Naked Dirty Love (6 page)

“Earl grey tea is fine, if you have it.”

“Absolutely.” I stood again and walked to my own little personal coffee bar I’d set up in my office.

It was nothing ostentatious but it had all the necessities, including a professional-strength Keurig, more than enough coffee and tea, along with Sugar In the Raw, Splenda, and Equal. I kept both flavored cream along with half-in-half in the small refrigerator beneath the oak table.

I quickly made the tea and brought over a couple sugars after Eve declined creamer.

She smiled at me though it never reached her eyes. “I know you must be wondering why I’m in your office or why I contacted you in particular as opposed to your partner, Ms. Jackson.”

As soon as I sat down, I leaned back, maintaining a straight posture while I faced her confidently. “The thought had crossed my mind but some people are more comfortable with Gisela while other clients ask for me. It’s nothing personal. We try to satisfy all tastes here.”

Eve cleared her throat before she sipped her tea. “This place seems very successful and professional. It looks like the kind of establishment where the attorneys are very good at keeping…secrets.”

I glanced around my upscale office though my attention quickly wandered back to my client. “Yes, confidentiality is a must. We take attorney-client privilege very seriously here and I can assure you, I don’t
do
pillow talk. Not only is it tacky but also unprofessional, illegal, and I could be disbarred. I enjoy my job too much to let something like that happen.”

She nodded her head, her eyes never leaving mine. I could lie and say this elegant woman wasn’t starting to get to me but the feeling of déjà vu was too damn strong, I felt like I’d met her before. It pissed me off I couldn’t place her because I never forgot a face…
ever
.

“Well, I guess I should cut to the chase and specifically tell you why I’ve come here—why I requested you, personally. Do I write the retainer to you or the law firm?” Eve pulled her checkbook out of a top-of-the-line Louis Vuitton handbag with a matching wallet.

“You write it to Jackson & Hughes.” I arched my eyebrows quizzically as she wrote the check with careful calligraphy. “Seriously, you don’t have to do anything until we’ve spoken at length—”

“No, I’m afraid that’s not possible, Ms. Hughes. What I’m about to tell you is a matter of life and death. I can’t risk not knowing everything I say to you will be held in the utmost confidence…do you understand?”

Her eyes, those gorgeous pale green irises with amber circles surrounding the pupils, were beginning to have a desired effect on me. Eve Kerrigan had secrets and why did I feel like they might directly affect me? This wasn’t the best position for me to be in at all.

She tore the check and handed it to me. I placed it in a drawer and quickly locked it. My eyes wandered back to hers, and I nodded for her to continue.

“Well, why don’t you begin, Ms. Kerrigan? Remember, I’m your advocate; I’m here to protect you and keep you safe. Nothing you say to me is going to change that.”

Eve sipped from her tea again. “Yes, I know. It’s hard to know where I should begin. I suppose I’ll tell you what’s pertinent to the situation now, and if you need more information, we can cross that bridge when we get to it.”

“All right,” I replied soothingly. “Why don’t you begin wherever you’re most comfortable?”

“Well…I don’t live in the state anymore but I spent the vast majority of my adult life here in Northern Nevada. My children were raised here and we had a very good life. I was…happy…and quite pleased.” Eve abruptly stopped talking and placed her tea on a coaster at the edge of my desk near her.

“Continue,” I urged softly.

“Everything didn’t go according to plan. My husband and I—we had two wonderful children who turned out very well but our other son, he was another matter entirely. He was brilliant and had a very bright future in front of him but he threw it all away to become a nobody in one of the local motorcycle gangs in the area.”

Here we go,
I thought, annoyed by her casual dismissal. I tried to keep my face neutral, to stop myself from scowling at such a label. The people she spoke so discouraging about were the same individuals I’d grown up around my whole life. They’d watched over me, kept me secure, safe, and assured I’d had a happy, normal adolescence.

“Oh? Motorcycle gang?” I picked up my Montblanc pen and squeezed it hard. “Do you mean he joined one the
clubs
here? Perhaps the Demon’s Bastards or the Lucifer’s Saints?”

“Yes, he did, and they
aren’t
clubs—they’re
gangs
. You call them a club because your father is Jonesy Hughes and you grew up in the life but I can assure you they’re rife with criminal activity, money laundering, prostitution, drugs, guns—you name it, they participate in it,” Eve explained in a steady voice.

“Okay…so this son of yours? How does he fit into the picture?”

“Well, I would like you to set up a meeting between the two of us. I don’t have much time and soon, I will move on to different part of the world. I would like it to be pre-arranged and you would have to speak to him because I need this to go as smoothly as possible, is that understood?”

“Of course, Ms. Kerrigan.” I plastered on a smile as I dropped the Montblanc on my desk. “Now, if you could just give me the name of your son, the biker? No need to worry, I’ll be able to locate him fairly quickly if he’s a Bastard or a Saint.”

“How reassuring.” Eve’s content expression suddenly disappeared and her hazel-green eyes hardened. “If I get a whiff you’ve informed your father’s club or the Saints’ President, everything will go very bad, very quickly for you, Ms. Hughes. I will have the Feds down here so fast it’ll make your head spin. Are we clear?”

Her sudden change gave me much-needed food for thought. Who the hell was this woman that she could threaten me so easily and have chills run down my back? Somehow, I knew she meant every word she said.

“You have my assurance nothing of the sort will happen, Ms. Kerrigan.”

“Good.” Eve’s easy expression returned as she handed over a cream colored envelope—extremely expensive, elegant stationary, calligraphy handwriting on the back with my full name spelled out. I was thoroughly impressed.

“Please don’t open this until I leave your office. Though you may think there is nothing to trace this letter, there is. Please don’t allow me to lose faith in you. I trust you to do the right thing—if not for my sake, then my son’s. He deserves to be happy and if I can give him that much then I will deal with everything else. Are we clear?”

I nodded my head, afraid to speak. “I won’t open this until you leave but I do have one last question for you. What if I’m not able to reach your son? What happens then?”

My client stood and glared at me, her eyes determined. “You don’t have much of a choice but to find my son. From what I’ve heard, it shouldn’t be too hard to locate him. You know the world, so I expect some results. I’m not paying you for my damned health. I will call you tomorrow to see how everything has progressed.”

I watched as she turned around and flounced out of my office.

The envelope felt heavy and weighted in my hand but I still pulled back the flap and slid out the singular page. It was thick, heavy stock paper folded into thirds. I opened it fully and used a couple paperweights to hold it down.

There was nothing on the paper except a simple name: Trey Lennon.

What. The. Fuck.

Trey’s parents, younger brother, and his brother’s fiancée died in an automobile accident under suspicious circumstances almost a year ago. They were supposed to be taking dirt naps over at the local Pine Bluff Cemetery. The whole club had buried Trey’s family in a funeral befitting royalty or heads of state.

Recognition kicked into overdrive and, of course, I recognized her. The hair was different and she’d lost the softness she had before. Now she was svelte, obviously exercised, quiet and composed.

Eve Kerrigan—née Antoinette Lennon—knew exactly what she was doing when she walked into my office. I didn’t know whether to be pissed or excited.

Trey’s presence definitely brought out an animal magnetism with me and I thought he was the sexiest biker on two legs. Next thing I knew, he’d hauled ass out of town shortly after the news broke that my father would have to relinquish him as a member of the Demon’s Bastards.

Certain allegiances existed to align himself with the Saints; and though I had no idea what they were, I knew Trey hurt. How could he not when he was torn from his brothers and given a new, ready-made family?

I tried to calm down as I lifted my smart phone and placed the call to Trey’s phone. I could only hope he had the same number if nothing else.

“Hello?” Trey answered after a few rings.

“Hey, stranger. It’s Kyra. How’re you doin’?”

How could I take on some of the most complicated cases yet be a complete and utter dolt when it came to addressing this man in simple conversation?

“Nothing much, babe. Just working on a Harley down at the garage. What’s up? You never call me outta the blue. Did somethin’ happen? Brooklyn change his motherfuckin’ mind and decide I’m the one who shot him?” he asked as I heard him light a cigarette and drag from it. “No, it’s nothing like that but I do have to meet with you,” I responded, keeping my tone calm and even. It was the exact opposite of what my heart was doing to my chest, thundering against my ribcage like it was looking for a means of escape.

“I’m busy, Kyra. If it doesn’t have to do with my case then why do you wanna see me? I’m tired of the motherfuckin’ games women play. I had a good a woman and now, she’s dead. So, tell me what you need to say.”

“I can’t, not over the phone.” I paused, trying to slow my heartbeat. “Can I come to the compound ASAP? I should be there in about a half an hour.”

Trey was silent on his end for a moment before he said, “Yeah, sure. Just let one of the boys know when you’re here and I can meet you near the playground. Sound okay?”

“Yes. Thank you.” I smiled again before I put everything away, tidied my desk and strode out of the office.

My day had, officially, just gone from weird to worse.

I
arrived at the Saints clubhouse with time to spare.

Two prospects guarded the formidable looking gate and allowed me to pass as soon as I pulled out my identification.

After parking my car, I walked toward the garage bays but made sure I stayed clear of them due to OSHA regulations.

I second-guessed my attire, which consisted of a coral wool shift dress, black knee-length leather boots with four-inch heels, and black scarf. It was professional enough but the dress was plain and didn’t show off any of my assets.

Not that I was sure I should even care what I looked like. I wasn’t there on a social call. I had specific information to unleash on Trey that could possibly leave him feeling devastated beyond belief.