Lethal Intent

by Cara C. Putman

  He barely shifted as he watched her over his fingers. “I’m trying to decide what to do.”

  “About what?” She poised her pen to take notes, but he shook his head.

  “This isn’t a take-notes meeting.”

  She set her pen down and waited.

  “Did you know Sarah Hill killed herself?”

  “No, sir. I never had the chance to meet her.”

  “You would have liked her. She was smart, always pushing for more, but I just can’t reconcile that she killed herself. Before she died, she came to me, excited about something she was seeing in a potential subject’s pretrial workup.” He shook his head. “I just don’t see how someone that excited would turn around and end her own life.”

  “Police are certain it was suicide?”

  “Seem to be, though it’s hard to believe.” He sighed and there was a slump to his shoulders that mirrored the echo of grief in his words. “Any chance you know an attorney or officer who can dig a bit?”

  “Not really. I’m sorry, but we did civil law at the court.”

  “Understand.” He sighed as his phone rang and he reached for it. “I needed to ask. One more thing.” He pulled an envelope from a file. “We received this last week. I want you to handle it. Make it go away.”

  Caroline took the envelope that was emblazoned with an attorney’s letterhead. “What is it?”

  “A demand letter of some sort.” He waved a hand as if it was nothing. “It’s related to something from Genetics for You.”

  “The old genetics testing arm?”

  “Right. Do an investigation, but don’t let it become a distraction.”

  “When does it need a response?”

  “Sometime next month.”

  “All right.”

  He didn’t seem concerned, so she’d follow his lead. His phone rang again, and he waved her from the room.

  Caroline walked to her office and set the envelope in her top drawer before she collected her bag and purse. She’d read it first thing in the morning, but right now she had to scoot. Tonight was dinner with the girls, and she needed it. She glanced at her phone and grimaced as she read the text from Brandon.

  Meet me for dinner?

  Oh, Brandon. She leaned against her car and typed a quick reply.

  Not tonight. Il Porto with gals.

  She hit Send and then climbed into her car. The three dots waved on the message, letting her know he was responding. He had so much weighing on him, and she didn’t know how to help.

  guys meeting for basketball at nine. come watch?

  She wrinkled her nose at the thought of spending a Wednesday night in a smelly gym watching guys chase each other up and down the court. Brandon moved with the grace of someone who’d spent years playing defensive back in the National Football League, making him kind of fun to watch.

  Let me see when dinner ends.

  I bet some of the gals will head this direction.

  She smiled. Maybe. Try not to get hurt.

  I won’t if you’re there.

  Nice try.

  I always try.

  And I appreciate that about you, but if I don’t quit texting I’ll be late for dinner, and that definitely means no basketball.

  i’ll let you go. see you tonight. He included a thumbs-up emoji.

  Crazy man had ignored everything she’d texted, but she couldn’t help smiling as she pulled out of the parking lot.

  Chapter 14

  Since she’d made it her job to set up reservations, Caroline always wanted to be the first to arrive for the monthly dinner of her gal pals from law school. Then she could ensure everything was perfect before her friends arrived. It hadn’t been too long ago that Hayden had announced her engagement by flashing a beautiful ring around. With the way her friends’ lives were developing, she wouldn’t be surprised if more announcements like that were on the way.

  But for announcements to be made, she had to get there. Most weeks that wasn’t a problem.

  Tonight she wasn’t going to make it there first since traffic from Tysons Corner headed toward the District was clogged. She should have hopped on 495 and skirted the Beltway but had opted for the more direct route. Someday she’d learn the ins and outs of her new commute.

  Instead, she tried to be patient while listening to a podcast.

  It wasn’t working.

  Her friends had grounded her through the highs and lows of law school. Now they supported each other through life’s merry-go-round experiences. She couldn’t imagine doing life without them. Her study group gals were overachievers in poured-out living. Hayden McCarthy used her legal skills to help an immigrant family whose son had been murdered while detained by the government. Then she’d turned that experience into volunteer work with her fiancé’s nonprofit, which helped immigrant children adapt to the United States. Emilie Wesley had devoted years of her legal practice to working with domestic violence victims, while Jaime Nichols had tackled her dark past by confronting her abusive uncle in a public forum. Jaime continued to represent criminal defendants because she was committed to the ideal that everyone deserved an adequate defense. With Savannah Daniels, the woman who continued mentoring all four of them after their law school graduation, these women were Caroline’s closest friends.

  She sighed with relief when Il Porto’s white-painted brick building with burgundy shutters finally came into view down King Street. It sat proudly on the corner of a busy intersection that Caroline circled a couple of times while she searched for street parking. Finally she gave up and found a spot in the underground lot near the city building. Once on foot she waited for a car to pass, tires spinning as if the driver had something to prove, before crossing the street.

  Her stomach unknotted as she opened the door and the rich aroma of fresh Italian food enveloped her. Tonight she needed the comfort food as much as she needed the time with friends who knew her and loved her still.

  A voice at the back of her mind asked how much they really knew, but she ignored it as she passed the hostess stand and her heels echoed against the red tile floor. She was more transparent with them than anyone else in her life, other than Brandon.

  There was something about the atmosphere of the restaurant, with its heavy beamed ceiling and textured walls, that made her feel she’d stepped into old-world Italy, and she could take a full breath. It had become a visceral and immediate response after so many years of good, fellowship-filled meals within its walls.

  As she crossed the room, Caroline spotted her friends around a cozy table in the corner. That would be their spot as long as they wanted to stay, the waitstaff used to their periodic binges on great Italian food and friendship. She worked her way toward it past tables covered in red-checked or green-checked tablecloths.

  As she neared the table, Emilie Wesley smiled small, yet it conveyed her pleasure at seeing Caroline. Hayden Wesley, now related to Emilie through marriage to her cousin Andrew, stood and wrapped Caroline in a firm hug. It was the kind that didn’t let go, as if Hayden took seriously the research that everyone needed more twenty-second hugs. Normally Caroline was the one giving the squeezes, but she let herself relax into it.

  “Sorry I’m late, y’all. Traffic was, well, traffic.”

  Hayden laughed. “I think you’re entitled to get caught in traffic once in a while.” As Hayden pulled back, she eyed Caroline as only a big sister would. “You okay?”

  “It’s been a week already.” She could amend that to month, but why muddy the waters of her life?

  “Sounds like you have a story to tell.” Emilie gestured to the seat across from her. “Sit and grab a piece of bread while we wait for the other two. Then you’ll be fortified to explain what you mean.”

  “It’s not quite that easy.”

  “But it can be.” Emilie gestured again, and Caroline took off her trench coat and eased onto the chair. “What’s going on?”

  “It’s probably just the strain of a new job. I like the work, but there’s
an urgency to it that’s new.”

  Hayden nodded. “That’s not unusual with entrepreneurs. It’s all scramble to stay ahead of the curve, whether it’s funding or product development. They have to have a certain amount of reckless drive or they won’t survive.”

  A commotion at the front grabbed her attention, and she waited for Savannah Daniels and Jaime Nichols to join them. Savannah had been her mentor since the first day of law school orientation. Then Jaime had been the last to join their small study pod at the end of the first semester. They were a big reason Caroline had felt at home at George Mason. While the most private of the group, Jaime had somehow completed it. Thanks to these women, Caroline had thrived. Not bad for the gal who’d practically camped out in the dean’s office and begged to be admitted. She’d known the only way she’d survive was to pick her friends carefully. She was grateful God had helped her collect these women.

  She thrust off the burden of work to push to her feet and squeal as she welcomed Savannah and Jaime with hugs. She grinned at Jaime. “Do you miss me?” Caroline had camped on Jaime’s futon for a few months while her former apartment was being renovated. When the renovations went on for months, she gave up and moved to a new complex.

  “You kidding? My apartment is so much bigger without you, though I’m sure you’re glad to have your own place again.” Jaime grimaced as she eased from Caroline’s hug. “Rhett misses you spoiling him. He’d welcome you back in an instant.”

  “Tell him I miss him too.” The feline reflected his owner in so many ways that Caroline had counted it a win when he voluntarily climbed onto her lap one day.

  After a round of hugs, the gals settled at the table and placed crisp white linen napkins in their laps. Savannah smiled like a proud mama, even though she was barely ten years older than Caroline.

  The waiter approached the table in his black pants and white shirt covered with a gold and black vest. A few minutes later he left with the standard orders. Capellini primavera for Jaime, lasagna for Hayden, and an uber-healthy salad for Emilie. Savannah ordered the gnocchi, and Caroline randomly selected the alfredo with shrimp. At least one of them had to keep the waiter on his toes.

  The moment he walked away, Emilie turned the attention to Caroline. “Tell us what’s going on. You’re not usually on edge.”

  That observation testified to how deeply she was feeling the strain at work. “Work is good. Just trying to keep up.” She inhaled. “Brandon is a heavy investor in Praecursoria.”

  Savannah dipped a piece of her bread in the olive oil. “Did you know that when you took the job?”

  “No. I don’t know if I would have taken the job knowing that.”

  Jaime smirked. “Of course you would have. You needed work, and this can be intellectually stimulating without the pressure of trials.” Leave it to Jaime to see the world in such black-and-white terms.

  “True, but it’s not that simple now that I know Brandon’s a stockholder.”

  “Yes, it is. There’s a right and a wrong.” Jaime pulled the bread basket closer. “Stay on the right side and it’s easy.”

  “Says the defense attorney.” Caroline blew out a breath. “Sorry. But what’s the right side here? It’s not like talking about Praecursoria is a violation of attorney-client privilege.”

  Emilie’s words were quiet. “No, it’s just insider trading.” She’d understand, having an uncle who was a US senator.

  “Textbook insider trading is clear. Don’t say anything about what’s happening inside the company to someone who could use that information to make a profit. But now that I’m in the middle of it, it’s murkier.”

  Hayden swirled her straw through her glass. “It doesn’t have to be complicated. You just can’t talk about work.”

  “Which is why I’m dodging Brandon’s calls. He’s going to notice and get hurt.”

  “You don’t have to stop communicating with him. He’s your boyfriend.”

  Jaime leaned back and crossed her arms. “A boyfriend who’s invested a pot of gold in her employer. Yep, you’ve got a pickle there.”

  “Definitely not making me feel better, Jaime.”

  Hayden swallowed a bite of bread. “What’s the worst thing that happens?”

  Caroline wrinkled her nose. “Brandon quits on me because I can’t let him into my work.”

  Emilie shook her head. “That’s not going to happen.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Half of his calls with Reid are about you.”

  Hayden shrugged. “So, the next worst-case scenario?”

  “Hayden, why are you pushing me on this?”

  “Fears lose their weight when they’re brought to the light, so let’s get it all out there.”

  Caroline huffed. “Fine. I’ll have to choose between Brandon and my job.”

  “You’ll be out of a job.”

  The gals laughed but Caroline didn’t see the humor. “Why’s that funny?”

  “Let’s put it in context. You have an emergency fund, right?” Hayden arched a brow at her as if there was only one correct answer. “So you can leave in an instant if you had to?”

  “Not anymore.” When she’d moved to her new complex, the additional parking fees and moving expenses had seriously cut into her savings. Savannah had stayed quiet, but Caroline turned to her. “What should I do?”

  “You stand firm and don’t tell Brandon anything that could get him in trouble. Gloss over what you do at work. It’s not like you told him details when you clerked. Stay vigilant. If you compromise once, it’s easier to do it again in the future.” Savannah’s advice was sound, but Caroline knew it wouldn’t be easy.

  “I’ll do my best.” It was all she could do. “It doesn’t help that one of our trial participants is one of his foster kids.”

  Savannah nodded. “That isn’t easy, but you have to know who you are and who you want to be. These small decisions add up to who you’ll be in the end.”

  “No pressure.” Caroline tried to smile, but couldn’t push it to the surface, as she pushed the plate filled with bread crumbs to the side. “I’ll figure it out.”

  “Let’s have dinner at your apartment soon.” Jaime grinned as Caroline nodded. “It’ll give us all a chance to see your new place.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Next week?”

  Hayden shook her head. “I’ll be out for a conference until Memorial weekend.”

  “June then. First Friday?”

  Everyone agreed and the conversation moved on, but Caroline’s mind stayed put. How exactly could she not talk with Brandon about how she spent ten to twelve hours of every day?

  * * *

  When Brandon arrived at the YMCA, the basketball gym was mostly empty but carried the aroma of a million basketball games. On the far court a few men played a pickup game, shoes squeaking against waxed wood, the sound ricocheting off the walls and high ceilings.

  Brandon tossed his duffel onto one of the bleachers and sat, then pulled his basketball shoes from the bag. Someone who hadn’t lived and slid on the football field might not understand the importance of having the right shoes, but his trunk held shoes of all athletic types ready to be pulled out for the right moment and setting. A hand clapped on his back, and he jerked forward, almost eating his knees. He finished tying his shoe as he wrenched around to scowl at whoever had tried to knock his teeth out.

  Reid Billings. Payback for all the times Brandon had done the same thing to his friend. He mock frowned as he finished double-knotting his right shoe, then stood to give his financial adviser a man-hug. “How’s my fund looking?”

  “It’s good. It’ll look better when Praecursoria gets product out of trials to market.”

  “How much longer? I really need the payday.”

  “That’s above my pay grade. My understanding is this can take years.”

  Brandon rolled his eyes at the idea that the man who was second in command at a private investing firm even had a pay grade. “Can you che
ck for me?”

  “Sure. We’ve got an inside source now.”

  “Hey.” Brandon held up his hands. “I don’t want insider trading tips.”

  Reid frowned as he pulled off his battered GAP sweatshirt, one he must have had since his undergrad days, and then started a ridiculous combination of calisthenics that looked more like Pilates hocus-pocus than real stretches. “It’s like I told you when I mentioned the company. These things are a gamble. If they take off, the return can be incredible. But getting to that point is always risky.” He studied Brandon with a practiced air. “You seemed okay with the risk then.”

  “I was. I still am.” He stood. “Thanks again for running the numbers for me. It gives me a good idea of what I can do.”

  “Glad to help. Do you think the house parents will agree to the switch?”

  “I hope so.” It would be a big switch though. “Right now they’re my employees. If we make the move, they’ll be the ones answering to the state’s caseworkers.” He did a few small stretching twists. “If I think the process is fluid, they might too. I just hope they hang in there for the kids. The ironic thing is, Family First increases requirements but doesn’t require states to increase funding to cover the costs. That will affect the parents if we switch models.” He rubbed his hands over his head quickly a couple times, then pulled his personalized basketball from his duffel. “I may not be the smartest guy here”—Reid had that title until David Evans showed up, if he did—“but I know talking won’t change a thing.”

  “What’s your next step?”

  “A meeting with the house parents. See if they’ll agree. Wish I had a huge slush fund so I could help them out more. No one warned me how fast my football pay could evaporate.”

  “Hey, I tried.”

  “Not that old song again. I also want to develop a better system for finding my kids permanent homes. The ultimate goal is still to find them forever homes where they’ll be adopted.” Brandon palmed the ball and stood as the emotional weight pressed against him. “Let’s get some shots in while we wait for the others.”