A Good Kind of Trouble (A Trouble in Twin Rivers Novel Book 1) (20 page)

"He'd be lucky to have you," Gordo said. "You're too good to be working at Stanton & Lowe."

He was surprised to hear this from Gordo. In many respects, he felt the same about his job as Gordo did. He tried to do a good job, but didn't take much pride in the results of the cases he handled.
 

"I don't know about that."
 

"No, really," Gordo said. "The clients like you. You're genuine and they trust you not to bullshit them. You can think on your feet. And you actually care about the outcome."

"Don't you?"

"No, not really," Gordo said, tilting his head. "I only get to see piles of documents anyway. I rarely get to see the end of a case before I'm assigned another warehouse full of papers to summarize.”
 

"Well, I like having a regular paycheck, and from what I hear about criminal defense, that's not always possible."

Gordo waved his hand. "Not always true. Someone like Jude Fields, he's getting paid. Plus, doesn't he have a couple other lawyers in the office?"
 

Ben nodded. "Yes, two other lawyers. He works with Lawrence Daly on criminal cases. Fiona Larkin does a lot of sexual harassment work."
 

Gordo's eyebrows shot up. "Well, that sounds interesting."
 

"Really?" He shot Gordo a disgusted look. "What part of that sounds interesting to you?"

Gordo stood up straight and raised his chin. "Suing people who sexually harass their employees, making them pay for being assholes, getting them fired for abusing their power. Now that's interesting work."
 

Ben nodded and had to agree. He hadn't heard Gordo talk about legal work with such passion before. "Maybe that's your calling."
 

"Hmm," Gordo said, tilting his head. His hair flopped into his eyes again and he gave Ben a crooked grin. "Yeah, maybe so. Hey, you're really good at this career counseling."
 

Ben gave a harsh laugh, the image of a long career of miserable tasks stretching out in front of him. He was the last person who should be offering Gordo, or anyone, career advice.

He zipped up the case and then held open the door for Gordo to wheel the rolling briefcase out of the conference room and into the slightly cooler hall. Maybe he just needed a hobby, something that he enjoyed that he could look forward to in those rare hours away from the office. He just needed to find something he was interested in.
 

His mind went immediately to Lindsey. He was definitely interested in her.

He hadn’t seen her since Saturday, when he was summoned back to work by Stanton. He’d been neck-deep in busywork at the firm since then. Lindsey probably thought he’d forgotten about her. Hell, maybe she’d forgotten about him. Dave told him that she hadn’t reported any further sightings of her stalker. So what could Ben offer her? Protection? The Hogans were keeping an eye on her. Analysis of the contracts? He'd done that and she was smart—she had quickly grasped his explanation and no longer needed his legal expertise.
 

Why would the SUV stop following her now? She was getting closer to confirming the details of the bond deal and writing her story. Was it possible she was being followed by someone in a different car? Maybe Corcoran wasn't intimidating her with the SUV and the biker, but was following her quietly. Would she notice a different car?
 

"Hey, Gordo, mind if we make a small detour on the way back to the office?"
 

They filled the trunk of Gordo's car with their legal files and briefcases, then drove across the city to the newspaper's office. Ben directed Gordo to slow down, then he peered into the employee parking lot looking for Lindsey's car. He caught a glimpse of the red hatchback, so he and Gordo circled the block a couple times, then found a parking space with a view of the entrance to the lot.
 

"What, pray tell, are we doing?" Gordo asked. "Are you stalking your girlfriend? Am I aiding and abetting you?"

"She's not my girlfriend. And we're just looking for a car that might be stalking her."
 

"How do you even know she's going to go anywhere?"

"Well, it's getting close to lunch and she's got to eat some time," Ben said.

Gordo pointed out a couple sedans parked on the street with people at the wheel. One drove off after someone walked out of the newspaper office and climbed in the passenger side. The other, a nondescript tan sedan, was parked in the shade of a tree with the windows down. A man in a baseball cap and sunglasses sat alone with the windows down.
 

"Could be a newspaper customer," Ben said.
 

His coworker shook his head. "He's parked where he has a view of the parking lot. I think he's our guy."
 

Gordo let out a low whistle and Ben saw Lindsey walking out of the newspaper office and around the corner to the employee parking lot with two of her coworkers—an older man in a loud Hawaiian-print shirt and jeans and a young woman with light brown hair swept up in a ponytail. Ben hit Gordo in the arm.
 

"Stop that, and pay attention. See who follows her car. It's a red hatchback."

"Hey, who is her friend? The cute one with the ponytail?"
 

"Just keep an eye on Lindsey."
 

"Shame she dumped you, but really, she's way out of your league," Gordo said with appreciation.
 

"Thanks for the pep talk, Gordo."
 

They watched Lindsey drive out alone in her car and turn right onto the busy street. Moments later, the tan sedan pulled away from the curb and headed in the same direction. Gordo pulled out too, letting a car or two go between them so it wasn't too obvious they were trailing Lindsey's stalker.
 

Lindsey drove through the downtown commercial district and turned north. Within minutes, Ben knew where she was heading. The rail yard. It was abandoned and should have been bulldozed years ago, but there was now the promise it would be cleared away and replaced with a platinum pro sports arena. If the city could manage to pay for it. Or maybe even if it couldn't.
 

"So, what are we going to do now?"

It was a good question and Ben didn't have a plan. "Nothing. Just see if she's being followed and if so, maybe follow that guy to see where he goes."
 

"Beats being in the office," Gordo said cheerfully. "As long as you back me up when Stanton blows a gasket about my billing records."
 

"Call it an early lunch."
 

"You're buying."

"Of course," Ben said, watching the red car change lanes ahead of them, followed a few seconds later by the tan sedan.
 

Gordo stayed back and let several cars stay between him and the tan sedan. He sped up to catch the last second of a yellow light.
 

Lindsey's car suddenly swerved toward the curb, the tan sedan's brake lights flashed, then it sped past her and parked at the other end of the block. Ben seethed. That confirmed Lindsey's stalker hadn't stopped following her, he'd just changed cars. The goal was no longer intimidation. Now he wanted to be stealth.
 

Gordo turned left and then sped around the block to get back to where Lindsey had parked. Ben breathed a little easier when he saw she was still in view and they hadn't lost her when she was out of sight. She turned and started walking toward Gordo's car.

"Get down!" Gordo said.
 

Ben tried to duck down to get out of view, but banged his knee on the glove box. He slumped down in the seat as low as he could.
 

"It's clear."
 

Ben sat up and massaged his knee. Lindsey crossed the street about eighty feet in front of where Gordo had parked. She was heading across the street to the site of the proposed arena which was cordoned off by a chain-link fence. They watched as Lindsey walked around the perimeter, taking a few pictures with a camera sporting a long lens. She certainly wasn't hiding what she was doing. She must feel fairly confident that no one was watching her. Ben enjoyed the view of her long legs, her knee-length skirt ruffled by the breeze. He swallowed hard, trying to focus on the mission—to see if anyone else was watching her as she went about her job.
 

"She's not going back to her car," Gordo said, peering over the steering wheel from his slouched position in the car. They were parked far enough away that Ben felt safe not ducking down to avoid being seen again. Plus, there was no place to go inside of Gordo's car. The backseat was filled by two laundry baskets of neatly folded clothes and the passenger seat was as far from the dash as he could get it, but was still cramped for his frame.
 

Lindsey crossed to the other side of the street. Gordo fanned his face with a magazine he found on the floor and started the car to run the air conditioner. Ben watched Lindsey stroll down the sidewalk in front of the row of shop fronts, most empty, and pause at a barbershop before going in.
 

"She's getting a haircut? We'll be here all day."

Ben cast a glance at Gordo, who was still fanning himself with the magazine. He'd love to get out of the car, too, but what if Lindsey saw him? Or he was spotted by the driver of the tan sedan parked at the other end of the block? He checked his watch. His absence from the office wouldn't be noticed until after lunch, so there was still time to see if his suspicions were correct.
 

"I doubt she goes to a five-dollar barber for haircuts. It's probably related to her job. Let's just wait a little longer."

He glanced again at the massive building across the street. The abandoned rail yard with the broken windows sat beyond the fence, its parking lot littered with debris and brown weeds growing up through the cracks in the pavement and the sidewalks. Once it had been a vibrant hub for travelers and the tall clock tower still evoked an art deco vibe. It was an image that had graced thousands of Twin Rivers postcards over the years. The clock now loomed sadly over the disrepair, its hands stopped at 4:35.
 

As a resident of Twin Rivers, he'd love to see the site become something that sparked some civic pride. But at what cost? If Lindsey's investigation was correct, the current plan could bankrupt the city.
 

If the city couldn't afford to make the increasing bond payments, it would have to cut expenses. That meant less money for services and infrastructure repairs, fewer cops on the street. Would more of downtown look like this neighborhood—dusty plate-glass storefronts, some boarded over with plywood and sporting graffiti?
 

And did the people making the decision even know that was what they were setting the city up for?

Chapter Seventeen

The unrelenting noonday sun beat down on the pavement and reflected back, giving Lindsey the feeling that she was being evenly baked as she walked down the sidewalk. She checked the list of addresses on her notepad against the faded numbers on the storefronts she passed. Most of the businesses were closed, but some of the old signs remained. It was easy to imagine that the street had once been lively and prosperous. She had passed faded signs for a camera shop, a deli, and a travel agency. At the corner near where she'd parked, there was a convenience store that seemed to sell only liquor, cigarettes, and lottery tickets. It was the busiest of the few remaining businesses on the block. The prosperous days were long gone.
 

Lindsey looked behind her, mostly out of habit now. She had become so used to seeing either the motorcycle or a black SUV that their sudden absence made her more nervous than their presence.
 

She scanned the street, but didn't see her usual shadows. It had been a couple days since she had seen the lurking black SUV. Was that good news? Did it mean she wasn't being followed any longer? Or were her stalkers being more careful? She'd seen a nondescript tan sedan in her rearview mirror yesterday, then again this morning. But she had no idea if it was the same car, or if she was becoming as paranoid as Charlie.
 

At least she could work on the arena story without having to hide it from Sam. Still, she hesitated before telling him that she was going down to the rail yard to talk to business owners in the neighborhood. Sam, though, had simply remained seated at his desk where he was copy editing a story, nodded, grunted, and pointed to his office door—his usual end to any conversation with a reporter. Being treated like just any other reporter was a good sign.
 

It was nice to be back on familiar ground in the newsroom. Others had noticed that she'd returned to what passed as Sam's good graces and her coworkers were treating her slightly better. She was still officially banned from touching the stadium story, but she hadn't noticed as many sidelong glances or smirks in her direction. In fact, two reporters had stopped by her cubicle that morning to dish on Jeff's arena story. It seemed only the paper's publishers and editorial board were happy with Jeff's shoddy reporting and suspect sourcing.
 

Lindsey stopped in front of one of the brick-faced storefronts and studied the address. These buildings would probably all be torn down once the stadium project was finalized, replaced with restaurants and parking lots catering to the influx of sports fans. Provided the bonds were approved, and that the city could then lure a professional sports team. She had just enough time to talk to a few business owners before she had to meet Lara Petrie and return to court to deal with the contempt citation.
 

Ugh, the thought of having to go to court again made her stomach turn over. Ms. Petrie had assured her jail time would not be an outcome. Lindsey wasn't convinced. The way her week was going, she didn't doubt that she'd not only be back in that cell, she'd probably end up with a lengthy jail sentence.
 

After all, her recent luck had included jail, muggings, car and foot chases. Sure, there was the highlight of spending time with a really awesome guy.