by Jules Court
Brian was already on scene. “Don’t,” he said to Brian before he could make one of his “funny” comments.
But Brian didn’t have a chance to respond because Officer Tricia D’Agastino approached, notepad open.
She nodded at him. “Detective.” She gave Brian a smile. “You still owe me a favor, Mac,” she said.
“Any time, I’m good for it.” He held up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”
“What do we have?” Danny asked.
“Witnesses report a silver Mercedes SUV with a white male behind the wheel drove straight into the crowd. People were taken to Mass General, two of them critical, possibly fatal,” Tricia said. “They got pinned against the wall of the club.”
Brian’s expression was grim. Priya was on duty in the tonight, which meant the injured were coming straight to her because Mass General had the closest ER.
“Driver took off?” he asked. Tricia nodded. “Anyone get the license number or a description?”
Tricia gestured toward her partner, who was talking to a shivering girl in a sparkly miniskirt and a blanket, courtesy of one of the EMTs, wrapped around her shoulders. “Still interviewing,” she said.
“Okay, we’ll take over now, thanks,” Brian said.
Danny drifted over to the wall of the club where the SUV had pinned the two potential casualties. He dropped to his heels and called his partner. When Brian trotted over, he said, “Look at these tire marks. Bastard gunned his engine. He was targeting them.”
He needed to pay.
Chapter Eleven
Erin had barely made a dent her in first Monday morning coffee when she received the summons to Roger Wyatt’s office. The Wyatt of Blackstone, Wyatt & Winters. She hadn’t thought he’d knew who she was beyond a statistic to demonstrate how progressive they were in their hiring practices. What was he doing in so early?
She made the long walk up to the executive offices with a pit in her stomach even though she reasoned that if she were being axed, that was a job for an underling. No way a senior partner would take time away from golf and three martini lunches to fire a nobody. And, hey, at least it was a distraction from the other things she didn’t want to think about. Like how her mind wouldn’t stop replaying Saturday night. She’d done nothing yesterday but stay in bed binge watching The Wire in a futile attempt to forget.
The worst part was being upset that she’d woken up alone because Danny’d snuck out in the middle of the night. And wasn’t that a measure of how screwed up she was, that she was mad he’d spared her the awkward morning after.
His secretary greeted her with a smile as polished as her voice. “You can go right in, Ms. Rafferty. Mr. Wyatt is expecting you.”
She knocked quickly before pushing open the door. Mr. Wyatt was speaking into a Dictaphone, something she was surprised still existed since the only market for them were old-ass attorneys who believed typing was women’s work. For her, it would actually be more difficult to dictate a memo than type it since she, and most everyone in her generation, did their thinking while typing.
He gave an imperious wave toward one of the chairs in front of his desk. She took a seat as quietly as she could, aided by the plush carpet under her feet, a far cry from the industrial beige her office sported.
Mr. Wyatt clicked off the Dictaphone. “I’m hearing good things about you, Ms. Rafferty.”
Like what? she wanted to demand. She’d been fucking up left and right lately.
Instead she demurely said, “Thank you, sir,” careful to make sure she didn’t let the r at the end of “sir” disappear. When she was stressed, her carefully cultivated accent tended to slip. But he was probably just going to ask her to attend some women’s law symposium somewhere to pretend like the firm gave a crap about women. That was the kind of job Paula usually got stuck with, but maybe being made a partner meant she’d been able to stick the dog and pony crap on to someone else. Someone like Erin, the bottom of the firm’s attorney barrel.
“Gunderson says you’ve really helped him out and he’s been able to pump up those pro bono hours. We might actually get some recognition from the bar this year, which will look good from a marketing perspective.”
“I made sure to hit my billables first.” Doing the pro bono casework didn’t get you ahead. But Gunderson knew she had a weakness for helping the screwed-up kids and took full advantage every time a case like that came across her desk. She couldn’t help it. She saw herself in them. A few were already too far gone, but most just needed a break and to know that someone believed they could be more that what they were now.
“I have a very good friend, State Congressman Scott Whitford, who has a son who may have a legal issue,” Mr. Wyatt continued. “I’d like for you to meet with him. The son’s name is Eric and he’s a student at Boston University. He’ll be coming in at ten o’clock. I will, of course, be available for any assistance you need.”
“Thank you, sir.” This was the kind of high profile client she’d been looking for. But alarm bells began ringing. “What’s the nature of the legal matter, so I can be prepared?”
“I think it’s best that Scott give you all the details. Olivia, my paralegal, will be sending you some cases with precedent that may be helpful.”
Meaning he’d already had Olivia, who probably handled all his cases anyway, do the work. He just needed someone with a bar number to present it. And if he was looking at a junior associate, then there was something in particular about that junior associate. Probably that she had a vagina. Which mean a sex offense.
Fuck. Her skin crawled. They always wanted to put a woman up next to an accused rapist as if it made him more sympathetic. Like there’s no way he could be a rapist because a woman was defending him.
“Just remember that this is a very important client. We’ll be watching you and this could mean good things for your future here.” Mr. Wyatt left the corollary unspoken: if she screwed up, her career here was effectively over.
* * *
Eric Whitford turned out not to be a rapist, at least not an accused one, just a sneering, spoiled trust fund kid. When he strolled into her office, he gave her a once-over, not even attempting to hide that he was rating her on his personal fuckability scale. From his contemptuous sneer, she was pretty sure she rated low, which she considered a plus.
Eric merely attempted to run over his ex-girlfriend and her new boyfriend, hurting a bunch of people in the attempt. Of course, he didn’t tell the story that way, but she’d been around liars her whole life. It wasn’t difficult to read between the self-serving statements.
Cruz would probably say she was just as bad as her client for defending him. But defense attorneys were a check against the power of the police and the prosecutors, she reminded herself. And even a spoiled a-hole like Eric Whitford deserved to have the state prove its case. He still had the right to a fair trial and it was her job to make sure that’s what he would get. That’s all.
“We need to get ahead of this,” she told Eric. “I’m surprised they haven’t called you in for questioning already.”
“They don’t have shit,” he said. “But I’m supposed to come in to talk to some detectives.”
“You’re automatically a person of interest being the ex-boyfriend. For most women who are the victims of violence, it’s at the hands of a current or former partner.”
The assigned officers must be being careful because of how powerful Eric’s father was. Otherwise it wouldn’t be a request to come down to the station, but a pair of handcuffs and a ride in a cruiser. They were making sure they had all their ducks in a row, so there wasn’t anything procedural with which she could challenge the inevitable arrest.
“Carly isn’t a victim. She’s a two-timing skank. She brought this on herself.” He gave a smirk that made her flesh crawl.
“That’s the ty
pe of statement that I’m going to need you to refrain from making. Carly and you parted ways because you’d grown apart.”
“We parted ways because she needed to ride some other dude’s di—”
“Repeat after me. We broke up because we grew apart.”
“Whatever,” Eric said, leaning back and crossing his arms. Every inch of his posture and facial expression screamed that he believed himself to be the victim.
She reminded herself that she had an ethical duty to zealously advocate for her client even if he was an enormous dickbag. “Do you have the name of the officer who wanted you to come in?”
Eric flipped a business card on the table. She picked up it with a sense of dread, already knowing what it would say.
“Detective Daniel Cruz,” she breathed. She added the “fuck” silently. At least now she knew how she’d gotten the case.
Who knew about her and Cruz? Paula and Smarmy Scotty had both seen her talking with him that night at the 21st Amendment, and Mike Kelly had seen them together in the grocery store. Lawyers got together and talked.
Calm down. You’re being paranoid. It was probably just a coincidence. And since she and Cruz agreed that it was only a one-night thing, they didn’t have an ongoing relationship that might complicate things ethically. As long as he kept his mouth shut, they would be fine.
She picked up her phone. “We’re going in. We need to act cooperative,” she told Eric. But she hesitated before dialing the number on Cruz’s business card. She punched the main number for the police station instead. “Detective Brian MacGregor, please.”
* * *
Brian hung his phone up and tipped back in his chair with a smug smile. “So,” he said. “Our perp for the hit and run is coming in with his lawyer.”
Danny nodded but didn’t look up from his paperwork. He was in a horrendous mood and wasn’t ready for Brian’s Brian-ness this morning. He’d slept badly again last night. But this time it wasn’t the old memories tormenting him, it was new ones. Ones where a dark-haired woman with sultry eyes shuddered and peaked in his arms. He’d woken up alone, and for the first time in a long time, he hadn’t been relieved to be solo. He’d been lonely.
“Guess who the lawyer is?”
His head snapped up.
“I can handle this by myself,” Brian said.
“Why would you need to?”
Brian gave him an exaggerated duh face. “Why don’t you just call her and make it official?”
He shifted in his seat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Brian tapped his chest. “Trained investigator,” he said. “I know you’ll get shit from the guys for dating a defense attorney, but who cares about those fucksticks?” There was no levity in his voice. Serious Brian was rare. “It’s not every day that you meet someone you click with. And I see the way Erin looks at you every time you’re in a room together. She’s not going to shoot you down just because you’re a cop.”
Danny unbuttoned his cuff and rolled up his sleeve. He held his arm out with its brown skin. “When I was little, my father had joke names for me and my brother. He called us Labor and Management. I was Labor and my brother was Management.”
“You have a brother?”
“Had.” He narrowed his eyes so Brian would know the topic wasn’t open for conversation. He wasn’t ready to talk about that yet.
Wisely, Brian took the hint. “I don’t get the joke,” he said.
“I’m browner than my brother was.”
“That’s fucked up. And what does that have to do with Erin?”
He shrugged. It was the way the world was. People like Brian could believe in a colorblind world, but that was because it was a world made for them. Didn’t make him a bad guy, just a bit clueless at times.
“Do you know what I found at my desk on my first day? A rake with a bow on it. The next day it was a bandanna and a white tank top.” A gardener or a gangbanger. The only thing some people would ever see him as.
“Then what’s stopping you from getting involved with Erin? Why are you letting them decide your personal life?”
When was he going to remember that Brian was a lot more perceptive than he let on? And he’d just waltzed into his verbal trap. But it didn’t matter because Erin had made it clear that she had only wanted one night with him. Just because he suddenly, unwisely, wanted more didn’t negate their bargain.
* * *
Erin walked her client into the interrogation room with her spine straight and her head high. Danny was leaning casually against the wall, legs crossed at the ankle, the epitome of robotic calm. Meanwhile, her heart was threatening to pound itself out of her chest at the sight of him triggering all sorts of inappropriate memories. Like how it felt to have those long fingers buried between her thighs.
But she was stronger than that. She wasn’t going to throw herself at him and force him to remember, too.
Brian entered the room after her. “Have a seat, Ms. Rafferty, Mr. Whitford,” he said pleasantly.
She stabbed a finger at Danny—Detective Cruz. “We need to talk privately. Now.” Her client was craning his head looking back and forth between them. “Don’t say a word,” she told him. She pinned Brian with a hard look. “I don’t need to remind you that you cannot question my client without his lawyer present. Pull any shit and I’ll have it tossed in pretrial hearings quicker than you can say ‘Fifth Amendment violation.’”
She turned on her heel and strode from the room. Please let him follow me. Please let him follow me. She breathed an inward sigh of relief when she heard his footsteps behind her. He could have stayed put and made her look ridiculous in front of her client.
He touched her arm but immediately dropped his hand. “This way,” he said.
She followed him to the small conference room down the hall. He shut the door closing them in together where they stood almost toe to toe.
She spoke first. “Did you tell anyone? About us?”
“What us?”
Now he was going to pretend like it never happened? “Don’t screw with me.”
He raised an eyebrow in an infuriating manner. “Afraid someone will find out you were slumming with a cop?”
“It would give the appearance of impropriety, not to mention screw up my case. I need this case.”
“You need to get some entitled rich little sociopath off. I understand he’s got a bright future ahead of him, moving on to hurting people on a grander scale when he becomes some CEO or banker. Nothing but Ponzi schemes and tax fraud in his future.”
“I had no idea you were such a socialist. And that’s alleged sociopath to you.” She crossed her arms. “Do you even know who this kid’s father is?”
“Do you think I give a rat’s ass?”
“He’s someone who could make or break my career. A senior partner at my firm handed me this case personally. This is my chance.”
“I knew you needed validation, but this is just pathetic.”
“Wanting to succeed is pathetic? You should know. At least I’m not giving up five years of my life for nothing,” She uncrossed her arms and leaned forward. “Tell me something. The Latin Kings. Still around? Yeah, I thought so.”
“You’re just giving up your life because you’re too scared to really live it. Too scared to let someone close. I’m sorry you have daddy issues, but you need to stop punishing everyone else for it.”
Her fingers were itching to slap him again for that, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “You don’t know anything about it. Do you know what it’s like to look in the mirror and wonder, ‘Is that his nose? Are my eyes the same color as his?’ To wonder what was so wrong about you that he couldn’t even send you a birthday card? He didn’t even sign my birth certificate. So what do you know about being abandoned?”
His words knocked the righteous anger right out of her, rocking her back on her heels. “I’m... I’m sorry,” she started to say.
He made a slashing motion with his hand. “Forget it,” he said. “Forget I said anything.” He looked past her. She could see the calm mask settle back over his features. “What happened between us is over, but we still have jobs to do. Let’s just go back in and be professionals.”
But this time she saw under the mask to the pain and anger and even confusion beneath. She reached out her hand, but he turned away abruptly, leaving it hanging there.
And this was what she’d been afraid of. This was what it was like to want someone more than you wanted your independence. This was what it was like to be her mother or her sister.
Her lips twisted in a bitter smile. At least he hadn’t knocked her up.
A knock sounded on the door just a second before Brian popped his head in. “You guys done yet?”
Danny just gave a curt nod and followed his partner back into the hallway.
She took a second to collect herself. Yes, they were done all right.
Chapter Twelve
Back in the interrogation room, Danny let Brian take lead. They’d worked together long enough that they were establishing a pretty effective system. Brian would wear a suspect down with his incessant and chipper questioning, like water dripping on a stone, and Danny would interject when he saw a crack forming, a single jackhammer blow. It usually worked.
Not today. Erin was good. She’d turned away all of Brian’s questions, silencing her client whenever he was about to speak, and managed to glean what evidence they had against him. She obviously wasn’t wasting any brain space thinking about what had just happened between them.