CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Cole
The car turns into the airport, but my mind is momentarily back in my apartment, in the moment when I’d opened my door to find Lori standing there. I’d been certain she was going to resign. I’d needed her to stay.
Need.
That word used to be about sex to me, at least where women were concerned. I’d have sworn that to be the case with Lori this morning, but not tonight. Tonight I know I need this woman in ways that reach beyond how much I want her.
This is new.
This is a first.
She is different.
And if I could take Lori back to my apartment and keep her there for a week solid to figure out what that means and where this is leading, I would, but duty calls and I’ll settle for her in a private jet by my side. The car pulls inside the airport hangar and halts. I open the door and exit the car, offering Lori my hand, when any other associate would be exiting on the opposite side of the vehicle, kept at a firm distance.
Lori’s hand presses to mine and I help her out of the car, but beyond a quick glance at her mouth that really needs to be kissed again, and soon, I quickly greet the driver, tip him, and coordinate our bags with an airline staff member. I motion Lori forward, and we fall into step, side-by-side in our walk toward the private jet, where for six hours I will have this woman nearly all to myself, much like I did that night in my hotel room.
We reach the stairs, and my hand settles at Lori’s back, which could be considered an innocent touch to a casual bystander, but of course, there is nothing innocent about the way I touch or think about this woman. I guide her forward and allow her to climb the short set of steps before me, also allowing me to enjoy the view of her heart-shaped beautiful ass in the process that only gets better naked and in my hands. Once we board the private jet, settle into luxurious side-by-side seats in the center of the plane, Lori by the window and me at the aisle, a flight attendant introduces herself. “I’m Katy. I’ll be taking care of you on the flight. Can I get you both a drink to start off the flight?”
I glance at her long enough to note her red hair, and age her at twenty-something, and only then because she’s offered us drinks. “Whiskey neat,” I say, glancing at Lori. “Are you a wine or whiskey girl this flight?”
“Coffee, please,” she says primly when we both know she’s far from prim. “Lots of cream and Splenda.”
The flight attendant hurries away and I turn to Lori. “We’re going to be in the air for six hours,” I remind her. “You can drink if you want to drink.”
“I’m a bad drinker,” she reminds me, lowering her tray table to set her MacBook on top. “Have you forgotten the wine?”
“I don’t remember anything bad about the night we drank wine together except you leaving, and you can’t leave this time.”
“I’m not leaving this time,” she says, which is the exact answer I’m looking for. “I’m going to stay around and own you this time.”
I laugh. “Own me, sweetheart,” I say, and I’m not above having a momentary fantasy of her naked body draped over my lap again, only this time her mouth is on my cock, which motivates me to add, “I’m looking forward to it.”
“Why do I know you just had a dirty thought?” she asks, opening her computer.
“Because I did,” I say, leaning closer. “Would you like me to share it?”
“No,” she says quickly. “You have a client to call, remember?”
“Never trust a flight attendant or much of anyone with our case work. We’re waiting until we have our drinks and they pull the curtain. And that’s not paranoid. I know an attorney who ran his mouth on a flight. He later found out that the flight attendant had been paid by opposing counsel to listen in on his conversations. Needless to say, the case took a brutally bad turn for him and his client. They lost.”
“I would have never been paranoid enough to worry about such a thing,” she admits. “Lesson learned and thankfully not the hard way.”
“It’s a good reason to never use your client’s name in public, and a lesson I’ve learned personally from experience, don’t say anything on the phone you don’t want recorded.”
“You’ve had that happen?”
“Once,” I say. “I almost lost the case over something that wasn’t at all what it was made out to be by the prosecution.”
“But you didn’t lose.”
“That’s the thing about a winning record,” I say. “Anyone who has one, has skill and luck.”
“Whiskey neat and coffee,” Katy says, reappearing with our drinks.
“How long until lift-off?” I ask Katy, accepting my glass from her, while Lori fires up the power on her MacBook.
“Another fifteen minutes,” she says. “That’s a slight delay, I know, but the pilot assures me we’ll make it up in the air.”
I glance at my watch, which now reads one o’clock in the morning. “Arrival time will be four in the morning LA time?” I ask.
“I’ll confirm the exact time after consulting the pilot’s flight plan,” she says. “Will you both be wanting snacks or sandwiches tonight once we’re in the air?”
“Yes,” I say, since I doubt Lori has eaten any more recently than me and to speed this up. “For now,” I say, “we need privacy to make a few private phone calls.”
“Yes, of course,” she says, hurrying away, and pulling the curtain shut behind her.
“Didn’t you say you represented this new client’s father?”
“Correct,” I confirm.
“Then why did she need to call Ashley in Paris to get your number? I assume with as high a profile as her father’s case was, you gave him your cell phone number. Are they estranged?”
Most people wouldn’t catch that little detail when they should. I’m impressed, but not surprised. “Her father is in Europe and apparently she couldn’t reach him,” I say, “or that’s what she told Ashley.” I motion to the computer. “Are you connected to the internet? Can you search his name for anything new I don’t know about?”
“I already did that while you were talking to Katy,” she says, “and on a cursory glance there is nothing worth mentioning.”
“How did you search him if I never told you his name?” I ask.
“She’s famous,” Lori says. “Her name got me there.”
“What did you find on her?” I ask, knowing at this point that she’s gone there, too.
“Still looking,” she says, glancing over at me. “I need more time to promise you there’s nothing beyond what we know thus far. Often, I find things are hidden deep inside a write-up, and it takes time to find those tidbits.”
“Fair enough,” I say, reaching for my phone. “I’m going to call her and then the detective in charge of the case.” I grab my phone and hit the number Ashley texted me for Tara. She answers on the first ring.
“Cole,” she all but pants out. “I need help. The police—”
“Stop right now,” I say. “Do not say anything to me on an open line and expect it to be private. Now, keeping that in mind, I’ll ask questions, you answer simple. Understand?”
“Yes.”
“First, I’m on a plane waiting for take-off. I’ll be there in the morning along with one of my associates. Two, they want to question you on the death of David Curry, correct?”
“Yes, but I—”
“Yes is enough,” I say. “Did you answer any questions without me?”
“Very few.”
“That’s a yes. I’ll need you to write down the details now while they’re fresh. Who’s the lead detective?”
“Josh Waller.”
“Text me his number. Does your father know this is going on?”
“No,” she says. “He’s in Europe and my biggest fear was that he’d rush back to protect me, which might be what the police want. This is about them using me against him.”
“But you told Ashley you tried to reach him. That was a lie.”
“Yes, but—”
“If you lie to me or my people, I will not represent you. If that’s a problem, tell me now, before the plane I’m sitting on takes off.”
“It’s not a problem,” she says quickly. “I’m sorry. I’m scared and overwhelmed.”
“I’m not a babysitter and I don’t offer sympathy, even when billed for the time. You lie one more time and it might land you behind bars. As for your father, he needs to know what is going on. Call him and tell him, but advise him to talk to me before he gets on a plane.” I pause for her confirmation.
“I’ll do it when we hang up.”
“Refuse to answer any questions from anyone until I arrive. That’s all until I see you. We’ll be at your home at eight. Text me the address when you text me the detective’s number.”
“I’ll make sure security knows you’re arriving.”
“Don’t make phone calls or talk about this to anyone,” I order. “Wait on me.”
“I’m innocent,” she says.
“Tell me tomorrow.” I disconnect.
“Well?” Lori asks when I hang up.
“She says she’s innocent and in my experience, those who are guilty make that statement ten times more often than the innocent.” I motion to the computer and her research. “Anything worth sharing?”
“She had a personal relationship with the deceased, as in fuck buddies, or more. I have photos of them together, dating back two years.”
“I would assume she would tell us that in the morning,” I say.
“Except that she told a reporter tonight that they barely knew each other.”
My jaw clenches. “She talked to a reporter tonight?”
“In fairness to her, I watched the TMZ footage. They cornered her and were shouting at her. She probably panicked. I saw that over and over in the cases I researched for Cat’s columns.”
“The art of keeping one’s mouth shut,” I say, “is an underappreciated skill.” I down my drink.
“The deceased wasn’t a known drug user from what I can tell,” Lori adds. “Of course, money can hide a secret, but the truth usually floods out through a broken dam once death occurs. At this point though, I see nothing that indicates he was a user.”
My brow furrows. “But the death is being called an overdose? Was it suicide?”
“There is no indication of cause of death in the press, but it's only been hours since he died. Even TMZ has the case marked as "developing." People like him are well-guarded in these situations. When Prince died it was days and even weeks before we knew the truth. I assume this will be no different. But a family history of mental illness could indicate there’s more to look at there, but if that were the case, would law enforcement be questioning your client? I mean, I know they have to rule out foul play, and do a thorough investigation, but does this feel right to you?”
“Our client,” I correct, “And clearly she knows something we don’t know, and if she’s smart she’ll be honest with us when we see her in the morning.” My phone buzzes in my hand with a text and I glance down at it to find the number I’m waiting on. “Right now,” I say, punching the number, “I’m going to call the detective on the case before we run out of time.”
He answers on the first ring. “Let me guess,” he says, skipping the hello or an identifier of any kind. “The notorious Cole Brooks.”
Obviously, he’s guessed by the number on his caller ID. “I don’t know about notorious,” I say. “More like a warrior for right over wrong.”
“We’re the good guys,” he says, “you attacked us.”
“The bad cops make the good ones look bad. I did you a favor getting a few of the bad ones fired. I assume you know who I’m representing?”
“Tara Knight,” he says. “I knew I’d end up with you the minute I questioned her.”
“Is this about me or her?”
“I haven’t decided. Maybe I will when I talk to you both tomorrow.”
“What is she being accused of?”
“Nothing yet.”
“Is this a murder investigation?”
“Not yet.”
“Are you going to say anything but various versions of ‘not yet’?”
“How about this? When I’m ready, I will. Be at the station at nine.”
“One,” I say.
“Ten,” he counters.
“Two,” I say.
“You really are a fucking prick.”
“I am,” I say. “Which is why you’d prefer me with sleep and a good attitude.”
He laughs. “Noon.”
“Compromise,” I say. “I’ll take it.”
“Now you owe me one,” he says, hanging up, and I have one thought backed up by a gut feeling that never fails me. This is a setup of some sort. I have a target on my chest and if Lori is by my side, she does, too. I won’t let that happen which means I have decisions to make and things to do, now, before lift-off.