Now she had the almost impossible task of convincing the judge to remove the injunction and let the construction begin. It would be an uphill battle and, like it or not, she was committed to it. She too thought that the Indians should be allowed to keep their land, but she could never reveal her feelings. Professional ethics required that she represent her client to the best of her ability, and she was fully prepared to do so.

“Ms. Hancock?”

Marisa looked up at the judge, then rose, clearing her throat.

“Are you prepared to continue?” the judge asked.

“Yes, your honor,” Marisa said firmly. Then she gathered her papers and put them into her briefcase.

Bluewolf’s gaze never wavered as she crossed diagonally in front of his table on her way out of the courtroom.

* * *

Several days later, Jackson Bluewolf watched Marisa as she spoke clearly and logically, her arguments cogent and well prepared, as always. It wasn’t her fault that local sympathy, among the populace and in the media, was heavily in favor of the Seminoles, or that any lawyer representing the government in the lower courts had a Herculean task from the start. She was losing on points day after day, but she was doing a hell of a job and he had to admire her for it.

He’d been aware of her from day one, mostly because of her looks; she was exactly the sort of tall, slender blonde who usually caught his eye. It had come as something of a shock when he learned that she was the attorney for the other side, but her behavior throughout the trial had only made her more attractive to him, despite the fact that she was gunning for the government. She never lost her composure, never betrayed disappointment even when the calls went against her, as they frequently had. And she acted as though she didn’t know he existed, which intrigued him. Maybe she didn’t, maybe she was so focused on her job that his almost palpable interest in her had failed to register. Well, he was going to find out shortly. Today, in fact.

He watched her now, dressed in a tailored navy suit with an ivory silk tie blouse. Her high heeled shoes were polished, her pale hair was confined in a stylish chignon, her gold knot earrings matched a gleaming brooch on the lapel of her jacket. She was always like that, tightly controlled, neat as a pin and as finished as a dressmaker’s hem. Oh, how he longed to mess her up, to see that shining hair falling loose on creamy, naked shoulders, those lady lawyer clothes piled in an irreverent heap on the floor. His floor. He suddenly realized what he was thinking, swallowed hard, and tore his gaze away from her.

This would never do. When he was in the courtroom he had to concentrate on the case. There would be time enough to pursue her when the session was over for the day. That day.

He could wait no longer.

* * *

Marisa was walking down the marble floored corridor of the courthouse that afternoon on her way back to her hotel when she heard a man call her name.

She knew who it was before she looked. She took a deep breath and then turned and faced him, her expression calm.

“Jackson Bluewolf,” he said, extending his hand.

“I know who you are, Mr. Bluewolf,” Marisa said dryly, grasping his fingers briefly.

“I wonder if I might speak with you.”

“Go on,” Marisa replied evenly, looking up at him, thinking that he must be very tall. She was wearing heels and he still topped her by several inches.

“Not here,” he said. “Where are you staying?”

Marisa hesitated.

“I merely thought we could have a drink in the lounge,” he said mildly, his lips curving slightly.

“At the Fillmore,” Marisa said, feeling foolish.

“Good. There’s a comfortable bar on the lower level. May I walk you over there?”

“Why?”

“I want to talk to you. Concerning the case, of course.”

“I think we’re covering everything we need to say in the courtroom,” Marisa said.

“It will just take a few minutes. Please.”

“All right,” Marisa said reluctantly.

He fell into step beside her, saying, “May I take that for you?” He indicated her briefcase.

“I’m used to carrying a bag, Mr. Bluewolf,” Marisa said.

“Call me Jack,” he said, and smiled.

Be careful, Marisa, she thought. At close range his charm was overwhelming, a combination of his arresting good looks, his physical grace, and the easy smile which revealed beautiful, slightly uneven white teeth. He was wearing a taupe pinstriped suit which complemented his dusky skin and gleaming black hair. His eyes, she noticed, were not the dull brown of ordinary eyes but an intriguing amber, the color of fine sherry or very old, very expensive Scotch.

Yes, be very careful indeed.

“So what is this about, Mr. Bluewolf?” she said briskly.

He chuckled.

“What?” she said, startled, looking over at him.

“Jack,” he reminded her gently.

Marisa shrugged. There was something about him that made standing on ceremony seem ridiculous.

They emerged from the building into the balmy late afternoon air. The hotel was just across the main street and he took her elbow as they traversed the intersection. Marisa felt herself stiffen and then relaxed deliberately. Really, she was acting like a child.

The hotel bar was thronged with happy hour revelers. Jack greeted the host familiarly and they were shown to a secluded corner, away from the noise and confusion.

“Your friend?” Marisa said, nodding toward the departing man.

Jack made a deprecating gesture. “I’ve been in Ponte Azul for several months now, working on the case. This place is convenient to the courthouse; Ben and I have been in here quite a bit.”

Ben was Ben Brady, the NFN lawyer, and the mention of his name reminded Marisa why she was there.

“Well?” she said.

He raised his brows.

“The case.”

“Oh, yeah, the case. I was wondering if it has occurred to you that you’re working for the wrong side.”

This statement so accurately reflected what she had been thinking that she froze, stunned. She waited for a long moment and then said smoothly,“I’m not going to discuss politics with you, Mr. Bluewolf.”

“Politics?”

“The goals of the NFN, while they may be laudable, are a political matter. I am here to represent the federal government to the best of my ability in a court case, and that I intend to do. It would be unprofessional and unethical of me to do anything other than my level best to win the case for my client.”

“Well said,” Jack observed, watching her face.

A waitress arrived to take their order.

“What will you have?” Jack said, looking at her.

“Club soda with lime.”

“And a bourbon for me. Thanks.” He waited until the woman had departed and said, “You’re a last minute replacement, aren’t you?”

“How did you know that?”

“The papers your firm filed indicated that somebody named Arthur Winston was going to be representing the feds. Then you showed up at the preliminary hearing. Even before I heard the judge address you by name I would have bet good money that you weren’t Arthur Winston.”

“Arthur was in a car accident and I had to take over when it was clear he wouldn’t be able to continue.”

“I see.” He sat back in his chair and folded his arms. “I’m going to be frank with you, Ms. Hancock. There is much more at stake here than a cemetery or a highway. The Seminoles are using this hearing as a forum to air a long history of unfair treatment by the government. The protesters, the editorials in the local papers, the tempers flaring all over the county have little to do with the court case. They have much more to do with the poor conditions of reservation living which have left all of the Indians in this area bitter and malcontent.”

“I’m aware of that,” Marisa said evenly.

“You’re now at the center of this whirlpool, the most visible representative of the government and therefore identified with its position. Do you realize this could be dangerous for you?”