“I want to see her now.”
Gilbert nodded, and the uniformed officer stepped to the side. Until that moment, Leo hadn’t noticed that he’d been blocking a doorway.
He steeled himself and pushed the door inward.
The room was antiseptic and quiet. Sasha lay in a bed on the far side of the room under a large window. The fading light streamed in and fell across her face.
She looked like she was sleeping peacefully. Her face was whiter than the rough sheet tucked under her armpits. Her left arm was outside the sheet, wrapped in gauze and blood-stained bandages.
He stared at her for a long moment. At her dark eyelashes brushing her cheekbones. The curve of her neck. The tangle of her hair. He reached out and stroked her forehead. She didn’t move.
Then he sank into the chair beside her bed, placed his head on her stomach, and cried.
Chapter Forty-One
Sasha, Connelly, Bodhi, and Naya stood behind and slightly apart from the small cluster of reporters crowded around the mayor and Detective Gilbert.
“I’m going to say just a few words about the myocarditis situation and then will turn you over to Detective Burton Gilbert of the Homicide Squad, who will answer questions about Dr. Stewart’s involvement in the murder of Stone Fredericks,” Mayor Barry Closky said with a nod toward Burton.
He ignored the murmur from the assembled press and continued, “I personally want to apologize to the people of Pittsburgh, who trusted me and the Chief Medical Examiner to protect them. My investigation reveals that we’ve failed to do that in light of the evidence that the recent spate of myocarditis-related deaths all trace back to a single batch of contaminated Champion Fuel. Dr. Jackson has submitted his resignation, effective immediately, to spend more time with his family. I asked Dr. Bodhi King, who first raised concerns regarding Champion Fuel to serve as interim Chief Medical Examiner while a search is conducted for a permanent replacement for Dr. Jackson, but I regret to say, he declined.”
Sasha turned to Bodhi.
“Is that true?”
“Yes.”
“When did that happen?” she whispered.
“This morning, while you were haranguing every medical professional within fifty yards to release you.”
She ignored that. “Why’d you say no?”
He gave her a long look. “I think it’s pretty clear that power corrupts.”
“Not you.”
“Power corrupts everyone.”
He turned his attention back to the mayor.
“However, Dr. Saul David has agreed to fill that role. He has already convened a committee to examine the policies and procedures of the Medical Examiner’s Office with an eye to avoiding any future repeats of this tragic failure to safeguard the public health,” the mayor said.
“Is Better Life Beverages going to be charged with a crime?” a dark-haired reporter yelled from the middle of the pack.
“No. Better Life and its CEO, Stone Fredericks, Senior, immediately cooperated earlier today when we asked them to halt operations at the bottling plant. The company has also issued a recall of Champion Fuel and has agreed to test its entire supply of wild red ginseng. In addition, Mr. Fredericks has committed one million dollars to the University of Pittsburgh to fund research into myocarditis and has established a one-million-dollar scholarship fund in memory of the victims of the myocarditis deaths. He is as shaken by these events as we all are.”
“Nice touch,” Connelly whispered.
“Finally, I want to announce that, pending the outcome of an investigation into what role, if any, my deputy director of economic development may have played in suppressing information regarding these events, I have disbanded that office. Although Mackenzie Lane has not been charged with any wrongdoing, she and I agreed that because her department no longer exists, she should move on to greener pastures with my blessing.”
He checked a stack of index cards and then looked back up at the press. “That’s it for me. I’ll turn this over to Detective Gilbert now.”
Sasha slipped her hand into Connelly’s and turned to leave. “He’s not going to say anything publicly that he hasn’t already told us. Stewart’s good for the murder. Let’s go.”
Bodhi and Naya fell into step beside them.
“So,” Connelly said to Bodhi, “what are you going to do now?”
Bodhi considered the question.
“I’m not sure. I might look for a teaching position. But, first I’m going to travel some.”
“Where are you headed?” Naya asked.
“Costa Rica, first. There’s a sustainable banana plantation there that does interesting work. I’m going to travel around the countryside and then see if I can intern there.”
“You turned down a position as the Chief Medical Examiner for an internship at a banana plantation?” Naya asked.
“Potential internship,” Bodhi corrected her with a gentle smile.
Sasha threw back her head and laughed. It felt good to laugh. Scratch that. It felt good to breathe.
Just then, a striking blonde woman stepped out from the brick alley leading away from the courtyard.
“Sasha McCandless?” she asked.
“Yes,” Sasha answered, turning toward the woman’s voice.
At the same moment that Connelly was forming the words ‘Mackenzie Lane,’ the woman hauled off and caught Sasha squarely on the cheekbone with a solid punch.
Sasha’s vision exploded into a million stars and her head snapped back. Connelly caught her around her waist as she stumbled.
The next thing she saw was Bodhi holding a struggling Naya, who seemed intent on going after the woman.
Mackenzie smiled and sauntered off in the direction of the City-County Building without another word.
*
The knuckles on Mackenzie’s right hand ached. Sasha McCandless apparently had a very hard face because a row of bruises had blossomed across Mackenzie’s hand shortly after she had punched the attorney.
Mackenzie had gone to the press conference intending to watch from a distance while Barry spun his web of lies. But when Sasha and her entourage walked past the alley, laughing and joking, all of Mackenzie’s anger and disappointment welled to the surface and she reacted.
Still, though, she didn’t regret landing the punch. Although she supposed she might have, if McCandless hadn’t refused to press charges—or if Bodhi King hadn’t restrained that very angry paralegal.
It might be the only thing she didn’t regret, she mused, as she tossed framed pictures haphazardly into a cardboard carton.
Barry had been decent enough to agree to let her clear out her office after hours—although not so decent that he hadn’t also sent along a security officer to lurk around her doorway and watch her like some kind of criminal.
And she was not a criminal.
The district attorney herself had told Barry that prosecuting Mackenzie would likely prove to be a waste of resources. So, he’d settled for tossing her out without so much as a reference or recommendation.
It hardly mattered. She had a wealth of contacts, many of whom would view what she’d done as understandable, even admirable. She was protecting her project. She’d land on her feet. Eventually.
There was a city manager position open in Sacramento. She’d work her virtual Rolodex until she got herself an interview. And once the powers-that-be met Mackenzie Lane in person, their reservations would evaporate. All concerns about whispered rumors of her past would fade once she captivated her new boss with her determination, dedication, and bold vision. Just like always.
She threw a pile of bound deal documents—mementos of the impressive results she’d garnered—into the box then dumped the contents of her pen drawer on top. She jammed the lid down on the carton and dusted her hands on her jeans.
“All set, ma’am?” the security guard asked.
“Give me a minute.”
She walked over to her floor to ceiling window and looked out at the city,
her city, lit up in the dark. She scanned the skyline from the illuminated fountain at Point State Park to the fireworks going off over PNC Park, to the blinking lights atop the downtown skyscrapers.
She’d miss Pittsburgh. Maybe even more than she’d miss Saul, who refused to take her calls.
She pressed her head against the glass and whispered a goodbye.
Then she hefted her box and walked out of the office.
Chapter Forty-Two
Tap, tap, tap.
Sasha massaged her cheekbone and checked the time. She couldn’t take another ibuprofen until three o’clock, but now the dull throbbing pain had been augmented by a persistent noise.
Great, she thought, it’s probably my brain rattling.
Mackenzie Lane had packed a real wallop. Her cheek ached almost as much as her arm. Almost. She regretted her decision to toss out the painkillers the doctors had forced her to take with her when she’d finally convinced them to let her go home.
Tap. Tap.
She tried to ignore the noise and focus, through the cottony feeling in her mind, on the invoices spread out in front of her. She couldn’t cover Naya’s law school tuition, but she thought she could swing a raise to help out with the costs. She squinted at the numbers through her puffy eye as if she could will a few extra zeroes into the rows.
Tap.
“Sasha? Are you in there?”
Only when she heard Will’s voice calling from the hallway did she finally put it all together and figure out that he’d been knocking on her door.
She eased herself out of her chair and walked stiffly to the door. She’d have to convince Connelly to give her a massage when she got home. She suspected it wouldn’t be a hard sell.
“Coming, Will,” she said as she unlocked the door.
“I apologize for not calling first. May I come in?” he asked. He held a mug of coffee from Jake’s in each hand and wore a contrite, uncertain expression.
“Sure. Sorry. I’m not used to the door being locked and I was concentrating on something.”
She took the proffered mug from his left hand and inhaled deeply. He’d either guessed correctly or Ocean had chosen for him—it was definitely Jake’s dark roast.
“How are you feeling?” His voice was threaded with concern.
“I’ll live.”
“Was the door locked for any particular reason?”
“To keep out the blasted reporters. Same reason my phone’s off the hook.” She gestured to the handset on her desk. Once they’d filled her voicemail box, she’d had no choice but to meet the incessant calls from the media with a busy signal.
She led Will to her guest chairs and sunk into the nearest one. She could see he was eying her shiner with some alarm. She was glad she’d thrown a cardigan over her shoulders. The bandaged wound on her triceps might have done him in.
“Are you sure you should be working today?”
“It looks worse than it is. I’m not doing any heavy lifting, just some administrative stuff. You know how that is, I’m sure.”
“I do, indeed.” He sipped his cafe Americano.
She watched his face as he considered his next words. He wanted something.
“Is Naya around?” he asked.
“No. She’s up at the law school looking into whether she can pull together any kind of financial aid package this late.”
Will flinched. “I’m so sorry, Sasha. I did tell her if she would just give me a few weeks, I could surely straighten out this morass with the scholarship committee.”
“I know. She told me. She’ll figure something out. To be perfectly honest, I think it’s better this way.”
“Better?”
“Come on, Naya’s never going to allow Prescott to mold her into a Prescott and Talbott-approved lawyer. You know it as well as I do.” She sipped her coffee and watched his face.
He merely nodded. “Perhaps.”
“So, if you came here to talk her into changing her mind, she’s not here and, frankly, you should reconsider.”
“I’m not here about Naya. I came to talk to you.”
“Will, I give you points for perseverance, but I’m not going to come back to Prescott. I probably never would have, but after this … experience … I’m really and truly happy to be free of the big firm life. So, please stop trying to convince me.”
“I have no intention of asking you again to rejoin Prescott & Talbott.”
“Oh.”
Her face burned. Now she felt crappy and stupidly arrogant. Awesome.
“In fact, I have a very different proposal for you to consider.”
His tone was unusually hesitant.
She took a long drink of coffee, wondering what he was driving at.
“What’s that?”
He cleared his throat. “I’d like to join your firm.”
“Pardon?”
“I don’t enjoy managing a large law firm. I enjoy practicing law. Specifically, I enjoy practicing law with colleagues whom I can respect and trust. Although that’s true of some of my partners at Prescott & Talbott, it is, sadly, not true of a substantial number. The longer I’m there, the more unappealing the dark underbelly of that particular institution becomes.”
She arched a brow. “Dark underbelly’s a bit much, don’t you think?”
“No, I don’t, actually. As it turns out, the reason Greenway dropped its lawsuit against your client was that Garrett English approached their counsel personally and wrote him a check to do it.”
“He bribed Chip?”
“Yes,” Will said with a sad smile. “I’ve just filed disciplinary complaints against both of them.”
“Wow.”
“But let’s not pretend Garrett is an outlier. The firm’s behavior, as a whole, in this Champion Fuel business is repugnant. Coming on the heels of the mess that Cinco created, it’s just taken the joy out of practicing there. I don’t want to work with people who could participate in such ugliness. I want to work with someone like you. And like Naya.”
Will smoothed a hand over his tie and watched her face.
She’d never considered bringing on a partner. But Will was a talented lawyer. And, even better, a decent human being.
“What’re you suggesting—a 50/50 partnership?”
“If you’d be amenable. But it’s your firm. I’d certainly understand if you wanted to have a majority stake.”
“So The Law Offices of Sasha McCandless would become McCandless & Volmer?”
“Again, if you’re willing. You can, as they say, call the shots.”
She tilted her head and considered. “It has some appeal,” she admitted. “Would Caroline come with you?”
“Possibly. Probably. I would cover her salary for at least the first year. And provided Naya was willing to work for both of us, between the two of us, you and I could likely provide her with a salary increase that might help with her tuition,” he pointed out.
“But no associates, right?” She didn’t want him bringing any junior lawyers over from Prescott.
“Certainly not.” He paused. “Does this mean you’re interested?”
To her surprise, she was. “I am. On one condition.”
“Which is?”
“Presumably you’re going to continue to do white collar criminal defense, right?”
“I’d like to. It seems that your civil clients might have a need for some criminal law representation from time to time. Or at least, you could.”
Leave it to Will to make the understatement of the … year? Century?
“No Prescott clients. I don’t want to poach their clients and, truth be told, I’d rather have an office full of violent felons than have this firm represent the type of business and industry leaders Prescott manages to attract.”
“Trust me. I want to cut all ties with Prescott & Talbott.”
She nodded, satisfied. “Well, then, as long as Naya has no objection, I guess we have a deal.”
Naya would be thrilled, she knew, but
it was only fair to let her weigh in. She’d taken a risk leaving Prescott to join Sasha; she deserved a say.
Will extended his hand. She put down her mug and gave him a firm, warm handshake.
“Excellent, Partner.”
“Welcome aboard, Partner.” She smiled.
There would be partnership papers to draw up. And she was sure Prescott & Talbott would make Will’s departure as painful and unpleasant as possible, but those were just details. She had just moved her fledgling firm into the next phase of its development. It felt exhilarating and frightening all at once.
He smiled back at her. “Do I get the benefit of your free coffee arrangement with Jake?”
Chapter Forty-Three
After begging off with a rain check for Will’s offer to celebrate the formation of their new partnership when she was slightly less battered, Sasha decided to make it an early evening.
She packed up her laptop, her billing files, and her headache and trudged down the stairs to the street. The warm spring breeze lifted her spirits. By the time she’d walked through the neighborhood to her condo, she was feeling almost human—despite the sidelong stares her battered face seemed to be drawing from her fellow pedestrians.
Even the black and gold streamers and signs littering the street—a reminder that the Penguins had been busy losing to the Bruins while she’d been facing off with Wally Stewart—didn’t dampen her mood too much.
She climbed the stairs to the condo, ready to collapse into a pile of pillows and blankets, nestled in Connelly’s arms with Java curled into a ball of fur between them.
But before she’d removed her key from the door, she knew that plan wasn’t about to happen.
A platter of mango, pineapple, and starfruit rested on the counter under a glass dome to keep the cat out. A pitcher of margaritas and two salt-rimmed glasses sat beside it. Upbeat music—her music, not the classic rock that Connelly favored—played softly.
Connelly rounded the corner and came into view with a vase full of some fragrant-smelling, vaguely tropical-looking flowers. He placed them on the dining room table and gathered her into a tight hug. He was wearing a white linen shirt and rumpled khaki shorts.
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