by Kate Young
“Describe the vehicle.”
I did, and Quinn took notes.
“Did the gang member describe the man who offered to pay them?”
Quinn snorted. “He tried. He claims he was under the influence at the time of the encounter, and no one else at the bar talked. The bartender says too many people came in that night. He hasn’t a clue. And his security cameras haven’t worked in months.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Because he gets kickbacks from the drug being distributed freely in his bar?”
“That’s what Atlanta PD suspects.”
My thoughts whirled, and I wondered about the only person I knew who had acted oddly both around me and at the time of my attack. I wasn’t big into believing in coincidences. I grabbed my laptop from my bag and pulled up the recording.
“What are you thinking?”
I explained about LJ being at the hospital, how he’d seemed so concerned about Harper but how convenient it would be for him to remove her from the picture now that his father was deceased. I turned the laptop around when I had the clip ready.
Quinn moved closer and zoomed in, watching as LJ attempted to prevent Charles from helping me. His jaw clenched.
“It makes me wonder why he’d do something like that,” I said. “My first thought now is that perhaps he doesn’t want Cousins helping Harper with the case. Perhaps he orchestrated the attack to dissuade me?” As I said it out loud, I realized that I had no evidence of my claim. “I have nothing concrete to back that up. I don’t know.” I rubbed my forehead. “Perhaps he simply doesn’t like me.” I shrugged. “He drives a newer Lexus.” I dropped my hand. “I guess I’m stumped.”
“Are you? Why?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. Harper seems to trust LJ, and he did contact me when she was arrested.” I couldn’t go into it further without perhaps leading the cops to Charles. If he indeed had information to help her case, I wanted to get to him before the prosecution did. If anything, my insinuations about LJ might lead the police to investigate him. That could be good for Harper.
Quinn locked his eyes on me. I could see he’d begun to have his doubts about Harper’s guilt. Or maybe I simply hoped that was true. “I’ll have a word with young Mr. Richardson. I’ll also speak to Calvin about combing your company accounts. Perhaps you pissed someone off. I can imagine you aren’t the most popular with client’s husbands or ex–business partners.” He closed the laptop.
“No, I guess not.”
“I told the officer in charge of the investigation I’d liaise with him. Save him the trip out here when I can. They’ll be sending over the sketch, and I’ll have them send over a mugshot of the gang member in custody.”
“Good.”
“Anyone off the top of your head stand out? Any profiles?” He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, staring at my laptop sitting on the table in front of him.
“Hmm. The ‘unhappy enough to attack me’ profile?” I shook my head. “Can’t say that anyone does.”
He pushed the laptop over to me, and I pulled it into my lap, guarding the screen against Quinn’s prying eyes. I did a quick scroll through the client database to see if something stood out to me, feeling a tad guilty that I’d used my attack to steer the prosecution toward another potential suspect in the Richardson investigation. I wracked my brain, trying to think of any blatantly unhappy people.
A few clients had some disgruntled exes, but nothing that would cause such an extreme reaction. I closed my laptop. And certainty began to resonate about my suspicions of LJ and how they seemed the most relevant. Perhaps the cases were linked. I trusted my gut instincts, so I replied, “Nope. Nothing stands out. I’ll have to speak to Calvin. Maybe he remembers something I don’t.”
“Okay. But if something comes to you later, give me a call. Anyone that gives you pause, we’ll check out.” Quinn rubbed the back of his neck; his telltale sign that he warred with what to believe.
“If the perp doesn’t wake up or dies, then what happens next?” I feared that even if he didn’t wake up, that might not be the end of this.
Quinn dropped his hand. “We’ll have to see where the case takes us. He attacked you, and Charles’s punch wasn’t fatal, so he’s in the clear. It was when the perp pulled a knife on the arresting officer that he sustained serious injury. It was justified. No one is raising a stink about his condition. I suspect nothing will happen in that respect.”
“I guess I owe Charles many thanks. If he hadn’t attacked the guy, he might not have stopped with just the taser.” A full body shudder overtook me at the thought Spider might have begun working on me with a knife. My stomach started to revolt against the coffee and bagel I’d had a little while ago.
“You look a little green. Want a washcloth, or do you need to dash to the bathroom?” Quinn looked unsure of what to do for me.
“Maybe just hand me the ice pack over there.” I pointed to the bar, when a knock came from the front door. “I wonder who that is.” I began to rise.
“You stay put. Maybe you shouldn’t go out just yet today. Did the doctor give you any discharge instructions from the hospital?”
“Just to take ibuprofen, I’m not taking the prescription anymore. It knocks me out cold. They did provide me with the glorious ice packs.”
Quinn grabbed the pack off the counter and brought it to me just as the knock came with more urgency. “Here. I’ll get the door.”
I guess my furrowed brow alluded to the intensely dull ache that began inside my confused brain. “Thank you.” The coolness soothed my brow, and my lids closed. I heard the door open and a deep voice say, “What are you doing here? Where’s Lyla?”
“She’s resting.”
Low rumbling noises—words that I couldn’t make out—came next.
I moved the pack and shifted higher on the sofa to see Brad and Quinn inches from each other. Oh boy!
“Hey fellas, let’s not do anything we’ll regret, okay. We’re all on the same side.”
Brad moved past Quinn; his eyes were heated. The words they’d exchanged hadn’t been kind ones. They softened when they landed on me. I adored my no-nonsense man. He didn’t mince words, nor did he care for people who did. He crossed the room toward me and knelt beside the sofa, leaning in to kiss me lightly, briefly, on the cheek. “Are you okay?”
“Fine.” I lifted the pack from my head and showed him my ugly yellow and purple knot.
He winced. “Ouch. I called your cell a dozen or more times.”
“I called you back and left you a voicemail last night.”
“That was last night.” Brad wasn’t happy.
“I was about to call you again today but got distracted with the case. I’m sorry.” I smiled sweetly and hoped he’d understand.
Quinn cleared his throat. “The missed calls would have been my fault. I didn’t want it ringing off the hook while she was in the ER. She had enough to deal with, so I switched it to silent mode.”
Brad cast an irritated glance in Quinn’s direction, and I put the pack down and got up.
Brad took me by the shoulders. “No concussions or any other injuries?” Aww. He cares.
“No. I told you I was fine in the voicemail. Don’t start fussing. All I have is this bump. And after seeing the footage of the attack, I’m more humiliated than anything else.”
“Who’s handling the case?”
Quinn answered for me, giving Brad the name and that he was liaising for the Atlanta PD.
“I know a couple of guys in that department. I’ll give them a call.”
“No need. I’m handling it.” Quinn leaned against the counter, and his phone chirped.
Brad studied Quinn. His face took on a serious expression, his little too-close-together eyes narrowing just slightly. Rugged and unique was something I hadn’t known I’d be attracted to until I’d met him during the Dumping Grounds investigation last year. Yes, he was so different from the other men I’d dated. Unlike the other men who had
been in my life, Brad didn’t concern himself with the idea that I was too fragile to deal with the criminal justice system’s nitty-gritty details.
“They think someone paid the Spider guy to attack me,” I told Brad, and then relayed what I’d told Quinn earlier regarding the black sedan. Quinn showed Brad the mugshot. “His street name is Spider.”
While Brad stared at the image on the screen, he asked, “What did he shout? I couldn’t make that out from the video.”
Oh, I couldn’t believe I’d left that out of the voicemail. I’d been really out of it. “‘Strike at the shepherd.’” It still made no sense to me, and I wondered if it had been a statement to throw me off the correct trail.
The two men stared at each other, and I rose and crossed the room.
Brad handed the phone back to Quinn. “The shepherd as in the religious meaning?”
“We’re not sure. Lyla and her uncle have ruffled a few feathers. The thousand dollars isn’t steep and—”
“Yeah, I get it—not hit money, but it’s the right price for street grunt work.”
“Exactly. I’ll keep you in the loop.” Quinn stared me straight in the face, aware that Brad watched intently. “Lyla, I’ve got to run. I’ll call you when I have something more. Be careful until we know for sure what we’re dealing with. Call me if you think of anything.” He lowered his tone, softening his gaze as if Brad weren’t even in the room. “And take care of yourself.”
Oh Lord. I frowned at him, showing my disproval as I moved toward Brad. “I will.”
Brad wrapped a protective arm across my shoulders and said in no uncertain terms, “Don’t underestimate her, Daniels. She’s a lot more capable than you give her credit for. I have complete confidence in her.”
I gazed up at Brad, who pointed his glare at Quinn. Swoon-worthy.
Chapter Twenty
“I can’t get anyone to open the door,” I told Mr. Jenkins the next morning as I parked my car across the street from the office. I’d run by the Richardson home, but no one answered the door. People were home; I saw the cars in the driveway. They simply had no interest in speaking with me. I’d left my card.
“I’m not surprised. No one in the family, other than LJ, is interested in cooperating with the defense, and he’s at work today. Besides, I have another matter to talk over with you.”
“Okay.”
“Mrs. Richardson’s assets have been frozen by the courts as of this morning. I’m in discussions with a benefactor who has expressed interest in helping out with some of the costs. Until that is sorted out, Harper seemed to believe you would be able to accommodate. I’m hoping to have the funds before the retainer is depleted.”
Pro bono work was something I’d prepared for and thought through. “This benefactor?” I cringed, thinking about the insinuation from the reporters involving Mother. Piper got her information somewhere, and she has been correct about me. “Is it someone from Sweet Mountain or her old hometown?” I watched as a single yellowish-red leaf danced across my windshield before wedging beneath the wiper.
“I’m not at liberty to divulge that information at this time. If it changes, I’ll pass the information along. And in the spirit of full disclosure, I’ve encouraged Mrs. Richardson to consider a plea formally. It’s up to you if you’d rather not do this. I’m doing my job. I work for Mrs. Richardson.”
Uncle Calvin would not be happy about pro bono work. Especially with what had transpired in front of the hospital and the possible link between the cases. But it technically wasn’t a pro bono case yet, and perhaps it wouldn’t be. And if it did become such a case, I’d work it on my own time if I had to. The link only made me more determined. There shouldn’t be any travel costs, except maybe if the case took us to North Carolina—though I did believe most work could be enacted online and over the phone. And I could stretch the retainer if we needed to send Stephen, our part-time man.
“As I said at the hospital, I’m invested in helping Harper clear her name. I’m surprised you’re going the extra mile, especially after your insistence that she take a plea deal.”
“I’m out to do the very best for my client, whatever that looks like. I’ll let Mrs. Richardson know of your decision.”
“Okay, bye.”
Mr. Jenkins confused me. He did seem more eager to fight for Harper than he had earlier. Perhaps the possibility of the influx of cash played a role in the change. I’d have to broach the subject with Calvin later today. Piper came darting around several parked cars the next morning as I waited to cross the street to my office. Wow, she must have dropped everything she had planned for the day and flown over here after I called. She called my name several times, but I ignored her, pretending not to hear her. I wanted her eager to speak to me, not thinking I needed her for information.
I had my key in the office door when she finally caught up to me. “Morning, Piper. I’m surprised to see you so early.” I smiled. “Pleased, but surprised.”
“Good morning. I was able to move some things around to accommodate your requested meeting.” She smiled and tucked behind her ear a few strands of her dark shiny hair, styled straight as a board today but getting windblown. “How are you feeling?” Her perfume overwhelmed my senses, forcing me to stifle a cough.
I studied her for a second as I unlocked the door. She didn’t seem to be holding a grudge. “I’m fine. Thank you for asking, and thank you for making time for me.” I pushed open the door, flipped on the lights, and headed straight for the coffeepot.
“No problem. I also wanted to apologize for the other day at the police department. My editor was up my ass about getting the scoop before one of the larger media outlets did.” She sighed. “I’m just like you. A woman who’s trying to make a career out of what she loves to do.”
“I’m sorry too. I didn’t mean to behave so childishly.” I held up a cup of coffee in offering. “Coffee?”
“Please.” She made herself at home by taking a seat in front of my desk. She crossed her legs and smiled. “Tell me what I can do for you.”
“Just thought we should clear the air.”
“I’m all for clearing the air.” Piper glanced around. “This is a nice office.”
“Thanks.” I adored the fifteen-hundred-foot functional space. We had exposed brick walls with painted tan columns. The ceiling, we’d painted black, to hide the exposed ductwork and beams. The floors were original hardwood, and we’d hired a feng shui consultant to help design the space when I came on board. I’d hung up some abstract art for color and added a couple of large floor plants to bring in life.
Usually, the energy in the office lifted my mood and made me more productive. Today, not so much. My mind continued to be haunted by the ghoulish sight of Leonard Richardson and of the man called Spider who’d attacked me. I was also still worried about who might be helping Harper as her benefactor. Not that I’d share any of that with Piper Sanchez.
She tapped her acrylic nails together. “Clearing the air could be healthy. And in doing so, maybe we could help each other.”
I turned to face her. “How?”
She raised a shoulder. “I could offer some information that might help with your case, and you could allow an on-the-record interview.” She raised her hands to stave off any objections. “Not about the Harper Richardson case, but about the attack on you in Atlanta. I’m thinking of a businesswoman’s view of crime in the state. Tell your story of the attack.”
A little quid pro quo was precisely what I wanted. Still, I didn’t want to appear too eager to leap. “There’s honestly no side to tell. I saw the footage; it’s all there.” I allowed a slight slump to my shoulders. “You were there, and I know you’ve watched the footage too. Everyone has.” The Keurig finished brewing. “How do you take yours?”
She gave a sympathetic smile. “Black, please. There is a story. There’s always a story. How did you feel when the man grabbed you? What did he say? How does the attack affect your day-to-day life? Why not get it on the
record with me and your hometown paper rather than see some fabrication splattered all over the Atlanta papers.”
“I don’t know.” I placed the mug on my desk’s edge in front of her, then put another pod in the machine. “They caught the guy, and that’s good.”
“Yes, that is good. But …” Piper let the word linger for a few seconds. “I did see the footage and read the piece the Atlanta Constitution wrote, and it wasn’t very flattering now, was it? There’s a rumor that someone paid that guy to enact the crime. And what might have transpired if Charles hadn’t intervened?” She took a sip from the mug as I settled behind my desk, and I realized she had a source in the Atlanta PD offices. “It painted you as a non-vigilant female, not as the competent businesswoman you are. Have they reached out to you?”
“The police or the paper?”
“The paper.”
I shrugged a shoulder. I didn’t think anyone had. But there could be voicemail waiting for me, and if that were true, a visit would soon follow. But I had no intention of revealing that I hadn’t read the article Piper referenced. I simply waited. She wanted something from me badly, and the onus was on her to work for it, leaving me able to ask for whatever I wanted in return.
Piper cleared her throat and placed the mug on the desk. “Just consider it. I want people to get to know the real Lyla Moody. Private investigator Lyla Moody.” Piper leaned forward. “The self-made, fearless woman who, by doing her job, rattled a few cages that landed her in the hot seat.” She took her phone out of her brown leather bag. “We can take a few shots. What you’re wearing is perfect today.” She smiled approvingly at my designer brown pencil skirt, cream top, and brown jacket.
I sipped my coffee and stared over my mug at her. “I’m not agreeing to anything. Yet.”
Piper made a noncommittal noise. “Is this about Quinn? Seriously, if you want him, you can totally have him.”
“No,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “This is not about Quinn.” Gran’s statement about Piper’s discarded men rang true here. She was ready to dump Quinn for a story. Wow.