“Lance-hole is a cuntwaffle. Don’t let your coochie get all dry and shriveled over him.”
“I’ll take your advice under consideration. Now, can we please get back to work?”
“If you insist.”
“Good. Now dig up everything you can find on Noah Kinlan. And we need to find the girl who was raped behind The Line. There has to be witnesses. Maybe the ambulance drivers? Find them. Better yet, call that PI we used last time and put him on it.”
“Noah Kinlan. Are you sure you want to get into this, Em? I’ve seen nothing on a rape, and isn’t Mayor Kinlan the one who called out Senator Lott for sexual harassment?”
“Yes. And I bet if his son was caught raping some girl, he’d do whatever he could to cover it up.” I pushed open my door and climbed out of the Jag.
“Point. Okay, I’ll start digging, but you be careful out there. Oh, and be sure your gay-dar is on. If one of those strong, sexy, rough-looking bikers happens to be a big, fuzzy teddy bear, you let him know my beehive is full of honey.”
Somber prison visitors were walking past me and I tried hard not to laugh, but am quite sure I looked and sounded like a hyena having a seizure. When I finally got myself under control, I told my ridiculous assistant goodbye and headed in to meet Havoc.
* * *
Marcus (Havoc) Wilson, did not just occupy the room, he filled it. Standing about six-foot-five and weighing in around three hundred pounds, his muscular frame demanded the full attention of all four guards who led him in and handcuffed him to the table before easing out of the room. Mouth pressed into a hard line, Havoc’s gaze drifted over me, but not hungrily like Link’s. Havoc seemed more curious and amused by me.
Needing to break the ice, I gestured in the direction the guards had gone. “Looks like my reputation precedes me. Pussies.”
Havoc startled.
I needed him to feel comfortable enough to be honest with me. Shock, awe, and humor were in my wheelhouse, and I often had to whip all three out to break through to a client.
“I’m a real badass.” I flashed him a smile. “All the guards in here are afraid of me. I’m surprised one of them didn’t stay behind out of concern for your safety.”
A low rumble rose from his throat. Finally, he threw back his head, opened his mouth, and let it free. Laugh lines framed his lips and little crinkles created grooves around his eyes.
When his laughter finally died down, he said, “Link said you’d come.”
“You spoke to Link?”
“Not directly, no. But he got word to me.”
Glancing at the door, I wondered how. I, of all people, knew how difficult it could be to get a message to an inmate in this hole. “How?”
“Not my place to say.”
Tight-lipped. That would be a problem. Settling on an easier question, I asked, “How long have you known Link?”
Havoc eyed me. “What does that have to do with the case?”
I took a deep breath and looked him over. If you could get past the danger signals his very presence seemed to emit, he was a good-looking guy. Short dark hair, mustache, all kept clean and neat. Arms bigger around than my thighs, muscles everywhere, dark eyes sparkling with the slightest bit of crazy, he embodied my feelings on motorcycles: dark, dangerous, beautiful, and fun, though the ride would most likely kill you. I needed to proceed with caution, but I certainly wasn’t going to let him drive.
“Look, I’m going to be honest with you. You’re big and scary and intimidating, and the jury is going to take one look at you and decide they’d feel safer with you behind bars. My job is to convince them that you’re the type of guy they’d feel comfortable babysitting their kids or fixing their grandma’s dishwasher. Before I can do that—before Iwilldo that—I need you to convince me that you’re not some asshole who belongs in jail.”
He seemed to mull that over for a few moments before answering. “Link and I served together. Army Special Forces. He was the captain, and I was the weapons specialist.”
My familiarity of military lingo was limited to the Navy terms I’d heard my grandfather use. “You took care of the guns?” I asked, taking a stab in the dark.
“We all took care of our own guns. I blew shit up.”
It had nothing to do with the case, but I was curious. “What kind of shit?”
“Whatever they told me to blow up.”
The guy was not at all forthcoming with information. “They, as in Link?” I asked.
