Chapter Fifteen
The next morning, Royce pulled to the curb in front of Lauren’s building, making sure she was safely at work before he set off into action. Sitting outside Lauren’s building while she worked wasn’t going to end this for her.
“Remember, I have two men already in position here at the building. You have both of their numbers in auto-dial. Be aware of what’s going on but don’t let it consume you. You’re safe.” He glanced down at the deep cleavage of the emerald blouse she wore under a black suit. “From everyone but me.”
She tugged at the blouse. “Leave it to Julie to bring me the most inappropriate clothes she owns. I’ll be pinning this shut.”
“We can go get your clothes tonight on the way home.”
“Home?” she asked.
“I’ve got you with me,” he said, pulling her close and kissing her. “Don’t expect me to let you go.”
She wiped his mouth. “Pink isn’t your color.”
He smiled and kissed her again. “Text me when you get to your office so I know you’re safe.”
She nodded and reached for the door. “Be careful.”
“Careful is my middle name.”
She smiled. “Funny. I thought it was Luke’s.” She pushed open the door and slung her briefcase over her shoulder, before heading the short distance to the glass door before disappearing inside.
He dialed Kyle. “I’m leaving.”
“I’m about to follow her onto the elevator. She’ll be fine.” He hung up, no doubt already inside the car with Lauren.
Royce dropped his phone on the seat, his gut tight. Damn, this was killing him. He was going to enjoy tracking down this bastard. His first target, the ‘dude’ who’d been nasty to Lauren the day before. Whether he was guilty of being a jerk or guilty of more, he’d know not to bother Lauren again when Royce was done with him.
Fifteen minutes later, Royce pulled into an apartment in the east side, poverty stricken section of Brooklyn and made his way to the door 4B. He knocked, and mumbled under his breath, “Come on, you son of a bitch. Answer.”
The door swung revealing a man wearing jeans and nothing more. “Yeah?”
A standoff ensued. They stared at each other, sizing each other up. Cockiness, bred from Special Forces training, oozed from his opponent. The man was a deadly weapon, but then, so was he. “Jonathan Wilkins?”
“You’re looking at him,” Wilkins said. “Who are you and what do you want?”
“The name’s Royce Walker. I’d like to talk about Lauren Reynolds.”
No reaction. “What about her?”
“You tell me.”
“I hate the bitch. What’s it to you?”
“Everything.”
“She’s trying to kill my sister,” he said coldly.
“She’s doing her job.”
“Amazing how some people get paid to kill another while others just get thrown in jail, now isn’t it?” There was no mistaking the malice to the question. “Makes a person appreciate the laws of another country. An eye for an eye. A life for a life.”
“That’s called the death penalty,” Royce reminded him. “And here we get a jury and we’re innocent until proven guilty.”
“She’s already convicted my sister, and we both know it.”
“Her opinion doesn’t matter. The jury’s does.”
“And she tells them what she wants them to hear.”
He started to shut the door and Royce shoved his foot in the door. “Touch her and you’ll regret it.”
“I’m shaking in my bare feet, man. Absolutely quivering. I’m put in my place.”
They glared at one another and Royce wanted to yank the asshole into the hallway and beat him to a pulp, but he wouldn’t do Lauren any good in jail. However, if this guy meant her harm, he needed him to know that she wasn’t alone, that she was protected. “I’m going to be watching you,” he said, and stepped back.
His lips lifted in an evil smile. “Enjoy the show.” And he shut the door.
***
Royce was halfway back to the city, heading to Sullivan’s offices, the attorney who’d defended Sheridan, when it hit him that he’d never told Wilkins who he was, beyond a name, and Wilkins had never asked. Something about that rubbed him wrong, but then, everything about Wilkins rubbed him wrong.
He sent a text to Lauren and made sure she was okay, then called Julie. “Law offices.”
“I need to speak to Julie Morrison.”
“She’s not available,” the prim voice on the other line informed him.
He held his tone in check with effort, but his words still held a sharp edge. “Make her available. Tell her Royce Walker needs to speak to her urgently.”
“Sir”
“Just do it,” he demanded. Rude and he knew it, but damn it, he didn’t have niceties in him right now. Instantly he heard office music in his ear.
“Royce?” Julie said, concern in her voice. “Is Lauren okay?”
“Yes,” he said reassuring her, feeling a bit of guilt for scaring her. “I just need you to take her lunch and check on her.”
A sigh of relief escaped Julie’s lips. “That’s an order I’ll happily take. You really are a bossy bear, Royce.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m trying to work on that. Have her call me when you get there. I mean, please have her call me when you get there.”
She laughed. “Since you asked, I absolutely will.” She paused. “Don’t hurt her, Royce. She deserves to be happy.”
His gut knotted. “I know. Believe me, I know.”
By the time Royce parked his truck and fed a parking meter, he knew he would be hard pressed to make his meeting with Luke after this trip. Sullivan’s street level office was small and rather humble in decor, at least from the exterior. A doorbell chimed as he entered. The lobby hosted a light assortment of furnishings including a well-worn desk and several mix and match pictures. It was a far cry from the elite law firm Sullivan had worked for during the Sheridan trial.
A tall man with curly blond hair, a lanky build, and a suspicious gaze appeared in a corner doorway. With sleeves a hint too long, and pants the same, his suit fit him about as well as the furnishing. It didn’t. There was an air about this man that said money. A complete contradiction to his surroundings.
“Can I help you?”
“I’m looking for Sullivan. David Sullivan.”
“I’m Sullivan. Who are you?”
Royce sensed nervousness in the man. “Royce Walker. I handle security issues for individuals as well as businesses. I’m here to discuss Marvin Sheridan.” It wasn’t a request, nor was it meant to be.
“What of him?” he questioned with narrowed eyes.
“There is suspicion that he could be involved in some threats one of my clients has been receiving.”
Sullivan studied Royce for several long moments as if he was deciding if he should talk to him. Finally, with a nod, he said, “Come this way,” turned and started walking.
Odd man, he thought, following him, noting the man’s jerky movements, almost like a machine fighting a mechanism.
Inside the corner office, Sullivan sat behind a bigger version of the scuffed piece of wood in the center of the lobby. Royce settled into a worn blue cloth visitor’s chair. He would have preferred to stand but he sensed Sullivan’s unease and didn’t want to intimidate him by hovering. He wanted the man to talk.
Leaning back, Sullivan rocked in a squeaky leather chair. Like nails on a chalkboard, the sound raked on Royce’s nerves. “Sheridan is scheduled to be executed,” he said. ”What harm is he to your client?”
Royce narrowed his gaze on the man. “Kept up with him, I see?”
“Wouldn’t you if you were the attorney who defended a man being put to death?”
Royce shrugged. “He’s a killer.”
“He was temporarily insane.”
“The jury said differently.”
Tapping the fingers of one hand on his desk, Sullivan studied Royce. “What are you after here, Mr. Walker?”
“How do you feel about Lauren Reynolds?”
“Is Lauren your client?”
“My client’s identity is confidential. Again, how do you feel about Lauren Reynolds?”
“How does anyone feel about the opponent that brings them to their knees?” His tone was hostile.
“You tell me,” Royce challenged.
“It doesn’t really matter. It’s past history.”
“What does that mean?”
Sullivan snorted. “What do you think it means? The man is going to die, end of story. He’s out of appeals.”
“How’s Sheridan handling that?”
Sullivan raked a hand through his hair. “He’s accepting. He met a woman who helped him find God. He says he’s been forgiven and ready to face his maker.”
“Should you have won the case?”
A frown dipped his brows. “Should have, yes.”
“Why didn’t you?” Royce pressed.
His fist balled on top of the desk. “I had some bumps during the trial, and Lauren Reynolds milked each and every one of them. Surely you read the press I got over the ordeal. I lost my job, my wife, everything.”
“And you blame her?”
He grimaced and seemed to stiffen. “I did, but not anymore. I stumbled. She did what any good attorney would do and took advantage of opportunity. There’s no room in the courtroom to screw up. You just can’t do it.”
Royce stood to leave. “One more thing,” he said. “Is there anyone around Sheridan who might want revenge on his behalf?”
“Other than me and the ten partners in the law firm I worked for, no one.”
Ten partners who had suffered the bad press of losing the trail. Damn, the list of possibilities just got longer and longer. Royce turned to leave. “There is one more person who hates Lauren,” Sullivan said. Royce turned and arched a brow.
“My ex-wife. She lost all the prestige and money she thought I was about to give her. The bitch married me for money and power, and nothing more.”