She couldn’t handle his silence. Was he scared shitless with Ben’s life in his hands? Was he thrilled he’d bested his duplicitous ex-wife?
Congratulations? Remind him of his next appointment?
She sat up straighter.
“I owe you an apology.”
All right. Not at all what she’d expected.
“I should probably get this on video, right? Record this?”
He slanted a glare at her. “I may have spoken with unjust harshness. If you are to remain in my employ, we should mutually endeavor to respect certain boundaries of conversation.”
She leaned her head back and looked at the roof of the car. He’s a lawyer, Rox. Only natural he speaks like one. “Mutually? You’re the one who launched into asking me about my life and my child. How about this? You butt out of my life, I butt out of yours.”
“Isn’t that what I just said?”
Chapter Eleven
“Should I expect today’s schedule to remain as is?” Roxie scrolled on her phone.
Sassy one minute, gently polite the next. He found the balance intriguing and appreciated the ease with which she whipped back to task. No drama with this one. Like she couldn’t help but show her true snappy self, and then remember her place. A hint of her ethics, perhaps. He extracted his sunglasses from the case in the roof and glanced at her. Maybe with the shades on she wouldn’t notice his attention on her legs.
He cracked his neck as he shifted gears again. “Yes. We’re not due to meet the owner, Mr. Minor, at Velocity until ten, but I don’t anticipate that our early arrival will upset him. Have you scheduled a meeting with Jaydon?”
She snorted. “Hardly. I’ve at least pissed off enough Hawk representatives to reach his agent, though.”
“And?”
“Same line of polite BS asking me to eff off. Said to refer to the police reports, and his ‘camp’ has nothing else to add.”
“That’s fine for now. Perhaps later this week. They are in the middle of the season, but I believe the Hawks are playing at home Friday. You might have to be creative.”
She laughed lightly. “Creative? How? Barge in to the Hawks’ locker room as a devoted fangirl of a mediocre guard? Why are you so interested in him anyway?”
Grant stifled a sigh. He turned the car and stopped at the sudden brake lights of the taxi in front of them. Vehicles stood stock-still in the street. The hum of his car’s fan kicked on. He wiped at his face as it hit him that they’d be stuck a while. There was no exaggeration to his being a loner. His successes came from his energy and brainpower alone, aided by Chris’s organization and legwork, of course. It was foreign for him to even consider sharing his thoughts and strategies with anyone, let alone his new assistant.
She watched him with challenge in her smirk. “Humor me. Use me as a sounding board. I already know the basics, so why not tell me what you’re thinking?”
He slid his sunglasses a little lower and bit back a smile.
Don’t tempt me.
She frowned and pulled her skirt lower.
He inched the car forward in the traffic and took his sunglasses off. “Ben was one of the last people seen with Josh. Ben was a guest in the suite three doors down from Josh’s. Everyone who was in that VIP wing of the hotel is of interest to me. As they were to the police.”
At the next corner, the looming tower of Velocity jutted toward the crystal-blue wintry sky. Squat and metallic with blunt lines, the club itself was shorter. The attached VIP wing of exclusive hotel lodgings contained the room where Josh was murdered.
Grant entered the parking garage entrance.
“So what’s the plan here?”
“My objective is to briefly speak with Paul Minor about the night Josh was killed. Your instructions consist of not interfering and listening.”
She saluted. “What is he going to tell you that you don’t already know from the police reports?”
“I’m seeking clarification of the floor plans and the comings and goings of the guests.”
“Because the maps and photos and thousands of employee accounts in the police reports aren’t descriptive enough?”
“Because I’d like to get a better feel for what happened that evening. I want to clarify that the wing’s security is set up as such. The VIP floor was recently under renovation, which is why I presume there are no videos of the hallway. While Paul would have had to provide this explanation to the investigators, I want to double-check. Paul…he’s a sneaky player. I’ve represented him before.”
“He might have lied to the police?”
“No. Not necessarily. He’s cooperative. But only just.”
At the garage booth, Grant showed his ID to the guard. “Mr. Minor is expecting me.”
The uniformed guard checked the ID against the page on his clipboard, and then gestured Grant to proceed.
He parked and killed the engine. Roxie unbuckled her seatbelt and reached for the door handle. “Just a minute.”
She turned back to him. “For God’s sake. Yes, I know. Shut up and listen. Be a fly on the wall. Why even bother to bring me along if I’m just for show?”
He refused to smile at her. “Your presence serves purpose. As a witness to the conversation. Paul keeps two men posted at the entrance to his office suite. They are…interesting individuals. Sometimes they like to pretend they’re comedians. Just follow my lead.” He exited the car and waited for her to follow.
“What, like you need to know a secret handshake or code?” She flipped her hair over her shoulder and matched his stride at his side.
“You need to play along with them. Without their approval, no one gets in.”
“Not even the police?”
He snorted. “I’m sure they didn’t make it easy.”
He kept his hands in his pockets as they made the short walk to the entrance. There they stood, two bulky, looming giants. Vince had his arms crossed as he leaned against the pillar, his gray security garments a shade lighter than his chocolate skin. Next to him, clapping his hands together, Arnie seemed to be nodding to music in his head.
As they came closer, Vince snapped to attention. A broad smile showcased his too-white teeth. He slapped a hand to Arnie’s arm. “Look who’s here.”
Arnie beamed. “Legal Eagle.” He whistled.
“Hey, Vince, Arnie. How are you doing?” Grant acknowledged them with a wave.
Vince whooped. “Hot damn. Check out Red. Arnie, you see this one?”
Grant put his hand to the small of Roxie’s back and guided her forward. I knew these fucking clowns were going to make a big deal out of her. Then again, any warm-blooded breathing man would notice a vixen like Roxie.
“Vince, Arnie, this is my assistant R—”
“Good m-o-o-o-orning, beautiful.” Vince took her hand and kissed it. Arnie twitched his lips, making an mmm-mmm-mmm sound.
“Hey,” Roxie said, seemingly unimpressed with Vince’s crooning.
“Assistant, you say?” Vince chortled. “Hmm. She’s fit to be a dancer. A sweet, sexy thing to keep a bed warm. A—”
“Paul is expecting us,” Grant cut in.
“No rush, Legal Eagle, no rush. It’s not often we see such a gorgeous woman with you.”
“Considering I work alone, that should be no surprise.”
“I bet this one’s working a number on you.” Arnie chortled. “You gotta be a saint or somethin’ to be getting anything done ’round this lovely little thing.”
Roxie cleared her throat. “As much as I appreciate the flattery, I’m a woman, not a thing. Or are you quoting Dr. Seuss? Regardless, I must stress our need for punctuality.”
Grant smiled at Vince and Arnie.
“All hell. She even talks fuddy-duddy like you, Legal Eagle.”
“No.” Roxie tugged her purse strap higher on her shoulder. “I’m just impatient. Come on, let us in. We already cleared the other guy’s security.”
Vince smiled. Grant almost groaned. He should have ex
plained this better. Vince and Arnie only allowed access to Paul’s private office when they were in the mood to do so.
Vince crossed his arms. “Impatient?”
“Yes. We have a strict agenda for the day,” Roxie said.
“I’ve got all the time in the world.”
Grant swallowed another groan. “Vince—”
Arnie nudged Vince in the ribs. “Don’t keep Red waiting, man. Be a gentleman.”
Vince rubbed his chin. “Okay. Okay, Red. We’ll let you in.”
Grant raised his brows. That was alarmingly easy. Vince stepped aside and held the door open.
“Have a sweet day, Red,” Arnie sang.
Surprised at their unexpected cooperation, Grant hustled Roxie inside. They came through the hallway to the elevator and rode up to Paul’s office. It was more of a condo than an office.
On the right was the sitting area, with artistically-showy lounge chairs and couches arranged in a circle. To the left was Paul’s desk. Behind the sleek, contemporary lines of the furniture was the sky-high view of the heart of Atlanta. Past the windowed walls, cars surely honked their horns, pedestrians likely commiserated over lunch breaks, and the sun seared all.
Inside Paul’s business domain there were only sounds of a pen clicking and low-toned murmurs. The quiet was both soothing and deafening.
Paul ended a phone call and set the device on the bare desktop. “Grant. Lovely day, isn’t it? Long time, no see. And who is this ravishing darling?” He stood and beckoned them closer.
In a crisp white button-down and pressed slacks, he imposed the image of a short lord in his modern manor. Ink-black hair slicked over his head in a thick wave and again in a thin swipe of a line over his mouth. Tanned skin stretched over his aging but attractive Latino face. His smile held a familiar welcome, but likely concealed much more.
Grant crossed the peach carpet and took his hand. “Certainly is. Then again, considering you only wish to see me to represent you in court, a long time between visits must be a good thing.”
Paul grinned.
“This is my assistant, Miss Malone.”
They sat.
“He’s pleading ‘not guilty’?” Paul asked as he leaned back in his chair. The pen clicking resumed.
Grant smiled. Paul hadn’t asked many questions when Grant had called a few days ago to set up a meeting, so it was assumed their discussion would include a chat about Ben’s last stay at Velocity. That Paul already knew about the results at the courthouse that morning, well, Grant wasn’t shocked. Paul was a man with many means of learning news. “Yes.”
Paul paused with his thumb over the pen and pursed his lips. “Interesting. How can I help you, Grant? You’ve received all the reports from the police by now?”
“Yes, I’ve reviewed the floor plans.” He held his hand out to Roxie. “The six VIP suites in the wing, they are only accessible to guests by the one elevator, correct?”
Roxie looked from his extended hand, palm up, to his face.
Keep up, Red. “The floor plans?” Still a blank face. “In your bag? Did you not go to my office and get—”
“Oh.” She jumped as comprehension must have found a place in her brain. Turning, she withdrew the file from her bag, shaking her head. “For a second I thought I was imagining it all. I mean it is common for grown adults to ask politely for objects. I hadn’t anticipated actually having to behave like a servant.”
He snatched the papers from her hand. Fucking sass.
Paul nodded and sat forward. “Yes, Grant, they are only accessible to guests via the one elevator.”
“With an individual key card to enter that elevator. The same key is used for each of the suites. I’ve reviewed the log of times the elevator was activated, and the rooms. It seems that all the guests of that wing, except one, were in their rooms at least twenty minutes before Josh was shot. But what about the employees?” Grant met the gaze of the wealthy club owner.
“You didn’t see the log of all the activity on the employee keypad?” Paul paused his pen clicking while he spoke.
“Yes. I spent the majority of last evening re-checking the log of the times employees activated the freight elevator that serves the VIP wing.”
Roxie thrust the said list of employee times toward him. Ah ha. One step ahead now. At least she only needs to be scolded once. He took the paper without looking at it.
“I meant the guests’ employees. Of the six suites in that wing, the guests weren’t the only ones riding that elevator according to the security camera in the elevator. Throughout that night, Ben had his bodyguard Sonny with him. Dave had a female PA. Kylie was seen in the elevator with her sister. Jaydon had a fan with him, as well as his bodyguard. Josh was near Dave…”
Paul said nothing.
“Only one card was given to each of the guests?” Grant asked. “Even though all of them had personnel with them?”
“Yes. There is only one card presented to each of the rooms. For the very reason you’ve just illustrated. They’re not guests, Grant. These are the wealthy. They don’t check in and sign papers. I’m lucky to have those sons of bitches stay here. Everyone except that fucker Josh.”
Grant tapped his finger to his lips, hoping Paul would continue on his own. He wasn’t disappointed.
“I banned that ugly fucker last year. He wasn’t supposed to have been on my property.”
“Then why was he?” Grant asked.
Paul chuckled without a smile. “I had no choice.”
“No choice?” Roxie butt in. “I’d imagine you’ve got all the money and power you want to keep anyone out of your establishments.”
“That night was the Hawks’ owner’s birthday party. The old fart’s a huge fan of that dumb fuck’s music. Josh was supposed to sing him a birthday song. Of course, he ended up being too wasted to even pull that off. If I wanted them all to party here, I had to let him come. For the prime promotion of having those famous jocks and their groupies here, I sacrificed allowing Josh to come.” He ended with a snort.
“Not a fan of Josh’s music?” Roxie said.
“Music? You actually listen to that shit?” Paul put his damnable pen down.
“No, I don’t. Just wondering why you hate him.”
Grant cleared his throat. He wasn’t interested in Paul’s taste in music. He already knew, as did everyone who read the tabloids, that Paul despised Josh. Josh was equally an easily lovable and detestable person, adored by fans of pseudo-country-pop, and abhorred by the public offended by his habit of spewing racism. Paul’s gripe was most likely founded when Josh had made a politically-loaded comment about Puerto Ricans—Paul’s heritage.
“He didn’t matter enough to me for hatred. He was a worthless piece of shit on his own accord. Thought he could sing. Made up enough fluff to pretend he was attractive. Rubbed elbows with the people who sneered behind his back. I’d sooner take a piss on his grave.”
Grant tried to steer the conversation back to business. “Even though you banned him, and allowed him in to the club, he was in room two-zero-two that night. His card activated the elevator at 11:46 and his room at 11:49. Ben’s, Jaydon’s, Dave’s, Wayne’s, and Kylie’s cards also activated the elevator and their rooms throughout the night. Richelle, Josh’s date, activated her room card at 11:43, but not the elevator.” Grant watched Paul’s thumb depress the tip of the pen as he waited for a confirmation of that anomaly.
“I don’t expect it would.” Paul cocked his head to the side.
“Considering Richelle could only access the hallway to her room via the guest elevator, she had to have come up the employee’s freight elevator.”
“Precisely,” Paul said. “That is the route I returned her to her room.”
“You personally?” Roxie asked.
“Yes. After all, I was fucking her brains out on the couch right over there.”
Grant couldn’t hide his surprise. Not quite what his statement in the police report showed. Then again, Paul was well
-graced with the arts of telling the truth, and at the same time, hiding a hell of a lot of details. As he had been his defense lawyer in the past, Grant had taught him how to hone that talent.
Roxie turned to look at the sitting lounge behind them. “The red thing, or the wrap around settee?”
“Miss Malone!” Grant swallowed back a sigh. “It’s irrelevant.”
“Well, the red chaise looks like it’d be hell on your back.”
He was never bringing her to an interview again. “That’s odd, Paul, because I thought I’d read in the report that after Richelle left the party at 11:28, you were ‘taking Richelle on a tour of the club.’”
“I was.” Paul smiled like a fox that couldn’t be trusted.
“So you screwed Josh’s girlfriend then killed him?” Roxie said.
“Roxie, shut up!” Grant covered his eyes.
“Is your assistant accusing me of murder?” Paul narrowed his eyes with something like amusement.
Grant glared at Roxie. “After this meeting concludes, she’s no longer my anything.”
Roxie scoffed. “We’ll see about that. You didn’t screw his girlfriend, and then kill him?”
“Richelle wasn’t seeing Josh,” Paul said.
“Not what I heard,” Grant said.
Dave’s statement gave the idea that Josh had attended the party at Velocity as the intended singer for the Hawks’ owner. On his arm, as his date, was the famous singer Richelle.
“He was with that other one. Kylie,” Paul said.
“Not according to Dave. I’d imagine Josh’s manager would remember who his client was seeing.”
“As a publicity stunt, or in reality?” Paul pressed. “Richelle wasn’t sleeping with that idiot. They were pretending to for the purpose of hiding the fact that Josh had knocked up his real girlfriend. Kylie.”
“Josh was going to be a father?” Roxie’s surprise was well-founded. No rags had run that tale on their covers.
“Kylie told Josh she was pregnant that night.” Paul picked up the pen again and the clicking commenced.
Resisting Redemption Page 9
