Chapter Six
Bethany
"New developments." My assistant tried to explain as I marched into my office and noticed my overflowing desk.
"How could this much happen overnight?" I asked.
Taylor, an overeager young man straight out of law school, tried to tidy the towering piles. "There was another high-profile theft last night. The DA decided it was time to pull all similar cases."
"She thinks there might be a pattern." I nodded.
This was something I could handle. It would take all morning, maybe through lunch, but I could sift through the police reports. Trying to find one thin thread that tied them all together was unlikely, but I had to try.
And it would help keep my mind off Dylan.
My eyes immediately drifted to my phone. I had given him my card. I gave my business cards out so rarely that I listed both my office and cell phone without a second thought. I dug in my purse but there was no missed call.
Seven o'clock in the morning was a little too early to expect a phone call.
So, I jumped about a foot when my desk phone rang. Both Taylor's eyebrows reached above his wire-rim glasses, but he caught up the phone and didn't say anything.
"Bethany Durham's office," he said. "Yes, Ms. Banner. She's looking them over right now. Yes, yes. Thank you."
"She hung up on you, didn't she?" I asked.
Taylor put down the phone and eyed it, worried the DA would call right back. "She says you need to focus. There'll be a briefing later."
I shooed Taylor out of my office and sat down to focus. The thought of yet another long, boring briefing made my body itch to run but I'd already spent an hour trying to outpace my thoughts.
I wondered if Dylan ran.
He didn't seem like a morning person to me. I'd be able to slip out early in the morning, run, and bring back fresh bagels. Maybe I'd even have time to brew him a fresh cup of coffee.
I jolted myself out of the daydream and took a sip of my too-strong brew. It made my lips pucker, but I was able to focus again.
Most stolen cars were utilitarian sedans that ran forever and had nearly universal parts. They were cleaned up, sold, stolen, and resold over and over again. Or the parts were sold to street-racers that burned out their drive systems on a regular basis. The more I read of the reports, the worse I felt for people who had their reliable little cars stolen. Why was it always the decent, practical people who got robbed?
Then there were the sports cars. Many were just stolen for a few hours for joy-rides. The makes and models, plus the paint jobs, made the cars too identifiable for thieves to handle. I thought of the lemon-yellow Lamborghini that Dylan had been driving all over town. If it was stolen, police could spot it easily on traffic cams.
I sorted the tall stacks of police reports. The number of high-end sports cars that were stolen and not later recovered was very short.
It made sense for me to think of Dylan now: these were the types of cars that he worked on for a living. I could have ridden home in a Ferrari worth twice what the one in the report I was reading cost. I imagined Dylan was a fast driver. It would have been a thrill to cling to the passenger seat, my knee only inches from his hand as it gripped the gear-shift.
"Ms. Durham. Bethany!" Taylor's voice called from the intercom. "The DA is on the line again."
I looked at my watch. I'd only been at work for forty-five minutes.
"Yes, Ms. Banner?" I held the phone slightly away from my ear as my boss tended to bark out orders.
"Find anything in those files yet?" the DA asked.
"I'm narrowing down police reports that most likely fit our case, and I'm working on a theory," I said. "It'll all be in the report."
"Stay focused, Durham. Do you have any idea how important this case is?"
I gulped. "Yes, Ms. Banner."
It was the first time I had been assigned a First Assistant District Attorney position, and I didn't want to do anything to jeopardize it. The DA was rightfully selective and had been known to toss people off the case if she felt their attention was divided.
"A big case for both of us, Bethany," she said. "There's no such thing as job security when we're facing re-election."
That was why the DA's office had been whipped into a frenzy over this case. She had a strong track-record and a solid re-election campaign, but this case would be a big win for the entire city.
"I believe our criminal ring only targets certain cars, and because their choices are so specific, I should be able to discover their M.O.," I said.
"Keep in mind the police haven't managed to do that. It's been on the desk in major crimes for a few years now," the DA said.
I took a deep breath. She was pushing to hear what I had, and I better deliver. "The police were thinking too big. I believe our criminal ring is highly selective. The big pay-outs they get mean they only steal a few cars here and there."
"Not just cars," she reminded me. "Sometimes they switch out parts and the owners don't know for months."
"But all very selective." I bit my tongue and hoped she didn't hate my interruption.
The DA sighed. "A sophisticated chop shop. You know why I chose this case?"
I straightened my back, like a student delivering the expected answer. "Regular car thefts mean insurance rates in the city go up and that directly affects the voters."
"We stop this chop shop ring and lower insurance rates and our constituents will be happy," the DA said. "Now get it done."
"Yes, Ms. Banner," I said despite the fact that the DA had already hung up the phone.
I turned to my computer and started organizing my findings and my theory. I had to prove there were similarities between the auto thefts I believed were perpetrated by our criminal ring. There wasn't enough room on my desk, and I spent ten minutes hauling the heavy stacks of reports to any other available surface in my office.
Then Taylor burst in the door. He caught the tipping stack of reports near the door but the one on the narrow shelf behind my office door slipped to the floor.
"Sorry, Ms. Durham. God, I hope you didn't have those organized," Taylor cried.
"It's okay. I have the important ones here," I said. "What's so important?"
"There's an Annie Maxwell on the phone. She says she's the attorney for the man you rear-ended the other night." Taylor gulped, not comfortable with giving me bad news.
I snorted. "Sure, put her through."
"I'm threatening to sue," Annie said.
I tucked the phone under my chin as I shifted the reports around on my desk. "Stop terrifying my poor assistant. Is there something you want?"
"I'm telling you, Bethany, you crashed into Dylan like you two were meant to be together," Annie said. "We could think of a reason to sue him and then you two could meet at the courthouse."
"Stop trying to set me up! If Dylan and I were meant to be together that would mean we had some sort of deeper connection. We're just strangers. And if Fate was trying to throw us together, don't you think he would have had a reason to call by now?"
Annie sighed. "You're even hard on Fate. All I'm saying is that I saw a real connection between you and Dylan. That doesn't happen every day, Bethany."
"Good, because I don't have time for it right now," I said.
"Fine. I guess I'll just have to leave it up to Fate."
I laughed at my friend. "I don't believe that for a second but I appreciate you trying."
I was still chuckling about Annie leaving well enough alone while I settled back into work. Then I pulled the first police report toward me and opened it. There, featured in a half dozen full-color evidence photographs, was a bright yellow Lamborghini.
It made me think of Dylan.
I wondered what he was driving tonight and what flashy club he was honoring with his presence. The last thing I wanted to do was run into him in a noisy and overwhelming nightclub again but the thought of knowing where he might be was oddly exciting.
"Focus, Bethany. This is for your career," I muttered to myself.
The problem was every page made me think of Dylan. There was an incredibly steep learning curve when it came to identifying the various parts and details that were stolen off the exclusive sports cars. Given Dylan's expertise, I bet he could give the photographs one glance and know what was different.
He would be a good reference, someone to help me learn what I needed to speak knowledgeably about the cars involved in the case. I thought it would be nice if he and I could sit down for a quiet dinner somewhere. Maybe a tall, private booth like at the burger pub nearby.
Or, better yet, over a plate of spaghetti at my kitchen island.
I let my head drop onto the nearest stack of police reports. I had to concentrate, not fantasize about having Dylan over for dinner. I didn't even cook!
I gave my quiet phone a sharp glare and forced myself to sit up. It was better if I never heard from Dylan again. I had a case to prepare and he was enough of a distraction already.