Outside The Lines:: Third Person Narration Read online

  Damn that Danger.

  The room was large and felt unheated, which kept the temperature low for when it filled up with hot bodies at night. It had a dance floor and two bars, and must host some big events. But at twilight tonight, it was dim and deserted.

  Winter light poured through huge windows that ran the length of the west and north walls. Outside, sunset faded away in a red slash, burning against the mountain peaks. The valley below was already plunged into darkness, twinkling with lights, but on the slopes, the ski runs were as bright as day, lit up for night skiing. Overhead was a black winter sky, poked through with stars. In the distance, snagged momentarily on the mountain peaks, lurked more storm clouds.

  Inside, the lights of the slopes cast a white glow, but otherwise, the only illumination came from low lights that lit the walkways and the underside of a row of plush booths sitting on risers at the back of the room.

  The sound of footfalls drew her attention to the far end of the room. Johnny pushed open one of the doors, spotted Juliette, and started over.

  “I found it,” she said. Her voice echoed a little in the huge, empty space.

  “You’re amazing.”

  “How’d you even know this place was here?”

  “How’d you not?”

  “Oddly, I haven’t needed a banquet hall this entire trip until now,” she said.

  He prowled through the dimly lit room, circling tables. The empty bar’s low lights were reflected back in the smoky mirror on the wall behind it, and showed Johnny striding past in a dark green wool pea coat and faded jeans, bulky messenger bag slung over one shoulder.

  His dark hair was fashionably tousled, his jaw and cheeks roughened by a day’s growth of beard. It toned down his usual more polished, put-together elegance. It made him more human, more handsome. More dangerous.

  “Are we allowed to be here?” she asked as he arrived at the table.

  “Why wouldn’t we be?”

  That didn’t sound like someone who’d inquired about permission. “Are we?” she persisted.

  He yanked out a chair. “Was it locked when you got here?”

  She hesitated. “No.”

  He set his bag on the table with a thud. “Permission granted.”

  Right, then.

  “The heat’s not working,” he explained shortly. “The room’s off limits.”

  “And so that’s why we’re here. Because it’s off-limits.”

  “Exactly.” He glanced around. “All the conference rooms were taken, and all the rooms are booked. This will work.” He looked down at her. “Right?”

  “Right. Make yourself at home,” she mumbled, waving her hand at the vast, empty hall as she reached for one of the steaming coffee cups.

  “Coffee?” she asked, looking up, cup in hand, then froze.

  Johnny’s back was to her as he shrugged off his coat. He was wearing faded jeans and a loose, soft cotton dark grey shirt. It had got tugged up when he pulled off his coat, giving her a fleeting, spectacular view of his naked lower back.

  Silky smooth skin slid overtop hard muscle that dipped into the valley of his spine, then disappeared below the waistband of his jeans. It was an entire topography of masculinity. She couldn’t tear her eyes away.

  He flung the jacket onto the table. The shirt fell back down, covering the map of Johnny and her sudden, shocking desire.

  “Sure,” he said, turning to her.

  She dragged her gaze up blankly. “Sure?”

  He nodded toward the coffee she was still holding aloft. “Sure. As in yes, coffee.” When she didn’t move, he added slowly, “Please.”

  She jerked. “Right. Sure. Coffee.”

  Idiot.

  “Cream?” she said, setting down his cup with more force than was necessary. A little liquid splashed out the tiny sip hole.

  “No, I’m good.”

  Good, because she hadn’t brought any.

  He pulled out a chair and leaned forward slightly to sit. She thrust a handful of sugar packets under his nose. “Sugar?”

  He paused, mid-sit, and tilted his head up. “No, thanks.”

  “If you’re sure,” she said grimly and started dumping sugar into her coffee. Johnny began extracting things from his bag. When she got to five packets, he paused in lifting a laptop out of his bag. She added a sixth. He slid his gaze up to hers.

  “You like sugar.”

  “I’m trying to quit.”

  “How’s that working out for you?”

  “Not too good.”

  He sat back, considering her. She felt the urge to yank down on her sweater. “You need a drink,” he announced.

  She stared, sugar packet suspended in the air. “A drink? Of alcohol?”

  He looked at her, his eyes as remote as ever. He said nothing.

  She cleared her throat. “That would be stupid.” More nothing. She waved her hand at the bar. “Anyhow, there’s no bartender, so….”

  “I don’t rely on bartenders.”

  She laughed a little. “Not even in a bar, huh?”

  He smiled faintly. “Not even then.” He reached down into his bag and extracted a heavy glass bottle. It was filled with golden-amber liquid. Whisky.

  She watched glumly as he went behind the bar and grabbed two low, beveled glasses. He came back and set everything on the table, then poured whisky into one of the glasses. The other sat there, empty, like a challenge. Neither of referred to it.

  “You carry whisky around with you,” she observed flatly.

  “Doesn’t everyone?”

  She couldn’t help it; she laughed. “Controlling.”

  He shook his head. “Self-reliant. Heading into a snowstorm.” He looked at her. “Unwilling to settle.”

  Something hot shivered in the center of her. That’s when she had the first inkling, deep down, that she was doomed.

  “Want some?” he asked.

  She stared at the golden drink. Alcohol was the last thing she needed, and it had nothing to do with the fact that they were going to be working. It was that all the rules were bending, with Johnny and her alone together. Things could get confused. She didn’t like confusion. It confused her.

  “No, I’d better…not.”

  He didn’t seem to care. He gave a clipped nod and finished pulling things out of his bag. It was like a clown car of electronic devices: out came an iPad, another laptop, three cell phones and a portable printer. In his ear was a clip for Bluetooth. He was like a NASA engineer.

  She glanced down at her old, non-camera phone.

  He took his watch off and laid it flat on the table, then pressed a button on its side.

  She watched nervously. “Are you recording us?”

  He shook his head and pointed. An image was now projected onto the wall a few feet behind me. Crisp and clear, it was the first page of her valuation.

  “You have my valuation in your watch?” she said incredulously.

  “It’s not a watch, Jauntie. Just like that’s not a phone.” He gestured to the cracked plastic cover of her phone. “They’re computers.”

  She clamped her hand down over her phone that was barely a phone, let alone a computer. “Are we ready?” she asked shortly.

  He pressed a last button. “I’m always ready.”

  “Till there’s a power outage,” she muttered darkly.

  He tipped his head up and their eyes met. “What makes you think I turn off then, Jauntie?”

  Uh-oh.

  He pushed his chair away from the table and sprawled back in it. “Okay, talk to me about your valuation. Why’s it so off?”

  Ah. Into her element. Enough of hard muscles and pea coats and tousled dark hair. More numbers appearing in neat, orderly lines.

  “It’s not off,” she retorted. “Your partner Dan used direct capitalization for Mrs. B’s LLC. I used discounted cash flow, and attributed goodwill to her husband.”

  He nodded as if this was perfectly reasonable, then said, “Why the hell did you do that?
”

  “Because I can’t assume the same cash flow will continue once the judge’s name is removed.”

  “The properties aren’t Judge Billings, so his name can’t be ‘removed.’”

  “It can be removed in truth, if not on paper, since the divorce is public knowledge. Very public. Unlike his mistress,” she added.

  He ignored that. “It’s academic. They already agreed to the value of the LLC. ”

  “No, you want it to be academic. Nothing’s signed yet.”

  “That would be because of you.”

  She set down her pencil with a sharp click. “No, that would be because the LLC’s rental properties have brought in almost three million dollars in three-plus years, which is an extremely high sum. Atypical, one might say. That being so, we can’t know how much of that comes as a result of the goodwill that attaches to the judge, for no other reason than that he’s a judge, and that can’t be divided in a divorce. It’s all his.”

  They sat back and considered each other, two fighters going to their respective corners.

  “Are you implying,” Johnny said slowly, “that Judge Billings used his position as a judge to obtain tenants for his wife’s rental properties?”

  She shrugged. “I’m not implying anything. My client says the whole rental thing was his baby, that he took care of everything.”

  “So you are saying he used his profession to bring in renters.”

  She set her elbow on the table and leaned forward again. It was becoming a habit with her and Johnny, this leaning in.

  “What I’m saying is this: he’s a president judge of the district juvenile court and is involved in various—appropriate I’m sure—community events. He’s been on TV, for goodness sake, doing interviews. People know his name. They know his face. They know him. They trust him. People do business with someone they can trust. So he gets that in the valuation.”

  “Even if you weren’t insane, Jauntie, that would be business goodwill.”

  She shook her head. “It is not. All goodwill goes to his name. She’s done with it. Good riddance, right?” Juliette certainly thought so. Cutting ties to the sharp-eyed judge she’d seen in newspaper pictures and TV interviews was for the best. He looked like a wolverine. “Mrs. Billings gets the LLC and its assets, but the goodwill is all his. There’s nothing stopping him from opening a competing rental property, should he wish to start another, similar LLC for his mistress,” she smiled sweetly.

  He sat back slowly. “Creative. I’ve never seen someone argue a company’s value is lessened by the leaving of someone who’s not even a member of the company.”

  She smiled. “I got the award for Most Creative Use of Chocolate Éclairs at summer camp.”

  “I’ll bet you did,” he murmured. He folded his fingers together over his flat belly and kicked his legs out, watching her. She felt his energy sucking inward, like a black hole. His eyes were pinned on her.

  “What else?” he asked quietly.

  “What else what?

  “What else is bothering you?”

  Right now, Johnny’s entire presence was bothering her. But she didn’t think he meant was she bothered by the fact that chills raked across her body and her nipples got hard every time he looked at her, so she just shrugged.

  “Nothing particular.” She hesitated, then leaned forward again, her ribs pressed against the edge of the table. His gaze dropped like it was anchored to her chest. “There are some funny things.”

  His eyes inched back up. Good. Her breasts were starting to tingle. For a second she thought she saw something in his eyes, a flash of heat or something, but it was gone, quick as that.

  “Funny ha-ha?” he said.

  She shook her head. “No. It’s just…I don’t know. The appraisal. The rental receipts. Something just feels…off.”

  His gaze skipped across her face. “What did Mrs. B say?”

  “Nothing useful. She says she left everything to the judge.”

  “Maybe she should have looked over the paperwork for her company now and then,” he suggested.

  “That’s just what I told her,” Juliette agreed sharply. “In no uncertain terms. She said she trusted her husband. I told her she was nuts. I think she appreciated my honesty.”

  Johnny’s green eyes held hers for a long time. “I see,” he said in a real low voice. “So you must want to do a really impressive job here, huh?”

  It was an innocuous question, seemingly, but packed with innuendo, especially the word ‘impressive,’ which dripped with meaning. With accusation. As if Juliette was pushing things right up to their limit, trying to impress. Angling. Ambitious.

  He was right, too. But that didn’t mean she pushed over the limit. Or that she was out of line.

  So she narrowed her eyes at him. “Where’s the damned paperwork, Danger?”

  He met her cold look with an equally cold smile and waved at the papers.

  “They’re all yours, Jauntie. Courtesy of a lot of pissed off people.”

  Chapter Five

  JULIETTE YANKED a folder off the top of the pile with more force than was necessary. Johnny pulled one off too, with exactly the right amount of force.

  “What am I looking for?” he asked.

  She blinked in surprise. “What?”

  “What’s got you all hot and bothered?” He had one hand on the file, his gaze on his computer screen as he tapped away at the keys. “What’s funny? What are we looking for?”

  Her heart bounced upward like a wave had come along. “You think something might be off, too? You believe me?” She wasn’t used to being believed.

  Which was understandable. She’d gotten used to it. It had nothing to do with her abilities; she was one of the best, even if no one knew it yet.

  No, it had more to do with the time she’d spent locked up as a youth. Those things tended to stick with a person. Sometimes on their record.

  For a second, Johnny hesitated. Then his gaze slid to mine.

  “I think you’re nuts, Jauntie. All I want to do is get this over with. If I help, we get done sooner.”

  Her lifted heart fell with a bang. Of course. Never attribute anything hopeful or nice or human to Johnny Danger, or your heart would get broken. Not that her heart was involved here. It was just a saying. That she’d just made up.

  “So, what are we looking for?” he said again, his gaze back on the screen. “What’s the problem?”

  “You mean aside from the original valuation method? I want a real appraisal on the properties attached to the LLC. Dan used a value-based appraisal, based on the rents coming in, which is the same method he used for the valuation. I mean, there’s just no cross-check. Don’t you find that odd?” She didn’t wait for a reply. “So, I want to see what those properties are actually worth.”

  “Okay, a market value appraisal. I knew about that. What else?” His voice was low, calm, like you’d talk to an angry dog.

  She leaned a little closer and tapped her finger on the table.

  “Rental receipts. Detailed accounts receivable. For every month of the last three plus years. And don’t bother telling me the income was reported on taxes,” she added swiftly, although Johnny didn’t look as if he’d been going to say anything of the kind. In fact, he didn’t look as though he’d ever speak again, so reclined and calm and composed was he. Ice. She plunged on with her prosecutorial approach to accounting. “Because the way I see it, if everyone wants to use rents from the property to assess value on my client, then I ought to be provided with a copy of those receipts, oughtn’t I?”

  “Makes sense to me.”

  “Even if they’ve been reported on taxes.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “Furthermore, I— What?”

  “Makes sense.”

  “Oh.”

  A man of few words. They sat in silence.

  “Okay then,” she said lamely.

  “Okay then,” he repeated. His gaze slid down her body on its way to the paperwor
k. He didn’t say another word.

  She felt bereft at having been ripped out of the heat of battle like that. Then she quietly bent her head and went to work.

  They worked for a long time. That’s how Juliette measured time when she was working, immersed in it like water. There was ‘not long,’ ‘pretty long,’ ‘really long’ and ‘I’m going to pass out from low blood sugar.’

  Johnny was the same. She knew it. She’d seen him too many times in the middle of the night, at the gym or in the garage, to suspect otherwise. Of course, she didn’t know if his blood sugar ever dropped—she’d never caught him wolfing down a bag of peanut M&M’s and a thermos full of coffee in the gym locker at three in the morning—but she did know that hammering out some wanna-be criminal’s financials all night long was no big deal to either of them.

  They worked together pretty well, too, considering they were like two lone wolves stuck together on an ice floe. Johnny’s section of the floe was powered for broke. She was more of a pencil gal; she had an extra behind each ear, a sharpener in her bag and a pouch full of erasers, because the world was full of errors.

  Occasionally they’d pass papers back and forth or shift their screens to each other, but mostly, Johnny clicked and she scribbled, while outside, it started to snow.

  Everything she’d asked for was here. Hallelujah. But as she went through it, she became dissatisfied. Increasingly so. It was a general feeling, nothing specific, nothing she could pin down, but she turned papers faster, scanning them swiftly, hoping to find something that explained the feeling or made it go away. Neither occurred. Although she did notice an inordinate amount of summaries.

  In fact, she was being bombarded by summaries.

  She didn’t like these summaries. Everything was so…summarized. Neat and orderly, all lined up for her.

  Normally she liked that sort of thing. But even more than order, Juliette liked detail. And all this documentation—the rent rolls, the accounts receivable, the overflowing fountain of paperwork provided at her request in glorious abundance—was absent a whole lot of details.

  No names. No dates. No payment types. No lease agreements. Just monthly totals of receivables in rent payments.