Gray Mountain (44 page)

S
he awoke in the midst of the quilts and blankets, naked except for her socks, and it took a few seconds to realize Jeff was not somewhere in the pile. Coals smoldered in the fireplace as the last of the logs burned out. She found a flashlight and called his
name, but he wasn’t in the cabin. She checked her watch: 4:40 a.m. Pitch-black outside. She walked to the porch, shined the light over it, softly called his name, then quickly returned to her warm spot by the fire. She refused to panic. He wouldn’t leave her alone if she were in danger. Or would he? She put on jeans and a shirt and tried to sleep, but she was too wired. She was also frightened, and as the minutes ticked by she tried to stifle her anger. Alone in a dark cabin deep in the woods—this was not supposed to happen. Every sound from the outside could be a threat. Five o’clock crept by. She almost dozed off but caught herself. She had brought a small backpack with a toothbrush and a change of clothes. He had hauled in three large ones of the serious-backpacker variety. She had noticed them immediately in the back of the truck in Knox, and she had glanced at them occasionally. He used one for the hike; the other two appeared to be stuffed with something. They had been tossed on the sofa at first, then placed by the door. Now they were gone.

She took off her jeans and shirt and flung them on the sofa, as if nothing had happened. When she was still and warm again, she took deep breaths and assessed the situation. What was obvious became more so. For those watching Jeff’s every move, today’s visit to Gray Mountain was nothing more than a romantic getaway. The kayaks were a nice touch, bright and red and stacked in the back of the truck for all to see, but never close to actually getting wet. Kayaking, hiking, grilling on the porch, snuggling by the fire—just a pleasant little tryst with the new girl in town. In the early hours of the morning, when the valley was at its stillest, he awoke and eased away with the skill of a cat burglar. At that moment, he was deep in the bowels of Gray Mountain stuffing the backpacks with invaluable papers filched from Krull Mining.

He was using her for cover.

The door opened and her heart froze. She couldn’t see it in the pitch blackness, and the sofa was blocking it too. She was lying on a thick mat layered with quilts and blankets, trying to breathe normally and praying that the person over there was Jeff. He stood perfectly still for what seemed like an hour, then moved slightly. When he placed his jeans on the sofa the belt buckle rattled slightly.
When he was undressed, he gently eased back under the covers, careful not to touch her or wake her.

She really hoped that naked man inches away was Jeff Gray. Feigning sleep, she rolled over and flung an arm across his chest. He pretended to be startled and mumbled something. She mumbled back, satisfied that she, in fact, knew the guy. With a hand that was a bit too cold for the occasion, he fondled her rear end. She mumbled no, and turned away. He moved closer, then pretended to fall asleep. Before she drifted off, she decided to play along with the game for the time being. Give it some time and thought, and keep an eye on those backpacks.

The cat burglar was moving again, now slowly getting to his feet and reaching for the stack of wood. He tossed two logs on the fire, stoked it, and whispered, “Are you awake?”

“I think so,” she said.

“This place is freezing.” He was on his knees, lifting covers and reburying himself next to her. “Let’s sleep some more,” he said, groping, going for the body heat. She grunted something in reply, as if she’d been in a coma. The fire was popping and crackling, the chill was suddenly gone, and Samantha managed to finally drift away.

T
he forecast for Monday was a high of fifty-five degrees and lots of sunshine. The last of the snow was melting quickly as Samantha walked to work. January 12, but it almost felt like spring. She unlocked the office and went about her early morning routine. The first e-mail was from Izabelle:

Samantha chuckled as she read the e-mail, and wasted no time firing one right back:

Izabelle replied:

T
he first surprise of the day came in the mail. Top Market Solutions sent a check for $11,300, made payable to Pamela Booker, with the required releases attached. Samantha made a copy of the check and planned to frame it. Her first lawsuit and her first victory. She proudly showed it to Mattie, who suggested that she drive
it over to the lamp factory and surprise her client. An hour later, she entered the town of Brushy and found the near-vacant industrial park on the edge of town. She said hello to Mr. Simmons and again thanked him for rehiring Pamela.

On break, Pamela signed the release and cried over the check. She had never seen so much money and seemed thoroughly overwhelmed. They were sitting in Samantha’s car, in the parking lot, among a sad collection of ancient pickup trucks and dirty little imports. “I’m not sure what to do with this,” she said.

As a multitalented legal aid lawyer, Samantha had a bit of financial advice. “Well, first, don’t tell anyone. Period. Open your mouth and you’ll have all sorts of new friends. How much is your credit card debt?”

“Couple thousand.”

“Pay it off, then cut up your cards. No debt for at least a year. Use cash and write checks, but no credit cards.”

“Are you serious?”

“You need a car, so I’d put two thousand down on one and finance the rest over two years. Pay off your other bills, and put five thousand in a savings account, then forget about it.”

“How much of this do you get?”

“Zero. We don’t take fees, except in rare cases. It’s all yours, Pamela, and you deserve every dime of it. Now hurry and stick it in the bank before those crooks bounce it.”

With her lips twitching and tears dripping off her cheeks, she reached over and hugged her lawyer. “Thank you, Samantha. Thank you, thank you.”

Driving away, she looked in her rearview mirror. Pamela was standing, watching, waving. Samantha wasn’t crying, but she had a tightness in her throat.

T
he second surprise of the day came during the Monday brown-bag lunch. Just as Barb was telling a story about a man who’d fainted in church yesterday, Mattie’s cell phone vibrated on the table beside her salad. Caller unknown. She said hello, and a
strangely familiar, but unidentified, voice said, “The FBI will be there in thirty minutes with a search warrant. Back up your files immediately.”

Her jaw dropped as the color drained from her face. “Who is this?” she asked. The caller was gone.

She calmly repeated the message, and everyone took a deep, fearful breath. Judging from the tactics used when the FBI raided Donovan’s office, it was safe to assume they would walk out with just about everything they could carry. The first frantic order of business would be to find some flash drives and start downloading the important data from their desktops.

“We’re assuming this is also related to Krull Mining,” Annette said, looking suspiciously at Samantha.

Mattie was rubbing her temples, trying to stay calm. “There’s nothing else. The Feds must think we have something because I’m the attorney for Donovan’s estate. Bizarre, absurd, outrageous, I can’t think of enough adjectives. I, we, have nothing they haven’t already seen. There’s nothing new.”

To Samantha, though, the raid was far more ominous. She and Jeff had left Gray Mountain Sunday morning, and she was assuming the backpacks were loaded with documents. Barely twenty-four hours later, the FBI was charging in, snooping on behalf of Krull Mining. It was a fishing expedition, but also an act of effective intimidation. She mentioned nothing, but hurried to her office and began transferring data.

The women whispered as they scurried about. Annette had the bright idea of volunteering Barb to leave with their laptops. They would explain that she was driving over to Wise to have them serviced by a technician. Barb gathered them and was more than happy to leave town. Mattie called Hump, who was one of the better criminal lawyers in town, retained him on the spot, and asked him to saunter over once the raid started. Hump said he wouldn’t miss it for anything. When the flash drives were loaded, Samantha placed them in a large envelope, along with her spy phone, and walked down to the courthouse. On the third floor, the county maintained a long-neglected law library that hadn’t been cleaned
in years. She hid the envelope in a pile of dusty
ABA Journals
from the 1970s and hurried back to the office.

Agents Frohmeyer and Banahan wore dark suits and led the fearless team as it barged into the heavily fortified offices of the Mountain Legal Aid Clinic. Three other agents—all in navy parkas with “FBI” stenciled from shoulder to shoulder in yellow letters as large and as bright as possible—followed their leaders. Mattie met them in the front hallway with “Oh no, not you again.”

Frohmeyer said, “Afraid so. Here’s the search warrant.”

She took it and said, “I don’t have time to read it. Just tell me what it covers.”

“Any and all records relating to the legal files from the law offices of Donovan Gray and pertaining to correspondence, litigation, etc., relative to what is commonly known as the Hammer Valley case.”

“You got it all last time, Frohmeyer. He’s been dead seven weeks. You think he’s still producing paperwork.”

“I’m just following orders.”

“Right, right. Look, Mr. Frohmeyer, his files are still over there, across the street. The file I have here is his probate file. We’re not involved in the litigation. Understand? It’s not complicated.”

“I have my orders.”

Hump made a noisy entrance, barking, “I represent the clinic. What the hell is this all about?” Annette and Samantha were watching from their open doors.

Mattie said, “Hump, this is Agent Frohmeyer, the leader of this little posse. He thinks he has the right to take all of our files and computers.”

Annette suddenly barked, “Like hell you do. I don’t have a single piece of paper in my office that’s even remotely related to Donovan Gray or any of his cases. What I do have is an office full of sensitive and confidential files and cases involving such things as divorce, child molestation, domestic abuse, paternity, addiction and rehab, mental incompetency, and a long sad list of human misery. And you, sir, are not entitled to see any of it. If you try to touch any of it, I’ll resist with all the physical might I can muster. Arrest
me if you will, but I promise you first thing tomorrow morning I’ll file a federal lawsuit with your name, Mr. Frohmeyer, and the names of the rest of you goons, front and center, as defendants. After that, I’ll hound you to hell and back.”

It took a lot to stun a tough guy like Frohmeyer, but for a second his shoulders slumped, slightly. The other four listened wide-eyed and uncertain. Samantha almost laughed out loud. Mattie was actually grinning.

“Very well put, Ms. Brevard,” Hump said. “That sums up our position nicely, and I’ll be happy to call the U.S. Attorney right now and clarify things.”

Mattie said, “There are over two hundred active files and a thousand more in storage. None of which have anything to do with Donovan Gray and his business. Do you really want to haul them back to your office and dig through them?”

Annette snarled, “Surely, you have better things to do.”

Hump raised both hands and called for quiet. Frohmeyer stiffened his back and glared at Samantha. “We’ll start with your office. If we find what we’re looking for, we’ll take it and leave.”

“And what might that be?”

“Read the search warrant.”

Hump asked, “How many files do you have, Ms. Kofer?”

“Around fifteen, I think.”

Hump said, “Okay, let’s do this. Let’s place her files on the conference room table and you boys have a look. Go through her office and inspect whatever you want, but before you remove anything let’s have a chat. Okay?”