Saving Grace (What Doesn’t Kill You, #1): A Katie Romantic Mystery

Chapter Sixteen

  The return to Dallas was jarring. The concrete. The traffic. The gritty air. So many people. A secret part of me had started to believe I could escape to the islands, disappear into the ripple left behind by my parents, and leave my old life in the states behind. It wasn’t a wildly original dream, but the difference between me and everyone else that had dreamed it was that, for me, it was a realistic one. I was so close to grabbing that brass ring, so close.

  Oh, who was I kidding? Every beach bum that ever stowed away in a bottle of Captain Morgan’s thought they were the only one. I was a mere ditto.

  I slunk into my condo on Sunday night. The phone rang and kept ringing. I didn’t have to check caller ID to know who was calling. I sent Collin and Emily a carefully worded message about my wildly successful trip. So I exaggerated a little. I needed some re-entry space.

  I didn’t get any at work. I’d hardly had time to boot up my computer, much less fetch coffee from the break room, when Gino showed up at my door. Nine o’clock sharp.

  “Thank God you’re back, Katie. You’re in trial tomorrow,” Gino said. He hadn’t bothered with “Hello, how was your trip.”

  So much for a quiet Monday easing back into things at the firm. “You’re kidding, right?” I asked.

  Gino dropped into the chair in front of my desk. “Nope. We got a call Friday morning. A big shot defendant dumped his law firm just a few days before his trial. He insists he has to have you as his lawyer. He agreed to pay double your rate when I told him you weren’t available.”

  He dropped a bulging redweld accordion file in front of me and its contents gushed out all over my pristine desk. An 8x10 photo surfed the top of the overflow. I stared into the eyes of Zane McMillan in a mug shot. The same Zane McMillan who’d led the Dallas Mavericks to their second NBA title the year before and topped the league in scoring. A big shot, indeed. Another sports “hero” who didn’t play by the rules the rest of the world followed.

  “Zane McZillion?” I said. “Why would he ask for me? I’ve never even met him.” I peeled the mug shot off the top of the stack and rifled through the documents. “What did he do, or supposedly do?” I envisioned a civil suit filed by an angry photographer who’d gotten too close to the mercurial basketball star. Last season, Zane had wreaked havoc on some paparazzo’s camera equipment to the tune of several thousand dollars in damages.

  “He’s accused of raping a woman he met in the VIP lounge at Good Sportz. Haven’t you heard about it? It was tabloid fodder all summer.”

  Somehow I’d missed it, but then, something had kept me a smidge distracted. “Whoa, a rape trial? Surely you can find someone better suited to this case. What about Shannon? If Mr. McMillan insists on me, maybe I could be her second chair?”

  Shannon was the firm’s token criminal law expert, and a fine attorney. Whenever one of our rich clients’ progeny ran afoul of the law, Shannon came to the rescue. Usually this meant drug possession or a DUI, not rape, but still, she knew her stuff. I, on other hand, didn’t have a shred of criminal law experience.

  “Shannon’s out recovering from liposuction, but she said you can call her if you have any questions. You’ve handled sexual harassment cases. This is almost the same thing.”

  I searched for signs of dementia in Gino. “They’re nothing alike. Nothing at all,” I argued.

  He waved his hand back and forth dismissively. “You’re great in court. You’ll do fine.”

  I was not so sure. “Why did he dump his lawyers at the last minute? That’s a bad sign.” Surely this fact alone would sway Gino from the insanity of me trying this case tomorrow.

  “They wanted him to testify. He didn’t want to.”

  “That’s pretty weak. Did you talk to them?”

  “They didn’t return my calls, but I asked Zane for an explanation, and he gave me one that satisfied me.” Gino stopped there, but I raised my puny eyebrows until they quivered with exertion, so he went further. “He thinks only bad PR can come of his testimony, and bad PR could threaten his big Nike endorsement deal. That’s good enough for me. His case is a slam dunk without his testimony, anyway.

  He waited for me to laugh at his basketball humor. I was not in the mood to oblige him.

  I played my trump card. “I can’t take this case. I’m philosophically opposed to criminal defense work. My dad was the chief of police, for crying out loud. My brother’s a police officer. This goes against everything I am.”

  And Gino played his. “You really can’t afford scruples right now.”

  I burst into flames, loudly. “Excuse me? I brought in a million-dollar fee for the firm last month.”

  “And that’s all you did for the last year. You know how much it costs to run a law firm like Hailey & Hart. Do you have anything lined up, now that Burnside is over?”

  A cold dread doused my flames. I mentally ticked through a list of several small matters I was working on, but the truth was, Gino was right. I had nothing substantial. “No,” I admitted. “But I’ll get out and find new work.”

  “Partners have to pull their share of the load. This is a double-fees case. End of discussion.”

  Yes, it was. I tried a new tack. “Can we at least try to get the court date pushed back?”

  “I filed for a continuance Friday. We lost. It’s in the file.” Gino stopped the argument. “Emily and Nick prepped all Friday and through the weekend. They’ll get you ready.”

  I swallowed hard. Nick. Gino was making me work with Nick. “Did you tell him you were giving me this case?” I asked, hoping Gino hadn’t heard the squeak in my voice when I said “me.”

  “Yes.” Gino glanced at his watch. “Sorry, but I’ve got to get to another meeting.”

  “Can I have a second chair?” I flailed like a drowner.

  He edged toward the door. “I wish we had someone who could, but it’s summer. Everyone’s out. We just don’t have the manpower.. You don’t need one, though. You, Emily, and Nick are a great team. Katie, don’t worry about this case. There’s an eyewitness who saw and heard it all and is on Team McMillan.” He stopped just outside my office for a moment. “Oh, and I almost forgot. Your client will be here to meet with you in twenty minutes.”

  And then he was gone, leaving me short-circuited from emotional overload. Tomorrow. I wouldn’t even finish meeting with the client and reviewing the file in time to call Shannon with questions until tonight. This had malpractice written all over it.

  ~~~