“Wow, you look like crap.”
“It’s a good thing I like you,” she said as she walked away.
It took over an hour and two cups of coffee before Lori could read one e-mail and make sense of it. She and Avery had taken the man-bashing train long and hard, while Sam had gotten off by seven in the evening to get to work on the problem. Lori would have felt guilty for pushing the problem off for an entire day if not for Sam’s continued support of her plight. We’ve all been there. Take a day or two, then put on those big girl panties and let’s get to work.
“Lori?” her secretary quietly called her from the door. “Sam is on the line. Should I have her call back?”
The blinking button on the phone caught her eye. “I got it.”
“Good morning,” Lori answered.
“How is that headache?”
“Befitting the occasion, I’m afraid.”
“Lots of water.”
It hurt to smile. “You didn’t call to give me hangover tips.”
“Right. I hope you freed up your day.”
“I have.”
“Good. Let’s start pulling files. I need you tell me what the time frame was between acquisitions of our payees to when they saw and signed the contracts.”
Lori wrote a note. “Why?”
“It’s been brought to my attention that if we had our brides and grooms signing contracts within a week or less of seeing the contracts, the agreements may come into question, since you represented both parties.”
“I didn’t always represent both parties.”
“Then those cases don’t apply. Just pull the ones where you were the only legal counsel.”
Lori saw the connection and possible problem through the fog in her brain. “Since when did you become a paralegal?”
“Someone brought this to my attention.”
Lori didn’t even ask. “Let me know if that someone needs a job. I’ll get on this. Have you spoken with Shannon?”
“Carter has called Paul and is arranging a meeting.” Carter was the preceding governor of California before Paul took office. His marriage to Eliza, Sam’s right hand in Alliance before she became first lady of the state, was how Paul learned of Alliance in the first place.
“Fine, you speak with Paul, I’m calling Shannon.”
“Talk soon.”
Lori left a message on Shannon’s cell and let her secretary know to patch the call through when she returned it.
For the next three hours, Lori pulled files and placed them in three boxes. At risk, a week or more, and second representation.
Reed was prepared to disappear for a while to find Sasha. With the intervention of Neil and Rick, that didn’t pan out. Researching anything online or making calls while in his apartment, however, was out of the question. There was no way in hell Rick and his people didn’t help themselves to placing bugs in his space. And until the threat against Lori was over, he was fine with it. He deserved the invasion of his privacy. He was equally sure his Jeep was on the radar. But that didn’t stop him from finding the bugs and learning their capabilities.
When his phone rang at six in the morning, four hours after he’d gone to bed, he was surprised they’d given him that much time to sleep.
Only it wasn’t the Rick and Neil team that called.
“You’re an asshole.” It was Avery.
He rubbed his eyes and sat up in bed. “I know.”
“You should be castrated and strung up naked in the town square where mounds of fire ants can feed off you for months.”
“Oh, wow, you’ve given this some thought.” And now the image was stuck in his head like an earworm.
“You broke her heart.”
That image hurt more.
“I know.”
Avery paused.
“We’re plotting your demise.”
He needed coffee. “A slow and painful one, from the sound of it.”
“A deserving one.”
She said nothing for a moment.
“You know what really bites, Reed?”
No, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me. “What?”
“We liked you. We all really liked you.”
He needed Jack Daniel’s in his coffee. He heard his mother’s voice in his head. If you’re sorry, say it, mean it, own it, and do something about it!
“I am sorry.”
“Really?” She didn’t sound convinced.
“More than you know.”
“Then prove it!”
She hung up without hearing his reply.
“I will.”
“How close are you?” Ruslan made each word sound like a command with the thickness of his accent.
“I’ve engaged. I will have what you need by the end of the week.”
“Irrevocable evidence, my dear. Not gossip or speculation.”
“I’m working on it. All my bait is sitting in wait until someone bites. And they will bite.”
Ruslan looked out over the cold, gray skies of London. “These are not people you have the opportunity to frame twice.”
“I understand that.”
“Until the end of the week.”
He disconnected the call as the clouds opened up and gave in to the rain. “Patience,” he told himself. He’d come this far, he wasn’t about to pounce without the guarantee his plan was moving forward.
“What do we have?” Sam sat across from Lori with stacks of files.
“Let’s start with the core players.”
Sam turned one of the files around. “What am I looking at?”
“Avery and Bernie. Our first contact with Avery was six months before Bernie showed up. We wrote up the prenuptial, presented it to Avery, made a couple of adjustments. No second attorney was brought in. Avery signed it two weeks after the final draft.”
“And they took two months to plan the wedding.”
“Right. So there isn’t any loophole for their agreement to be voided. Now, here is Shannon and Paul.” Lori pulled another file out, this one thicker. “No second attorney, and the agreement was signed within five days of presenting it to Shannon.”
“That’s because Shannon’s family ran in the same circles as Paul. It wasn’t a stretch that they could have known each other and fallen in love.”
“Doesn’t matter. This could be a sticky one,” Lori said. “If Shannon wanted to dispute the agreement, say she didn’t have time to properly go over it before signing it . . .”
“Shannon wouldn’t do that.”
“No, I don’t think so either,” Lori said. “But if she did, we would have a problem. Especially now that there is no safety net for litigation if a case like this was thrown into court.”
Sam took that in and looked down at the third file. “Trina and Fedor.”
“Yes. Not only were we the only representation, the agreement was signed within three days, and their marriage took place within two weeks.”
“Sticky.”
“Considering the payer is dead and can’t deny or confirm anything if someone brought this to court. This could end up in court for years if Ruslan or Alice’s surviving relatives attempt to void Alice’s will based on a fraudulent marriage between Trina and Fedor.” Lori’s blood chilled.
Sam’s lips pushed together. “What are all these?”
Lori attempted a grin. “Starting with your marriage to Blake . . . here are all the files of players we don’t need to worry about. Although you and Blake were married three days after the contract was signed, you had separate attorneys.”
Sam offered half a smile. “So these are good.”
“Yep. And in this pile are the cases with only me on file as representation, where the contracts were signed eight days or longer from when they were presented.”
“All good?”
“Yep.”
Sam laid her hand over a dozen other folders. “And these?”
“At risk. Easily rectified if we were to have them re-sign or make a small change to th
eir current contract. So, after going through the files, I have some good news and the bad news.”
“I’m listening.”
“The good news is, Alliance doesn’t have to take the fall.”
“I don’t see how that’s possible,” Sam said.
Lori pointed to her chest. “I do. I’m the one that will be brought before the bar. An investigation will shut down my practice—”
“Absolutely not.”
“We don’t want Alliance blown open.”
“We will lock it down tight.”
Lori waved a hand at the files. “Every one of those cases are public record.”
Sam picked her file out of the pile. “The only thing public about this one was my wedding.” She grabbed several others. “All of these are happy marriages. As for the rest, we tackle the current cases first. Have them re-sign.”
“And the others?” Lori asked.
“Nothing. Don’t act guilty of anything . . . we’re not. Nothing here was illegal.”
“Lawyers are brought up on ethics. We seldom break the law.” And that was where Lori was screwed.
“We know Petrov is after Trina . . . that is the case we need to focus on and do our best to make sure no one ever finds out the truth behind Fedor and Trina’s marriage. Carter is having lunch with Paul today.”
“And Shannon made it clear she had no intention of making any further claim to Paul.” Lori started to pace.
“It’s only right I take the fall if it comes to—”
“Sit down, Lori. No one is going to fall.”
Lori was leading with emotion, while Sam was deducing from the facts. In the back of her head, all she could think of was how none of this would have been brought up had she not gotten so close to Reed and said too much.
Chapter Thirty-One
Reed’s ass had melded to his desk chair as he searched the Internet for pictures from the cruise to get an image of Sasha. Trying to find out the names of the people on the airplane he had shared with Lori en route to Texas was a waste of time. TSA had shut those things down like the locks at Fort Knox.
Pounding on Reed’s front door shook him from his caffeine coma.
He reached for his gun, loaded the chamber, and slowly walked to his door.
“Put it away, Reed.”
Sad that Reed had already learned the sound of Rick’s voice.
He relaxed the grip on his weapon and opened the door. “What now?”
Rick ducked his head into Reed’s apartment. “Dude, you need to clean up around here. Women hate slobs.”
“Everyone’s a critic.” He opened the door wider.
Rick didn’t bother walking in. “C’mon.”
“Where are we going?”
“Sasha used the credit card.”
Reed shook the dark away. “’Bout time.” He ran through his apartment, turned off his computer, grabbed his cell, his keys, and put on a jacket to hide his gun.
“Where are we going?”
“Beverly Wilshire.”
“She checked into a hotel? We can’t be that lucky.”
“She bought a drink in the hotel bar.”
“Anything else?” Reed asked.
“Just the one drink, the charge batched through at midnight,” Rick told him.
“So she could have been there anytime yesterday.”
“She could be there right now. And since you’re the only one who knows what she looks like, guess what you’re going to be doing?”
“Barfly?”
“No, that’s my job.” Rick reached over to the glove compartment, opened it, removed an earpiece. “You’re across the street.”
“What if she leaves through the garage?”
Rick looked at him as if he was crazy. “Really? Name one woman who can resist shopping on Rodeo Drive?”
“Someone who doesn’t have money?”
“Like that stops them.”
“Fine.”
So as Rick walked into the finery of the Wilshire to pretend to be some kind of businessman, complete with a copy of the Wall Street Journal and a laptop, Reed loitered on one of the most prestigious corners in America. The only thing he was missing was a piece of cardboard asking for change.
“Can you hear me?” Rick asked through the tiny earpiece.
“Unfortunately.”
“This is a nice place. Might need to take the Mrs. here.”
“You’re married?”
“Best woman ever. Okay, log into the Internet.”
Reed removed his phone, kept an eye on those coming and going from the hotel as he multitasked.
“Type this in.” He rattled off a series of letters and numbers that made little sense. But once he pressed enter, Reed found himself on a secure site.
“It’s asking for a password.”
Rick started laughing. “The number four and the words fire ants, capitalize the last letters.”
The earworm Avery had placed started to sing again. “Very funny.”
“We thought so.”
The password brought on a video from inside the hotel bar.
An elderly couple walked out of the hotel, and he immediately dismissed them.
“I’m moving you around. Let me know if anyone looks familiar.”
The camera swiveled around the room. Not one patron had a feature worth remembering. “Nothing.”
“Okay . . . keep the webpage open but save your battery. I’ll clue you in when someone new walks in.”
It was Reed’s turn to laugh. “So I stand on the corner and you act like the crazy man talking to himself in a fancy hotel.”
“I’m bigger than you. People ignore crazy when you’re bigger than them.”
Reed couldn’t argue that.
“Does this street ever close down?” Reed asked his unwanted partner through the mic.
“If you sold shoes at a grand a pair, would you close the door?”
“That’s just crazy.”
Reed glanced back down Rodeo Drive, his eyes landing on the storefront of Jimmy Choo.
A woman walked out carrying bags in both hands. Apparently buying one pair at a time wasn’t acceptable in some circles.
He was about to look away when his eyes fell on a woman with olive skin, dark hair, big sunglasses . . . she carried herself with poise, her head just a little higher than everyone around her.
“I think I see her.”
“Where?”
“She’s headed into a shoe store.” Reed looked at the opposing traffic. No way to jaywalk with so many cars buzzing by.
“Keep your distance,” Rick instructed him.
“Do you think I’m new?” Reed crossed the street and blended into the crowd.
It didn’t take long before she walked out. The woman looked left and right before putting her sunglasses back on.
Reed released a sigh. “Not her.”
“We draft up everything. Consider every possible scenario before you file.”
Lori watched as a nervous Ana Maghakian paced her office. “He won’t know I’m here?”
“Not until we tell him. By then we need to have you out of the house.” Preferably with some kind of restraining order, but that wasn’t likely, since the wife wasn’t willing to press charges.
“If I move my stuff out, he’s going to notice. He’s controlling.”
“Most abusers are.”
“I’ll have to move when he’s out of town.”
“Do you have a house staff?”
“Yes.”
“Do they have regular days off?”
“Of course.”
“So which days of the week are the most quiet?”
“Tuesday is my housekeeper’s day off, and the groundskeepers are there every day but Monday.”
“Cook, driver?” Lori rattled off a few more occupations.
Mrs. Maghakian mapped out her household routine while Lori took notes.
It felt as if she were in the thick of a crime in progress. Then again, h
er life had turned into some sort of a soap opera of late.
“Do you have someplace secure you can go?” Lori asked.
“I have money. I’ve managed to put enough away for this day.”
Lori leaned forward on her elbows. “I’m not talking about a hotel. I’m talking about someplace he can’t get to you.”
“What’s more secure than a hotel with witnesses and cameras everywhere?”
Lori placed her pen on her notes. “What do you anticipate your husband doing when he learns that you’ve left him and filed for divorce?”
Sheer fear filled the other woman’s face.
“We need you safe. I know people that can help you.”
“I can’t go to some shelter.”
“Do I look like I work with a shelter?” Lori didn’t mind pulling strings for women like Ana.
An hour later, with more billable hours than any psychologist, Lori managed to plant the seed that Ana would survive her current situation, she just needed the right resources, resources that Lori could recommend.
It was empowering to have something to focus on other than her life, even when she knew it wasn’t the healthiest of practices to put all her energy and emotion into one client. Truth was, Lori had placed all of her focus in the whole of her practice. Yet at the end of the day, when she was alone in her bed and her brother’s snores drifted to a low roar . . . Lori sensed him. Reed was embedded in the walls of the room, the scent of him in her bed, her pillows. A doctor would tell her she was imagining him there, but she’d deny the doctor’s logic. Reed had left an imprint on her life that lasted beyond any relationship she’d had before him.
The knock on Reed’s door at six in the morning didn’t even shock him.
There was only the groggy walk to the door resulting from the dreams that had haunted him most of the night. He opened it with a push and turned his back on the man beyond.
“Coffee?” Rick asked.
“Please.”
“Great idea. Get dressed.”
Twenty minutes later they were parked outside of the signature green and white storefront.
Rick had put the car in park and stared at the coffee shop across the street for ten minutes before Reed asked, “What are we doing here?”
“Yesterday, while we were playing cloak-and-dagger on Rodeo Drive, your friend used her credit card here.”
Fool Me Once (First Wives Series Book 1) Page 27