Destiny: A Fantasy Collection

by Rachelle Mills

  Just as he started to hang up, Rick said, “But Sofia Cordova’s mom did call. They were supposed to let her out of jail yesterday since they dismissed her case, but she’s still there.”

  A heavy double-tap landed on his shoulder. It took all of Henry’s willpower not to fling his phone clear across the courthouse in surprise. He spun around and sagged in relief.

  “Sorry I’m late, Mr. D,” Wendell said gruffly.

  Henry’s relief faded into irritation as he studied his client. Phone pressed to his ear, he muttered, “Hold on, Rick.”

  Wendell looked a little worse for wear with unkempt gray hair and a stern, tanned face. Stubble crowded his unshaven jaw, and he wore faded jeans and a baggy green t-shirt. Based on the smell, Henry could guess a shower hadn’t been in Wendell’s forecast that morning.

  “For fuck’s sake, Wendell,” he said, gesturing down the full length of his client. “These are your court clothes?”

  “I overslept. Sorry I didn’t put on my Army blues.” Despite the miracles Henry had worked for him the last couple of months, Wendell was always snapping at him.

  “It’s court. You don’t oversleep for court.”

  “What about you? Think a judge is going to like your popped collar?” Wendell nodded at Henry’s suit jacket with a smirk.

  His jaw ticked the tempo of the weary as he jerked his collar back down into respectability with one hand. He smoothed it out for good measure. “I was hiding from the sun.”

  Wendell snorted. “Fat lot of good it did you.”

  “Maybe if you weren’t stupid enough to get caught, neither of us would have to be here in the first place.”

  Wendell’s eyes glowed an ethereal, pale green. “Don’t call me stupid.”

  Henry’s lips thinned. Goddamn werewolves. There were three reasons they turned: a full moon, sheer will…or temper. You’d think all the weed would mellow them out. Wendell swore a friend of his was trying to develop a strain to calm down werewolf rage, but Henry knew a flimsy client excuse when he heard one.

  He raked his fingers through his hair. “Whatever, at least you’re here.”

  “And I’m also still here!” Rick chimed in through the phone. “I take it you found Wendell, but what do you want to do about Sofia?”

  Doing his best to multitask, Henry waved Wendell on and strode through the lobby toward the elevator bank. He paused so he wouldn’t lose Rick to the lack of cell reception in the elevator and checked his watch again—five minutes to zero hour.

  “Tell her mom I’ll call her back.”

  Everything would be fine. They would get to the courtroom just in time, and Wendell probably wouldn’t even be the first name called.

  “She’s called twice already. There’s an issue with the paperwork. You need to call the jail.”

  “Fine, fine. Give me some time.”

  “Henry.”

  He scratched his forehead, bracing himself for whatever snarky response his assistant had ready for him. “Yes, Rick?”

  “I can only put out so many fires. Quit being a stubborn idiot and hire someone to help you.”

  “Bye, Rick,” Henry said through gritted teeth and hung up.

  He shoved the phone into his pocket, his shoulders sagging. He wasn’t cut out for this kind of drama. While he knew criminal law well enough, he was a general practice attorney, not a trained criminal defense litigator. The occasional court appearance for a probate issue was one thing, but he was running himself ragged with these criminal clients. Roy wanted him on these cases, though, and you didn’t say no to Roy Wheeler.

  Rick was right, of course; he needed to hire an associate. He accepted payment on a sliding scale, but a lot of supernat clients had no problem throwing money at him, so it’s not like he couldn’t afford to hire the help. Yet while there were plenty of lawyers scurrying for jobs in Tucson’s saturated legal market, supernat lawyers were scarce. For now, he was stuck. Brooding never fixed anything, though. Both Sofia and Wendell needed him.

  “Shouldn’t we go?” the werewolf prompted when Henry remained rooted to the spot.

  He glanced around the lobby, searching for a solution. “Soon. First, there’s another client I need to figure out what to do with.”

  People were muttering and milling around the courthouse lobby. English mixed with Spanish. Thoughts meshed with speech. Henry’s gaze slid to a fair-skinned woman on her phone a few feet away. The contrast between the soothing platitudes she was saying aloud and the seething internal monologue she was unknowingly broadcasting into his mind made it impossible to think. He turned around with the intention of grabbing one of the elevators to escape the noise but stopped to look her over again with a more critical eye.

  The epitome of a young professional, she wore a simple navy skirt suit, and her brown hair was pulled back into a low, loose bun. She was gesturing in that vague unconscious way people did when they were on the phone. Though she was pretty when she smiled, Henry could practically feel the irritation radiating from her. His brain pulled together the skeleton of an idea as he shamelessly read her thoughts and eavesdropped on her side of the phone conversation.

  “Brad, it’s fine, I understand,” she said. The assurance was punctuated by a dark thought:

  I understand you’re a flaky asshole.

  “Absolutely,” she continued. “Your clients come first, and I’ve got plenty to do myself.”

  And possibly unfriend you on LinkedIn if I’m feeling petty enough.

  “Oh—reschedule?”

  Not on your life, douchebag.

  “I’ll have to check my calendar and get back to you. Have a nice day!”

  After she hung up the phone, she threw it without ceremony into an oversized leather tote hanging from her shoulder. For the first time that morning, Henry smiled. She was polite but had a brassy side—exactly what he needed.

  The woman would probably think he was insane, but his other options currently resided in another dimension.

  ***

  Was there such a thing as a networking fuckboy? Emma genuinely wanted to know. If there was, Brad Hollingsworth was the perfect specimen of one.

  As she tapped two fingers against her mouth in thought, she debated caving and calling him back to reschedule. She was, after all, jobless, and her former study buddy did work for the public defender’s office. Hell, he was the one who’d reached out to her when he’d found out she was back in town looking for a job. Brad had asked if his cousin could pick her brain about nailing Big Law job interviews—which she’d graciously done—and in return he was supposed to connect her with his criminal defense attorney network. He’d even claimed to have all kinds of ideas for how she could break into the dumpster fire that was Tucson’s legal economy.

  She dropped her hand. Nope, the asshole isn’t worth it.

  This was the third time Brad had stood her up, and he still hadn’t put her in touch with any of his contacts. By way of apology, he’d promised to bring her coffee and a bagel if she met him at the courthouse for a quick chat about her career. Now, after his “Sorry, my client actually showed up for his appointment” phone call, she was screwed out of breakfast and career advice. Bullshit way to start the day.

  Couldn’t blame her for trying, though. In the three months since she’d left her cushy corporate law gig in Phoenix, she’d only scored a few unsuccessful interviews. Her initial optimism for revamping her career was about to ride off into the sunset without her.

  Emma adjusted the bag on her shoulder. Maybe she just needed food. Surely she could come up with a brilliant plan for world domination over a plate of pancakes. She took a step toward the security checkpoint, intent on heading to Bobo’s Diner, when a harried voice jarred her out of her gloomy thoughts.

  “Excuse me, do you have a moment?”

  She stiffened. Those words are never a pleasant start to a conversation. Frowning, she turned around to find two men standing in front of her—a sunburned dude in a suit and an older white guy who looke
d like he’d slept in a ditch.

  “Uh, hi.”

  She prayed they only wanted directions or maybe a pen.

  Instead, the red-faced man focused his steady gaze on her and asked, “Are you a lawyer or a defendant or something else?”

  Emma tilted her head to the side. “A lawyer, but I don’t have a case on the docket or anything.”

  “Are you busy?”

  She snorted derisively. “I was supposed to meet someone, but it didn’t pan out.”

  “Fantastic,” he said, seeming a little too hyped over her broken plans. What had his sunburn done to him? Fried his brain? “One of my clients hasn’t been released from jail, but Mr. Davies here has an arraignment in about three minutes. I need a huge favor.”

  Her mouth fell open. “Which would be?”

  “Sit in the courtroom with him. As soon as they call his name, text me so I can handle the arraignment. They won’t call him first, and I need some time to deal with my other client.”

  Her brows shot up. “What?” What the hell was this guy thinking? Lawyers didn’t hand over clients to random strangers.

  “I know.” The lawyer raised his hands in a placating gesture. “I know how it sounds. But I’ll be right in the hallway. It’ll be like we’re at a restaurant—you’ll be the thing that buzzes when my table is ready.”

  “What?” she repeated. Was he seriously trying to butter her up by comparing her to a restaurant pager?

  His eyes fluttered closed briefly. “Sorry. I’ll buy you lunch or I’ll owe you one or…”

  The gray-haired man tugged a weathered, chunky flip phone from his pocket. It was so old Emma swore she heard it creak open.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. We don’t need to bother her. I’ll text you.” The man squinted down at the keys. He tapped a few buttons, but soon his face crumpled into the frown unique to those struggling with technology.

  The lawyer sighed in exasperation. “Only attorneys can use their phones in courtrooms.”

  The client snapped the ancient phone shut, grumbling as he shoved it back in his pocket. Emma continued to stare at the two men but said nothing. It was possible the lawyer could be a decent networking connection, though she didn’t have high hopes considering how much of a mess he was.

  “Please, I’m in over my head here, and it’s not for me. It’s for Wendell.” He clapped a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Give her a smile, Wendell.”

  Her eyes widened. The weathered man’s pleading grin could only be described as wolfish, but it made her soften nonetheless. She was seeing the supernatural in everything lately; even her sister Daphne had been giving her weird vibes. She really had to stop reading her Dark Tales of Dark Monsters anthology so much.

  Her grandmother had given her the book years ago, and in a fit of nostalgia, she’d recently started reading it before bed. The loose cursive of Gram’s inscription on the first page always comforted her: Always read. Always believe. The monsters I know are friendlier, though! Emma laughed and shook her head at the thought. The lawyer’s shoulders slumped, clearly misinterpreting her reaction.

  She didn’t know if it was the “please” or the pathetic looks on their faces, but it wasn’t like she was doing anything else with her morning besides sending out resumes and stewing over Brad the LinkedIn Fuckboy. Besides, it never hurt to have someone owe you a favor.

  Head held high, she walked away from them with a smirk. “Come on, you don’t want to be late.”

  They scurried after her and slipped into one of the elevators just in time for the doors to promptly close behind them. The sunburned lawyer jabbed the button for the third floor and adjusted his bag on his shoulder.

  “Thank you. I really appreciate it.” The sincerity in his voice made her look up in time to see him smile.

  Emma returned the gesture but blinked in surprise when she realized that even with the sunburn, the dude in a suit was attractive. Not just Tucson attractive, but legitimately attractive. She’d been too distracted earlier to take a proper look. Deep blue eyes and artfully tousled brown hair. Given the sunburn, he was obviously pale, but she couldn’t exactly judge when she worked in an office all day and hadn’t had a proper tan since college.

  He was tall and lean, and a three-piece charcoal suit accentuated his form with grace. As a lawyer, she should’ve been immune to the precision of a tailored suit by now, but he wore his so damn well. She’d been deprived since moving back to Tucson, whose general population relied on a steady supply of t-shirts and shorts. She had to admit, though, that she would happily take Tucson’s casual vibe; Phoenix’s conservative concrete jungle had worn her out.

  The elevator pinged as the doors slid open, startling Emma out of her reverie. Now was not the time to be checking this guy out. She would do him this favor then see if he had connections at any criminal defense firms. But nothing else—no personal stuff. She needed a steady paycheck before she could get lost in the mire of dating. Her student loan bills routinely gave her heart palpitations.

  They hurried through the courthouse and finally tracked down the right room. As Emma approached, she realized she didn’t know the dude in the suit’s name.

  She extended her hand for him to shake. “I’m Emma, by the way.”

  “Henry.” His grip was firm, confident, and warm.

  Emma didn’t put much stock in the notion that a handshake defined a person, but she could definitely appreciate the feel of his. She was reluctant to let go but eventually did, bound by lame societal expectations and all that.

  Apparently oblivious to her inappropriate staring, he fished through the inner pocket of his suit for a business card and a fountain pen. He scrawled something on the back, waved it dry, and handed the card to her. “My cell phone number.”

  Emma ran her fingers back and forth across the textured linen paper. Mercifully, Wendell kept her from saying or doing something stupid—like asking Henry out for drinks.

  “Er, yes. Nice to meet you, Ms. Emma. Can we go in now?”

  “Of course,” she said with an encouraging smile. She could only wonder what he thought of his attorney. Based on how he was glaring at Henry, it couldn’t be much.

  Emma pulled the door open for Wendell and slipped inside after him. As the door started to shut, she turned back to look at Henry. Warmth suffused her when he pressed his hands together in prayer and mouthed a single word to her:

  Lifesaver.

  Chapter Two

  That son of a bitch.

  Emma had texted him a warning message when the docket reached the D last names. It wasn’t a cattle call, so there weren’t too many people waiting for hearings. He hadn’t replied to her summons, but initially she’d remained calm. Said calmness promptly disappeared when they called Wendell’s name. She’d surreptitiously texted Henry immediately. No response.

  Wendell threw her a panicked look, but she shifted in her seat to encourage him to get up and move past her. Surely Henry would walk into the courtroom any second now full of sunburned swagger. He would. Wouldn’t he? He damn well better.

  In what she thought was a wise move, Wendell walked rather slowly to the front of the room. She scowled down at the business card in her hand.

  The Law Office of Henry de Daumier-Smith, P.C.

  A pompous name if she’d ever seen one. He was a solo practitioner; no wonder he was spread thin. Still, he should’ve been doing a better job of handling his work.

  The judge sighed, breaking through Emma’s thoughts. “Any day now, Mr. Davies.”

  Wendell hurried the rest of the way to the lectern and bowed his head. She had no idea what he’d been accused of doing, but he seemed so lost. Emma felt bad for him. Guilty or not, he should at least have someone standing up there beside him.

  Glasses perched on the end of her nose, the judge cleared her throat and read the charges against Wendell. Marijuana and drug paraphernalia possession. They were both felonies in Arizona, but prosecutors had the option to charge them as misdemeanors. Unimpr
essed, Emma cast a sidelong glance at the shit-brown suit the prosecutor wore. Dude really should’ve bumped this down to Justice Court, which handled less serious offenses.

  The judge clasped her hands in front of her and said by rote, “Mr. Davies, you have a right to be represented by counsel. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you at the State’s expense. Have you retained counsel to represent you in this matter?”

  Wendell lifted his head. “Yes,” he said, though it sounded more like a question.

  Emma texted Henry again. She didn’t hold back on exclamation points and question marks. Wendell turned around, his gaze darting around the courtroom.

  “Mr. Davies, do you know who your attorney is?” the judge drawled sleepily, no more pleased to be in court at this early hour than anyone else.

  Wendell cleared his throat and shifted his weight. Emma gritted her teeth at his obvious anxiety. It was one thing for her to get stood up by a professional fuckboy, but she’d be damned if she was going to leave Wendell to hang out to dry. Besides, an arraignment wasn’t exactly rocket science—just guilty or not guilty. Before she could second-guess herself, Emma surged from her seat and raced toward the lectern.

  “My apologies, Your Honor,” she said with a deferential smile that didn’t meet her eyes. Good Lord, it had been years since she’d been in a courtroom and never as a real attorney. “Emma Parker for the defendant.”

  The judge shrugged.

  When she asked how he pled, Wendell announced, “Not guilty.”

  Emma straightened her shoulders, pleased he’d found some confidence. There, that was easy. Now they would set the date for the next hearing and they could get the hell out of here.

  “Your Honor,” the prosecutor in the shit-brown suit said, his voice ringing out through the courtroom. “If I may, I have a concern.”

  Emma’s body tensed, but she kept her expression neutral. What fresh hell was he going to stir up?

  “I would like to revisit the bond for the defendant. He was released of his own recognizance, but given his record, I believe him to be a flight risk.”