In Safe Keeping (Grace & Poole, #3)

By Lee Christine

From Lee Christine, the critically acclaimed author of In Safe Hands, comes a tense, taut, urban romantic suspense about two lawyers, a high-profile divorce case and an attraction that even opposing counsels can't shut down.

It was only supposed to be a casual affair, a stress-relieving, night-time romp, a secret just between the two of them. But when divorce lawyer Laila Richards ends up on the opposite side of the bench to high powered lawyer Evan Barclay in a very public, very high-profile divorce, she knows their fling will jeopardise the case of her career, and breaks off the relationship.

Stunned by Laila's decision, Evan vows to make the beautiful lawyer deal with him, both in and out of the courtroom. But when suspicious activity begins to emerge, and Laila's safety is threatened, Evan fears his client — his best friend, the son of the only family Evan has ever known — may be involved.

Bound by client confidentiality and battling a massive conflict of interest, Laila and Evan fight to win, fight for justice, and fight for a chance at a relationship that's anything but casual.

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers Australia
• Release date: Dec 1, 2014
• ISBN: 9780857992161

Lee Christine

Lee Christine is a former legal practice manager and corporate trainer. An amateur songwriter in her teens, she is passionate about music, and plays the alto saxophone. In 2011, In Safe Hands won first place in the Romance Writers of America Silicon Valley Gotcha Contest, followed in 2012 with first place in The Smoky Mountains Laurie Award and the East Texas Southern Heat Writing Contest. The novel also received a Commended in the 2012 Romance Writers of New Zealand Clendon Award. In Safe Hands is Lee's first novel, and she is currently writing her second, another gripping romantic suspense. She has two grown children, and lives in Newcastle, Australia.

Book preview

Chapter One

5 p.m. Friday

Laila Richards had always known success came at a price, but she could never have imagined it would cost her Evan Barclay, the man she’d been sleeping with for the past six weeks, the man she’d shared the most unbelievable sex with, and not much else.

So it was with a heavy heart she waited in the steel-and-glass foyer of Poole Greenwood Lawyers. This was her only chance to speak with him before the weekend, and the man needed to hear what she had to say — tonight.

‘Ms Richards doesn’t have an appointment.’ The receptionist spoke into a microphone attached to her wireless headset and continued to sort mail. ‘She’s left emails and messages, but Mr Barclay hasn’t responded.’

There was a halt in the conversation, then the woman’s white-tipped nails clicked against the plastic as she flicked away the microphone and looked at Laila.

‘Mr Barclay’s been in lockdown negotiations with a client for the past three days. A junior solicitor on his team can see you.’

Laila scraped back a few blonde hairs that had worked free of the thick braid she always wore to work. ‘I’m afraid that’s unsatisfactory.’

The receptionist’s lips compressed, her patient expression changing to one of forbearance as she watched Laila take a business card and pen from her handbag.

Scribbling the word Urgent on the back of the card, Laila handed it to the receptionist.

‘I act for Scarlett Peyton. Mr Barclay acts for her husband.’

It was typical, the way a name opened doors. The mere mention of one of Australia’s wealthiest families had the receptionist repositioning the microphone and pressing a button on the telephone console.

‘Please take a seat.’

Laila breathed a little easier and sat down in one of the ergonomically designed waiting-room chairs. Representing Scarlett Peyton in divorce proceedings was a coup by anyone’s definition, and it meant big things for her small family law practice. Scarlett’s patronage turned those she favoured into overnight success stories. Fashion designers and hair stylists became instant celebrities. Women wanted to frequent the same beauty parlour, the same gym. Even the school Scarlett’s children attended had a waiting list of more than four hundred.

If Laila handled the case well, a recommendation by Scarlett Peyton would have wealthy women lining up for her to represent them. And that meant success for the firm — and, more importantly, much-needed funds for her foundation.

It was so unfortunate, so damn disappointing, that the case brought with it a massive conflict of interest — and with Evan Barclay of all people.

Laila tried shaking off the regret threatening to swamp her. At thirty-two, Evan Barclay was one of Sydney’s young dynamo lawyers, working hard, playing even harder, and very much the helmsman in their relationship.

Until now.

When it all had to end.

Laila looked up as the receptionist came towards her, handbag hooked over one arm, a large bundle of mail in her hands.

‘I’ve sent your card upstairs, Ms Richards. But I should warn you, Mr Barclay works obscene hours.’

That she knew. How many times had he knocked on her door at three in the morning after working late? They’d screw each other’s brains out for the next few hours and then, just as the sun appeared on the horizon, he’d unwrap himself from around her body, tell her to go back to sleep, and leave.

Laila flushed, the memory of those nights threatening her resolve. ‘I don’t mind waiting.’

‘Well.’ The woman pointed at a security guard stationed by the entrance. ‘The US consulate’s a tenant of this building. The guard’s here all night.’ She raised a doubtful eyebrow at Laila. ‘I hope you’re not.’

The other woman left, and Laila settled back in the chair, eyes shifting to the sophisticated logo displayed on the wall behind the desk. Formerly Grace and Poole, the firm had become Poole Greenwood Lawyers following Henry Grace’s very public downfall and arrest eighteen months earlier. Since then the firm’s partners, Simon Poole and Allegra Greenwood, had been rebuilding its reputation. Evan Barclay formed an integral part of that plan.

Laila drummed her fingers on the arm of the chair and thought back to when his appointment had featured in the Law Review. Headhunted from another firm, his brief was to clean up the mess left by Henry Grace, rebuild the commercial division, and recoup the two million dollar fine imposed by the Law Society.

Of course it was vital he bring with him one of Australia’s wealthiest men, his school friend Duncan Peyton, as a client. That had been the deal-breaker.

At the time of reading the article, Laila would never have dreamed her path would cross with Evan Barclay’s. But that had all changed at a Law Society dinner six weeks ago.

He was already seated by the time she arrived, but he stood, raising his red wine glass in a toast to her as someone or other introduced them. She couldn’t remember who. She was only aware of the blazing interest in his eyes as he put down the glass and reached across the table. A warm hand engulfed hers, his firm grip sparking every nerve ending in her body.

Over the next hour their eyes met again and again, until finally, in the midst of the after-dinner speech, his foot nudged hers beneath the table.

He mouthed the words balls-achingly boring.

A naughty boy.

She smothered a smile and reprimanded him with a nudge of her own.

His eyes burned brighter.

Time ticked by. Tension grew. People around her became an annoying distraction.

She was deaf to the speeches, blind to anyone else in the room bar them. She grew hotter and hotter under Evan Barclay’s continued scrutiny. Her panties grew damp. She couldn’t remember being so physically attracted to a man, so turned on, just in his presence.

And then, when she thought she couldn’t stand it, that she’d have to leave, he mouthed the words. ‘Want to get out of here?’

She’d gone, without the slightest hesitation.

He’d walked straight out to the reservations desk and booked a room on the spot. They didn’t even make it out of the hotel.

It was a night to remember, and the first tine she’d slept with a man since the death of her husband four years earlier.

Laila came back to the present as the elevator doors sighed open, and then the man himself stepped out. Well over six foot three with stone-cut, handsome features, Evan Barclay wore a tailored grey suit that was a perfect match for the serious eyes sweeping the foyer.

Laila stood, willpower threatening to crumble at the sight of him. Okay, so he was screwing her, but that didn’t mean they knew each other well. Hands clammy, she watched him come towards her. They were indulging in a convenient affair that was going nowhere, and now they had a professional conflict of interest. There was no possible way she could continue this.

What about the sex?

‘Laila.’ He stopped in front of her and placed a warm hand on her elbow, a concerned frown marring his beautiful, if slightly tired, face. ‘I came right away when I heard you were here. Is everything alright?’

She nodded, and his forehead smoothed. The strange thing was, he seemed pleased to see her, not in the least annoyed that she’d interrupted him.

‘Sorry to bust in.’ Even in the public foyer of a high-rise building she felt the searing imprint of his hand, the jab of attraction that remained as strong as the night they met. ‘I did email.’

‘Don’t apologise. We’ve been working around the clock here, that’s why I haven’t been over.’

It was Laila’s turn to frown. Is that what he thought? Seriously? That she was here because he hadn’t shown up for a few nights?

‘That’s not why I’m here.’

‘Oh.’ He checked the Tag Heuer watch that had graced her bedside table in recent weeks. ‘Can you come with me while you tell me what’s up?’

‘Err…’ Right away he had her off balance. This wasn’t how she’d planned things in her head.

‘I’m late for a close-the-deal party at The Bowery. It’s only around the corner.’

The Bowery. A mecca for Sydney’s hip and happening.

She’d heard about it, knew the cabanas around the roof pool rented out for a cool ten grand a night for the notorious ‘close-the-deal’ parties. And Evan referred to it like it was his local pub. It only served to highlight the yawning social gap between them, and was another reason for her to get this over as quickly as possible.

Laila’s heart gave a series of nervous throbs. ‘This won’t take long.’

Before she could begin, he leaned down and pressed his lips into the soft spot behind her ear, his hand coming up to rest on her braided hair.

‘I’ve never seen your hair this way.’ He breathed in her ear, roughened jaw scraping the side of her neck. ‘Very classy.’

Desire, hot and needy, had her stepping away from him. Of course he’d never seen her hair in a braid, they never made it out of the bedroom.

‘And that conservative little suit. It’s so proper.’ His eyes glittered as his arm came around her waist. ‘I can’t wait to get it off you.’

Heat flooded Laila’s face. She didn’t know how to act, didn’t know how to behave with him in a normal situation. But he appeared to have no such reservations. He was staring at her with that same driven expression she thought he reserved for the bedroom.

Dragging her thoughts away from the rock-hard body she knew lay under his business suit, she drew in a deep breath. ‘Evan. I took instructions from Scarlett Peyton last Tuesday.’

And I’ve thought of nothing else since then.

‘She’s taking family law proceedings against her husband.’

He remained silent, and Laila held her breath as intelligent eyes studied her face. Eventually, the corners of his mouth turned up in a pleased smile. ‘Congratulations, that’s great. A client like Scarlett will be a real boon for your practice.’

‘Not so great for us though,’ she managed to say, throat so dry the words came out with an uncool croak.

He gripped her hand and pulled her towards the door. ‘Why do you say that?’

Laila hurried along beside him, thoughts crowding her mind as he bade the security guard goodnight and pushed open the heavy glass door. She didn’t know what reaction she’d been expecting; an acknowledgement of the situation perhaps, followed by resignation. Certainly not this.

‘You know why. We have a massive conflict of interest.’

‘I’ll hand it on to someone else. I hate family law.’

Laila bristled. She hadn’t known that, but then they’d been so busy divesting each other of clothes, they hadn’t progressed much beyond the basics. And he only came to her two or three nights each week, so it wasn’t as if they’d spent a whole lot of time together.

But he wasn’t seeing anyone else.

That they had talked about.

Outside, the pavement was crowded with office workers, some heading home, others kicking off their weekend in one of the city’s bars. A few were headed for the Sydney Football Stadium, red-and-white Swans scarves flung around their necks.

They turned into a narrow alleyway, where hundreds of lanterns in every shape and size hung from overhead cables to form a colourful canopy. When Evan bypassed the queue lined up outside the swanky private hotel, Laila tried again.

‘I remember reading Duncan Peyton followed you to Poole Greenwood on the proviso you personally handle all his matters?’

Evan stopped by the elevator, released her hand and withdrew a black card from his wallet. ‘I’ll oversee it. Someone else can run it.’

She raised her eyebrows as he swiped the card and the elevator doors opened. ‘You’re a member here?’

He shrugged. ‘The firm gave it to me.’

Wishing they could have spoken in the privacy of a conference room or office, Laila stepped into the lift. It seemed this was about as private as they’d get.

‘It won’t work, Evan,’ she said, injecting as much finality into her tone as she possibly could.

He jabbed the button for the fifth floor, an unreadable expression on his face. ‘We’ll put up Chinese walls.’

‘Chinese walls?’ Laila almost screeched the words. He couldn’t be serious.

‘It’s a conceptual barrier that separates two or more groups, usually as a means of restricting the flow of information.’

‘I know what it means,’ she retorted hotly. ‘Your client might be willing to believe we won’t indulge in pillow talk, but I can’t ask my client to accept that.’

His eyes cut to hers. ‘Can’t?’

‘Won’t,’ she snapped. ‘I won’t risk it. If Scarlett Peyton finds out we’re sleeping together, she’ll find another lawyer.’

Oh god, stop looking at him. Remember the foundation.

‘This is my big break’, Laila went on. ‘I’ve worked one or two reasonably big cases, but this one’s huge. The referrals I’ll get after this — you can’t ask me not to take it.’

‘I wouldn’t do that,’ he muttered.

The elevator doors opened and they stepped outside.

‘You’d be foolish Evan, to risk your biggest client, and the opportunity you have at Poole Greenwood, just because we’re…’

He swung around, eyes narrowed, jaw tight. ‘Just because we’re what, Laila?’

Laila’s gaze drifted past his shoulder to where a party was taking place beside a sparkling aqua pool. A guitarist was playing flamenco on a small stage while scantily dressed young women moved between the cocktail bar and the guests, drink trays balanced on their palms.

A scene flashed into her mind of the parties she’d frequented with Will, on the army base. Surrounded by friends, they were casual affairs, barbecues mostly, the setting so far removed from this sophisticated urban playground that it could have been another world.

She stepped back.

This wasn’t her scene.

Laila brought her eyes back to Evan. ‘I was going to say you’d be foolish to risk your biggest client just because you’re fucking me.’

His eyes widened, and he started to say something, but she cut him off.

‘I’ve made application to the court, seeking orders restraining your client from dealing with or encumbering any of his assets. Check your correspondence. The matter’s set down for Monday morning.’

The colour drained from his face, and past his shoulder Laila could see a man she recognised from the newspapers as Duncan Peyton. He was strolling towards them, an open Champagne bottle in one hand.

Laila braced herself and spoke neutrally, unemotionally, one lawyer to another.

‘Goodbye Evan. I expect our next meeting will be in court.’

Chapter Two

5.30 p.m. Friday

A heavy hand clamped down on Evan’s shoulder as he watched Laila walk away from him. Shoulders square, head tilted at a proud angle, she didn’t once look back.

Beside him, Duncan gave a low, quiet whistle. ‘Who’s the hot babe?’

Evan kept his eyes on Laila’s slim figure as she waited for the lift. He wanted to tell Duncan it was none of his damn business, but as of now it seemed they both had serious business with Laila Richards.

‘She’s a lawyer.’

‘Damn! I’m in the wrong job.’

‘You’ve never had a job.’

Duncan laughed, too loudly, making Evan wonder if he’d had something more than alcohol in the two hours since they’d signed off on the biggest deal of their lives.

A lock of prematurely grey hair fell over Duncan’s forehead as he jabbed an index finger into Evan’s chest. ‘My job is building the family fortune.’

‘You’ve got me for that.’

‘That’s right!’ Duncan thrust an open bottle of Bollinger at him. ‘So drink up buddy. I’ve got a two-hour start on you.’

‘No kidding?’ Evan looked down at the bottle in his hand, not bothering to hide his disdain. ‘If you’re insisting I drink this fizzy shit, the least you can do is get me a glass.’

As Duncan turned and beckoned over a half-dressed waitress, Evan watched Laila step into the elevator. She pressed the button and finally looked back at him, just as an attractive brunette sporting a ‘nothing is too much trouble’ smile — and a pony trot more suitable for the catwalk than the pool surrounds — handed him a Champagne flute.

Trying to order his chaotic thoughts, Evan filled the Champagne glass, hoping Duncan didn’t notice the tremor in his hand.

‘That lawyer, Laila Richards. She says she’s acting for Scarlett in family law proceedings.’

Duncan stared at him for a full five seconds, then threw back his head and laughed again, as if Evan had made a joke.

‘I assure you, she was serious.’ He knew the marriage had gone through rocky patches in the past, and while Scarlett had threatened to leave on numerous occasions, she’d never acted on those threats. Had she gone ahead and done it this time?

‘You didn’t think to tell me this while we were in negotiations? What’s going on, Dunk?’

Duncan gradually sobered. ‘Nothing’s going on. You know what she’s like.’

Spoilt and self-absorbed in his opinion, but he wouldn’t insult his friend’s wife, even if she had shot through.

‘I don’t live with her, so how would I know what she’s like?’

Duncan rocked back on his heels. ‘It’s just women, mate. Everything’s going along smoothly then all of a sudden they go a bit nuts. It’s probably another storm in a teacup.’

‘Don’t be so sure.’ Evan took a sip and tried not to grimace as the sparkly bubbled on his tongue and fizzed up the back of his nose. Christ, he hated Champagne. Duncan was right when he said you could take the boy out of the bush but you couldn’t take the bush out of the boy.

‘Laila Richards told me she’s made application to the court to freeze your assets. It’s set down for Monday.’

This time, Duncan visibly paled.

‘You know what this means, don’t you?’ Anxious for his friend to understand the fiscal ramifications of any future family law proceedings, Evan set his glass down on the wooden edge of a large, white planter pot.

‘The deal with the Chinese is conditional upon you having a certain net worth. Should that net worth slip below the predetermined figure, there could be grounds to terminate the contracts.’

A chill ran over Evan’s pores beneath the fabric of his business shirt. The contracts were for the construction of two office towers and two six-star hotels — one on Sydney’s prime waterfront, the other in Hong Kong.

Fuck! He couldn’t believe it.

The ink wasn’t dry on the contracts and already they could be null and void, the partnership between the Chinese consortium and the Peyton family at serious risk.

Duncan gave a dismissive wave and staggered a little. ‘That won’t happen.’

Evan gripped his client’s arm and cast his eyes about to see if anyone had noticed. ‘You’re half tanked.’

Lowering his voice, he tried to drive his point home. ‘The Chinese get wind of a drawn-out divorce, and there’s every chance they’ll walk. Remember, Scarlett’s a signatory to certain companies and trusts.’

‘Mate…’ This time Duncan’s tone held a warning, like he was chiding an errant child. ‘Just forget about it, alright? The Chinese directors are over there in the cabana, already partying. I promise you, I’ll go home and sort out the problem with Scarlett, and I’ll call you tomorrow. Everything will be okay.’

It was possible Duncan was keeping something from him; understandable even, seeing as it involved his marriage.

Evan turned and looked out over the pool, jaw locked so tight his molars ached. Regardless of his personal reservations, he had to accept his friend knew best — as least where his wife was concerned.

‘Why isn’t she here?’ he asked eventually, deciding to back off.

Duncan made a sweeping movement with his hand and somehow managed to stay on his feet. ‘She hates all this.’

As they watched, a woman peeled off her top and bra and dived into the water, clad only in a moulded pair of jeans. A round of applause broke out, and Duncan joined in, punching the air and then wrapping his arm around Evan’s neck.

‘Can’t understand why, I mean, what’s not to like about this place?’

Six weeks ago, Evan probably would have agreed, but that was before he’d met Laila. Beautiful, mature, independent Laila.

Evan looked at the line of suits circling the pool waiting for more girls to show up. The rooftop bar was advertised as public, but you still had to have the right body shape, the right clothes and the right connections for the doorman to even consider letting you in.

‘I don’t know mate. Anyone with a credit card can buy an Armani suit and show up here. It’s not that great.’

Duncan gave him an accusing look. ‘You’re in a shit of a mood for someone who’s just put together a multimillion-dollar deal. Try and look a little happy, will you?’

That could take some work, when he was worried out of his mind and pissed off at Laila. Sure he regretted not being able to return her emails and calls, but that was due to him being in lockdown. He’d been