Hot Lawyers: The Lee Christine Collection

by Lee Christine

  The light was fading as Laila took one last look around the room. She was glad she’d rushed down here from the art gallery. It had put her mind at ease, and hopefully she’d sleep better tonight.

  Picking the office keys out of her handbag, she glanced at the picture of the Blackhawk on the wall and thought about what the man had told her at the gallery. Once the mediation was over, she’d put in some serious hours on the class action. In the meantime, as the detective downstairs had pointed out, the most important thing was to lock up the office and make sure the premises were secure.

  Chapter Twelve

  11 a.m. Wednesday

  Laila fetched the morning coffees whenever she could. Sometimes it was a rushed espresso, other times she got held up and they made do with instant. But with Mike supervising the guys pulling up the sodden carpet, she’d made it down to the coffee bar in the basement.

  Now, as she stood waiting for two chai lattes, Laila tried warding off the uncomfortable feeling she was being watched.

  It was nothing tangible, just an uneasy sixth sense that had stayed with her after the break-in. Sometimes it was a shadow at the corner of her vision, other times a subtle stirring of air. Now it was a sensation of eyes on her back, strong enough to make her turn around and scan the people behind her.

  Her gaze fell on Dickson Cross, the trim detective with the shaved head and brash manner who’d given her access into the building yesterday. Now, he was five deep in the line, phone in one hand, the other in the pocket of his trousers.

  With a sigh of relief, Laila walked over to him. ‘Hello. I got the feeling someone was watching me.’

  He put his phone away. ‘I thought it was you.’

  ‘I’m waiting on the coffees. They’re taking an age today.’

  ‘Get that often?’

  Laila frowned. ‘Coffee?’

  ‘The feeling someone’s watching you?’

  Shrewd eyes studied her face, and Laila got the impression that, charmer though he was, Dickson Cross missed very little.

  ‘Sometimes.’

  ‘You should take particular notice. You work in an emotionally volatile field.’ He gave a shrug, the movement quick, like he was permanently hyped on caffeine. ‘Then again, it could be because you’re a babe.’

  Laila smiled. Some would think him inappropriate, but Dickson Cross had the knack of delivering a line without it being offensive. And he’d uttered the words like an afterthought, as if his previous statement might have worried her.

  She looked him over thoughtfully. ‘I have a feeling you get away with a lot, detective.

  A shallow dimple flashed in one cheek and he jiggled some loose change in his pocket. ‘You have a lot of feelings, Ms Richards.’

  She pointed an index finger at him. ‘Now that’s inappropriate.’

  He tried looking contrite, but failed to disguise the twinkle in his eyes. ‘Are to going to report me?’

  ‘Probably not.’

  The barista called her number.

  ‘Do you have time to see me now?’ he asked, as she made to leave. ‘You’re first on my list because of the problem you reported over the weekend.’

  She nodded. ‘Bring your coffee upstairs. My calendar’s wiped until midday tomorrow.’

  Tomorrow.

  The day of the Peyton mediation.

  An email had arrived late yesterday. A retired judge would oversee the matter at the family court.

  Nervous excitement ran through Laila’s body at the thought of seeing Evan again. Not that she was marking off the days or anything.

  Yeah, right.

  She picked up the coffees, used her elbow to push the lift button, and stepped inside. In the beginning, she believed her relationship with Evan meant nothing more than she was ready to have sex with an attractive man again. But now they’d parted, the idea of finding a new bed buddy to satisfy her needs held no appeal.

  As the lift passed the smoky third floor, Laila closed her eyes, nipples hardening beneath her silky work shirt at the memory of his parting kiss. Okay. She was horny as hell, and she was over the whole ‘he thought I was a groupie’ thing. He had kept coming back, and in all that time he’d never been rude or behaved like an uncivil boyfriend.

  Drawing in a deep breath, she opened her eyes as the lift reached her floor. It was time she faced it. She found him irresistible, but it was more than that. She liked him — a lot. She hadn’t even looked at another man since she’d met him.

  In the reception area, she picked her way around rolls of damp carpet, and handed Mike his coffee. ‘Dickson Cross is on his way up. Can you send him straight in?’

  ‘Sure.’ Mike watched as a workman pushed a mop over the bare floorboards in an effort to soak up the last of the dampness. ‘The new carpet won’t be here until next week apparently.’

  ‘That’s fine. As long as we’re operational, I can put up with floorboards for a while.’

  Five minutes later, Dickson Cross was sitting opposite her, a pink iced bun and a cup of hot chocolate on the desk in front of him. He bit off a piece of the bun and added three sugar sachets to the hot drink.

  A sugar addict. No wonder the guy was hyper.

  He took a swig of hot chocolate.

  Laila had to admit, it smelt good — it masked the mildewy odour of sodden underfelt.

  ‘We found traces of accelerant,’ he said without preamble. ‘And we shouldn’t assume because the fire started on the third floor, someone down there was the target. It’s natural to think that, but criminals aren’t stupid. Well, not all of them.’

  ‘Accelerant.’ She’d been thinking an electrical fault was probably to blame. ‘That’s worrying.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Dickson consulted his notes. ‘You reported a break and enter. The uniforms were on their way here when the fire broke out.’

  ‘It wasn’t strictly a break-in — the door to reception was open. They forced some filing cabinets while I was in here with a client.’

  ‘Anything missing?’

  ‘No. I spent Sunday checking.’

  ‘You keep cash on the premises?’

  ‘Only a small float, and that was untouched.’

  Dickson pushed himself backwards, rocking slightly, balancing the chair on its two back legs as if he were in high school. Obviously someone had neglected to tell him how potentially dangerous it was, or he hadn’t listened.

  ‘Any disgruntled clients, bitter custody battles, that kind of thing?’

  ‘Not at the moment. There is something though.’ Laila proceeded to tell him about her concerns at home, including the problems with both telephones.

  Righting the chair onto all fours, Dickson pulled a small spiral-bound notepad from his shirt pocket, just like the detectives in the movies.

  ‘When was this?’ he asked, pink bun forgotten.

  ‘Friday night. I didn’t report it. I wanted to speak to my neighbour first. I live in a semi. It has a combined ceiling space.’

  ‘I know the kind of thing.’

  ‘But now, with this…’

  Dickson shot her a glance. ‘You’re thinking there’s more to it?’

  Laila nodded, and her stomach shifted. God, she thought she’d feel better once she’d spoken to the police, but if anything she felt worse. What she really wanted was to talk to Evan. She wanted to call him, and enquire about his hand.

  ‘Anything missing at home?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘That’s a good sign.’ Dickson tipped his head in the direction of the waiting room. ‘I’ll check with the phone company, see if they’ve been doing maintenance in the Sydney basin. And I’ll get a tech up here to look at the phone and dust for prints, but honestly, with the drenching from the sprinklers, I’d say we’ve got buckleys.’

  The military wouldn’t leave fingerprints.

  ‘Your neighbour at home didn’t see anything?’

  ‘No. But someone was hanging around here on Saturday, out in the corridor.’

  Dickson looked up.
‘Go on.’

  Laila recounted what happened, while Dickson polished off the remainder of his bun.

  When she fell silent, he screwed the paper bag into a ball, half stood and lobbed it into the bin behind her desk.

  ‘Shame you didn’t see his face. I’ll check the CCTV footage again.’

  ‘Again?’

  He reached into his coat pocket, took out a piece of paper and unfolded it. ‘Do you recognise this guy?’

  Laila studied the picture. The man was thick set, with a broad forehead and short cropped dark hair. His eyes were covered with shield-style rimless sunglasses, and he wore jeans and a black leather jacket.

  ‘It was taken from one of the security cameras. We estimate he’s about five ten, around forty-five years old.’

  Laila looked up. ‘I don’t know him.’

  ‘He got out of the lift on the third floor twenty minutes before the fire broke out.’

  ‘You think he’s the arsonist?’

  ‘Could be. We’ve spoken to the third-floor tenants. No-one had an appointment with him.’ Dickson picked up his cup. ‘I’m checking the other tenants now, starting with you.’

  Laila studied the photo harder. ‘He’s not a client, and to my knowledge, he’s never been here. He has a certain look though — maybe military.’

  ‘Bikie.’

  Laila chin came up.

  ‘See here.’ Dickson reached across the desk and pointed to the guy’s neck. ‘We have about ten shots of him. In this one, his jacket gapes, exposing a couple of inches of a tattoo. The weather’s hot, right? That’s why he’s wearing the jacket, to hide the ink.’

  Laila squinted at the photograph. Sure enough, there was some kind of visible mark on the guy’s neck. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Rosary beads. The Altar Boys ink the club crest into their left shoulder, rosary beads around the neck.’

  Everyone knew of the Altar Boys, like everyone knew of the Hells Angels. Eighteen months ago, the outlaw motorcycle gang had been busted apart by a series of police raids, the ongoing arrests and convictions severely curtailing their illegal operations.

  The corruption had reached as far as Poole Greenwood, with former partner Henry Grace struck off the legal register for laundering money through their trust account. Henry Grace’s imprisonment had been Evan’s opportunity.

  ‘Look, I’ll be straight with you.’ Dickson said suddenly. ‘I’m gang squad, not arson. I got called in because this guy showed up on camera. We’ve been after him for a while. He’s involved in importing illegal firearms, and car re-birthing. He wasn’t here for a meeting with his financial advisor.’

  ‘You might want to show the photograph to Mike. He’s here all the time. He could have noticed him — I’m in court a lot.’

  ‘Will do.’ Dickson returned the printout to his pocket. ‘Any idea what your burglar was looking for?’

  Laila deliberated, wondering how much she could reveal before ethics came into play. ‘There’s only one party who’d be interested in the contents of those particular cabinets. The Australian military.’

  Dickson’s eyes widened. ‘The military? What does the military have to do with family law?’

  Laila explained her speciality, then briefly mentioned the class action she was working on.

  ‘What kind of class action?’ Before she could answer, he was pulling his phone from his pocket. ‘Do you mind if I record this?’

  ‘Yes, I do mind. I can’t give you details about the case, Detective Inspector Cross — client confidentiality. Suffice to say, the military won’t be happy when they hear about it.’

  ‘If they haven’t already.’ Dickson’s keen eyes narrowed. ‘Okay, tell me this. Would they try and stop you, do you think?’

  Laila looked squarely at him, trying not to let her inner turmoil show. ‘I honestly don’t know.’

  He held her gaze for long seconds. ‘Does this have something to do with the feeling you’re being watched?’

  ‘It crossed my mind.’

  Crossed her mind?

  It was close to a week since she’d slept properly. Still, part of that was because of Evan, and the Peyton case.

  ‘Take this.’ Dickson slid a card across the desk. ‘You can call me any time, day or night. Don’t hesitate, okay?’

  Laila picked up the card and scanned it briefly. ‘Thank you, detective.’

  ‘My pleasure. I’ll get someone up here as soon as I can to go over the computer and the phone.’

  Laila reached across the desk to shake hands, but when she went to follow him out, he waved her away.

  ‘Stay there, I can show myself out.’

  The next instant, he was gone.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Noon Wednesday

  ‘You wanted to see me?’

  Evan looked up to find Allegra Greenwood standing in the doorway of his corner office. Graceful in a pale blue suit, blonde hair styled into some kind of French twist, she could have stepped straight from the runway in Milan.

  ‘Allegra. Come in.’

  It seemed strange to invite a partner of the firm into his office but, unlike Simon Poole, Allegra simply didn’t walk in. She was respectful of the staff like that.

  ‘You should have buzzed me. I would have come up.’

  He shut the door and pulled out a chair. There were many things he liked about Allegra; her grace, her razor-sharp mind, her ability as a criminal lawyer. Some people found her cool, formidable even, but he admired her straightforward manner. You always knew where you stood with the ‘perfumed steamroller’. And she made herself accessible to everyone at the firm.

  Now she sat in one of the client chairs and looked squarely at him. ‘So, what couldn’t wait until the case meeting?’

  ‘I need more manpower.’ He didn’t ask, just stated his need. If you asked, there was a good chance you’d get no for an answer.

  ‘I’m assuming this is to do with the Peyton case?’

  He nodded. ‘We have a mediation in twenty-four hours.’

  When she didn’t say anything, Evan swept a hand towards the mountains of files stacked on his desk. ‘We’re drowning in a sea of financial statements. There are so many companies, we’ll be working with the accountants through the night just to get a rough picture of their position.’

  Allegra’s gaze shifted to his desk. ‘You’re moving very quickly on this.’

  It was an observation, with a ‘please explain’ question attached.

  ‘Duncan has to show goodwill by making some kind of fair offer to his wife, something in the ballpark of what she’ll ultimately end up with. We can offer her a part payment, provided she agrees to have the current orders lifted. We need to make some real progress tomorrow.’

  He paused, Laila’s sweet face forming in his mind. ‘Laila Richards has us on the run.’

  It felt odd speaking about her like this, and it struck him then that there were similarities between Laila and Allegra. Laila was warmer though, more animated. More inclined to take up a cause close to her heart.

  ‘And if you don’t make headway tomorrow?’ Allegra asked.

  ‘The matrimonial assets stay frozen. That puts the hotel development at risk.’

  Allegra’s clear eyes flicked over him as she digested the information. ‘This is the hotel you have a personal stake in?

  Evan nodded. ‘Five percent.’

  With the Peyton family intact, there hadn’t been an issue with him investing money in any of their business ventures. But the split between Duncan and Scarlett had the potential to change the situation. The last thing Poole Greenwood needed was for him to be accused of acting in his own self-interest.

  And it troubled him that Laila might see it that way, if she ever found out. Not that he had any obligation to divulge that kind of information. Legally, all he needed to do was provide financial evidence of the Peytons’ worth, in the form of financial statements submitted to the tax office, and property valuations.

  Allegra leaned for
ward, a worried frown creasing her forehead. ‘You need to be very careful, Evan. I want this firm protected. We’re only now clawing back our reputation, and you’re a very big part of that.’

  ‘I understand.’

  She had every right to warn him, though there was no need. He would do the right thing by both his client and Poole Greenwood, and the best way of achieving that was to do the right thing by Scarlett. The flow-on effect would be the funds becoming liquid, the development going ahead, the contractors remaining in work. With George and Duncan out of the trouble, the deal would be assured. Everybody’s interests — the Chinese, his own — would be safe.

  ‘I’ve heard enough.’ Allegra stood up, preparing to leave. ‘Bring on board whoever you need and get this sorted out as soon as possible. I’ll send an interoffice memo around.’

  Evan blew out a relieved breath and jumped up to open the door. ‘Thank you.’

  This is what he thrived on, listening, negotiating, working the situation, and ultimately keeping hold of what was his.

  And that included Laila.

  He closed the door and walked to the window, watched the crawling traffic down on the street. He’d never forget the first time he saw her at the Law Society dinner. He’d looked up when the bloke beside him pointed her out. She was standing inside the door, her back to him. But that was all it took.

  The figure-hugging dress was emerald green, the shoes a matching colour. The blonde hair was swept up and held in place by a sparkling clip. Low cut at the back, the dress plunged all the way to her lower spine, the soft material draping at the last possible moment to cover her shapely derriere. A long silver chain dangled between her shoulder blades, a sparkling crystal nestling in the small of her back.

  As the last golden rays of sun retracted through the arched windows, Evan’s heart rate soared and his mouth turned dry.

  He’d never seen anything so alluring — and she hadn’t even turned around yet.

  Chapter Fourteen

  It was amazing, the minutiae of a person’s daily existence. Not that I was to concern myself with the personal aspects of Laila Richard’s life, but I couldn’t help it, couldn’t stay removed. The longer I watched, the more fascinated I became.