Emily
HE WAS GOOD. Really good. Link, the president of the Dead Presidents motorcycle club had left me with two hundred dollars in my hand, a few well-placed compliments warming my cheeks, and a thirst for more information about this case… and about him. My emotions had been played, but I couldn’t even be mad because of the authentic, heart-felt concern he’d shown for his friend and the missing victim.
It was clear this was about more than getting this Havoc character out of jail. A girl had been raped, and Link wanted to see the guilty party pay. I got it. I understood his commitment to justice, because I shared it. That commitment had driven me through law school, had overwhelmed the need for a husband or family of my own, made it almost impossible to focus during my meeting, and now it had me marching to my car with a renewed sense of purpose.
Popping a bluetooth into my ear as my Jaguar purred to life, I called the office.
My assistant, Jayson, answered on the second ring, “Hello Dark Mistress, how may I assist you?”
Being only slightly more flamboyant than RuPaul, Jayson liked to change up how he addressed me based on his mood and dating situation. Although his demeanor was far from professional, he was the most competent assistant I’d ever had, and the friendship we’d managed to foster over the years kept my life far from boring.
“I take it your date with Ryan went well?” I asked.
“Oh, girl, yes. He was such a gentleman. Probably too much of a gentleman if you catch my drift. But we’ll chat about that later. How was court? Did you make Mr. Watts curl into the fetal position and cry?”
I laughed and pulled out of the parking garage. “Maybe a little.”
“I wish I could have been there. I’ve gotten a ton done today, though. The files you asked for on the Minor case are on your desk, and I was finally able to get in touch with Miranda Hepner. You have a meeting booked for tomorrow at ten, and I’m counting on you to give that skanky little ho hell for not returning my calls. I know she’s pissed because I don’t feel the love connection, but she treated me like a telemarketer, Em. You need to remind her that I’m not her new gay bestie, but the assistant to the most powerful attorney in the city and the bitch better take my calls. Next time she dodges me, I’m liable to head to her office and rip out her nasty weave.”
Miranda Hepner was an attorney I sometimes teamed up with. Apparently, she was lonely, because she’d latched onto Jayson the instant she saw his trendy outfit and immaculate manicure, insisting she needed a gay shopping buddy or a token gay friend, or something. When he’d turned her down, she’d immediately gone catty, dodging his calls and having him deal with her assistant, who kept insisting Miranda’s calendar was full.
“Noted. I shall remind her that you are not to be trifled with unless she’s ready to try a new hairstyle. Any messages?”
“Your grandma called. Last night’s windstorm knocked down part of her fence, so I’m reading reviews in search of a fence repair person who doesn’t take advantage of the elderly to put it back up for her.”
My parents had died in a car crash when I was thirteen, and my grandparents had taken me in and raised me. Grandpa had handled everything around the house until two years ago, when he’d joined my parents in the great beyond. Grandma was all the family I had left, and she wasn’t much of a handyman. Neither was I, so now I paid people to fix anything that broke.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” I told him as I stopped for a light.
“You’d die. Clearly. Lance-hole sent flowers again. Daffodils this time. And a pretty little tennis bracelet. Note says he wants to take you out to dinner and talk things through, but I don’t know. This doesn’t say I’m-sorry-you-caught-me-banging-a-client to me. Call me crazy, but I don’t think the asshat even feels bad. I mean how hard can it be to write ‘sorry I screwed up’?”
Gifts were as close as my ex, Lance, had ever come to admitting his role in the collapse of our relationship, but the image of him screwing another woman was permanently burned into my retinas. No gift could fix that. Turning into the King County Adult Detention Center, I parked and cut my engine. “Send the daffodils to Grandma and find a charity to donate the tennis bracelet to. Maybe something for rape victims.”
“With pleasure. Although… why do I get the feeling there’s a reason you want to donate to rape victims? You take on a new case?”
I had a habit of throwing money at causes relating to my cases. In January, I’d donated to a couple of small businesses while defending a store owner who shot an armed robber. Two weeks ago, I’d donated to foster kids while defending one who’d stabbed his foster brother out of self-defense.
“Maybe. What do you know about Noah Kinlan?” I asked.
I heard the clicks of Jayson’s keyboard.
“He’s out of ICU, but still in the hospital. Says here that some big African-American biker jumped him outside of a bar downtown. Broke a few ribs, caused some internal bleeding. They caught the biker and locked him up on attempted murder charges. Bail’s set at five hundred thousand. Why?”
“The president of the biker’s motorcycle club approached me today. His name is Link, and the club is called Dead Presidents. Claims Noah was raping a girl and that’s why Havoc attacked him. I need you to look into this.”
“Havoc. Link. These guys sound hot and scary. The Dead Presidents, huh? That rings a bell for some reason.” More keyboard clicking. “Oh yeah. That’s the motorcycle club we donated to over Christmas. They were buying toys for the children of fallen soldiers. There’s a few articles about them, but everything looks positive. Lots of charity work.”
“No trouble with the law?”
“Just a rivalry between their softball teams. Oh, wait. What do we have here? Hello hot stuff. Why didn’t you tell me Link was yummy?”
‘Yummy’ didn’t even begin to describe him. Gathering up my briefcase, I thought about the jean and leather donning hottie who’d gotten me all twisted up inside. He was tall with intense, lust-filled dark eyes that both put me on edge and heated my blood. His muscular, tattooed arms stretched out the short sleeves of his T-shirt. He carried himself with an air of authority and confidence that assured me he could handle whatever, whenever, and the fact he hadn’t been the least bit intimidated by me made him all the hotter.
“He’s very… intense.”
“That sounds promising. Please tell me he’s currently in possession of your panties.”
I laughed. “Nope. My panties are on my ass, right where they belong. I told you, I’m done with all that mess.”
