“You mean women plural, Brock. Enough about your inherited whoring ways. I’ll make a deal with you.” He always got serious when negotiating, his forte. Want a sweet plea deal, he was the one to hire. “Give me three months to do this my way with your help. If it doesn’t work out, then we’ll do it your way. I don’t have a good feeling about this and can’t protect you behind bars or access your business and personal records whenever needed like you can.”
He had me there.
I swiped a hand down my face. “DeAngelo—”
“Please, Brocklyn. Something is so off with this it’s damn near giving me hives. We need to control everything any way we can until we get to the bottom of this.”
It was my turn to sigh. “We certainly don’t want you to have hives. You’d never get another woman or man for that matter with the ‘putrid red acne’ look. It isn’t pretty.”
Strictly hetero DeAngelo chuckled, prone to hives from just being in the vicinity of the girl he liked as a kid. He didn’t often ask for anything let alone plead with me. So, on the lamb I would go. By chance, I remembered some of the things our father taught us and kept a wad of cash hidden in odd places just for crises.
And this was one hell of an emergency.
Chapter One
Louisville, Kentucky
~Deidre Lanier~
Up long before the clock went off in a few minutes at five thirty, I twisted into the ‘half lord of the fishes’ pose. With my legs folded up over one another, an elbow propped on the top knee, my body resembled more of a human pretzel waving through the double-glass doors at the privacy fence in my shadow-filled backyard. Not so much the half lord of a fish whatever that looked like. Not sure I wanted to know.
Next to me on the striped carpet, my cell phone rung. Thanks to the yoga-induced Zen, I didn’t get mad at being disturbed or when someone reached out at this time of day, a long way from the light chasing the night away. Besides being one of the hated morning people who loved seeing the sun rise, I made peace with not getting much time off or to myself a long time ago. My best friend, Cheyenne Barkley, had not made peace with it on my behalf though.
Glancing at the cell phone’s display, the summons was from Fay Jenkins, my latest client on the wrong end of a lawsuit. Actually, either end was bad. Sadly, she had it worse with losing her only daughter, her two grandkids their only mother when a courier for a Fortune 500 shipping company decided drinking while driving an eighteen-wheeler with a full payload on the expressway was okay.
Using my free hand, I picked up the phone, greeting Fay in a serene tone only to hear my name howled as if she was being murdered. I didn’t tell her to call 911 because she just woke to one of several deposits just shy of five hundred grand in her bank. A lot of shouting about that was normal. I dealt with it by shoving the phone away from my ear.
“I got it, Deidre! I got it! Thank you, thank you!”
Yep, I could hear her just fine from here and lived for these moments when the pros of my job offset the cons by a mile. And I might get somewhat invested in my clients who I became just Deidre to. They became adopted family to me. The mistreated little girl inside secretly craved her own family. When a part of you yearned for something for so long, it started to take it how it could get it.
“You’re welcome, Fay. I know the money won’t bring Leara back, but it will do some good for the foundation you’ve started in her name.” Not to mention the soup kitchen they both volunteered at religiously along with going a long way to taking care of her children left without a parent.
Leara was a single mother tragically taken away.
The line went dead quiet right before Fay sniffled.
Ah shit, here come the tears.
I never got used to the roller coaster ride my clients’ emotions dragged us all on every time their lives took a turn for the better. They always looked back on the worse they had somehow endured, the moments that brought their broken spirits, sometimes broken bodies to me. Eventually, they finally settled on being happy with the gain from their loss. It wasn’t like they or I could do something to fix what has changed them forever. Although, I could damn well make sure their quality of life was changed for the better.
Holding the phone, I began the patient wait for her to regain her composure, figuring I could execute three more odd-named positions before she found her voice again. While mentally shuffling through my options, downward dog or… my other line beeped. Eying the phone, I found the strangest thing on the screen: my company’s CEO call ID.
To have DeAngelo Devereaux calling me at all was somewhat extraordinary. You were lucky to lay eyes on him just once through the thick glass ceiling between him and the rest of his employees. Each attorney at the firm had his number logged for prompt identification should he decide to call us. No one truly expected him to. There were about two bosses, a supervisor, and a whole slew of human resource personnel between him and his underlings.
It was a spoken edict that we didn’t call him and we better answer if he dialed us up. Naturally, I gravitated to it not being a good thing if he did. Nobody was totally optimistic. So frowning, I slapped the phone back to my ear.
“Fay, I gotta call you back. My bosses’ bosses’ boss is calling me.”
‘Oh!” rushed the line, “that can’t be good.”
“My thoughts exactly,” I mumbled, only ever brought lucrative business to the firm. The cases dealing with the little people who had big problems—something I could relate to—were more profitable for the firm than for me after Devereaux got its cut. Still, I made sure to exhibit exemplary behavior in and out of the office.
So, why the hell call me?
Unless, you counted the times I flipped off the drivers who cut me off. Worse, I was the last junior associate to be hired and hadn’t always been on my best behavior in my long past. Nowhere in line to rise through the ranks after only a year and half with Devereaux, that left me as the first to be let go if a downsizing happened. If that was the case, I needed to get ahead of it thus answer Mr. Devereaux’s call.
“Make sure you call me back, love,” the fifty-eight year-old with gray-blue curls maintained by pink sponge rollers practically gushed. They were probably still in her head. “I wanted to talk to you about something I wanted to do for you for working so hard for me and my grandkids.”
It was either work hard or be available to trouble.
“It’s my job, Fay. You don’t owe me anything.”
A child born to addicts, raised by foster parents more worried about their welfare check coming on time than me or my whereabouts, I didn’t know what someone outside of Cheyenne doing something for me, for free, was like. I knew more about the people wanting something from me for doing something for me and how easy it was to get jammed up.
“Paying my bills and babysitting the kids when raising them got to be too much during my grief wasn’t part of your job, Deidre, so call me back,” her tone stern, brokering no arguments. “Bye now.”
Submitting paperwork for an advance on her incoming settlement and sitting on a bench working from my laptop while she watched her grandkids from the window of her apartment across the street as the ‘grands’ tired themselves out on a police-patrolled playground didn’t really qualify as me paying bills and babysitting. She wasn’t still on the phone for me to clarify that to neither. Oh well, I had bigger fish to fry anyway. Pun absolutely intended.
Nerves on edge, I clicked over and sat plain Indian-style on the floor. “Mr. Devereaux, what can I do for you?”
“Meet me at my home in an hour, Ms. Lanier,” bombarded my ear on a single male breath.
Meet him?
“What?!” I shrieked, certain he’d lost his damn mind.
“Hear me out, Ms. Lanier.” There was so much angst in his voice I grew concerned for his sanity and his blood pressure. “I need your help with something. If you come through for me, there’ll be a hell of a lot in it for you.”
“I…” paused, didn’t know h
ow to take his request.
He could be up to something I wanted no parts of even if he was tall, dark, and sexy as hell. If you liked the swimmer’s body with creamy tanned-skin, smoldering caramel-colored eyes, and raven locks swept to one side at the top of his head. I liked some bulk on a man myself. But, that was neither here nor there.
Despite my shifting impression of him, he could actually need my help. Hence, a lot more investigating was required before I pledged my services no matter how he looked. This called for a more comfortable seat, so I got up, making my way to the plush, white leather couch behind me.
Resuming Indian-style, I picked up the dropped threads of the chat. “Mr. Devereaux, could I get a few more details? I’m sure you can understand I don’t want to walk into anything blind here.”
It was a must to detect the shady shit ahead of time. At four eleven, I had more breasts and keyboard skills than fighting abilities. Defending myself against a man standing over six foot tall—slim or not—with his pedigreed background could get dicey in a lot of ways for me. I’d fight back no doubt but rather avoid being put in that position.
“Ms. Lanier,” he breathed out, “you’re adorable in a brown-skin, tiny China-doll, little sister sort of way but not my type, so be assured that I’m not coming on to you. I am in trouble however. Well, someone else is in a lot more trouble than me and we can’t talk about this on the phone or at the office.” Where anyone could be listening in was left unsaid, but screw his privacy. When the hell did he gaze upon me long enough to decide in what way I was adorable?
This interchange was getting stranger by the second. Yet, I let him finish uninterrupted because hell, I was nosy.
“Which is why I asked you to meet me at my home. You’re under no obligations to do it. Whether you say yes or no to meeting me will not affect your job. You’re my only avenue right now because of your, um…” he cleared his throat, “…typing skills and I need them desperately.”
Not only was my superior calling the low man, uh, woman on the totem pole, he sounded as if he really needed me. More accurately, my hacking abilities notated in my personnel file for all to see because I was honest and unembarrassed about my past crimes. At some point, he had climbed down the long ladder from his ivory tower above the glass wall to do some reading.
The least of my offenses, reallocating money from my foster parents’ account to mine opened by the state, may just be coming back to bite me in the digital ass. Regardless, my curiosity was at an all-time high now. At twenty-seven, I was still slightly gullible only to the little devil standing on my shoulder not over it, whispering in my ear to do something wicked, adrenaline-inducing. Not a teen anymore with a grumbling stomach, I had a better grasp on what would get my tiny ass thrown in jail and to fear it.
It was a good thing that hearing Mr. Devereaux out wouldn’t cost me anything or hurt anyone. I owed him that much for allowing me and my past in his long-time established, upper class organization. Blue-blooded, I was not. More like juvenile delinquent from the fucked up side of the tracks. Having grown up a whole lot since then and becoming a poster child for what happened when hands were idle and being guided by the immoral into entering people’s lives electronically, I looked around at all I’d acquired due to Devereaux Law Firm’s goodwill.
My job, my starter home, my secondhand Audi, most importantly my freedom, I couldn’t lose it all just to enter cyber doors best left closed. Not even for him. Not without it being worth it anyway. On the other hand, I could inquire as to why he needed me though, without breaking the law.
“Alright, Mr. Devereaux. I’ll meet you because your company gave me a chance, but I’m not promising you anything but a sounding board.”
He let out a long exhale. “Honestly, that’s more than I hoped for, Ms. Lanier. I know what this call must sound and seem like to you; either I’m a perv or asking you to do something illegal. It could be both for all you know, but I ask that you trust me. Please. And I have to state anything said between us is to be kept confidential. If it’s not, that will affect your job. If I can’t trust you, I can’t employ you.”
And this was where things started to roll downhill on skates with no brakes for me. Should’ve seen that coming.
I shook my head. “I thought you just said this won’t affect my job.”
“I said whether you say yes or no to meeting me won’t affect my job. That doesn’t apply once I let you into my confidence. If I do that, you will be obligated to keep what we say confidential because I’ll be hiring you as my attorney even if it’s just for five minutes. I will fire you for breaking attorney-client privilege and file a complaint with the disciplinary agency.”
Oh, he was good, knew the devil was in the details. Would get me over a barrel spread-eagle if I wasn’t careful.
I didn’t just become an attorney last night. Nor would I blame him for coming after my license therefore livelihood if he thought my loose lips could sunk his ship. Fortunately for him, I was no snitch because he would go down and I wouldn’t had he committed a major crime.
“I have questions,” I submitted casually. “How much are you paying for my retainer? Do you have a panic room? Do you keep snakes as pets? The last is a dealbreaker.”
Imagination filling with a slithering serpent from my past, I shuddered and grumbled, “I hate those damn things.”
He roared with laughter, could laugh all he wanted. It cost me nothing to listen to him in secrecy or not and take his money for doing my job in a snake-free location. God knew student loans were a bitch. With the option to decline to help him if I deemed his problem too risky to get involved in, this was a deal I couldn’t pass up. Bar, if he kept snakes in his home. God himself wouldn’t get me or keep me in there.
“Fifty grand cash,” he threw out, knocking me for a loop. “Fifty more after the job is done if you accept. Yes, I have a soundproof, impenetrable safe room here. No snakes, but a loaded gun that you can hold on me if it makes you feel better. Just hear me out or point me in the right direction.”
I began to calculate.
Desperation at its finest was often profitable.
Fifty grand, for simply listening, to toss at my bills.
A hundred grand total for sitting on my ass at a computer for maybe a week then walking away with even more cash to throw at my debtors when it all was said and done.
His situation didn’t affect me personally one way or the other, which was better than the money aspect any day.
Satisfied that I would remain untarnished should the shit hit the fan, I whistled low. “You definitely need me.”
Where was he when I needed someone, struggling to eat and had more accessibility to computers and cyber-criminals than groceries?
“You have no idea how much we need you, Ms. Lanier, but you will if you meet with me. The first fifty grand is free and clear of all bullshit. The second payment not so much, but it’s just a job you can say no to, too. On my life, you can trust me. I need to be able to trust you too though.”
I let his statement marinate for a moment. He came off as honest, looked honest from the windows of my office too, but people showed you what they thought you wanted to see all the time. No one was completely honest or good. The state, who didn’t raise a fool, and my exe taught me to wait for the other shoe to drop. There was always something held back. Oddly, Mr. Devereaux was upfront about that too. Still, I wouldn’t take him at face value.
“Who’s we? You know what, not my business yet. As long as I can hold a loaded gun on you for fifty grand, I’ll act as your priest and you can trust me with your troubles, Mr. Devereaux. Hell, I’ll even walk your dog if you have one. Dogs, I can do.”
He chuckled quietly. “I don’t have one. They’re too much work. Family and the firm keeps me busy enough.”
“You’re lucky than most to have family,” I muttered, wistful for his full life where he was rich beyond belief and cared for physically if not emotionally by someone. Anyone. One who he can throw money a
t their troubles, and if I wasn’t mistaken, a member of his family was in deep shit and may be dragging him down right along with them.
“We’ll see if you still believe I’m lucky after I tell you about my little problem, Ms. Lanier.”
“Send me your address. See you in thirty minutes.”
I hung up, didn’t need that much time to get across the city, but yoga wasn’t a sweat-less exercise if you did it right. In addition, I had another call to make while preparing to take a quick shower. Mr. Devereaux would absolutely be the topic of the conversation. He messed up big time with not stipulating I couldn’t tell someone where I was headed or share his address. I most definitely was about to.
He may be comfortable with the devil in the details, but I was intimate with it. Someone needed to know where I was last if I turned up missing. I hoped my best friend was already awake. She was a cranky bitch when woken too soon without her first of many coffees.
Cheyenne answered on the eighth ring. “Girl, somebody better be dead, dying or bleeding out profusely if you’re calling me this early in the freaking morning.”
“It’s worse, Cheyenne,” I mentioned, slipping my favorite consultation outfit—a fire-end red coat cape with slits for arms and matching pencil skirt—from its hanger. “I need you to know who to fuck up if something happens to me.”
“Talk to me,” my ride or die insisted.
Chapter Two
~Deidre~
Somewhere in the backside of Frankfort two days later
“Only slightly gullible to the little devil standing on your shoulder, huh, Deidre? More like you’re just a damn sucker for unfair plights and pretty faces,” I demeaned myself on my first hike, supposedly a short one by the Devereaux men’s standards. Four hours wasn’t short.
The worn but overgrown, inaccessible by car trail led to who the fuck really knew where exactly aside from the man I was sent to help and the man that wanted me to help him. A backpack, loaded under Mr. Devereaux’s supervision with electronic equipment I chose and living essentials unavailable for miles around out here he chose, weighed much like a dead body would on my back.
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