“But yeah, it was a set-up. Ricky walked up to the door, but he left the stuff in the car just in case. Sure enough, when the door opened up, there were three Hilltops, all with guns drawn. Ricky ran back to the car and they chased after him. I was driving, so Ricky ran to the passenger side and I started pulling away as soon as he opened the door. He jumped in and I floored it. They fired at us, but nothing hit. I was scared shitless, but when we turned the corner, I thought we were safe.
“I was wrong.
“They came peeling around after us, two leaning out of their car firing at us. I drove like crazy, weaving side to side and taking turns at the last second. I just wanted to get us the hell out of there, but then I turned into a dead end. They had us. I pulled to a stop and tried to turn around, but they came whipping around the corner. They stopped and got out of the car. It seemed like everything was in slow motion. There were three of them, all armed. They started walking toward us, slow and cocky, guns pointing down. They still thought it was a robbery.
“But Ricky… Ricky came prepared. He opened the glove box, and in it was one of those bad-ass .45s. Silver and shiny and big as fuck.”
Michael closed his eyes and leaned back, exhaling deeply. Talon waited for him to continue. Curt, too, sat silently, waiting for the story to end. But Michael just sat there, eyes closed, face tipped toward the ceiling. He didn’t say anything, he just sat there, breathing deeply and evenly.
Finally, Talon couldn’t stand it any more. “Then what happened?”
Michael opened his eyes and leaned forward. He smiled and shrugged. “I don’t remember.”
“You don’t remember?” Talon parroted. “What do you mean you don’t remember?”
“I mean,” Michael repeated, “I don’t remember.”
“Of course you remember,” Talon replied.
“Yeah, come on, Michael,” Curt added. “There’s no way you forget something like that. You had a perfect memory of it until that point. We know you don’t just not remember.”
Michael shrugged. “I must have blacked out. Somebody got shot. Somebody deserved it. Next thing I know, it’s twenty-five years later and I’m charged with murder.”
“Are you kidding me?” Curt was beside himself. “You didn't black out. You're just lying to us.”
“I told you everything you need to know,” Michael said. He turned to Talon for confirmation. “Right?”
Talon wasn't about to let him off the hook completely, but it was a lot more than she'd expected. She finally had something to work with. She decided to ignore the question. She wanted the flexibility to revisit the narrative later, if necessary. And she was pretty sure it was going to be necessary.
“I'll email the prosecutor and tell him we're rejecting his offer,” she said. “And I won't make any counter-offer. I don't want to waste time on negotiating. We have too much to do.”
CHAPTER 9
The following Saturday found Talon at work. Being a solo practitioner meant being not just a lawyer but also a small business owner. And while there were no days off, being her own boss meant she could set her own hours, and where those hours were spent. If she was going to work on a Saturday, she could at least change the scenery. So rather than another day in her cramped office, she decided to spend the day sprawled across a table at the back of ‘Maestro’s,’ the coffee shop around the corner.
She dropped her stuff on a back table and then headed to the front counter to order the first of several caffeine-infused drinks. If her work took longer than she hoped, she was already considering moving to another location for alcohol-infused drinks after 5:00.
The barista was a tall man she’d seen before. He flashed a wide smile when she stepped up.
“Good morning,” he chimed. “What can I get for you?”
Talon squinted at the drink menu for a moment, then ordered what she always ordered anyway. “Raspberry mocha, grande, triple shot, non-fat milk, no whip.”
The tall barista dutifully transferred her order onto the side of her paper coffee cup with his Sharpie. “And can I get a name for the order?”
“Talon,” she replied as she eyed the pastries under the glass next to the register.
“Talon?” the barista confirmed. “Cool name.”
Talon offered the same half-cringe, half-smile she’d been offering ever since people started asking her name. She was used to getting the reaction, but never really welcomed it. Still, she was glad for a name with personality. “Thanks.”
The barista thought for a moment as he added the name to her cup. “Is it Native?”
The smile part of her expression started to fade. “No, it’s English,” she deadpanned. “It means bird’s claw.”
The barista laughed. “Right, right. No, I knew that. I just meant, is it like a Native American thing. You look Native.”
Talon took some pleasure in that. “I do?”
“Oh yeah,” he replied. “I mean, everybody looks different, you know. But Talon. Yeah, that fits you really well. It wouldn’t fit me. I’m Swedish.” He gestured at his own body, which Talon noticed was wrapped in a tight polo shirt that showed off his biceps and flat stomach.
“Uh, okay.” Talon probably wouldn’t have been able to tell Swedish from German from English. She noticed he had sandy brown hair and blue eyes, and the previously noticed biceps. She wasn’t sure what else to say.
“Okay,” the barista looked back at the cup still in his hand and raised the Sharpie again. “And can I get a phone number?”
Talon almost started to recite her number, but caught herself. The barista smiled. “I get off at six. I thought maybe we could grab a drink and compare names. I’m Kyle.”
Talon was flattered, and not completely uninterested. But she didn’t really see herself dating the barista long-term, and she wasn’t sure she had the energy to start something she knew she’d have to break off well before Kyle wanted it to end. Also, she had a lot of work to do and if she was going to be drinking that night, it would be by herself while she reviewed the case.
“Uh, hi, Kyle,” she answered. “Maybe just the coffee. Thanks though.”
Kyle shrugged and offered a grin, half-embarrassed but still confident somehow. It suited him. “Okay, Talon. One grande triple-shot raspberry mocha, non-fat, no whip, coming up.” He glanced back to her stuff in the back. “I’ll bring it your table.”
Talon nodded and thanked him. She paid for the drink and returned to her table, happy to focus on her work. She sat with her back to the register, but couldn’t help but wonder if Kyle was still checking her out. It was nice to be noticed.
Kyle delivered the drink with a smile but no further flirting and Talon dove into her case. One good thing about having only one case was that she could devote all of her attention to it. The bad thing was, it didn’t pay the bills and so her attention was nevertheless distracted by practical worries like paying her overhead the next month. Several hours later, she was on her third coffee and still hadn’t done half of what she’d planned for the day. She checked the time on her phone. 4:41. Time to pack it in.
But before she mustered the strength to close her laptop and begin stuffing her files into her briefcase, she heard a familiar voice behind her.
“Talon? Is that you?”
Talon turned to see Curt standing at the cash register, handing the barista his credit card but looking her way. “What are you doing here?”
Talon took a moment to look at the work files strewn across the table next to her open laptop. She nodded to herself. It was completely obvious what she was doing there. When she turned back around, Curt was already stepping up to her table.
“Working on a Saturday, huh?” he asked with that lopsided, boyish grin of his.
Talon shrugged. “A lawyer's work is never done,” she offered with her own smile.
Curt sat down next to her, not waiting for an invitation, comfortable in his own skin. She liked that about him. He craned his neck to view her screen. “Which case?�
�
Talon shrugged. “I only have one case. The Jameson case.”
Curt nodded. “Right.” He leaned back, his tall frame draped pleasingly across his chair. “I should have known. So what are you doing exactly?”
Talon’s attention snapped back from Curt’s frame to Michael Jameson’s case. “Uh, I’m going through the police reports line-by-line and identifying potential—”
“Your drinks are ready,” Kyle interrupted from behind his espresso machine. Talon and Curt both looked over at the interruption. There were two drinks on the bar.
That was nice of Curt, Talon thought. She decided she could stick around for another cup of coffee with her investigator. Then maybe he could join her for that drink she had planned. And they’d need to eat dinner…
Curt came back to her table, a to-go cup in each hand. “Sorry. What were you saying?”
Talon again had to force her thoughts back to the job. “Oh, just that I’m reading the police reports, looking for potential witnesses. Anyone who might have seen something.”
“Those reports are twenty-five years old,” Curt observed. He hadn’t sat down again. He just stood next to her, coffees still in hand, and glanced at her laptop screen. “It’s gonna be tough to track down witnesses after all this time.”
“Oh yeah,” Talon agreed. “These addresses are all bad, I’m sure. But we’ve got full names and dates of birth. We should be able to track them down.”
“You mean,” Curt corrected her again, “I should be able to.”
Talon offered another shrug and smile. “You are the investigator.”
Curt responded with a deep bow. “Whatever your heart desires, milady.”
Talon took a moment to assess her desires, but she wasn’t sure they were coming solely from her heart. Maybe they could drink the coffee on the way to the bar.
She closed out of the program on her computer and stood up. “You know,” she said as she reached down to close the laptop and gather her things, “maybe we could—?”
“Hey, there you are!” Curt said, completely not in reply to her budding suggestion. He wasn’t even looking at her. He was looking at the woman who had just walked into the coffee shop. A young blonde woman, with tight pants and high heels. Talon immediately hated her. She stepped across the store and took one of the coffees from Curt.
“Talon,” Curt gestured toward the young, hateful blonde. “This is Laurie. We’re going to the Mollycrank show tonight.”
“Oh,” was all Talon could manage to reply. Then she pulled on a smile and offered her hand. “Nice to meet you, Laurie.”
Laurie, took a sip of her coffee—not Talon’s coffee, hers—and ignored the extended hand. “You too, uh—Talon?”
Talon nodded. “Yes, Talon,” she confirmed. “It’s Native.”
“Yeeahhh,” Laurie sneered. “I didn’t ask.” She grabbed Curt’s hand. “You ready, Curty?”
Curty? Talon raised a disgusted eyebrow at her investigator.
He just shrugged back with an embarrassed smile. Then he raised his own eyebrows at Laurie’s taut figure, as if that explained everything. Unfortunately, it kind of did. Sometimes you just need a lay.
“Enjoy your evening, Curty,” Talon said. She was glad the coffee wasn’t for her. More room for another drink. A real drink. “I’ll see you Monday.”
Laurie made some further whiny entreaty and Curt acquiesced in as sickening a manner as possible. But Talon focused on packing her things as Curt and Laurie giggled their way out of the coffee shop. She slung the strap of her briefcase over her shoulder, and grabbed her empty coffee paper cup.
She walked up to the register. “Kyle,” she barked.
The barista stood up suddenly from whatever task required him to look through the cupboards under the espresso machine. “Huh? What? Oh, hi. Did you want another drink?”
She ignored the question. Instead she picked up his Sharpie and an empty cup.
‘Castle Pub,’ she wrote the name of the bar she was going to. ‘6th Ave. 7:00.’
“It’s your lucky day.” She handed him the cup. “Don’t be late.”
His wide eyes and even wider grin told her he wouldn’t be. And she had almost two hours to get buzzed before he arrived, far too eager but adequate enough for her own needs that night.
CHAPTER 10
When Monday finally rolled around, Talon was glad to get back to the office. Sunday morning had been filled with extracting herself from Kyle. Sunday afternoon and evening had been spent ignoring his texts. It was good to have something else to focus on.
“How was your weekend?” Hannah chimed, far too cheerily, as soon as Talon broke the plane of the doorway.
Talon managed a noncommittal shrug. “Good enough.” She considered for a moment. “I worked a lot.”
Hannah cocked her head and appraised Talon. “Yeah, you look like you got rode hard and put away wet.”
Talon's jaw dropped. How did she respond to that?
But Hannah kept on smiling. “Don't worry about it though. You just need a fresh week and some strong coffee.”
Coffee. Ugh. That was Talon's only regret. Not that she hooked up with Kyle. He was nice enough. He tried a little too hard and stayed a little too long, but she'd had worse dates. The only problem was that she could never, ever go back to that coffee shop.
Which really sucked because it was right around the corner and had really good coffee. Now, she'd have to go twice as far for coffee half as good.
Or maybe Hannah would.
“Can you run to Maestro's and get me a double tall mocha?” Talon asked. “Nonfat. No whip. Peppermint syrup. No, wait, raspberry.”
Hannah raised an eyebrow. “Coffee? You want me to get you coffee?”
Talon thought for a moment. On the one hand, great coffee. On the other hand, Kyle.
“Yes,” she confirmed. “Please. Coffee.”
Hannah took a moment, then popped up from her seat, smile blazing. “Alrighty then! Two coffees coming up!”
Talon’s own eyebrow raised. “Two?”
Hannah nodded. “Curt's in your office. He's been here since eight.”
Talon felt a rush of different emotions. She decided to ignore them all and smash them beneath the march to her office. When she got there, Hannah and her errand forgotten behind her, Talon stormed in to find Curt sitting in her chair, feet on her desk, and a file open across his lap. He had a pen in his mouth as he examined the contents of the file.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded, dropping her briefcase loudly on the floor. Her floor.
But Curt disregarded her tone and looked up pleasantly. “I had a thought about the Jameson case.”
Talon crossed her arms. She really hated that she liked his face so much. Especially that stupid smile of his. “Oh, really?” She tried to still sound annoyed.
“Yeah,” Curt answered. He finally put his feet back on the floor, then pointed to her computer monitor and raised the paper file in his hand. “But I couldn’t figure out your password, so I had to go old school.”
She knew that was Curt’s own Jameson file; it was thinner than hers, which was still in her briefcase anyway. “Wait, you tried to log on to my computer?”
Curt nodded. “Yeah, but I couldn’t figure out your password.” He moved the mouse so the screen lit up again. “It’s not any variation on my name. I have to admit, I’m a little hurt.”
Talon narrowed her eyes. She wasn’t that smitten with him, He was just cute. And nice. And maybe a little too cocky. Which was also cute. She decided to change the subject. Turn the tables a bit and regain control of the conversation.
“By the way, how was Laurie-skank?”
Curt jerked his gaze from the computer screen. “What?”
“Your date?” she reminded him.
Curt gave a disappointed frown. “The band was called ‘Mollycrank.’”
Talon smiled. “Who said I was talking about the band?”
“Me-ow,” Cur
t replied. He spun in her chair to face her again. “It was fine, thanks. Maybe you should try going on a date. Take the edge off a little. I think that barista may have been into you.”
Talon looked away, ostensibly to pick up her briefcase. “Not really my type,” she insisted. Before Curt could counter with a ‘What is your type?’ she stepped toward her desk. “Get out of my chair, then tell me your idea.”
Curt only hesitated for a moment. Another moment later, Talon had regained her desk and Curt was sitting across it in one of the guest chairs.
“We need to interview Michael’s brother,” he said.
Talon frowned. “That’s your great idea? We’ve already talked about that. I have to do what my client says, even if it’s stupid.”
“It’s suicidal,” Curt replied.
Talon shrugged. “Not technically, no. It won’t kill him.”
“It’ll end his life as he knows it,” Curt pointed out.
“Still not technically suicide,” she maintained. “And irrelevant. I have to follow his instructions.”
“I know,” Curt admitted.
“So your brilliant idea is to do something you know we can’t do?” Talon didn’t try to disguise the incredulity in her voice.
“No,” Curt responded with a flash of a grin. “But since we can’t do that, we need to interview someone else.”
Talon waited for more, but that seemed to be it. “Okay,” she answered. “That seems kind of obvious.”
“Someone Michael won’t object to,” Curt continued.
Talon nodded. “Again, obvious.”
“So we don’t tell him,” Curt said. “At least not until afterward.”
Talon bristled at the suggestion. But it had its appeal. They didn’t need to get Jameson’s approval on every step they took. That’s why he’d hired them: to take up the defense and do the things that needed to be done. Except blame his brother, apparently—the one strategy that might actually work.
“So if we’re not going to interview his brother,” Talon questioned, “then who do we interview?”
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