Ally McBeal showed on the screen. His nickname for Jackie.
“Jesus Christ in a cardigan sweater,” Beck mumbled. He hit the answer bubble on the screen. “Hey, are you okay?”
“Did you catch him?”
The normal edge was in her voice, the knock against the wall must not have hurt her hard DelRay head. “No I didn’t, thanks to you.”
“What?”
“I was about to apprehend him when you called. The phone gave away my hiding place.”
“Didn’t you turn off your ringer?” Exasperation made her voice tight. “You let him get away?”
Was she serious? Beck steeled himself from raising his voice and rubbed his forehead. The guy was long gone, Beck once more alone, wet, and muddy. “Yes, I let him get away. On purpose, just to annoy you.”
A long pause and then, “I’m sorry. It’s been a long couple of days.”
Beck started walking back toward her place. “Call the cops and report the break-in. We’ll give them the best description we can, but this guy is in the wind for now. Can you duplicate your notes? Did he take anything else?”
“Nothing else is missing. I went through the whole place. I don’t want the cops in on this. The intruder obviously is tied to your case, and with the players involved, I don’t know who we can trust in law enforcement. I have a friend who can ask around on the down low and find out who might be sabotaging us. I’ll give him—”
Her abrupt stop made Beck pick up his pace. “Jackie?”
He heard a crash in the background and his heart sped up with his feet. “Jackie!”
“I’m all right,” she said, but sounded out of breath. “Just lost my balance for a bit and… Crap.”
Beck started sprinting for the second time that night. “Are you dizzy? Nauseous?”
“My vision is a little blurry. I have a massive headache at the moment, thanks to that POS.”
“Sit down and stay put. Don’t hang up. I’m almost back to your place. I’ll take you to the ER.”
“I don’t do emergency rooms, Pearson. An ice bag and some aspirin and I’ll be right as rain.”
A minute later, her brownstone was in sight, and she continued to chatter about her toughness. Blah, blah, blah. DelRays don’t this. DelRays never do that. DelRays are the baddest of the bad. Was she trying to convince him or herself?
Cars clogged the street, thanks to a stoplight. He didn’t hesitate, skirting bumpers and running through puddles. “Unlock your front door.”
He climbed the steps and she let him in, the phone still held to her ear. “How can you be soaking wet from head to toe and still look this good?”
Disconnecting his phone, he set it on the small table just inside her door, and took hers. After shutting and locking the door behind him, he grabbed her and pulled her to the light. “Let me see your head.”
“You’re dripping all over my floor.”
“Shut up and let me look at you.”
She slapped at his hand. “I told you, I’m—”
One second she was jerking her head away and the next, her hand was clawing at him as she tipped sideways.
He caught her, scooping her up and carrying her to the sofa. “You might have a concussion.” He’d had a few of those in his football days. “Trust me, they’re nothing to mess with.”
She huffed and argued — big surprise there — but he could be just as bullheaded as she was. He checked her pupils and breathed a sigh of relief that neither was dilated or looked disproportionate to the other. There was a bump on her head, but she claimed she wasn’t dizzy or nauseous. “You really should see a doctor.”
“No way. I need to call Chessie, and then we need to see this Greystone fellow.”
“Do you really think I won’t hog-tie you and drag you to the ER?”
Her eyes narrowed and he saw the wheels turning in her head. The lawyer rose to the surface, ready to cut a deal. “If I get sick, you can take me to the ER, but otherwise, we proceed as planned. I want to know where the photo came from and why. It might give us a clue as to who broke in here and stole my notes.”
Always negotiating. Maybe it was time to cut his own deal. “I need to go back to my place and get out of these clothes. I also need to feed my cat. You come with me and stay there tonight so I can keep an eye on you and your head. I can have Grey meet us there to discuss the case.”
“You have a cat?”
Of all the… “Either you stay at my place or I stay here. I’m not leaving you alone.”
“You think that guy might come back, don’t you?”
“I’m more concerned that you have a concussion and no amount of willpower will keep you upright if that’s the case.”
She drew in a deep breath and looked around as if seeing her place with a new perspective. Having someone break into your home could do that to you, especially if they assaulted you along the way.
“It’s normal to feel scared after being attacked in your home,” Beck told her. “Your root chakra is all out of whack.”
Her gaze came back to him, a deep frown creasing her forehead. “I’m not scared, just a little unnerved, and what the hell is a root chakra?”
He patted her cheek gently. “Go pack a bag and I’ll explain in the car.”
Surprisingly, she didn’t argue, rising and heading for her bedroom instead.
* * *
Jackie’s skull may have been disintegrating. One small piece at a time. A bit here, a bit there, all scattered along the way like a trail of crumbs.
At least, that’s how it felt as she made her way up the walk to Beck’s porch. She stopped and gripped the iron handrail of the classic rowhome. Before her were—one, two, three—seven steps. Seven. The man might be trying to kill her. She stared up at the oversized front door. It was stained a deep black and offset by stark white trim on all sides. Neat and tidy. Just like it’s owner.
Of course, His Holiness looked back just as she swayed left and three of him danced in her vision. He tipped sideways, his body curving into an arch and Jackie’s stomach seized.
If she puked on his porch, a concussion wouldn’t matter. Maybe she’d get lucky and die from the humiliation.
“Whoa.” He locked onto her arm, holding her upright. “What’s happening? Are you passing out?”
His fingers drenched her arm in warmth and she met his gaze, remembering the first time he’d touched her in a dive bar while on spring break in Ft. Lauderdale. How, after all these years, could she still feel that pull?
“No,” she said. “The headache is wearing me out. I just need to rest for a few minutes.”
“What you need is a hospital.”
Again with the hospital nonsense. “Blah, blah. I’ll make you a deal. If I don’t feel better after some sleep, I’ll go to the hospital. There. Happy?”
“Ecstatic. Are you good until I can get the door open?”
“Yes. Go.”
Because, really, she didn’t want all this hovering. And caretaking. It made her feel...weak and worse, cared for. She couldn’t have that. Not from him.
Her client.
Remember that. Don’t screw this up.
She blinked a few times and plural-Beck went back to singular. Fatigue. That’s all this was. After months on a brutal case and now a surprise new one that included His Holiness the Dalai Lama, no wonder she was off her game.
Beck unlocked the door, pushed it open and turned back, clearly ready to sweep her up in his arms again and play the hero.
Good for him. Only, she didn’t need a hero. In her line of work she dealt with all sorts of people. Most of them criminals. Lowest of the low. Not a hero to be found. Criminal work hardened her. How could it not? If she got emotional about cases – clients – she’d have been committed long ago.
She waved him away. “I can do it myself.”
He backed away, snapping his hands high in the air. “Of course you can.”
Now he wanted to get snippy? “Don’t start. You’re hover
ing. It’s – ”
“I’m trying to help you. But, hey, you wanna do it yourself, go for it.”
He stepped through the door and waved her in, punching in a code for his security system. “Guest bedroom is upstairs, first door on the right. I’ll put your bag in there. Help yourself to the bathroom. Tink is no doubt pissed off and hiding under my bed. She won’t bother you.”
With that, he left her in the entryway, his big feet silently moving up the hardwood staircase. A lot of men would make a statement by clomping up those stairs. Beck? He was the annoying sort that kept cool despite his anger. And make no mistake, if his rigid back was any indicator, the man was highly irritated.
Dammit. Why do I do this? Why did everything have to be a battle? She’d blame her family for that one. Debaters, every one of them. Every meal, even holidays, turned into a deliberation on everything from food stamps to Mickey Mouse. Even Dad, Mr. Low Key, couldn’t resist a good argument.
“Beck?”
At the top of the stairs, he flipped a light switch, illuminating the upper hallway. “What?”
“I’m sorry. I’m...” she held out her hand, let it drop. “I’m used to being alone. Doing things myself.”
“Sure, I get it, but that doesn’t mean you can’t let people help you.”
Ha. In her family it did. As much as they loved each other – and they did – someone always walked away battered. She liked to joke that all the early training made her a good litigator.
In court, she excelled, but it was hell in the bedroom.
And the kitchen.
And anywhere else she might entertain a man.
She reached for the handrail, holding on as she climbed the steps. Beck stood at the top, but a weird tension filled the space between them.
Oh, this man. “You’re dying to walk back down and help me, aren’t you?”
“Yep, totally killing me, but I’m not risking you tearing my balls off. I like my nuts.”
That made her laugh. An honest-to-God, from the gut one. “I recall liking them too.”
Dammit. Her smart mouth, once again, leading the charge.
Too late. She glanced up, found Beck’s eyes on her in a way that turned her core into a pit of hot lava.
Time for a little distraction from thoughts of an exceptional night of screwing that had almost derailed both their futures.
She reached the top of the steps. “Thank you,” she said.
“For what?”
“For making me laugh. That hasn’t happened a lot recently.”
“Maybe you should change that.”
Still focused on her, he stepped back an inch, giving her room on the landing, but not enough that she could miss his solid presence, the bulk of him that made her want to step just a little closer and...
She tipped her head up and the urge to run her fingers over his perfect cheekbones made her itch. T-R-O-U-B-L-E. But, Lord, being this close to him stirred her up. Made her want to turn into that bad girl she’d been on day one with Beck. “Maybe,” she said, looking straight into his eyes, “I should.”
Bam, bam, bam.
They both flinched at the iron fist banging on the front door. Way to kill a mood. What am I doing?
Beck jerked his chin. “That’s Justice.”
“Is he King Kong?”
“Sometimes, yeah.” He hustled into the first bedroom and set her bag down. “Let me answer that before he blows his stack. Take your time.” He jogged down the steps, his big body more graceful than a man his size should be. “Take it easy, Greystone! Before you knock my door down.”
Men. Such animals. Jackie grabbed her toiletry bag from her suitcase and made her way to the bathroom. She flipped on the light, stared into the mirror and sighed. With her pallor, she might as well have been a corpse.
If Mom were here, she’d offer up that motherly advice she was so good at. Drink more water, get on a regular sleep schedule and for the love of God, wear the right makeup.
All of which, Jackie was sorely lacking at the moment. Yes, changes were definitely in order.
A spray tan wouldn’t hurt either.
After freshening up, as much as she could anyway, she slipped into a fresh outfit of yoga pants and a long-sleeved top and made her way back to the living room where a tall man in a suit that screamed ‘federal agent’ stood looking over the shoulder of a thinner man sitting on the sofa. The skinny guy wore jeans and a wrinkled T-shirt with one of the Harry Potter characters on the front. He pounded away on a laptop, barely sparing her a glance.
“Hello,” Jackie said, extending her hand to the taller man. “I’m Jackie DelRay.”
“Ms. DelRay, nice to meet you.” He smacked the skinny guy on the shoulder. “This rude guy is Teeg. Apparently, he never learned to stand when meeting people.”
Teeg swung his head up, but didn’t stop typing. “Huh?”
“This is Jackie DelRay,” Grey said. “Beck’s attorney.”
“Oh, hi. Sorry. I’m in the middle of something here.”
Beck pointed to the spot next to Teeg and Jackie sat, thankful to be off her feet. Her vision continued to mess with her, but the three ibuprofens she’d slammed had kicked in, taking the edge off the headache.
“You look better,” Beck said.
His stare unnerved her, tempted her to straighten her clothes – or maybe remove them. If memory served, they’d been good at removing each other’s.
“I feel better.”
Apparently satisfied with her answer, he nodded. “I thought Grey might be the one who left the photo for you, but he says no. That leaves us with three people to investigate.” He held up one finger. “We’ve got the guy in the photo with Lockhart and the prez.” Another went up. “The person who left the photo.” A third. “And the guy who broke into your house.”
Grey touched her shoulder, drawing her attention. “Did you recognize the man who attacked you? Anything at all?”
“No. I’ve never seen him before.” She gestured to the laptop. “What are we working on here?”
All three men paused. Beck finally took the lead. “The photo of Byron and the President. Teeg is running it through facial recognition software to see if we can figure out who the third man is.”
Facial recognition. Uh-huh. “Is it the FBI’s system?”
“Uh, no,” Grey said. “This one is still in development and has a little...extra pop, you might say, versus the Bureau’s version. We’re beta testing.”
Okay. Who the hell were these guys? The whole scenario had a Men In Black vibe.
“I see.”
She glanced at Beck who gave her the slightest of head shakes. Clearly, he didn’t want her making inquiries.
“I scanned the photo,” Beck said. “Teeg is running it now. So far no hits.”
“Does the system scan criminal files?”
“Yes,” Grey said. “Also government databases, nationwide DMV files, and a bunch of other stuff, including banking records. If the guy has a state issued driver’s license, we’ll find him.”
“Really?”
“Eh,” Teeg waggled one hand. “The system uses 3D technology to identify different features. It can scan facial surface, eye sockets, the nose, etc. But the picture is old and grainy. Might be a stretch to match it to a current photo. We’ll see though.”
He pounded a few more keystrokes and then set the laptop on the coffee table. “This’ll be a few minutes.”
“Thanks, Teeg,” Grey pulled a folded sheet of paper from his inside suit pocket and handed it to Beck. “This is for you, from Syd. It’s the attendee list from the auction.”
Beck perused it while Grey abandoned his spot behind the couch for one of the side chairs. “Mitch Monroe is on his way. He’ll provide security for you for tonight. Give you both a chance to rest. I’ve got Tony Gerard scheduled for tomorrow.”
Security? Now they needed babysitters? She angled back, peering up at Beck “Is that necessary? You have a security system.”
> “We don’t know who that guy was that broke into your place. He could be Annabelle’s killer. Whoever he was, he knows you’re my lawyer. If he were a random perp, he would have stolen more than the notes from my case.”
Grey leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “What was on the notes?”
“Nothing critical. The bail amount, charges, etc. Nothing they couldn’t find with a little digging. He may not have known that though. He was probably looking for something the real killer could use to further implicate Beck. Nothing in those notes would do that. The good news is attorney/client privilege hasn’t been breached.”
Teeg’s laptop dinged and all eyes zoomed to it.
Grey hopped up and moved back to his spot behind Teeg. The poor kid had two tense, beefy guys literally looking over his shoulder.
“You got a hit,” Grey said.
“Something.”
Teeg clicked and a photo of a middle-aged man, maybe late 40s, popped up on his screen. Underneath the photo was a name.
“Dikko Travathian.” Teeg glanced at Jackie. “Ring any bells?”
“Not a one.”
He cracked his knuckles. “All right. Let’s see who Dikko is.”
“Travathian,” Beck said. “Hang on.”
Jackie glanced back at him. “Do you recognize the name?”
“Boom.”
What, boom? “Don’t hold out on us now. Whatcha got?”
Beck waved the sheet of paper. “There’s a Rachael Travathian on here. She was the guest of Annabelle Lockhart.”
“Oh, now that’s interesting.”
“Hang on.” Teeg’s fingers worked the keyboard and after a quick internet search gave them the basics, Teeg held his hands out. “Okay, peeps, I guess what we need to figure out is why the CEO of a company that produces combat helmets for the Department of Defense was hanging out with the Director of the FBI and, oh, right, the future President of the United States.”
Seven
After an hour of queries into Dikko Travathian and coming up with zero links to Byron and President Murphy, Jackie looked like she was about to fall flat on her face. Mitch Monroe had arrived and introductions had been made. The flippant former agent, who Beck didn’t particularly like, wore a solid black T-shirt with a saying on it that seemed slightly inappropriate, given the subject matter… Never mistake my silence for weakness. No one plans a murder out loud. He paced the floor like he wanted to be anywhere but there.
Defending Justice Page 7
