The chill that swept over me had nothing to do with the breeze off the lake. “Apparently.” Because like it or not, Aiden Devlin was back, and danger was all around. Again.
Chapter 7
I left Pauley to his ducks, knowing he needed solitude before tackling a classroom with other people, but my walk to the courthouse was slow, my heels clipping softly on the sidewalk skirting the grassy park. Little green sprouts poked up between the cement, and the smell of both oncoming rain and spring flowers hinted on the breeze. Even though I’d been shot at the other day, those shooters had been after Aiden or Randy, so I couldn’t find it in me to be worried that it’d happen again. I had enough to be concerned about. I reached the outside of my building and looked up the flights of stairs to the heavy door.
The wind picked up. My phone dinged, and I answered it. “Albertini.”
“Hi, Anna, it’s Clarice.” Even through the phone, the head paralegal’s voice was dignified. “I can’t find any other records of the Devlin case in Scot’s office, which is now Nick’s office, by the way.” She sniffed.
I winced. How long had Clarice and Scot worked together? “Thanks for trying.”
Her voice lowered to a whisper, and it sounded like she cupped a hand around the receiver. “I heard that Scot was released on bond about an hour ago. Maybe you should go talk to him?”
He was out on bond? How had that happened? “Good idea. Would you give me his address?”
“Sure.” She read off his address. “He lives around Lilac Lake toward Boomerang Bay.”
“Thanks. I’ll check in with you later.” I clicked off. Making a mental decision with no debate whatsoever, I turned and walked around the corner, away from the park, and toward the parking lot on the other side of the building. Rose bushes lined the building, just starting to bud. Somebody had placed hay around them for winter survival, which was lazily blowing across the lot now that the snow had dried from it.
I should probably check in with Nick about this, but I really needed to talk to Scot alone. Just once. So I jumped into my Fiat and fought with the ancient seatbelt before giving up and driving onto Justice Road toward Main Street. Even though it was still June, the summer crowd had arrived in town, and I dealt with minor traffic until reaching Lilac Lake Road. Lilac Lake was much larger than my quiet Tamarack Lake, and I wound around it, hoping Scot was home.
The clouds darkened the sky, deepening the color of the lake, which threw up a series of whitecaps. The top was still down on my car, and I ducked lower in the seat to stay warm with the heat blasting.
The homes along the lake were a blend of hand-built cabins that had been in families for decades and mansions of the newly arrived millionaires from other states, mostly California, standing side by side. Scot lived in one of the new gated communities cut into the hillside. Impressive houses stood past the gate, placed on half-acres leading down to the lake. My engine protested a little loudly as I idled near the keypad keeping the gate shut.
Now what? Biting my lip, I pressed the directory, checked out the numbers, and started pushing all of them. It worked on television, so why not?
Nothing happened.
I found Scot’s name and pressed his button.
“What?” he snapped.
“Hey, boss,” I said, my breath coming faster. “It’s Anna. Can I come in? Really need to talk to you.”
“Damn it. Fine.” The speaker crackled, and the gate slowly swung open.
I drove through before he could change his mind. The homes were dark stone, wood doors, and shingled roofed with perfect green landscaping and sprouting purple flowers. I read the uniform numbers on each front post until reaching Scot’s house. The log home was two stories and close to the lake with what had to be a spectacular view. Sucking in fresh spring air for courage, I parked and made my way past cheerful tulips to his heavy wood door.
He opened it before I could knock.
I stepped back. Scot was usually a little grizzly, but the arrest had obviously been tough on him. His normally cleanly shaven face showed white stubble that contrasted eerily with his blood-red eyes. Dark circles stamped hard beneath them. Instead of his usual suit with stained tie, he wore wrinkled jeans and a threadbare T-shirt with a drunk mouse on it. “What could you possibly want, Albertini?”
“Explanations.” I pushed past him, my mind spinning too much for caution. Then I stopped cold in his entry way at the expansive view of the lake outside. This place had to have cost a fortune. Slowly, I turned.
He shut the door. It was then that I noticed the glass in his hand. Auburn liquid in fancy crystal. “Already drinking, huh?” I asked.
“Sit.” He gestured toward a brown leather sofa facing a tall stone fireplace that was currently dark and silent.
I swallowed and moved around the sofa table to sit, my heels echoing on the wide wooden slats of the floor that somehow looked exotic. Original oil paintings of stunning sunsets as well as winter scenes adorned the walls.
He followed and dropped his bulk into a matching chair. “I can’t talk to you without my attorney present.”
Then asking him if he was guilty was probably a mistake, and no doubt he was much too smart to say anything that would incriminate himself. “The DEA took the files on Aiden Devlin’s case. Tell me you have a copy here,” I said.
He blanched. “Stay out of Devlin’s case. You’re way out of your league.” The words were curt, but the tone weary. Exhausted.
“I know,” I whispered. “There doesn’t seem to be much of a choice. Nick Basanelli just made me second chair, and I’m worried he’s more concerned about adding a notch to his trial record than finding out the truth. Than seeking justice.”
A hint of a smile crossed Scot’s face, lifting the thick wrinkles for a moment. “Second chair. Big promotion.”
Didn’t feel that way. “All the other attorneys have worked with you for some time, and considering that…”
Scot’s chin lifted, and regret filled his eyes. “Right. I guess they’ll all be investigated pretty thoroughly.”
“Have you been selling drugs?” I blurted out, unable to stop myself. It just didn’t track. Scot was a prosecutor who had spent twenty years putting bad guys away. He’d hired me and had given me my first chance to pursue justice. To do what I needed to do. “Tell me you haven’t been breaking the law.”
“I can’t talk about my case, Anna,” he said, turning to look out the window at the stormy lake. “Also, I’m represented by counsel, and you’re not supposed to talk to me without him here.”
None of this seemed possible. I followed his gaze to see a boat cutting across the waves, heading by the docks, no doubt seeking a fishing hole around the bend. “I understand, but I do need any records, research, or documents you have on Aiden’s case.” Of course, if Aiden’s case and Scot’s case were related as Nick suspected, I wouldn’t be able to trust anything I read. But something was better than nothing at this point.
“I don’t have any other records or documents here,” Scot said quietly.
“Then why arrest and charge Aiden Devlin? Where are the case files?” Sure, I could get the arrest warrant from the police station, but Scot had decided to charge Aiden, and there had to be enough documents to uphold that decision somewhere. None of this was making a bit of sense.
Scot frowned, his grizzly eyebrows dancing with the movement. “What do you mean? The trial folder has all of that information in it.”
I slowly shook my head. “No, it doesn’t. I couldn’t even find enough to ask that Aiden, I mean Devlin, be held over for bond.” If I was going to think of Aiden as a defendant, I should use his last name. At least around other people until I figured out what was going on.
Scot rubbed his whiskered chin. “That’s odd. I put together a complete trial notebook just to make sure.”
My blood started to thrum faster through my veins. “To make sure? Of what?”
For the first time, he drew back. He lost the overwhelmed look, h
is gaze sharpening and making him appear more like the guy who’d hired me. The one who’d made Supreme Court Justices sit up and take notice. “Anna, get out of this case. Mine and definitely Devlin’s. Trust me.” He leaned forward and grabbed my arm, his grip digging deep and causing pain. “If you have to quit the prosecutor’s office, then do it. This is too big for all of us.”
Chills clacked down my back. “Scot. You’re scaring me.”
“Good. The day is really done here.”
What did that mean? I opened my mouth to answer, to ask more questions, when the entire wall of windows facing the lake crashed in, jagged shards of glass exploding in every direction.
Scott yanked me toward him and to the plush carpet as a booming pattering cut through more glass from the lake. The only thing out there was that boat I’d seen. Bullets shot from the boat lodged into the wall and front door, splintering the wood into jagged pieces. My throat closed, and I covered my head, crying out.
I didn’t know much about automatic gunfire, but this sounded deeper than the other day. Glass fell all around me, and I stiffened head to toe, trying to stay as low as possible on the ground.
Would they beach the boat and run up the hill?
I hadn’t looked to see how many people were on the boat. How many people were shooting at us? Could we get free? The front door seemed so far away.
Cotton from the furniture puffed all around, dropping gently onto my hands as they protected my head.
The cacophony of bullets continued, and framed paintings dropped to the ground. A frame hit my thigh, and I yelped, scrambling away from the windows and over glass. Something slippery caught my hands, and I slid, falling flat on my face. I managed to turn my head at the last second, and my cheekbone took the impact instead of my nose. Pain rippled along the entire side of my face and lodged behind my eye socket.
The sound was deafening, and even so, I could hear the blood rushing between my ears. Clutching my head, I rolled as close as I could to the demolished sofa, trying to stay low.
Then quiet.
Deadly silence pounded into my very bones. A picture near the front door crashed to the floor, and I cried out.
Were they coming? I turned my head. “Scot?”
No answer.
Hot needles pricked my skin from inside my body, adrenaline let loose. “Scot.” Staying on my belly, I turned to see him near the fireplace. It took a second for the sight to register. “S-Scot?” My voice wavered. He lay on his stomach, his left arm bent at an unnatural angle, and his face covered in blood. So much blood that it blanketed the floor.
I gagged. A second ago, I’d slipped in his blood. “Scot?” I tried again, but his eyes were open, staring at me blankly. A sob caught in my aching throat, and I used my elbows to pull myself toward him through the already sticky mess, my legs dragging behind me. The smell, coppery and rusty, made my stomach lurch.
I reached him and felt for a pulse, even though I knew I wouldn’t find one. Catching my breath, I shoved him over to perform CPR, trying to keep as low as possible. The second I began compressions, blood squirted from several holes in his chest and abdomen.
Scot was dead. There was no way to bring him back.
Safety. I had to get to safety and call for help. Swallowing down bile, I turned and crawled toward the window. If they were coming, I would need to stand and run. Holding my breath, I grasped the edge of the sill with my bloody hands and lifted enough to look down at the lake.
The beach was empty, and the lakefront clear. The boat had taken off.
My entire body shook. Wind blasted inside the broken windows, and more glass dropped. I dodged out of the way and dropped to my butt, surveying the destruction. Then I did a quick survey of my arms and legs. Everything hurt, but I couldn’t find any bullet holes.
Tears blurred my vision, and I wiped them away, a sense of urgency grabbing me by the throat. Unable to force myself to stand, I crawled toward the bullet-riddled front door and opened it, tracking blood onto the wide cement porch. There I dialed 911 and gave a report, my voice both shrill and shaking. The officer told me to stay put if the shooters were gone.
I couldn’t move, anyway. I leaned back against the closed door as the wind battered against me. The blood on my skin and clothes got stickier and my nausea stronger.
Sirens sounded in the distance. Instead of reassuring me, my anxiety pricked up again. My central nervous system misfired in a million directions as the adrenaline rush began to dissipate, leaving me cold and terrified—taken instantly back to that horrible few hours in my childhood. I gulped in air, trying to breathe. I’d survived that time, and I’d survive this one, too. Tears streamed down my face, but I let them fall. I was alive. That said something.
A persistent pain in my right ankle caught my attention, and I leaned to the side to see a bleeding and now familiar injury. A hysterical laugh coughed out of me, high pitched and odd—carried away by the wind.
Another bullet had burned me.
Chapter 8
Uniformed police officers arrived first, followed by Detective Pierce. Even though I was pretty sure he didn’t like me, I was relieved to see a friendly face. Okay. Make that a familiar face. He surveyed the scene and disappeared into the house for about thirty minutes. By the time he came to question me in the front of the house, I’d already talked to a uniformed officer, given a statement, and found a safe spot to sit on a swing at the far edge of the porch. Somebody had brought me a rough blue police blanket that smelled like wet dog, and I gratefully huddled inside it.
“Miss Albertini.” Pierce strode toward me and past the potted flowers that had somehow escaped the carnage, his world-weary eyes sharp. A pretty brunette lab tech did a double take at him and then quickly turned back to work. I guess he was handsome in a too intense fortyish year old way.
I swallowed, holding the blanket around my shivering body like a shield. Blood had dried on my hands and beneath my nails, although the lab tech had scraped beneath each one. Even so, I wanted to get into a shower so badly I itched. For the moment, I tried to put on what my Grandma Fiona would call a lady warrior’s expression. “Long time no see,” I said quietly.
He didn’t appreciate my humor if the tightening of his jaw provided any indication. He wore a darker brown but just as fitted suit as he had the day before. His tie this time was Christmas green instead of the gold stripe last time. “Do you require medical attention?”
The kind question caught me off guard. “No,” I whispered, huddling down. An officer had given me a Band-Aid for my ankle, and the bleeding had stopped.
Pierce’s gaze softened a fraction, even as he drew out his battered notebook. “All right. Tell me exactly what happened, and we’ll get you out of here.” He smelled like something deep and salty—the distant part of the ocean?
I’d already told the other officer, but I knew this was part of the process. Pierce no doubt needed to hear the timeline himself, and he’d also want to compare this statement with the other one, just to make sure I was telling the truth. So I told the truth the best that I recollected it. Everything had happened so quickly.
Just as he was finished asking questions, a shiny black Jeep Cherokee barreled down the road and lurched to a stop. Dust was still settling when Nick Basanelli jumped out, slammed the door, and made a beeline for me. His brown eyes were sharp, his shoulders back, and his stride very quick for a guy that big. He looked like a guy intent on rescue, and everything inside me perked up as much as possible, under the circumstances. Reaching us, he dropped to his haunches to face me. “You okay?”
Tears pricked my eyes again. He’d come for me. “No.”
He turned to look up at Pierce, staying at my level of sight. “Any leads?”
Oh. Yeah. Nick was the head prosecuting attorney, and this was a murder scene involving one of his employees. I worked for Nick. That’s why he was there. Not out of some totally unrealistic need to make sure I was okay after meeting me once for a few minutes. Geez. I r
eally needed to find a date or two. My face flushed. I also needed to stop looking at big strong men to cuddle into. I was a prosecutor, darn it. That made me a badass, whether I felt it or not.
Pierce stared evenly at Nick. “Not yet. Just processing the scene now,” he said. “I have the lake deputies out looking for the boat, but we didn’t get much of a description.” No judgment lay in his tone.
“Okay.” Nick grasped my arm and assisted me up. “If she’s done, I’m getting her out of here. Let me know when you’re finished with the scene. I want to walk through.” Without waiting for Pierce’s agreement, Nick led me around the Jeep, his arm around me. A camera flashed, and we ducked. “Nosy press,” he muttered, helping me into the seat. The vehicle smelled like smooth cologne and male.
I settled into the leather seat, my head still spinning as he shut the door, crossed around the front, and stretched inside next to me. My mind ran through the entire scenario again, and the sound of bullets hitting wood echoed through my head. I shivered. “Thank you for getting me out of there.” No way could I drive right now.
“Of course.” He started the engine and pulled away from the lake house. From this angle, it looked like a paradise and not a bloody disaster. “Tell me what happened.”
I couldn’t. Not one more time. It was just too much. “Read the reports.” I hugged the blanket closer around my body and stared out the windows at the beautiful homes with the incredible lake views. Neighbors stood out on their stoops, some at the edge of their driveways, watching the swirling lights at Scot’s place. Nobody ventured close, as if unwilling to leave their slices of paradise for the darker side of life, hoping they’d never be touched by it.
Nick remained silent for several miles as he drove away from the houses and down the twisting and turning lake road. The sun finally broke through the clouds, sparkling the water into a glimmering blue instead of the depressing gray. “I need to know what happened from your perspective.” His voice was low and calm. Somehow reassuring.
Disorderly Conduct (The Anna Albertini Files Book 1) Page 6
