by Maggie Wells
“Were you, or were you not, seen speaking with Ms. Cabrera in an intimate manner?” his grandfather asked, his careful but unwavering delivery making it abundantly clear how he’d managed to win over so many juries. It made Simon wonder if he could go after a witness with the same steady and undaunted determination.
Instead, he did a fair rendition of the politician shuffle step. “I had a conversation with Ms. Cabrera Saturday evening. We ate some chips and salsa,” he said snidely. “Hardly what I would call intimate.”
“Mmm. Miss Sophia’s salsa, I imagine,” he murmured. Then, clearing his throat, he pressed on. “Simon, I understand you and Lori are on opposite sides when it comes to dealing with Coulter’s issues, but I would caution you to think long and hard about making an enemy of this man. I understand you may feel a—” he paused, searching for the right word “—fondness for Lori. She’s an easy young woman to like. Last I heard, you had no intention of making Pine Bluff your home on a permanent basis, and because I’m fond of her, I would hate to hear of Miss Lori being misled or ill-treated in any way.”
Simon hissed his frustration through clenched teeth, but his grandfather continued.
“I thought you had aspirations of the political nature,” he reminded Simon. “People who have such aspirations need to think twice about alienating the multimillionaire in their backyard.”
Simon propped his elbow on the arm of the chair and ran his index finger over his top lip, allowing his grandfather’s warning to sink in. “I’m aware of all this.”
“And you want to fire him?” Wendell prompted. “Clients with his bank balance and messy legal needs are not going to come along every day. A defense attorney makes a good living off a man who can’t seem to keep himself out of trouble.”
“Maybe I’m not meant to be a defense attorney,” Simon admitted.
“You’ve certainly mastered the art of the circular argument,” Wendell said dryly. “The best I can tell you is to talk to the man. Be frank and honest with him. Get a good feeling for how he might respond.”
“Right,” Simon said, nodding. “I will.”
“And if you are interested in Lori Cabrera, I suggest you do the same with her,” he added. “She’s a bright young woman. Strong-minded too. She responds well to people who are direct with her. If you’re looking for a distraction while you’re there in town, I suggest you look elsewhere.”
“Granddad—”
“The woman’s a sharpshooter, Simon. I care about her, but in the end, I’m more concerned with keeping you alive. Not only can she pick you off, but she’s clever enough to stage it like an accident.”
Simon laughed. “Thanks. I’ve already been warned.”
“No doubt by the woman herself,” Wendell added with a chuckle.
Chapter Twelve
Lori sat slumped in her patrol car silently fuming.
A stakeout.
She gave her head a slow shake and repositioned her left arm on the sill of the open driver’s-side window. The radar gun she held was sadly outdated, but the latest and greatest the county had to offer. She figured it was worth the taxpayers’ time and money to sit out on Highway 19 for a while, watching to see if she could pick off any speeders heading toward Pine Bluff. If she happened to see a silver or gray Toyota Corolla with or without one of those ridiculous wing things stuck to the back, well, good.
True to his word, Ben had relayed the additional information Simon had given them to the coordinator so the other law enforcement agencies in the area had it too. A few of the details had been held back from what was being released to the general public, a precaution frequently used to be sure they were dealing with the possible perpetrator rather than one of the many “hot tips” they gathered by the bushel.
She sank down deeper into her seat. The conversation she’d had with Lena had left her feeling frayed at the edges, but speaking recently to Mr. and Mrs. Jones about their missing daughter shredded her heart.
When she had originally spoken with Keely, Lori discovered Jasmine’s parents had no idea she’d even been speaking to any boy, much less an older one. A stranger. Say what you would about small towns, but there was a comfort in knowing all the kids who went to school with your kid. Most of the time, you also knew their parents, where they lived and what teams they played on. The thought of their daughter running off with a guy who was a complete unknown was incomprehensible to them.
Lori could understand their bewilderment. She had known Jasmine since she and Lena had met in kindergarten and become fast friends. The girl wasn’t some impulsive rebel. She wasn’t a hardheaded teenager who defied her parents’ every wish. She was a sensible girl. Jas was exactly the kind of girl most parents wouldn’t worry about, which made this all so much more troubling.
A sleek black sports car stuck its nose out from one of the farm access roads. She narrowed her eyes when the driver turned onto the highway heading for town. Lori slumped low and instinctively reached for the radar gun. Sports cars were not the preferred mode of transportation in this neck of the woods. Pickup trucks were more practical. Heck, her own mother drove an SUV. Only one man in this area drove a Dodge Viper. Coulter.
She clocked him at a sedate three miles per hour over the posted limit. He was keeping his speed under tight rein for her benefit. The man had the cojones to lift a hand and wave at his rearview mirror.
“Of all the times to become a law-abiding citizen,” she grumbled, watching the car slink by at a modest pace.
She did her best to ignore the man and his ridiculous car. The rip of a powerful motor split the air. He’d gunned it the second he was out of range. Lori scowled in his direction. Even if she flipped on her lights and floored the accelerator, there was no way she could catch up to a car built for speed. Though she loathed the man, Coulter was not her prey on this day.
The man wasn’t above the law, was he?
She picked up the radio microphone and toggled the key. “Base, do you read me?”
Julianne’s voice came across. “Ten-four, number three. Go ahead.”
“If Ben has a mind to hop into his car, a certain gentleman in a Dodge Viper is heading to town at an unsafe speed.”
Julianne chuckled. “You didn’t try to give pursuit?”
“He didn’t punch it until I was well out of range.”
Julianne came back on the channel. “Chief says to tell you he’s saddling up.”
Lori pressed the button on the side of the mic again. “Ten-four. Happy hunting.”
Feeling better, she stretched her neck and let her head roll from side to side. She’d let Ben and Alicia from the DEA deal with Coulter. For now. All she wanted was to get Jasmine home safe and sound.
She watched and waited. If people who wrote the scripts for television cop shows were only keyed in to how much of her day was spent simply watching and waiting, they’d opt for a life of crime simply to break up the monotony. The back of her uniform shirt stuck to her skin. A fine film of perspiration formed on her upper lip. Then the radio crackled to life, rattling her out of her rumination.
Lori smiled when Ben’s deep voice came through the speaker. “The county coffers should be about three to five hundred dollars richer soon,” he said, his voice hearty with pride.
Lori chuckled but didn’t pick up the mic to respond. There was no need. They’d been reduced to harassment rather than action, and the knowledge irked. Gnats. That was all they were to men like Coulter. Pesky and annoying. If the county could occasionally profit off the man’s hubris, who was she to pass it up?
“Heading back to the ranch,” Ben said gruffly. “Thanks for the heads-up.”
Lori grabbed the mic and keyed it. “Ten-four. Believe me when I tell you it was my pleasure.”
“Oh, I believe you,” Ben returned. “Over.”
Lori placed the mic back on the hook and started the engine. S
itting here was only making her feel more helpless than ever. She’d visit Simon, see if she could coax some information out of him about his client. After all, a girl’s life depended on it.
* * *
SIMON WAS SETTLED in at one of the rickety picnic tables the Daisy Drive-In had to offer, wishing he was anywhere else. The couple who’d been eating there jumped up and scurried away when Coulter fixed his dead-eyed stare on them. So here he was.
“I bet you’re used to fancier business lunches than this,” Coulter said, unwrapping a greasy cheeseburger loaded with everything.
Simon sat carefully, hoping to avoid picking up a splinter anywhere delicate. “This seems to be where I take most of my lunches these days.”
Coulter took a huge bite of the sloppy burger. He spoke around the mouthful of food. “There aren’t a lot of options.”
Simon watched the man swipe a thin paper napkin across his mouth and keep chewing.
“I hear there used to be a hole-in-the-wall Mexican place. They tell me the lady who ran it died.” Coulter shook his head. “Shame. I love me some Mexican food.”
Simon stiffened when the information registered. A Mexican restaurant. The salsa he’d bought was labeled Bonita Anita. Must be a family recipe. The comments Wendell had made about the disposition of Lori’s aunt’s house all clicked into place.
“Too bad,” he managed to reply, keeping his tone detached and unconcerned. The last thing he wanted was Coulter picking up a vibe on how much he was into the town deputy. “This town could use another place to eat. It’s either here, or I pick up one of the prepared salads from the Piggly Wiggly.”
Coulter took a giant slurp from his disposable cup of sweet tea. He raised the burger, eyeing the dripping mass for where to strike next. “Never could be a salad guy,” Coulter said with a wrinkle of his nose. “Rabbit food.”
The man took another enormous bite out of the burger, and miraculously, not one speckle of wayward condiment marred the pristine white linen of his shirt. Simon wanted to hate him for aesthetic reasons alone.
“There’s a bar out on the highway past my place. Gotta go beyond the interstate ramp to see it. They have a barbecue joint attached,” Coulter offered. “They do burnt ends.”
Simon inclined his head. “I’ll keep it in mind. Thanks.” He pulled one of the frilled toothpicks from a triangle of sandwich, took a deep breath and plunged in. “I’m sure you’re wondering why I wanted to meet today,” he began tentatively.
Coulter shrugged and continued chomping down on his burger. “No problem,” he said through stuffed cheeks. “I was going to come see you anyway.”
Simon straightened, his senses on high alert. A part of him hoped Coulter was coming to see him to fire him. “Oh? How come?”
Coulter gulped down his food. “Yeah, well, first of all, I got a ticket on the way into town. I’ll need you to take care of it for me. Illegal speed trap or something along those lines,” he said dismissively. “I saw the pretty lady deputy sitting out by my place, and sure enough, the sheriff was waiting for me the minute I hit the city limits.”
“A ticket?”
He took another sip from his cup, flashing Simon a wide, engaging smile. “I guess I didn’t take my foot off the accelerator in time to slow down to the posted in-town speed limit.” He shrugged. “I’m pretty sure they were tag teaming me. Surely you can find some technicality to get me out of it. I don’t mind paying the ticket, but I do mind being trapped.”
Simon’s heart sank. He had no doubt he could argue his way out of a traffic ticket for the man, even if he didn’t particularly want to. “I’ll see what I can do. Listen, I wanted to talk to you about one of the guys who works for you.”
“Who?” Coulter asked, unconcerned.
“A guy named Rick Dale?”
Coulter pulled a paper sleeve of french fries from his bag. “What about him?”
“He’s, uh, a person of interest in the search for a missing girl.” Simon watched the other man carefully, scanning for any flicker of complicity.
Coulter’s eyes narrowed. “Why do I have a feeling this is going to come back around on me?”
Not wanting to get the man’s back up, Simon raised both hands to placate him. “Nope. Not at all. You can’t be held responsible for your employee’s actions. Does he live on your property?”
“No.”
Simon nodded. “Didn’t think so.” As Coulter’s attorney, he was glad to confirm there was no probable cause to search the man’s property. As a human being, he was terrified for a sixteen-year-old girl named Jasmine.
“Can you give me an address for him? The girl is underage and—”
To his utter surprise, Coulter dropped his burger and pulled out his phone. “I’ll do you one better.” Pressing his phone to his ear, he scowled at his cheeseburger. “Dale? It’s Coulter. Listen, I don’t want to nose around in your life, but I have a half-dozen people who can’t seem to find anything better to do but snoop into mine, so I’m only gonna say this once. If there’s a girl named Jasmine with you, you need to haul her behind straight home. The girl is jailbait, and if you aren’t smart enough to know what that means, I don’t need you workin’ for me anymore. Got it?” There was a pause. Coulter shook his head hard. “Nope. Don’t wanna hear a word. If she’s there with you, take her home now and pray her daddy doesn’t press charges. Or worse, come after you with a shotgun.”
He ended the call. “There. Done.” He tucked his phone back into his pocket, shaking his head in disgust. “Man, these kids. They have no idea there’s a world of difference between the age of seventeen and eighteen.”
Simon gaped at him. “She was there?”
“I have no idea,” Coulter said, opening his eyes wide in a parody of innocence. “I didn’t ask.”
Buoyed by the initial success, Simon straightened and braced himself to approach the next thing he wanted to discuss. “Listen, I’ve been thinking—”
Coulter held up a hand to stop him. “Wait. I almost forgot the other thing I wanted to tell you. I have another box coming tomorrow. You need to sign for it.”
“Tomorrow?” Simon repeated stupidly. “Why are you having a box delivered to me tomorrow? Won’t you be in town?”
“I have to be up in Atlanta for a meeting.” He plucked a fry from the paper sleeve, bit the end off, then used the rest of the potato to point at Simon. “I told my guy it was okay to direct it to you.”
Simon didn’t even want to ask who his guy was or what his guy did. “I shouldn’t be accepting packages for you.”
“I think it’s the least you can do for all the money I’m paying you. How hard is it to sign your name?” he asked, giving Simon a hard stare.
There was something sinister in the way the man spoke the words sign your name. It made Simon’s skin crawl. It gave him the courage to forge ahead. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to continue as your attorney. I’m not comfortable with signing for parcels for you, and don’t feel I can provide you with an adequate and unbiased defense,” he said stiffly. “I’m hoping we can part ways amicably. I’m happy to give you some referrals to other attorneys in nearby towns, or even in Atlanta.”
When Simon dared to meet the man’s eyes, he realized this was not going to be a simple matter of a frank discussion.
Coulter smiled while he picked up a napkin and meticulously wiped his fingertips. It was the closed-lipped curve of the mouth. The smile of a snake. Simon wanted to look away from his disturbing amber eyes. He didn’t want to be ensnared by this man’s insidious charm. He feared being crushed by him inch by inch. He’d never been big on the outdoorsy stuff, but he’d hunted enough to sense when something dangerous was coming at you, you didn’t dare look away.
“You think I don’t know attorneys in Atlanta?” the man asked, clearly amused.
Simon willed himself not to react.
; “You think I didn’t come to you, Simon Wingate, on purpose?” Coulter said, enunciating every syllable of Simon’s name with disdain. “You think I did an internet search for ‘attorneys near me’ and your name popped up?”
Simon spotted the flat calculation in the man’s eyes and dropped his gaze, preparing himself to receive a good lashing from Coulter’s forked tongue. What he should have been anticipating were the man’s fangs.
“I know who you are, Simon. I know who your daddy is, and your granddaddy too.” Coulter picked up another fry and popped it into his mouth, rocking back as he chewed. “I know your hopes and dreams. I know where and when you failed. I know about every mistake you’ve made, Wingate. Particularly every time you’ve tripped over the line onto the wrong side of the law,” he drawled. “So you got off with a slap on the wrist and a suggestion you leave town for a while. Doesn’t mean your past screwups just disappear.” He snapped his fingers. “How’s your granddaddy’s campaign coming? You funnel any of that committee money into it before they caught you tossing out contributions like candy?”
“Listen—”
“No, you listen,” Coulter hissed.
Simon steeled himself to meet the man’s disturbing gaze.
“I. Picked. You.”
A cold flash of horror raced through Simon’s bloodstream as the man’s words sank in.
“I picked you because you’re the man I need on my side. A man with ambition and aspirations. A man with much to lose.”
Simon refused to react to the man’s implication. “What do you mean? Whether I choose to represent you or not has nothing to do with my father or my grandfather or whatever aspirations I may have in the future.”
Coulter simply laughed. “You have absolutely no idea who you’re dealing with, do you?”
Simon played the innocent. “I don’t understand why we’re going down this road at all. It’s not like we’ve had a long-standing relationship. We’re not friends. What’s your attachment to having me be your attorney?”
