I clenched my jaw, unwilling to say anything I’d regret. I was a lawyer, after all, and knew it would be held against me. But I wasn’t going down this way—that much I knew. Taking a deep breath, I gathered my thoughts. The office was quiet. Everyone must be listening.
His eyes softened. “When I hired you, it was out of pity. And because you had a view I didn’t have—namely, that of a guttersnipe. I thought the press would love a good Cinderella story, you coming from the foster care system and poor as dirt and working your way through law school. Hell, even your parents’ story is so pathetic, no one could help but feel sorry for you.” He leaned forward. “But you know Cinderella’s magic doesn’t last.”
Now I knew exactly what to say. “You’ve told me that a hundred times, and you know what?” I came within an inch of his face. “I’m not Cinderella, I’m not the ugly stepsister, and I’m not the fairy godmother. This isn’t a fairy tale. You don’t fire lawyers. You don’t fire me. I’m going to come at you with everything I have, and I won’t do it in public, either.”
He winced, confused.
I whispered, “I will ruin your life from the inside out—I’ll show every political friend of yours what you’ve done behind their backs. Every client you cheated will find out, every dirty little thing you’ve texted me over the years will come out, and you’ll have to account for every law broken and every law you’ve made us break. When I’m done, even your mother won’t work with you, and you can kiss running for mayor good-bye.”
He stepped back and laughed without humor. “What is wrong with you? I thought you’d be all relaxed and happy after your vacation.” When he said the word “vacation”, he made air quotes. “You’re getting paid, so what’s the big deal? Besides, I can throw you some freelance work, if you want. You know, to keep you in the loop, maybe get back in my good graces.”
I swallowed and stepped back, but kept my eyes on him. “What do you want?” I said through clenched teeth.
“I want to hire you, Sarah. This office can’t take on every case, and some of these cases could help me—I mean, help us. You could be my girl on the outside and stay the payroll at the same time—you should be thanking me, not acting all hormonal.”
I took a shaky breath. My mind was reeling. Something had to change—something was bound to change because of what I did in Rio—but I didn’t expect this.
“Just have your stuff cleared out by tonight. I’ll tell the press it’s only until the internal investigation is over and that you’re our pride and joy and other nonsense. Oh, and Joshua’s in your office with your first job. A journalist has been calling for you. I want you to help him, no matter what.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, you’ve got one thing wrong.” Things had to be on my terms. I had to take this break and run for it. He’d always pushed me around, and in the past I had put up with it because I loved my job so much. But no more.
“What’s that?” he asked with an edge on his voice.
“I’m not going to be your girl.”
He frowned.
“If I’m going to do this, it’s my way. I’ll run it under my own business, no under-the-table payments, and it all has to be legit. I’ll have a consultation fee and take the jobs I want to take, not the ones you hand out. You pay me half up front—that is, if you can afford me.”
I moved toward my office door and glanced in. Joshua, my intern, was in the corner, grinning from ear to ear. Then I turned back to Dan. “I’ve still got a fully packed suitcase at home, I slept like two hours last night, and I’m greeted back with you yelling at me. Don’t say another rash word, and I may think about it.”
Dan crossed his arms and considered me before nodding. “Very well, Sarah. I need you on this case. We want this journalist to owe us a favor.”
“Okay.” I brushed him off.
Dan scowled at me like a disapproving father. “And…?”
I groaned. “And I’ll have a resignation on your desk by the end of the day.”
“Good.” He leaned in as if he was about to tell me a secret. I knew his secrets were never good. “Look, Sarah. I’m sorry I got up in your face right off. It’s just that no one’s quite as much fun to work with.” His eyes flickered to my chest.
I wanted to vomit.
But he didn’t let up. This guy didn’t have an off button. “I have a reservation at the Arid Club tonight. We could talk about your new business and have a glass of wine. I can help you with it.” He saw the look of horror all over my face and backpedaled. “Just business, of course.”
I considered punching him in that big nose, but I didn’t want to go to jail. “Dan, no. I don’t want your wife to get the wrong impression.”
“I can keep a secret.” He winked, and it took everything in me not to rack him.
“I’m sure you can, but no. I have a boyfriend.”
Dan straightened as if I’d just punched him. He huffed right into my face. “I see.” His scowl then turned to a smile, and he asked if I at least had any pictures of me and Mandy on the beach. I turned, walked into my office, and slammed the door.
Joshua laughed, and I flipped off the closed door.
“I missed you, boss. No one else treats Dan like that. You can’t leave.”
My anger melted and I let out a long sigh. “I missed you too.” My office was just as sparse as my house, though I did have a statue of blind Lady Justice on my desk and an oil painting of Themis and Astraea, the Greek goddesses who were the personifications of justice. They helped me remember my purpose here and why I took the job with Dan in the first place. “Tell me some good news, Joshua. Something about cute kittens or world peace or that I won a lifetime supply of Godiva chocolate.”
He just laughed. “If you want that, you’ve got the wrong job.”
FROM THE FIRST DAY of working together, Joshua and I clicked, and I haven’t let him out of my sight since then. He was a tall, rotund, muscular native Hawaiian who had the best taste in music, a quirky style, top-of-the-class smarts, and a beautiful accent. I’ve proposed to him numerous times, but he keeps telling me that his girlfriend would probably object.
I sat down behind my desk and closed my eyes. “Can you get that number for me, for the reporter Dan mentioned?”
He got on his phone and started tapping. “You’ve got to see the newspaper on your desk too. It came out yesterday.”
I pulled it out from under a file. “Did they finally discover my background as a pirate in Somalia?”
He winked. “Something like that.”
My mouth fell open when I saw the headline with a picture of Hank and Glen Williams.
Killer ADA Strikes Again
My heart skipped a beat. Surely they didn’t—they couldn’t have discovered the holes in my story to the police. No one could know that I was the one who set the trap for Williams and not the other way around.
“Yeah, you’ve been the talk of the building for the last few days. How does it feel to be a young girl’s hero?”
What? Hero? I was pissed, scared, and giddy all at the same time. Scanning the page, I took in as much of the story as I could.
One sentence especially stood out to me. Assistant district attorney Sarah Steel is known for her killer instincts in and out of the courtroom. In the last 6 months, she has killed two people in what seems to be a winning streak for the good guys.
The last thing I wanted was for people to know about me or poking around into my past. There were a lot of secrets I wanted to keep in the shadows. First and foremost, the stories of how I killed Hank and the Blondes. My gut clenched. What scared me was that I had no idea if I’d be able to quit. I still had that dark urge, that need for vengeance that was never quiet. I sighed deeply, unclenching my jaw.
“Where are they getting all this? They have some stuff in here that only someone in this office would know.” Some of the information was easy to find, like the fact that my mom was in prison for killing my dad. But the
paper had mentioned my kickboxing mentorship program, and I didn’t talk about that much.
Josh lifted one eyebrow. “I thought the same thing when I first read it. According to the paper, they have a source, but won’t disclose it. I wouldn’t worry too much about it. Most people think it’s cool—you’re like a hero. It’ll blow over.”
“Yeah, right. Just something else to put on my résumé—hero for hire.” I snorted. Me being a hero was the furthest thing from reality. More like crazy killer for hire—comes with mental baggage and an overactive sense of justice.
“Maybe you should start your own agency or something—”
“Joshua, come on.” I gave him a wry look. “I know you overheard what Dan and I talked about.”
“You mean argued about.” He grinned at me, making his eyes look like small black dots. “But in all seriousness, if you are going to start an agency, I want in.” He stood up. “We can get things done for people who really need it, not these corporate douchebag clients Dan always seems to attract.” I held my breath. Was he being serious? The DA’s office was his dream job. He continued. “Clients bring us a wrong, and we’ll right it. We’ll hunt the baddies down, grab the evidence, and make the problem go away.” He laughed. I stared at him. After a second, he stopped laughing and blinked at me. “What?”
“Serious?”
“Me? Always.”
“You’d really quit this job.”
“Come on, Sarah.” He sat back down. “You know you wouldn’t be able to find your own car in the parking lot if it wasn’t for me. How could you run your own company if I wasn’t there to bring you coffee?”
He motioned to the steaming cup on my desk and I grabbed it, raising it in a salute. “You’re right. I wouldn’t dream of going out into the big old scary world without my java . . . er, I mean you.”
He went back to his phone, scrolling through pages.
It scared me witless to think about giving up my regular paycheck and backing out of what I always considered my dream job. But dreams change, don’t they?
“Okay.” He tapped his phone. “Just sent you the contact who’s been frantically calling Dan for the past two hours.”
My phone buzzed. I opened the text and instantly called the number.
The phone on the other end rang three times and a young man answered. “Hello?”
“Is this Timothy James?”
“Who is this?” His voice took on a higher tone.
“Don’t worry, Mr. James. I work with Dan Butler, but he said this had to be unofficial. My name is Sarah Steele.” I tapped my pen against the desk. “Now, you’ve got some trouble, have you?”
“Yes,” he said, his voice trembling. “I’m in trouble. And I need you to get me out of it before I end up dead.”
JOSHUA SQUEEZED HIMSELF INTO the passenger seat of my car. “An Indian reservation? I didn’t know there were any around here.”
“There are only a few in Idaho that I know of, and most are small. But I’m definitely not a specialist on Native American law, so I’m not sure what we’re getting in to here. And he seemed panicked on the phone.”
“Did he tell you why he had to see you today?”
“Nope, just that it was a matter of life and death.”
“Same ol’, same ol’.”
Timothy James was a reporter for NPR and, according to Joshua’s iPhone, he had won quite a few awards. He specialized in equality for ethnic minorities and appeared hard-working, driven, and very handsome, judging from the picture Joshua showed me.
The ‘burbs and malls and concrete were long behind us, and the mountains, creeks, and beautiful wildflowers rose in front. I felt better each mile we drove out of town. The reservation was 105 miles from Boise, and I was enjoying every one of them. Billboards displayed colorful pictures of blackjack tables, waitresses in short skirts, and luxurious hotel rooms. They even had a Wild Wild West show with real horses and wagons and trick shooters.
“So, how big is the Somneset tribe?” I asked.
Josh stared at his phone. In his big hands, it looked like a kid’s toy. “Wikipedia says there are 1400 members as of last year. It looks like they have a bit of a feud going on.”
“How so?” I asked.
“There are half a dozen police reports all involving fights. Body count thus far is eight. One involved a standoff at a school after a local election—guess one side thought the other was cheating, and two women in their seventies killed each other.”
I gasp. “What?”
“Yeah, I guess one had a heart attack after beating the other to death in her wheelchair.”
“You’re making that up.”
He shook his head solemnly.
I remembered a case a few years back that involved a tribe member—our office couldn’t step in without the permission of their council. They were a nation within a nation.
I sighed and relaxed back in my seat. “Timothy wouldn’t be dumb enough to get involved in a feud now, would he?” My impression of the NPR reporter was sinking.
“Let’s just hope he ran up a gambling debt or something.” Joshua pointed to my exit and I took it. The car turned so sharply that Joshua gripped the armrest.
“I have a feeling this is going to get complicated in a hurry,” I said.
“No joke.”
I pulled into a broken-down café on the side of the road and shut off the engine. The parking lot was full of cracked concrete and potholes half the size of my car. A sign boasted that it had been the home of world-famous chocolate shakes. I saw tables through the dusty windows—some even had plates still on them. This place was trapped in time. The 1960s, from the look of it.
An older car was parked to the side of the building, only its fender peeping out. A man leaned against the back of the car, his arms crossed, staring at us intently. From his body language, I guessed that the big secret he had was hidden in the trunk. I studied the man. He had short blond hair and a rough-cut face with baby-blue eyes. His red polo was wrinkled and splattered with food and his jeans were baggy and limp, as if he’d worn them for a few days in a row. And he could have used a shave and a shower.
“Okay, here we go.” I should have been nervous, but I found myself excited. I loved the mystery of it all—the random phone call, a long drive to a creepy dive to meet a stranger over a life-and-death matter. The dark places in my mind stirred, but not in warning—more as if to let me know that here, I was the predator.
“I’ll stay in the car, if you don’t mind. Depending on what he wants, you may not want me to know.”
Josh had a point. He was thinking like a lawyer, and some things could not be unheard. “From first glance, it looks like he’s been holed up somewhere. He has that red-eyed, glazed look about him. Keep an eye out and if anything funny happens, come save me.”
“What do you want me to do? Cite facts about Hawaiian history until he dies of boredom? Lull him to sleep with a lullaby? ’Cause that’s all I got.”
I laughed. “You do have the prettiest singing voice.” Reaching in front of him, I opened the glove box and took out my gun.
Joshua’s eyes turned solemn. “What’s that for?”
“It’s a gun. You point this end at the bad guy and pull the trigger, and a bullet—”
“Sarah.” His voice took on a warning tone.
“I’m not planning on using it. But whenever I’m facing a stranger who weighs twice as much as me, I can’t just rely on my kickboxing skills. Now stay sharp.”
Stepping out of the car, I tucked the gun in my purse and walked toward Timothy James.
He rushed toward me. Then he looked past me at my car and the huge man sitting in the passenger seat.
“He’s my bodyguard,” I said, offering my hand.
“Oh, yes. I see.” Mr. James was tall, at least six foot three, and lean but fit. I saw panic in his eyes, shiny and raw. But behind that was a deep sadness, marked by the wrinkles around his eyes. “Thanks for meeting me, Miss Steele.”
/>
“Sarah.” He had my hand in a death grip and I pulled it away.
“Sarah. I’m Timothy—just Timothy. I’m sorry I’m acting like this. I can’t put my head in thoughts. I mean, I can’t put my thoughts…” He stopped and pressed his lips together.
“We’ll deal with this together. First, you have to swear something to me.”
His eyes widened. “I didn’t do it!”
That was not a good sign—he was defensive, and I hadn’t even asked him a question. “I’m not the judge. I’m not the jury. Just promise me you’ll tell me the truth, no matter what. I am the one person you do not lie to.”
He looked in my eyes for a minute, assessing me. The wind gusted, ruffling his hair. “I promise.”
“Okay.” I clapped my hands once and pointed to his car. ”Now tell me what’s going on. And why you wanted Dan Butler on the case.”
Timothy nodded nervously and cursed. “Okay, I’m good.” He seemed to gather himself and motioned for me to follow him to the back of his SUV. What was in that trunk? I shot Josh a look and he waved at me.
“I see he didn’t tell you—Mr. Butler, that is. I requested you, Miss Steele . . . er, Sarah. I’ve been following your work for a year or so, the cases you work on, your style. I have an eye for talent, for the story that will become a story. It’s my job, and I’m the best there is.” He said it with confidence, not pride. Just like I’m sure he knew he was good-looking.
“Good for you.” I reached for the trunk handle, but he moved in front of it. I folded my arms across my chest. “Now what kind of trouble are you in?”
“Yes, trouble. I’m afraid I’m in the worst kind. I called you because out here, the law is of no use. On the reservation, the law is created by the council. They do what they want. And with your set of skills, I thought you could help me get around the law—or at least, weed through theirs.”
The Steele Collection Books 1-3: Sarah Steele Legal Thrillers Page 28
