Hardass (Bad Bitch)

by Christina Saunders

  “She from the hospital, woman!”

  “What hospital?”

  “Ms. Smith?” She quieted and glanced over at me.

  “Get the fuck outta here, Terrence.” She slapped at the inspector’s leg.

  “I’m going, but I’m getting paid first.” He walked to me, smiling as if he’d just won the lottery.

  I pulled the hundred-dollar bill from my pocket but didn’t hand it over yet. “Don’t let anything happen to my car.”

  “That wasn’t part of the deal.” He frowned.

  “I’m making it part of the deal. Got it?”

  “Shit.” He held his hand out, the palm crisscrossed with deep wrinkles. “I won’t touch it.”

  “You better not, Terrence.” I held out the bill. “I’m tight with NOPD, and now I have a name to track you down by.”

  He snatched the bill from my hand and walked away. “Nice doing business, rich bitch.”

  I hit the lock button on my car again, just to make sure, and focused on Ginger Smith. “Ms. Smith?”

  “Yeah?” She leaned back and pulled a dirty white sheet over her lower half. “You from the hospital? What you want?”

  I squatted down to her level. “I’m not really from the hospital. Sorry about that. I’m an attorney.”

  She crossed her thin arms over her chest. She was like a frail bird, far too thin. Tracks marked her arms, and her cheeks were hollowed out. “What you want?”

  “You aren’t in trouble. I just wanted to ask you about something that happened a few months ago at a halfway house near here. You got hurt?”

  She laughed, the sound harsh and grating. “I get hurt a lot. You gonna need to be more specific.”

  “A man was arrested for hurting you. Rowan Ellis? And there maybe was another man. Tyler Graves? Or maybe a Gene Rourke?” I pulled Rowan’s mug shot and then Tyler’s up on my phone and showed them to her. She flinched when she saw Tyler’s face.

  “You know him?”

  She shuddered and drew her knees up. “You need to leave.” Her dark eyes watered.

  “What did he do?”

  “Go.” She turned her face away from me.

  I dug in my bag, pulling out the last cash I had—two twenties. “I can pay for information.” I held my hand out.

  She slapped my wrist away. “Money don’t help dead people. Get the fuck out of my house.”

  I recoiled at her sudden anger. “Please, I’m just trying to—”

  “You just trying to get me killed. You just trying to get you killed.” She turned back to me, a tear rolling down her gaunt cheek.

  I dropped all the way to my knees, the rotten wood sagging under my weight. “Please, just tell me what you know.”

  “I’ll say this, and then you need to get the fuck out, rich bitch.” She wiped her tear away with the back of her hand. “They will cut you and they will kill you and no one will ever find you. Leave.”

  “Who?” I held the twenties out again.

  She seemed to wrestle with hitting my hand away again, but then let out a long, defeated sigh. “Tyler and Chip.” Lifting her shirt to her protruding ribs, she showed me a mark. I leaned closer. It was the outline of some sort of animal, made entirely of scars. Someone had carved it into her flesh. She dropped her shirt and snatched the money.

  “Now get out!” Her scream was like a bomb blast, sudden and intense.

  I fell back and scrambled up.

  “Out! Out! Out!”

  I backed away, my heart slamming into my ribs, and turned to run. My heel caught in the floor, and I fell against the wall. Ripping my shoe free, I careened out the front door, down the steps, and into my car. The men were nowhere to be seen as I cranked it up and squealed tires out of the neighborhood.

  “You what!” Mr. Granade slammed his palm on his desk and stood, leaning over and boring into me with his eyes.

  I cringed back in my chair. “I, well, I thought I would follow up on that lead, so I—”

  “So you went to a dangerous neighborhood all alone and spoke to a hooker and God knows what other sort of shady characters?”

  I shrugged. “I was just trying to follow up, do a good investigation. Also, I’ll need the firm to reimburse me for the one hundred and forty dollars I paid for the information.”

  “Goddammit, Caroline, this isn’t a joke!” he roared.

  Shirley came to the door, glanced at me with a dark look, and pulled it closed.

  “You can’t just go out on your own like that.” He seemed to wrestle with getting his voice to a normal level, though his eyes still burned. “Do you have any idea what could have happened to you?”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “I did fine. I got a name, didn’t I? Chip. And now I know where Ginger Smith is.”

  “Yeah, you know where she was. If your description of her is accurate, I can guarantee you she’s already long gone. And a first name doesn’t get us anywhere. Do you know how many Chips live in New Orleans?”

  “Seventy-four.” I smirked. I didn’t come into his office without some ammo.

  He shook his head and sat back down. “Did you check them already?”

  “I did. Only a couple seemed like possibles. But I’m going to do some more investigating on their backgrounds. Otherwise, I suspect it may be a nickname.”

  “Likely.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’m serious, Caroline. You can’t do that ever again. Got me? From now on, we investigate together. Only together. I don’t know what I would have done if . . .” He trailed off as the tension along his jaw and around his eyes softened.

  I nibbled my bottom lip. Maybe he was right and I’d been a bit rash. His genuine concern was more than a little convincing.

  I took a deep breath and uncrossed my arms. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”

  “Good.” He turned to his computer, dismissing me in that stark way of his.

  I rose and opened the door.

  “Turn in your expense report to Shirley. She’ll get you reimbursed.”

  “Okay. I will.” I had pulled the door almost all the way closed behind me when he spoke.

  “Poor execution, Ms. Montreat, but excellent instincts.”

  “Thank you.” I stared at his broad back and dark hair, trying to figure out what was going on in his head.

  “It wasn’t exactly a compliment.”

  “I’ll take it as one, all the same.”

  His shoulders shook with a short laugh. “Get out, Ms. Montreat.”

  “Yes, sir.” I pulled the door closed and smiled, not even bothering to hide it from Shirley. Excellent instincts.

  Chapter Eleven

  Wash

  After our initial interview with Ms. Barnett and Caroline’s lead on Ginger Smith, our trail on Tyler Graves went cold. It was like he’d disappeared from the city. He’d lived here his entire life. There was no way he’d finally decided to ditch this late in the game, especially not when his fall guy was under lock and key and set for a speedy trial. Something didn’t smell right about it, but even after talking to a number of his former associates and dealers, we were no closer to finding him.

  I sat at my desk and watched the sun go down, the final rays coloring the sky an exotic pink with streaks of orange. Our morgue visit was set for the next morning. I could only hope Dr. Snider would find some evidence on the bodies or in the autopsies to back up our defense that Rowan couldn’t have been the real killer.

  Our only other lead, Gene Rourke, had a sizable rap sheet, but nothing else to link him to the murders. Even so, his violent past kept him at the top of our suspect list. He and Tyler had the same tastes in beating and raping hookers. Maybe they were working together to commit the murders.

  Even with two other possible suspects out there, the evidence against my client was damning: the bloody T-shirt, the multiple violent run-ins with hookers, the drugs. He was a shoe-in for lethal injection of the year. I’d been in spots as tough, but not many tougher. Either Rowan did it or
someone framed him. Didn’t matter. The jury would hear nothing but the latter from my lips, even if I had only a few odd wood carvings to go on.

  My thoughts dropped like leaves from a tree, and I was left with the solid trunk—the images and memories that always came to the forefront whenever I was overtired or incapable of concentrating. Caroline. She’d been with me all week, going to some rough neighborhoods and trying to shake information loose.

  She was quick on her feet, wily even. Her seemingly guileless brown eyes and sexy wardrobe choices definitely helped our investigation, but did nothing to keep my cock from getting hard at inappropriate moments.

  Even though I’d pressed her, telegraphed how much I’d wanted her, she would never ask me to kiss her. I was burning to touch her again, to run my hands along her smooth skin and tell her how beautiful she was, how smart, how deeply she got to me. She wouldn’t give in, and fuck if that didn’t make me want her more.

  “Hey, man.” Kennedy, my younger brother, strode into my office without knocking.

  I whirled. “What are you doing up this way?”

  Kennedy was a plaintiff’s attorney with an office on the edge of the French Quarter. He plopped down into one of my chairs and stretched his long legs out in front of him. “We’re drinking tonight, remember?”

  “We are? On a Thursday?”

  “Yeah, Lincoln’s in town.” Kennedy whistled and looked out my window.

  Lincoln was my older brother. I hadn’t seen him since a recent trip to New York where I sat in on a case as opposing counsel. He wasn’t pleased. I didn’t give a shit.

  “I don’t want to see him.” I knew it was a losing battle, but I would fight it anyway.

  “I know. But you’re gonna. If for no other reason than to make me happy.” Kennedy flashed his movie star smile, the one that got all the female associates falling all over themselves and offering up their panties.

  “You could stop the peacemaker routine anytime, you know?” I packed up my briefcase. Once Kennedy was set on drinks and reconciliation, there was no stopping him.

  “I know. But you need to get over that shit. Fawn was like, what, over ten years ago? And now she’s married to that douchenozzle Matt Turnbull. I think you’ve held the grudge for long enough, Wash. Besides, Linc’s got a new lady. I think it’s love. You’d dig her. She’s a hot little number with a dirtier mouth than even me.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think it’s possible for anyone to have a dirtier mouth than you.”

  “Fuckin’ A, right? But she really does. Come on. You’ll see.” He stood and went to the window, using the reflection to smooth down his light brown hair. He was my height, but with deep brown eyes and a bigger build.

  “Mr. Granade.” Caroline walked in, looking down at some papers. She wore her glasses today and looked like a naughty librarian. Hot as hell. “I think I may have a few more addresses we could che—” She looked up and saw Kennedy. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you had company. I’ll come back later.”

  She smiled at Kennedy, and something crept up my spine. A feeling that was as out of place as it was strong. I wanted her to smile at me. Just me.

  Kennedy returned her smile, the predator clicking into place. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Kennedy, Wash’s brother.” He walked to her and held out his hand.

  “I’m Caroline.” She took it, and they shook. “I’ve seen you a couple of times, and, of course, Mr. Granade speaks highly of you.”

  I did? I was pretty sure I’d never mentioned Kennedy to her. She was good.

  “Mr. Granade?” Kennedy didn’t drop her hand. “He makes you call him that?”

  She giggled. My hands fisted.

  “It’s all very professional around here, Mr. Granade.”

  His smile grew wider. “Oh, no. Now that just won’t do. You call me Kennedy. Actually, you can call me whatever you want.” He winked.

  I had never wanted to hit Kennedy. Not even when we were teenagers and got into an extremely heated argument over whose turn it was to be first player in Super Mario. But at that moment in my office, I could have knocked him out cold without remorse. He was touching what was mine. Smiling at what was mine. Winking at what was mine.

  “Well, Caroline, Wash—I mean Mr. Granade—and I are about to go get some drinks. Come with us and give us something prettier to look at than each other.”

  “Oh, I don’t think—”

  “Good, don’t think about it. Just do it.” He released her hand. “We’re leaving in five. Be ready and we’ll swing by your office and pick you up.”

  I glared at Kennedy. He was oblivious as always.

  “I, um.” She glanced over to me.

  I ran a hand through my hair, barely resisting the urge to pull it.

  “Sure, I guess.”

  “Good. Glad we came to an agreement. Now, run along. We’ll be there in four and a half minutes.”

  She smiled again, demure in her glasses. I knew better. I knew how she tasted. Once she’d gone, her hips swinging in her heeled boots, I turned on Kennedy.

  “The fuck are you doing?” I kept my voice down, but at that point, a yell would have been more than warranted. Kennedy had the amazing ability to walk into the middle of any situation and fuck it the hell up. Case in point.

  He shrugged. “She’s hot as hell. Thought it might be nice to have some company instead of watching you and Linc try to choke each other with angry stares.”

  “Don’t talk about her like that.” I tried to stay calm, to keep the jagged edge of anger out of my voice.

  I failed.

  Kennedy stopped primping in the window and turned to me. “Since when did you care what I said about . . .” He trailed off, and I could almost see him making the connection. “You got a thing for your associate.” He smiled, big and dumb, just like he did when we were kids.

  “No. We try to maintain a professional workpl—”

  “You fucked her, didn’t you?” He laughed and slapped his thigh.

  I went to the door and slammed it. I was pretty sure no one was still around my end of the office, but still, I didn’t want to risk Caroline’s reputation. “Kennedy! Cut it the fuck out.”

  “No, no.” He was still laughing. “I’m sorry. It’s just—it’s just you’re such a fucking robot sometimes. It’s perfect. Of course she got to you. I should have known the minute she smiled. Sexy, warm, clearly smart if she works for you. You didn’t stand a fucking chance.” He was almost howling.

  I didn’t find any of his words so funny, especially not when he was talking about how sexy Caroline was. “Kennedy, I’m warning you.” I stepped toward him.

  He fell back against the window and clutched his chest over his heart. “Oh, man, thanks for that. I needed a laugh today, no shit. God, this is going to be all kinds of fun. You, Lincoln, and that little hottie.”

  “Her name is Caroline, Kennedy. Caroline Montreat. Call her that. Not hottie, not sexy. Got it?” I stepped closer, my hands fisted. I was being an irrational asshole. Kennedy was just being a regular asshole—par for the course for him.

  “Okay, I got it, scrapper. Don’t do a repeat of the Fawn incident on me. I didn’t fuck her out from under you. Relax.”

  The thought of Kennedy fucking Caroline made my brain short-circuit for a second, and I took two more menacing steps toward him.

  “Whoa. You are serious about her. Sorry, man. I didn’t realize.”

  I uncoiled, though the need to pummel him still flickered in the back of my mind. “No.” I shook my head. “I’m just being a dick. To you and her. I made some mistakes. Anyway, long story. But I’m trying to keep it strictly business with her now.”

  Kennedy laughed and walked to me. “Good luck with that. I can already”—he put a hand to my forehead—“yep. Looks like you’re coming down with a case of the pussy-whipped. Might be terminal.”

  I slapped his hand away and laughed. Idiot.

  “That’s better.” He patted me on the shou
lder and walked to my door. “Come on. Maybe I can find another hot associate to poach on our way out.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Caroline

  Yvonne jammed her elbow into my ribs and I bumped my drink, the tasty contents splashing onto the bar.

  “Sorry about that.” She smiled, her perfect teeth bright white even in the low light.

  “No problem.” I rubbed the spot and considered just knocking her the fuck off the barstool. I refrained, barely.

  She turned back to Kennedy, chatting him up about his firm. She rested her hand on his forearm as she spoke, staking her claim. When she took a sip of her drink, Kennedy winked at me over the top of her head, as if we were in the wooing game together.

  More power to you.

  I liked Kennedy. He was funny and handsome, but I would be fooling myself if I thought there was anyone I wanted more than I wanted Wash. He sat on the other side of Kennedy, as far away from me as possible while still maintaining some semblance of being associated with us. So I gulped down my drink and ordered another.

  The French Quarter bar was filled with locals and tourists, the mix making for interesting people-watching. A drunk guy stood by the door, greeting everyone who entered, though the bartender made clear the guy didn’t actually work there. A live band was warming up in the back on a stage the size of my closet. Random guitar riffs and snares colored the hum of people talking and drinks being made.

  “Hi, welcome to this here bar!” the drunk called.

  I looked to my left at the door. A gorgeous woman with auburn hair walked in with a tall, dark-haired stunner behind her. He had a scar running through his eyebrow, giving him a rough feel, but he was well dressed in a business suit.

  “Linc!” Kennedy jumped up from his barstool and went to greet them. The men hugged it out as the redhead watched with interest.

  “And who is this beauty?”

  “This”—Lincoln put his arm around her—“is Evan, my fiancée.”

  “Engaged? Shut the fuck up!” Kennedy clapped his hands and yelled, “Barkeep, buy everyone a round on me.”