Buying Time

by Pamela Samuels Young

  It was almost four hours before Quincy was finally awake, though one eye remained swollen shut.

  Waverly gingerly sat down on the side of the bed. “Tell me what happened.”

  His brother started to whine. “I told you, man, you need to call that guy. Next time they’re gonna kill me!”

  Waverly took in a big gulp of air. “How much do you owe them?”

  “Not a dime. I swear. They just want you to call ’em.”

  “How much?” Waverly demanded.

  Quincy tried to turn away, but even the slightest shift in position seemed to cause him extensive pain.

  Waverly raised both the volume and intensity of his voice. “How much, Quincy?”

  “I don’t owe anybody anything. They just wanna talk to you.”

  “About what?”

  “I don’t know. Your business, I guess.”

  Waverly pounded the wall above the headboard with his fist. “How would they possibly know about my business?”

  He could imagine his brother sitting in some sleazy bar, bragging to some lowlife about his rich brother the insurance investor.

  “I’m sorry,” Quincy cried. “I didn’t mean to get you into any trouble. I swear I didn’t.”

  “You haven’t gotten me into any trouble. You need to worry about what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

  “Just talk to the dude,” Quincy begged. “Don’t let them kill me. Whatever it is, just tell him you can’t do it. Maybe he’ll accept it from you.”

  They both knew that wasn’t going to happen.

  “He’s gonna call you tonight.” Quincy looked away. “At nine o’clock on your cell.”

  Waverly pounded the wall again. “What? Who’s going to call me?”

  “I don’t know. I’m just tellin’ you what they said before they messed me up.”

  “You gave them my number?”

  “I had to!” Quincy started to cry. “You gotta at least talk to him. If you don’t, they said they’re comin’ back to kill me and you.”

  CHAPTER 23

  The day after Angela and Dre admitted their feelings for each other, Cornell asked Angela to meet him for lunch. Cornell usually ate lunch in his chambers, so the invitation surprised her. Maybe he sensed that her love for him was slipping away.

  Angela stepped inside the Water Grill and walked up to the maitre d’s stand. As the hostess led Angela to Cornell’s table, she saw him glance down at his watch. Angela’s chest tightened in anticipation of a reprimand.

  Cornell rose and pulled out a chair for her. “You’re late,” he complained, as soon as the hostess was out of earshot.

  Cornell was the ultimate time freak. But being eight minutes late wasn’t enough to raise a stink over. He had already spoiled what Angela had hoped would be a pleasant lunch at one of her favorite restaurants.

  “You have a cell phone. You could’ve called. You know I have to be back at court by one.”

  She started to tell him about the fender bender that tied up traffic on Grand, but decided to let it go. No excuse would be sufficient for Cornell. “Sorry,” she mumbled.

  “You look nice,” he said gruffly, then reached over and squeezed her hand.

  She thought about how much gentler Dre’s touch felt. In many ways, Cornell had filled the void left by her father’s passing. Like her father, Cornell was strong, responsible, and intelligent. But in other ways, he was nothing like Samuel Evans. Her father had been an easygoing, affable man who’d always placed family first. No one other than Cornell would ever be first in Cornell’s life.

  The waiter appeared with a Diet Coke, which Cornell had apparently taken the liberty to order for her. Actually, she’d wanted a Sprite.

  Angela wondered when they had lost their connection or whether there had never really been one.

  Still holding her hand, Cornell took a sip of his iced tea. “You really do look great,” he said. “Do you think you’ll be able to keep the weight off this time?”

  Angela eased her hand away and picked up her menu. “We’ll see,” she mumbled, more to herself than to Cornell.

  She stared at the menu, but her mounting anger made the words an unreadable blur. The saddest thing about Cornell was that he had no idea he was being offensive. Would he treat his children the same way?

  “How’s everything at work?” he asked.

  “Busy,” Angela said, glad that the conversation had turned to something she wanted to talk about. She wished she could tell Cornell about the task force and their sting, but it was a confidential operation, one that could very well end up being a bust. When Jon sold his phony insurance policy through Waverly Sloan, the man hadn’t pressured him at all. She hoped Sloan wasn’t on to them. Angela was now considering having someone else pose as a terminally ill patient to see if Sloan treated them the same way.

  Angela was about to tell Cornell about a new case she might be handling when he launched into a complaint about an attorney who spent ten minutes discussing the facts of a lower court decision that had been overruled. At least half of the attorneys who appeared in his courtroom, Cornell claimed, were lazy and incompetent.

  “I wonder how the fools even passed the bar.”

  Angela tuned him out, her thoughts drifting to Dre.

  “Angela? Did you hear me?” Cornell tapped her hand. “What did you decide?”

  “Oh, excuse me.” She picked up the menu. “I’ll have the crab cakes.”

  “Where has your mind been lately? I asked if you decided on a dress yet. Since you were late, I ordered the white fish for you. I substituted spinach for the garlic mashed potatoes. It’s the lowest calorie meal on the menu.”

  She wanted crab cakes, not white fish. She now planned to wolf down her food so she could get back to work.

  “Tell me about your dress,” Cornell prodded.

  “I let my mother convince me to wear one of those big, poofy dresses with a mile-long train. You’d think she was the one getting married. But she never had a wedding, so I gave in. I really wanted to wear a strapless gown.”

  A waiter poured more tea into Cornell’s glass and he added two packets of Splenda. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go strapless. Your arms aren’t toned enough.”

  A burst of heat inched up Angela’s neck. What in the world was she thinking? She couldn’t spend the rest of her life with this pompous, self-centered jerk. She slowly removed the napkin from her lap, balled it up and tossed it onto the table. “I’m not hungry anymore.”

  “Oh, c’mon, Angela. Since when did you become so sensitive? I was just trying to—”

  She pushed back her chair and stood up.

  “Angela!” Cornell said through clenched teeth. “Don’t make a scene. Sit back down. Right now!”

  The simple act of remaining on her feet in direct disregard of an order from the Honorable Cornell L. Waters, III, gave her the same sense of power she felt when she nailed a liar on the witness stand. As she stared down into his rage-contorted face, she knew there was no way she could or would marry him. She grabbed her purse from the table and calmly strolled out of the restaurant.

  Angela picked up a Caesar salad from a sandwich shop near her office and ate at her desk. Hours later, stuck in traffic on the Santa Monica Freeway, she realized that she did not want to go home. Breaking off the engagement would not be easy.

  She tried to reach her sister, but the call went to voicemail. She then thought about dropping in on one of her girlfriends or even her mother, but they’d take one look at her long face and sense that something was wrong. She couldn’t handle being interrogated right now.

  Before she knew it, Angela was pulling her Saab into the parking structure next to the Spectrum Club.

  She scanned the rows of cars looking for Dre’s white Volkswagen. There was no cycling class tonight, so she wasn’t sure he’d be there. She was about to give up when she spotted his car wedged between two SUVs on the third level. She pulled into an empty space nearby and headed insid
e.

  Dre was walking toward the exit just as Angela stepped inside. He smiled big when he saw her.

  “Glad to see you,” he said, his expression echoing his words. He leaned back and gave her an admiring once over. “Nice suit. You had to be the baddest lookin’ attorney in court today.”

  She tried to laugh.

  “You okay?”

  Angela nodded.

  “No, you’re not.” Dre squinted at her. “Bad day at the office?”

  She nodded again.

  “Where’s your gym bag?”

  Angela pretended as if she had forgotten it. “I guess I must’ve left it in the car.”

  “Damn, girl, it must’ve been a really bad day.”

  Angela faked another laugh. “I don’t even know why I’m here.”

  “Wanna talk about it?” Dre asked. “Let’s go get some coffee. My treat.”

  She smiled in response to his invitation. What she really wanted was to feel his arms around her.

  “C’mon. I won’t tell old dude if you don’t. Follow me to my car so I can dump my bag.”

  Dre held the door open and they walked toward the parking structure. Angela kept the elevator door from closing while Dre jogged over to his car and tossed his duffel bag into the trunk. He made it back to the elevator, looked at Angela’s long face and frowned.

  “Damn, girl, why you lookin’ so sad?” He waited for the elevator door to close, then flipped a red switch stopping it. “Tell me what’s wrong.” He pulled her into his arms.

  Angela could not believe how wonderful it felt to finally be this close to him. She tried to keep it together, but could not prevent tears from welling in her eyes.

  Dre reared back so that he could see her face. “You gotta tell me what’s going on.”

  “I don’t think I’m getting married,” she finally sputtered through her tears.

  Dre’s face brightened. “I probably shouldn’t say this, but I’m damn happy to hear that.” He cradled her closer.

  Angela wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and tried to compose herself. “Sorry for the meltdown.”

  Dre gazed down at her, then gently pressed his lips to hers. Angela welcomed his kiss and eagerly returned it.

  “You have no idea how long I’ve been wantin’ to do this,” Dre whispered.

  Angela looked up at him, circling her arms around his waist. “Probably not half as long as I’ve been wishing you would.”

  CHAPTER 24

  When were you going to tell me about your trip to Washington?”

  Erickson was in the bathroom washing up for the evening when Claire posed the question. He felt his heart leap to his throat. How could she possibly know?

  He glanced over his shoulder, surprised that he had not heard her come in. Since he’d moved into one of the guest bedrooms, he almost felt as if he was in a separate house. He should’ve locked the door.

  Erickson reached for a button on the built-in CD/DVD player and turned down the volume of the Les Misérables soundtrack. “What’s to tell? Just a bunch of boring meetings.”

  “Really?” Claire’s arms were folded, her right shoulder angled against one side of the doorframe.

  There was something ominous in the way she uttered that single word. An internal alarm put him on high alert.

  Erickson took in Claire’s reflection in the mirror. Except for the weight loss and her awful coloring, she almost looked like the old Claire. Her hair was swept back off her face by a headband and her simple outfit—black Capri pants and a white shirt— exhibited a casual elegance.

  Erickson reached for a tube of toothpaste from the medicine cabinet and squeezed the green gel onto his toothbrush.

  “What could be boring about a meeting at the White House?”

  Erickson inadvertently missed his mouth and stabbed his chin with the toothbrush. He set it down, wiped the toothpaste from his face with a towel and turned to face her. Claire’s smile told him that her knowledge definitely meant trouble.

  “I’m upset that you didn’t tell me,” she said, feigning injury.

  Erickson wondered exactly how much she knew, but didn’t want to assume. He’d learned that as a young lawyer. Never assume. Always confirm.

  “Tell you what?” He turned back to the mirror and resumed brushing his teeth.

  “That you’re being considered for a job in Washington.”

  Erickson tried to appear nonchalant. “I was asked to keep it confidential.” He could not let her know how much the nomination meant to him. That would only embolden Claire to use it against him. “Anyway, I’m just one of several candidates. I doubt it’s going to happen.”

  “Exactly what job is it?”

  So she doesn’t know. “I just said I was asked to keep it confidential.” He doused his face with warm water, then reached for a towel. “How’d you find out?”

  “I have my sources.” Her smile was more cunning now.

  “If there’s a leak, it could be problematic. I’d like to know how you found out.”

  “I saw your resume and boarding pass in your briefcase and put two and two together.”

  Outrage threatened to stop his blood flow. “So you’re going through my personal belongings now?”

  Claire ignored the question. “If you’re relocating to Washington, when did you plan to ask me how I felt about the move?”

  Never. You’ll be dead by the time I move. He didn’t answer.

  This time she chuckled. “Oh, I see. You figure I’ll be dead by then.”

  Her prophetic statement made Erickson shiver.

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t handle this woe is me thing today. I didn’t share anything with you because there’s nothing to tell. Like I told you, nothing’s definite yet.”

  He motioned to leave, but Claire remained in place, blocking the doorway, her eyes casting aspersions he tried to ignore.

  “I don’t know what job you’re being considered for, but I wonder how they’d feel knowing they were about to hire a pedophile.”

  “That’s absolutely absurd! Don’t you ever say such a thing to me again!” Erickson pointed his finger inches from her nose. He’d never had the urge to strike a woman before and had to dig deep to restrain himself. “I’ve never touched a child and I never would.”

  Claire laughed. “You’re amazing, but I guess that’s why you’re such an excellent lawyer. You see the truth as you want it to be, not as it is.”

  “No,” he said, sneering at her. “I see the truth as the truth.”

  Erickson roughly brushed past her. His forehead pulsated with indignation as he entered the humongous walk-in closet, half of it stocked with Claire’s winter clothes. Too bad he couldn’t just set a match to her side of the room.

  Every evening, Erickson carefully selected his attire for the next day. He browsed the extensive lineup of suits, then reached for a grey Versace. He turned to the tie rack and selected a burgundy tie with tiny white polka dots.

  What did Claire’s knowledge mean for his chances of winning the nomination? Would she go public with the DVD after his nomination was announced?

  Erickson walked back into the bathroom and hung the suit and tie in the dressing area next to the shower. He could feel Claire watching him, but intentionally ignored her.

  Time was up. If Becker wasn’t going to move and move immediately, he would take care of the problem himself.

  CHAPTER 25

  Waverly locked himself in his study and stared at his BlackBerry. He wanted it to ring, but at the same time, he prayed that it would not.

  Quincy had really screwed up this time.

  He checked the BlackBerry’s charge level for the third time, then glanced at the time display. Two more minutes.

  Waverly’s life had been going too perfectly to allow Quincy to screw it up. Maybe he could buy Quincy out of his trouble. His temples throbbed with apprehension. He was thinking too much. He would not know what this was all about until the guy called.

  At exa
ctly nine o’clock, the familiar chirp signaling a call filled the room. Waverly did not realize how stressed out he was until he noticed his hand trembling as he reached for the BlackBerry. He pressed a green button and placed it to his ear.

  “You there, Mr. Sloan?”

  “Just tell me what you want.”

  “We have a business proposition for you,” said a voice with a slight Spanish accent.

  “Exactly who is we?”

  “We is me,” the man said. “That’s all you need to know for now.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “My friends call me Rico.”

  “What’s your last name?”

  “Don’t have one. I’d like to become one of your investors. And I’d like to get started right away. I have some cash I want you to invest for me. I understand you get your clients a pretty nice rate of return.”

  Waverly struggled to sound undaunted. “How do you even know what I do?”

  “You invest in dying people.”

  “And just how do you know that?”

  “I’m a very knowledgeable guy,” Rico said. “Anyway, like I said, I’d like to become one of your investors.”

  Waverly was baffled as to how the guy could know about his viatical business when Quincy didn’t. “If you’re really interested in investing, we could’ve done this at my office. Without having my brother nearly beaten to death. And I don’t take cash payments.”

  Rico’s voice lost its playfulness. “You do now.”

  “Is this dirty money you want me to invest? Drug money?”

  “My money is just as clean as the dough you earn ripping off dying people.”

  “I don’t rip off anybody and I’m not going to risk my business by laundering what is probably drug money. And anyway, I can’t deposit the kind of cash it takes to buy these policies without flagging the IRS. You should know that.”

  “Your brother tells me you’re a pretty wealthy guy. Big house in Palos Verdes Estates. New Lexus.”

  Waverly’s face grew hot.

  “Here’s how we’re going to do it,” Rico said. “I’m going to have money, cash money, delivered to your office at regular intervals. I want you to purchase my policies in the name of Goldman Investments, Inc. You’re going to front the payments from your own bank account. You can then deposit my cash into your account a little at a time so it stays under the radar. Just have Deidra use cash when she shops.”