—Boethius
CHAPTER 2
Quaid
I pulled my already loosened tie the rest of the way off and kicked the front door of my loft shut with my foot. I threw my leather satchel towards the big sectional that took up most of the open living room and swore when it missed the mark by a hair and went careening to the floor. My laptop clattered and slid out of the top flap, taking with it the file from the last case of the day. I pushed my hands through my hair in aggravation and blew out a frustrated breath.
I was home hours before I had planned to be and I was alone, something else I hadn’t planned on being by the end of my date. The rejection and subsequent dismissal from a woman that was not only beautiful but as smart and successful as I was had left me edgy and antsy. I was also grumpy and short tempered due to sexual frustration and the unfamiliar feeling of being denied something I wanted.
What I currently wanted was a shot at getting Sayer Cole in my bed.
I was married the first time I was introduced to the stunning family-law attorney but it was a marriage well on its way to crashing and burning. I wasn’t married anymore, and as far as I was concerned, Sayer was the perfect woman to celebrate my newfound singleness with. She was gorgeous and she didn’t need anything from me. She made the same kind of money that I did. She was already a partner in the firm she worked for, so she didn’t need my name or reputation to get ahead in the legal game. She had been unattached the entire time she was in Denver, so I didn’t have to worry about her clinging to me. She didn’t seem like the type that was husband hunting, which was perfect, because I wasn’t going to be anyone’s prey. I was much more comfortable being the hunter rather than the hunted and nothing appealed to me more than a woman that had absolutely no reason to bleed me dry. I knew that even though she came across as chilly and reserved, I could warm her up if I got her naked and underneath me.
I should have taken the hint after the second time Sayer rescheduled on me. Women never bailed on me. In fact, more often than not, women chased after me and I had to bail on them because I was busy or because I was bored. After my divorce was final, I went on a sexual bender. I was hurt and reeling from my ex’s betrayal, so it was obvious that I was trying to even up the score and soothe my wounded ego with an endless string of willing bed partners. I was trying to screw wasted years, wasted money, and a broken heart out of my system. It became clear from the get-go, that even meaningless one-night stands wanted more than I was willing to give.
One wouldn’t leave the next morning until I threatened to call the police. One acted like she was waiting for an engagement ring after one night together. One disappeared with my favorite Tag Heuer watch. One showed up outside of court after an intense day at trial and wanted to know when we were going out again. Then there was the one who called the top partner at my firm, the guy with his name first on the sign, and asked him for an interview claiming me as her reference. That one led to an embarrassing explanation and a ding on my nearly spotless reputation within the firm. I wanted my name as partner on that sign in the near future, and I wasn’t going to let my vengeful dick or my anger towards my ex hinder that possibility.
I stopped sleeping around, set my sights on Sayer, and waited for her to get on board with my plan. Only she wasn’t interested and sent me on my way, frustrated and at a loss for what to do next. I didn’t have a backup plan because I very rarely needed one.
I walked over to the couch and tossed the silk tie in my fist over the back of it, this time hitting the target. I bent to pick up the computer and scowled when I noticed the toss had dinged the corner. That meant I would have to buy a new one even if this one still worked. It wouldn’t do to have a damaged Mac. It wouldn’t do to have a damaged anything even if it meant throwing good money away.
I scooped up the scattered file on Avett Walker and plopped myself back on the couch. I looked at the expensive watch on my wrist, yet another prop that was nothing more than a waste of money considering I had a cell phone with the time on it, and then back at the file. It was still early enough in the evening that I could call the young woman’s father, letting him know that without someone to pay her bail and without a permanent address for her to be released to she was looking at a decent amount of time behind bars until we had a preliminary hearing date. The system didn’t take kindly to one of their own being threatened, and since the robbery had involved an off-duty police officer, I wouldn’t be surprised if paperwork got lost or misfiled along the way to us getting in front of a judge.
I tapped the edge of my thumb on the black-and-white mug shot photo and couldn’t stop the grin from tugging at my mouth.
She tried to fire me.
She was five-foot-nothing, a lifetime younger than me, had multicolored hair that had seen better days, wild eyes that couldn’t decide if they wanted to be green, gold, or brown, while dressed in convict orange and obviously scared out of her ever loving mind, yet she still tried to fire me. If it had been any of my other clients—the cop accused of sexual battery, the frat boy accused of manslaughter over a bet on a football game gone wrong, the middle school teacher accused of pedophilia and having an inappropriate relationship with several of her students, or the pro football player accused of domestic abuse—I would have tipped my proverbial hat, wished them luck while I cut my losses, and walked away without a backward glance. People always committed crimes. People always needed a good defense, so it wasn’t like I was hurting for clients, but there was something about the girl. Something about the defiant tilt of her chin and the raw desperation in her tone when she begged me not to call her father.
“I don’t want your help. I don’t want anything from you.” She sounded like she meant it when she said it, but I figured she was too young and too scared to know exactly what she wanted or needed. Regardless, it was still refreshing to hear.
Everyone always wanted something from me and my help was usually the least of it.
I tapped the picture again, wondering why I found it so easy to believe that she really hadn’t been a part of the boyfriend’s plan to rob the bar. She wasn’t anyone’s idea of a model citizen and she had the shady track record to prove it. She was too young, and frankly too adorable, to have a file this thick. From what I could see, she also had a set of parents always willing to ride to the rescue when she got herself into trouble. She looked like some kind of colorful woodland fairy from a Disney movie with her odd hair and delicate features. None of it added up, but the sincerity in her tone when she said she would never have gone with the boyfriend if she knew his intent and the fear in her eyes when I mentioned her father seemed genuine.
I learned long ago to treat everyone like they were guilty of whatever it was I was paid to defend them against. I didn’t want to know the truth. I didn’t want to know the circumstances. I wanted my clients to listen to me and let me do my job as I tried to convince the rest of the world they were innocent, regardless if they were or not. But this girl with her faded, rose-colored hair and turbulent eyes oozed innocence through the cracks of her very guilty façade.
Because I was intrigued and actually believed the girl might be innocent, I wasn’t going to let her fire me. I was going to call her father and hope that he would help me keep her out of the slammer while I figured out how to plea bargain her charges down or get them dismissed altogether. Again, because a cop was involved in the robbery and because the boyfriend, junkie or not, was offering up a pretty plausible explanation for Avett’s involvement in the crime, nothing was a slam dunk, yet. I was going to help her whether she wanted me to or not.
I found the father’s contact information in the file and dug my cell phone out of my pocket. If he wasn’t willing to help the girl out I was going to call Asa and see what my former client thought the next best course of action should be. I didn’t often take on cases based solely on referral, but I truly liked Asa Cross and he was another one of my clients that I actually believed was innocent when I was hired to help him out. If he w
as willing to pay my admittedly hefty fee to help this young woman out, I knew he would want to know if she was going to end up stuck behind bars if dear old dad didn’t step up to the plate.
I pressed the number into the screen while continuing to stare at the grainy mug shot and wondered why I wasn’t letting my assistant or one of the paralegals at the firm make the call instead.
A deep voice rumbled a curt hello in my ear and I tilted my head back on the couch so I was looking at the exposed ductwork that crisscrossed the ceiling of the loft.
“Is this Brighton Walker?”
There was a grunt and then, “Who wants to know?”
I almost laughed. It was so far removed from the way the people I usually dealt with on a day-to-day basis interacted with me that it was startlingly refreshing.
“My name is Quaid Jackson, and I’m calling because I am currently being retained to represent your daughter.”
There was a beat of silence followed by a heavy sigh that could only come from a frustrated parent. “One of my boys hired you.” It wasn’t a question but rather a statement of fact.
“I don’t know if Asa Cross is one of your boys or not but we worked together in the past on a situation involving the same establishment. He called me as soon as the police read your daughter her rights and told me if I agreed to take the case that money was no object.”
A soft curse hit my ears followed by another deep sigh. “I was waiting for Avett to call. She always calls me first when she gets into trouble. They charged her?”
I shifted on the couch and tucked the phone against my cheek. “They did. Accessory to armed robbery, aiding and abetting the commission of a felony involving a firearm, and accessory after the fact. Some of the charges are throwaway charges simply because they wanted to book her fast and hold her in lockup. The fact that there was an off-duty police officer involved in the crime is going to complicate things for the duration.”
“Royal.” He mentioned the young policewoman’s name softly. “I’m so glad that the only person that got hurt was that loser my daughter was hooked up with.”
I squeezed the bridge of my nose. “If the police officer hadn’t been there that night it might not have been the case. The boyfriend went in armed and pulled a gun on Mr. Cross. This entire situation could have had a much worse outcome.”
The man on the other end of the phone went silent again and then muttered, “I am well aware of what could’ve happened, Mr. Jackson.”
I felt like a little kid getting a scolding for speaking before the teacher called on me. That was an impressive feat. I very rarely felt put in my place and this man had done it with his tone of voice and a few carefully chosen words. Again, I wondered how his daughter had trailed so far off the straight and narrow when she seemed to have such a strong support system in place.
“I can’t tell you why Avett didn’t call you, Mr. Walker, but I can tell you that she is in pretty big trouble. Her arraignment hearing is tomorrow, and while I’m almost certain that I can get her released on bail, it won’t be cheap and the judge won’t let her go unless she has a stable, safe, and permanent address to go home to. He may even put her on house arrest considering her uncanny ability to find trouble. If that’s the case, she’ll have to have an address to register the ankle monitor to.” I paused to let all the information sink in. “She mentioned she was living with the boyfriend. Understandably, that is no longer an option.”
There was rustling on the other end of the line that sounded like he was scraping his hand through his hair, only rougher and scratchier. “So you’re asking me to pay my daughter’s bail and to bring her home with me, even though she was involved in an armed robbery that could’ve resulted in people I care deeply about getting injured … or worse?”
When he laid it out like that, it sounded like an insane request. It was my turn to sigh. “If it makes any kind of difference Avett didn’t want me to call you. I felt that if there was an option to save her from having to spend time behind bars while we wait for the preliminary hearing, we should pursue it. From your reaction, I’m guessing she didn’t call you because she knew it would be a waste of time.” I didn’t know the man, barely knew the girl, but I was oddly disappointed in his reaction. One more thing about this entire case and situation that made no sense. My reactions were totally out of character, but instead of worrying about it, I kind of liked the thrill of it. Being numb was boring.
I paused and as I was about to thank the man for his time there was suddenly a chuckle that sounded like thunder rumbling through the mountains coming from the other end of the call.
“She didn’t call me because she’s scared and embarrassed. That girl.” Even though I couldn’t see him, I knew the man had to be shaking his head ruefully. “She’s always been a handful, and she’s always had a knack for finding the deepest, hottest water to jump feetfirst into. Sometimes I wonder if she’s testing me and her poor mother to see just how much we can take. She doesn’t realize when you’re a parent there are no limits on the love you have for your child. I’ll take whatever she dishes out and come back for more. Her mother is a firm believer in letting Avett suffer the consequences of her foolish actions alone—she thinks it’s the only way she’ll learn—but I’m more of a ‘walk through the fire side by side’ kind of parent. Tell me what time the hearing is and I’ll be there, with bail money or a bondsman and with whatever proof you need that my daughter has a permanent place to stay with me. I’ve always been her home and regardless of what she’s done that will never change.”
I wanted to breathe a sigh of relief. I wanted to pump my fist in victory even though the battle hadn’t even started yet. Maybe my job and the recent collapse of my marriage had made me too jaded. I was so used to seeing the bad in people, so accustomed to believing the worst by default, that I needed this man to have unconditional love for his child in order to keep some sort of faith in humanity alive.
I ran through what he would need to bring with him for the arraignment proceedings in case the judge needed proof, and warned him that his daughter was going to look worn down and was dressed like a convict. It could be jarring to see someone you loved like that, but the man assured me he would be fine and he would be there to take care of his little girl.
I thanked him for his time and was getting ready to hang up when he stopped me with a quietly spoken question. “Can I ask why you took the time, after what I’m assuming was a long workday, to call me yourself, Mr. Jackson? Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the personal touch and the obvious commitment to my daughter’s well-being. I can’t say I’ve had a ton of experience dealing with attorneys, but something tells me this isn’t standard operating procedure.”
It wasn’t, but there was something about the girl so I told him the truth because I had a suspicion that this man would be able to smell a lie or a dodge from a mile away. “It’s not and I’m generally not the type to bring a case home with me. I try to leave the law at the office and in the courtroom, but there is something about your daughter.” I paused and it was my turn to shake my head. “She isn’t exactly blameless, but she doesn’t deserve to be lumped in with the kinds of violent criminals I deal with on a daily basis either. She’s still young enough to have a shot at something better. I want to help her out.”
“Avett’s always been special and maybe a little lost. Her mother and I tried to show her the right way, but the girl is stubborn and determined to find the path she’s meant to be on in her own way. This is another speed bump, albeit a big one, for her to navigate her way around. I appreciate your help, son. I’ll be getting on the phone with Asa as soon as I get off with you. That boy is coming from a good place, but this is a family matter so I’ll be taking care of your fees from here on out.”
I rubbed a hand over my face and sat up. “I’ll let you fight that out with him. As long as I get paid, I don’t care who pays the bill.”
There was another deep and rumbling chuckle. “You serve in the military, son?”<
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I blinked in surprise at the offhanded question and looked down at my oxblood Burberry wingtips and the legs of my custom fit, navy Canali suit. I was miles away from the rebellious and untrained eighteen-year-old that had enlisted what felt like a lifetime ago. No one asked me about those four defining years of my life. They asked about finishing my undergrad in record time, they mentioned law school, they talked about passing the bar, and they questioned me about defending a well-known serial killer and getting a sitting congressman acquitted of vehicular manslaughter charges. Most of the time, I forgot about the kid that had been shipped to the desert to fight hostiles and insurgents on endless miles of bloodstained sand. I was too busy being the guy in the suit with a slick haircut and perfectly placed accessories to show how successful, how good at my job I was.
“Why do you ask?” I wasn’t going to confirm his suspicions because I hadn’t been a soldier or a wide-eyed kid in a very long time and I didn’t want to give the man the wrong impression about who I was or what kind of man he was going to be dealing with.
The other man made an amused noise and told me, “I can always tell. Something about the way a man speaks, the way he presents himself, even if it is over the phone and to a total stranger. Like recognizes like. I look forward to meeting you in person tomorrow, Mr. Jackson.”
He hung up and left me shaking my head in bemusement. It took a lot to surprise me considering I was intimately acquainted with all the appalling things humans were capable of, but both father and daughter had managed to knock me sideways today.
I hit the Google search bar on my phone and tapped in the name Brighton Walker out of pure curiosity.
Like recognized like.
That may be true but I wasn’t sure how alike the two of us actually were. There was plenty of information on the ever informative Google about Brite Walker, including details from his illustrious military career with the Marines, a career that lasted decades rather than the mandatory four like I had served. There were articles about his work with the VA and disabled vets all over the country, news stories ranging from good to really bad about the bar he no longer owned, and several articles that tied him to the largest and most notorious motorcycle club in the Rockies. The man was equal parts hero and outlaw. He was the stuff local legends were made of and the kind of man other men told stories about. He impressed from nothing more than a web search, so I couldn’t even imagine how dynamic and enthralling he would be in person. Something told me Brite Walker had never even seen a Rolex and that the things that impressed everyone else who filled my day-to-day would not awe him in the least. For some reason I suddenly felt entirely inadequate, and I started regretting not letting the pink-haired spitfire actually get away with firing me.
Charged (Saints of Denver #2) Page 3
