“May I request a short recess to try to contact Mr. Bloch again and also to do some quick research, Your Honor?”
He grinned down at her, which should have been her first clue. “Of course.”
She exhaled, and a wave of tension rolled off her bunched-up shoulders. “Thank you, Your Honor. I won’t take long, perhaps just—”
“Go right ahead and request it.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You asked if you could request a short recess, I said you may. So, by all means, request it.”
Brett Waters fixed his eyes on the wall. The stenographer stared down at her machine. Emerson Thorne actually whimpered.
Now, she had to ask knowing full well what he’d say. It was a cruel game, bordering on sadistic. When she got her hands on Clive, he’d regret the day he’d walked into her office.
“May I have a short recess to contact my client and do some research, Your Honor?” She said the words as pleasantly as she could, thinking of the crinkles at the corner of Connelly’s eyes when he smiled, the biting taste of a square of dark chocolate washed down with a sip of good red, the scent of fresh-ground coffee and the twins after a long day of playing, smelling like fresh air, sunshine, and grass.
She hadn’t quite reached the part of her journey to her happy place that involved stroking Java’s and Mocha’s soft fur as they curled up beside her, their tails flicking against her leg, when Judge Cook leaned forward and said, “No, you may not.”
She clamped her mouth shut and nodded.
Emerson coughed. “Your Honor?”
“Ah, he’s alive. Yes?”
“The government, um, would also like to know if there are any extenuating circumstances for Mr. Bloch’s absence today before we sentence him. He really has been quite helpful. And the charges he’s facing absent the plea bargain arrangement are, uh, pretty severe. Could we maybe reschedule this hearing, say for Monday morning?” He flashed Sasha a panicked look as he made his pitch.
Judge Cook didn’t miss the glance, either. “What a generous position for the government to take. But then, again, Ms. McCandless-Connelly does seem to have that effect on opposing counsel. Don’t you, Ms. McCandless-Connelly?”
Emerson dug his fingernails into his palms. Poor, good-hearted Emerson. He just needed another three dozen or so court appearances, and he’d be less easily rattled by bullies in black robes. Especially when the bully was actually making an inside joke.
The deputy clerk cleared his throat. “Judge?”
“Yes, Brett?”
“You happen to have an opening on your calendar at eleven o’clock on Monday. That discrimination case against the school district settled.” Brett Waters’ tone was easy and disinterested, but Sasha knew he was throwing her a lifeline.
She gave Brett a grateful smile and turned back to Judge Cook. Cliff Cook had a reputation for being irascible. But to deny the government’s request at this point would go far beyond cranky. He’d come across as unreasonable, and that was something he’d want to avoid.
As the first African-American jurist appointed to the federal bench in the Western District of Pennsylvania, he’d lived under a microscope for decades. She sympathized. Heck, as a woman attorney who was roughly the size of the average sixth grader, she empathized. She knew what it was like to be scrutinized and second guessed despite a stellar record of accomplishments. In a perfect world, Judge Cook wouldn’t have to worry about how his response would be perceived.
But this wasn’t a perfect world, and she needed him to cave to the pressure.
She could tell by his steely expression that he didn’t appreciate being boxed in.
She risked speaking out of turn. “Your Honor, I’m confident that there are extenuating circumstances here.”
“You and your client had better hope so. Court is in recess until eleven o’clock sharp on Monday morning.” He rapped his gavel then he jabbed a finger in Sasha’s direction. “Don’t even think about showing up here without Mr. Bloch, Ms. McCandless-Connelly. Because I will sentence him to the fullest extent possible under the guidelines; I don’t care what the government agreed to in the plea bargain. And I will hold you in criminal contempt, regardless of any so-called extenuating circumstances. Are we clear?”
“Crystal, Your Honor.”
She gathered up her files and waited for him to sweep off the bench and out of the courtroom so she could rush out herself and track down her errant client.
4
The Law Offices of McCandless, Volmer & Andrews
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
* * *
Naya Andrews popped her head into Sasha’s office before Sasha had even lowered herself into her desk chair. “You’re back. You find him yet?”
Sasha shook her head. “I tried his cell phone, his home number, and his office number, over and over, the whole time I was on the bus. No answer anywhere.”
“Hang on. You took a city bus to a court appearance?”
She grinned. “I sure did. The East Busway runs right to the courthouse. There’s literally a stop outside the old post office entrance to the courthouse building. It’s fifteen minutes door to door and a bus comes four times an hour.”
Naya arched an eyebrow. “I don’t even know you anymore.”
“Taking the bus is way more efficient than driving. Plus, I can answer emails while I’m riding.”
“Aaaaand the truth comes out. You and that cell phone.”
Sasha ignored the dig and wriggled her toes inside her four-inch stilettos in an effort to ease the cramping in her feet—a result, no doubt, of her decision to race down several flights of stairs rather than wait for one of the courthouse’s ancient elevators. The notion that maybe she should have worn a more sensible pair of shoes flitted through her mind, and she batted it away. She’d made plenty of concessions to motherhood and age. But they’d have to pry her ridiculous heels from her cold, dead feet. They were part of her attorney armor.
“Anyway, I’m about to call Parker. Do you want to stick around? She’s your client.”
“Uh-uh. No way, no how. I want plausible deniability in case you yell at her.”
“I’m not going to yell.”
Naya arched the other eyebrow.
“Much,” Sasha amended.
Naya hurriedly backed into the hallway and pulled the door closed behind her. Sasha pulled up her contact information for Parker Rivers, Recreation Group’s in-house counsel and an attorney she’d once supervised, a lifetime ago, at Prescott & Talbott.
“Parker Rivers’ office. How may I help you?” the soothing voice of an efficient assistant filled her ear after a single ring.
“This is Sasha McCandless-Connelly. I need to speak to Parker. It’s urgent.”
“Ms. Rivers is in a meeting at the moment, Ms. McCandless-Connelly, may I take—”
“Clive Bloch was a no-show at his sentencing hearing. He’s in deep trouble with a federal judge, which means Recreation Group is in deep trouble, too.”
She left unsaid the salient fact that it meant she, too, was in up to her neck. That wasn’t Parker’s problem. Yet.
“One moment.” Parker’s assistant didn’t waste any time arguing, stalling, or asking for details. She simply placed Sasha on hold and went to find her boss. It didn’t take her long.
“Sasha? What happened?”
“What happened, Parker, is that your guy didn’t show up for his sentencing hearing.”
“Ugh.”
“In front of Judge Cook.”
“Oh, sh—”
“Right.”
Now that they were on the same page, Sasha wasted no time. “Cook is livid. He’s rescheduled the sentencing for Monday at eleven, but he’s going to throw out the plea agreement if Clive doesn’t appear. I don’t need to remind you that he could go away for a very long time. He’ll probably die behind bars, Parker. Attempting to provide material support to terrorists is kind of a big deal.”
“Now, you know, he
didn’t realize what was happening.”
Sasha grimaced. Parker had just articulated the reason Sasha had hated this case from the very first minute. The crime to which Clive had pled guilty had a “knowing” component. A person had to know that they were helping terrorists in order to be found guilty. Sasha had argued endlessly with him, urging him not to take the plea bargain offer.
The government would never be able to show the necessary mens rea—the mental state that showed Clive understood he was breaking the law. She knew it. Clive knew it. Emerson Thorne knew it. Heck, even Judge Cook knew it. But Clive had refused to fight. He insisted he didn’t want to drag Recreation Group’s name through the mud with a long, protracted trial.
“That doesn’t matter now. He pled guilty. And if he goes down, Recreation Group is going down with him. The way we worded the agreement, Clive took full responsibility. But if the agreement’s thrown out, so is the NPA. That means charges against the company are back on the table.”
Parker groaned. “We need to loop Ned in.”
“I don’t have time. You’re going to have to manage Ned and the Board of Directors on your own. You can ask Naya or Will to backstop you, if you think you need it. I have to find my client. Which leads me to the reason for my call. Where in the blazes is Clive?”
“I don’t know. He had this afternoon blocked off on his calendar for the court appearance, and Ned told him to take yesterday and this morning off to prepare. You know Ned.”
Yes, she did. The CEO of Recreation Group was a marshmallow. But she didn’t have time to commiserate with his general counsel about it.
“Does Clive’s assistant know where he is? My calls are all rolling to voicemail.”
“You probably didn’t know this, but Clive works a sixty-forty remote schedule. He’s only physically required to be in the office two days a week. He doesn’t have a dedicated assistant. We only assign someone to cover his phones on the days he’s in the office. So ….”
“I don’t know how else to reach him. His cell phone just rings and rings then rolls to voicemail.”
Parker exhaled loudly. Sasha waited, but nothing came after the whoosh of breath.
“What is it?” she demanded.
Parker cleared her throat. “I walked by Clive’s pod on my way from the conference room, just to see if any of his podmates had heard from him. Nobody had, but his cell phone is plugged into the pod’s device bank, charging.”
Pods, remote work schedules, device banks—visiting Recreation Group was like traveling to a foreign country. Of course, the last time she’d stopped by Prescott & Talbott, the transactional practice group had been having standing desks installed. The corporate world had left McCandless, Volmer & Andrews behind. And that was fine with Sasha.
“Who leaves their cell phone in the office for the weekend?”
“Oh, Clive leaves it here quite a bit. It’s not his personal cell, it’s one we issued.”
Sasha gritted her teeth. “Does he have another phone, Parker? For personal use.”
“There’s not a mobile number in his file, so I’m guessing not. Just the numbers for his place in West Virginia and the apartment in Verona.”
“Wait a minute.” Sasha pulled up her call log. “He called me this morning from a number with a 304 area code.”
“Oh, then he called you from his cabin in West Virginia.”
“He went to West Virginia in the middle of the week?”
“I guess so. He probably drove down Wednesday after work. It’s only three or four hours, I think. He loves it down there. He has some log cabin in the mountains where he doesn’t get cell service. It sounds like a nightmare to me, but to each his own. He stays down there a lot.”
Sasha half-listened to Parker while she ran through the options. She’d tried calling the West Virginia number repeatedly but had gotten a solid busy signal each time.
Maybe Clive really had gotten into a car accident or had had engine trouble somewhere between his cabin and the courthouse. Or maybe he was sprawled on his cabin’s log floor in cardiac arrest. He had sounded anxious when she’d talked to him earlier.
“Okay. Any chance you have an address for this cabin? Maybe I can call the local authorities and ask them to swing by.”
“Um … I don’t think so. I can ask around, but don’t hold your breath.”
“Don’t bother, then. I’ll get Naya to track it down.”
“Ah, right. Her superpower.” Parker chuckled.
“One of many,” Sasha told her.
“I feel I need to say something here. I’m sure Judge Cook was an absolute bear. And, on behalf of the company, I apologize for Clive. I know you know this, but it’s critically important that we come out of this without a black eye. You’ve done a masterful job managing the story so far. Now we need to get this wrapped up with a bow.”
Sasha smiled to herself; she felt like a proud parent watching her child ride a bike without training wheels. Parker was managing her outside counsel.
“Trust me, Parker. Once I find Clive—and I will—I’ll babysit him myself until Monday morning.” A thought struck her. “You don’t think he’d … do anything rash, do you?”
“You mean like go on the run?”
“No. I mean … hurt himself.”
“Oh.” Parker fell silent for a moment. “I don’t think so. But I don’t know him well at all. He’s only worked here about a year, and he keeps to himself. He’s quiet.”
“Okay, I have to go. I’ll let you know when I find him.”
“Good luck,” Parker said grimly.
Twenty minutes later, Naya handed Sasha a sticky note on which she’d scrawled an address and the make, model, and license plate number of Clive Bloch’s car.
“You’re a goddess. Oh, he drives a white Mercedes-Benz C-class? Good for him.”
“I had the easy part. Now, you’ve got to find him. Or at least try.”
Sasha rolled her chair back from her desk and stood. She stretched her arms over her head and wriggled from side to side. Her back was tight from holding so much tension. “I don’t think ‘I tried’ is going to satisfy Judge Cook. He was pretty ticked off this afternoon.”
“Judge Cook’s all bark.”
“I’m not so sure. If I show up in court on Monday without Clive Bloch, I’m pretty sure he’s gonna bite.” She stopped in front of the window and pressed her forehead against the cool glass. The sound of live music floated up from the patio of the restaurant down the street.
Naya crossed the room and dropped a light hand on her shoulder. “Listen, you hear that? It’s happy hour at the Tex-Mex place. Call Fly Boy and tell him you’re stopping for a drink. I’ll buy you a margarita.”
She managed a grin. “You’re gonna buy me a margarita on two-for-one margarita night, big spender?”
“That’s right. And if you play your cards right, I’ll throw in the basket of free chips and complimentary salsa, too.”
Sasha pressed the button to forward her office calls to her cell phone then powered down her laptop. “I can’t. I need to get home and spend some time with Connelly and the kids tonight. Because first thing in the morning, I’m going to drive down to West Virginia and drag him back here by his ear.”
Naya shrugged. “Suit yourself. But if Judge Cook does throw you in the slammer on Monday, you’ll be wishing you’d had some good Tex-Mex your last weekend as a free woman.”
“You’re a ray of pure sunshine, you know that?” Sasha said as she turned out the lights and shouldered her bag.
“I try, Mac. I try.”
5
Tannerville, West Virginia
Friday evening
Clive tracked the two men around the small, dim room with his red, swollen eyes. The taller of the two was pacing, agitated and keyed up. His smaller companion leaned against the wall and surveyed the scene with a bored expression.
Clive winced. Everything hurt. Especially his head. His temple throbbed, a constant, pounding pain radiatin
g from the area where one of his captors had bashed in his head with the heavy, bronze, Frank Lloyd Wright-inspired entryway lamp from the table just inside the front door of his cabin. That blasted lamp had been one of Liv’s purchases.
Liv.
He blinked, trying to clear the thought of her from his mind.
The big guy, Jamie—Clive had heard the other man say his name during the attack—moved out of Clive’s field of vision. Clive tried to crane his neck to follow his path, but a blinding flash of pain stopped him mid-turn.
In addition to his aching head, his tight shoulders were on fire, and the skin on his ankles and wrists was already rubbed raw from the ropes the men had used to bind him before they’d thrown him into the trunk of his car. A wave of nausea rolled over him, and he closed his eyes to stave it off.
Don’t puke. If you puke now, you’re going to drown in your vomit.
The duct tape covering his mouth made breathing almost an impossibility when coupled with his no-doubt broken nose. He tried to inhale and exhale through the snot and blood clogging his nostrils. He felt his heart rate tick up as he struggled for air.
Don’t puke. And don’t panic.
The ridiculousness of his own advice triggered hysterical laughter from deep within him, and, despite his best efforts, he couldn’t mute the sound of his wild, strangled cackle.
Jamie looked at him in amazement. “You think this is funny?”
Clive shook his head no and regretted it, as the whipsaw motion jarred his swollen head and unleashed a burst of exquisite pain.
“Don’t talk to him.”
It was the first thing Clive had heard the lounging man say since they’d arrived … wherever they were. They must’ve carried or dragged him into the structure while he was still unconscious. He’d come to, bound and gagged, and tied to a rickety chair that wobbled on the warped floor.
Clive hadn’t heard the second man’s name. He’d been thinking of him as Not Jamie.
In Absentia Page 2
