Page 31 of Passionate Defense

“That means not being late when your husband makes plans for Friday night,” she reminded herself aloud.

Her eyes darted to the clock one more time before she snatched her purse from the desk drawer.

“I’m heading out,” she called through her open office door as she switched off the light. Near the rear exit, she ran into her partner.

“I’m leaving, too,” Beth announced, slinging her purse over her shoulder, the enormous leather bag dwarfing her compact frame. “What are you and the professor doing over the long holiday weekend?”

“We’re leaving town, but Ethan won’t tell me where we’re going. He says it’s a surprise.”

“How romantic.”

“What about you and Dr. Anderson?”

“We’ve got big plans. Big and little, that is.” Her eyes gleamed with excitement as she grinned.

Lanie considered her friend. Barely five feet tall and one hundred pounds soaking wet—at most—she could pass for a college student, so a teenager wasn’t much of a stretch. And she’d look cute in braids with ribbons. Steven was a few years older than Beth. When they went out, people often mistook him for her father anyway.

“Have a good weekend,” Beth called as she exited. “I’ll want details on your mystery destination on Tuesday.”

“You got it,” she replied, double-checking the door to make sure it locked. “Have fun but try not to be too naughty. You’ve got depositions on that embezzlement case Tuesday morning and you’ll need to sit down.”

“Not be naughty?” Beth said with a laugh. “What would be the fun of that?”

They exchanged mischievous smiles before parting ways and heading to their cars in the rear parking lot.

***

COMING FROM OPPOSITEends of the city, Lanie and Ethan both had to fight rush hour traffic to get home. She was at a standstill mile from her exit and was growing more impatient by the minute. They rarely had a chance to get away, and she didn’t want to waste a single minute of their three-day weekend, especially sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic on the Massachusetts Turnpike.

Right then, her phone alarmed with a text message.

Ethan:I’m home, but you’re not. Where are you?

She quickly texted him back.Stuck on the Pike. I’m not sure for how long.

He responded immediately, and she could almost hear his anger through the words on the screen.

Ethan:You better not be texting and driving!

Uh-oh. Technically, she was driving, but did it really qualify as such when she hadn’t moved an inch in at least five minutes? She answered truthfully.

Lanie:I’m not driving. I’m texting while at a dead stop.

The sound of her phone ringing echoed through the car. She hit the green button on her touch screen and her husband’s voice replaced it.

“I shouldn’t have to remind you, counselor, that Massachusetts law prohibits operators of motor vehiclesfrom usinganyelectronic device, including mobile telephones, unless the device is used in hands-free mode. If you’re behind the wheel, on a public road, with the engine running, you’re an operator.”

Leave it to her law professor husband to quote the statute verbatim.

“Were you using voice to text?” he asked.

“No,” she admitted. “But I’m stopped.”

“The police and a judge won’t care. Besides, you know firsthand how quickly an accident can happen.”

He was referring to the wreck that had totaled her car recently. She’d never forget it, or the aftermath. Texting wasn’t involved, but the incident was her fault—indirectly.

“If you need to update me, call—hands-free. Otherwise, we’ll discuss this more when you get home. Be careful. I’d much rather you arrive home late than not at all. Got it?”

---