Outside The Lines:: Third Person Narration Read online

  Destiny Falls. It had an ominous, fitting sort of ring to it. And was less crowded. And had bunny slopes.

  “It sounds perfect. Thanks.”

  It was decided. Go where Roxy went.

  Juliette updated her voice mail, sent her active clients an email stating she’d only be available by email and phone for a couple days, then swung her ‘Gone Fishing’ sign around and hurried out.

  She’d have to hurry if she wanted to make it to the mountain by morning, and still had to dig out or buy the things she’d need to go plummeting down the side of a mountain. Ski jacket. Gloves. Other puffy things to ward off hypothermia. Vodka.

  Oh, and one of those avalanche beeper-things. She’d definitely get one of those.

  A cold, unpleasant chill went through her at the thought of avalanches.

  She hurried home, threw a change of clothes in her bag, watered her African violet, then drove east toward the mountains.

  As she started to climb, it started to snow. It looked beautiful against the dark green hillsides, white and pure.

  The beautiful snow kept up and slowed her down enough that she didn’t make it to the mountain until afternoon the next day. One could almost take it as a sign.

  Fortunately, Juliette didn’t believe in signs, so she kept going. She believed in determination. And avalanches.

  She reached the Destiny Falls Resort early in the afternoon. Your Destiny Lies Here! the sign told her as she drove into the huge parking lot. She found the sign presumptuous. And unsettling.

  The good news was, her cell reception was spotty, so she didn’t know when Johnny Danger left her a voice mail. And then a text. Several of them. Several dozen. All ominously calm and succinct. Except the last one, which was in caps.

  But she didn’t see them, because she was headed for the slopes, determined to have fun and get a life, or kill herself trying.

  Chapter Two

  “IS THIS SOMEONE’S fucking idea of fun?”

  It was the third time Judge Billings had posed the question, and although the curse was a new addition this round, Johnny Danger was still ready to bang his head against the wall.

  But there were clients in the room, and another attorney, so he forced himself to sit back in his chair at the head of the conference table and wait for Judge Donald ‘Buck’ Billings to reach the end of his red-faced, arm-flinging rant about last minute changes to valuations and year-end divorce filings and upstart accountants with odd names.

  It was probably going to take awhile.

  “Not sure anyone’s having fucking fun here, Don,” Johnny said calmly. “Want to sit down?”

  The judge slammed his palms on the conference table. “I want this figured out.”

  The soon-to-be-ex-Mrs. Billings sat quietly, hands folded on the table in front of her. Johnny took a wild guess that this wasn’t the first time she’d run this race with the judge. Her eyes peered into the near distance, unfocused and calm.

  Beside Mrs. B sat her friend-who-was-an-attorney-but-not-her-attorney, Farrah James, an art lawyer with very nice legs and an evil glare. Farrah pinched the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger and stared daggers at Johnny. Make your client shut up.

  I would if I could, he glared back.

  As if this was his fault. The judge was his partner Dan’s client, as well as Dan’s old friend, and as a favor—that should have been his first clue; favors were dangerous things—Johnny had agreed to fill in for a few days on what was supposed to be a simple, no-contest, amicable divorce between two clients who’d been on Dan’s caseload and at his house for dinners countless times.

  Until now, it had been precisely that: amicable, easy, simple.

  Then came the Jauntie Report, as Johnny had taken to calling it over the past few hours.

  And now Ms. Jauntie, nowhere to be found, not answering her phone or texts. Like a sprite, she’d worked her mischievous, destructive magic, then disappeared.

  And now ‘Buck’ Billings, the normally icy-cool president judge of the district’s juvenile court system, was on an apparently-unstoppable rant about the paperwork Ms. Jauntie had requested, how it was both unnecessary and had already been provided, how he did not want the divorce delayed past the new year, and how he absolutely, positively, did not want it to go to court.

  Johnny looked at Mrs. B’s almost-lawyer and didn’t see how that was possible.

  “This was supposed to be a done deal,” the judge railed, pacing the room. “Anna and I have already agreed on everything, haven’t we, Anna?” He didn’t wait for confirmation. “And now this, this accountant,” he spat the word like a curse, “is asking for all sorts of unnecessary paperwork and it all comes up while Dan is gone, which is highly suspicious.”

  Johnny slid his gaze away from the window he’d been staring out. “Suspicious?”

  “And now,” the judge’s voice dropped to a hiss as he leaned across the table, closer to Johnny, “now that goddamned lawyer of hers is frothing at the bit.”

  Farrah the goddamned lawyer recrossed her legs angrily, staring over the judge’s shoulder at Johnny.

  Way to go. “You’re mixing your metaphors, judge,” Johnny said, then leaned forward. “And they can hear everything you say.”

  The judge straightened with a snap. “This ends here. We will move forward with the valuation previously agreed to, it will not go to court, and it will be done by year’s end. Which is four days away.” He aimed his stabbing finger at Johnny. “Four days—did you know that, Danger?”

  A hard silence fell. Mrs. B’s gaze slid over. Farrah stopped jiggling her foot.

  “Five,” Johnny told him.

  The judge stared. “What?”

  “Twenty-six plus five is thirty-one.”

  More confused silence. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Today is the twenty-sixth. You want this done by the thirty-first. That leaves five days, not four.”

  The judge’s eyes narrowed. “Are you joking?”

  “I’m minusing.”

  A shocked silence fell. “You think you’re smart?” hissed the judge.

  Johnny met his eye. “It’s just subtraction.”

  Farrah the angry lawyer gave a little gasp. The judge’s face flushed red and his hands fisted at his sides.

  Mrs. Billings went into motion, popping forward in her chair, sliding a stack of papers closer to Johnny.

  “I’m sure Ms. Jauntie did not intend to slow things down, Donald,” she said calmly. “She knows how much we want this settled by year’s end. Perhaps if you simply supply the paperwork requested, this will all move along swiftly?”

  “I have supplied it,” the judge seethed through gritted teeth.

  Farrah the unofficial lawyer leaned forward. “I think the wisest, simplest thing is simply to renegotiate the previous, tentative agreement, and come to a new understanding. Before it goes to court.”

  The threat was delivered lightly, but the judge rounded on her. His silvery head of hair almost glowed in the cold morning light coming through the windows as he stabbed the air with a finger.

  “No.”

  “Fine,” she said evenly. Her gaze moved to Johnny. “What are you prepared to offer?”

  The judge said “Nothing,” at the same moment Johnny said, for the fifth time, “I’m not his lawyer. I’m not anyone’s lawyer.” No one seemed to be listening.

  The judge stepped forward. “You’re my lawyer now.”

  “I am not.”

  “I’m appointing you.”

  Johnny sat back, almost enjoying the show. “You can’t do that.”

  The judge simmered at him. It was uncharacteristic of a man known for his icy calm. Johnny’s gaze slid to Mrs. B’s carefully-constructed patience. Or maybe not.

  In fact, Mrs. B was the only reason Johnny hadn’t walked out entirely. He knew Mrs. B, he liked Mrs. B, very much, and he believed, fervently, in her divorce. He’d given her advice and referrals and now, was sitting here, resistin
g the urge to punch Judge Billings in the face. All for Mrs. B and his partner Dan. But at some point, enough was enough.

  He decided now was that time.

  “I can recommend someone,” he said, and pushed out of his seat, heading for his handy list of divorce lawyers.

  “Please, Johnny, wait,” Mrs. Billings said quietly.

  He sighed and turned back. Mrs. B tipped to the side and whispered in her lawyer-friend’s ear. Farrah listened, nodded twice, shook her head once, then stared at Mrs. B a moment and turned to the room.

  “We’d like to suggest a compromise.”

  The judge narrowed his eyes.

  Farrah zeroed in on Johnny. “The idea of a protracted divorce, ending in court, is not a pleasant one to anyone. Perhaps if one of us,” she looked directly at Johnny, “were to go and speak with Ms. Jauntie, review the documents, hammer out her concerns and come to some understanding, we could perhaps come to an agreement here.” She overturned her manicured hand and made a circle in the air, indicating their tight-knit, hostile little group.

  Everyone turned and looked at Johnny.

  He looked around. “Me?”

  Farrah the lawyer frowned. “Yes, you.”

  He sat up. “Why me?”

  “Because you people speak the same language,” the judge interjected, stepping forward eagerly. “I think it’s a perfect solution.”

  How touching, they’d come to agreement on this one issue.

  Johnny opened his mouth to say no, then thought of Dan. Dan, who was right now handling the details of a corporate buy-out by one of their wealthiest clients over Christmas. Dan, who’d been at Johnny’s side since day one, a sort-of elder statesman, even though he was barely six years older than Johnny, because Dan hadn’t spent over a decade in Afghanistan and other places he couldn’t talk about. And thus, Dan had brought both legitimacy and clients to Danger Enterprises when it first launched. Dan, who’d left a lucrative position with a high-powered firm and risked it all to join Johnny. Because that’s what partners did for each other. That’s what friends did.

  “It’s up to you, of course,” Farrah the almost-lawyer was saying. “But otherwise, I do believe everyone’s going to need to retain real lawyers, and then this is going to get messy,” she said sadly. Threateningly.

  “Yes, Johnny, please do,” Mrs. Billings’ soft voice rode under all the bluster of the room.

  Inwardly, he groaned. Outwardly, he turned to the judge. “It’s going to cost you.”

  “Whatever it takes.”

  “I’m not your lawyer.”

  “Consultant, whatever. Just go.”

  The meeting wrapped up quickly, Johnny in possession of a stack of papers and very little information on the last known whereabouts of Juliette Jauntie, until he spoke to his assistant, Roxy, who was suspiciously well-informed on the matter.

  “How do you know all this shit?” he asked.

  “I talk to people. You glare.”

  He tried again, more specifically. “How do you know where Juliette Jauntie went skiing?”

  “I recommended it,” she said brightly. Roxy did most things brightly. And with crushing efficiency.

  “You had to recommend a place in Nevada?” he complained, reaching for his overnight bag.

  “Part of it is in California,” she pointed out. “Anyhow, you love it there.”

  “I love going there, alone, to my place, not hunting down rogue accountants on ski slopes.”

  “Take sunscreen,” she said. “I hear it’s going to be sunny.”

  He hung up and stared down at the archive box of paperwork.

  Inconceivable.

  An upstart accountant had questioned the valuation of Dan, one of the most highly respected experts in the field, and thereby derailed the deconstruction of a thirty-year marriage that had, until now, been proceeding amicably and smoothly, a feat of epic proportions, and turned the usually calm Judge Billings into a raging lunatic on the day after Christmas. All because one minor accountant had asked a whole lot of questions.

  But the inconceivable part was that Johnny was attracted to her. Like a moth to a flame.

  Chapter Three

  MAYBE SHE should have tried stamp collecting or scrapbooking. Skiing now seemed ambitious. Stupid. Suicidal.

  On the other hand, Juliette was proud just to be up here, standing at the top of the bunny slope. And they’d only had to stop the lift twice, once at the bottom and once at the top, to drag her out of the snow.

  The air was glittering bright and blue and smelled of pine trees and snow, so cold and fresh it burned her nostrils every time she inhaled. The burn distracted her from the sight of the sheer mountainside dropping away below her.

  Her belly rolled.

  Excitement. This was excitement. Right?

  The sun burned hot in the mountain air, and most people had disrobed down to shirts and pants. A few reckless snowboarders even wore baggy shorts with long johns.

  She followed suit, undressing down to a thermal top and slick ski pants, her puffy, new, and extremely expensive jacket stored uselessly in a rented locker below. Her gloves were on, goggles on the top of her head, ready to be snapped down at a moment’s notice. She was ready to rumble.

  She stared down the snow-covered hill. People shot past her, laughing and having fun. She eyed them warily, then wiggled her fingers and bent forward at the hips, the way everyone else seemed to be doing it. Then she straightened again. The mountain was big. Really big.

  She bent forward. Then straightened.

  As she stood there, debating whether to try the bending-over step again, someone skied up beside her with a competent-sounding sluice of snow. It stopped. And stayed. A large, unmoving shadow.

  She turned and peered up into the handsome, five-o’clock-shadowed face of Johnny Danger.

  “What the fuck are you doing, Jauntie?”

  “Holy Mother of God!” she gasped the Catholic cry of alarm from her youth reflexively—guilt was a powerful mnemonic—and leapt backward. Unfortunately, she was trapped by the skis and couldn’t actually leap anywhere, so instead she tipped over backward and sat down hard, knees bent.

  She glared up at the large dark shape of him. “What are you doing?” she demanded.

  “I asked first,” he said.

  She scowled. “I’m at the top of a mountain wearing skis, Johnny. What do you think I’m doing?”

  He looked at her doubtfully. “I have no idea.”

  “What are you doing here?” she said again, trying not to look like an idiot sitting in the snow. “How’d you find me?”

  “You told people you were skiing.”

  “There are a lot of mountains.”

  “You told Roxy you were going to Destiny Falls. This hill’s best for people who don’t know how to ski.”

  “What makes you think I don’t know how to ski?” she demanded indignantly.

  “I’m psychic.” He reached down and hauled her up out of the snow.

  “But why use your psychic powers on me?” she complained, struggling to her feet. “Why are you here?”

  “Because you weren’t at the meeting this morning.”

  “But…why would I have been at the meeting?”

  “Because I left you thirty-five messages about it last night. And again this morning.”

  “Oh.”

  “Because my client is pissed. Because they want this divorce finalized by year’s end, and you’re not answering your phone. Or texts. Your receptionist isn’t in, your door is locked, and you have a Gone Fishing sign hanging on it.” His gaze was glacial, his voice just shy of a growl.

  “I don’t have a receptionist,” she muttered as she scrambled for her phone. Was she not getting reception?

  “Because reading your valuation is like reading science fiction.”

  She slid her gaze up slowly from the phone screen. “Science fiction?”

  “Science fucking fiction,” he clarified, his eyes hard.

  Juliet
te felt the stirrings of anger. Uh-oh. Stirrings were a bad thing. She kept herself purposefully unstirred. And unshaken, for that matter. She was practically inert.

  Except right now, she was starting to feel angry.

  “Well, Mr. Danger, I’m very sorry to piss off your client, but perhaps if the information I needed had been provided in the first place, maybe if I hadn’t had such a hard time accounting for all their money—”

  “All her money.”

  “And they’ve got two rental properties—”

  “She has two rental properties.”

  “And an LLC—”

  “Her LLC.”

  Juliette met his eye. “Which she says he opened. In her name.”

  “Exactly,” he said slowly. “Her name. Her properties. Her LLC. Not his. And so they appear in her valuation. Not his.”

  She hesitated. “If Judge Billings did that to avoid some kind of liability himself, well…that might not be legal.”

  “That’s not your job.”

  She leaned closer and said real quietly, “I have some bad news for you, Danger: I’m not too good at following rules.”

  He leaned nearer too, so their mouths were extremely close. Incendiarily close. “I have some bad news for you, Jauntie: neither am I. And you’re fucked. Get ready to explain your valuation in court.”

  They both straightened again, fast.

  “We could argue about this all day,” she said irritably.

  He said nothing. She felt her heart drop a little. Because none of that mattered. If she was wrong…. Her business was small and struggling. Mrs. Billings was her doorway, her portal, her starting gate. If she screwed this up....

  “Face it, Jauntie, your valuation was off. By over a hundred thousand.”

  “That’s a lot to be off,” she retorted.

  “That’s my point.”

  “I wasn’t off.”

  The zipper of his microfleece pullover winked at her as he leaned forward again, blinding her for a second. “Your valuation for the judge came in almost two K higher than the previous one.”