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and
restoring his reputation and his honor. He’s making the town’s best
interests his top priority, and at this juncture, the town’s best
interest is to let Regina Stoller handle the day-to-day demands of
running the town while he focuses on defending himself against this
baseless indictment. At such time as he can resume his position as
town manager, he will do so. That’s all we have time for,” he
concluded, glancing conspicuously at his watch and offering the
media what he hoped was a gracious smile. “Thank you all.” With
that, he clicked off the microphone’s switch and searched the
crowd, hoping Meredith hadn’t departed.
    She hadn’t. She remained where she’d stood
throughout the press conference, gazing in his direction, while all
around her, reporters murmured into their DVR’s, scribbled notes
onto pads, and conferred with one another about whether they had
enough time to grab a beer before the DA held his press conference.
A breeze fluttered across the green, catching a few strands of
Meredith’s pale hair and pressing her skirt against her legs. Nice
legs, Caleb noticed, discerning their shape through the fabric.
    Of course she had nice legs. She was
gorgeous. He bet she’d be even more gorgeous racing across the
beach in half a bikini.
    Inappropriate thought. He was her attorney.
She was a schoolteacher. A southern gentlewoman—not that he, a
native New Yorker transplanted to the greater Boston area, was all
that knowledgeable about southern gentlewomen. The southerners he’d
known in college and law school were certainly no gentler than he
was. As a matter of fact, they’d been a lot rowdier. They’d studied
hard and partied harder. They’d been brainy good-ol’-boys—and a few
good-ol’-girls—who considered themselves profoundly adventurous and
open-minded for having ventured all the way to New England to
attend college. He’d dated a girl from Baton Rouge for a
while—Daisy or Violet, some flower or other—but gentle would not
have been the word he’d choose to describe her. As he recalled, she
could outdrink him, and frequently did, and after her fourth or
fifth drink, she’d generally wind up dancing on a table top or a
window sill. She’d been good in bed, and she’d had a sweet drawl.
They’d had some good times before moving on.
    Meredith didn’t seem like the sort of woman
who would down five beers and dance on a table top. She was polite.
Well bred. Proper enough to be humiliated by a trivial incident.
The last thing Caleb should be doing was thinking about how sexy
she must have looked during that incident.
    Had she come to Town Hall in search of him,
or just out of curiosity? The press conference hadn’t been
publicized beyond the media, but it wasn’t exactly a secret,
either. Anyone venturing into this part of town would have noticed
that something was going on on the steps of the building.
    Yet now that the press conference was done,
she appeared in no hurry to leave. She must be here to talk to him.
He didn’t want to risk descending the steps to her, though. If he
got too close to the reporters, they’d pepper him with more
questions or probe for inside information about the indictment, the
defense’s strategy, and any dirt they could find on Felton.
    Hoping he had Meredith’s attention, Caleb
motioned with his head toward the building’s double doors, then
raised his eyebrows in what he hoped she would interpret as an
invitation to join him inside. She quirked her eyebrows as well,
and approached the steps.
    Smiling, Caleb took Felton’s arm and led him
back into the building. He could tell Felton wanted to speak to the
journalists, to plead his case and cast aspersions on Sheila
Valenti. Caleb had to get him away from the podium before he
succumbed to temptation. “I want you to listen to me,” he said once
they were standing inside the vestibule, the doors safely shut
behind them. “You are not to speak to the press. At all. About
anything. Some