by RJ Blain
“How can you confiscate something that belongs to you? Come on, Captain. I view it as my contribution to our plans to keep Sean out of trouble. One of us has to drive him home now, and if a cruiser happens to patrol his block a little more than usual tonight, no one will know the difference.” Marcello grinned at me. “Hell, I thought you were a lightweight, Sean. I’ve never seen you drink this much before, and you’re not staggering yet.”
“Give me a few minutes and I will be.”
Packing while drunk would be an interesting challenge. For all her faults, Idette didn’t mind the rare times I had a few too many drinks, although I typically kept my drunken idiocy to the confines of the house when she was working late. Knowing her, she wouldn’t be home until midnight, which would give me at least six hours to sober up.
At least I could pretend I had hit one of the bottles at home while packing. As long as I poured a bit down the drain and made it look real, she’d believe it. I’d probably help myself to a few extra shots, too.
They’d help me get through the weekend.
“And he’s off in la-la land again. Look, Sean, just serve the woman the damned divorce papers. Knowing you, you’ve been sitting on them for years, updating them to keep them legal, and because you’re too damned fixated on proving not all lawyers lack integrity, you haven’t filed them. Give them over,” Marcello grumbled, holding out his hand. “I’ll file the damned things for you and pay the fee myself.”
Thanks to the alcohol, which was as much liquid courage as it was instant stupidity, I blurted, “What makes you think I have divorce papers on me?”
Marcello sighed. “Sean, you’re obsessive. You read the fine print on grocery receipts. There’s no way you haven’t planned for every single contingency, including the preparation of divorce papers, anticipating the instant Mrs. Scott finally crosses your line.”
“I don’t see how this is any of your business, Albano,” I hissed.
My cheetah jumped onto Captain Ramirez’s desk and swatted at Marcello with his insubstantial claws. His paw passed right through my friend’s shoulder, and the spirit beast yowled his displeasure at being thwarted.
Narrowing his eyes at me, Marcello jabbed my shoulder with his finger. “You’re too damned good of a prosecutor to lose to marital problems. How many times have I told you already? She’s toxic. You work as late as the state will let you, you take on too many cases, and one of these days, you’re going to crack. We’ll end up short one of the best damned prosecutors we’ve had around here in a long time.”
Captain Ramirez cleared her throat. “Albano, we’re supposed to be celebrating, not grilling our attorney. I know you’re right, but at least give the man his weekend.”
“You, too?” I complained, slumping on the couch. I flopped my arm over my eyes, forgetting I was still wearing my glasses. I hissed as the nosepiece poked me. Grumbling curses, I took them off and tossed them onto the desk. “Fine. She’s a bit of a bitch.”
“A bit?” Snorting, Marcello elbowed me in the ribs. “Come on, Sean. Just do us all a favor, hand over the divorce papers, and get on with your life already. Andrea would be glad to hook you up with a divorce attorney to file and serve them. Right, Andrea?”
Andrea held her hands up in the air. “I’m not getting involved in this. Sean is an adult and he can decide for himself. Give him a break. He already planned a retreat for the weekend. He’s also probably right about any stalkers having problems tracking him if he planned it that long ago.”
My cheetah didn’t hiss and spit at Andrea often, but he turned both of his elegant, furry ears back and cursed her as only a feline could.
Andrea and Marcello engaged in a glaring match. Without my glasses, they were blurred silhouettes. Lurching upright, I grabbed my briefcase, thumped it onto my lap, and opened it up. Digging through the mess of papers, I pulled out the manila envelope, slapped it onto Captain Ramirez’s desk, and spat a few curses to match my cheetah’s.
“You want the fucking papers? Fine. There are the fucking papers.” I flopped onto Ramirez’s couch, and in my annoyance, I decided to use Marcello as a foot rest. I covered my eyes with my arms and cursed at the way the alcohol made the room spin around me. “They were filed last week. One of you can figure out how to serve them to her.”
“You already filed the papers?” Marcello demanded.
I kicked him because I could. “I’m a lawyer, Marcello. I can figure out how to file my own damned divorce papers.”
My friend slapped my leg. “Good job. I’ll go find someone who can serve them for you. When and where should I have them delivered?”
“Next week. Who knows? Maybe there’ll be a miracle,” I muttered.
For a long time, my friend was silent. “I doubt that, but I can’t fault you for trying. You’ve always been too nice of a man for your own good. You gave her plenty of chances. You know it, I know it, and so does everyone else who knows you. Now stop beating yourself up over it. Six months from next week, you’ll be a free man. I can see it now, there’ll be a line of single ladies, like Captain Ramirez, waiting for a chance to get a good-looking lawyer like yourself.”
“Albano, get the hell out of my office,” snapped Marcello’s boss, but I heard the undertones of laughter in her voice. “You and Dan will run your first patrol and come back in four hours to take Mr. Scott home, since he’s obviously too drunk to drive. Miss Morgan, I trust you can handle these?”
“Gladly,” Andrea replied, and I heard paper sliding across the captain’s desk.
I meant to get up, but my cheetah decided to use me as a bed, and I decided it wasn’t worth fighting the feline and the vertigo of intoxication. If Captain Ramirez wanted me off her couch, she’d move me.
Chapter Three
My cell ringing woke me, and with a low groan, I rolled over, pawing for the insufferable device so I could silence it.
“Good evening, Mrs. Scott. This is Captain Ramirez. Yes, your husband is fine. He was delayed at the police station answering some questions. He’ll be on his way shortly. Would you like me to have him call you as soon as he’s finished? No? Okay. I expect he’ll be out of here within the next half hour. Good night.”
It took several long moments for the implications of what I had heard to pierce through the pounding in my head, and swallowing back a curse, I lurched upright. “Shit,” I hissed through clenched teeth.
“You do look like shit, Sean,” the woman agreed, setting my phone on her desk. She picked up my glasses and offered them to me. It took me several tries to get them situated so I could see anything. “When was the last time you got a decent amount of sleep or a good meal? I don’t think I’ve seen anyone go from sober to passed out drunk that fast in my entire time serving on the force.”
“Don’t you ever leave the office?” I grabbed my phone and checked the time. “Is it really ten?”
“It’s really ten. You’ve been a fixture in my office for four hours. I like you, Sean, but go home. At least you had the decency to skip the obnoxiously intoxicated phase and go straight to the sleep phase. If all men were such pleasant drunks, we’d never get any calls complaining about public intoxication.”
“Court would be such a drier place without the public intoxication trials,” I reminded her, shaking my head in a futile effort to banish my headache. “If you have painkillers, I won’t say no.”
“They come with as much water as you can stomach without throwing up in one of my cruisers.”
“I don’t know, Captain. Marcello’s uniform could use a good wash anyway.”
“Your sense of humor is intact, so I think you’ll live.” Captain Ramirez leaned over, pulled out a bottle from one of her desk drawers, and tossed it to me. “Go get yourself some water and dissolve two of those in it. Try to get three or four cups into you if you can.”
“Why am I not surprised you have something for hangovers in your desk along with your bottle of vodka?”
“You’re not the first district attor
ney to pass out on my couch, Sean. Go make yourself presentable so you can at least pretend you didn’t try to give yourself alcohol poisoning. Come get your briefcase and phone after you’re looking more like a human instead of a zombie.”
When the woman pointed at the door, I obediently got up. My feet refused to cooperate for the first few steps before I remembered how to walk. From his position near the closed door, my cheetah growled at me, and I didn’t need a translator to recognize he was less than impressed with my current state.
I found my way to the break room, flopped on a chair, and considered if I had the energy to fetch water. Unless Ramirez’s tablets were somehow magical, I had no hope of becoming a functional human being.
My cheetah hissed, drawing my attention to the cop standing in the doorway. It was the surfer sergeant who had disapproved of Andrea, and while my spirit beast spat feline curses at the man, my head hurt too much to do more than stare at him.
“You’re an impressive man in court, Mr. Scott,” the cop said, holding out his hand. “I’m Detective James Richmond.”
“Sean.” I clasped his hand. Like Marcello, James was strong and crushed my fingers before he was satisfied. “You’re a new face.”
“Recently transferred from the division next door, along with my partner.”
I tensed, wondering if the detective’s reaction to Andrea had anything to do with the Roberts case. “You’re young to be a detective. Well done, Mr. Richmond.”
“Please, call me James. We’re all pretty happy with the results of the trial, Sean. You really sank Roberts. Miss Morgan must regret facing you as the prosecutor.”
The detective’s smug tone annoyed me. While Andrea had a way of pissing me off in court and leaving me restless for weeks after opposing her, she was a skilled professional. James’s tone implied she was anything but skilled or professional.
“Miss Morgan is one of the best defense attorneys I have had the pleasure of facing in court.” I was so irritated with the detective’s attitude that I got up and hunted for water so I could see if Captain Ramirez’s tablets actually helped with hangovers.
“Is that so?”
I set my cup down, twisted open the bottle, and dropped two of the tabs into my water, watching them fizz. My cheetah’s bloodlust heated my skin and dried my mouth; I had to swallow several times before answering, “It is so. Miss Morgan has more integrity in court than most lawyers I know. If I needed a defense attorney, she would be the first I would consider.”
“Really? I heard you two absolutely hate each other. There’s been a lot of talk today about how the sparks fly between you.” James sat near me, propping his feet up on a nearby chair. “Love hate relationship, is it?”
“There is no relationship.” After making sure both of the tablets had dissolved, I drank the water. “We’re professionals. Attorneys are often competitive.”
“Not Andrea, except with you.”
Deciding standing near the water cooler was better than remaining near James, I went over and refilled my cup. “That’s her business. She’s a challenge in court. I appreciate a challenge, and I’m competitive against skilled opponents. She’s a good attorney, and if anyone has told you otherwise, I recommend you reevaluate your opinion.”
“Captain Ramirez doesn’t allow many people to pass out drunk on her couch,” the cop declared, grinning at me.
“What can I say? She has good vodka.”
“I’ve heard a lot about you over the past few weeks, and no one said you were a drunk.”
James, I decided, was either an accidental asshole or was looking for a fight. Taking a sip of water, I considered how best to handle him. I could play his game and fence words with him all night, or I could take my water back to Ramirez’s office and give him the slip by heading home. “If I were a drunk, Mr. Richmond, I would have consumed a great deal more of Captain Ramirez’s vodka before passing out on her couch. If you’ll excuse me, I have to head home.”
“Ah, yes. You have a flight in the morning. Have a fun trip.”
I lifted my cup to the cop in a salute, tossed it in the recycling bin, and headed for the door. “If no one hears from me on Monday, send help,” I muttered on my way back to Ramirez’s office.
I finished the packing and disposed of Andrea’s business card in the fireplace long before Idette got home from work. Emailing Andrea took less than five minutes, but there was something comforting about telling someone my entire itinerary for the weekend. While I didn’t anticipate anything happening, I couldn’t shake the feelings of dread and unease.
We settled into our usual routine, which involved me taking a shower downstairs while Idette lounged in the tub upstairs. The separate bathrooms gave me the perfect chance to retreat to our bed without having to speak to her. Most nights I dropped off moments after my head hit the pillow, but whatever was in those tablets Ramirez had given me kept me awake. I feigned sleep, and when my wife slid into bed, she sighed, turned off the light, and ignored me.
It was a long, restless night. I gave up trying to sleep at five in the morning and slinked out of bed with my cheetah at my heels. Yawn after yawn, I did a final check of our luggage, pretended I wasn’t making a huge mistake, and woke Idette.
“We need to go in a few minutes. I’m about to call a cab,” I said, and as I had since we had met, I slapped my hand against her hip.
“Already?”
“Already. It’s a long flight, so let’s hit the road.” Picking up my cell, I searched through my contacts for the cab company and put the phone to my ear. I gave the operator our address and hung up. “All your stuff is packed for the weekend.”
“Where are we going?”
“New York. I reserved a lodge.” The cabin was at a resort, but I doubted Idette would care too much. She liked the woods, and there were plenty of trees around the nearby lake, which I hoped would be enough to satisfy her.
In a week, everything would change, and I wondered if the weekend would leave us with any happy memories. My doubts lured a sigh out of me, and I headed downstairs to wait for the cab, leaving Idette to scramble for something to wear. “Don’t forget your identification,” I called over my shoulder.
“As if I’d do something that stupid. Don’t forget yours. You’re the one who made us miss our flight last time, jerk.”
As tempting as purposefully leaving my wallet behind was, it was already in my pocket. “I have my passport. That was an accident.”
“Sure it was.”
I scowled and hurried down the steps to put an end to the discussion, hoping she wouldn’t continue it once we were in the cab. While Idette had a sharp tongue, she dressed fast and was downstairs five minutes before the driver arrived. I picked up our bags to carry to the car.
“You’re not taking your briefcase?” she demanded, locking the door behind us.
My cheetah snarled at Idette, slashing at my wife’s ankles with his claws. As always, his strikes were ineffective against her.
Ignoring my spirit beast’s antics, I headed down the sidewalk to the driveway. “I’ve already done my preparation work for my next case.”
“When do you go to trial?”
“Next week.”
“You told me to take at least a week.”
At the displeasure in my wife’s voice, I sighed. The driver got out of his car, opened the trunk, and took the bags from me. I held the door open for Idette, and she slid into the back seat. I joined her, buckling my seatbelt. “You needed the time off. My cases were shuffled because of the Roberts trial. I can’t help the docket, and I couldn’t pass the next trial to someone else. Not enough notice.”
It was all the truth, although I had been careful in my case planning. Judge O’Mallory had helped there, too.
I really owed him a nice bottle of wine for his help. Without him, I probably wouldn’t have been able to get the divorce papers filed. While they’d hang over my head the entire weekend, with them handed off to be served, I had something to look for
ward to.
My cop friends were right; I should have served Idette the divorce papers years ago. I had a list of excuses and reasons a mile long, but my reservations all revolved around the fact I had promised her a lifetime together.
When we had first met, I had enjoyed every moment with her. Now I dreaded them.
People changed, and some vows couldn’t be kept, not without me becoming a statistic like Marcello feared.
“You could have given the case over to someone else.” Idette scowled at me, shook her head, and stared out the window.
No matter what I said, she’d be right and I’d be wrong, so I kept quiet. Instead of taking over my lap, my cheetah sat on the floor, avoiding my feet. He rested his chin on my knee and purred. His unhappiness chilled me; I understood he purred to soothe both of us rather than express his happiness.
I wanted to pet him and bury my fingers in his fur, but I didn’t dare.
It was a long, uncomfortable ride to the airport.
When we landed in Albany, Idette focused all of her attention on figuring out where we were going. I was grateful she was too busy trying to solve the puzzle of where I was taking her for her to notice I had opted for an economy vehicle rather than the SUVs or luxury sedans she preferred.
On the roads we would be traveling, a larger car was asking for trouble. I drove without saying a word, and Idette was too busy playing with the maps on her phone to talk to me. When I hit the highway heading north of Saratoga Springs, she blurted, “Lake George!”
“Why would anyone go there?” I replied, trying my best to sound confused. “There’s nothing there. It’s a tiny little village in the woods.”
“In the woods next to a lake,” Idette growled. “What do you have against nature?”
From his place on the backseat, my spirit beast hissed at my wife.
“Mosquitos.”
“Wuss.” The disgust in her tone had me wrinkling my nose, and to placate her, I said, “There’s a lodge near the water I reserved for the weekend, as I thought you might like it.”