Did he seem sick? Maybe. He should probably pretend he was. It would be easier than answering questions.
“I’m fine, thank you,” he managed. “Did you need something, Stella?”
She chewed on her lip. It was a habit that tended to result in a lipstick smudge on her front teeth but Elliot had always felt it would be ungallant to point out. He thought of what Maksim had said a while ago, that he had no balls except in the courtroom.
“I know you asked me to divert your calls, but there’s a guy on the line who says he’s a friend of yours. He won’t take no for an answer.”
Elliot’s traitorous heart skipped a trio of beats before he realized that Lucas would never call his office line. Unless he’d deleted Elliot’s number in a fit of anger? Maybe this was his only way to get ahold of him. “Send him through.”
“Are you sure? I can—”
“It’s fine!” Elliot snapped. She looked taken aback. “I’m sorry. Send him through, please.”
She closed his door carefully behind her, as if afraid to set him off. He snatched up the receiver as soon as his line flashed green. “Hello?”
“Good morning, Elliot.” The smooth greeting wrapped around his heart and sank it like a rock.
He groaned. “What do you want, Greg?”
“Whoa, why the hostility? What did I do to deserve that?”
“You cheated on me,” Elliot reminded him.
“You forgave me for that a year ago. You said we could still be friends.”
Yeah, but Elliot had lied through his teeth about both those things. He hadn’t forgiven Greg. But it wasn’t strictly, or even primarily, the infidelity that spurred his hard feelings. It was everything that came before and after the cheating, every cutting remark and supercilious condescension that he’d taken as his due for so long. It had been a full year, and he still felt like an inadequate fool, as sexy as a wooden stick, because that was how Greg had always viewed him. It had become how Elliot viewed himself.
Things had been different with Lucas. Elliot had been different. For the first time in his life, he’d felt valued for exactly who he was. But that had been an illusion, he supposed. It turned out that Lucas didn’t like who he was anymore than Greg had, though for different reasons. He was too common for Greg and apparently too high-and-mighty for Lucas. There was no middle ground, it seemed.
“I’m awfully busy, Greg.” He shuffled papers and hoped the receiver picked up the crinkling. “What do you want?”
“I want to take you to lunch.”
“No.”
Hell no.
“I want to apologize for last night,” Greg hurried on.
“Apology accepted.”
He was lowering the receiver into its cradle when Greg yelled, “Please! Elliot, just listen.”
Elliot reluctantly returned the phone to his ear.
Greg continued, speaking quietly but earnestly. “Seeing you yesterday… it made me realize there are things I need to say to you. Things you need to hear. Please. Come to lunch with me tomorrow. The Dupree at noon? My treat.”
He should say no. He was not up for this. But there was a note in Greg’s voice that hadn’t been there for the better part of a decade. Could satisfying his curiosity really make life worse right about now?
“Okay,” he relented.
He was replacing the phone in its cradle when a brusque rap on his door heralded a new arrival, and unlike Stella, this one wasn’t hesitant about catching his attention. Before he could call out, the door swung open and Maksim Kovalenko strode inside.
Like every other morning, he was impeccably and expensively dressed. He looked handsome and well rested, with his silk tie expertly knotted and his silver hair perfectly arranged. As hungover and heartsick as he was, it was impossible for Elliot not to feel some resentment when slapped in the face with the man’s perfection. Confidence and control wafted off him like a subtle cologne. Elliot wondered what it must be like, going through life so sure of himself.
“I’m not in the mood, Maks,” he growled.
“So I hear.” He seated himself in the chair opposite Elliot’s desk, kicking out his long legs and crossing them at the ankles. The fluorescent lights winked on leather shoes that probably cost more than Elliot’s mortgage. “What are you doing about Mr. Gonzalez?”
“Excuse me?”
“I ran into Alex while I was dropping off some dictation for Stella. I enjoyed speaking with Mr. Gonzalez that day while we waited for you to show up. He’s gotten himself into some trouble, has he?”
Elliot scrubbed his hands over his eyes, but it did nothing to clear his confusion. “Why do you care? Don’t you have enough cases of your own to help keep your conscience clean?”
Maksim lifted one elegant, winged brow. “I liked him. He reminded me of myself when I was young.”
He… what? “You mean you weren’t born with a briefcase in hand? Who would have guessed?”
“I was fortunate enough to have a mother who sacrificed herself to give me every advantage. It served me well, when combined with my natural ruthless streak.” His smile was thin and slightly mocking, but Elliot wasn’t certain if he was mocking Elliot or himself. “Not everyone has the same advantages I did. I wanted to see Mr. Gonzalez succeed.”
“So did I,” Elliot admitted with a sigh. “But there’s no arguing with the evidence.”
Maksim chuckled. “It’s our job to argue with the evidence, Smith. What’s the case against him?”
Though he wasn’t in the mood to rehash all the discouraging details, Elliot wasn’t about to turn down the chance to pick Maksim’s brain. No matter his own feelings toward the man, which had always been a complicated mix of admiration, resentment, and mistrust, Maksim was a brilliant attorney. A consultation with him was worth thousands of dollars to his clients, and here he was offering his advice for free. Elliot wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.
Maksim was silent for a long moment once Elliot finished a lengthy rundown of the situation. He leaned back in his chair with one elbow on the armrest and his chin propped in his hand. He tapped one long finger thoughtfully against his mouth.
“You’re joking, right?” he said, eventually. “What do you mean there’s no arguing with the evidence? What evidence, for Christ’s sake?”
“His accomplices pointing the finger at him isn’t a good look,” Elliot said wryly.
Maksim looked disgusted. “Are you in your first year of law school, Smith? You could dismantle that argument in sixty seconds.”
“He has no alibi.”
“So? The burden of proof is on them. As far as I can see, their case is incredibly weak. The only reason he needs an alibi in the first place is on the say-so of the two gang members who are confirmed to have been there. I’m no expert, but I believe snitching is frowned upon on the streets. Have you checked to see what Miguel thinks about it?”
“There’s no point. What Julio needs now is a criminal defense attorney. That was never my specialty.”
Maksim pinned him with a flinty stare. “The one place you could be counted on to grow a pair was in the courtroom. Since when are you so quick to throw in the towel?”
Fury spurted through Elliot. He slammed his hands down on his desk and lurched to his feet. “I’m fed up with the disappointment! Okay? I bet my money on the wrong horse every fucking time. I’m sick of it! I’m not putting everything on the line for someone who might have been playing me from the start!”
His chest was heaving by the time he finished his little outburst. Maksim hadn’t twitched even an eyelash. He regarded Elliot with vague distaste, or perhaps pity. Elliot wasn’t sure.
“Very well.” Maksim rose with fluid grace and tugged the sleeves of his suit into place. “Email the case files to me. I’ll take over.”
“You?” Elliot choked incredulously. “Don’t you have enough creepy rich guys to get off?”
Maksim’s expression was blank, but his eyes were like a winter frost when h
e replied, “Unlike you, Smith, I don’t require people to meet my stringent moral ideals before I consider them worthy of my attention. Everyone deserves a proper defense. If the prosecutors are as good at their jobs as I am at mine, justice will prevail. If not, the onus is on them for being incompetent.”
“You’re a real piece of work,” Elliot growled, flabbergasted by his arrogance. At least, he told himself it was the arrogance that enraged him, and not the uncomfortable sense that Maksim had judged him and found him lacking.
“So I’ve been told.” Maksim’s smile flickered. Then he was gone.
Elliot stared out his window, but he barely saw the tree branches on the other side of the glass. He was envisioning what it would feel like to press send on that email, to effectively wash his hands of his client. He’d be doing Julio a favor. Maksim was the best there was. But rather than feeling relief, the hollow ache in his chest had grown.
He buried his face in his hands.
Outside the window, the chickadees trilled.
Chicka-DEE-DEE-DEE.
18
Lucas
“Good Lord, son! What did you do?”
Lucas had been staring glumly at the oily surface of his coffee, so lost in thought that he jumped at the boisterous greeting.
He looked guiltily at Arnold, who was sliding his considerable girth into the booth across from him, and then cast a wild glance around the diner, trying to figure out what he’d done wrong. Had he missed his final urinalysis? Had there been paperwork to sign? He was still racking his brain when the waitress set a cup of coffee in front of Arnold.
“Thank you, Sally.” He beamed.
“Breakfast or lunch, Arnie?” she asked with more warmth than Lucas had ever seen bestowed on her other patrons. She had mascara smudges deep in the creases of her tired eyes, but she smiled prettily at the large man.
“Hmm… breakfast, I think.”
“Pigs in a blanket, coming up.”
“I‘ll miss Sally,” Arnold said wistfully as she walked away. “In a lot of ways, she’s been the simplest, most reliable relationship in my life.”
Lucas snorted. “You’ll come here whether or not you’re meeting parolees anymore. You can’t cook worth a damn.”
“I’ll have all the time in the world to learn once I retire,” Arnold answered with equanimity. “My doc wants me on the damn Mediterranean diet.”
“Good. Your arteries will thank you.”
“My arteries thrive on beef and lard, boy.” Arnold rolled his eyes. “And don’t change the subject. What did you do?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean you look like shit, all hunched over and mopey. You look guilty. Did you break the law? Because I don’t want to hear about it if you did. I’m two weeks away from retirement and I’m going out on a winner, goddammit.”
Lucas couldn’t help but chuckle. It came out rusty and bitter sounding, and Arnold blinked. “Relax. I haven’t done a thing. Work has got me tired, that’s all.”
“Not as fun being the boss, huh?” Arnold squinted. “You seemed like you knew what to expect, though. Is the responsibility sitting poorly on those meatloaf shoulders of yours?”
Lucas shook his head and sipped his coffee.
“Hmm.” Arnold swallowed half his coffee in one large gulp. “That ain’t what’s bothering you. Come on now, time to confess to Father Arnold. You know that anything you say here is between you, me, and the state parole board,” he joked.
Lucas smiled halfheartedly. Well, what the hell? Arnold had become both counselor and confessor to him over the past three years. He’d heard worse than the embarrassing failure of Lucas getting hung up on some guy who was bad for him. He was the only thing resembling a family that Lucas had. Over the years, Arnold had become like a father to him. Lucas wondered why it had taken him so long to realize that.
He sucked in a deep breath. “Remember that guy I’d met the last time we talked?”
“Ahhh.” Arnold nodded as if everything made sense. “You seeing him?”
“Not anymore.”
“Huh.” Sally set a platter of pancakes and sausage in front of Arnold, and he began dousing it in enough syrup to give Lucas a toothache. “So why was this one different?”
“Who says he was?”
“None of the others ever made you feel bad. You always seemed kind of satisfied when you’d split up with them, like all the messed up ideas in that crazy head of yours were justified and all was right with the world. None of them ever made you look like dog shit. Did you even shave today?”
Lucas raised a hand to the scruff on his jaw and rubbed at it defensively. Arnold snorted and pointed his fork at him in an I-told-you-so gesture. Lucas ignored him and poured out more coffee from the carafe Sally had left at their table. It was past noon, but there was no way Lucas could eat any of the greasy diner fare. As it was, the coffee was settling like battery acid in his stomach.
“So, what made this one so special?” Arnold asked.
Jesus, what a question. Lucas shrugged. “He wasn’t. He was the same as all the rest.”
“Bullshit.”
“Look, what do you want me to say? You warned me if I kept playing around I was going to get burned. You were right. Can we drop it?”
“That isn’t what I said at all.” Arnold tsked. “At least, not like that. What I said, you stubborn bastard, was that it would bite you in the ass if you didn’t settle down and start caring for someone. But if you’re in this bad of a mood, I guess you finally did that.”
“Yeah. Maybe.”
“What’s this miracle man’s name?”
“Elliot.” Lucas swallowed. “Elliot Smith.”
“Uh huh.” Arnold nodded congenially and shoveled pancakes in his mouth. He said nothing for a while, but the sounds of his chewing filled the silence and got on every one of Lucas’s last nerves.
“He’s a lawyer,” he muttered.
“Uh huh.”
“Dumb, right? Someone like me with a lawyer?”
“You’ve done dumber things,” Arnold said judiciously.
“The thing is, he didn’t act like a lawyer. Not like the ones I’ve ever met, anyway. He didn’t swan around thinking he was better than other people. He was just a regular guy, you know?”
“Sounds awful. I can see why someone like that would have you down in the dumps.”
“Yeah, but…” Lucas hung his head, trying to gather his thoughts, aware that he sounded crazy. Maybe he was crazy. Maybe he’d always been crazy, and that was his entire problem. “It was just an act.”
“So he did swan around?” Arnold made a face. “Did he wear an ascot?”
“What?” Lucas laughed. “No. It’s just… a guy can’t live a certain lifestyle most of his life and then be happy settling down with trash.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Arnold dropped his fork with a loud clink. “Back it up, son, and let’s unpack some of that shit you just spewed.”
“Arnold…” he sighed.
“No.” Arnold slapped his hand on the tabletop, making the dishes rattle. The diners in the neighboring booth cast them dirty looks over their shoulders, but Arnold’s glare had them doing a quick about-face. “Do you hear yourself? When have you ever lacked confidence, boy?”
“We both know what I am deep down, Arnold.”
“We know what you did. I know what you are. Do you?”
“I’m an ex—”
“Shut up.” Arnold pointed a thick finger in his face. “You’re honest, you’re hardworking, and despite your rough start, you actually still give people the benefit of the doubt in a way most of us cynical bastards haven’t done since we were kids.”
Lucas shut his mouth.
“Second thing. What gives you the right to judge this guy for his past if you don’t want him doing the same to you? Are you the same man you were a few years ago? So why would this Elliot kid be any different? Rich or poor, what does it matter where he comes from, so long as you want
to be with him and he wants to be with you?”
“He’s not a kid. He’s your age.”
“Oh.” Arnold paused. He appeared to do some quick mental calculations, then he leered. “Well, now that I know you have an eye for aged beef, I’m available.”
Lucas burst out laughing. He rocked back in the booth and scrubbed his hands over his face, but he couldn’t stop the laughter that bubbled helplessly out of his throat. Arnold’s lips twitched in response, but he wasn’t about to get distracted.
“So, here’s my last question,” he continued, ignoring the nervous breakdown across from him, “You said he didn’t want to settle down with you. Does that mean you want to settle down with him?”
He didn’t feel like laughing anymore. “It won’t work, Arnold. He’s looking for more than I can give him.”
“Did he say that?”
Lucas didn’t want to talk anymore. He never had, really. How had they even gotten on this subject? Damn Arnold. Damn himself.
“Look, son.” Arnold dropped all his playfulness. His expression was solemn as he pinned Lucas with a set of dark eyes that had seen too much sorrow in their time. “Remember what I said last time? Most guys I deal with sabotage themselves as soon as they’re in the home stretch. They don’t believe they can have anything good because it can get taken away too easily. Don’t do that to yourself. This is your last probation meeting. You’re free. Don’t put yourself in a prison of your own making.”
Lucas thought of the previous night. He remembered the shock and pain in Elliot’s expression, the way his body had bowed in on itself as he absorbed the impact of being hit where it hurt. Shame came rushing back on him, stronger than before, because now he wasn’t able to hide it behind his anger. He couldn’t believe some of the things he’d said in the heat of the moment.
Hell, even if there had been a chance between them, Lucas had tossed it in the dumpster and lit it on fire because of his own insecurity. Elliot might not have secretly thought poorly of Lucas, but he sure as hell did now. There was no taking back what he’d said, even if he wanted to, and he wasn’t sure he did. It hurt now, but it would hurt a hell of a lot more if things got serious. Lucas wasn’t sure he had the heart to take that kind of risk.
Risk Assessment Page 13
