White Hot

by Elise Noble

  “I do know,” Emmy said. “But, honey, it’s been over a decade. I get that it hurts like fuck, but you can’t let your past ruin your future. Hey, look at me—I had the childhood from hell, and I turned out okay.”

  I just stared at her. She grinned. I stared at her some more.

  “Emmy, you’re an assassin.”

  “Yeah, but I only kill bad people. The green shit Toby made—can you get it?”

  No doubt about it—my best friend was insane.

  I wandered over to the mini fridge by the door. Judging by the vase of tulips on the top, Bradley had struck again. I found a bottle of swampy liquid, unscrewed the lid, and sniffed.

  “Ugh! You drink this stuff?”

  It smelled like seaweed mixed with compost.

  “It’s good for me. Allegedly.” She took a mouthful and grimaced. “I must be psychic, because I’ve already spoken to Oliver. He’ll be here within the hour.”

  The only change when I got back to the kitchen was that Lyle’s coffee had gone cold. He looked like a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders, and I didn’t know whether to feel sympathetic or pissed off that he was so out of his depth with this case.

  “Help’s coming,” I told him.

  He looked up, eyes bloodshot. “What?”

  “I’ve got another attorney coming to assist you. Give you some pointers, that kind of thing.”

  “Another public defender?”

  “No, somebody who’s had more practice with trial work.”

  Lyle brightened a little. “Has he ever won a case?”

  “Yes, quite a few of them.”

  Just then, Oliver strode in. His made-to-measure suit made Lyle’s badly fitted off-the-peg number look even scruffier, hardly surprising since Oliver’s attire probably cost several months of Lyle’s salary.

  My old friend leaned down and kissed me on the cheek, and I couldn’t help smiling inside. At thirty-four, Oliver only looked better with age, and the same charisma that allowed him to command a courtroom left a trail of disappointed ladies in his wake.

  Next, he held out a hand for Lyle to shake, and the younger lawyer’s jaw dropped.

  “You’re Oliver Rhodes.”

  Oliver smirked. “Well, I guess that saves me from introducing myself.”

  “Holy crap. You’re, like, a legend.”

  “I’d like to believe I’m not old enough to be a legend.”

  “Man, you won every case you ever defended.”

  “Actually, I lost one. The third I ever tried, and not an episode I care to remember.”

  “I can’t believe you quit. You were my role model all through law school.”

  Oliver had the good grace to blush. “I’m sure you could have found someone better.”

  “No way. So, are you going to defend the Ghost?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t do trial work anymore. I’m just here to assist.”

  “Why not? You’re a mastermind in the courtroom.”

  “I felt I’d achieved everything I could. It was time to take a step back.”

  A lie, though few knew the truth. Oliver quit after defending a murderer whose victim’s family didn’t share Lyle’s admiration of Oliver’s skills in front of a jury. Oliver’s win-at-all-costs mentality meant he got his acquittal, even though he knew his asshole of a client was guilty as fuck, but the sweet taste of victory was soured by having to attend the funeral of someone he cared deeply about three months later.

  A case of mistaken identity, the cops said, but Oliver didn’t believe it. Neither did I when I was hired to investigate. A month after that, the killer’s body turned up on a building site, and Oliver’s alliance with Blackwood formally began.

  Even now, six years later, there was still a sadness in Oliver that he couldn’t quite keep hidden. It lurked just under the surface, showing up when his thoughts strayed from the present to the past. In fact, when I thought about it, Oliver reminded me a little of Ethan.

  But Lyle shook his head in disbelief at Oliver’s answer. “If I could win the way you did, I’d never quit.”

  “Then you need to learn that there’s a time to fight and a time to yield.” Oliver turned back to me. “Tell me, why am I here? Emmy sounded remarkably vague on the phone. All I know is that there’s a problem with a case.”

  “Two problems, actually. All the evidence and the defendant.”

  Oliver took a seat on the stool furthest from Lyle. “Those sound like fundamental issues.”

  “Oh, and the prosecutor’s Jay Skinner.”

  “Nothing like making it easy, is there? Go on, fill me in.”

  I gave him a brief précis of the events so far and threw in a few of my thoughts as well. Oliver took notes on a yellow pad, twirling his Montblanc fountain pen around in his fingers as he listened. While Lyle’s writing was an illegible scrawl, Oliver’s was neat and controlled, and I couldn’t help thinking their penmanship reflected their characters.

  When I’d finished, Oliver rolled his eyes. “Dan, how do you always manage to get these cases?”

  I shrugged. “Just lucky, I guess.”

  “We have to get a good look at that evidence.”

  “I know. We should have more details by Monday, and I’ve got Bay on standby.”

  Blackwood had a forensics lab at its main facility, a purpose-built complex on a sprawling estate thirty miles east of Richmond. Its director, Bayani, was a genius at spotting things that other people missed. I wanted him to go over the police reports with me, just in case anything in there could help.

  “Good.” Oliver sighed and reached for his pen once more. “In the meantime, I’ll review these files with Lyle.”

  “You need me here? I could do with catching up on my other cases.”

  “No, we’re good.”

  He said that, but when I finished my final conference call two hours later and returned, frustration showed in both attorneys.

  “But defending this case is impossible,” Lyle said.

  “Nothing’s impossible. Some things are more difficult than others, but impossible? Never. You’ve got to change your attitude. If you go into a courtroom thinking your client’s going to lose, they sure as hell will.”

  Oliver tried to conceal the exasperation in his voice, but I’d known him for too long to miss it. Part of me wished he’d take over the case. I’d even considered trying to convince him to do just that, but in the end, I’d decided against it. Quite apart from Oliver’s self-imposed courtroom embargo, I didn’t want to tip our hand to Jay yet. If Skinner thought he was up against Lyle, the chances were he might get complacent.

  Like a cute little clownfish protecting its anemone home from predators, Lyle would go through the motions of mounting a defence, but against an advancing stingray such as Jay, he wouldn’t stand a chance. Oliver was a great white shark.

  But I had to admit I shared Oliver’s frustration.

  “How am I supposed to mount a defence when my client won’t even speak to me?” Lyle asked.

  “First, you need to gain his trust, and at the same time, go through every detail of this case until you can recite them backwards in your sleep. Then you need to do the same with similar cases, so when Skinner challenges you, you can answer like that.”

  He clicked his fingers, the sharp snap a contrast to Lyle’s silence.

  “Why didn’t I become a realtor? Or a shoe salesman? Or a bartender?”

  Oliver’s expression said he wondered the same thing himself. “Because somewhere inside you is the man who wanted to stand up in court and convince a jury he was right. We just have to find him.”

  CHAPTER 12

  ON SATURDAY EVENING, I stared out my bedroom window on Riverley’s third floor, waiting for darkness to fall. I wanted to speak to Tyrone d’Angelo, seeing as he was the only person we knew White had fallen out with, and one of my contacts said he worked the night shift in a bar called The Firefly on the outskirts of Richmond. As bars went, it was only one shitty wine m
enu above a sawdust-on-the-floor joint, certainly not somewhere a dude would take a lady if he wanted a second date.

  But at least I wouldn’t look out of place in leather, my fabric of choice. For tonight, I picked an old favourite, a scuffed biker jacket Emmy had given me not long after we met. It looked a little the worse for wear now, but its battle scars told the story of my life.

  I teamed the jacket with skintight jeans and a pair of cowboy boots, a sort of unofficial uniform, plus a purse big enough to fit my Glock into. And my pepper spray and a pair of handcuffs—life’s little essentials. The handcuffs came in useful for all sorts of adventures, not just the criminal apprehension kind.

  In front of the mirror, I adjusted my boobs so the knife I’d stuffed into the front of my bra didn’t show. A touch of dark red lipstick, a swipe of mascara, and I was good to go.

  “Nice outfit,” Oliver said when I stopped by the dining room to say goodbye.

  It even got me a half smile, the equivalent of a grin from Mr. Oh-So-Serious. He and Lyle had papers spread all over the table, and a handwritten sign taped to the door said War Room. Emmy had stuck it up months ago because little dining ever got done in there.

  When Lyle caught sight of my chest, his eyebrows rose so high they could have painted the ceiling. Good. I’d made the right clothing selection.

  “Everything going okay?” I asked.

  Lyle turned bright red and mumbled something unintelligible, while Oliver rolled his eyes.

  “Brilliant. Just fucking brilliant.”

  The body shop hadn’t repaired all the panels on my Porsche yet, and being honest, I had my doubts they ever would. That meant I could take one of the pool vehicles or borrow a car from Emmy’s garage instead. I looked longingly at the keys to her Dodge Viper hanging in the lock box then opted for a company Explorer. I didn’t want to risk landing another case like this one.

  The parking lot at The Firefly was full, but as I circled, a pickup pulled out of a slot in the far corner and I shoehorned the Explorer into it. Fingers crossed it would still be there when I wanted to leave.

  Mack had sent me a photo of Ty, and he wasn’t hard to spot. The eagle tattoo covered most of one arm, and he showed that and his muscles off in a white vest, Die Hard-style. I hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

  Eyes tracked me across the dimly lit room as I walked towards the bar, and not content with staring, some of the assholes felt the need to catcall as well. I ignored them all and parked my ass on the cracked red leather of a wobbly barstool.

  By then, I had Ty’s attention too, and he raised an eyebrow.

  “Gimme a beer.”

  I didn’t plan on drinking much, and this wasn’t the sort of establishment where a girl ordered sparkling water. He slid a bottle over to me, and I passed him ten bucks.

  “Keep the change.”

  A crowd of people came in, rowdy and already well past tipsy, and fifteen minutes passed before Ty spoke to me again.

  “Haven’t seen you in here before.”

  “Never had a reason to visit.”

  “And you do now?”

  I took a swig of my drink, my hand left wet by the condensation running down the bottle. “I do.”

  He smiled, and I had to concede he wore it well. On another occasion, it would have aroused my curiosity, maybe even other things as well, but tonight was business.

  “Care to let me in on the secret?” he asked.

  “I came to talk to you.”

  His smile faded. “What about?”

  I caught myself picking at the label on my beer bottle and made myself stop. “Ethan White.”

  Now he turned ugly. “Not interested in that conversation.”

  “Ten minutes.”

  “No.”

  I reached into my pocket and took out a couple of hundred-dollar bills. Working in this place, I bet he wasn’t made of money.

  Indecision showed on his face. I added a third note.

  “Ten minutes,” he growled. “Kemal, I’m taking a break.”

  I followed Ty through a door behind the bar, into a staff area that made front-of-house look upmarket. A small office on the far side was barely big enough for the desk and chair it contained, but Ty motioned me in there and pushed the door closed. He didn’t offer me a seat, and even if he had, I wouldn’t have put myself at a disadvantage by taking it.

  “Clock’s ticking,” he said. “Who are you, anyway?”

  Might as well get straight to the point. “I’m an investigator working for White’s lawyer.”

  “I thought you were a reporter.”

  “Yeah, I get that a lot.” Not that the revelation made much difference. Ty still glowered at me. “I hear you fell out with Ethan a few months back.”

  “So what if I did?”

  “I’m trying to get a handle on what kind of person he was.”

  Ty perched on the edge of the rickety-looking desk. It creaked under his weight, and I took half a step back. I didn’t want to get my toes squashed if it gave out.

  “Ethan was a two-faced bastard, that do ya?”

  Interesting. Ty was the first person I’d come across who had anything bad to say about Ethan. An anomaly? Or was Ethan good at hiding his true colours?

  “Care to elaborate?”

  “Ethan was seeing my girlfriend behind my back.”

  Bitterness seeped through Ty’s voice, cloying and slick. Perhaps this was a new side of Ethan I hadn’t seen.

  “How do you know that?”

  “I saw them having dinner together. Some fancy Italian place. Pricey.”

  Ty spat the last part, his tone saying what his words didn’t. White went out to impress. He’d taken Ty’s girl to a restaurant Ty couldn’t afford.

  “You followed them?”

  “I got better things to do than stalk a woman.”

  “Then how did you find out?”

  “A brother of mine waits tables there. He sent me a picture.”

  Lucky or unlucky? Nobody wanted to find out about a betrayal second-hand, but better to know than to remain ignorant. I’d learned that all too well from my experience with Jay Skinner.

  “Did you confront White about it?”

  Ty’s expression said, “What do you think?” as did his snort. “He said it was just dinner. That nothing went on. But it sure didn’t look like that in the photo.

  “Have you still got it?”

  Ty scowled as he scrolled through the pictures in his phone. A minute of my allotted time passed. How many photos did this dude take? Finally, he handed it over and sure enough, there was White sitting at a table. A brunette sat opposite, their joined hands resting next to a basket of breadsticks. But for a man on a date, White looked surprisingly tense. Yes, he was smiling, but through clenched teeth, and there was a tightness around his eyes that spoke of stress.

  “See?” Ty asked.

  “Are you sure this is your girlfriend? I mean, you can only see the back of her head.”

  “Yeah, it’s her. She admitted it, and so did Ethan.”

  “You spoke to her about it? What did she say?”

  “Same as Ethan—that there was nothing going on. But you don’t take a chick out for an expensive dinner and hold her hand like that if you’re not looking for action later.”

  He had a point. At least, I thought he did. I hadn’t been on enough dates with men to be sure. For the most part, I just skipped the small talk, the dinner, the getting to know each other, and went straight to the sex. The only time I had a cosy dinner with a guy was for work, and that could involve anything from hand-holding to full-on tongue action if we needed to maintain our cover. But White was a DJ, not a secret agent, so he didn’t have that excuse.

  “And how did White react when you confronted him?”

  “Said he was sorry I was upset. That it was just dinner, not a big deal. But he knew I liked her, man. I’d been hooked on her for months. And when I called him an asshole, he just shrugged like he didn’t care.”

>   So White hadn’t got heated, even in a volatile situation? Hmm. “And your girlfriend?”

  “Oh, she yelled back. Always did have a pair of lungs on her. Told me I was overreacting and that I was the asshole for… Well, I punched Ethan.”

  “You ever consider that maybe she was right?”

  “You ever consider that maybe your mouth’s too big?”

  Ty pushed up off the table, towering six inches above me as he stood straight.

  I gave him a wink. “Most men think that’s an asset.”

  He settled back again, tension broken. “Look, he deserved that punch. There’s a code, and he broke it. I don’t need friends like that.”

  “I get where you’re coming from.” That’s what I said, but to me, it sounded as if they were both in the wrong. And I’d still only heard one side of the story. Had White’s halo really slipped, or was Ty lying to me for some reason? “What’s your girlfriend’s name?”

  “Why do you want to know?”

  “Like I said, I’m trying to build up a picture of White. Any input I can get would be useful.”

  “Well, you’re not getting hers. We might not be together anymore, thanks to that piece of shit, but I’m still not gonna let the likes of you bother her.” He checked his watch. “Ten minutes is up. Time to leave, sweetheart.”

  “I’ll pay you an extra hundred for the name.”

  “She’s not for sale.”

  When I didn’t move fast enough, Ty grabbed me by the elbow and pushed me towards the door. I nearly—so nearly—laid him out, but I took one of those deep, calming breaths Black had drilled into me and shook Ty off instead.

  “I can walk.”

  “Walk faster.”

  Jeers came as I strode through the bar, plus one offer of a date and two for a quick trip out to the parking lot. Some greasy dude shoved what I assumed was a phone number into my back pocket and narrowly escaped losing his fingers as I turned on him.

  “Get your fucking hands off me.”

  “Feisty. I like that.”

  “I bet your mouth is bigger than your balls.”

  “You wanna find out?”

  “Only if you want to lose them.”