When I’m on the front porch, he finally lets go of me and I walk in a trance down the stairs and toward my car. The sirens are only a few blocks away now and I know I need to hurry. I run the rest of the way, fumbling my keys out of my coat pocket and wincing at the pain in my hands. I get in the car, start it up, and speed away from Andrew Jameson’s house and Dallas, watching in my rearview mirror as blue-and-red flashing lights pull up to the curb where I was just parked.
A few hours later I hear my doorbell ring and I realize I’ve been sitting on my couch staring at nothing since I got home. I should have showered. Or at the very least, washed the blood off my hands. At least I put on a fresh shirt.
Pushing myself up, I walk over to the door and look through the peephole. I’m not surprised to see Dallas standing on my front porch with his hands in his pockets.
I open the door and he walks right in without an invitation. I close the door and turn to see him pacing back and forth in the living room.
“What the hell were you thinking?” he finally says, coming to a stop with his hands on his hips.
Here we go again. He’s going to tell me what an idiot I am and how I’m not cut out for this line of work. He’s in my house and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let him make me feel like crap.
Mirroring his pose with my hands on my hips, I let it fly. “I am sick and tired of people underestimating me. I might not have a lot of experience yet, but I’m good at what I do. I can solve this murder case!”
My chest is heaving and even though it feels good to let all of that out and not have it burning a hole in my chest, I have no idea what made me spew all of my insecurities at Dallas. I don’t know why I care what he thinks of me.
“Lorelei. Come on, snap out of it, baby. Look at me.”
His words from earlier echo through my mind. He was so careful with me, almost sweet. It’s like my subconscious knows there’s a nice guy in there underneath all of that cockiness. A guy who was worried about me and made sure I didn’t get in trouble.
He still hasn’t said a word since my outburst and it’s starting to make me uncomfortable.
“What, nothing to say now? No more insults or tips about how I’m just going to screw everything up?” I ask sarcastically, trying not to feel like a bug under a microscope as he stares at me. I’m sure he’s just taking his time trying to think of some way to put me down.
Without saying a word, he takes a few steps in my direction and stops in front of me. I flinch when he wraps his hand around one of my wrists and flips it over, brushing his fingers over my palm.
“You didn’t get all of the glass out,” he tells me gruffly.
I pretend like his close proximity has no effect on me and stare at the top of his head as he brushes a tiny shard of glass out of a cut in my hand.
“What happened with the police?” I ask him.
Dallas drops my hand and picks up the other one, concentrating on searching every inch of it for stray glass. “I told them I was there following up a lead and we were ambushed. I said it all happened so fast that I didn’t have time to pull my weapon.”
I want to thank him for getting me out of there and not saying anything to the police, but I still have no idea why he’s doing this. What’s in it for him?
“Do you think they believed you?”
He lets go of my hand when he’s satisfied that there’s no more glass and looks up at me. I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly cold now that he’s no longer touching me.
“Of course they bought it. They dusted for fingerprints while I was there. Please tell me you didn’t touch anything when you went into the house. Doorframe, doorknob, anything like that?”
I shake my head no. The only things my hands touched were the floor and the side of Andrew’s neck. Hopefully they didn’t dust his body.
“Then we should be fine. They won’t find your fingerprints and the people in that neighborhood hate cops. When they go door to door questioning neighbors, no one will tell them if they saw anything.”
Dallas moves around me and walks to the door.
“Why are you doing this? Why did you help me?”
He pauses with the door open but doesn’t turn around. “Maybe I just like the idea of you owing me one, Lawyer. I’m sure it will come in handy.”
He’s lying. His words don’t have their usual snarky tone and he won’t meet my eyes.
“Just do me a favor. Start brushing up on your PI skills. I don’t want to have to save your ass again anytime soon.”
CHAPTER 8
No. Absolutely not.”
I pack my files into my rolling bag, pull up the handle, and head toward the door of Fool Me Once.
Kennedy grabs my arm and spins me around. “Lorelei, come on. I know the guy gets on your nerves, but he needs help. And hey, maybe if you do this for him, he’ll stop being such an ass.”
I really cannot believe I’m contemplating this right now. After Dallas left my house the other night, I thought maybe things were going to change between us. I wasn’t expecting friendship or anything crazy like that, but at least civility. I called Stephanie Covington the following day to question her some more about Andrew Jameson and within a half hour of ending the call, I received a text from Dallas that read, “Stop talking to my suspects. Didn’t you learn your lesson by almost getting shot?”
So much for being civil.
“Dallas Osborne is never going to stop being an ass,” I tell her, glancing at my watch.
“This is true. But at least he’s pretty to look at,” she jokes.
I glare at her.
“Come on, Lorelei. Regardless of what a jerk he is, he still helps us out here big time. We owe him for helping Paige bring down Vinnie DeMarco last month.”
It frustrates me that she’s right. Dallas has dropped what he’s doing several times to help Kennedy with past cases, and he was a big help when Paige got herself into a bind with one of the biggest crime families in the state. But that doesn’t mean I have to drop what I’m doing because he suddenly needs a lawyer to rescue him.
“Tell me again what the charges are.”
Kennedy fist pumps and I groan. “This does not mean that I’m saying yes.”
“Whatever. You’re totally going to do it. The dumbass never paid a speeding ticket so they put a warrant out for his arrest. He pissed off the officer who issued the ticket and the guy got a rush put through on the warrant without Ted knowing about it first. God only knows what he said to the guy. Luckily, Ted was able to sweet-talk this idiot into not throwing Dallas in jail. But he’s still being charged with a misdemeanor for failure to pay. If he’s charged, he’s going to lose his license.”
I can’t help but laugh. “You have got to be kidding me.”
“I can tell by the gleam in your eye that you can’t wait to do this.”
Oh, I definitely can’t wait to do this.
Walking down the aisle of one of the smaller courtrooms, I see Dallas sitting at the front table by himself, nervously tapping his fingers on the wood. The judge enters the room from his chambers and sits down at his bench just as I slide into the chair next to Dallas. He looks over at me in surprise.
“What the fuck are—”
I cut him off. “Keep your mouth shut, your head down, and don’t say one word unless I tell you to.”
“All rise!”
I immediately stand and Dallas scrambles to get up, still in shock, I’m sure, from my showing up.
“The Honorable Judge Anderson, presiding.”
Dallas leans over and puts his mouth close to my ear, whispering in irritation, “When I told Ted I needed a lawyer, I meant someone good.”
For once, I don’t let his words bother me. He’s in hot water and he needs me. And believe me, I already decided on the way over here how he’s going to pay.
“Be seated,” Judge Anderson announces. “Case number 479862, the State versus Dallas Osborne. Are all parties present?”
“Yes, Your Honor,?
?? I answer.
While the judge makes a few notes on the court documents in front of him, I open up the file I got from Judge Anderson’s paralegal on the way in.
“Seriously? Seventy-five in a twenty-five?” I scold Dallas in a whisper as I look over the ticket he got eight months ago.
“Some of us have important jobs where we need to rush to catch bad people,” he whispers back sarcastically.
It takes everything in me not to stand up, waltz right out of the courtroom, and let them throw him in jail.
“Counselor, how does your client plead?” Judge Anderson asks.
Dallas starts to speak and I reach over and clutch his arm to get him to shut up.
I stand. “Not guilty, Your Honor.”
Judge Anderson looks out over the top of his glasses at me. “Counselor, you do realize your client was going fifty miles an hour over the speed limit and never appeared in court to pay his fine, correct?”
“I should have just locked myself up,” Dallas mutters to himself.
Kicking his ankle under the table, I address the judge. “Yes, Your Honor. I’m perfectly aware of the charges being brought against my client. What the court fails to understand though is that my client works closely with the South Bend police force to help them solve cases. He also owns an extremely busy private investigation firm on the side. One, if not both, of these jobs requires him to rush to crime scenes to get crucial evidence to put murderers, kidnappers, and other extremely harmful individuals in this county behind bars. If I’m not mistaken, Your Honor, you yourself have recommended Osborne Investigations to several of your coworkers and other government employees because you were aware my client would do whatever it took to find justice. I realize, though, this doesn’t excuse his failure to pay the fines, Your Honor. My client takes these charges very seriously and would be happy to pay those fines today to avoid jail time.”
Judge Anderson taps his pen against the legal pad in front of him for several long minutes before he finally speaks. “Counselor, please approach the bench.”
“Son of a bitch. Thanks for nothing,” Dallas whispers angrily.
I ignore him, walking out from behind the table and up to the front of the courtroom. Judge Anderson and I debate for several minutes and finally come to a conclusion. He writes a few notes down on the papers in front of him, signs them, and hands them off to the paralegal sitting next to him.
I make my way back to the table and flip my legal pad closed, paying no attention to the imploring look Dallas is giving me that I see out of the corner of my eye.
“Mr. Osborne, please stand. In the case of the State versus Dallas Osborne, you have been found not guilty. You can pay your fines with the cashier on the way out. Case dismissed.”
Sliding my legal pad and pen into my bag, I turn and begin walking down the aisle of the courtroom.
“Lorelei, wait!”
I wipe the smile off of my face and turn to Dallas.
He stands there looking at me for several long minutes as defendants for the next case start filing in around us.
Really, is it that hard for him to say thank you?
“I just . . . um, well . . .”
Rolling my eyes at him, I start to turn around and walk away again, but he stops me with a hand on my arm.
“Look, I just . . . what’s with the outfit?”
He nods at my black Armani pencil skirt and white button-down.
“Seriously? I just prevented you from spending time in jail and you’re asking me about my clothing?”
He runs his hand through his hair and shrugs. “I thought maybe with that sexy getup the other night you were turning over a new leaf. Trying to break out of the boring lawyer mold.”
I swear to God this man’s mood swings are going to be the death of me.
“This boring lawyer just saved your rear end,” I remind him.
He laughs and shakes his head at me. “You know, you can actually say the word ‘ass’ out loud. You had no problem telling me—what was it again? That I’d be sitting there with my dick in my hand?”
My cheeks flush in embarrassment. I still can’t believe I actually said that to him.
“So what did you say to the officer who gave you the ticket that made him so angry?” I ask, moving the talk away from his nether regions.
Dallas laughs and the corner of his mouth curves up, showcasing a dimple. “He was taking his sweet-ass time walking back and forth between his car and mine while he checked my background. I may or may not have told him that if he laid off the doughnuts he’d be able to move faster.”
I shake my head at him in disapproval.
“Hey, you can’t fault me for being honest,” he says.
“Well, as thrilling as this was, I have a meeting in five minutes. Oh, and don’t worry about thanking me or paying me for the time I just wasted bailing you out. I’ve already decided how you’ll pay me back.”
This time, I turn and walk away quickly before he can stop me.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he yells to my back.
Without turning around, I raise my hand in the air and give him a finger wave.
“We’ll be in touch soon, Mr. Osborne.”
As I push through the courtroom doors, I hear Dallas shout my name, but I ignore him and continue walking.
I made a deal with the judge that Dallas would do twenty hours of community service by giving talks to a few of the local high schools on the dangers of speeding. I think for now, I’ll keep that little tidbit to myself. First, I plan on making Dallas pay me back by forcing him to work with me on this murder investigation . . .
CHAPTER 9
Hello, darling! How’s work?”
I sigh into the phone. “Doug, please stop calling me ‘darling.’ It’s uncomfortable.”
My ex-husband huffs and I can tell he’s pouting. “Oh, Lorelei, don’t be like that. I was just calling to see if you’ll be bringing a date to the wedding in a few weeks. You’re coming, right? We never got your response card.”
If you ask Doug, he’ll tell you our divorce was one hundred percent amicable. He assumes we should still be best friends even though he failed to mention he was gay. When he MARRIED ME. I tried to remain mad at him, but it’s difficult. He really does make a wonderful friend.
“And just so you know, it’s perfectly okay if you’re coming alone. Gary has a single cousin who is just dying to meet you,” Doug adds.
Perfect. My gay ex-husband is trying to set me up. Is there anything more humiliating?
“Of course I’ll be at the wedding, but if you put me at a table with anyone’s single cousin, I will wear white and ruin your entire color scheme,” I tell him.
“Well, now you’re just being cruel. I’ll put you down for a plus one just in case. We’ll talk soon. Kisses!”
I end the call and throw my cell phone down on my desk a little too forcefully.
“You know, in this instance, it’s okay to call him an asshole,” Kennedy tells me as she walks over and drops a file on my desk.
“I can’t call Doug that. He means well, I guess.”
Paige walks through the door with a tray of coffees in her hand. “Who means well?”
Kennedy pulls a cup off of her tray. “Doug. He just called to talk about the wedding.”
Paige rolls her eyes and sets the tray down on my desk. “Screw him. He’s an asshole.”
“See? I told you.” Kennedy smiles. “Come on, say it. ‘Doug is an asshole.’”
Grabbing my own cup of coffee, I open the lid and blow on it. “Doug is not an . . . asshole. He’s happy. He’s getting married. I can’t be angry at him for that.”
“The fuck you can’t!” Kennedy argues. “He married you when he knew all along he was gay. Asshole. You caught him screwing a man in your living room. Asshole. He still invited you to his wedding. HUGE asshole.”
I take a sip of my coffee. “Can we talk about something else, please? I don’t want to think about this wedding
until absolutely necessary.”
Kennedy perches her hip on the edge of my desk. “Fine. Let’s talk about your vocabulary. Say ‘fuck.’”
I stare at her in irritation.
“Come on, I know straight-laced Lorelei is just dying to break out of her shell and scream some obscenities. How are you going to work side by side with Dallas Osborne and not call him a fuckhead at least once?” Kennedy asks.
I told the girls all about the plan I hatched in court the other day. They thought it was brilliant, but Kennedy has been trying to prepare me the last few days by turning me into a gutter mouth.
“If I think a situation warrants it, I will swear. I don’t need to practice,” I tell her.
Kennedy shrugs. “Hey, I’m just looking out for you. I don’t want you to lose your shit one of these days and yell something embarrassing like, ‘You’re a shitdamn hell fuck!’”
Ignoring her, I look at Paige. “Did you send that e-mail to Dallas?”
She smiles and takes a seat at her desk across from me. “Oh, I sure did. And I blacked out half of the information like you suggested and told him if he wanted the rest of it, he’d need to contact you.”
I asked Paige to scan the e-mails we found in Richard Covington’s home and send them to Dallas. Minus a few pertinent details like who they were from and when they were sent.
“I also blacked out every fourth word just to mess with him,” Paige says with a laugh.
“He’s going to be pissed,” Kennedy says with a smile.
My cell phone starts to ring and, looking at the display, I see that it’s Dallas.
“Well, speak of the devil. That was fast.”
Clearing my throat, I answer the phone in my best professional voice. “Lorelei Warner, how may I help you?”
“Where’s the rest of the information in these e-mails?” Dallas asks without preamble.
“Good morning to you too, Mr. Osborne. What e-mails are you referring to?” I ask pleasantly.
Paige and Kennedy cover their mouths to contain their laughter.