Free Red Tide (Siren Publishing Classic) by Tymber Dalton

trapped inside to drown with him. Her bedside clock said it was still thirty minutes until daybreak, but she knew her sleep was finished for the morning.
    She let Pete out and made herself a cup of coffee, then turned the day’s activities over in her mind, setting her schedule around the morning’s errand. It was still too early to call Ron’s office to confirm the appointment. His secretary wouldn’t be in until nine, and Ron rarely, if ever, arrived before nine thirty. He manned the satellite office in New Port Richey, while Jack ran their main office in Tampa. When Ron was needed, he made the commute into Tampa for meetings or court appearances, but he preferred staying in Pasco. It allowed him the freedom to be more casual, like showing up for work in Banana Republic shorts, a tropical fish print shirt, and boat shoes without socks.
    Mitch threw on a pair of shorts and a sweatshirt and grabbed Pete’s leash. She didn’t jog religiously, by any means, but she managed to get out a couple of times a week. She found it especially helpful when she had a lot on her mind.
    Downstairs, she whistled for Pete, who charged out of the stand of cattails that covered one corner of the property. She snapped the leash onto his collar and headed south along 595, keeping her pace light and easy while warming up. She turned onto the track that led up to the creek’s headspring. It was quiet and cool, the world enveloped in a slight damp, grey haze. The whip-poor-wills still sang, although their songs were winding down. Passing Bob Keith’s house, Mitch caught a whiff of night-blooming jasmine, and the dewy grass he’d mowed the evening before.
    The dirt road muffled the sound of her footfalls. When she picked up the pace, Pete kept an easy lope beside her. Mitch tried to clear the weekend’s events from her mind while she dug into the rhythm of her strides, pushing herself harder, feeling the strain in her muscles. Nearing the spring, she returned to a light trot to catch her breath before turning around. She walked the last quarter mile back to the house, and when she returned it was almost eight o’clock and the day had turned hot and muggy. She fed Pete and grabbed a shower before climbing into the Bronco and heading for New Port Richey.
    Southbound traffic on US 19 was a little heavy. It was almost nine thirty when she pulled up in front of Ron’s downtown office a couple of blocks south of Main Street. Before she stepped out of her Bronco, he pulled up next to her, complete in shorts, Guy Harvey T-shirt, Top-Sider deck shoes, and Ray-Ban sunglasses.
    “Is that what all the powerhouse lawyers are wearing these days?” she asked.
    He laughed and, briefcase in hand, held the front door for her. “No, it’s what all the comfortable ones wear. If I don’t need to be in a monkey suit, I don’t wear one.” Janice, his secretary, was sorting out faxes sent in over the weekend. She was like a second mother to him. He bent over and kissed her on the cheek as she handed him a sheaf of pink phone message slips.
    “Good morning, beautiful,” he greeted her.
    Janice smiled. “I heard you had an interesting weekend. How are you doing, Mitch?”
    Mitch shrugged. “I’ve been better. I certainly wish the weekend had been a little more boring, though.”
    Ron snorted. “A little?”
    “Okay, a lot more boring.”
    He led her into his office and fixed both of them a cup of coffee. Once they were seated, he grabbed a yellow legal pad and took notes. “Okay, how do you want to do this?” he asked.
    “As painlessly as possible. I don’t want alimony or anything. He can have the Tampa house. I just want the WaveRunners and the stuff I’ve still got there. The Porsche is his, he can keep it.”
    “This should be fairly easy to draw up. Do you think he’s going to give you a hard time about it?”
    “I don’t know. I hope not. We haven’t been together in a over three years. I’m not out to soak him or anything. I don’t