Another Tiger Bites the Dust Page 3

  “I see you took your cheerful pills.”

  “May we please proceed?”

  Her hands were shaking. God, was he that scary?

  He sat down in the metal chair that was as cold as everything else in this miserable place. “I don’t need an attorney. I plan on representing myself.”

  She looked through her turquoise glasses that framed beautiful blue eyes. “Mr. Reese, I would advise you not take that route. I have reviewed your case. Currently, you have been convicted of first degree arson, which is a class three felony in the State of Colorado.”

  “So?”

  She lifted a delicate eyebrow. “Did you start the fire?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “No, I didn’t.”

  “According to the police report, rubber cement, grain alcohol and box of matches were found in your panniers.” Her condemning voice made the white walls close in on him, the light dimmer, his hope muddier.

  His mouth went dry and the awful feeling of the mounting evidence weighed heavy on his chest. “Like I’ve said before, except no believes me, I didn’t put any of those damn things there.”

  She placed her hands on the tables. “Then who did?”

  Her well-manicured nails clicked on the table, matching the tick-tock of his heartbeat. The same old haunting argument that followed him around like a dark cloud tripped his temper.

  “Don’t play games with me, honey. I told the cops it was Grant Sellars.”

  “Mr. Reese, Mr. Sellars wasn’t anywhere near Graystone Manor.”

  His gut hardened into a rock. He looked up at the ceiling, trying to stay calm, and gritted his teeth. “You’re telling me things as if I hadn’t heard them before.”

  “I realize that, Mr. Reese, but these are the same questions you’ll be asked at the parole hearing.”

  He shook his head. “This is pointless. I realize…wait I don’t even know your name.”

  “I’m Lara Black, attorney at law at Buckley and Hartley.”

  He frowned as a distant memory tugged at his memory. “Wait a minute. You’re a friend of Cora Amici’s, aren’t you?” But that wasn’t it. He’d heard the name Hartley before, but couldn’t place where.

  “Yes, I am.” She glanced at her watch. “Now, back to your case.”

  “Are you in a hurry?”

  She cleared her throat. “As a matter of fact I am. This is why we had to meet so early.”

  “So sorry to inconvenience you.”

  She took off her glasses. “You didn’t. Now back to what happened.”

  “Look I told the cops I went with Sellars to Graystone Manor––”

  “Because why?”

  “To buy weed.”

  “I see.” She scribbled something on a yellow legal pad.

  He couldn't resist grinning at her. She was a woman he could get used to teasing. “Do I look like someone who doesn’t smoke pot?”

  She didn’t look up. “You do look like a ski bum or a surfer.”

  Not the first time he’d heard that comment.

  “Whose apartment did you go to?” The woman was an ice queen. Not even the smallest smile.

  “Like this isn’t in the record.”

  “Please answer my question.”

  “Brown. Kevin Brown.”

  “He was a dealer?”

  “Obviously.”

  She glared up at him through her glasses. “Lose your attitude, Mr. Reese. It won’t set well with the parole board.”

  “I won’t have an attitude with them.”

  She put down her pencil. “Highly unlikely, Mr. Reese.” Her needling tone made him want to shake her or kiss her.

  He narrowed his eyes. “Do you want to hear my side or not?”

  “Yes, I do.” There wasn’t even a glimmer of fear in her eyes.

  “Brown was there.”

  She frowned, scanning a piece of paper in his damn file. “Mr. Reese, there was no record of a Mr. Kevin Brown residing at Graystone Manor.”

  “I realize that now, Ms. Black. I didn’t know him. Grant did. We rode our motorcycles to Graystone and went to his apartment.”

  Griff could still remember Brown’s apartment. Dim lamps barely offered any light. Hardly any furniture. Just a card table with pills, weed, and bags of heroin. It had been strange that there were only folding chairs.

  No sofa. No TV. No computer.

  “We went inside…”

  “Do you remember the number of his apartment?”

  “How can I forget? It was two twenty-two.”

  Lara immediately scribbled the number down on her legal pad. “Then what happened?”

  “Kevin offered us both a joint. I took a hit and that was the last thing I remember until I smelled smoke.”

  “Were either Mr. Sellars or Mr. Brown still present in the apartment?”

  He shook his head. “No. They were long gone. Smoke filled the apartment.”

  “Then what happened?”

  He lifted his chin high. His throat thickened as the tiger clawed to get out. “What do you think? I got the hell out of there. That’s when I heard the woman screaming.”

  Pain seared into his wrists and he hissed.

  “Are you all right, Mr. Reese?”

  “I’m fine.” If you could call silver burning into your flesh, all right.

  “Yes, I know. Mrs. Sharon Stephens. You saved her two girls and their little puppy.”

  He shrugged. “No one ever remembers that.”

  “I spoke to Gerri Wilder. She told me what happened.”

  “Gerri Wilder? The matchmaker?”

  “Yes, do you remember her being there?”

  He frowned. “No.”

  “Have you ever met her?”

  He shook his head. “No, I don’t.”

  “Well, she vividly remembers you. By the way, I thought it was very brave.” Her soft voice caught him off guard.

  He looked at her to see if she was shining him on, but sincerity reflected in her eyes. His frown slowly disappeared and he smiled. “Thank you.”

  She moved fingers over her iPad and stopped. “According to the court transcripts––for some odd reason––that little tidbit wasn’t presented at your trial.”

  “What can I say? My attorney was a bum.”

  She continued reading. “Mrs. Stephens swears if it weren’t for you, both of her girls and their dog would be dead.”

  “I wasn’t going to let them die.”

  She looked up and finally smiled, a smile that made her eyes crinkle. “I know.” Her husky voice made him forget that she was his attorney. She was his mate. He was drawn to her lips, wondering what it would be like to kiss them.

  She quickly turned to reading the reports and he thought he saw a slight blush on her cheeks.

  She cleared her throat. “According to this report, most of the other residents had gotten out when the fire started, because they smelled it.”

  Back to being all facts.

  “They were shifters. The Stephens weren’t.”

  “Have you ever heard of an organization called PASS?”

  He shrugged. “Yeah, they’re the shifter haters. All of us shifters know about them.”

  “What do you know about them?”

  “Their pompous humans who think they’re better than us.” He narrowed his eyes. “Why? Are you one of them?”

  “No, of course not.” Her cheeks reddened and her voice was indignant.

  He’d definitely hit a nerve.

  “Why are you asking me about PASS?”

  “Because I’ve uncovered evidence that they might be involved.”

  He stilled and his lungs squeezed tight.

  “Mr. Reese, are you all right?”

  “Yeah. I’m fine.” Hell, no, he wasn’t. He’d always stayed cleared of PASS and now, he was finding out he hadn’t stayed clear enough.

  “By the way, I’ve asked Mrs. Stephens and her oldest daughter, Jaime, to appear at your parole hearing.”

  An edge of hop
e crept into his hard heart. He was able to take a deep breath. Maybe Lara wasn’t so bad. Hell, she was a lot better sight than his last attorney. He’d urged his previous lawyer to contact them, but the jerk had refused. “Are they coming?”

  “Yes, they were adamant that you didn’t have anything to do with the fire.”

  He smiled warily. “I know. No one believes them, either.”

  She leaned across the table. “That’s because I wasn’t representing you or them.”

  Her feminine scent made him wonder what her skin would taste like if he rolled his tongue over her flesh. She was staring at him, waiting for an answer.

  Not wanting her to know she was affecting him, he chuckled and shook his head. “You actually think people will give a shit?”

  “You’ve never seen me in court.”

  Something about her throaty voice, the way her eyes lit up, the curve of her mouth, doused his anger. “You really think you can make a difference?”

  “Yes, I do. I looked at your prison record––you’ve been a model prisoner––”

  “That’s because the scumbags are afraid of me.”

  “What did you do to make them afraid of you?”

  He laughed bitterly. “I’m a tiger. No one messes with me.”

  “Good point.” She picked up her notes. “I think I can help you.” Then gave him a stern look. “If you’ll let me.”

  He lowered his head. The heavy ball in his gut grew to the size of a cannonball. His last attorney hadn’t even apologized when he’d been dragged away. He never even bothered interviewing Grant. He’d been just as much as a problem as the prosecutor had been.

  He looked into her eyes. She wasn’t sweating and met his gaze. Most men in here cowered beneath his fierce stare. He sighed heavily. She was his mate and hot, damn hot. How could he say no? “Shit, I hope I’m not making a mistake.”

  Chapter 4

  Lara curled up on the couch at home––her hair in a ponytail and jammies on. She had take-out.

  Again.

  She was so sick of it and would love to make her own food, but she was trapped at Buckley and Hartley killing herself with billable hours.

  After interviewing Griff yesterday, Lara was determined to find out more about PASS. Griff was the hottest man she’d ever laid eyes on. Her heart skipped a bit as she thought about his long wavy hair. It was dark at the top then blended into a blonde. He had a soft-looking beard, but it was his eyes that had mesmerized her–tiger eyes. For being in prison for so long, his skin was a light copper and he had muscles…muscles to die for. It took all of her attorney training to not lust over him like a horny teenager. His brother, Seth, was good-looking, but Griff made her want to take off her panties and spread her legs.

  She was panting and sweating.

  Get ahold of yourself, you’re his attorney, not his lover.

  But it wasn’t just that he was the sexiest man alive. She didn’t think he’d torched that apartment building, but someone wanted people to believe it was him. The question was why?

  She sipped her wine and kept surfing the internet. Her breath did a quick intake. She stumbled on a symbol of a purple mountain with a road whirling around it. Behind the mountain there was an angry eye. Chills rolled down her spine and she shivered.

  She covered her mouth. “Shit, I’ve seen that before.”

  In a painting in Mr. Hartley’s office.

  But she had to be sure.

  Mr. Hartley had all kinds of paintings from realism to impressionism to expressionism. Maybe she was wrong.

  The next morning, she arrived at Buckley and Hartley early. Only the crickets greeted her in the garage. The sun was still asleep. The guards weren’t even there yet. She flashed her key fob and entered the building. She had on her tennis shoes to muffle her footsteps. She’d change back into her pumps when she returned to her tiny office.

  She pushed the elevator button with her finger. Her heart skipped and leaped. No one went to the Mr. Hartley’s office un-summoned. She avoided looking at the security cameras that watched her every move. Sweat formed on the back of her neck. She tried to act natural as she entered the elevator. Her legs shook so hard she was afraid the cameras captured them playing the rumba.

  She pulled her phone out of her purse. The elevator crept up…one…two….three…

  “Come on, come on.” She yanked a hoodie out of her old beat up briefcase and slid it on. She took off her skirt and put on a pair of sweats, then pulled a baseball cap over her eyes.

  Nine….ten…eleven….twelve…The elevators slid open to the hallway. The receptionist desk was empty and neat.

  She forced herself to move. The security cameras were on her, but they wouldn’t see the same woman. This may be super stupid, since the cameras had caught her earlier.

  Dim lights shone on the darkened highway. She walked down the hallway quickly, but stopped in front of an expressionist painting. Crap, this was it.

  She immediately took a picture. No one would have thought anything different about it unless they know about PASS.

  She hurried down the hallway to Mr. Hartley’s office. Thankfully, her key fob opened the door.

  The room was eerily empty. A small expressionist painting of a mountain hung between two book cases. She immediately took a picture.

  She clicked on his computer. Stuck. She needed a password, and on a hunch, typed in PASS. She was in. Dumb. How could he have such a simple password?

  She had no idea what she was looking for until she found a file with the date of the fire. She didn’t have time to look at the contents, but something incriminating had to be hidden in it. She took a USB drive out of her purse with her shaking hand and plugged it into the computer.

  “Come on, hurry.”

  The file uploaded within seconds.

  She was about to leave when something on his mahogany desk caught her eye–––a silver case with the same mountain and angry eye symbol engraved on it. She couldn’t resist and opened it. Business cards were stacked in there, and the one that made her heart stop was…Grant Sellars’s.

  Mr. Hartley had his business card, a known drug user, or more likely, arsonist. What else was in that file?

  Her fingers shook. She quickly put all of the cards back into the case and hurried out of the office.

  She raced back to the elevator, pumping her legs and arms. Her lungs burned and sweat drenched her face. She changed clothes quickly and got off at her floor. What had she just discovered?

  She immediately jumped into work, but every time her door opened, her heart nearly exploded. Mr. Hartley walked past her office and cast her a cool look. She froze, her fingers icing over her keyboard. Her heart banged against her ribs.

  Stay calm…stay calm….stay calm.

  He opened the door and casually walked around her office, which was a fourth the size of his. She didn’t even have a window. “Good afternoon, Ms. Black.”

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Hartley. Can I help you?” Her voice was strained and her eyes wide.

  “I came to tell you that I’ve been monitoring your progress and your hours. I’m very pleased.” He stood in front of her desk, his shadow falling over her like a dark cloud. “Don’t do anything to jeopardize it.”

  She nodded like a bobble head. “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. We have a perfect understanding.” He went over to the door and glanced over his shoulder. “Remember…I’ll be watching.”

  Lara’s throat dried up and she could only give him a small smile. Shit, did he suspect she’d been in his office?

  She couldn’t keep the drive here. She had to hide it. She looked out the window and then glanced at her watch. This was her usual break time for coffee. She had the perfect place to keep it safe. Somewhere were none of Mr. Hartley’s little spies would think of.

  Fifteen minutes later, she returned with her mochachino and worked frantically until 5:00. She had to get out of here and prepare for Griff’s case.

  “Nancy.” Lara st
opped at her receptionist who was a picture of Little Mary Sunshine. “I’ll be out tomorrow.”

  “Have a great weekend. See you on Monday.”

  “You too.”

  Finally, she was able to go home. Tomorrow was Friday and Griff Reese’s parole hearing.

  She got onto the elevator and went down to the parking lot. She headed toward her car. The sound of a grumbling motorcycle made her jump.

  A man, wearing sun glasses and his long white hair in a tail, zoomed passed her, making her hair swoosh in front of her face. She darted to the side, her heart pounding a million beats a minute.

  “Asshole.”

  The PASS symbol was stitched on the back of his leather jacket.

  She felt the blood drain from her face and her breath fizzled up.

  The silver and black motorcycle roared again.

  She sprinted toward her car, hit the keyless remote, and yanked opened the door.

  The growling got louder and louder.

  Lara threw everything inside. She locked the doors and gripped the wheel trembling and sweating.

  The same man rolled passed the back of her car. He skidded to stop then slowly rode away.

  “Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Oh, shit.”

  She immediately called Cora.

  “Cora?” Her voice shook.

  “Lara, what’s wrong?”

  Lara immediately told her everything that had happened over the last ten hours.

  “Cora, I’m afraid to leave the garage. What if he has a gun?”

  “You can’t stay there, Lara. You’re a sitting duck.”

  She kept looking in the rearview mirror, but there was no sign of the man. Lara’s whole body shook. “I know. Stay on the line with me.”

  “I will. Don’t worry.”

  Lara pulled out of her parking space. The garage had shadows in every corner where he could hide. Her heart was pounding, and she couldn’t breathe. She drove down one level, then two, and reached the basement. Escape was only a few feet away.

  “Lara, are you still there?” Cora’s voice made Lara jump.

  “Yes…yes.”

  Another mechanical growl sent her whole insides in a frenzy.

  She looked around wildly. A motorcycle was in the dark shadows next to a Mercedes. She knew that car. It was Mr. Hartley’s.