When nobody spoke, Evan went on. ‘There’s something else. Laila Richards was attacked on her way home from work last night, and earlier in the week her office building caught fire.’
He watched George as the older man’s eyes dropped to the sticking plaster still on his hand, and then back to his face.
‘A man was caught on CCTV in the office building, and she’s pretty sure he’s the same man who attacked her in the park.’
Evan held his breath, watching as Duncan and George exchanged glances, but they said nothing, just waited for him to go on.
He turned to George. ‘The last time I was here, you asked me if we had anything on Laila Richards. You told me to find out her secret, so pressure could be brought to bear.’
‘Jesus, Dad!’ Duncan voice was a low whisper. He stared at his father as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. ‘Why would you do that?’
‘That’s what I need to know.’ Evan said. This was something he could never have imagined asking George Peyton in his lifetime. ‘Did you get someone to try and stop Laila Richards?’
George leaned on his stick and struggled to his feet, more fire in his eyes than Evan had seen in years. ‘You have a hell of a hide, son, coming in here and accusing me of that.’
‘They were your words. What was I supposed to think?’
‘I think you need to pick your side.’
When George wouldn’t answer his question, Evan turned to Duncan. ‘You told me something once. You said the family had hired someone to recover a debt, someone outside the law.’
‘That was a long time ago,’ George interrupted. ‘Some low-life ripped me off, to the tune of three hundred thousand dollars of payments to subcontractors who depended on the money. But the grub went into voluntary bankruptcy, and shifted all his assets into his wife’s name. He was living in luxury, and no-one could legally touch him.’
He took a few steps closer to Evan. ‘You weren’t qualified then. We were using a different firm. They couldn’t do a damn thing, and I wasn’t going to stand for it. A mate told me he had a contact, a guy in a motorcycle gang. They scared the crap out of him, promised they’d be back to break his kneecaps if he didn’t cough up the money. He got the cash. The bikies got their cut. The subcontractors got their money. Everyone was happy except the scumbag.’
‘Which motorcycle gang?’
‘The Altar Boys,’ Duncan said.
Evan’s scalp crawled and he lowered his voice, looked from George to Duncan and back again. ‘John Holt was the person who attacked Laila. Just give me a straight answer. Did you hire John Holt to follow her?’
‘What do you take us for?’ The old man said with a roar, thumping his pipe down on the table. ‘Coming in here and accusing us of something we know nothing about, and after all we’ve done for you.’
Evan thought of Laila’s words from last night, the words her parents used to say. How could you do that to us, after all we’ve done for you?
‘I think I’ve paid my dues George, given as much as I’ve taken. I might be your lawyer, but I’m no puppet.’
‘Jesus!’ Duncan was staring at Evan in amazement. ‘I know what’s going on here. You’re sleeping with the enemy.’
Red in the face, Duncan advanced on him, went to shove him in the chest but Evan stepped sideways, out of reach.
‘Hold on,’ he heard George’s warning from behind as Duncan wheeled around.
‘You’re screwing her, aren’t you?’ Duncan’s pupils were dilated, and one side of his mouth curved in a sneer. ‘It must be great to be you. Just crook your little finger and they all come running.’
Evan shook his head and looked at George. ‘We were seeing each other before Scarlett began proceedings.’
Duncan advanced on him again. ‘Bullshit! You’re pointing the finger at us because some broad’s leading you around by the dick.’
Evan threw out a hand and grabbed Duncan by his collar, shoving him against the wall and pinning him with his body weight. ‘I. Love. Her.’
The air was thick with tension, and in the silence, laughter could be heard coming from the direction of the dining room.
‘Then you’re not the best person for the job.’ Duncan said.
Heart knocking against his ribs, Evan let go of his collar and swung away. ‘That’s what I came here to tell you.’
George Peyton stepped closer to Evan. ‘You’re going to give up the work you do for this family — for some broad?’
‘I think he’s saying he’s prepared to give up his relationship with this family for her,’ Duncan added.
‘Maybe if you’d given up something you’d still have your wife.’ Evan’s words came hard and fast like a battery of quick blows.
‘You bastard!’
‘Duncan!’ George’s voice rang out, strong and clear despite his advanced age. ‘May I remind you this is still my house and your mother has guests in the dining room.’ He pointed his stick towards the chesterfields. ‘Sit down there and shut the fuck up.’
He turned to Evan, and for the first time ever the two men gazed at each, anger and disappointment in their eyes.
‘I did nothing to harm that lady lawyer. I was simply thinking aloud that night. Wondering whether she’d been in trouble with the Law Society — temporarily struck off the roll — or something in the family she wanted to keep secret. I’ll admit, I wouldn’t have been above offering her a monetary incentive to speed things up if necessary.’
Evan thought of Laila’s Blackhawk Foundation. ‘She would have been above taking it.’
George Peyton nodded and gave a sad smile. ‘It seems you know her well, by the sounds of it.’
Did he?
The two men looked at one another again, the old man, and the kid who was now a man.
Was it the last time?
Evan thought so.
He shifted his gaze to Duncan, but his school friend was staring at the floor, shaking his head, mouth set in a hard line.
Evan inhaled sharply and nodded at George Peyton.
‘Thank you for telling me.’
He turned and left, pulling the door closed behind him.
His vision blurred as he caught sight of George’s wife standing in the hallway looking towards the study.
‘Evan?’ Marcie’s gentle face was etched with worry as he walked towards her. ‘What’s going on? What’s all the shouting about?’
Too choked up to speak, he shook his head, leaned down and planted a quick kiss on her forehead as he passed.
‘Evan?’
He kept walking.
He’d lost Laila. He’d lost his family, and it was only a matter of time now until he lost his job at Poole Greenwood. Not since he was nine years old had he been so alone in the world.
He could feel Marcie’s eyes on him, knew she was trailing him as he strode towards the front door, wrenched it open and jogged down the front steps.
She was still on the front porch, hand raised in farewell, as he started the car, pulled into the driveway and headed for home.
Chapter Thirty-two
11 a.m. Saturday
It had been days since Laila had taken the time to exercise, if you didn’t count fighting off an attacker, making love to Evan, and the emotional energy expended yesterday.
Now, as she neared the end of her usual walking route along the beach and over the hill, she tried to push past the heaviness in her legs, the stitch in her side, the almost constant throb in her temples. Coaxing her reluctant body to move at its usual pace had depleted her energy stores to the point where, with luck, she’d be able to sleep for a while this afternoon.
But as she came in the front gate, breathing heavily, puffy eyes hidden behind dark glasses, her mind continued to whirl with the events of the last couple of days.
She sighed, knowing sleep would elude her until some hard decisions had been made. Decisions she couldn’t put off any longer.
She and Scarlett Peyton had to part ways. She simply could
n’t allow someone capable of blackmail to be the patron of the Blackhawk Foundation.
Scarlett had paid money into her office on account of costs, and though it probably didn’t cover all the work Laila had done, it went close. And close was enough. She wouldn’t render another account.
Mind made up, Laila scrolled through her contact list and rang her client, steeling herself and trying not to think of the tantrum the woman had thrown the other day.
Scarlett picked up almost immediately. ‘Hello?’
‘Hello, it’s Laila Richards calling.’
There was a brief pause, then ‘Have they made a counter offer?’
‘I’m afraid not.’ Laila rolled her eyes. Of course that would be the first thing the woman would ask.
She took a deep breath. ‘I’ve been thinking things over since the mediation last Thursday, and I don’t believe I’m the best person to act in your interests anymore. I’d like you to come by my office first thing Monday morning and pick up your file.’
She wanted to add that maybe Evan Barclay could recommend another lawyer, but that would make her bitchy and petty and unprofessional, and she wanted to keep her good name intact. A slur from Scarlett Peyton could do a lot of damage in this town.
‘Are you serious?’ Scarlett’s voice vibrated with anger. ‘You’re dumping me?’
The woman sounded like a jilted lover.
Laila swallowed, her throat dry. ‘I’m uncomfortable with the allegations you made against your husband with the hope of substantially increasing your share of the matrimonial assets.’
‘You’re uncomfortable?’ The woman screeched, causing Laila to hold the phone away from her ear and switch it onto loud speaker. ‘You’re my bloody lawyer, you’re not supposed to be comfortable. You’re supposed to be getting me the best settlement you can.’
‘I agreed to get you a fair settlement, and all fairness ceased to exist last Thursday. I won’t be party to blackmail.’
Scarlett went to say something, but Laila cut her off. ‘Please collect your file from my office on Monday, so you can go about finding alternative representation.’
She killed the call, stood looking down at the phone in her hand. It was done. She was free of the Peyton case.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Laila walked into the kitchen, poured a glass of water and stood looking out into her small backyard. She’d been so excited when Scarlett had first contacted her. She’d taken the case in good faith, expecting a flow of other referrals and envisaging benefits for her foundation. But in reality, her client had thumbed her nose at the mediation process, and at Laila, with her threats of blackmail. There was nothing else she could do but put the matter behind her.
Putting Evan Barclay behind her would prove an even greater challenge.
Her heart physically ached, cramping in her chest with an intensity that took her breath. Despite her anger, her conscience kept reminding her of all the good things he’d done. Saving Mike from the fire was a heroic act, and bringing Luke Neilson on board had resulted in Jason Moulder’s arrest. Evan had taken an active role in that too, lying in wait with the patience of a predator until Moulder walked into his ambush.
But his help on the class action didn’t make up for his betrayal on the Peyton case, or the fact that he’d manipulated her, something she’d vowed would never happen again. Strangely, the only thing that gave her comfort was their six-week affair prior to the start of the Peyton case.
At least that part had been real.
Laila put her glass on the bench, went into the bedroom and opened the lid of the jewellery box her paternal grandmother had left her. According to distant aunts and cousins, her grandmother was the family member Laila most resembled. Throat closing over, she slid the rings off her right hand and placed them in a separate compartment of the jewellery box.
She was closing the lid when the doorbell rang, its familiar E to C melody echoing throughout the house.
Thinking it was probably Dickson come to give her an update, Laila hurried into the hallway. But when she opened the door, Grind was standing there, an uncomfortable expression on his face.
‘I heard the fighting last night. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.’
An embarrassed flush warmed Laila’s face and she put a hand to her pounding forehead. ‘I’m sorry you had to hear that.’
‘I couldn’t understand what you were saying, but I saw Barclay leave.’
Laila raised her eyebrows. As far as she knew Grind had never met Evan. ‘Barclay?’
He shrugged. ‘He used to play rugby.’
Laila turned with a groan and went into the kitchen. Flopping into a chair, she rested her forehead on her folded arms and closed her eyes. ‘I have a headache.’
There was silence, then a hesitant ‘I’ll make the coffee.’
Grind’s goodhearted offer to do something simple, give her something he knew she enjoyed, finally broke the dam, and Laila was too exhausted to stem the flow of tears that seeped from her eyes and dripped on the table. Head pounding, she drew in several uneven breaths, heard the gurgle of the coffee maker, felt the touch of Grind’s hand on her back.
Eventually she stopped, coaxed out of her misery by the aroma of freshly brewed coffee somewhere close to her nose.
Sitting up, she winced as her head gave one almighty throb, and reached for the wad of tissues Grind offered. ‘Thanks. I’m sorry.’
‘It’s your house, you can cry if you want to.’
She smiled at his lame attempt to cheer her up and wrapped her hands around the warm mug. ‘I’ve had a bad week.’
‘The detective who came this morning said they got in my laundry window. I’m really sorry, Laila.’
Laila reached out and squeezed his hand. ‘It’s all right. The people who broke in here are professionals. They would have found another way in. You just made it easy for them.’
Even so, he watched her with worried eyes as she sipped her coffee.
‘I feel bad that I laughed when you showed me the insulation.’
‘Don’t beat yourself up.’ Laila pushed her hair behind her ears and wiped her eyes with the tissues. ‘He’s in police custody now.’
Moulder was no longer a problem and, according to Evan, Dickson Cross believed John Holt was either dead or had left town.
Suddenly, Laila felt another weight lift from her shoulders. As of Monday, the class action would be filed, and Scarlett Peyton would be out of her life. Maybe things would then return to normal — not that she knew what that was anymore.
Evan had become her ‘normal’.
‘I guess you won’t be coming to the gig tonight then?’ Grind was saying.
Laila blinked. She’d forgotten all about the gig.
Again.
She was about to say she could do with an early night, but one look at Grind’s crestfallen face and she found herself saying, ‘I’m coming, but only if the music’s so loud I won’t be able to hear myself think.’
‘You got it!’ Grind’s face broke into a smile. ‘You can sit at the table reserved for the band. That way, you won’t get hit on.’
‘Thanks, I think.’ Laila gave a wry smile. ‘I’ll look like the big sister come to watch her little brother play.’
‘That’s alright. They’ve cleaned the pub up a lot. It’s not nearly as seedy as it used to be.’
‘That’s a shame.’ Laila shook her head and pretended to be disappointed. ‘I was looking forward to getting groped on my way to the bar.’
He laughed, then asked if she could be ready by six.
A few minutes later, Laila was seeing him out the front door.
Determined to keep her mind occupied, she headed off to wash her hair, forcing herself to think about what she could wear tonight.
This was the first day of the rest of her life, and she was determined to make it count. And if a couple of glasses of wine and a few hours of ‘80s cock rock would put Evan out of her mind for a short while, then she was all for it.
Chapter Thirty-three
5 p.m. Saturday
Allegra glanced at Luke as he pulled the car into the curb outside her office. Up ahead, the Pitt Street Mall crawled with late-Saturday-afternoon shoppers and an eclectic mix of street performers.
‘It’s a shame this weekend hasn’t turned out as planned.’ They’d been going to drive a little way down the coast, towards Bateman’s Bay and Mollymook, but Laila Richard’s problem with the military, and Evan’s call last night, had sabotaged what plans they’d had.
She sighed. ‘When I left on Thursday, I never imagined I’d be back so soon.’
‘That’s what happens when you’re a partner.’ Luke draped his arm across the back of her seat and Allegra took a few moments to admire the broad expanse of chest and the bulging bicep close to her shoulder. She would have given anything to stay curled up on the lounge beside her hunky husband.
Luke smiled, the silver slash on his cheek moving. ‘As long as we have a bed and food, I don’t care where we are.’
‘In that order?’
‘Definitely in that order.’
Allegra turned her head and pressed her lips to that hard bicep. Luke had spent so much time in Iraq and Afghanistan, he was happy anywhere that wasn’t a war zone.
‘I shouldn’t be long. I’ll say my bit and leave Simon to make the decision. He’s the principal partner, after all.’
‘Still inclined to go in to bat for Barclay?’
‘Absolutely. Evan Barclay has success written all over him. He’s more than just the Peytons.’
‘Hey, careful.’ He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and leaned closer. ‘I’m getting a bit jealous here.’
‘No need.’ She smiled and stroked her thumb along his chin. Somehow, Luke Neilson was sexier than when she’d first met him three and half years ago. ‘Will you be in the coffee shop?’
‘Yep. Reading the paper, close on hand in case your temperature spikes. I don’t want you jumping any random guy in the street.’
She pressed a kiss to his warm mouth. ‘I’ll be sure to call you, commander. Just keep that mobile phone handy.’
His silver eyes turned serious. ‘If it’s meant to be, Ally, it’s meant to be.’
Hot Lawyers: The Lee Christine Collection Page 63