Rachel shook her arm free—no easy task—and prepared to use her briefcase as a weapon if it became necessary. She’d heard about the black Irish and their tempers. But Ukrainians were no slouches, either.

“Mr. Muldoon, I don’t know who you are or what you’re talking about. And I happen to be very busy.” She’d managed two steps when he whirled her around. Rachel’s tawny eyes narrowed dangerously. “Look, Buster—”

“I don’t care how busy you are, I want some answers. If you don’t have time to help Nick, then we’ll get another lawyer. God knows why he chose some fancy broad in a designer suit in the first place.” His blue eyes shot fire, the Irish poet’s mouth hardening into a sneer.

She sputtered, angry color flagging both cheeks. She jabbed one stiffened, clear-tipped finger in his chest. “Broad? You just watch who you call broad, pal, or—”

“Or you’ll get your boyfriend to lock me in a cell?” Zack suggested. Yeah, that was definitely a fancy face, he thought in disgust. Butter-soft skin in pale gold, and eyes like good Irish whiskey. What he needed was a street fighter, and he’d gotten society. “I don’t know what kind of defense Nick expects from some woman who spends her time kissing cops and making dates when she’s supposed to be working.”

“It’s none of your business what I—” She took a deep breath. Nick. “Are you talking about Nicholas LeBeck?”

“Of course I’m talking about Nicholas LeBeck. Who the hell do you think I’m talking about?” His black brows drew together over his furious eyes. “And you’d better come up with some answers, lady, or you’re going to be off his case and out on your pretty butt.”

“Hey, Rachel!” An undercover cop dressed like a wino sidled up behind her. He eyed Zack. “Any problem here?”

“No.” Though her eyes were blazing, she offered him a half smile. “No, I’m fine, Matt. Thanks.” She edged over to one side and lowered her voice. “I don’t owe you any answers, Muldoon. And insulting me is a poor way to gain my cooperation.”

“You’re paid to cooperate,” he told her. “Just how much are you hosing the boy for?”

“Excuse me?”

“What’s your fee, sugar?”

Her teeth set. The way she saw it, sugar was only a marginal step up from broad. “I’m a public defender, Muldoon, assigned to LeBeck’s case. That means he doesn’t owe me a damn thing. Just like I don’t owe you.”

“A PD?” He all but backed her off the sidewalk and into the building. “What the devil does Nick need a PD for?”

“Because he’s broke and unemployed. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” She set a hand on his chest and shoved. She’d have been better off trying to shove away the brick building at her back.

“He lost his job? But…” The words trailed off. This time Rachel read something other than anger in his eyes. Weariness, she thought. A trace of despair. Resignation. “He could have come to me.”

“And who the hell are you?”

Zack rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m his brother.”

Rachel pursed her lips, lifted a brow. She knew how the gangs worked, and though Zack looked rough-and-ready enough to fit in with the Cobras, he also looked too old to be a card-carrying member.

“Don’t the Cobras have an age limit?”

“What?” He let his hand drop and focused on her again with a fresh oath. “Do I look like I belong to a street gang?”

With her head tilted, Rachel ran her gaze from his battered high-tops to his shaggy dark head. He had the look of a street tough, certainly of a man who could bulldoze his way down alleys, pounding rivals with those big-fisted hands. The hard, hollowed face and hot eyes made her think he’d enjoy cracking skulls, particularly hers. “Actually, you could pass. And your manners certainly reflect the code. Rude, abrasive, and rough.”

He didn’t give a damn what she thought of his appearance, or his manners, but it was time they set the record straight. “I’m Nick’s brother—stepbrother, if you want to be technical. His mother married my father. Get it?”

Her eyes remained wary, but there was some interest there now. “He said he didn’t have any relatives.”

For an instant, she thought she saw hurt in those steel-blue depths. Then it was gone, hardened away. “He’s got me, whether he likes it or not. And I can afford a real lawyer, so why don’t you fill me in, and I’ll take it from there.”

This time she didn’t merely set her teeth, she practically snarled. “I happen to be a real lawyer, Muldoon. And if LeBeck wants other counsel, he can damn well ask for it himself.”

He struggled to find the patience that always seemed to elude him. “We’ll get into that later. For now, I want to know what the hell’s going on.”

“Fine.” She snapped the word out as she looked at her watch. “You can have fifteen minutes of my time, providing you take it while I eat. I have to be back in court in an hour.”

CHAPTER TWO

From the way she looked—elegant sex in a three-piece suit—Zack figured her for one of the trendy little restaurants that served complicated pasta dishes and white wine. Instead, she stalked down the street, her long legs eating up the sidewalk so that he didn’t have to shorten his pace to keep abreast.

She stopped at a vendor and ordered a hot dog—loaded—with a soft drink, then stepped aside to give Zack room to make his selection. The idea of eating anything that looked like a hot dog at what he considered the crack of dawn had his stomach shriveling. Zack settled for a soft drink—the kind loaded with sugar and caffeine—and a cigarette.

Rachel took the first bite, licked mustard off her thumb. Over the scent of onions and relish, Zack caught a trace of her perfume. It was like walking through the jungle, he thought with a frown. All those ripe, sweaty smells, and then suddenly, unexpectedly, you could come across some exotic, seductive vine tangled with vivid flowers.

“He’s charged with burglary,” Rachel said with her mouth full. “Not much chance of shaking it. He was apprehended climbing out of the window with several thousand dollars’ worth of stolen merchandise in his possession.”

“Stupid.” Zack downed half the soft drink in a swallow. “He doesn’t have to steal.”