Lawyer & Liar

by T Wells Brown

“No. What are you talking about?”

  “You realize the reason you had to leave your home, all of your friends, and move to another country was because you’d exposed the underbelly of the most powerful crime family in the country, don’t you?”

  “I knew the gang that had been broken up was a Russian gang after they tried to kill you.” The air went thick in the car and I was getting the feeling I hadn’t been told everything from the beginning. “I thought they had all been sent to jail though.”

  Roman laughed in an ugly manner and said, “You didn’t break up the Russian Mob, honey. You just uncovered a rogue faction they wanted under control anyway. But you also pissed them off because you brought them out into the light. Yeah, you managed to save a few girls, and you were very successful helping to get a lot of dangerous thugs off the streets. But those thugs have since been replaced and those girls? They were replaced immediately.”

  I felt like I’d been hit in the chest with a sledgehammer.

  “I need you to go by Francesca’s to get Agatha,” I whispered. I wasn’t doing this again. I couldn’t put anyone else in danger. If I had to, I’d leave again, just like that. This time I’d take Sophie with me.

  “Fuck me,” was all Roman said in response and turned in the direction of Francesca’s house and Agatha.

  Great. Now he was starting to sound like Cabe.

  Chapter 15

  Procession of Sorrow

  T he next few weeks after the Pups and Pearls Gala had Roman, Agatha and I bouncing around between Roman’s house, the new house, and Bellini Estate. Isabella was in some serious bad trouble. Bad guys were after her in a big way, and we all needed to rally around her to make sure she was going to be safe.

  I called Becca the next day after the Pearls and Pups Gala to make sure she was okay. It was the fundraiser for her project that was shut down abruptly. And yes, it might not have been at the beginning of the evening, but it had still ended with police and the media.

  “You got Becca,” was how she answered her phone.

  “Hey girl. You okay?” I asked.

  “Hell, yes I’m okay. You okay?”

  “Yes. You don’t think the drama will hurt the shelter fundraising, do you?” I asked, getting right to the point. Becca was a no-nonsense kind of gal.

  “Are you kidding me? I’ve had so many people ask to book me on shows and interview me, with the premise of talking about the new shelter, I know what they really want is a scoop on the Women of Wine Country shenanigans. They’ll learn too late I’m not spillin’ the beans on any sister of mine. But I do get to talk about the shelter and it’s increased the pledges one hundred percent! Can you believe it? A hundred percent!”

  Leave it to Becca to find the good out of all of this chaos and make something positive happen. God bless her; she was a one in a million.

  “Oh, Lord Almighty , girl! I’m so happy to hear it.”

  “Yep. We need to plan shootings and failed abductions more often at our events.”

  “Yeah, I don’t think so.”

  “Girl, we made more money for the shelter than we’ve ever made before and they are still donating.”

  “We aren’t manufacturing fake crimes to raise money Becca. None of the ladies would agree to it. I won’t agree to it.” Good Lord. This woman.

  “You people have no imagination,” she said and hung up. With normal people I’d be upset, but she wasn’t normal. She was Becca and that’s often how she ended conversations she didn’t care to be in anymore. I smiled to myself. I sure did love that girl.

  Okay, Becca was doing just fine.

  I called Isabella next.

  “Hello.” Thank God she had normal phone etiquette.

  “Bella, how are you doing after last night?”

  “Busy, mad at Cabe. Busy,” she sighed.

  “Mad at Cabe?” I asked. I saw him stomp in and drag her away to a room so they could “talk” and then he stomped out, so I wasn’t sure what had transpired.

  “Yes, mad at Cabe and more confused than ever,” She sighed.

  “What has he done now?” I asked.

  “That man runs hot and cold and I am so over it!” She sounded exasperated.

  “I’m going to be at the Manor today. Do you want to come over for a while?”

  “Thanks Sydney, but Marcus is supposed to bring a couple of pups over to be my new guard dogs and I need to be here to meet them.” She sounded excited about meeting the dogs. That reminded me that I forgot to ask Becca about the feral cats for my barn. I made a mental note to call her back later about them. “Besides, I have a ton of baking to do and it’s nice to loose myself in Raquel’s…” she stopped and then went on quietly, “I mean, my kitchen.”

  Raquel. My sweet friend. It’s so hard to wrap my mind around the fact that life has gone on without her. All of the drama surrounding the estate, me coming home, me and Roman, Cabe and Isabella, all these really BIG things happening and she wasn’t here to be a part of it.

  Sometimes life really sucked.

  We ended the phone call with me promising to come over and meet the pups later in the week.

  The media was just as bad, if not worse than I remembered. Roman and my faces were plastered everywhere. Sometimes together and sometimes separately. I stopped reading the articles after I’d picked one up that rehashed all of the horror from six years ago, and got all of the facts wrong. The article read as if I had mistakenly aided in the imprisonment of fine upstanding individuals. They listed my cats’ deaths and labeled them mysterious (as if I had killed my own cats) didn’t talk at all about my house being shot up or that I had to live in hiding until the trial was over. It did mention that I’d left the country, but it said I’d fled the countr y to avoid prosecution! Can you believe that?

  Somehow they found out about the Manor and started camping out at my gate. The first time I drove up with Terra and Sophie in the car with me, it totally freaked us out. But soon I realized (after they hurled ugly questions at me once again) that my best action was to avoid and ignore the media all together.

  I decided I needed to talk to Cabe about bringing in new security, between someone trying to kill Isabella, the girls under security at Safe Haven, and now, me needing help with the media he had to be spreading his guys thin.

  “Syd,” Cabe always answered the phone with my name and he was the only one who called me Syd.

  “Hey Cabe, I think I’m going to need protection for a while and just to be clear: I have zero interests in leaving the country again.”

  “Yep. I already have The Scot relocating here after his last assignment wraps up and feelers out on two more guys.”

  “Will that be enough?”

  “If it’s not I’ll sub out.”

  “Sounds good to me.” I trusted Cabe. I knew he was good - the best - and I knew he would make sure we were all covered. “Do you think you can do anything about the media camped out in front of the Manor?”

  “Let me check it out. You don’t go anywhere alone and check in with me often, I want to get you out fitted with a GPS.”

  “Great.” I was not happy about this. “Have you outfitted Isabella?” I asked.

  “Bye Syd,” and he hung up.

  Yep. She may or may not know it. But I’d bet my life that Cabe had her every movement locked down.

  The next day was the funeral for the fallen detective who had been shot while working the Triple D case (Delta Death Dumps case). I didn’t like the name, but it was what the media was calling it now. I heard it everywhere I went. It’s all anyone was talking about; the cynical side of me wanted to say, “sure give it a catchy name and all the sudden its interesting. Before, when it was just several innocent little girls being brutalized to death, it wasn’t nearly interesting enough,” but I didn’t. I kept that dialogue to myself.

  Roman wore a very nice black formal uniform with a smattering of medals and ribbons. My heart skipped a beat when he walked out of the bedroom dressed. I hadn’t seen him in
uniform since the night he was shot.

  This was one handsome man I’d tangled myself up with.

  I wore a black, tight, pencil skirt with a flirty pleated kick at the back of my knees, a light seafoam green blouse with a short fitted black jacket. My black pumps and small handbag were a matching patent leather pair that I had purchased in France from a vintage store, and loved. I wore my hair pulled back in a tight low pony and my oversized pearl studs. I applied my trademark red lips and didn’t bother with any other makeup. I planned to keep my small black Armani shades on most of the day and didn’t want to have to deal with running mascara.

  The service was incredible. It was such an honor to be able to ride with Roman in a black government SUV with another couple. The other couple was a sheriff deputy and his third grade school teacher wife. I was pretty sure Roman outranked him because he kept referring to Roman as sir. We were part of the fallen officers department, so we were in the cars that followed the cars holding the family. The family followed the hearse.

  The procession of police vehicles was vast. So many I couldn’t count. As we drove the streets and highways, we passed literally thousands of mourners who held flags, wreaths and signs. Men stood at attention with their hats over their hearts, and women wept as we passed by. Small children were hoisted onto shoulders so they could see the procession as it passed by too. Each overpass we drove under was lined with fire fighters and first responders at attention in full salute. In every case they had the lights lit up and flashing on their rigs. Some of the fire trucks had their ladder’s extended and flags were attached and flying, and in some areas water flowed from tanker trucks in cross streams.

  No one in our car spoke much. Each of us was quietly taking everything in. Before too long, (honestly I lost track of time) we pulled up to the church that wasn’t big enough to hold all of us. Not everyone would be able to make it inside, and because of this, they’d situated monitors outside with chairs in perfect rows. The sea of uniforms was something I’d never seen before. Yes, during the trials I often had a couple of law enforcement departments working with me, but nothing near this scale. Every department within a five hundred mile radius was represented here today.

  After the Church service, the procession once again filed onto the freeway and headed to the gravesite. The uniformity and formality was incredible: from the taps that were played, to the twenty one gun salute, to the flag that draped the coffin being folded and presented to his son. Every single ceremonial procedure was beautifully executed with respect, kindness and care. My eyes leaked during the entire service.

  Media was crammed at the back and you could hear the cameras and see the continuous strobe of flashes. Helicopters circled the graveside service and made it difficult to hear sometimes, but everyone acted like they weren’t there, so I did the same.

  But they were annoying the heck out of me.

  When we arrived at the grave site, I noticed most of the law enforcement were seated and standing towards the front. I found aisle chair at the very back and sat down as Roman went to the front to greet some of his coworkers. I planned to join him again after the service when he headed to the car.

  I was trying to be respectful.

  Apparently, that was the wrong thing to do.

  I sat and chatted quietly with an older gal who was sitting next to me when her eyes got big and she smiled at something just past my shoulder. I turned just in time to see a very pissed off Roman reach down, grab the seat of my chair on either side of my rear, pick it up while I was still sitting in it, and carry me and my chair to the front, where he scowled at the people sitting where he wanted us to sit until they moved over. He then placed my chair next to this so I was sticking out in the walkway.

  “You sit with me,” he said in a tone no one was arguing with. At least I wasn’t. I couldn’t help but have butterflies; even if it was ridiculous and embarrassing, it was also super sweet. Several of the men sitting next to Roman and my new location snickered, and there may or may not have been high fives going around.

  Men.

  I acted like everything was normal; this occurrence happened every day. What else was I going to do? Make a scene at the funeral of a fallen officer because my boyfriend has caveman tendencies? I don’t think so.

  There were many officials attending, family and friends of the fallen officer, and they all shared their stories, memories and regrets, so many it seemed the ceremony would never end.

  That was until a small stooped over older man stood up, and using his cane to steady himself, slowly made his way to the podium that had been set up for the speakers with a microphone. A quiet settled over the crowd. All that could be heard were the annoying flashes from the press and their cameras.

  Roman leaned over to me and said, “Rob’s Father-in-law.”

  After several attempts to clear his throat, the elderly man began speaking in a small shaky voice, “We got the call all of us who are related to someone in law enforcement knows can come, but is never really prepared for. We lost our Robbie. Now Robbie, Rob to most of you, but we knew him as Robbie, had a very hard time separating his personal life from the hardships of his work. And it cost him dearly. It cost him his wife, his child, and now, sadly, he has paid the ultimate sacrifice. When we got the call about Robbie, our world stopped.” He wavered, stopped speaking and pulled a pristine white cloth from his pocket and wiped his eyes before continuing on.

  “As we drove here to Robbie’s final resting place, we saw the community he cared so deeply for, gave his life to protect, stop their world to show support and honor our boy. We saw their signs. We saw their salutes. We saw their tears. We watched as parents told their children to place their hands over their hearts as we passed by.”

  He wiped his eyes again, took a deep breath and in a stronger voice went on, “As well, the police officers from all over the state and even some from all over the country who came to help us bid farewell and support us. You lined the procession routes, attended the services and pulled over in the middle of the freeway to show our boy his last respects.”

  There wasn’t a dry eye when he finished with, “It’s been humbling and comforting. From myself and our entire family, we thank you all. We only wish our Robbie was here to witness how loyal his co-workers and community were to him. May he finally rest in peace,” As the elderly man tried to walk away from the podium he wobbled a bit and no less than six men jumped to his side to help escort him safely to his chair.

  I looked at Roman. This was his tribe. His brotherhood. These were the people who laid their lives on the line every single day they left for work.

  I looked around and got it. I understood now more than ever how important this all was.

  The line of police who hugged me as I left the hospital room so many years ago. There is something so raw and real about all of this. And unless you’re in the middle of it, you won’t get it. These strong, brave people often sacrificed more than anyone could imagine. They all deserved to know how appreciated they are. And not just at death.

  I leaned over to Roman and asked, “Will they catch the person who did this?”

  “You bet your ass we will.”

  Chapter 16

  Stop

  T rue to his word Cabe had several new commando additions to his security team and most of my media issues at the Manor disappeared. I don’t know exactly what they did to make the reporters leave, but whatever it was worked. And I was very thankful for the peace.

  After the funeral I had a long Come to Jesus talk with myself, and decided if I had anything to say about it, no one else was going to get hurt on my watch. I couldn’t go through anymore loss. I was determined to solve the Triple D’s case and protect my girls. While doing this we would be helping Roman and all the true life heroes he worked with, because all of the law enforcement manpower was focused on figuring out who killed Rob and shot his partner. If I could wrap up the Triple D case, it would take a huge weight off Roman and his department and keep my
girls safe.

  I started out by tagging along to any meeting with Roman that he would let me (so I could listen in); I dropped in to the station unannounced and rifled through his paperwork when he wasn’t there, and interviewed his colleagues.

  Paperwork got me nowhere; the man was way too tidy for my liking, and his colleagues were snitches. I knew this because Roman stormed into my new office at the Manor the afternoon after I’d tried to question a lieutenant about the Triple D case.

  Not only did the guy not give me anything to go on, he also ratted me out!

  I was working on a land negation for a Spanish winery that was attempting to buy up a few smaller wineries in order to expand their label, when Roman was suddenly standing at my desk looming over me.

  “Stop,” was his form of greeting.

  I put my pen down and leaned back in my chair and said, “You’ve got my attention.”