“A couple of paralegals. No attorneys, though.”
Emily frowned. “How is that possible?”
“It’s Valentine’s Day,” Yvette responded sarcastically.
“I will fire you.”
“Then who’s gonna get on the phone and find you a criminal attorney?”
Emily stood and walked around her desk. “In the meantime, get me two paralegals from criminal and a car to take me to Area North.”
Though Emily didn’t practice criminal law, it didn’t take a Johnnie Cochran to tell their client to keep their mouth shut.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, Emily was stepping off a tiny, blue-painted elevator in the Area North Detective Division. She and her paralegals walked down a hall to a bustling room filled with desks and detectives.
“Can I help you?” a petite female detective asked.
Emily smiled. “Yes, I hope so. I’m looking for my client, Rebecca Ferron.”
Emily flinched, shocked when the woman yelled, “Anybody got a Rebecca Ferron?” at the top of her lungs.
A short, bald detective walked over. He narrowed his blue eyes at Emily. The fat, thin-lipped detective looked at her like he was hungry and she was a McRib.
“Hello, pretty lady.”
He was flirting as if he actually had a chance in hell with her. Emily squinted down at the shorter man.
“Do you have Rebecca Ferron in custody?” she asked.
“No, but-.”
Emily cut him off with a hand. “Then find something to do.”
She turned back to the woman, who wore a smirk as if she enjoyed seeing Emily put the detective in his place.
“Rebecca Ferron?” she repeated.
“I have Mrs. Ferron.”
Emily turned toward the voice behind her and found it belonged to an incredibly attractive man with eyes the color of jade.
“Great,” she told him. “What is she being charged with?”
The green-eyed detective shrugged.
“Don’t know yet. Waiting to hear from the State’s Attorney’s office. I’m Detective Hale, by the way.”
Unlike short, fat dude, Detective Hale was tall. He had a chiseled jaw and a head full of thick, dark hair. He was good-looking. No Angel, but good-looking nonetheless.
“I’d like to see my client.”
The detective nodded. “Right this way.”
Detective Hale led her to an interview room. He used a large key to unlock the door and opened it. Rebecca was inside, sitting on a bench, handcuffed to a steel bar connected to the bench. She was well-dressed, but her long red hair was unkept, and her blue eyes were bloodshot red. Dark eye makeup had run down her cheeks, making it clear that she’d been crying. What was clearer, she’d been beaten. Bruises peeked through her hairline, a black eye, a busted lip, and purple bruising around her neck. Emily whipped around to the detective and glared at him suspiciously.
Detective Hale’s eyes grew wide. He raised his hands defensively. “I didn’t do it,” he professed. “She came in like this.”
