Rick

by Peggy Jaeger

  “They moved her, so she must be doing better, don’t you think?”

  “Let’s wait and find out.” Rick took her arm and guided her down the long corridor to the next wing.

  Once there they needed to identify themselves again.

  “Mrs. Genocardi is doing well,” the head nurse told them. “She was transferred Saturday morning after being extubated. She’s breathing on her own now. Vitals have been stable. If we can keep them that way, she should make a good recovery. But she’s got a long road ahead of her. Her internal injuries were extensive.”

  “Can we see her?”

  “Two visitors at a time is the rule. Her sister’s already been here, with Mrs. Genocardi’s little boy. They left to get some breakfast, so you can go back. She’s still very weak and gets tired easily, so, please, don’t tax her.”

  “I won’t.”

  “I’ll wait outside,” Rick said. “See if I can get an update on the judge.”

  A guard was stationed outside the cubicle, something Abby was thankful to see.

  “I’ll check with Josh to see if he still has people covering Maria,” Rick assured her before she went in to see Lila.

  The small, windowless room was bathed in bright fluorescent lighting. A white erase board was attached to the foot of the bed, facing the occupant. Lila’s name, the date, and the day of the week were etched across it.

  Abby approached the bed much as she’d approached a traumatized Moonlight when she’d first brought her home: cautiously.

  Lila Genocardi looked very different from the last time she’d been in Abby’s office. Then, her kinky black hair had been tied back in the tight bun she was required to wear for work, her mahogany-colored eyes had flashed with emotional pain but had a steely reserve pushing through them, and her beautiful full lips had been set in a determined line. Now, she was flat on her back, her hair braided and dropped over one shoulder. Her skin was pale and dull, and her eyes were sunken into two deep wells.

  The standard-issue hospital gown carelessly draped over her body, had her bony shoulders on view. Every bit of exposed skin was bruised, blues mixing with purples and deep, moss-colored greens.

  Just as Abby came to the bedside, Lila’s eyes shot open, and before a flash of recognition burst through them, Abby saw primal fear gallop across their gaze.

  “Lila.” Abby squeezed her client’s hand. An ice cube tray held more warmth.

  “Miz…Laine.”

  “Shh. Rest your voice.” Abby leaned down close to her client. “I want you to know I’m here for you, Lila. For you and Michael. Don’t worry about anything, understand?”

  Her eyelids fluttered as if they’d grown too heavy to keep open. She gave Abby one small nod, then was instantly asleep.

  Abby pressed her hand one last time.

  “Detective Pecorrini stationed you here?” she asked the officer standing outside the room.

  “Two of us in rotation.”

  “Good. You have a description and picture of the husband?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Don’t worry. He’s not getting near her.”

  Abby turned to Rick. He pushed off the wall he’d been leaning against and moved to her. Taking her arm, he said, “Let’s go someplace private. I’ve got some intel.”

  A few days ago, she would have slapped his hand away and told him she could walk on her own, thank you very much.

  Not now. Not when his touch was becoming more familiar, more expected, more wanted with each passing moment.

  Something had changed between them the past few days. Rick was opening up to her, tearing down some of those self-preservation walls he’d built up around himself. And she liked it. Just as she liked when the warmth of his hands came in contact with her skin. Liked that he remembered how she took her tea and was charmed she favored scary, end-of-days movies over tearjerkers. Liked how gentle he was with her cat. And with her.

  The fact his body was hand sculpted by an artist and his face was arrestingly handsome added to all those other likes.

  Rick guided her into an empty stairwell.

  “Why are we in here?”

  “It’s private, and I actually get a better phone signal in here. I should be getting a call pretty soon, and I don’t want it garbled.” His gaze ran over her face. “How do you feel?”

  “Fine. A little tired, but that’s to be expected since I spent the weekend flat on my back, fighting a raging internal inferno.”

  Rick slid a hand along her neck. The gesture, like him, was becoming more and more habitual.

  “Your fever’s still gone. Good.” He removed his hand. “I found out a few things about the judge.”

  When she made a rolling motion with her hands, the corners of his lips quirked up.

  “I called Tony, too. I wanted an update on Genocardi, then I grilled him about Aaronson.”

  “What did he tell you?”

  “Genocardi’s still in the wind. They’re not gonna stop the search, but if he isn’t found in the next forty-eight hours, they’re gonna pull back a little. They don’t have enough manpower to keep this up for too long, especially since nothing is happening.”

  “That sucks. It doesn’t surprise me, but it still sucks.”

  Rick agreed. “I’ve got the names of the detectives in charge of the Aaronson stabbing. I reached out, and I’m waiting to hear back. She’s in surgery still. Apparently, she fought the guy who jumped her, deflected the knife before it could do more damage.”

  He stopped and peered down so intently at her, a tiny bit of worry edged into her system. “What?”

  Rick swiped a hand over the side of his head and blew out a deep breath. “Listen. I know this is gonna sound a little off the wall, but I want you to hear me out.”

  “About what?”

  “I think Fields’ and Aaronson’s attacks may be connected to my case.”

  “How? That makes no sense.”

  “I know. But I’ve got this niggle in my gut, and it’s never proven me wrong before.”

  Abby stared at him. Rick was a top notch investigator, but this sounded…crazy. “Why do you think they’re connected?”

  “Remember I told you I don’t like when things don’t add up? When evidence is inconclusive?” When she nodded, he continued. “All three have a past working relationship. Castle to Marty, Marty to the judge. Castle is even connected to the judge, separately.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “While you were fighting your internal inferno, I wasn’t just doing your laundry and keeping your cat company. I was digging. Deep.”

  “What does that mean? Did you…you didn’t do anything…illegal, did you?”

  He cocked his head and narrowed his eyes at her. “You do remember what I do for a living, don’t you? Digging deep is part and parcel of my job description.”

  “You’re not answering my question.”

  “It’s the only answer I’m comfortable giving right now, Abigail.”

  “Oh, my God, you did, didn’t you? No. Wait. Don’t answer that. I’m an officer of the court. If you admit to something illegal, like—God forbid—hacking into judicial records, I’d be obliged to report it. I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

  His grin grew, slow, knowing, and so heart-stopping sexy she lost the feeling in her toes. “Concerned about my welfare, Abigail? It’s so sweet you care.”

  She leveled her lawyer’s stare at him, the one she’d been told made witnesses wet their pants. “I’m more concerned about the appearance of collusion on my part if anything illegal you’ve done comes to light.”

  His lips turned to a smirk even more devilish than the grin. Her toes may be numb, but the juncture of her thighs throbbed.

  “Let’s simply say I’m really good at my job,” he told her, all seriousness a moment later. “Castle appeared many times in front of Judge Aaronson during custody and removal cases that didn’t involve Fields or his firm. But I’m more concerned about cases where all three of them did.”
/>   “Do you know what those were?”

  “No. I need access to find it out.”

  “What kind of access?”

  He leveled his gaze at her again. A proverbial light bulb went off over her head. “You need to see the firm’s files.”

  “I do. Yes. I’ll be honest and tell you this, Abigail. I could…access them indirectly—”

  “And by indirectly you mean hack, don’t you?”

  His eyes never even flickered at the accusation.

  Yeah. He was really good at his job.

  “—but it would be better if I got them, all of them, directly from the source. You.”

  “I don’t have that kind of access anymore, Bannerman. I no longer work for them, remember?”

  “You don’t have an old password to get into their system?”

  “No. And even if I did, I wouldn’t give it to you. I can’t count the number of legal, not to mention ethical, violations I would be committing.”

  “You’re not leaving me much choice, then. I need to see those files. If you won’t help, I’ll have to use alternative methods. Methods you don’t agree with.”

  “I never said I wouldn’t help. But you have to understand my position in all this. If you got into the files without permission, you’d be setting yourself up for God knows how many reasons for arrest.”

  “You need to trust I know what I’m doing. I wouldn’t get caught.”

  She couldn’t take the chance. For either of them.

  “No.” She shoved off the wall and pulled her cell phone from her bag. “We do this my way. I’m going to ask Kathy Pecorrini for access, and I’m going to tell her why I want it. I don’t want to burden Mary with this. It’s too soon after Marty’s death.”

  “Probably a wise decision. She has enough on her mind right now.”

  Abby nodded. “Besides, I don’t want to give her anything else to think about.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If you’re right about these cases being connected, then Marty’s death wasn’t a mugging gone wrong. I don’t want her to even think about that possibility until we know for sure.” She glanced down at her phone, the number for Tony’s mother’s private line on the screen, then back up to him. “And I want you to promise me something if I do this.”

  He waited a beat, then another, before nodding.

  “No. Say it, Rick. Say you’ll promise. I need to hear the words.”

  “I can’t very well say the words, Abigail, when I don’t know what I’m agreeing to.”

  She took a step closer to him. Today, in her designer stilettos, she didn’t have to tilt her head back to keep them on a level playing field. She could look him straight in the eyes and did. “Promise me if you find a connection, any connection at all, between the three of them, you’ll give the information to the police and let them handle it.”

  Abby knew what she was asking of him. One thing she never needed him to share with her was his innate sense of control. Over everything. As much as Abby’s desire to have order and consistency in her life was important, she knew Rick’s own need to be in control of everything surrounding and concerning him was vast.

  “Abigail—”

  “Promise me, Rick. We do this the right way, the legal way, and involve the police if you discover anything, or I don’t ask for access.”

  He tilted his head and fisted his hands on his hips. “You play hardball with your clients like this? Your way or the highway in legal matters?”

  “Yes. And my record for winning speaks for itself.”

  The debate played out on his face. The line between his eyes deepened while he shook his head and dropped his gaze to the floor. His hands stayed on his hips, but when he unfurled them, she knew he’d made his decision.

  Her only hope was it matched her own.

  “Okay. We do it your way. I find anything connecting all three and we take it to the cops.”

  Abby let out the breath she’d been holding and then pressed the call icon on her phone.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Kandy sent some lasagna. Is that good for you for dinner?” Abby asked, peeking into the refrigerator. “I don’t feel up to cooking tonight.”

  “I’m astounded you’re still standing upright.” Rick tossed his laptop onto the coffee table and opened it. While Abby fed Moonlight, he took the flash drive Kathy Pecorrini had given them, plugged it in, and began uploading the files. “You had a busy day, going from the hospital to the courthouse, the office, and then your old firm. It’s a wonder you’re not dropping.”

  “You went all those places with me, you know. You’re not dropping.”

  “I didn’t spend the weekend in bed with a fever, Abigail. I’m not in recuperation mode.”

  He wasn’t sure, but she might have murmured, “You’re such a pain,” while she put the lasagna dish in the microwave.

  “Where’s your laptop?” he asked after the program was copied into his system.

  While pulling plates from the cabinet, she ticked her chin toward the living room. “I left it on the couch last night.”

  He stretched over and pulled it onto the table. After plugging in the connector, he inserted the flash drive. “I’m gonna upload this to your system, so we can go over the files in tandem.”

  “My password is—”

  He waved his hand at her. “I’m already in.”

  “Okay, that’s just wrong.” She moved from the kitchen to stand in front of him, hands fisted on her hips and war on her face.

  Christ, she was gorgeous.

  “How do you know my password?”

  He leveled a glare at her that she returned in full.

  “How? Tell me.”

  “I seem to remember a little conversation we’ve already had about this, Abigail, but since you were sick, maybe it slipped your mind.”

  She stood, rooted glowering at him.

  He took a breath, then waited a moment before he said, “You tend to use familiar words and numbers, like most people do. Anniversaries, birthdates, even street addresses are pretty common because they’re easy to remember and are ingrained in our brains.”

  “So I’m like everyone else in the world.” She shrugged. “How is it you can so easily figure out what I use?”

  “Because I know you. But even if I didn’t,” he said quickly when she started to interrupt, “it wouldn’t be hard to figure out. You like birthdays. They seem to be the easiest thing for you to remember. Your birthdate unlocks your phone. Kandy’s unlocks the computer. Gemma’s unlocks the remote. Although why you lock the tv is beyond me, but…” He lifted his hands from the keyboard. “Ellie’s is your password for your voicemail. None of it was hard to figure out. If I can do it, an identity thief can, too. You need to mix those passwords and codes up. Change them. For your own security.”

  Anger slashed across her face, replaced in the next breath by the corners of her eyes narrowing, and her lips twisting to the side. Something…devious danced across her eyes.

  “That look is terrifying me,” he said in all honesty. When she stayed silent, simply kept assessing him, he swallowed. “Really terrifying me.”

  “You’re not scared of anything, Bannerman.”

  Only five foot nine lawyers with crystal-blue eyes and midnight-colored hair.

  The microwave alarm dinged, and Abby readied their meal.

  After dinner Abby changed into sweats and a T-shirt with Behind every successful Attorney is an exhausted Paralegal blazoned across the chest. They settled back down at the table, laptops opened.

  “How do you want to do this?” She lifted Moonlight to her lap and tickled her furry neck.

  “Before we start, I have to show you something. Something that came into my possession today when you were in session with one of your clients.”

  “Define ‘came into your possession.’ ”

  “Abigail.”

  “Don’t use that tone with me, Richard.”

  Rick sat back and folded his
arms across his chest. “Actually, it’s Fredrick, not Richard.”

  Her mouth dropped open, and she sat back flat against the chair. “For real?”

  He nodded.

  “No lie?”

  “Why would I lie about my name?”

  “Does anyone else know?”

  “Josh does. My parents did. No one has ever called me by my proper name, so”—he lifted his hands—“I’ve always been Rick.”

  She continued to stare at him across the table. Usually, he could tell what was running through her mind because every thought showed on her face. Oh, he knew to most people she was unreadable, something which worked well for her as a lawyer. But no one else had devoted so much time to studying her, in memorizing every angle and plane on her face, in deciphering her habits, her tics, her tells.

  When her lips started to pull up at the corners, eyes narrowing, and head bobbing a bit, he realized he didn’t have a clue what she was thinking. “Scaring me again, Abigail.”

  She repeated what she’d said earlier. “You’re not scared of anything. Now. Answer my question. How did you come about what you want to show me?”

  “I finally heard back from the detective in charge of the judge’s stabbing. Guy named Donovan.”

  “Kyle Donovan?”

  “Yeah. You know him?”

  “I met him once at a bar-association dinner. His wife’s a criminal defense lawyer.”

  “Pillow talk in their house must be fun.”

  She waved her hand for him to continue.

  “He told me witnesses stated the suspect who knifed the judge ran down into the subway after the attack and disappeared onto one of the trains.”

  “So?”

  “The witnesses described the attacker as a white male, young, maybe a teenager. Wearing a hoodie.”

  Abby sat back upright in the chair. “Holy cow.”

  “My thought, exactly, so I asked a guy I know who works for the city’s transit authority to try and find me some video footage of the subway entrance across from the courthouse.”

  “Don’t you think the police are doing that?”

  “Sure they are. But if I’d asked Donovan to see the footage, he wouldn’t have shown it to me. It’s one thing to talk to an investigator off the record, it’s another to actually show them anything pertinent to the case.”