by Julie James
“Frankly, I don’t think most of these guys know anything about any special treatment Quinn was giving Jones and Romano,” Wilkins said, referring to the two other inmates they believed had done Quinn’s dirty work. “But I wouldn’t put it past them to claim otherwise if they think it means they’ll get a shortened sentence and an all-expense-paid trip to southern Florida.”
“What about going directly to Jones and Romano? Are they willing to talk?” Rylann asked.
“Not a chance. As soon as I mentioned Quinn’s name, they both demanded to speak to a lawyer. They know exactly why we want to talk to them—the whole prison is buzzing about Quinn being indicted.” Wilkins’s tone turned apologetic. “Sorry I couldn’t come up with more.”
Rylann rocked back in her desk chair. She was disappointed but not surprised. “Like you said, if these guys are so insistent on deals, I couldn’t trust anything they said anyway.”
“Too bad Manuel Gutierrez didn’t know anything. Since he’s already agreed to testify, that would’ve been perfect,” Wilkins said. “What about Kyle Rhodes? I take it the same goes for him?”
“Not sure. I’ve been in court so much recently, I haven’t had the chance to circle back to him yet,” Rylann said.
“I could do the follow-up interview if you like,” Wilkins offered politely. “It’s just that you’ve been the contact person with him thus far…”
“Nope, I’ve got it covered. I’m adding it to my to-do list for the day as we speak.” As Rylann reached for a pen, her second phone line rang—and then her cell phone chimed immediately after that with a text message. She quickly checked the caller ID on both while jotting down a note on her daily calendar.
“You sure?” Wilkins said with a chuckle. “You sound awfully busy right now.”
Sure, she was a little inundated right then. But since she was the one who’d established the relationship with Kyle Rhodes, it would be odd to suddenly send in the FBI to talk to him. Besides, there was no way that Meth Lab Rylann was going to get a reputation in her new office of not pulling her weight. “I’m positive. It’s on the official checklist,” she assured him. “Which means—”
Rylann stopped abruptly when she saw what she’d written amid all the distractions.
Do Kyle Rhodes.
Clearly, she and her subconscious needed to have a talk about that one.
Seventeen
KYLE ALMOST HAD a heart attack when he peered down at the Post-it note his sister had given him.
“This is your password? Clearly, that’s the next thing we need to fix,” he said as he logged on to her laptop. Jordan had asked him to stop by her store to see if he could figure out why her Internet connection had suddenly crashed. Based on her password alone, he was already dreading what he might find.
Standing next to the desk, Jordan gave him a quizzical look. “Mom’s maiden name and the years Grandma and Grandpa Evers were born. Why would anyone ever think of that combination?”
“Or you could just make the password one-two-three-four,” he offered. “Since you’re obviously trying to have your identity stolen.” He pointed, lecturing. “Listen and learn: you need fourteen characters, minimum. Use random letters, not words. Here’s a tip: think of a sentence, and use the first letter in each of those words. Mix it up between upper and lower case. Then pick two numbers that mean something to you—not dates—and stick them somewhere between the letters. Put a punctuation mark at the beginning of the password and then a symbol, like a dollar sign, at the end.”
“Yes, sir.” Jordan grabbed a pen and another Post-it note. “Um, could you repeat everything that came after mixing up the upper and lower case?”
Kyle took the pen from her. “I’ll come up with something for you.” He shooed her off. “Now go away. Sell some wine. I’ll call you if I need someone to push an on-off button.” He thought of one last thing. “By the way, when’s the last time you updated the firmware on your router? Okay, from your blank expression, I’ll mark that down as a big ‘never.’ “
Shortly after she left, his cell phone rang, and Kyle saw that it was Rylann. The two of them had been playing phone tag all afternoon—not that he particularly minded hearing her sexy, throaty voice on his voicemail.
He knew, from the press release the U.S. Attorney’s Office had issued last Friday morning, that the grand jury had indicted Adam Quinn. Since then, there’d been some local media interest in the case—a guard instigating the murder of a federal inmate was exactly the kind of juicy public corruption scandal that Chicago journalists loved to report about—but thankfully, none of the witnesses’ names had been revealed. He was more than happy to stay out of the spotlight as long as possible on this one.
“It appears congratulations are in order, Ms. Pierce,” he said when he answered his phone. “I see you got your indictment. I believe a certain somebody said something about calling me when that happened.”
“I’ve been waiting for a time when I had more than five seconds to talk.”
“Oh.” Kyle rocked back in the desk chair, liking the sound of that. “I’m flattered.”
“Because I also need a favor from you.”
Of course she did. “You know, counselor, I think that card you keep playing—the one that says, ‘Redeemable for old times’ sake’—has officially expired.”
“Uh-oh, I better check.” There was a pause on the other end of the line. “Nope, May 2012. We’re still good.”
He fought back a grin at that one. “What do you need?”
“I have a few follow-up questions related to Quinn,” Rylann said. “It should only take twenty minutes. Thirty, tops. Is this a good time?”
As if on cue, Jordan stuck her head into her office. Seeing him on the phone, she pointed to her computer and whispered. “Is it fixed?”
Kyle shook his head. No. Go away.
He waited until Jordan left before answering Rylann. “Actually, I’m in the middle of something at my sister’s wine shop. Can I call you back?”
She hesitated. “How long do you think it’ll be?”
“Maybe a half hour.”
“I have plans later tonight, so I was going to leave work after I finished talking to you. You were the last item on my checklist,” she said. “Maybe we can talk tomorrow instead?”
“Unfortunately, I’m going out of town tomorrow morning and will be gone all week,” he told her. He was flying to Seattle, San Diego, and then to New York to talk to three potential candidates for a senior-level position in his start-up company. Given the whole Twitter debacle, it had taken some convincing even to get these guys to agree to meet with him.
“This was something I’d been hoping to wrap up in the next few days…” she mused out loud. “How about if I call you in a little while, after I get home? I live in Roscoe Village, so it should be about thirty minutes. Does that work?”
“Roscoe Village is right by my sister’s store. DeVine Cellars, on Belmont. Why don’t you just stop by here on your way home and we can talk in person?”
The words flew out of Kyle’s mouth before he could even think about them.
Apparently, Rylann was just as surprised by the offer as he was. “I, um…hadn’t considered that possibility.”
Neither had he, but the more he thought about it, the faster he was warming to it. If for no other reason, he was curious to check out today’s skirt suit selection. “Well, if you want to talk to me this week, counselor, I’d start considering it. That’s the only time I’m available for pesky assistant U.S. attorneys.”
“If I were to agree to this, it would be solely because—as it so happens—I’ve been wanting to check out your sister’s shop for a while now,” she said. “I hear she’s got the best wine selection in the city.”
Kyle grinned. “You keep telling yourself that, counselor. Maybe in thirty minutes, when you get here, you’ll actually believe it.”
A DEFIANT THIRTY-SEVEN minutes later, when Rylann walked into DeVine Cellars and felt the cool a
ir of the shop hit her, she momentarily felt as if she were back in San Francisco. There had been a store just like this only a block from her old apartment that she’d frequented often—cozy yet sophisticated, highboy tables scatted throughout, and bin after bin filled with wine bottles.
Rylann scanned the store and saw customers at two of the tables but no sign of Kyle. She walked over to an empty table tucked into a corner against the wine bins, hung the strap of her briefcase on the back of one of the chairs, and took a seat.
She’d just begun to read the chalkboard over the main bar, which listed the wines the store had available by the glass, when she heard a friendly voice to her right.
“Looking for anything in particular?”
A slender, very pretty blond woman with blue eyes smiled as she approached the table. Even if Rylann hadn’t recognized Jordan Rhodes from the photos that had been in the media over the years, she would have known instantly that she was Kyle’s sister. Though nearly a foot shorter than Kyle, and with hair that was several shades lighter, those blue eyes gave it away.
Before Rylann could say anything, Jordan cocked her head with a look of recognition. “I know you. You’re the prosecutor who handled the motion to reduce my brother’s prison sentence.”
Rylann assumed Jordan had been in court that morning to support Kyle. Or maybe she’d seen the photo of the two of them that had done the media circuit. “You have a good memory. Actually, I’m meeting Kyle here tonight. Is he around?”
For whatever reason, Jordan appeared shocked by the question.
“You’re meeting my brother here?” she asked. “Are you sure about that?”
“Pretty sure. It was his suggestion, actually.”
Jordan stared at her. “Are we talking about the same Kyle Rhodes? Tall; freakishly lustrous, shampoo-commercial hair; has this weird thing about giving people nicknames?”
“I heard that, Jordo.” Kyle came around the wine bins, wearing jeans and a navy crewneck sweater. As he approached, Rylann noticed that he hadn’t shaved that day and that the scruff along his strong, angular jaw made him look very…beddable.
Witness, she reminded herself.
He stopped at Rylann’s table. “I see that you’ve had the non-pleasure of meeting my sister.” He gestured, making the introduction. “Jordo, this is Rylann Pierce.”
Jordan raised an eyebrow pointedly at Kyle.
He glared.
An entire dialogue seemed to pass between them.
Then Jordan extended her hand warmly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Rylann. Please let me know if there’s anything I can get you.” She pointed to the chalkboard. “I’ve got a great cabernet open tonight.”
“I see that. Actually, I think all the Kuleto Estate cabs are great,” Rylann said. “The India Ink is probably in my top five wines.”
Jordan pulled back, impressed. “You speak wine, I see.” She nodded approvingly at Kyle. “I like her already.”
“Jordo…” he said warningly.
“What? That was a compliment.” She turned back to Rylann. “Question: you’re not secretly a money-grubbing skank, are you?”
Kyle looked pained. “My God, Jordan.”
“What? It’s a fair question given your past predilections.”
Rylann smiled at the dynamic between the two of them. “Your brother is safe with me. We’re not together, we’re just…” She paused, looking at Kyle and trying to decide how best to describe their situation, since she had no clue whether he’d mentioned to his family that he was working with the U.S. Attorney’s Office. “…old friends,” she finished.
Jordan raised a skeptical eyebrow at Kyle. “Old friends with the U.S. Attorney’s Office? Sure.”
“The wine, Jordo?” he said pointedly.
She flashed them both a grin. “Coming right up,” she sang cheerfully as she walked away.
Kyle took a seat in the chair next to Rylann. “Sorry about that. For years, my sister has labored under the impression that she’s funny. My father and I have humored her in this.”
Rylann waved this off. “No apology necessary. She’s just protective of you. That’s what siblings do—at least, I assume it is.”
“No brothers or sisters for you?” Kyle asked.
Rylann shook her head. “My parents had me when they were older. I asked for a sister every birthday until I was thirteen, but it wasn’t in the cards.” She shrugged. “But at least I have Rae.”
“When did you two meet?”
“College. We were in the same sorority pledge class. Rae is…” Rylann cocked her head, trying to remember. “What’s that phrase men always use when describing their best friend? The thing about the hooker and the hotel room.”
“If I ever woke up with a dead hooker in my hotel room, he’d be the first person I’d call. A truer test of male friendship there could not be.”
Rylann smiled. “That’s cute. And a little scary, actually, that all you men have planned ahead for such an occasion.” She waved her hand. “Well, there you go. If I ever woke up with a dead hooker in my hotel room, Rae would be the first person I’d call.”
Kyle rested his arms on the table and leaned in closer. “Counselor, you’re so by the book, the first person you’d call if you woke up next to a dead hooker would be the FBI.”
“Actually, I’d call the cops. Most homicides aren’t federal crimes, so the FBI wouldn’t have jurisdiction.”
Kyle laughed. He reached out and tucked back a lock of hair that had fallen into her eyes. “You really are a law geek.”
At the same moment, they both realized what he was doing. They froze, eyes locked, his hand practically cupping the side of her cheek.
Then they heard someone clearing her throat.
Rylann and Kyle turned and saw Jordan standing at their table.
“Wine, anyone?” With her blue eyes dancing, she set two glasses in front of them. “I’ll leave you two to yourselves now.”
Rylann watched as Jordan strolled off. “I think you’re going to have some explaining to do after I leave,” she whispered to Kyle.
“Oh, without a doubt, she’s going to be all up in my business over this.”
Rylann laughed. Then she gave her glass a swirl, opening up the aromas of the wine and checking its hue. It gave her a convenient excuse to look away from Kyle.
The scruff was killing her.
Time to get down to business. “So about this case…”
TRY AS SHE might to hide it, Kyle hadn’t missed Rylann’s reaction when he’d touched her.
She was in lawyer mode again, naturally, asking him about Quinn and various things he’d noticed at MCC. But he wasn’t a fool—moments ago, he’d seen the flare of heat in those gorgeous amber eyes. The spark he’d felt between them the night they’d met was still there, no doubt, but she was either fighting it or playing hard to get.
So he played along, answering all her questions like a good little ex-con. Whether he’d ever seen Quinn showing any favoritism to certain inmates, whether he’d heard rumors about any such favoritism, and if he had any idea who, out of all the inmates, had been most tapped into the gossip and thus might know more than he did.
Somewhere along the way, he found himself getting a little…distracted. Maybe it was the way her hair spilled over her shoulder as she leaned forward to jot something down on her legal pad. Or how her cheeks had picked up a rosy flush as she continued taking sips of her wine. Or possibly it was the lovely, slender curve of her neck as she rested her head on her hand while listening to him.
Mostly, though, it was just the direct way she held his gaze and listened to him, as if they were the only two people in the room.
“I get the impression I wasn’t much help to you tonight,” he said when she appeared to be wrapping up with her questions.
Rylann swirled her glass on the table. “It was a long shot. Agent Wilkins and I have been striking out all week with this.”
When she took another sip of wine—her glas
s almost empty—Kyle knew that the interview portion of this evening had come to an end. Which meant that it was time for him to take things up a notch.
He gestured to her wineglass, starting with a softball question to warm her up. “So is wine something you got into when you lived in San Francisco?”
She nodded. “I knew nothing about it when I first moved there from Champaign. But most of the people I hung around with drank wine, so I slowly began drinking it more often, figuring out what I like. And what I don’t like.”
Now time for a not-so-soft question. “You never did tell me the whole truth about why you left San Francisco.”
She glanced at him sideways. “Why are you so interested in that?”
“You know so much about me, it seems only fair.” Kyle decided to go for broke. “Did it have something to do with a guy?”
For a moment she seemed to debate whether to answer this. “Yes.”
“Is he still in the picture?”
“No.”
He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t glad to hear that. “Not very talkative about this subject, are you?”
“Maybe instead we could talk about your breakup with Daniela.”
Kyle rested his arm on the table, leaning closer to her and speaking in a lower voice. “And maybe, just once, you could restrain yourself from turning one of our conversations into a verbal tennis match.”
Her eyes held his for a moment, as if she were considering this, then she looked away and gave her wineglass another swirl. “My ex-boyfriend and I broke up after he decided he wanted to move to Rome. With or without me.”
“Sounds like your ex-boyfriend is a douchebag.”
Rylann smiled at that. Then, quite deliberately, she shifted away from that topic by checking her watch. “Well, look at that. I think you and I finally managed to break our eight-minute record of getting along.” She took her last sip and then set her glass on the table. “Speaking of time, I really should get going.”
“That’s right, you mentioned earlier that you have plans tonight. Hot date?” Kyle asked.