The Ivy Nash Thrillers: Books 1-3: Redemption Thriller Series 7-9 (Redemption Thriller Series Box Set)

by John W. Mefford

  Dipping the bill of his Spurs cap a bit lower, a breeze blew long strands of his brown hair into his face. He stuffed his handkerchief away and tucked his greasy locks back under the edge of his cap, his senses momentarily cognizant of those around him and their disgusted looks. He’d seen that type of reaction countless times, which is why he usually tried to hide his face and hair.

  He paced forward another ten steps, then leaned against the large tree rising out of the sidewalk along East Commerce, allowing him a few last glimpses of Ivy before she reached her car and got in. He’d thought about hiding out in her car, surprising her from the back seat, and then, once she was inside and the door shut, wrapping his sweaty fingers around her neck. He could imagine the ecstasy of squeezing until every bone and ligament was crushed. It would feel like kneading pizza dough. But that was getting ahead of himself. During his time away, he’d gained a new perspective on delayed gratification, for him and his victim, and he couldn’t afford to respond with such a sudden outburst. It would be too fast. He would have nothing to look forward to.

  He knew he wasn’t quite ready for the confrontation. She needed to be primed a bit more. He wanted her on edge, her nerve-endings frayed to a point she’d never experienced—at least in her adult life. Reaching the same pinnacle of fear from her youth…that would take some work. It was a worthy challenge, but he didn’t want to set his bar too high.

  Hope for the best, prepare for the worst. That was one thing his daddy always told him. He’d learned a lot from his dad, how to bait a hook before fishing in the lake, and how to prepare a target to invoke the highest degree of personal satisfaction. Like most teenagers, he had a difficult time retaining all the good information his dad had told him. It wasn’t until his incarceration that he truly learned how to cultivate a target properly.

  Yep, he’d learned it the hard way.

  Ivy’s black Honda Civic exited onto Commerce and buzzed right by his location. He dipped his head, pretending to read his cell phone, his body partially blocked by the tree. He sniffed and his body quaked as he recalled brushing by her when she was on the River Walk. The scent of coconut in her frizzy hair and just the smell of her skin. It lit up his senses, but in two very different ways.

  Like father, like son. That had been well-established long ago. After fighting his primal urges in elementary school, he’d grown to accept them. He had flourished with his newly discovered sense of who he was, especially once he’d received the guidance from his father. It had just taken a few years to make complete sense.

  A metal cane wrapped against his leg.

  “Hey, mister, do you mind helping this sight-challenged old lady?”

  He twisted away from the tree, but her cane seemed to have heat-seeking vision, and it slid up his legs, nearly racking him in the gonads.

  “Excuse me,” he said through a stuffy nose.

  “You sound like that duck.”

  “What are you talking about?” He began to back away from the woman, who wore thick, dark sunglasses.

  “You know that duck from those old cartoons that sounded like he had a perpetual cold?”

  “Uh, sure, whatever you say.”

  He shuffled two more steps, then fell backward against the trunk of the tree. “Ah, dammit.”

  “There’s a tree there, can’t you see?” She cackled.

  He growled, feeling a bump already growing on his back.

  “What the hell were you doing just standing next to a tree anyway?” she asked.

  He paused for a moment, withholding the urge to share the thoughts racing through his mind.

  “I know, you were probably just ogling some of these good-looking young women we have here in Texas.”

  “Not exactly,” he said. “Do you need some help or something?”

  “My son and his family just hightailed it out of the hotel this afternoon and left me all alone. Even Sam, my guide dog and best friend, abandoned me today. Maybe they thought I’d die while they were gone so they could get their hands on my money,” she said, hooting out a laugh while smacking a hand to her leg. “My ticker might be a little faulty, and my eyesight stinks, but nothing can keep this old broad down.” She lifted her cane and pointed it across the street. “I need to get to that bar over there.”

  He nodded.

  “Did you hear me?”

  “Sure did,” he said with a sigh and a roll of the eyes. He felt a sneeze coming on, and he barely got his handkerchief to his mouth before the explosion.

  “Dear God, boy, you’re disgusting. But can you help me get across the street and into that bar? I’m meeting an old friend, and I want to get liquored up before he shows.”

  He agreed, taking her by the elbow and helping her off the curb.

  “I hope you can hold off on sneezing. I don’t need any nasty germs at my age.”

  “I’m not contagious,” he said, willing to say anything to stop her incessant talking. Their pace was so slow that a small traffic jam formed by the time they finally made it to the other side of East Commerce.

  “Okay, just a little farther, up to the door please,” she said, swinging her cane into his shin with every step.

  They finally made it up the ramp and to the front door of the bar. “Thank you. I never actually got your name.”

  “Happy to help,” he said, avoiding her question.

  She put a hand on the door, then turned back to face the man. “Are you one of those who don’t like women?”

  “I assure you, I like women, yes ma’am.”

  “Just checking. It’s just that…” She paused, putting a wrinkled finger to her nose.

  “What?” He couldn’t believe he was curious enough to ask the question.

  “Well, I get the sense that you’re the stalking type.”

  “Ha,” he said. “I’m just a little shy, that’s all.” He could feel beads of sweat on his forehead.

  “Shy,” she said, her lips twisting into a wrinkled heap. “You want to join me in the bar? I’m sure I could introduce you to a younger lady, and you never know, by the end of the night, you might just get lucky.” She let loose a hacking laugh.

  “Sorry, but that won’t do me much good.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “I’ve been castrated.” He flipped around and walked off. At the end of the ramp, he snapped a branch off an ornamental bush and ripped it to shreds. Memories of the day his life had forever changed could be traced back to the selfish act of one person: Ivy Nash. That bitch would pay for all of eternity. And he couldn’t wait to get started.

  26

  I poured myself a mug of coffee and took a sip. Bitter. Given it was probably ten hours old, I wasn’t surprised, but I knew I needed the caffeine jolt to push through the mound of work growing like mold on my desk. Walking out of the CPS breakroom, I noticed the blue and gray cube farm was nearly empty, the hum of ambient noise reduced to a quiet murmur. Most everyone had families to get home to. Outside of Zorro, my black Persian cat, I had no one tugging at my heartstrings—or playing the guilt card—to pull me out of the office.

  In other words, I had no life.

  Two steps into the cube farm, I stopped so fast my coffee sloshed onto my wrist. “Crap,” I whispered to myself while I watched the man walking along the opposite side of the expansive space. It was that lawyer from Wilson, Mendoza, and Ross, the one I’d bumped into at Torchy’s Tacos. Even as my pulse ticked faster, I became curious about his presence in our building.

  I took a quick left down an adjoining hallway and scooted into my office unseen. Not thirty seconds later, a knock on my door.

  “Are you busy?”

  It was him and his cute dimpled chin.

  “I’ve got a minute. Come on in.” I shuffled folders so I could at least see the top of my desk, wondering if he might have picked up on my nonverbal signal the other day. Was it possible he might be here to ask me out for a drink? That internal question pushed my mind into a blissful haze.

  “Ma’am
?”

  I blinked, realizing I had momentarily zoned out. “Sorry. I’m Ivy.” I looked into his warm eyes and instantly felt like I might tip over.

  “Nice to see you again, Ivy.”

  “You too, uh…”

  “Name’s Saul Modesto. I’m actually here for business. But maybe pleasure too.” He shot a grin at me, revealing straight, white teeth, and we shook hands.

  “Business?” I asked, taking a sip of my coffee.

  “This is a little uncomfortable for me. Normally I’m a behind-the-scenes guy. I do all the work no one wants to do, and then I observe.”

  “So you’re a lawyer named Saul who doesn’t like to be the center of attention. That’s a bit difficult to process,” I said with a laugh, thinking momentarily about the oddball character from Breaking Bad.

  “You’re not the first person to say that.”

  “And I probably won’t be the last.”

  He held up the papers in his hand. “Just for the record, I’m not a lawyer. At least not yet.”

  “But you work with Herbert Ross?”

  “Him and the other named partners. You ever hear the phrase, ‘Shit rolls downhill’?”

  Nodding, I chuckled.

  “I’m at the bottom of the hill at the firm.”

  We both laughed this time. “Sometimes, I feel the same way,” I said.

  A moment of silence that bordered on being awkward. I knew I had a ton of work to tackle, but it was nice to have an adult conversation with a man who was around my age, attractive, and even a bit charming, in a dorky kind of way.

  He glanced at the floor. He appeared to be at a loss for words. Maybe he had no intention of asking me out for a drink. No harm, no foul. Our exchange was nice while it lasted, but I needed to move on to more important matters. Life and death stuff. “Can I help you find the person you’re looking for?” I said, walking around the desk, looking outside my office and then back to him.

  He swallowed hard. “Actually, that’s one of the things I needed to talk to you about.”

  “What is that exactly?”

  He stuck the rolled-up papers in my face. I took them. “What’s this?” I said, trying to uncoil the papers, which were stapled together.

  “It’s a lawsuit.”

  “A what?”

  “I thought you might already know,” he said, shuffling back a step.

  I glanced at the first page. “The Gideons actually followed through and they’re suing me, personally?”

  “And your agency, so you’re not in this alone.”

  “Is that supposed to be a joke? Wait, your name is Saul, so everything’s a big fucking joke, right?”

  He pursed his lips.

  “You just waltz in here acting nice, in an unassuming way, and then you throw this in my face. Is that the way those creatures at the law firm taught you how to do it, or are you naturally this revolting?”

  He didn’t say anything.

  “I get it now. You were going for the bait-and-switch method. You pull me in with your dreamy eyes and dimpled smile, and then you serve me the lawsuit. Shit, you’re so full of yourself you probably think I’d sleep with you or something.”

  He rubbed his face. “I’m sorry, Ivy. This wasn’t my choice.”

  Pointing at my chin, I said, “I bet that little dimple of yours is fake, just like the rest of you.”

  “Ouch, that one hurt.”

  I stopped firing shots, but my heart was pumping so fast I couldn’t hear much else.

  “Can I get you some water?” he asked.

  “No.” I crossed my arms, refusing to look at him.

  “I need to drop off another copy for your boss.”

  “Oh great, just what I needed. A double shot of good news.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him wipe his hand across his face. “If it’s any consolation, I believe the lawsuit is without merit. And if you find a strong lawyer, I think a logical motion to a reputable judge will squash this lawsuit before it ever goes to trial.”

  I slowly nodded as I turned to look at him. “You think I should take legal advice from a man who works at the firm who’s trying to ruin me?”

  “You’re right. I guess I wouldn’t either.” He looked out the office door, his face suddenly etched with hard lines. He shuffled his feet, then returned his gaze to me. “I’m not good at this female-interaction thing,” he said, motioning back and forth between us. “But I was wondering…”

  I tapped my foot. “Yes?”

  “Would you’d like to go get a drink sometime?”

  I tossed the lawsuit papers on my desk. “Is this another bait-and-switch prank? If it is, I’m not up for it. I’m getting a little tired of everyone dumping their garbage at my feet.”

  By the time I finished my rant, I was seeing spots. I refocused and saw Saul four steps farther away, his eyes shifting to the door.

  I poured out a long breath. “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay. Given what you experienced and now how everyone is coming down on you, I understand. I’m just glad it was me you were railing on and not your boss. I don’t want you to lose your job.”

  “That’s probably going to happen anyway because of this.” I picked up the papers and flapped them in the air before tossing them back on my desk.

  “Dammit, there are days I wonder what the hell I’m doing with my life,” he said as he rubbed the bridge of his nose with his fingers. He looked like he was in pain.

  I didn’t respond, taking an extra moment to get control of my emotions.

  “I wanted to be the guy who represented those with no voice, those who had been wronged or abused by corporate Goliaths. Now…” He pressed his lips between his teeth, glancing at the corner of the office. Then a long, ponderous sigh. “Now I’m wondering if I’m even in the right field. Law.” He shook his head, finally turning his sights back to me.

  “We all have grandiose plans when we first start out. We think we can change the world. Then shit happens—”

  “And here we are,” he said, splaying his arms. His lips turned up at the corners, and mine did too. “Just so you know,” he added, stepping closer, “I actually spoke up at the office and told Ross I didn’t think this lawsuit was the right thing to do. He said it’s not about what’s right or wrong, it’s about what the client wants. And if the client is tossing money at us, we need to listen.”

  He was now about two feet in front of me, his eyes locked on mine. I couldn’t look away.

  “He told me that as the lowest-ranked person on staff—I’m only a legal assistant—I should keep my opinions to myself. And if I couldn’t, then he could replace me before my shoes hit the sidewalk.”

  “He’s a dick, plain and simple,” I said.

  “Agreed. But that dick pays my salary. So I have to keep my mouth shut until I make it through law school, pass the bar, and can open my own practice. Take the cases that make a difference in this world.”

  His words lingered in the room for a few seconds. “You sound like you’re running for office.”

  “Nah, nothing like that.”

  “Sorry, I just mean that you have a lot of passion.”

  “I’ve been told.”

  I wanted to ask him more questions about his life, his background. I reached over and picked up the lawsuit papers again. “Who knows if I’ll have a job in the next thirty minutes, but if you want to get that drink later, I might be open to it.”

  His blank stare curled into a toothy smile. “How about nine o’clock at Ernesto’s Kitchen Bar?”

  “I know where that is. Pretty swanky place.”

  “It’s Tuesday. They have all sorts of drink specials.”

  We exchanged phone numbers in case one of us ran late, and then we walked to my door. “I’ll see you then,” he said, as we both gazed across the cube area. “Any idea where I can find Maud Hubbard?”

  I took in a breath, thinking about the irony of helping him serve my boss, knowing she would likely march
directly into my office and fire me on the spot. But if it was going to happen, I didn’t want to play games. Just rip off the damn bandage and move on. Even if I might have to learn the barista trade next week.

  Hesitant to walk Saul directly to Hubbard’s office, I gave him directions and then sat down at my desk. Oddly, I felt less pressure. It probably had something to do with being able to picture myself wearing a green cap and asking customers if they wanted their coffee with whip.

  I chuckled at myself and then dove into the mound of folders sprawled on my desk. By the time I lifted my eyes, I’d reviewed thirteen cases and typed in recommendations to our caseworkers on each. I had a feeling that as the special investigator, I’d be brought into at least a third of the cases.

  Of course, that was assuming I’d still be employed tomorrow. I sent off three internal emails, then checked the clock. Just after eight. I put a hand to my chin, wondering if Hubbard, upon being served by Saul, had suffered a heart attack somewhere between her office and mine.

  I wasn’t going to wait around all night, so I packed up, locked my door, and headed for the elevators. No sign of Hubbard or anyone else. As I waited for the elevator, my cell phone rang.

  “What’s up, Stan?”

  “Interesting news from Durant that I thought you’d like to know about.”

  The line went dead the moment the elevator doors closed, but we reconnected when I reached my car. We decided to meet in the parking lot at Ernesto’s.

  Fifteen minutes later, I pulled into an open spot next to Stan’s heap, which he had backed into the space. We both rolled down our windows.

  “You used the word ‘interesting,’” I said, turning off my engine.

  “Why are you turning off your engine?”

  “Meeting someone. What did you learn?”

  “Your instincts…” He paused, gazing briefly across the parking lot before turning back to me. “They were right.”

  “It’s happened once or twice, I suppose.”

  “You know that five-day traveling maximum Russell’s boss gave him?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He nailed it this last month—”

  “What? I thought you said my instincts were right?” I felt my heart sink.