Read an Excerpt
You've Got a Hold On Me
By Tamara Sneed St. Martin's Press
Copyright © 2004 Tamara Sneed
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4668-6583-9
CHAPTER 1
"I object, Your Honor!" Amelia Farrow passionately announced. She hadn't expected the judge's chambers to become so silent at her objection, but all activity in the room came to an abrupt stop as Judge Stants, the court reporter, and Amelia's opposing counsel, George Gibson, all stared at her.
Judge Stants glanced around chambers as if he had missed something incredibly important, then he carefully asked Amelia, "On what grounds?"
"I haven't said anything yet," George reminded the judge, then sent a pointed look in Amelia's direction.
She sent George one of her most sincere smiles, then apologetically said, "I object to what you're about to say."
From Judge Stants's sour expression, Amelia Farrow knew that he wasn't amused by her statement. No one in the judge's chambers made a sound except for the court reporter, who suspiciously coughed while her lips twitched with a hint of laughter, in the corner of the room. As the silence weighed in the room, Amelia vowed that she would not apologize. Her statement was on the record, it was unprofessional, and there was no doubt that her father would hear about it. The idea of being reprimanded by the most feared federal circuit court judge in Los Angeles, who happened to be her father, should have been enough of a reason for her to plead for the withdrawal of the statement. But she held her ground.
Amelia refused to even glance at the tall man standing next to her in front of the judge's desk. She had been looking at him for the past four days in the courtroom and dealing with his snide glances and abrasive questions, not to mention the borderline inappropriate looks he directed at the women jurors, who all flushed or gave their own looks in return. Besides, she had a feeling that if she did look at him, she would find him laughing. Whenever she thought she had finally done something to wipe that insufferable smirk off Gibson's face, she would find him smiling even wider.
"You are out of line, Ms. Farrow," Judge Stants announced, with no hint of censure in his voice. He just appeared tired.
"Your Honor —"
"Deirdre, take us off the record," the judge ordered. The court reporter immediately stopped typing. Amelia tried to speak, but the judge once more interrupted her. "Frankly, Ms. Farrow, I don't want to hear one word that you have to say."
George Gibson sent the judge one of his dazzling smiles, then tried to speak. "Your Honor —"
Judge Stants cut off George. "I don't want to hear from you, either. Over the last four days — actually, the last year, since I've had the displeasure of presiding over cases with you two as counsel — I've dealt with more than I want to hear from either one of you. You have turned this court into a mockery."
"Your Honor, I have not done anything that could be construed as an insult to this court," Amelia protested, even as her face warmed with embarrassment and shame. She worked hard to ensure her reputation. She didn't want Judge Stants to feel she was an incompetent attorney or, worse, an immature one.
"You've toed the line, Ms. Farrow. Too often. I expect that from Mr. Gibson." The judge actually paused to give George a look that would have made an average man hang his head in shame but only made George grin. Judge Stants shook his head in disgust at George's reaction, then turned once more to Amelia. "I expect more from an assistant district attorney. You represent the people of California in this courtroom. You are their eyes, their ears, their only way to achieve justice. You also have the responsibility to make certain that the defendants receive a fair shot from the criminal justice system. Normally, you do a wonderful job. I would point to you if I were District Attorney Grayson as a shining example of an ADA. But, whenever you come against Mr. Gibson in court, you sink to his level."
Amelia averted her eyes. A small part of her knew that the judge was right, and she felt the guilt that he obviously wanted her to feel. She was supposed to play fair. Not just because she was an ADA, but because she was a Farrow and that carried certain responsibilities in Los Angeles. Judges expected certain behavior from her, not to mention impeccable work, because she was a Farrow. And she delivered, no matter how late she had to work the night before or how many times she had to turn her cheek to prove she was "better" than the antics opposing counsel threw at her. She was accustomed to the expectations and to meeting them. She had been doing it her whole life. But not where George Gibson was concerned. Where he was concerned all bets were off.
She couldn't place her finger on the exact moment when George Gibson became her Public Enemy Number One. He didn't treat her with any less respect than he treated any other prosecutor from the DA's office. He didn't ignore her any more than he ignored any other prosecutor from the DA's office. And maybe a small part of her admitted that was the problem. She was often ignored — before people recognized her last name and what that meant — but she didn't like being ignored by a man who haunted her dreams. Or more like her nightmares, because George Gibson was certainly not her type. She had never even thought she had a type until she ran across George Gibson.
He was arrogant, sarcastic, rude, and ... and loyal to his clients — almost to his own detriment. He was also the most intelligent defense attorney she argued against ... and George Gibson was just plain fine. More than attractive, he could have posed for his own swimsuit calendar and sold it in the lobby of the courthouse. His lean figure easily stretched over six feet, with brown skin the color of warm Caribbean sand flowing over the muscles emphasized even in the modest suits he wore. His lips were plump and always curled either in a seductive smile that drove women wild or a teasing smirk that drove women wild. His chocolate brown almond-shaped eyes had the ability to mock Amelia one minute, then turn sympathetic and warm for a client on the stand the next. The black curls on his head were a tad too long to be respectable for a courtroom and silky enough to remind Amelia of a baby's head.
Regardless of his looks and the fact that every woman in the courthouse and in her office would have paid for him to smile at her, Amelia saw his looks as only another aspect about him that irritated her. Besides, she told herself that she would never date a man who wore a wrinkled suit and shoes with rubber soles to court. Shoes with rubber soles. Her father would have banned George from his courtroom. And beside the fashion problems, George was a defense attorney. The Farrow family would have disowned her for even thinking of dating him.
Amelia also constantly reminded herself that she was twenty-nine years old. Pretty faces did nothing for her anymore. She had spent her entire life being tricked by pretty faces who only wanted her for her money. She, at least, could admit that George knew who she was, what she represented, and didn't care. He still thought she was a worthless prosecutor. He was scared of no attorney, no judge, no defendant. When she wasn't annoyed by George's complete lack of concern for social dictates inside and outside the courtroom, she probably admired him. Maybe that explained why she was attracted to him. That and because he had a voice that could melt ice cream in the Arctic and the sexiest smile she had ever seen on a man.
When Amelia realized, to her horror, that she had been openly staring at George, she instantly turned to Judge Stants and tried to apologize for her statement once more. "Your Honor —"
"As you both are well aware, I feel that courtroom decorum has absolutely disappeared."
Amelia barely resisted rolling her eyes in exasperation, although she noticed that George openly glanced at his watch. Judge Stants's view on the lack of courtroom decorum and civility was well known throughout Los Angeles County. When he wasn't lecturing the attorneys in his courtroom, he was holding court at cocktail parties and boring people at Bar dinners.
"Your Honor, I mean no disrespect, but —"
Judge Stants interrupted George, saying simply, "I've come to a decision. You two have this weekend to hammer out a deal in the O'Connor case."
"Your Honor, that's impossible!" George croaked, the smile for once disappearing from his face. "My client has refused to even consider serving one day in jail and Ms. Farrow wants to bury him under the jailhouse."
"That is not true," Amelia protested, feeling like she was back in elementary school standing in front of the principal when Billy Collins blamed her for throwing the cherry bomb during assembly. She would never have done anything like that, although she had been tempted.
The judge ignored both of their protests and calmly continued. "Daniel O'Connor is a first-time offender who arguably was provoked into the attack on the victim. I believe the only reason this matter came to trial is because of counsels' mutual personal animosity toward each other. If I look up from the bench Monday morning and see either one of you, I will not be happy. You don't want to see me not happy."
"You can't force us to settle. Such course of action plainly violates my client's constitutional rights," George said.
"I'm not forcing you two to settle. I'm just stating that if I see People versus O'Connor on my trial calendar Monday morning, if either of you breathes wrong, I'll find a way to hold you in contempt. Do you both understand? Don't speak; just nod."
Amelia gave a curt nod. She noticed from the corner of her eye that George stuffed his hands into his pants pockets and returned the judge's expectant gaze.
"Is that all, Your Honor?" Amelia asked through clenched teeth, feeling the humiliation and anger flush her walnut brown skin.
In her four years of practicing law, she had never been reprimanded by a judge. Not in the courtroom or in chambers. She didn't know whether to be angry or embarrassed. She settled on anger. Directed at George Gibson. If he hadn't baited her in the courtroom by winking at her when his back was to the jury and the judge, she never would have "accidentally" tripped him by dropping a book in his path when he returned from the lectern to his seat at the defense table.
Judge Stants nodded, then stared down at the papers in front of him, effectively dismissing Amelia and George. She grabbed her briefcase out of the chair and hurried out of his chambers as quickly as she could in a skirt and high heels. Unfortunately, that meant George Gibson easily could match her stride. The two emerged from the judge's chambers directly into the now empty courtroom, where thirty minutes ago the judge had ordered the two to follow him into his chambers in front of the jurors and the court spectators as if they were children sent to the principal's office.
"We should report him to the Bar," Amelia said to George, although she didn't care if he responded. Her anger increased as she thought of the arrogant expression in Stants's eyes. "He can't control our case. He can't run roughshod over O'Connor's rights, over the prosecutor's office. I had heard that Judge Stants was having personal problems, but I never thought that he would allow it to affect his work like this. This is absolutely preposterous —"
"Maybe Stants has a point," George said casually.
Amelia stopped in her tracks in the middle of the now empty, dimly lit courtroom to glare at George. He took another three steps before he realized that she had stopped; then he turned to her.
He shrugged under her gaze and then had the nerve to smile. She ignored the rush of heat that ran throughout her body and fought the urge to smile back at him. There was something about George's grin that made her want to see if there was anything more to him than arrogance and a dislike for her office.
"We should have settled this case weeks ago," George continued. "Maybe we've allowed our personal feelings to affect our work."
She coughed in disbelief, then straightened her headband, mostly to avoid his gaze. She composed her rampaging emotions, then met his expectant gaze again.
"I have no personal feelings toward you," she said clearly and firmly.
"Right," he said, nodding, but openly giving her a look of disbelief.
Instead of attempting to convince him and herself that there was nothing between them, Amelia ignored him, then stalked across the room toward the exit. She didn't bother to hold the swinging door that separated the public seats from the rest of the court. She heard his grunt as he ran into the still-swinging door behind her, which made her smile even though she knew it was childish.
She continued through the double doors of the courtroom and into the empty hallway. It was six o'clock on a Friday evening. The shadows lengthened across the hall, creating an almost romantic effect. She abruptly stopped her strange thoughts. Romantic? What made her think that anything about a courthouse could be romantic? Then she smelled George's soapy scent as he came to a stop next to her at the elevator.
"I have to admit, Farrow, you have some balls. Objecting before your opposing counsel has a chance to say something worth objecting to? Saves everyone a lot of time, doesn't it? You may want to submit that one to the Judicial Council for review. Another great contribution by a Farrow to the law."
She ignored his sarcasm and viciously jabbed the elevator call button. A long moment of silence followed as she felt his eyes boring a hole into her. She kept her eyes trained on the numbers above the elevators doors that told of the nonexistent progress of the elevator cars that remained ten floors below.
"Let's not ruin each other's weekend over this case. I don't want to spend next week arguing with you any more than you want to be arguing with me," George said, actually sounding serious enough for her to be either insulted or hurt. "Give me aggravated assault, probation, and this case is over."
She laughed in disbelief and looked at him. "Your client intentionally ran a Ford truck into the Tanner household. Children could have been inside —"
"Barry Tanner slept with Danny's wife and told everyone at their job. He had adequate provocation."
"And that's perfect justification for you, isn't it?" Amelia snapped, even though she had vowed that she wouldn't allow George to make her lose her temper. Again. Farrows did not lose their tempers, because — as her father always told her — "it just isn't done."
Farrows laughed and talked with their colleagues but never became too close with them. Farrows went to after-work drinks with their colleagues but never had more than one-half of a drink or stayed for more than an hour. And, most important, Farrows did not express their dislike for people who made it a point to get under their skin as George Gibson was apparently attempting to do with her. Farrows were perfect and Amelia was perfect ... when she wasn't around George Gibson.
She told herself that it didn't matter, especially since he acted as if spending the weekend around her was a fate worse than death. She forced a smile. She would be nice to George Gibson if it killed her.
"Here's a news flash from the twenty-first century," she said through a tight, forced smile that hurt her jaw. "A woman is not a piece of property. Just because O'Connor's wife slept with someone else does not give O'Connor the right to act like an enraged fool. Did it ever occur to you or him that he's the problem and not Barry Tanner? If Mrs. O'Connor felt loved in her own home she wouldn't have to ... Why am I even explaining this to you?"
She once more punched the button. The courthouse elevators were notoriously slow. Since no one should have been in the building, except a few judges working late, Amelia prayed the elevator would not take the usual eternity to reach the tenth floor.
"If I didn't know better, I would think that you're taking this case personally," George said in his usual nothing-upsets-me-because-I'm-so-cool manner that drove Amelia insane.
"Don't be ridiculous, Mr. Gibson," she snapped. "I apply the law equally to every case I prosecute."
"What's the saying? Something about a scorned woman making a man's life hell."
She rolled her eyes in irritation, then stopped herself from making the rude gesture. She smoothed down the front of her suit, then said calmly, "I believe you're referring to 'Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned,' which has absolutely nothing to do with the conversation at hand."
"Unless you're the woman scorned."
"Now you're insulting me," she said, too amazed by his audacity to be truly angry.
George shrugged. "I call it like I see it."
She grunted in disbelief, then abruptly whirled around and stalked toward the door that led to the courthouse stairwell. She threw open the door and proceeded into the dimly lit metal staircase. She suppressed her groan when she heard his footsteps on the stairwell behind her.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from You've Got a Hold On Me by Tamara Sneed. Copyright © 2004 Tamara Sneed. Excerpted by permission of St. Martin's Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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