Nash Security Solutions

by Lola Silverman

  “Ava!” Francesca marched over and grabbed her sister-in-law’s hand. “Let’s go upstairs and let these gentlemen talk strategy.”

  “That’s my cue to leave,” Wallace said eagerly. The man bolted out the side door of the house as though his derriere was on fire.

  Ava put up a bit of a fuss, but Francesca finally felt the fight go out of her friend. She was able to get her upstairs without any more protests.

  QUENTIN WAITED FOR the inevitable and was not disappointed. As soon as Ava and Francesca were out of the kitchen, Nash slammed his beer down on the island.

  “What is wrong with that woman?” he demanded.

  Carson was the bravest. “Care to expand a bit on that?”

  “Are you kidding me?” Nash pointed wildly at the stairs with one hand as though he were gesturing to Ava and making his point all at the same time. “That behavior! It’s crazy. Am I right?”

  Quentin cleared his throat. He raised an eyebrow at Carson, but Carson made a face that suggested he’d had enough of getting snapped at by Nash. Quentin sighed. “The woman just witnessed a murder.” He held up his hand to stave off Nash’s arguments. “You know what I mean. She did not see it with her eyes. That’s true. And you’re right. No court of law would convict or even allow that testimony beyond what it is. It’s not an eyewitness account. It’s something that was heard. Without a body, there’s really no good that can come of it right now.” Now Quentin had gotten all of that ridiculous red tape out of the way. “But she’s still probably completely weirded out by the fact that she heard some poor man get murdered. That’s a lot for a civilian. Remember?”

  Carson snorted. “That’s what you’re always telling us, Nash. Take your own damned advice for once.”

  “You assholes need to back off,” Nash growled. “If I want to be pissed at Ava, I will be.”

  “Fine,” Quentin said calmly. “But let’s be pissed at her for the real reason, then, shall we?”

  “What?” Nash actually stumbled back a step. Then he grabbed his beer and slammed the rest of it in one gulp. “What are you talking about?”

  Carson snorted. “We’re talking about the fact that you’re in love with Ava and the two of you are torturing each other because of some bizarre refusal to acknowledge that fact.”

  “It’s getting really old,” Quentin agreed. “Seriously, man. Have some pride. Go talk to the woman and tell her how you feel. You were so hip to tell me how I should feel and what I should do.” Then Quentin jerked a thumb toward Carson. “Like he said. Take your own advice.”

  “You two are first-rate assholes, you know that?” Nash sounded both irritable and a little tipsy. For a man who never drank and never got drunk, that was very odd. Then Nash opened the fridge and pulled out another beer. He popped the top off this one and downed it in one long pull. “I hate you both.”

  Quentin and Carson watched Nash open the back door and stumble outside. Presumably, he was going to pout in the surveillance truck. Dammit. When your boss started acting like a little kid, things got awkward fast.

  FRANCESCA TOOK A deep breath and tried not to bite Ava’s head off. “Ava, you’re acting like a hormonal teenager. Care to explain why?”

  “That’s your sympathetic speech?” Ava asked with a bitter laugh. “Nice. I think you could use some work with the compassion bit.”

  “I’m not trying to be compassionate,” Francesca admitted. “I’m trying to understand what’s going on, and I’m trying not to freak out because I got to listen to that Anton person being murdered too.”

  “I’m sorry, Francesca.” Ava sighed and sank down into the chaise lounge in her bedroom.

  The bedroom suite looked like something from a magazine. It was posh and comfortable with everything that a modern woman would like to have at her fingertips. Yet Francesca had often gotten the idea that Ava wasn’t really happy here.

  “What’s really going on?” Francesca perched on the far edge of the chaise. “You’ve been acting a little strange for several weeks now.”

  “Nash and I slept together.” Ava sighed. “It was really great, you know? I thought things were going well. I was excited. Tegan, Kayla, even you, you’ve all got these relationships now, and I thought that I was going to get one too.”

  Francesca sighed. She could well guess where this was going. “So, you guys were sort of a secret couple until Nash decided that it wasn’t a good idea because he basically works for you?”

  “He gave me some bullshit excuse about how his integrity and ability to guard me and my family was compromised because of our involvement!” Ava burst out. “I was so angry! It’s such a load of crap, and he keeps saying that I just don’t understand what it’s like to be in his world.”

  Francesca didn’t speak for a few minutes. She had to admit that Ava could be pigheaded when she got an idea into her head. She’d always been very confident in what she thought. It was one of the reasons that Francesca felt like her friend had been able to get a divorce from Stedman without a lot of repercussions. At least not the sort of social repercussions that usually came from divorcing a man like Stedman Hyde-Pierson. Ava was a strong person with very concrete ideas about how things should work in her life. No doubt Nash was the same kind of man.

  “You guys are a lot alike,” Francesca whispered. “Have you ever noticed that similarities like that can be as much of a blessing as a curse?”

  “Fuck that!” Ava growled. “If that man wants to be an ass, then I’ll just let him. That’s all there is to it!”

  “Hey.” Francesca stood up. She held up her hands and backed away from Ava. “You do what you want. It’s your life. But I’ve got a hearing on Friday to determine whether or not I’m even mentally capable of handling my own decisions. So, pardon me if I leave you to your drama so I can go focus on mine.”

  QUENTIN SAT AT the kitchen table and reveled in the silence. His shoulder hurt like hell. Wallace the weird little holistic pharmacist/field doctor had given him some painkillers, but Quentin hated what that sort of medication did to his reflexes and his brain. Carson and Kayla had left a few moments ago. Carson had said he would check on Nash, which was a blessing. Quentin didn’t know what was wrong with the man. The timing was bad though. Just when the team appeared to be falling to pieces, their fearless leader got his panties in a twist and started acting like some lovesick teenager. It was horrifying.

  “Hey.”

  He turned and smiled at Francesca. He would have held out his arms for her, but his right arm was strapped to his body. “Come here. You’re the first person I’ve wanted to see since I got knocked out all those hours ago.”

  “Was it that long ago?” Francesca said absently as she perched her sweet backside on his knees.

  “It’s dark,” he pointed out. “It feels like a million years ago.”

  Francesca sighed and put her arms around his neck. She tucked her cheek against his good shoulder and seemed to be hiding from the world.

  “What’s wrong?” he whispered. “You’ve been kicking ass all day. Are you worn out?”

  “They’re all stupid,” she told him darkly.

  He was a little dubious about that. “All of them?”

  “Ava and Nash, mostly.”

  “Okay, I cannot argue with that.” Quentin started to chuckle. Once he got started, he could not stop. Finally, he exhaled a long sigh that sounded more like a snort. “I keep thinking that everyone is acting like they’re back in high school.”

  “Oh my God,” she said in a nasally mocking tone. She sounded like a teenaged girl chewing a wad of gum. “I’m just so pissed at him because I told my best friend to tell him that I like him, but he totally doesn’t get it, and now I don’t have a date for the dance.”

  Now Quentin was honestly laughing. “Damn, I love your sense of humor, woman. You know that? In the midst of all this craziness, you are you.”

  She seemed to think that over for a moment. “I think I forgot who that was for a while,” she admitted. T
hen she nuzzled his neck. “You’ve helped me figure it out again, and I will always thank you for that.”

  “I love you, Francesca,” Quentin murmured. He touched her face with his good hand and hoped that she realized he meant what he said. “I know things are a mess right now, and I have no idea where this is all going. But I want you to know how I feel.”

  He tried not to read too far into things when she only smiled and gave him a kiss instead of saying it back. Later. He couldn’t think about it now, so he would do it later.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Days… It had been days since those little three words had come out of Quentin’s mouth, and he still hadn’t gotten a response back from Francesca. Of course, how could he expect her to respond? They were sitting in a freaking courtroom. The past seventy-two hours had been such a whirlwind that Quentin felt as if he’d been living in a movie montage. Visits to the lawyer, another visit to Dr. Baker, a powwow between Baker and the attorney, and finally, they were here in this courtroom waiting for the Honorable Judge Leeson MacKenzie to appear on the bench.

  The only courtroom Quentin had ever been in was the one in his small Louisiana hometown. There had been dozens of people in that one as well, but they’d all been there to see the war hero get what they thought he deserved for his violent antisocial behavior.

  This was much different. There were multiple parties in the room, but by far, the one who took up the most room was Stedman Hyde-Pierson. The man had four attorneys. They were all sitting in front of the little table, packed in like sardines. Quentin had placed himself in the gallery just behind Francesca and Fabian Holloway. Dr. Baker was sitting beside him. Across the aisle, Quentin could see someone that he knew from a little bit of Internet research to be Dr. Grimes. He had to keep a lid on his temper today. If he was lucky, there would be an opportunity to take the snooty doctor down a few pegs later on. Quentin suppressed a smile as he contemplated the enjoyment he’d receive from giving Dr. Grimes some firsthand experience with PTSD.

  Francesca suddenly turned around. She looked pretty as a picture in her elegant black suit jacket and straight skirt. Her hair was pulled up, and she seemed completely put together, but her eyes told a different story. She reached out, and Quentin took her hand. He lifted her fingers to his lips and gently kissed each one.

  It’s going to be fine.

  He didn’t say the words, but he sent the thought to her anyway. Her expression seemed to soften as she relaxed just a fraction. It was enough. He saw her exhale a ragged breath before she let go of his hand and turned back around to face the judge’s bench.

  A door behind the bench opened, and a portly gentleman in his sixties with a shock of white hair walked into the courtroom. He was wearing a black robe, and Quentin could have sworn that he caught a glimpse of a pair of sandals beneath the robe. The thought gave him hope. Surely this judge wouldn’t be taken in by Stedman Hyde-Pierson.

  “All rise!” The bailiff spoke in a loud voice that carried to every corner of the room.

  The Honorable Leeson MacKenzie took his seat and picked up the gavel. He gave it sort of a halfhearted whack. “Court is now in session.”

  “First on the docket today,” the bailiff continued. “Hyde-Pierson vs. Ormonde.”

  “It’s Hyde-Pierson.” Stedman’s whispered voice rose above the bailiff’s.

  Quentin turned to stare. So did everyone else in the room. Stedman was leaning toward his lawyer and holding his hand up as though he were stage whispering on purpose.

  Judge MacKenzie heaved a huge sigh. “What are you complaining about now, Stedman?”

  Stedman swung around to face the judge. He drew himself up with obvious indignation. “It’s Mr. Hyde-Pierson. Thank you. And she”—Stedman pointed his index finger at Francesca—“is Mrs. Hyde-Pierson. She was married for over a decade to my younger brother!”

  “Yes.” Judge MacKenzie could not quite hide his smile. “But Ms. Ormonde legally changed her name nearly two years ago, after your brother’s suicide left her a widow. So, when we address her”—MacKenzie gave a polite nod to Francesca—“this court will call her Francesca Ormonde.”

  “Ridiculous!” Stedman muttered. He flopped down into his seat and folded his arms over his chest.

  The rest of the courtroom took their seats as well. Judge MacKenzie was still staring at Stedman with something now approaching scorn. “You know, Stedman, I had to put up with your behavior in school because you were older and richer than I was.”

  Quentin sat up. Around him, he could see that just about everyone else was waiting breathlessly for the judge to finish his thought.

  “But now you are in my courtroom.” MacKenzie’s sharp gaze narrowed. “You will respect the laws of this state, and you will be civil and respectful to everyone involved in this case or I will hold you in contempt so fast that your head will spin.”

  Francesca was holding her hand over her mouth to hide her smile, but Quentin was glad to see her shoulders had dropped in a way that suggested she was relaxing. Beside her, Holloway looked as though he was having a tough time containing his glee. The lawyer looked like he had ants in his expensive trousers.

  “Now.” MacKenzie addressed both sides of the issue. “I’m assuming that Stedman isn’t trying to claim that Ms. Ormonde is mentally incompetent because he wants her name changed. I have read the arguments. I want to dispense with any opening statements because they will be redundant. I would like to go straight to testimony instead. Stedman,”—MacKenzie made a lackadaisical gesture toward Stedman’s side of the room—“your attorneys may pick a spokesperson and decide who you will call for a first witness.”

  One of the attorneys shot to his feet. “We call Doctor Lauren Grimes.”

  FRANCESCA COULD NOT breathe. If it had not been for Quentin’s steadying presence behind her, she was certain that she would have panicked. Dr. Grimes stepped up to the witness box for the bailiff to swear her in. Francesca could have sworn that the woman was giving Francesca the evil eye the entire time. The malice in her expression was awful to behold. What if she said things that swayed the judge against Francesca? She had practically fled that doctor’s office as though she were every bit as crazy as Stedman was claiming. Now, her behavior was coming back to haunt her.

  In the inside pocket of her blazer, the suicide note from Lyle felt heavy as stone. Holloway had suggested she bring it. He hadn’t read it. He had not even asked to read it. It was just one more thing that convinced Francesca that he was a good man. Dr. Baker hadn’t asked to read it either. Quentin hadn’t even seemed curious about the contents. Francesca did not know why, but the way that people responded to that went a long way toward forming her opinions about their motives and their integrity.

  Finally, Dr. Grimes sat down in the chair. The testimony was predictable. Francesca felt her face turning red as Grimes recounted her one and only session with Francesca. She pronounced her paranoid with delusions and stated that in her professional opinion, Francesca was a danger to herself and to others.

  There was a low murmur in the courtroom. Behind her, Francesca heard Ava, Tegan, and Kayla muttering to each other. Wrath and Carson’s lower tones joined in. Finally, MacKenzie whacked the gavel on the desk to get everyone to shut up.

  “Enough!” the judge said sternly. “The witness is allowed to give her professional opinion. It’s just an opinion.”

  “That’s all for this witness.” Stedman’s attorney—his name was Wiltshire—puffed up his chest and looked as though he’d just won a groundbreaking case. Then he cast a derisive look at Holloway. “Your witness.”

  Francesca watched Fabian Holloway gain his feet. The man was practically vibrating with the force of his eagerness to respond. He marched right up to Dr. Grimes and stared her in the face. “How much time would you say your session with Ms. Ormonde lasted?”

  Dr. Grimes’s throat trembled as she swallowed before answering. “Perhaps ten minutes.”

  “I assume you have a standard intak
e form that you use during examinations and evaluations, yes?” Holloway produced a sheaf of papers. “Something like this?” Holloway showed it to her and then to the judge. “We acquired this via Ms. Ormonde’s request for records from Dr. Grimes’s office.”

  Dr. Grimes did not look happy. In fact, Francesca had a feeling that the perky, friendly office assistant was going to get her ass reamed when Dr. Grimes got back to her office. “That is the intake form I was filling out for Ms. Ormonde’s evaluation. You’ll see my notes regarding my recommendation on the last page.”

  “I saw that,” Holloway said sarcastically. “You made two pages of notes, and yet you only filled out one answer.”

  “What?” Dr. Grimes stumbled over the word. “I don’t have to write down a response for each question.”

  “Really? Because you leave enough room under each question to take pretty good notes.” Holloway slipped the evaluation form onto the judge’s bench. “This form has one question answered because Dr. Grimes only had a chance to ask Ms. Ormonde about her diagnosis from a previous provider and to establish who her regular mental health providers are. After that, Dr. Grimes was so busy telling Ms. Ormonde that her diagnosis of PTSD was incorrect that nothing else got filled out!”

  The judge looked disgruntled. He pointed at Grimes. “Is it true that you only spent ten minutes with the client?”

  “Yes, but…”

  “Ten minutes,” Judge Mackenzie groused. “How can you develop an accurate picture of anything in ten minutes? She would have been nervous to begin with. If she ran out of there, it makes me wonder what really happened.”

  “Nothing!” Grimes said defensively. She was clutching the arms of the chair. “I didn’t do anything to her. She’s already paranoid and delusional. I told you!”

  Holloway shook his head. “Do you deny telling Ms. Ormonde that her diagnosis was incorrect?”

  “I might have said she needed a second opinion,” Dr. Grimes hedged. “I don’t think I said that.”

  “Enough.” Holloway leaned forward. “You are under oath. So, I’ll go ahead and excuse you since you’re on the verge of telling a blatant lie.”