Sean. Donna Kauffman

Rochambeau case giving you a hard time, because we both know Jack Rochambeau is a horse’s—”

      “Yes,” Laurel broke in, once again smiling. “As does the entire legal community. But he comes from a long line of them, many of them dangerous, so he’s gotten away with it. But if the D.A.’s case is as strong as it’s purported to be, that’s about to come to an end.”

      “That’s my girl.”

      “Maybe you could give the rest of his ‘family’ these tickets, though. Now that would make my life a lot easier.” She waved the resort brochure.

      Seamus smiled, but the concern didn’t leave his brilliant blue eyes. “I know things have been rough lately, Laurel. That you’ve landed more than your fair share of difficult cases. And now this one.”

      “You always said it was the benchmark cases that made a career. This one definitely qualifies.”

      “Yes, but I believe I also said that a career was only worth the people who benefited from it.”

      Stung, she said, “I think you can safely say more than a few people have benefited from my rulings. And it goes without saying that any damage we can do to organized crime scum like the Rochambeaus—”

      “Laurel, I don’t mean the victims and their families. I’m talking about your family.”

      “But you’re my family. My only—”

      “Besides me.”

      “There is no one besides you.”

      “Precisely.”

      Laurel sighed and remembered why she didn’t discuss her personal life with her father. Even when she was having one, which she wasn’t at present. “Dad, I do not want to hear the ‘biological clock’ lecture again. Being a judge makes it difficult to have—”

      “Absolutely it does,” he broke in, as he always did. “And your mother was a saint and an angel for putting up with me. And you, for that matter,” he added with his charming smile. She didn’t fall for it. But then, she was more immune than most.

      “You groomed me for this since the first time Mom used your law books as my booster seat,” Laurel reminded him. She might have followed in her father’s famous footsteps, but that didn’t mean she didn’t tug on the strings every once in a while. Too much Seamus in her not to. “So don’t complain I’m not popping out grandchildren for you to terrorize.”

      “Terrorize is it now? Is that what you think I did to you?”

      He was teasing, but she was too fatigued to play along. So she did the one thing guaranteed to end any argument she no longer had the stamina to continue. She didn’t resort to it often, mostly because it went right to his head. She stepped in and hugged him, pressed a kiss to his cheek and whispered, “I’m proud to be your daughter.”

      “Ah, sweetheart,” he sighed, squeezing her.

      She’d have felt guilty, except she’d only spoken the truth. She was proud to be his daughter. And, truth be told, she’d followed in his footsteps as much to find out what it felt like to be even a tiny bit like him, as she had to make him proud of her. From day one he’d made the legal world seem like a thrilling classroom with endless boundaries begging to be explored. He’d also made her feel that she was incredibly lucky to be the student who could do that exploring. And she’d been a good student. A very good student. Good enough that, over time, she’d begun to believe that succeeding in the legal field was enough. And having his respect was proof she’d made the right choice.

      “I’d give you a dozen grandbabies if I could,” she told him. “But we don’t always get to have it all.” She stepped back, feeling more than a little twinge when she saw the flicker of pain in his eyes as he thought of his beloved wife, her mother. She’d been gone for seven years now, yet there wasn’t a day that went by that they both didn’t still miss her. “And you never know,” she added, wishing now she’d opted for his lecture. “Maybe I’ll meet some island man, fall hopelessly in love and drag him back to Louisiana with me. Where I’ll force him to be my house husband and rear a whole pack of squalling Patricks.”

      Seamus’s smile blinked back on and she sighed a little in relief.

      He leaned in and pecked her on the cheek. “You know I love you.”

      She sighed a little and blinked back the sudden moisture that burned at the backs of her eyes. “I love you, too, Dad.”

      He tapped the ticket still clutched in her hand. “Enjoy this,” he instructed, once again Justice Patrick. “Use the time wisely. Leave the work here. Lord knows it’s not going anywhere.” He squeezed her elbow, then motioned to one of the court clerks who was trying to get his attention. He looked back down at her and winked. “And if you meet that beach bum, make sure he signs a prenup.”

      Laurel’s mouth dropped open, but she laughed as her father disappeared in the crowd. A fling with a beach bum. Maybe that’s just what she needed. “Yeah, and the best thing about an island fling is he can’t resurface almost a year later, begging to be back in my life.”

      She tapped the brochure against her palm, then tucked it in her suit pocket as a plan began to form. She’d leave a note for Alan, explaining—again—but this time with as much finality as she could muster, that there would be no getting back together. Then she would leave town for a while, let it sink in, give him time to come to terms with it.

      Before they squared off again in her courtroom.

      Four days to rejuvenate. To languish. To read a book. Get some sun. Drink something with an umbrella in it. “And maybe get laid,” she said, a grin curving her lips.

      “Excuse me?” the young clerk next to her said.

      She hadn’t realized she’d spoken out loud and quickly said, “It’s getting late.” She waved her brochure and grinned, the first from-the-heart grin she’d felt in ages. “I have a plane to catch.”

      2

      “ARE YOU GOING to the bonfire tonight? Did I mention your hotel puts on a nice beach party?”

      “Yes, you did,” Sean replied. Several times. He shook his head as he held the door for Trenton Warner, the head deputy of the Virgin Islands Marshals Office in St. Thomas. “But I don’t think so.”

      Trent looked crestfallen. But then, he hadn’t been exactly subtle in his efforts to set Sean up with some extracurricular activities. “Come now, all work and no play—”

      Sean laughed. “I didn’t say I wasn’t going to play. Just that I wasn’t planning on doing it at a hotel beach party.” He’d been put up in a nice little hotel on Morning Star Bay, a bit of a distance from Charlotte Amalie, the capital city of St. Thomas. And the place was definitely teeming with scantily clad women. Except for the fact that they were a tad bit too…well, nubile, for his taste. Which was likely exactly why Trent had booked him there. Even though Sean was only thirty-four, gazing down from his balcony at all that tanned, oiled skin on women barely old enough to vote, made him feel…well, old.

      “Whatever you say,” Trent said with a sigh and a shake of his head. “And here I was hoping to live vicariously through you.” He was fifty-five, married, with two sons currently enrolled at Florida State. “What good is staying single for so long if you’re not going to take advantage of it?”

      “I imagine there are places other than that beach shindig to find a little company,” Sean responded, though he hadn’t the first clue where that might be and, in truth, had no real plans in place to find out.

      “Ah, sly devil.” Trent laughed and nudged him in the side. “You’ve probably already hooked up with someone. What, did you meet her on the plane? Or in the airport this morning on your way in?”

      “No, I haven’t ‘hooked up.’” And yet