‘Layla, I have a huge case on.’ Mikael let out a breath. ‘But tomorrow night I’ll take you out.’
‘Really?’
‘Or possibly the next night.’
Layla rolled her eyes. ‘Good evening, Mikael, thank you for your help with my brother. You’re dismissed for today.’
He could not dismiss her from his mind, though.
Well, he’d have to.
Mikael returned to chambers and finally sat down to work through his closing argument. If he was lucky he’d get a couple of hours’ sleep.
Mikael was very good at shutting the world out when needed.
This was his passion.
Over and over the prosecution’s closing he went, looking for holes, for the one little thing that might plant reasonable doubt.
He already had it—in fact Mikael had long known that it was all he had. Layla had got it exactly: the victim’s silence was his client’s only defence.
He might be getting more than two hours’ sleep after all, he thought, and his mind briefly drifted to Layla. He wondered how she was doing in a strange city on her first night out of Ishla.
Not his problem.
He walked over to the chessboard to take a small break and stared at it for ages.
It wasn’t even close to checkmate.
Was it?
Mikael looked again, for a considerably longer time.
No.
He made his move.
Mikael got back to his computer screen but there was a gnawing of anxiety in his mind. To ease it he picked up the phone and called the hotel and asked what had been charged to his room.
Several Irish coffees, toiletries and two peeled and thinly sliced apples, he was told for starters. But then that gnaw started to burn as he heard about the dresses and shoes that had also been charged to the suite, and that the car was almost ready to collect them.
‘Cancel the car,’ Mikael said.
Cursing, he reloaded his briefcase and headed out to his car, making light work of the dark city streets. At the hotel he tossed his keys at the valet and made his way up to the twenty-fourth floor—only to meet Layla, stepping into the elevator as he came out.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’
‘I am looking for my driver…’
Mikael tried not to notice how gorgeous she looked in a tight red dress, and he also tried not to recall how soft her feet were as he saw that she had managed to get the shoes in her size.
Then he looked at black eyes that were almost crossing as they tried to focus.
‘You’re drunk!’ Mikael accused.
‘Am I?’ Layla said, sounding very pleased with herself.
‘No way are you going out tonight,’ Mikael said, frogmarching her back to her suite.
‘You can’t stop me.’
‘I’ll call your brother, then,’ Mikael said. ‘Because I’m not going to police you.’
He pulled out his phone the second they got into her suite. There were glasses everywhere, and dresses and shoes; it was clear that Layla was seriously going all out for her week of fun.
‘You will not call Zahid!’ Layla roared. ‘I am an adult. I am capable of making my own decisions.’
‘Fine, then,’ he snapped. ‘But I’m warning you: it would be beyond foolish for you to go out in that state, but if you choose to then that’s up to you.’ He turned to leave and yet he couldn’t. ‘Where exactly are you planning to go tonight?’
‘I want to go to a club—to dance.’
‘With…?’ Mikael looked at her and tried to ignore her gorgeousness, tried to be cross. And yet he was tempted to laugh. What did she do to his head? ‘Have you got any money, Layla?’
‘No.’
‘Have you any idea of the trouble you could get into?’
She just looked at him, and suddenly it was very easy for Mikael to be cross—just not with her.