Turn To Me (10 page)

“What about you?” I asked, my voice sounding small and worried in the quiet of the apartment. 

“I have another at my place,” he said reassuringly. 

“You know I don’t have a license to carry this,” I reminded him.  It was all well and good to carry a gun for protection, but if the police found out I was doing so without a permit, I’d be paying a hefty fine or worse.

His mouth tipped up at the corners.  “Don’t worry.  I know a good lawyer.”

He kissed me once before grabbing his coat and heading out the door.  I watched from my open doorway as he went down the snow covered stairs, got into his SUV, and drove away.  Only then did I shut and lock the door.

Chapter Four

The next morning dawned clear and bright.  It was still well below freezing, but the sun shone in a cloudless sky.  The snow-covered trees and ground sparkled as if they were covered in diamonds.  My breath clouded in the frigid air as I cleared the snow off my car.

The streets were clear as I drove to work, the gun Blane had given me shoved inside my purse on the seat next to me, though I could feel its presence like it was a living thing.  I worried about how long Blane expected me to keep his gun.  I tried not to dwell on the incident yesterday, but I had a sinking feeling that we hadn't seen the last of whoever had been shooting at us.  I knew sometimes the firm defended people who weren't always safe, or innocent, and I wondered if it might be someone tied to an old case of Blane's, though his current case seemed to be a likely culprit as well.

Thirty minutes later I arrived at the firm, situated north of downtown Indianapolis in the nicer suburbs.  I parked and hurried inside, taking a quick glance at the parking lot to see that Blane's car wasn't there in his usual spot.  He probably was already in court this morning.

I put my coat, purse, and travel coffee mug in my tiny cubicle on the first floor.  Although I was out of the office a lot making runs, I had a little spot of my own with a computer.  So much paperwork flowed through the firm they were forever trying to keep up with the typing, and if I was through with my runs I often helped out.

After dropping off my things, I faced the most dreaded part of my day – checking in with the firm's office manager, Diane.  A heavyset, no-nonsense woman, she'd taken a dislike to me almost from the moment I'd started.  When James had found out about Blane and me he'd had Diane fire me, which she'd seemed to relish doing.  Blane had hired me back, but Diane had become even more antagonistic towards me and I despised having to work for her.  Not that I'd ever said a word about it to Blane.  It smacked too much of wanting special treatment because of our relationship.  Besides, anything he might do to try and alleviate the situation, short of firing Diane, would no doubt just make things worse, and I wasn't about to ask that he fire her.

“Good morning, Diane,” I said politely, a fake smile plastered on my face as I stepped into her office.

She looked up from her computer, her eyes narrowing as they fell on me.  I kept still as she scrutinized me, despite the instinctive need to squirm under her inspection.  It was rare that Diane didn't have something critical or disparaging to say about either my work, my appearance, or both.

“Don't think that the weather is going to give you an excuse to not make your runs today,” she said brusquely.  “I have a large stack for you and they all need to be delivered this morning.”

My smile became strained as I replied.  “The streets are fine,” I said calmly.  “I shouldn't have any problems.”

“Then don't let me keep you,” she said, gesturing to a stack of files on a nearby table.  “And make sure you check in with me when you get back.  There's plenty of work to be done so you won't have time to waste socializing.”  She made “socializing” sound like it was something pornographic.

I gritted my teeth, biting back the angry retort on the tip of my tongue.  She was implying my visiting Blane, of course.  It didn't matter that I rarely went up to his floor except to see if Clarice had any files for me to run.  I grabbed the stack and took it back to my desk.

“How was the dragon this morning?”  Lori asked, stepping into my cube.  She was a paralegal whose cube was adjacent to mine.  No one held any particular affection for Diane, and her treatment of me had not gone unnoticed.

“The usual,” I said with a shrug, not wanting to complain.  Most everyone still treated me the same, even though it was common knowledge that Blane and I were dating. 

“I can't believe she's stupid enough to treat you the way she does,” Lori said, sipping from the cup of coffee she was holding.  “I mean, come on, you're the boss's girlfriend, for crying out loud.”

“She probably figures it's just temporary,” I remarked, knowing Diane was probably right on that score.

“Still,” Lori protested, and I noticed she didn't contradict me, “you'd think she'd try to be a little nicer.”

“I'd better get going,” I said ruefully, “before she checks to make sure I'm not 'socializing' too much.”

Lori rolled her eyes at this and I silently agreed.

I headed to the elevator, punching the button for the seventh floor.  Blane had moved his office to the top floor when James Gage, Sr., had been indicted.  Derrick Trent, the remaining partner, had expanded his office on the fifth floor. 

“Hey, Clarice,” I said, sliding into an empty chair across from her large, mahogany desk.

“Morning!” Clarice said with a smile. 

I eyed her speculatively.  “You seem to be in an awfully good mood this morning,” I teased her.  “Would Jack have anything to do with that?”  Clarice was divorced with two kids and was dating a high school science teacher named Jack.  They'd been seeing each other for several months now.

Clarice's smile grew even wider.  “Maybe,” she said mischievously.  “It was a good weekend.”

“Good for you,” I said with a grin.  “You deserve it.”  Clarice was being cautious about being involved with someone after her first marriage had ended, but she and Jack had gotten progressively more serious.  I was glad things were going well for them.  I'd met him a few times and he seemed like a really nice guy.  Clarice had finally introduced him to her kids a couple months ago.

“What about you?” she said.  “How was your weekend?”

I hesitated, unsure if I should tell her all that happened.  I decided vague would probably be easier.  “Good.  It was good.  Blane and I got a Christmas tree.”

“That sounds promising,” she said.  Clarice had been thrilled to find out Blane and I were dating.  Clarice had a soft spot for Blane and had worked for him long enough to see him go through woman after woman.  I think she was hoping it would be different with me.  “I saw Blane on the news Saturday,” she continued.  “What was that all about?  Was that you he rescued from that mugger?  She sure looked like you.”

I nodded.  Clarice’s eyes widened.

“Are you okay?” she asked worriedly.

“I’m fine,” I replied, shrugging off her concern.  “Blane got there pretty quick.  I had a few bruises, that’s all.”  She looked like she was going to ask more questions, but I hurriedly changed the subject.

“Clarice, I was wondering,” I began, “are there any outstanding cases or clients that are particularly hostile toward Blane?”  I figured that was the best place to start looking for a connection between the shooter and Blane.

“How much time do you have?” she said dryly.  “He's always had the odd nut job or two, but the case he's on now seems to have brought them out of the woodwork.  Take a look at this.” 

She pushed a file folder toward me, full of papers.  Bemused, I opened it.  I read the first few and my hands turned to ice.

The papers were all death threats, some more hideous and grotesque than others.  The vividness of the more elaborate ones had bile rising in my throat.  I paged through them slowly, aware that Blane had mentioned none of this to me.

“How long have they been like this?” I asked quietly, swallowing the nausea.

“A couple weeks,” she answered with a sigh.  “I took them to the police, but they didn’t do anything.  They think it's just a few crazies, nothing serious.”

“I don't know about that,” I muttered.  “What is it about the case he's on now,” I asked, handing back the folder.  “The Waters' trial, that has people so upset?”

“Blane’s defending a friend of his, a man named Kyle Waters.  Kyle is a SEAL sniper,” Clarice explained.  “He fought in Afghanistan and Iraq.  On one particular mission, they were supposed to capture or kill some sheik that was an al-Qaeda leader.  Well, on their way, a shepherd stumbled across them.  There were only four of them, they couldn’t capture him.  They determined he was an immediate threat, that he would warn others that they were there, so they killed him.”

I processed this.  “So now he’s on trial for wrongful death?” I asked.

Clarice nodded.  “Turns out that supposed shepherd was really an American citizen.”

My jaw dropped.  “Oh my God,” I breathed.

“Not so fast,” Clarice said.  “He was an American citizen who renounced his citizenship, converted to Islam, changed his name to Ahmed el Mustaqueem and moved there to fight for the other side.”

“Oh.”  Well, that certainly put things in a different light.

“Exactly,” Clarice said knowingly.  “But you still have the people that are all pissed off that they killed him, not that I particularly see it that way,” she added.

“How do you see it?”

She looked me in the eye.  “I think it’s a hell of a lot easier to play armchair quarterback from behind a desk than it is on the other side of the planet, surrounded by people who want to kill you.  If that guy wanted to go fight for the other side, then he knew the risks.  I think Kyle’s a hero and what’s going on is disgraceful.  The man has been through three deployments and has a list of commendations and medals as long as my arm.”

Her vehemence surprised me.

“Does Blane feel the same way?” I asked.

“I haven’t asked him,” she replied.  “I assume so.  He served in Afghanistan, so I would think he has an opinion on the matter.”

I was confused.  “If it’s a wrongful death suit, why is James prosecuting?  Wouldn’t it be a private suit, not a county one?”

“Usually,” she replied.  “But in this instance, the man was from Indianapolis originally and the family got the county to bring the suit.  If James wins, it sets a precedent that’s never been done before – a state government prosecuting a soldier.  It’s disgusting, what James is doing.”

I thought for a moment before asking, “Do you think I could look at the Waters' file?”  I wanted to read through it, see if there was anything I could find that might shed some light on who had tried to kill us yesterday.

“Sure, but don't tell anyone.  Technically, you work for the firm so you could be legitimately helping with the case, but I don't want to get into trouble.”

“No problem,” I assured her.  “I won't breathe a word.”

“Come by later,” she said.  “The files are in the conference room and you can start there.”

I agreed, thanking her before heading back downstairs to grab my stack and head back out into the cold for my deliveries.

I finished my runs and was on my way to the courthouse for my last delivery, which had to be there by noon.  Suddenly, I noticed my steering wheel was pulling to the right and an odd sound was coming from my car.  I slowed down as it got progressively worse, finally forced to pull off to the side of the road.  Grabbing my gloves, I pulled them on as I got out of the car.  As I walked to the front, I saw what the problem was and groaned.  My right front tire was flat as a pancake.

I stood staring dumbly at it, wondering what the heck I was going to do now.  I knew how to change a tire, but shied away from doing it in the freezing cold with all the slush and snow lining the road.  I was sure to get filthy trying to change the tire by myself, and while I wasn't opposed to having to do that, I really didn't want to. 

Cars flew past as I contemplated my predicament.  Not only did it look like I was going to have to lay out cash for a tow truck and new tire, there was no way I was going to be able to get my delivery to the courthouse in time.  Diane was going to be pissed.

As I wavered in indecision, a taxi pulled up and off to the side in front of me.  Surprised, I turned to see a familiar figure get out and walk toward me.

“Frankie?” I asked as he got closer.

“Hey, K-k-kathleen,” he stammered, shoving his gloveless hands into the pockets of his jeans.  “What hap-happened?”

“I got a flat,” I gestured helplessly to the deflated tire.

“D-d-d-do you n-need a ride?”

I brightened.  “That would be great!”  If I could get to the courthouse, I could get the documents delivered on time and then I'd just call a tow truck from there.

I went to grab my purse from the car and hesitated – I still had Blane's gun.  There was no way they'd let me in the courthouse with it, that was for sure.  Making a quick decision, I opened my glove box and pushed the gun inside, grabbed my purse and files from my car before locking it and following Frankie to the taxi.  It was blessedly warm inside the car.

“Where t-t-to?” he asked, once he was behind the wheel. 

“The courthouse, if you don't mind,” I answered, meeting his eyes in the rearview mirror.

He nodded once and we set off.  I was glad for the stroke of luck that had him nearby.  After a few minutes, I ventured a question.  “How have you been, Frankie?  And your sister?”

“G-g-good.  C-Chrissy loves the s-s-s-snow.”

I smiled.  “Me, too.  Especially here at Christmas.”

“Your f-f-face is b-better,” he offered.

I realized he meant the bruises from the encounter with the mugger the other night.  I lightly touched the still tender skin of my cheek.  “Yeah, thanks,” I said, surprised he could see them, considering how much makeup I had pancaked on this morning.

We made it to the courthouse with about fifteen minutes to spare and I hurriedly dug inside my purse for money, glancing at the meter to see how much the ride had cost.  I had just enough cash on me to cover it.