A Good Kind of Trouble (A Trouble in Twin Rivers Novel Book 1) (26 page)

Ben eyed the plant. It looked like a stick to which someone had taped a few thick green leaves.
 

"That is one ugly plant."
 

"It was expensive," Sharon said, thrusting a paper at him. "Here's what you owe me."

"Right," Ben said, reaching for his wallet to reimburse her.
 

"There's a card, too," she said, and he added a few more bills.
 

She stalked out before he could thank her for picking up the gift, the door slamming in her wake.
 

Ben pulled out the notes he had taken on the billing records and the work that Gordo had done for Stanton. He thumbed through the pages, searching for the billing details. He wasn't going to be able to help Lindsey—or keep her from committing career suicide—unless he could put the puzzle pieces together.
 

He slid a paper out from under the orchid Sharon had dumped on his desk and glanced at the paper tag hanging from the pot with the price tag and a description of the plant. The stick was a Vanda orchid and when it was done being a stick, it would produce a flower with five purple petals, according to the thumbnail-sized photo on the tag. He figured the per-petal price and shook his head. Orchid-lovers were a different breed. He pushed the plant to the edge of his desk.
 

Then he reached back for the plant, bringing the tag closer and re-reading the name.
 

Vanda
.
 

"Jesus."
 

Those puzzle pieces clicked into place. Ben's pulse jumped and he straightened in his chair. A quick internet search revealed that Miltonia and Laelia were also types of orchids.
 

He quickly read his notes again, comparing the work that Gordo had done with the bills to Bear O'Bannion. Yes, it made sense. Stanton wasn't a go-between. He wasn't just doing Bear's bidding. Stanton was up to his beady little eyeballs in this.
 

If Ben's suspicions were correct, Stanton was cheating a client and risking the law firm's reputation, not to mention his own life. No one crossed Bear O'Bannion. If the rumors were true, the contractor's cuddly outer shell hid a dangerous and shady gangster.
 

Ben stood and left his office, passing by Sharon's empty desk. It was 5:30 on a Friday and the law firm's support staff was starting to flee the building to start their weekends. He walked quickly through the paralegals’ cubicles, nodding at the other employees who remained. It wasn't unusual to see a full office late into the night at Stanton & Lowe, unless Gregory Stanton had already left or was out of town, or if it was Friday, when most employees left by 6 o'clock.
 

Stanton & Lowe, like many large law firms, proudly boasted of their commitment to "work-life balance" when they were hiring new attorneys. But that was a bait-and-switch tactic. Once hired, it quickly became clear that the partners wanted "face time" from the associate attorneys. Law firms charged for every minute an attorney worked on a case, but paid the attorneys far less. It was too profitable to have new lawyers slacking off and working less than sixty hours a week. The partners, especially Stanton, watched carefully to see who left early and who came in late.
 

The offices along the hallway were closed, but lights shone under the doors. Ben stopped in front of the nameplate reading "Gordon Marshall" and knocked. The light was on, so he opened the door and leaned in.
 

Gordo's jacket was hanging on a hook, his briefcase sat below it. The computer screen was on and there was a stack of paperwork in the middle of his desk, a thick legal book left open next to that. Pens and highlighters were scattered among the papers. Music played softly through the computer speakers.
 

"Damn it," Ben said.
 

To the untrained eye, it may appear that Gordo stepped away from his desk for a minute, maybe to run to the library or downstairs to grab a bite to eat before settling in for a long night of legal research. But Ben knew the tricks of the trade. Hell, he had taught Gordo this one.
 

The office was artfully arranged to appear that he was working. If one were to look closely, though, there were signs that this was staged—a fine layer of dust on the jacket, since it hung there all the time. The papers on the desk were from an old case involving a trademark dispute, but the book was an outdated treatise on medical malpractice. And the briefcase on the floor was old and out of style, likely purchased at a yard sale for a few dollars as a decoy. Gordo had probably snuck down fourteen flights of stairs and into the alley behind the coffee shop, then rode his bike home.
 

Ben pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed Gordo's direct office number. He saw the light on Gordo's desk phone light up briefly, then go dark as the call was forwarded. A moment later, Gordo answered.
 

"Gordon Marshall."

"You asshole."
 

"Hey, Ben! How ya doing?"
 

"I'm standing in your office."

"Oh, uh. I just stepped out."
 

"Cut the bullshit, Gordo." Ben pinched the bridge of his nose where a slight headache was beginning to make itself known. "I thought you were working tonight."

Gordon coughed and Ben heard sounds in the background. Was that music?
 

"Yeah, well, something came up," Gordo said. Ben heard footsteps and the background noise faded away. "Did you need me to work?"

He had hoped Gordo would help him figure out what Stanton was up to, since he'd been the associate who had assisted him. He could always convince Gordo to help for the price of a good dinner and a couple of beers. But he could hear the disappointment in his friend's voice.
 

"No, don't worry about it," he said. "Where are you?"

Gordo's voice dropped to just above a whisper. "I'm on a date. With Dani Carter."
 

Ben smiled and shook his head. At least one of them found love at the business end of a pepper-spray canister. "Hey, that's great. Have a good time. I'll see you later. You want me to turn off your computer or anything?"

"Nah, don't worry. It's all on a timer. I've automated everything. Goes until 9:35, then the lights and computer turn themselves off."
 

Ingenious, Ben had to admit. Gordo had managed to improve on a classic.
 

Ben closed the door and returned to his office where a stack of client files waited for him. He should really be focusing on that work, not on trying to figure out what Stanton was up to. He opened the file on top. Several minutes later, he realized that he hadn't read a word.
 

Instead, his mind lingered on Lindsey and the look on her face when he told her they couldn't see each other. It was the only way he could think to keep both of them out of trouble. If their relationship turned serious, both of their careers could suffer. Even if he didn't tell her what he had learned about Stanton's involvement with the arena site, she'd eventually figure it out. Then he'd be accused of leaking confidential information to a reporter and she'd be suspected of sleeping with a source to get that information. There was no way to win.
 

He leaned back in his chair and sighed. Who was he kidding? He was already serious about her. What the hell was he doing? She was perfect. Okay, not perfect. She was stubborn and she was always getting in trouble. She had pepper-sprayed him for Christ's sake.
 

Ben glanced at the clock on his desk. It was just past 6 o'clock, when most normal people were home with their families having dinner with the kids, relaxing, maybe out on a date. But here he was trying to focus on a motion in a case that he didn't care about, distracted by Lindsey and her troubles. Worried that his boss was going to take down the law firm.
 

He turned off his computer and packed up the documents related to Stanton and Bear. He wasn't going to get anything done here tonight. Not that he had any better option, but maybe he could run this by Dave. He sent Dave a text message as he headed toward the elevators.
 

Ben stepped out of the elevator in the parking garage and saw that the partners' parking spaces were mostly empty, except Stanton's silver Lexus. The jerk took a perverse pleasure in staying late, just to intimidate the associates into working late into the night. Ben no longer cared. He couldn't stay here, he thought, as he walked past his coworkers' cars to his assigned spot. And suddenly he realized that he wasn't just anxious to leave the office tonight. He couldn't stay at Stanton & Lowe. Disappointing, but there it was. He had to quit.
 

He just had to figure out where he was going and how he was going to leave without inflicting great damage on a lot of innocent employees of the firm. He didn't know many of them, but they'd all be collateral damage from Stanton's greed.

Ben unlocked his Jeep and threw his bag in the backseat. As he opened his door to get in his car, he heard the elevator ding and glanced across the grey concrete structure to see Stanton emerging into the garage. Ben watched, unseen by his boss, as Stanton headed to his car.
 

He had a spring in his step that Ben had never seen and he was cradling a brightly colored bouquet of flowers.
 

Jesus, even Stanton had a date tonight? Now he felt worse than ever.
 

Stanton whistled as the convertible top of the Lexus folded itself into the trunk. He pulled a cell phone out and Ben moved closer to see if he could hear the conversation, leaving his car door open to avoid alerting Stanton to his presence.
 

"I'm on my way," Stanton said, dropping his briefcase into the car's passenger seat. "I've got good news."

Ben crept forward, staying in the shadows and ducking behind a concrete pillar when Stanton glanced around.
 

"No, it's taken care of. Lonnie's on it. He knows what he’s doing. It's all good," he said.
 

Stanton laughed and Ben's skin crawled. His jaw clenched at the mention of Lonnie.
 

"I'll see you soon, baby," Stanton cooed. Ben grimaced at the sound of Stanton's words, the man's voice sounded like crude oil oozing over rocks.
 

The car's engine jumped to life and Ben started moving back to his car, still staying in the shadows so Stanton wouldn't see him. As the Lexus reversed, Ben slipped behind a minivan and waited until Stanton drove by him. When the convertible rounded the corner, Ben sprinted to his car and quickly followed.
 

It certainly sounded like Stanton was off to meet someone who knew what was going on with Lonnie Corcoran. Did he have an accomplice?
 

At least there was one advantage to being reluctantly single. What could it hurt to just see who Stanton was meeting tonight?

Chapter Twenty-One

The automated voice of the GPS device directed Lindsey to turn off the winding rural highway and onto a two-lane road. The low, early evening sun cast deep shadows on the road to Hunter Lake, which cut through the forested foothills. She nearly missed the sign for Meridian Lane in the fading daylight, braking sharply and taking the corner at a too-fast speed. The rear tires lost traction in some loose gravel, sending her heart racing until she felt the car grip the pavement.
 

"Slow down," she said out loud, her voice echoing in the empty car.
 

Out of habit, she glanced in the rearview mirror, but she hadn't seen anyone behind her in the last twenty minutes. Once she’d turned off the interstate and onto the old highway that led to Hunter Lake, traffic had been light. The closer she got to the lake, the fewer cars she saw in either direction.
 

She took a deep breath to calm her still elevated heart rate and tried to enjoy the scenic drive. Would anyone be at the house when she got there? Would she finally learn who was behind the transfers? She slowed the car and crept along the road past summer cabins and rentals that were usually booked for the summer well in advance. Summer was over, the heat wave notwithstanding, and the driveways were largely empty.
 

The road curved and she caught a glimpse of the water through the trees. The houses this close to the lake were larger, though still keeping with the rustic feel. Lindsey hadn't been on the street before, but she had seen the houses from the water when boating. Several of the larger homes were on the historic register, with sail boats tied off to the private docks. She had no idea if the address she was looking for was one of those houses. All she knew was that Cattelya, Inc. bought the house eighteen months ago.

What if someone was there? She didn't have a plan for that, but pushed the worry from her mind. She just wanted to see what was at the address. She'd deal with the details later.

Lindsey slowed to a near crawl as she saw the house number on a post at the end of a gravel driveway. Rolling past, she caught a split-second glimpse of a one-story cottage that sat about fifty yards down the narrow, slightly curved drive that was flanked with thick groves of trees. There was a car parked near the house, but it quickly disappeared from view before she could see any details. The trees and bushes hid any view of the cabin from the road, so Lindsey looked for a place to park so she could go back on foot.
 

The road was down to one lane, but she spotted a wide spot and yanked the wheel to the right, grimacing as she heard the sound of branches scrape against the passenger side of the car. She tucked her pepper spray into her pocket and grabbed a small flashlight with the newspaper's logo on it—some promotional item that she received in lieu of a holiday bonus last year.
 

Daylight was fast disappearing as she navigated a faint trail through the trees and bushes that led to the cabin. The path crossed the yard of another beachfront house tucked among the trees, which was thankfully empty. A volleyball net was set up on the grass and a fire pit was surrounded by wicker furniture. No lights burned in these windows, though, so Lindsey traipsed across the property and into the woods on the other side, her weak flashlight struggling to find a trail in the deepening shadows.