Irrevocable Trust (Sasha McCandless Legal Thriller Book 6)

by Melissa F. Miller

  “Will? Who’s dead? I have no idea what’s going on here. Someone’s going to have to fill me in.” Pulaski’s head swiveled from the judge to Sasha and Will then back to the judge.

  Judge Perry-Brown puckered her mouth and surveyed the row of onlookers.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, sorry to disappoint you all but I don’t have anything on the calendar this morning. Judge Clark next door usually puts on a good show, though.”

  As the audience packed up their newspapers and tablets and started filing out of the courtroom, she turned back to the assembled lawyers.

  “Given the sensitive nature of the matter, we’ll do this in chambers. You’ll have to pardon the disarray; I’m in the middle of moving.”

  She left the bench and headed for the door to her private chambers. The clerk held it open and waited while Sasha, Will, and Pulaski gathered their belongings and followed suit.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  A shadow fell across the flattened cardboard box where Bricker sat, his legs outstretched and back against the cool brick wall, in the same pose as the other denizens of the alley that ran behind the courthouse.

  He looked up.

  The man—he’d given his name as Pat Brown, and Bricker neither knew nor cared if that were his real name—grinned down at him.

  “Thanks for saving my spot, friend.”

  “Don’t mention it.” Bricker stood and dusted off the seat of his khakis. “Well?”

  Pat rolled his eyes skyward and thought for a moment.

  “Okay, the judge was already talking when I got there, so I missed the first part but he said that he, uh, couldn’t do anything with the will until Mr. Bricker’s rights were worked out.”

  “You’re sure? He said Bricker?”

  “Yeah, man. The second judge did, too.”

  “Second judge?”

  “I was getting to that. He said he was sending the lawyers over to this lady judge right away. I figured I should go, too. That was cool, right?”

  Pat looked worried, as if he might not get the promised twenty dollars because he’d used his independent judgment.

  “Yes, you did the right thing. Good thinking,” Bricker reassured him.

  He hoped Pat hadn’t drawn too much attention to himself, but ultimately he was disposable if necessary.

  The homeless man beamed at him. “Okay, good. So I went over to the other courtroom and there were already a bunch of geezers sitting there, so I sat with them. Two of the lawyers from the will judge’s courtroom came over—the little woman and one of the dudes. I don’t know where the other guy went.”

  Bricker did.

  He’d seen the stranger from McCandless’ office taking the wide courthouse steps two at a time about a half an hour earlier. The man had crossed the alley and continued along Grant Street into a glass office tower.

  “Don’t worry about him. What happened with the second judge?”

  Pat scratched his right ear.

  “Well they sat around for a bit waiting for this other lawyer to show up. Man, that guy was a piece of work. Name of, uh, Pulaski, Pulkowski, Pilarski—some Polish something or other. Anyhow, he must act like a real tough guy in court. The other two lawyers treated him like he stunk or something. Especially the chick. She wanted nothing to do with him. And the judge lit into him. She more or less said since he was such a scuzzball, she was appointing him to represent some scumbag client.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah. The Bricker guy broke out of prison and is on the run, but she needs to make a decision about terminating his rights before they can probate that will you’re interested in.”

  Pat’s eyes narrowed. Bricker could see the wheels turning. Time to wrap it up before Pat got too curious for his own good.

  “Hmm. So was that it?”

  “Judge decided to do the rest back in her office. So I left. I got a friend, though. One of the guys who runs the security scanner sometimes brings me breakfast. I could find out when there’s another hearing and maybe do the same thing again?”

  Bricker had to give him credit for his eagerness to work.

  “Maybe. I’ll let you know. If I need to find you again, will you be here?”

  Pat nodded. “Rain or shine. Been kicked out of most of the shelters in town because I like a nip now and then.”

  Bricker peeled off a twenty from the roll of bills stowed in his left pants pocket. Then he added another couple of twenties and pressed them into Pat’s filthy hand.

  “Here you go. Twenty for your services, as agreed. Take the rest to the Army Surplus Store and get yourself a decent sleeping bag. Or a parka. Don’t drink it.”

  He turned on his heel and walked out of the narrow space before the man could react to his charity.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Sasha was putting together a medieval-themed Lego set with Leah and Mark at the kitchen table when she heard Connelly’s footsteps in the hall. She glanced up. His cheek muscle twitched, even as he smoothed his expression into a smile for the kids.

  Tense, she thought. The meeting with WITSEC must not have gone well.

  Connelly had been waiting in her office when she returned from her morning spent bouncing around state court. After expressing appropriate horror at the news that Andy Pulaski had been appointed to represent Bricker, he said he needed a small favor.

  The small favor had turned out to be babysitting all the kids while he and Hank met with WITSEC.

  She caught Connelly’s eye and raised a brow.

  He nodded, almost imperceptibly, then said, “What are you guys working on?”

  “Some castle. It has eleventy-million parts.” She was only slightly exaggerating.

  Mark snorted. “It’s easy. It just takes patience.”

  Leah slid out of her chair. “If it’s so easy, you can finish it by yourself. Leo and Sasha can help me figure out the garden since Brianna won’t.”

  “What won’t Brianna do?” Sasha asked.

  The girl stuck out her lower lip. “She’s the one who got Mom’s green thumb, but she won’t help me plot out a garden. We need to have a garden.” Her voice cracked and went up an octave.

  Mark dropped the turret pieces and hurried to the other side of the table to put an arm around his sister.

  Connelly feinted forward as if he were going to try to help comfort the girl. Sasha shook her head and gestured toward the doorway.

  As Mark shushed his sobbing sister, Connelly followed Sasha into the hallway.

  “We should do something to take her mind off it,” he whispered.

  “No. They’ve suffered a loss. They need to mourn. And, trust me, she’d rather be with her brother now than some random adults.”

  He twisted his mouth into a skeptical knot, but she pressed on.

  “Trust me, Connelly. You’re an only child—you don’t understand. Mark can help her better than we can. They have a bond.”

  As she said the words, she realized she was thinking of her own brothers and the way they’d all come together when Patrick, the oldest, was killed.

  She cleared her throat and pushed the thought out of her mind. Not now.

  Connelly furrowed his brow and stared hard at her.

  “Thinking about Patrick?” he asked in a low, gentle voice.

  She blinked. “How do you do that?”

  He pulled her close. “I know my wife.”

  She allowed herself a moment to rest her head against his warm chest and listen to the steady rhythm of his heart. Then she leaned back to tilt her head up and meet his eyes.

  “You do. And I know my husband. What happened with Hank?”

  His jaw tightened for a brief moment. Then he exhaled. “He wants to update you and Will tomorrow. Right now, he’s off on some sort of top-secret day trip, but let’s just say WITSEC is looking to wash its hands of the Bennett kids.”

  “Wash its hands how?”

  His cheek twitched. “Hank was told that if he insisted on continuing to have contact with the kids
, they were out of the program effective immediately.”

  She felt her mouth drop open and clamped it shut.

  “On what grounds?”

  “He’s a person from their past. That’s against the rules. If he agreed to cut off all ties with the Bennetts and you agreed to decline to serve as trustee, then they would immediately swoop in and relocate the kids again. They’d get new identities, and we’d never see them again.”

  “What did Hank say?”

  His lips quirked into a smile. “It involved the inspector’s mother and a barnyard animal. I don’t think you want me to repeat it.”

  She giggled but got serious again right away. “What about Bricker’s parental rights issue? They would just move the kids again and hide them from their admittedly insane and criminal father? Don’t they think that needs to be resolved?”

  “Come on, Sasha. This is your post-September 11 government we’re talking about. Security trumps all.”

  “Seriously? That’s my line. And need I remind you, you are them.”

  He shook his head. “No. Hank and I, we don’t let politics—national, office, or otherwise—cloud our judgment. You have to know that.” He grabbed her shoulders. “It’s important that you understand that.”

  “Connelly, jeez, I was just giving you a hard time.”

  “Sorry. I’m just a little on edge. First you tell me that dirtball Pulaski is representing Bricker, then we have that meeting.”

  “It’s going to be okay. So what’s the plan for the kids while Hank’s not around?”

  He cleared his throat. “Actually, Hank asked me if we’d consider staying here with them until their situation gets straightened out.”

  “Stay here? What did you say?”

  “I said I had to talk to you, of course. But you should know he’s going crazy playing babysitter.”

  She could believe it. Hank was a confirmed bachelor. Former military. A man of routines.

  Having grown up in a big family, one thing she knew was that routines flew straight out the window when balancing the needs of multiple kids came into the picture. Even Valentina, her fastidious mother, had thrown up her hands and gone with the flow on more occasions than not. Hank was hardly a go-with-the-flow kind of guy.

  “Live here?”

  “Temporarily.”

  She considered fussing, but she knew she’d say yes in the end. And she had some things to take care of.

  “Okay. We’re going to need to get food. I fed this crew lunch, but the refrigerator is pretty empty.”

  He shrugged. “Why don’t you run out and get some stuff then we can ask Naya to come over and hang out while we go back to the condo, grab Java, and pack up some stuff?”

  Her brain was stuck on the first part of his suggestion.

  “What makes you think I know how to grocery shop for six kids any better than you do? My uterus didn’t come with instructions, you know.”

  He swallowed a laugh as Mark poked his head out into the hall.

  “Uh, hey.”

  “Hey. How’s your sister?” she asked.

  “Sad, but better. Can one of you help her out? She grabbed some of my mom’s seeds before we left, and she really wants to plant them. Like a memorial or something.” He stared down at his feet.

  “Sure. I will. Sasha’s on her way out to the store.” Connelly tossed her the car keys.

  She snagged the keys and gave Connelly a mock glare.

  At least she knew how to grocery shop. She didn’t know the first thing about gardening.

  “I’ll be back in a bit. But I need to run an errand first.”

  He cocked his head. “What kind of errand?”

  “I’m going to stop by and see Daniel. I want to borrow something from him.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Daniel re-sheathed the fixed-blade knife and weighed the weapon in his right palm for a moment before passing it to Sasha. She took it in her left hand and turned the sheath to the side then slid it out to examine the blade more closely.

  “Thanks again,” she said.

  Daniel waved off her gratitude with an impatient gesture.

  “Don’t mention it. I mean that literally. If Chris or my father—or God forbid, your father—finds out I gave you a knife … I don’t even want to think about it.”

  “I’m not going to tell anyone. In any case, it’s not as if I’m not perfectly capable of wreaking havoc without a weapon.” She shot him a look.

  He matched her look with an irritated glare.

  “Right. But now you’re armed. Armed. Think about that for a minute. It’s antithetical to everything Krav Maga teaches, not to mention everything you believe. Your brother was killed—”

  “Don’t.” She held up her empty hand, palm forward, in a motion that said ‘stop.’ “Please don’t. Just walk me through using this, okay?” She was surprised to hear that her voice sounded forceful and even. She was shaking like a wet dog inside.

  He sighed heavily.

  “Okay. First of all, it’s not a training knife. It’s a real combat blade, so bear that in mind.”

  Unlike the traditional martial arts, Krav Maga instruction didn’t include any ritualized weapons forms. No hamkudo, the Korean sword discipline; no staff fighting; no nunchuck training, so common in karate.

  Instead Krav Maga emphasized street fighting and self-defense. The best weapon a Krav Maga practitioner could employ was her legs, to walk (or run) away from a brewing conflict. Second best was her voice, to diffuse the situation. A distant third was her hands, only when contact was unavoidable.

  The philosophy was ingrained in both teacher and student.

  But given Sasha’s recent past, they’d also agreed that some training in warding off knife and gun attacks was warranted—a not unreasonable position considering she’d been the target of both attacks more than once. That said, their training focus had been on responding to a weapons assault while unarmed.

  After all, as a civil litigator, non-hunter, and urban dweller, Sasha was usually unarmed. Unless one counted the deadly geisha hairpin she occasionally used to twist her hair up into a knot.

  This, however, was not a typical situation. She was helping to care for six children whose father may or may not be stalking them. It was beyond dispute that he was stalking her. She wanted a weapon. Not a gun, not with all those kids in the house—and not with the baggage of her brother’s death hanging over her. But a knife. A knife with a sharp, wicked blade.

  “I’ll be careful.”

  Daniel accepted her promise with a small nod. “You sure you’re going to be okay with this?”

  She followed his gaze. He was staring at her left bicep. The arm that Wally Stewart had slashed a year earlier, severing her carotid artery and nearly killing her. The scar was faint, nothing more than a thin, white whisper against her freckled skin. But Daniel knew. He’d seen how the wound had weakened her dominant side. He’d helped her rebuild her power over several long months.

  Of course he’d be worried about her getting into a knife fight. Krav Maga worked by teaching students to react instinctively in a combat situation, not stopping and thinking. Would she be able to turn off her emotional reaction in the event of another knife attack or would her brain slow her down?

  “I’m not going to go out looking for a brawl, Daniel. I hope to never have to use it. But if I do have to, I’ll be fine. Remember, those idiots at the wedding had machetes and I didn’t freeze up.”

  She thought it was a persuasive point, but he surprised her by laughing.

  “Oh, you mean the banditos? Yeah, I’d forgotten all about the armed mercenaries at your wedding. I mean, it happens all the time.”

  She couldn’t suppress her smile. “See?”

  He rolled his eyes and then slid back into his all-business teacher persona.

  “Well, I’m glad to hear you aren’t going to be looking for a knife fight. That weapon is nothing but a hunk of metal wrapped in a big wad of false security. You realize
that, right?”

  “Yes, in a street fight, it’s highly unlikely that I’ll have time to draw it,” she recited dutifully.

  “It’s true, you know. I’ve only ever known one guy who was fast enough to defend himself using a knife.”

  “Who?”

  “My dad.”

  Larry Steinfeld was a sweet old guy, a retired civil rights and criminal defense attorney, a world-class bridge player, and a lethal weapon in his own right. He’d spent time in the Israeli Army, where he’d learned Krav Maga himself.

  “What happened?”

  “I don’t know the details. You know him, he’s pretty low key about his past. But what I do know is instructive. One, he was carrying a sheathed straight blade, like this one. A folding knife is just too slow to get out. And two, he was in close quarters. If you have any distance at all—”

  “Run. I know.”

  “I have to say, I don’t know what you’re hoping to accomplish by carrying a blade. If you get jumped by someone who’s also got a knife, you’re much better off disarming him. Turn his own weapon on him. And if your assailant’s carrying a gun … well, you better just hope Leo’s nearby with his Glock.”

  His voice vibrated with frustration.

  “I know. Believe me, I agree with everything you’re saying. I can’t give you any details, but I think Bricker might be planning to come after me in a place where there are a lot of innocent people nearby. If I had to guess, I’d say he’ll have a gun. But he’s going to have to get pretty close to me to use it without killing a bunch of bystanders. So, what’s my play? Let’s just walk through it, okay? Gun versus knife in close quarters.”

  The studio was so quiet she could hear the water from the Chinese restaurant on the first floor running through the pipes. Daniel stared off in the direction of the wall of mirrors, but she could tell he wasn’t seeing their reflections. He was absorbed in thought.