mortified, she tried to blink them away. This coolly detached Quint might accuse her of trying to manipulate him with her tears.
“I can’t do this; I shouldn’t have come here,” she said jerkily, pulling on the doorknob. She realized that the door was locked at the same moment Quint put his hand over hers, preventing her from springing the lock.
“Rachel, stop.” He cupped her chin with his other hand and lifted her face to him.
She kept her eyes lowered, avoiding his. “I want to go, Quint. Coming to your office was a mistake.”
“Look at me, Rachel.”
As he spoke, she felt the almost-tangible pull of his dark eyes and looked up at him, although she was aware of the power of his gaze. It melted her will, her sense of self. She felt an almost-painful awareness that if he chose to take her right here and now, she would let him. A spark flared from her heart to the juncture of her thighs. She would even welcome it!
“You have to understand that I will not compromise my client’s legitimate financial interests and judicial rights. I legally represent Misty Tilden and I am the executor of her late husband’s estate.” He stroked her cheek, her neck, with his big hand. “I have a legal and an ethical obligation to her, and I can’t betray that, Rachel.”
She nodded her head. “I know. I wouldn’t expect you to.”
Their fingers had become intertwined on top of the doorknob.
“And there is another reason why I intend to remain Misty Tilden’s attorney and look out for her best interests, Rachel. A practical one, a monetary one. Being executor of Town Tilden Senior’s estate will provide the firm with a high six-figure sum, and there are three children whose financial support is solely derived from the income of this firm.”
“I know that, too, Quint,” Rachel said quietly, thinking of Brady and Austin and Dustin. Carla, too. Even the loathsome Frank Cormack. They were all dependent on Quint.
“Good. Now that we’re both clear on that”—Quint cleared his throat—”there is no reason why I won’t cooperate when a colleague makes a reasonable request. I always try to spare my clients a court fight and if meeting with the Tildens today at the Saxon Associates office could result in a valid out-of-court settlement, I’ll be there.”
Rachel stared at him. “You will?”
He watched her teeth close over her lower lip and expelled a deep breath. He wished he were the one nibbling on that sweetly luscious lip. Arousal had gripped him hard and fast the moment he’d seen her in the hall. And now, simply looking at her, simply being near her had incited an erection that was becoming so potent he found it difficult to stay on his feet.
“Yes.” He nearly groaned the word.
“But I didn’t even ask you to be there.” She was too stunned to be tactful. “You volunteered first.”
A sardonic smile crossed his face. “It isn’t polite to gloat, Rachel.”
“I wasn’t gloating.”
She saw the physical effect her presence was having on him and a responsive moistness flowed between her thighs. She took a deep breath and his scent filled her nostrils. He smelled like sex to her, masculine and virile. It was an aroma that should be bottled and sold, one that would be an instant hit, with no insanely pretentious cologne commercials needed.
“Quint, thank you.” She raised her arms and linked them around his neck, fitting her body to his. “Thank you so much.”
His arms surrounded her and his lips brushed her crown. “Is this the part where you reward me with sex?”
She leaned back a little and smiled up at him, her eyes bright. “This is the part where I say you didn’t have to agree to that meeting to be rewarded with sex. You’d have gotten it even if you had said no.”
His lips played with hers. “Now she tells me!” He traced the shape of her mouth and she opened to him, meeting his tongue with hers.
“After last night I should be satisfied for a long time,” she whispered the words against his mouth. “I shouldn’t want you this much, I shouldn’t need you again so soon after …” She sighed and their breaths mingled. “But I want you even more, Quint. I need you so much it hurts.”
“Ohhh, baby, I know.” He groaned. Her words affected him as powerfully as the feel of her soft curvy body in his arms.
They kissed passionately, and mixed with the wild urgency that had driven them last night was a yielding tenderness.
“I want you, Rachel. Right here,” he whispered. “Right now.” His hand slipped under her skirt, sliding it up as he moved his palm higher along her thigh. “And I’m going to have you.”
Rachel tried to catch her breath. She was not averse to his decision, in fact she was aflame with desire. But …
“Where? How?” Her eyes were glazed with passion but still able to focus on the hard flat surface of his ugly desk—that was covered by his computer equipment and stacks of paper. She’d seen office love scenes in movies and TV where the hero masterfully swept the desk clear of all paraphernalia for a lusty romp but in reality, there was no way Quint or anyone with a grain of sense would send a computer and all those legal files flying.
However, Quint’s strategic talent was not limited to the courtroom. Even while she was contemplating the desk dilemma, he slowly walked her backward into the far corner of the office. Rachel found herself surrounded by walls on either side of her and Quint in front of her.
He leaned in close, his mouth covering hers as he slid his hands up her skirt again. Within moments, he’d taken off only what garments needed to be removed to allow him access to her. His entry was hard and fast but she was ready for him, all soft melting heat sheathing him. She propelled her hips to meet his thrusts, her body shuddering as the unbearable ache became an explosion of pleasure.
“Oh, Quint.” Her voice was a barely audible whisper. She buried her face in his shoulder and clung to him as she convulsed around him. Her soft little cries of ecstasy were muffled by the starched cotton of his shirt.
Quint managed to hold off until the sensuous tremors racking her body subsided, then spasmed into completion himself. They stayed that way for a timeless interval, their bodies joined, their minds drifting in the dreamlike aftermath.
It wasn’t until Helen’s voice sounded over the intercom that Quint slowly, carefully withdrew from Rachel’s body.
“Mr. Aiken is here for your appointment, Quint,” Helen said crossly, her tone disapproving.
“That would be Eddie Aiken, Mr. Doll House himself.” Quint groaned. “Helen makes no secret of her aversion to him.”
Rachel opened her eyes and stared around the office, feeling disoriented. “Good for Helen,” she mumbled. “The man is slime.”
“Lucrative slime. His endless Doll House citations and appeals pay Carla’s monthly mortgage payments.” Quint handed Rachel a handkerchief, then proceeded to straighten his own clothing.
“Will you have dinner with me tonight, Rachel? Just the two of us, at a restaurant that doesn’t feature toys and crayons.”
“Are you asking me for a date?” she parried lightly.
She felt him watching her as she attempted to turn herself back into her former serious professional self. It seemed impossible when her body bore his sensual impact and imprint. How could her sober gray suit possibly mask his effect upon her? Rachel blushed.
“I’ll ask Sarah to take Brady to the Sheelys for dinner tonight,” Quint continued, his eyes following her every move. “And we’ll have a quiet adult evening. I’ll pick you up at your place at six-thirty.”
Rachel glimpsed her kiss-swollen lips in the mirror of her compact as she tried to brush her tousled hair into its usual sleek bob. “That sleazehound Aiken is going to take one look at us and know exactly what we were doing in here.” She knew she should probably be upset, but she had to stifle the urge to giggle.
“Aiken is only interested in what pertains to Aiken,” Quint assured her. “Say yes to me for tonight, Rachel.”
She raised her brows. “I thought you knew that yes is a given, especially after our—uh—quickie against the wall.”
Her blush deepened. She was still unaccustomed to speaking frankly about sex, but she didn’t want to be. She was tired of being straitjacketed by repression.
“A wallbanger means we wanted each other right there and then, Rachel. It doesn’t mean that you want to spend the evening with me,” he said quietly. “And it also doesn’t mean that I’m going to give you and the Tildens the answers you want at the meeting this afternoon. Remember that.”
Quint walked over to his desk and pushed the intercome button. “I’ll see Mr. Aiken now, Helen.”
His abrupt transformation startled Rachel. It was hard to believe the aloof attorney seated behind his desk was the same passionate man who had been inside her, a part of her, such a short time ago.
“Six-thirty, Rachel,” Quint said as the door opened.
“Yes,” she murmured.
Eddie Aiken entered the office and she lifted her head in Saxon disdain as she walked past him to leave.
“Great-looking babe,” Aiken remarked, staring at the door Rachel had closed behind her. “Except she dresses like a Pilgrim. Looks like a snob, too. A client of yours?”
“No,” Quint said brusquely. “Time’s ticking, Eddie, and I charge by the hour, remember? Now, about your appeal …”
“This is an outrage!” Town Tilden Junior checked his watch again, which he’d been doing at thirty-second intervals since his arrival at the Saxon Associates ten minutes ago. “But I suppose we should’ve expected some sort of petty power play by that conniving, unprincipled shark.”
Rachel sneaked a glimpse at her own watch. Two-twenty-five. She suspected that the Tildens’ arrival, fifteen minutes past the appointed time, was supposed to have been their own power play. Unfortunately, they’d been bested by Quint who not only hadn’t been kept waiting, but also kept the Tildens waiting for him these past ten minutes.
“This is an intolerable inconvenience,” snapped Marguerite.
“Intolerable,” echoed her son Tilden Lloyd.
“And it’s too hot in here,” Sloane added petulantly.
“Rachel, lower the air-conditioning a few more degrees,” ordered Eve.
Rachel left the conference room—already a chilly sixty-six degrees—and walked to the thermostat in the corridor. She shoved the temperature back to sixty-five. If Quint didn’t appear soon, he might find them all frozen stiff.
Not at all eager immediately to return to the furious Tildens, she strolled to the office reception area, where Katie sat at her desk, meticulously painting her fingernails a most disturbing color.
“Isn’t it cool?” Katie noticed Rachel staring. “It’s my newest shade, Curdled Blood.”
“Different,” murmured Rachel. “Distinctive.”
“Yeah,” Katie sighed happily. She caught sight of Rachel’s plain, unpolished nails. “Hey, want me to do yours when I’m done mine?”
It was a measure of the desperation she was feeling that made her want to take Katie up on her offer, Rachel thought grimly. She would rather sit here and have Curdled Blood applied to her nails than return to face the collective wrath and indignation of the Tildens.
“Still waitin’ for Quint, huh?” Katie asked.
“Still waiting,” agreed Rachel. “I suppose I ought to go back to the Tildens now.”
“Man, it sucks to be you.” Katie was sympathetic.
“Katie, the moment Mr. Cormack arrives—”
“I know, bring him right to the conference room,” Katie finished. “I sure hope it’s soon ‘cause it’s getting awfully cold in here. What’s up with those Tildens wanting to refrigerate us, anyway?”
Back in the conference room, the Tildens continued to rage. Aunt Eve, seated at the table with the six of them, made an occasional diffident remark. The eighth chair at the conference table—the one reserved for Quint Cormack—remained empty, establishing him as a looming presence, even in his absence.
Rachel and Wade stood beside the window. The table wasn’t big enough to accommodate all three Saxons, so the two junior partners weren’t seated.
“Are you sure Cormack agreed to come?” Wade whispered. “Could you possibly have mistaken sarcasm for genuine assent?”
“He said he would be here.” Rachel was insistent. “And he wasn’t being sarcastic.”
“I have to hand it to the guy, when it comes to mind games, he is the world champion,” Wade growled. “If he actually does show up—”
“When he does,” corrected Rachel.
She thought of that torrid interlude in Quint’s office earlier. He might play mind games with the Tildens but not with her, she assured herself. He would come to the meeting—but he fully intended to drive the Tildens to distraction first.
When the door opened and Quint strolled into the room a few minutes later, she felt vindication, triumph, and relief. And a dizzying rush of love. Her eyes feasted on him, her heartbeat racing as she watched him amble casually toward the empty chair.
Eve and the Tildens rose to their feet, as if they’d been ejected from their chairs by springs. Quint sat down in his.
“Please, sit down,” Quint said, smiling that mocking, challenging smile that had made Rachel want to pummel him during the Pedersen trial.
Now she almost smiled herself. Quint was acting as if the others had risen as a sign of respect for him, though it had been a combination of fury and surprise that brought all seven to their feet. As he well knew.
“Do you realize that we’ve been waiting here since—” Eve began but Quint interrupted her.
“Sorry. I had a meeting run late.” Quint shrugged, clearly unfazed by his tardiness. “You know how it is.”
For the first time since entering the conference room, he glanced toward the window where Rachel and Wade stood. Rachel quickly averted her eyes. She didn’t trust herself to meet Quint’s dark-eyed gaze.
“Why are they exiled over there?” Quint asked.
“We aren’t exiled,” Wade hastened to explain. “There aren’t enough chairs for all of us at the table so—”
“Then I insist that Miss Saxon take my chair.” Quint rose to his feet. “I will not be seated while a lady is forced to stand.”
Rachel knew exactly what he was doing—making the male Tildens look like boors for allowing her to stand while they claimed the seats. Everybody in the conference room knew it, but there was nothing anyone could do. His point had been made well. The Tilden men had lost this round in etiquette to Quint Cormack. Oh, he was a champion in mind games, all right!
But instead of fuming, Rachel felt proud of him. So much for keeping the professional separate from the personal!
“I’d rather stand, thank you,” she said, but Quint would have none of that.
He insisted that she sit or he would leave the meeting. So she sat down and he stood, which gave him the advantage of towering over the Tildens, who seemed shrunken and powerless in their chairs.
Rachel watched Quint covertly as he prowled the room. She studied the curve of his mouth and remembered the feel of his lips on hers, she stared at his long fingers, the nails squared and immaculate and relived their intimate touch on her body. She wriggled restlessly in her chair and forced herself to concentrate on the decidely unerotic goings-on around her.
“I take it you’ve read the last will and testament of Townsend Tilden Senior?” Quint directed his question to Eve, who nodded her head.
“Needless to say, we have a number of questions,” Eve replied, her tone civil and professional.
Apparently too civil and professional for Town Junior. “That’s putting it mildly! We all know that so-called will is a fake and a fraud, but we want to put that walking, talking nightmare named Misty out of our lives forever so we’re prepared to give your client a generous sum. We believe ten thousand dollars, in cash, would be more than fair.”
“I’m sorry to hear you’re still spouting that same tedious misinformation, Town,” Quint interjected. He heaved a sigh. “I’m heartily bored with it. First, I don’t understand why any of you are surprised that a new will exists. Certainly, you Saxons know that a marriage automatically revokes any existing will. That means from the day Town Senior married Misty, whatever will was in place was automatically invalidated.”
“But it doesn’t mean the will you drew up is legal and valid,” retorted Town III.
Quint rolled his eyes heavenward, as if summoning the Almighty for patience. “Eve, I trust you’ve done your research. Haven’t you explained to your clients that this will most certainly is legal and valid? Or have you tried, but they refuse to listen to you?”
“The will is valid. And legal,” Eve admitted. “Although my clients, understandably, are having a difficult time accepting this—uh—unfortunate turn.”
All six Tildens began to screech at once. The cacophony gave Rachel an instant headache. She wondered if she dared to leave and slip into her office where a bottle of Excedrin was stored in her desk.
“Naturally, we intend to contest the will in court,” Eve raised her voice above the din.
“A waste of time and money and you know it,” said Quint. “If you studied this will, you’ve seen the no-contest clause, Eve.”
“The what?” demanded Town Three. “There is no such thing, Cormack. You made that up!”
“A no-contest clause in a will means that anyone who challenges the will in court gets nothing,” Quint said coolly. “Town Senior left each of you a token of his affection because he felt you were already well provided for with trust funds and your positions in Tilden Industries. So, in accordance to the terms of the no-contest clause, if any one of you contests this will, you will not inherit a thing. Since you are unfamiliar with the concept, I’d better warn you that the clause will automatically apply to any other will that you might try to substitute for the current one.”
He saw the surprise in Rachel’s eyes. So the no-contest clause had caught her off guard? Well, considering how busy she’d been with him lately—and that she’d believed the will a fake to begin with—it was no wonder that she hadn’t familiarized herself with all its arcane details. Nor was his own client aware of the exact terms of the will. He’d deliberately kept certain facts from Misty at Town Senior’s request, as a precautionary measure.
“Wouldn’t want my little Misty to give away our secrets to the wrong people,” old Town had said, and Quint had agreed with him. Besides, trying to explain estate planning to Misty was as daunting as trying to explain the principles of Archimedes to her. One didn’t.
“What are these tokens of affection that Grandfather mentioned in his new will?” Sloane asked, her eyes narrowing to focus intently on Quint.
Quint picked up a copy of the will and handed one to Eve. “Do you want to read the list or shall I?”
“I’ll do it,” Eve said briskly, reaching for her reading glasses. “According to this—document, Town Senior left his entire antique gun collection to Town Junior, along with the set of Hogarth prints that hung in his den and an original Frederic Remington bronze.”
“Father knew how much I admired the Remington and those prints. And, of course, I have my own antique gun collection to which his will be a welcome addition,” muttered Town Junior.
“Town Three is to receive his grandfather’s coin and stamp collections,” continued Eve.
“That seems rather appropriate.” Town Three frowned thoughtfully. “As a kid, I spent hours with Grandfather, learning about those coins and those stamps. I’ve also maintained my own collections through the years.”
“Marguerite inherits the two Fabergé eggs which Town Senior inherited from his father.”
“Those are priceless treasures and I want to retrieve them immediately before that woman does something unspeakable to them.” Marguerite rose to her feet, ready to go.
“Sit down, Marguerite,” Town Junior commanded his sister. “You can’t get anything until the matter of the will is settled.”
“It’s already been probated,” Quint spoke up. “If you agree not to contest the will—which, I remind you, is ultimately contest-proof—Marguerite can collect her eggs, you can take your guns, Town Three can have his coins and stamps. Would it be overkill to add that should you decide to contest, all of those things are as good as Misty’s?”
“It would definitely be overkill,” grumbled Rachel. “Like beating the issue to death and burying it ten feet under the ground.”
“I think I’ve just been called a repetitive bore.” Quint grinned. “Ouch.”
“I would like to continue …” Eve frowned, and both Rachel and Quint ceased fire.
Eve resumed reading. “Sloane is to have her grandmother’s antique dollhouse, fully furnished, including the doll family that resides there.” She smiled at the bequest.
Sloane didn’t. Her mouth curved into a sullen pout. ‘The dollhouse? Didn’t Grandfather notice that I’m not six years old? What about the jewelry?”
“I’m sure Misty gets it all,” Wade guessed, a trifle too gleefully. His aunt shot him a reproving glare.
“And Tilden Lloyd is to be given ten thousand dollars,” read Eve.
“That’s all I get? A measly ten thousand dollars! Which will be taxed to almost nothing?” Tilden Lloyd’s voice rose to a squeak.
“Measly?” Quint looked amused. “Isn’t it interesting that when my client was offered ten thousand dollars to get out of town it was considered to be a princely sum?”
“The things Grandfather left to everybody else are worth far more than ten thousand dollars,” whined Tilden. “Even that dollhouse could draw a tidy sum at auction. The furniture could be sold piece by piece.” Suddenly, he pounded his fist on the table, adding a bit of theatrical flair. “But it doesn’t matter anyway, because we’re holding out for everything! That ridiculous no-contest clause of yours is most certainly illegal, Cormack. We aren’t gullible fools, you know. Tell him to quit bluffing, Eve.”
Eve gazed at the document in front of her. “Well, actually …”
“Perhaps Rachel will explain to all to you.” Quint smiled at her. Not his intimate lover smile, not his wonderful Brady’s daddy smile. His “gotcha!” attorney smirk.
She bristled. “It’s not illegal to put a no-contest clause into a will,” she admitted grudgingly.
“But we can always contest the no-contest clause in court,” Wade put in.
“You could,” agreed Quint. “But it would be a stupid, expensive waste of time for everybody.”
“That seems to be your standard reply when anyone suggests taking you to court, Mr. Cormack,” Eve said sharply. “You say not to bother because you’ll surely win. As if it’s inevitable.”
“Because in this case it is,” Quint assured her. “And you and Rachel and Wade know it. Or you should.”
“Like we were saying earlier, Rachel, if mind games were an Olympic event, Quint Cormack would walk away with the gold medal.” Wade smiled sardonically.
“This is not a game. Why don’t we simply review the facts of this case?” Quint didn’t lose his cool. “Are you Saxons ever going to point out to your clients that, in the unlikely possibility the new will is overturned—which it will never be, I assure you—the no-contest clause remains in force. And may I remind you that means anyone who might possibly inherit under the terms of an old will won’t, not if they’ve challenged the new will with its unimpeached no-contest clause.”
“Does anyone understand one word of the gobbledygook this—this charlatan is spewing?” howled Town Junior.
“He is telling us that unless we overturn the no-contest clause,” began Town Three.
“Your chances are less than zero there,” Quint offered helpfully. “I can cite at least a hundred-fifty years’ worth of precedents that will make the clause completely enforceable.”
Eve groaned.
“Furthermore, Misty and I will appeal any disallowance of the no-contest clause all the way to the Supreme Court if we have to,” Quint assured them. “Not that we’ll need to because the courts have been upholding those clauses since long before anyone in this room was born.”
“Save the Law School for Dummies lesson, Cormack,” said Wade. “Believe me, we all get your point.”
“If that clause is upheld, anyone who has challenged the new will can’t inherit anything, not even from the old will should it somehow be activated,” Town Three said slowly. “God, Cormack, that’s so perverse it’s almost admirable!”
“Thank you.” Quint smiled wryly. “But I can’t take full credit. Actually, it was a joint effort between Town Senior and me. He was extremely knowledgeable about estate planning and inheritance laws and loopholes. So … any volunteers to contest the will?”
“If I were to volunteer and somehow win by getting the new will overturned,” Sloane turned her chair and leaned back in it, crossing her legs to strike a provocative pose. “I would actually lose. I couldn’t inherit anything, not even under the old will, because of that wretched no-contest clause that you claim would be upheld by the Supreme Court. So if we go to court, even if we win we lose. Have I got it right, Quint?”
“Absolutely, positively right, Sloane.” Quint grinned.
Sloane preened.
Rachel seethed. Sloane was actually flirting with Quint. And he was certainly not discouraging the woman!
“We can contest anything we want!” Rachel jumped to her feet, unable to sit passively a moment longer. She stalked to the window to stand beside Wade.
Quint’s eyes slid over her. “And what would be your grounds to contest, Rachel?”
Rachel knew he was deliberately inciting her, she remembered that particular tone and expression from the Pedersen trial. He’d maddened her then, but this time it was even worse because added to the spectacle was Sloane Tilden Lloyd slavering over Quint like a latent carnivore who’d just discovered the thrilling taste of meat.
Her jaw tightened. “Our grounds to contest would be fraudulence, undue influence by Misty—”
“You have to do better than that Rachel,” Quint cut in. “I have notes and witnesses that effectively eliminates any trace of fraudulence. As for the undue influence by a spouse—that’s a loser, sweetie. It is almost impossible to prove because a person is assumed to be influenced by a spouse, it’s considered both legal and correct.”
Rachel glared at him. “How about diminished mental capacity?” she snapped. “Sweetie!”
Wade snickered.
“You’ve seen the witnesses who signed the will, attesting to Mr. Tilden’s mental acuity.” Quint spoke calmly and slowly, as if he were attempting to explain subtraction to a group of not particularly bright second-graders. “Why would a priest, a minister, and a rabbi, all highly respected members in the community, perjure themselves?”
“Maybe you paid them off!” Rachel cried wildly. “Maybe we should check and see if those three congregations each received a large sum of money from Town Tilden Senior!”
“Ohhh, Rachel!” Eve shook her head.
“Actually, the idea does have some merit,” said Marguerite’s husband.
The Saxons stared at each other, momentarily riveted. It was the first time any of them could recall hearing the man speak up in a group.
“If you think we would summon the records of Lakeview Presbyterian Church, Temple Sinai, and St. Philomena’s to accuse them of fraud, you’re out of your tiny little mind,” Town Three said severely.
Rachel wondered whose tiny little mind he was referring to—hers or Marguerite’s husband.
“It would be extremely bad form,” agreed Quint. “Although, you’re certainly welcome to try. You’ll find nothing amiss. There were no bribes and payoffs, only three decent, moral men willing to witness an aging husband’s will to provide for his young and vulnerable wife after he was gone.”
“Oh, brother.” Wade gritted through his teeth in an aside to Rachel. “First, we have to endure Sloane making goo-goo eyes and pulling up her skirt for Cormack and then he launches into that Heartbreak Hotel spiel. I’ve got to get out of here before I lose my lunch.”
“You can’t desert Aunt Eve and me now,” Rachel whispered. “It’s dishonorable for the crew to abandon a sinking ship, remember?”
“Right now I’d rather be a rat deserting it,” grumbled Wade, but he stayed put.
“Moving on, we would like to discuss that unfortunate misunderstanding at the Tilden mansion on Friday night, Quint,” Eve spoke up, interrupting the Tildens in the middle of another fierce interfamily argument. “About the complaint that was filed—”
“The only misunderstanding was that odious, officious police report!” cried Marguerite. “I took my children to my own father’s house and—”
“That house belongs to Misty Tilden,” Quint interrupted. He had been idly circling the room but stopped to stand in front of Wade and Rachel. “Are you familiar with the term ‘tenancy by the entireties’?”
“Of course!” Wade drew himself from his usual slouch to his full height. “That’s one of the first things I learned in my Property Law class.”
Rachel felt a horrid feeling of foreboding. “Oh, damn!” she whispered.
“Oh no!” Eve said at the same time, but more loudly.
“What’s going to happen now?” shrieked Marguerite. “I know something will!”
“Are you about to pull another rabbit out of your magic hat, Quint?” Sloane teased coyly. Her skirt hiked a few inches higher, exposing more of her firm, silk-encased thighs.
“All right, Cormack.” Town Three heaved an exaggerated sigh. “We know it’s going to be bad. Just give it to us straight.”