Mistress of Justice

to mind another: The brown glass vial hidden in his briefcase. But it was no more than that—a passing image. Sebastian did not even consider slipping into the men’s room to partake. He never did drugs within the walls of Hubbard, White & Willis. That would be a sin.… so good.
    He closed the door to his office then pulled a manila envelope out of his desk. He removed the computer printouts and began to read—all about Ms. Taylor Lockwood.
    He found the information fascinating. He jotted a few notes and hid them under the blotter on the desk then fed the printouts themselves and the envelope through the shredder in his office.
    Sweeping the phone from the cradle, Sebastian dialed her number from memory.
    “Hello?”
    “Hey, Taylor …”
    He heard tension and anxiety in his own voice. This was bad. Take charge.
    “Thom?”
    “Yeah. How you doing?”
    “Fine, but guilty. I’m finishing a Whopper.”
    With any other woman he’d have jumped on that line with both feet and flirted relentlessly. But he resisted and said casually, “Hey, you survived an evening with me. Not a lot of girls can make that claim. Oops, women. Meant to say ‘women.’ Have I offended you yet?”
    “You’re not even on the radar screen.”
    “I’ll try harder.” In fact he wasn’t really in the mood to joke but he forced himself to maintain a certain level ofpatented Sebastian banter. “You realize that we’re leaving for the airport in a half hour.”
    “And the ‘we’ would be who?”
    “You and me.”
    “Ah. Our elopement. Your friend Bosk was first in line. You can be best lawyer.”
    Damn, she was fast. He’d run out of jokes. “Listen, speaking of your betrothed, I’m going out to dinner in the Hamptons tomorrow with him and a few other folks.”
    “I remember you mentioning that.”
    She had? That was interesting. Why’d she been paying attention to their offhand comments? “Hey, it’s totally last-minute, I know, but any chance you’d like to come? It’ll give me the chance to kill him so that I can move to the number one spot.”
    “Chivalrous.”
    He added gravely, “I have to warn you …”
    “Yes?”
    “It’s not a stretch limo.”
    “That’s not a deal-breaker. What’s the occasion?”
    “It’s Take Someone to Dinner in the Hamptons Day. You
do
know about that, don’t you?”
    “I saw the card rack at Hallmark. I thought I’d have to celebrate by myself with popcorn and the tube.”
    “How ’bout it? Leave early, five-ish. We’ll be back by midnight, one.”
    “Fair enough. Dress?”
    “Business.”
    “Cool,” she said. “I’ll come by your office.”
    Sebastian set down the receiver and closed his eyes. He breathed deeply. He relaxed.
    The motion of his imaginary juggler slowed. Unnecessary thoughts fell away. Projects that weren’t immediate dissolved. The image of the Chinese-American girl he’d picked up last night and would be meeting at The Space tonight vanished. Some technical financial aspects of his project with Bosk rose then faded, as did a nasty, dark portrait of Wendall Clayton. Finally Sebastian was left withtwo thoughts, tossing them around slowly. One was the loan agreement he was working on, spread out on his desk before him.
    The other was Taylor Lockwood.
    He pulled the agreement toward him and looked at the words with a grave intensity. But ten minutes passed before he started to read them.

     
    For Donald Burdick there was no square in New York City more beautiful than that at Lincoln Center.
    The buoyant fountain, the soaring white rock architecture, the energetic Chagall … these all came together as a testament to the power of culture and moved him now, as they always did. It was especially stunning on fall nights like this, when the concert halls radiated their rich glow into the misty dimness of the city.
    Burdick, his hands in his cashmere coat pockets, paced slowly in front of the fountain. It was chilly but waiting inside the Metropolitan Opera, where he and his wife had tickets for Stravinsky later that night, would undoubtedly require him to speak to any number of other box holders, who like him were major patrons of the arts and arrived early for dinner in the private dining room.
    At the moment he didn’t want to be distracted.
    He glanced up and saw the Silver Cloud ease to the curb and Sergei leap out to open Vera’s door. She stepped onto the pavement in her sable coat. He remembered how a few years ago, as Vera had waited for