Knock 'em Dead (15 page)

“Why?”

“It’s my j—”

“Job,” I cut in, imitating his tone and inflection. “To stalk me?”

He laughed. That annoyed me. Technically, the fact that I liked the deep, masculine sound was what really annoyed me, but so what?

“I wasn’t stalking you. Lieberman doesn’t want you getting into any trouble, remember?”

“Yeah.” After slipping my shoe on, I kicked a small pebble with my toe. “She also said my afternoons were my own.”

“Excuse me?”

“Forget it. For the record, I wasn’t getting into trouble. I came here to interview the limo driver.”

His head tilted to one side and he gave me a quick but pointed stare. “The one with six arrests and three convictions? That driver?”

I shivered and then did my best to convey confidence I didn’t possess. “Obviously I didn’t know he had a criminal record. Any of those arrests include a knife or a penis?”

“All domestic disturbance stuff. You were about to knock on the door of a guy who gets his kicks smacking women around. Not your smartest move. You should have called me.”

“I didn’t want to run the risk of disturbing you in the middle of a
thing
.”

“If I’m in the middle of something, I’ll let you know. Now, are we going to knock on the door of the obviously empty house, or just stand here?”

Great, both options made me look inept. “His boss said he called in sick, so he could be home.”

He waved his arm in the general direction of the house. “Lead on, Nancy Drew.”

Grabbing hold of a neglected iron railing, which jiggled like it might give way, I decided I was better off navigating the five nicked cement steps on my own. Liam was right on my heels, so close that I could feel the warmth of his breath against the back of my neck. It was so distracting that I considered yanking off the clip and using my hair as a shield against my inappropriate awareness of him.

Balling my hand into a fist, I rapped twice on the door. The sound echoed but garnered no response. I tried again. Nothing.

Liam reached around me, his biceps just brushing my bare arm. The contact was slight but enough to send a zing through me. That irritated me almost as much as Billy not being home.

Using the heel of his hand, Liam pounded on the door with enough force to make the thing rattle on its hinges. A second later, he reached for the knob and turned. It opened.

“We’re breaking and entering?”

“Nope. Just entering,” he said as he moved in front of me.

The inside of the house smelled like a locker room, dank and sweaty. Liam turned on a small table lamp, flooding the room with harsh light from the shadeless bulb.

Sam would have gone running and screaming if he’d walked in here. Billy wasn’t much on decorating. The front room had an old, torn Barcalounger, an end table with the naked lamp, and a circa 1956 TV tray. The floor was tiled, though the grout was black, probably some sort of toxic mold. Most of it was covered by a very worn, braided oval rug.

“Circle the one that doesn’t belong,” I said as I took in the flat-screen plasma television mounted on the wall next to two photographs of a man smiling as he held dead fish from hooks.

Liam went over and ran a finger along the top ridge of the television. “It’s new. No dust.”

We went into the kitchen. Dirty dishes and food-caked pots and pans covered the counter and half of the ancient dinette set. I shook when I saw several cockroaches feasting on the filth. “Seen enough,” I said, backing out of the room.

The only other room was a bedroom. One bed, an empty twelve-pack of generic beer, two condom wrappers—either Billy hired a prostitute or he was practicing safe masturbation—and at least a dozen more roaches shared the unkempt space with a neatly pressed uniform hanging on the door frame to the adjoining bath. I let Liam take the bathroom. I was busy making sure no bug made it within ten feet of me.

“No Billy,” he said.

“So now what?”

“Jupiter Marina.”

“Because?”

He pointed at the photographs on our way out of the house. “Billy’s a fisherman. I noticed scratches on the sedan’s bumper.”

I had to hurry to keep up with his long strides. “How do you get Jupiter Marina from a scratched car and pictures of a guy holding fish?”

“You can see the Jupiter lighthouse in the pictures and the scratch on the bumper is right where you’d attach a trailer hitch.”

Color me impressed.
“I’ll follow you.”

“No, we need to talk. Toss me your keys.”

“About what?”

“I got the fingerprint results back.”

“And?”

“Three sets. Paolo, Billy, and Jane.”

“So Billy had to be the one who put the GHB in the champagne.”

“Or Paolo. Or—”

“Don’t say it,” I warned. “Jane wouldn’t drug a guy.”

“Did you ask her?”

I glared at him. “I didn’t have to. She drinks carrot juice and works out. She won’t even take an aspirin. There’s no way she’d put GHB in her system.”

“Not even to get a guy to—”

“Have you seen Jane?” I asked, not bothering to keep my simmering anger in check. “She’s pretty. She doesn’t need to drug a guy to get laid.”

“But she joined a dating service.”

I clutched my keys so hard it felt as if they’d pierce my skin at any moment. “To meet an interesting guy. Huge difference, McGarrity.”

He shrugged. “Fine.”

“Fine? That’s it?”

“Sure. You know her, I don’t.”

The ready-for-a-fight adrenaline stopped pumping through my system. “Okay, then. Is there anything else we need to talk about?”

“Nope.”

“Then I’ll follow you.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

Liam made me insane. Other than the fact that he was gorgeous, he didn’t meet any of my criteria. A few years ago, in an attempt to keep from falling into the same lousy man choices that had plagued me from the get-go, I’d made a list. Patrick possessed most of the qualities on my list. Liam, none. I reminded myself of that every minute of the fifteen-mile drive to the marina.

We were about a half mile from our destination when we had to yield to several fire trucks racing north on A1A. I saw the red-orange glow up ahead and followed Liam as he pulled over, went about a quarter mile, then parked on the shoulder of the road.

The sirens were silent but the red and white lights from the fire trucks swirled on the pavement as we walked toward the marina’s parking lot. There was an acrid smell in the air, causing me to lift my hand to cup my nose and mouth.

At the far end of one pier, a small boat was engulfed in flames. The hose from a marine rescue boat sent a steady arch of water cascading on the fire. The dockmaster and other people scrambled to move boats away from the burning shell.

“What’s that smell? Diesel fuel?”

“Yes,” Liam said. “And burned flesh.”

I swallowed bile. “That’s disgusting.”

“No, that’s probably Billy.”

B
illy was dead. Though fried to a crisp, dental records confirmed his identity. That meant Liam was right. A frequent occurrence that was grating on my last nerve. Then again, it was seven twenty in the morning and I was heading out the door. Squinting against the blinding light from the way-too-cheery sun, I juggled my briefcase and travel mug as I poked the button on my key ring, disengaging the alarm on my car.

According to Kevin and Virginia on the
Wild 95.5 Morning Show
, today would be hot as hell. Still, it was nothing like the hell Jane must be going through. My chest squeezed knowing my friend was entering her third day in captivity.

I’d called Liv and Becky to give them an update on the marina fire and to work out a visitation schedule. Jane needed support and I needed some answers. Well, not answers so much as confirmation. I wanted to hear from her lips that she didn’t know anything about the GHB. The charges in Charleston and hearing the Molly Bishop saga had caught me off guard. I just needed reassurance that Jane didn’t have anything else tucked away that might surface and bite her in the ass.

Especially not if someone was spoon-feeding that information to the assistant state attorney.

By the time I reached Dane-Lieberman, I’d added to my mental list of Things That Didn’t Add Up.

As I walked into the empty reception area, I couldn’t help but feel a small burst of smug superiority. For the first time in my seven years at the firm, I’d beaten Margaret through the door.

I had Ellen’s files finished and ready for delivery. I am Finley Tanner, Paralegal Extraordinaire, hear me roar. It was enough to make me feel as if I should don a cape, but it wouldn’t go with my ensemble. Said ensemble gave me an added boost of confidence. New clothes have that effect on me. My aqua skirt was from Dillard’s midsummer clearance sale. Seventy-five percent off, plus the additional ten percent because I’d bought it on Senior Discount Tuesday, thanks to the elderly woman I’d convinced to add my purchase to hers. Though my poplin blouse was simple and tailored, it was lightweight enough to withstand the sweltering July heat.

A few of the brownnosing interns were already at their desks, glancing wide-eyed as I stepped off the elevator. I waved and smiled as if me arriving at the crack of dawn was nothing out of the ordinary. Thanks to a hefty amount of concealer, the dark circles under my sleep-deprived eyes were erased.

Usually, the first thing I notice when I go to my office is the scent of mango air freshener. Not today. Not when Ellen Lieberman was sitting in my chair leisurely flipping through one of the memos I’d diligently prepared.

“Good morning.”

She smiled. Not a friendly, glad-to-see-ya smile. It was more like a Cheshire Cat thing. The metaphor worked since she was wearing a lose-fitting tabby-striped dress. “You were busy last night.”

“Yes. You left me the files and—”

“Details, Finley.” Standing, she sighed heavily.

“Yeah, I got your message.” Don’t have a clue what it means, but I got it. “I think you’ll be satisfied when you review my work.”

“I’m sure I will be. I just don’t understand why you stayed last night to get them done.”

I blinked. “Because you left them for me. You were very clear on the fact that you expected me to have all work you assigned completed promptly.”

“Is that all I said?” she asked as came around my desk and placed the file she’d been skimming on top of the others.

“Be here at eight. It’s”—I checked my Kuber watch—“five till.”

“You missed an important detail.”

Not if the detail is you being a real pain in my ass. That one’s coming across loud and clear.
“I’m sorry. Refresh my memory.”

“I said I expected all work finished by lunchtime if you wanted your afternoons free.”

“It is finished. I made sure I didn’t leave here until every i was dotted and every t was crossed.”

“That’s the detail you missed. I dropped the files off yesterday. I didn’t change the deadline, so there wasn’t any reason for you to stay last night.”

“Would have been nice if you’d mentioned that.”

Ellen shrugged. “I did; you obviously weren’t paying attention.” She headed toward the door. “You’re a salaried employee, so the extra hours you put in were a donation.”

The muscles in my shoulders knotted as I checked my anger. “Apparently.” Maybe she’d remember that fact when it was time to dole out bonuses. Probably not.

“On the plus side, you’re ahead of schedule.”

My mood brightened. “So I can leave early?”

She shook her head. “No. You mentioned estate work that still needs attention and a couple of motions you need to draft.” She pointed at my desk. “I left you some suggestions.”

“On?”

“Becky showed me a copy of what Taggert filed with the court. The weak argument won’t sway Judge Faulkner. You can do better. Write a new motion, have Becky do the cover letter, and messenger it over to his office.”

“Taggert isn’t very effective.”

“Quinn would have been a better choice,” she reminded me.

“Yes, well, that didn’t work out.”

“I know. I spoke with him yesterday afternoon.”

“Did he tell you he served me with a subpoena?”

“Of course. Making me look pretty foolish since
you
failed to mention it.”

I dropped my eyes to the floor, pretending great interest in the color variegations of the looped Berber carpet. “So putting the files on my desk was punishment?”

She patted my shoulder. “Think of it more like penance. And, Finley?”

“Yes.”

“Stay away from limo drivers and fires. Got it?”

“Yes.”

Gathering up the files, Ellen left, reminding me again that even though I was more than current on my workload, I was Dane-Lieberman’s property until the stroke of noon. So be it. After starting a pot of coffee to brew, I read Ellen’s notes regarding bail. I was miffed at being manipulated, but that evaporated when I saw the case law she’d provided.

She might be a pain in my ass, but the woman was a brilliant lawyer.

Wiggling the mouse to bring my computer out of hibernate, I quickly logged in to the Westlaw database and printed off the relevant information. I really wanted to dive right in, but I had to prioritize. There was a lot to read but I didn’t dare incur the wrath of Ellen a second time by ignoring my primary job responsibilities. So I spent most of the next hour updating the status on my four open estates.

Having all my proverbial ducks in a row before nine felt strange. Not in a completely bad way either. Yes, I was sleep-deprived. Yes, I’d had to rush around to get out the door. But there was a small part of me that felt a little exhilarated knowing that when push came to shove, I could get the job done. And on time. Who knew! Of course a large part of me resented the push and the shove.

Contracts done, estates done, now it was time to focus solely on Jane. My chest squeezed as a mental picture of her wearing a jumpsuit while sliding a tray along the jail chow line played like a slow-motion video. Instantly, I felt guilty for being so whiny about my morning when hers was way, way worse.

Becky roamed in a few minutes after Ellen left. She unscrewed the bottle of water in her hand as she practically collapsed in the seat opposite my desk. “Never pegged you for the suck-up type, Little Miss Turn it in Early.”

“Believe me, it was an unintentional suck-up.”

“I figured as much. Jane says hi.”

“You saw her?”

Becky nodded. “Went by this morning. I drove up to Stuart and got her an almond croissant from Mr. Bread.”

“That was nice. She loves those. How’d you get pastry past security?”

Becky gave a wicked little grin. “New corrections officer. Young and easily distracted by breasts.” She flicked open the top button of her coral blouse, revealing just a hint of lacy bra. “While he was busy ogling my Victoria’s Secret cleavage, the contraband croissants tucked inside my briefcase sailed right past him.”

“Literal tit for tat. Good plan.”

She rebuttoned her blouse. “Anything for Jane.”

Leaning back, I rubbed the cap of my pen along my lower lip. “Speaking of anything, what gives with Lieberman? Why is she being so…helpful?”

Becky diverted her gaze. “She can be helpful.”

“Since when? Wait a minute! What did you do?”

“Nothing.”

“Becky?”

She uncrossed and recrossed her legs. “I gave up some vacation time. No biggie.”

“How much?”

“Not much.”

“How much?” I asked more forcefully.

“Three.”

“You had to donate vacation time for an introduction to Quinn? One that turned out to be a total bust? Or is three days of vacation the price she’s charging to let you act as Jane’s legal adviser?”

“Neither. It isn’t three days, either.”

“Three
weeks
?”

“Yes.”

“That sucks. You already put in like a million hours a year. Now you’ll only have one week away from here.”

“It’s no big deal,” Becky insisted. “You drew the shortest straw. You’re financially obligated to the Wicked Witch.”

I winced. “I still haven’t cashed the check.”

“Right, but doesn’t interest start to accrue from the day she made the loan?”

There was that. “I’ll worry about that later.”

“Watch it. Your ‘later’ is filling up. How long do you think you can keep your mother debt and boyfriend dismissal on the back burner? Unless you’ve already figured out how to dump Patrick. Have you?”

My jaw tensed. “I haven’t even decided breaking up is what I want.”

“Bullshit. You’ve chosen not to make a change. There’s a big difference.”

“You spent the morning flashing your boobs at a rookie corrections officer and you’re giving me dating advice?”

Becky twirled a tendril of auburn hair around her index finger. “I didn’t flash boob, I flashed bra. It wasn’t for me, it was for Jane. A purely altruistic action on my part.”

“Ha!”

“Think about it,” she said, changing the subject. “He’s out there communing with nature, walking among the pine trees, and you’re not pining for him. That should tell you something.”

“It does. It tells me you don’t know anything about the Grand Canyon. No pine trees.”

“Whatever. The thing between the two of you has run its course. Besides, it’s a freaky relationship.”

As much as I tried, I couldn’t muster indignation or irritation. “It isn’t freaky. He’s good to me.”

“Really? Is that why he’s off traipsing through the woods when one of your closest friends is in jail?”

“He would have stayed if I’d asked. I didn’t. Patrick respects my space.”

One of Becky’s perfectly shaped brows arched. “Love means never having to ask your boyfriend to stick around while you’re being questioned by the police.”

“I should write that down. Maybe Mary Beth could cross-stitch it on a pillow for me. Speaking of Mary Beth…”

“We weren’t,” Becky said. “You just want to change the subject.”

“That too,” I mumbled as I scooted my chair over and retrieved the Fantasy Dates box. Removing the lid, I pushed it around my desk. “It shouldn’t take me long to go through their membership list,” I said as I watched Becky pull a shiny gold CD from one of the files. “The stuff they sent is majorly organized.”

“Mary Beth didn’t do this?”

“Scary, huh?”

“They say everyone has a twin. Guess that’s true,” Becky said. “So, what’s on these things?”

“Hand me one.”

Once she did, I slipped it in the drive and waited approximately a sixth of a second before an error sound dinged and a box popped up on my screen. “Password-protected,” I read aloud. Irritation came easily as I ejected and reinserted the disc, hoping for a different outcome. My hopes were dashed. “This blows.”

“Can’t you call Shaylyn or What’s-His-Name and ask for the password?”

“I’ll have to.”

“How can I help?”

“This isn’t a two-person job. But…” I paused and organized everything I’d amassed on reconsideration of bail. “I’ll read through this stuff and do a draft for you. Give me about an hour?”

“I can do it.”

I shook my head. “Ellen told me to handle it. I know she’s looking over your shoulder, so let’s do it her way.”

Taking one last sip and screwing the top back on her water bottle, Becky wished me luck and left.

My estimate of how long it would take me to do the draft was off by roughly double. It was almost eleven by the time I sent two draft motions to Becky via interoffice mail. The first was for a motion in limine, requiring Faulkner to ignore anything having to do with the Charleston charges and base his decision solely on the Paolo crime. The second was a motion for an ex parte hearing. I didn’t think that one had a chance; judges don’t like it when the defense makes an argument outside the presence of the prosecutor. Even if it failed, at least the judge would know that Assistant State Attorney Brent was using information fed from an unnamed, unidentified outside source. Judges don’t like anonymous any more than they like clandestine motions.

I made a note to have Liam try to find the source. He seemed to have contacts out the wazoo. If we could find the source, we could find Jane’s enemy. It stood to reason that the enemy was the one who’d killed Paolo and framed Jane for the crime. I tried his cell phone but it went to voice mail.

The batteries could be dead.

He could still be at the marina. Billy’s death was a little too convenient to be a coincidence, but we had to wait for the arson squad to do their thing.

Or Liam could be doing his “thing” with Ashley.

“I hate men,” I grumbled as I dialed Liv. Jean-Claude informed me she was out meeting a client to go over wedding reception details and was stopping by the bank before returning to the office. He suggested I try her cell. I would, but not right away. A—If she was getting grief from clients, I didn’t want to interrupt her with Jane business. B—The bank visit was crucial. If Faulkner granted bail, we needed money to pay a bondsman.

Reinserting the Jace Andrews disc into my computer, I made a few attempts at passwords. I tried fantasy, dates, client, and rich. Frustrated, I caved and called Shaylyn.