“You’re right, we did,” he said. “And frankly, back then I thought I’d hit the jackpot. It was great that you never got mad when I had to cancel plans, or when I forgot to call. And you never complain that I don’t take you out enough. Hell, in some ways it’s like dating a guy.”
Alrighty, then. “I don’t need to be wined and dined, Justin. I can walk into eight restaurants in this city and have every employee practically tripping over themselves to make sure I’m happy.”
“I’m sorry, Brooke,” he said contritely. “But this . . . doesn’t work for me anymore. I like you. You’re a great girl, and you have awesome Cubs skybox tickets. I love it when they bring that dessert cart around.”
Glad she scored high when it came to the important things in life. “But?”
“But you seem to be really focused on your career right now—which, don’t get me wrong, is totally fine—except, well, I’m thirty-four years old. I’m starting to think about getting married, having kids, the big picture. And I guess what I’m trying to say is . . . I don’t see a woman like you in that big picture.”
Brooke blinked. Wow.
A woman like you.
That stung.
“Fuck, that came out harsh,” Justin said. “I just meant that you’re so independent, and I don’t even know if you want to get married or have kids, and half the time I think you just like having a warm body to cuddle up with every now and then—”
“Hold on. This is the non-harsh version?”
“Sorry,” he said, sounding sheepish. “I just think we’re looking for different things. I want—”
“A big-picture girl,” Brooke interrupted. “I got it.” She definitely didn’t need to have it spelled out for her any clearer than that.
When both of them fell awkwardly silent, Brooke glanced at the clock on her phone. “I hate to say this, since it’s apparently what makes me a small-picture kind of girl, but I have to go. I’ve got a conference call with a bunch of other lawyers in Los Angeles that can’t be rescheduled.”
“I understand. You do your thing. Good-bye, Brooke.”
After hanging up, Brooke stared at the phone for a long moment.
Another one bites the dust.
That was her third breakup since starting at Sterling. She seemed to be in a pattern with her relationships, where everything was great in the beginning, and then somewhere around the four-month mark things just kind of fizzled out. The men would give her some speech about not getting to the “next level,” or about wanting “more” than hot sex at midnight after a long workday.
“Hold on. A guy said this to you?” Her best friend, Ford, had looked both shocked and appalled by this when they’d met for drinks after Breakup Number Two. “As in, someone with an actual penis?”
“Two guys now,” Brooke had said, her pride admittedly wounded at being dumped again. “I don’t get it. I don’t put any pressure on these men, I’m happy to give them all the space they want, and the sex is good enough. What else could your gender possibly want in a relationship?”
“Beer and nachos in bed?”
“This is the advice you offer, your sage insight into the male perspective? Beer and nachos in bed?”
Ford had flashed her an easy grin. “You know I’m not good at the relationship stuff. Even other people’s relationship stuff.”
And, judging from today’s turn of events with Justin, Brooke wasn’t all that much better.
I don’t see a woman like you in that big picture.
The intercom on Brooke’s phone buzzed, interrupting her thoughts.
“I have Jim Schwartz, Eric Keller, and Paul Fielding on the phone for you,” her secretary said, referring to L.A. Arena’s in-house counsel and the two outside attorneys who represented them. “Can I put them through?”
Right. Back to work—no time for a pity party. As Brooke shoved her now-cold tacos back into the bag and reached for her phone, she spotted the note on her desk and belatedly remembered the call from the U.S. Attorney’s Office. Well, Cade Morgan would just have to wait.
She told her secretary to put the call through and forced a cheerful note into her voice. “How are my three favorite Los Angeles lawyers today?” she asked.
As they said in Hollywood, the show must go on.
Two
Cade strode up to the lobby desk and presented his U.S. Attorney ID to the security guard.
“Cade Morgan, along with Special Agents Seth Huxley and Vaughn Roberts,” he said, gesturing to the two men in suits who stood behind him. “We’re here to see Brooke Parker with Sterling Restaurants.”
The security guard reached for his guest list.
“She’s not expecting us,” Cade said.
“O-kay . . .” The guard shifted uncertainly as he looked at all three men. Cade waited unconcernedly, knowing exactly how this would turn out. As he’d come to realize during the eight years he’d been an assistant U.S. attorney, there were very few places a man flanked by two armed FBI agents couldn’t get into.
After a moment, the guard gestured to the guest book sitting on top of the gray marble desk. “I just need you to sign in.”
“Of course.” Cade grabbed the pen and quickly scribbled his name. “Cade Morgan. Plus two.” After he set the pen down, he noticed that the guard stared at him curiously. He was familiar with that look of recognition; his was a name many people in this city recognized—often because of the high-profile criminal cases he’d prosecuted. Although, not infrequently, people still remembered him for his other claim to fame.
The guard pointed. “Cade Morgan. Quarterback at Northwestern, right?”
Bingo.
“That’s right,” he said.
“What was that, twelve years ago?” the guard asked. “I remember watching your last game.” He grinned. “It’s not like Northwestern goes to the Rose Bowl every year, right? You carried those guys there.”
Cade brushed this off modestly. “It was a good team. We ran a really strong spread offense that year.”
The guard gestured excitedly. “That last play was beautiful. Probably one of the best moments I’ve seen in college football. Really a shame about your shoulder, though. They said you would’ve gone pro.”
This was true. Cade very well may have gone on to play professional football, if a two-hundred-and-thirty-pound linebacker hadn’t taken him down hard in an attempted sack just a half second after he’d released the ball. When they’d hit the ground, the linebacker’s full weight had come down on Cade’s right shoulder, his throwing arm, and he’d known immediately that the situation was bad. A couple of hours later, after being rushed to the emergency room, X-rays had confirmed he’d suffered both a broken collarbone and a torn rotator cuff.
A career-ending injury, as it turned out.
Cade nodded in the direction of the elevators. “Which floor for Sterling?” he asked the guard.
“Oh. Right. Third floor. Offices are on the north side of the building, at the end of the hall.”
After thanking the guard, Cade and the two FBI agents made their way to the elevators. Agent Roberts waited until the elevator doors closed. “How old does that get?”
Cade shrugged. “It’s one of those sports moments people like to talk about.” He eyed the Starbucks cup that Vaughn carried, deliberately changing the subject. “Did you get another chance to flash your badge at the cute barista?”
He and Vaughn had known each other for seven years, ever since they’d worked on their first case together, a simple single-defendant bank robbery trial. It’d been the first time both of them had been in front of a jury—Cade as the prosecutor and Vaughn as the testifying agent—and for the most part, neither of them had any clue what they were doing. Still, they’d somehow managed to get a guilty verdict, and afterward they’d gone out f
or celebratory drinks and had spent most of the time making fun of each other’s courtroom screwups. They’d been good friends ever since.
In response to Cade’s question, Vaughn shot a look at Agent Huxley, who’d been his partner in the white-collar crime division for the past year. “You told him about that?”
“Of course I told him about that. It was one of the least suave pickup moves I’ve ever seen.” Huxley pulled out his badge, pretending to be Vaughn. “‘I’ll pay for that skinny vanilla latte with my Starbucks card, which—well, look at that—just so happens to be right here next to my FBI badge.’”
“That’s not how it went down. I told you, she asked to see the badge.”
“How’d she know that you’re an agent?” Cade asked.
“I may have mentioned it at some point.” Vaughn grinned innocently. “What? The job impresses the ladies.”
The elevator arrived at the third floor. “Right. I’m sure she thought you were a real badass with your skinny vanilla latte.” Cade stepped out of the elevator, leading the other two men as they headed down the hallway. Quickly, the dynamic between them turned more businesslike as they approached Sterling’s offices.
“How do you think Brooke Parker is going to react?” Huxley asked Cade.
Well, if Cade were a betting man, he’d hazard a guess that the general counsel of Sterling was going to be a wee bit ticked off at the sudden and unexpected appearance of an assistant U.S. attorney and two FBI agents on her office doorstep.
Actually, this was probably something that most people would not enjoy.
But unfortunately, time was of the essence. They had barely more than forty-eight hours to pull everything together, and he needed to speak with Brooke Parker before she left work for the weekend. He’d had no choice but to take things up a notch. “Once I explain the situation, I’m sure that Ms. Parker will see the value in cooperating with us.”
Huxley raised an eyebrow. “And if she doesn’t?”
“Then I’ll explain it again.”
Granted, Cade knew that what they were asking of Ms. Parker was a bit . . . unusual. For that reason, he had every intention of being gracious and polite during this meeting. At the end of the day, however, he harbored little doubt that she would agree to play ball with them. Some of this confidence stemmed from the fact that he generally believed—and maybe this was simply the idealistic prosecutor in him—that reasonable, law-abiding citizens understood the value of doing their civic duty when called to action.
And the more practical, cynical side of him said that even unreasonable people knew not to get on the bad side of the U.S. Attorney’s and FBI offices.
Cade pushed through the glass door etched with Sterling Restaurants’ name, and stepped into the office. It was a sophisticated space, modern and airy with cream marble floors and lots of natural light streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. In front of him, a receptionist sat behind a frosted-glass desk, waiting expectantly. Presumably, the lobby guard had alerted her that they were on their way up.
“You must be Cade Morgan.” Her gaze shifted as Agents Huxley and Roberts followed him into the office. “And there’s the plus two.” She picked up the telephone on her desk. “I’ll let Ms. Parker know you’re here.”
Cade nodded. “Thank you.”
The three men headed over to the waiting area, where Huxley and Vaughn took seats in adjacent cream leather chairs. Cade remained standing, hands tucked casually in his pants pockets. Catching sight of a row of framed photographs on the wall, he moved closer and saw that they were interior shots of Sterling’s eight restaurants.
His eyes skimmed over the photographs until he found the one taken at Sogna, Sterling’s flagship five-star restaurant located in the very building in which Cade stood, just one floor below the company’s offices. Assuming all went according to plan, it was at that restaurant that he would get the last of the evidence he needed to nail a dirty politician’s ass to the wall.
Last winter, the FBI had received a tip that Illinois State Senator Alec Sanderson had been accepting bribes in exchange for political favors. Given the politically sensitive nature of the allegations, the FBI had brought the matter to the U.S. Attorney’s Office, and Cade had been assigned as lead prosecutor.
During a five-month investigation, Cade and the FBI had determined that the informant had indeed been correct. They’d gathered evidence that Senator Sanderson had accepted over six hundred thousand dollars in bribes, which he’d hidden via a shell company, in exchange for a virtual buffet of corrupt services: sponsoring or supporting legislation that would benefit various businesses, directing state monies to advance the interests of certain lobbyists, and lobbying other state senators and officials.
Cade was all set to bring the case to the grand jury—as soon as he and the FBI locked down one final piece of the investigation.
Via the wiretap the FBI had placed on Sanderson’s phones, they’d learned that the senator had been in discussions with Charles Torino, CEO of Parkpoint Hospital on the west side of the city, who was extremely concerned that Parkpoint was on a short list of medical facilities that potentially were about to be closed by the state. During their discussions, Torino had suggested that the senator find a possible alternative to the hospital’s closure, something that could “mutually benefit” them both. Then, last night, the FBI had intercepted another call between Torino and Sanderson, during which Torino had offered to take the senator to dinner on Sunday at Sogna restaurant to discuss the details of their “potential arrangement” in person.
Cade had a feeling he knew exactly what “potential arrangement” the senator and hospital CEO were going to discuss during that dinner. And he wanted in on that conversation.
One person—Brooke Parker—could help him with that.
Vaughn got up and moved to Cade’s side to examine the interior photograph of Sogna. “Nice restaurant. A place like that is going to have security cameras.” He kept his voice low so the receptionist didn’t overhear them.
Cade was in synch with the agent’s line of thought. “It’d be great if we could get the meeting on video.” Even the smoothest-talking politicians couldn’t talk their way out of a conviction when they’d been caught accepting bribes on camera.
Vaughn thought about that. “Depends on where the cameras are. We’ll have to ask the GC.”
“Assuming she ever shows up.” Cade checked his watch and saw that Brooke Parker had kept them waiting for ten minutes. Fortunately for her, he’d planned to lay on the nice-guy routine real thick; otherwise he’d tell Vaughn to start flashing his FBI badge to get things moving.
Just then, he heard Vaughn speak under his breath.
“Oh, man . . . if we’re doing good cop/bad cop as part of this, I so want to be the good cop this time.”
Hearing his friend’s appreciative tone, Cade turned around and got his first look at Brooke Parker.
Hmm.
Wearing a slim-cut gray skirt, cream silk shirt, and knockout black heels, she strode confidently past the reception desk. Her hair, which she wore in a sophisticated knot, was the color of deep, burnished gold, and her stunning light green eyes were fixed directly on Cade as she walked toward him.
“Mr. Morgan,” she said warmly as she held out her hand. “I could’ve saved you the trip over. I just wrapped up a three-hour conference call, and you were the next item on my agenda.”
“It’s no trouble at all,” Cade replied, just as smoothly, as his hand clasped hers. “It’s actually better that we meet in person.” He gestured to Vaughn and Huxley, both of whom had stepped forward, seemingly very eager to make the acquaintance of Ms. Brooke Parker of Sterling Restaurants and the Gorgeous Green Eyes. “This is Special Agent Roberts and Special Agent Huxley with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. If this is a good time, we’d like to speak with you for a few m
inutes. In private.”
She shook hands with both agents, without so much as batting an eye over the request. “Of course. If you gentlemen will follow me, we can talk in my office.”
She led them past the reception desk, down the hallway to a corner office. Brooke stood by the door and gestured for the three men to step inside. “Please make yourselves comfortable.”
Cade walked in and immediately was struck by office envy. A large, rich mahogany executive desk stood in the center of the office, flanked by matching bookshelves. Being a corner office, there were floor-to-ceiling windows along two walls that overlooked Michigan Avenue and, beyond that, the sparkling blue water of Lake Michigan.
“Nice view,” he said, taking a seat in one of the chairs in front of Brooke’s desk. Vaughn slid a chair over from the small marble table in the corner of the room and sat on Cade’s right while Huxley took the chair on Cade’s left.
“Thank you.” Brooke shut the office door and sat across from the three men, behind her impressive mahogany desk.
She folded her hands. “So, Mr. Morgan, now that it’s just the four of us, let’s dispense with the formalities. You clearly wanted to make a statement by showing up at my office with two FBI agents in tow. Whatever this is about, I’m guessing it’s urgent.” She got right to the point. “Is Sterling Restaurants in some kind of trouble?”
Hell, Cade had barely gotten comfortable in his chair before she opened with that salvo. Not that he denied her accusation—yes, he had wanted to make a statement. He could’ve asked only one of the agents to join him in this meeting, but had thought that bringing both along would help underscore the exigency, one might say, of the situation.
Or, one might also say, he was making a power move.
The clock was ticking on this sting operation, and Cade wasn’t afraid to flex a little U.S. Attorney’s Office muscle to make things move faster. He answered Brooke’s question with a similarly straightforward answer. “Sterling Restaurants isn’t in any trouble.”