She hears the protest but insists. “Try.”
“That’s it? How’s that going to help with Judge Cashion?”
“One, it’s the right thing to do. Two, I guarantee Charlotte’s going to ask the wife if he apologized. If the answer is anything other than yes, he’s toast.”
Ellie taps out a note to herself on her phone. “Anything else?”
Before the junior lawyer turns to leave, she adds, “And Ellie?”
“Yeah?”
“Get your the client the very best deal you can. Then cut him loose.”
“Fire him?”
“Yep.”
“He’s one of your clients.”
“In that case, I’ll gladly fire him myself. But I imagine you want to do the honors.”
Ellie nods. “I’d love to.”
They grin at one another for beat before Ellie walks out into the hall, closing the door softly behind her.
She sips her coffee and considers the envelope for a long moment. There’s no return address on the label, which means it’s from the Lighthouse. She’s just received her next mission.
Finally, she plucks her letter opener from her pen holder, slices the package open, and removes a novel. A glossy hardcover. A black silhouette on a red background. The title in bold yellow, The Payback. The author’s name in white, a much smaller font. Caleb Rye.
Never heard of him. But the name fits. A guy called Caleb Rye wouldn’t be your dentist or your mechanic. He’s a writer.
She flips the book open and reads the description on the inside front cover. The Payback is a propulsive thriller that will keep her on the edge of her seat with twists she’ll never see coming. She turns the book upside down and shakes it over her desk. No note falls out from between its pages. She reads the back cover copy, breathless praise from other authors about how the book transcends the genre. The inside back cover has a black and white photo of the author. Young, white. Hair just a little too long to be corporate, glasses just a touch too scholarly to be trendy. He teaches English at some prep school, and this is his debut novel.
She checks the envelope again. There’s nothing else inside. She feeds the empty package into the shredder under her desk and slips the book into her briefcase bag, mildly puzzled.
Her mobile phone rings. Connelly.
“Hi.”
“Hi, yourself,” he replies with a smile in his voice.
“Did you get a package, too?”
“Yep.”
“Instructions?” she asks hopefully.
“Nope. But our old friend is stopping by tonight.”
Their old friend can only be Hank Richardson. Who is, in fact, an old friend. He’s also newly employed by the Lighthouse, and he’s their handler. Which means this assignment is sufficiently sensitive that their marching orders will be communicated orally, face to face.
“Is he coming for dinner?”
“He can’t. There’s a dress rehearsal for the high school musical, and he’s got to be stage dad.”
A smile creases her lips. Hank, single father to six adopted children, is stage dad, soccer dad, dance dad, and everything in between.
“We have tickets to the show, right?”
