Prologue

Michael Towns pulled into his reserved spot in the garage with a loud squeak of his tires. He was quickly out the door, and didn't look back as he punched the button on his keychain to activate his alarm. A quick smile to the security guard and he was up the stairs, bypassing the crowd at the elevator. Once he reached the third floor, he hung a left, grinned at his secretary, and unlocked the door with his name stenciled in copper. It swung open to admit him, then swung shut with a satisfied clank.

Michael Towns was a senior partner with Towns & Moreland, a mid-sized law firm specializing in corporate litigation. They were somewhat ignored by most, and would have been as invisible as they wished had it not been for Michael Towns. His flair for the dramatic knew no bounds, and his boisterous nature was only surpassed by his skill as a lawyer. As a result, he had quickly become the firm's poster boy, rising through the ranks due almost as much to his connections in the media as those in the courtroom. He had been tagged all the right ways ... a growing force, a voice to be reckoned with, a rising star, and then came the Wilder case.

Max Wilder had been the CEO of the city's largest investment company. The man was worth billions, and Moreland & Moreland (as it had then been known) handled all his legal affairs. Max trusted the firm completely, and when two ladies of ill repute had turned up dead, with Max's fingerprints at the scene, he had known who to call.

Michael had pulled every string he knew of, and invented a few on the spot, to get the case. He threatened, cajoled, bribed and pleaded ... and got it. It was his shining moment, and he grabbed it with both hands. The trial was a mess from the very beginning, with too much publicity and too little evidence. Michael stepped away from his comfort zone and hit a home run. He hopelessly deadlocked the jury, and got the trial thrown out. What's more, he planted enough seeds during the course of the trial that the state knew it would never be able to gain a conviction. The picture had since become almost iconic ... Michael and Max, hands clenched over their heads in victory on the courtroom steps.

The firm had been mortified. Many closed-door meetings took place, often well into the night. Michael was told he was all but gone, and that he had gone in the face of what they had worked so long to accomplish. A corporate lawyer does not get their face in the paper, by design. Their battles are fought in lonely courtrooms, far away from the eye of the cameras. Old Man Moreland, as he was known, was disgusted, and jockeyed hard for the immediate dismissal of Michael Towns. But there was one thing they hadn't counted on.

The calls started immediately after the trial. All of a sudden, all the rich and powerful wanted to bring their legal troubles to the firm. Everything from custody to cocaine, they all wanted Moreland and Moreland. More precisely, they wanted Michael Towns. And he knew it. Using the same fearlessness and tenacity that got him the case in the first place, he started pushing hard for a partnership. And not just a partnership. Senior partner. And he got it. In the end, Old Man Moreland had retired and sold his shares in the firm. His son stayed on as the junior partner, and Michael moved into the Old Man's office that same day.

Michael worked through his morning as usual, a flurry of activity. He had his sleeves rolled up by ten, and his tie off by noon. He had two phones on his desk, and frequently both were in use as he played two sides against each other, putting one on hold to talk to the other, and making sure they both knew it. He hollered and cussed, laughed and scolded, and settled two sticky cases in his clients' favor. Rachel, his secretary, sat outside the door at her desk and giggled to herself when he buzzed her in around noon. She smoothed her skirt as she stood and made her way to his doorway.

Michael was leaning back in his chair, a cocky grin on his face and his hands laced behind his head.

"Rachel, my dear, would you please file the forms for a cash settlement in the sum of twenty thousand dollars to Mr. Askip?"

"Yes, Sir. I can get that in today for you."

Michael stood and made his way around the desk, his eyes never leaving hers. She shuddered as he approached, and looked down as a blush crawled across her cheeks. He put a hand under her chin and lifted her face. He leaned in and kissed her lips, lightly, then whispered in her ear to tell her to shut the door. As she turned to do just that, she couldn't contain her grin as she heard the interior blinds being closed behind her.

Michael was finishing up the last of his calls and making plans for dinner when Rachel buzzed him.

"Mister Towns? There's a young lady here to see you?"

The question in her voice was unmistakable, and he knew that she would gladly make an excuse and send the girl away if he wanted her to.

"Rachel, I'm finishing up my last call of the day, and I have GOT to get home. My wife's been looking forward to dinner at Spathie's for a month."

"Understood, Sir."

As Michael hung up the phone ten minutes later, he grabbed his cell phone from his jacket pocket and dialed home. He pushed the door open as it rang, and saw that Rachel had gone, but there was someone else sitting on the couch that served as a waiting perch. His eyes got wide, and he almost stumbled as he came to a halt.

"Hello?" the phone squawked in his ear.

There was a heartbeat of a pause as Michael re-thought his intent.

"Hey honey. I wanted to let you know I'm running just a minute or two late. I'll be out of here soon, though."

"Whatever, Michael ... I swear, if you make me miss this reservation..."

Michael hung up the phone, her words snuffed out by the simple, satisfying click.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

"Mister Towns, I'm sorry to bother you, but I need your help."

Michael gave her his very best smile and threw one arm dramatically towards his still-open door.

"That's what we're here for, my dear! Come on in!"

Abigail (or Abby) Deen was a vision. Michael caught himself time and again staring at her. She wasn't exceptionally curvy, but she definitely had all the right bumps and slopes on her figure. And her face wasn't quite classically beautiful, but she was the iconic farmer's daughter. Cleanly dressed, with her hair in a simple headband, and just a touch of makeup, she was breathtaking. Her eyes were wide and engaging, and she had a southern drawl that spoke of innocence and passion. Michael was enthralled.

"Mister Towns, I'd ... that is, my husband and I, want to hire you."

Michael caught the none-too-subtle hint and set back in his chair to listen.

"Can you tell me what the problem is?"

"It's my uncle. Uncle Todd. He's ... well, he's in jail. And they said he needed a good lawyer. I called around, and, well..."

"And they sent you to me," he finished for her. "What is it that your uncle's in jail for?"

Abby hesitated, looking down at her hands, folded primly in her lap. When she finally did manage to eke it out, Michael had already guessed.