Bad Bitch (10 page)

“Doesn’t seem like a big deal. He wouldn’t be a very good prosecutor if he didn’t study his opponent. Besides, you know plenty about me, too. Are you a stalker?”

“He’s hardcore, Evan. I warned you not to fuck with him. And what was the first thing you did?”

“I fucked him, hard. Did you know he’s into spanking?”

He flinched at my words. I knew it was harsh, too harsh. But I was beginning to feel the one emotion I hated more than all others. Fear. I had to fight it away, to be hard and cold. That was the only way to keep the feeling in its cage.

He put his fork and knife down with a clang. “I don’t think you understand. He’s had a bead on you for a long, long time. He knew all about you before you ever began to represent Castille.”

He was worried. It was written in his voice, his rigid back. Worried for me.

The klaxons in my mind were blaring. Why would Lincoln make an effort to know my backlist of clients? Why would he care about my history, where I came from, what I’d done in the business? The nagging feeling of missing something was back, but this time it was a punch in the gut. I put down my silverware, the delicious food suddenly too rich, too much for me.

I finally asked the question that had been bothering me the most. “Why did he charge Castille in this district?”

“Evan, I can’t tell you that.” His tone was measured. “But I think if you reflect on your law practice over the past few years, think about the cases and clients you’ve had since you left the public defender’s office—maybe that would give you some insight.”

His pale blue eyes bored into me, making me take stock of the enormity of what he was saying. I felt the fear clawing at me in the pit of my stomach.

If Jonesy was saying what I thought he was, Lincoln was after a much bigger fish than Castille. Much, much bigger. My former clients, definitely. Me, possibly. If Castille had anything to do with my other clients, and could somehow implicate them, then this entire case had just gotten way, way out of hand.

Jonesy’s warning explained the New York venue. Castille was likely a stepping-stone to a bigger case. But Vinnie’s check on him came back clean. Castille had zero ties to any black dealings here. The only link between my new clients and my former clients that I could think of was me. If I had become a liability to certain clients, I shuddered to think of what they’d do to rectify the situation.

Shit, shit, shit.
I dabbed the napkin around my mouth to hide the cold sweat that had broken out along my upper lip.

“And just how does he plan on connecting any of my past clients to my current client—”

“What is this? You don’t like my special béchamel?” Sal had come up behind me, his thick Italian accent rising over the sound of other diners’ conversations. He took my hand and gave my knuckles a sloppy kiss.

I tried to regain my composure. “No, Sal, it’s delicious. Promise.”

“What wine did Trish pick to go with it? The Anfora, the Ribolla?”

Malbec
from Argentina.
I tried to stutter out a response. Yes,
I
stuttered. “It’s the, the, uh—”

“The Anfora. Italian wines truly are the best.” Jonesy to the rescue.

Sal clapped him on the back. “You bring this one anytime you want,
bella
.
”

“Thanks, Sal.” I took another bite to appease him and stifled my gag reflex.

He watched with pride, never noticing my trouble.

“I’ll leave you two alone. And you,
bella
,
there is no excuse for you not coming more often. I’ll send the boys out to fetch you if I don’t see you at least twice a month.”

The twinkle in his eyes belied the fact that he did, indeed, have a posse of ruffians that would have no problem dragging me before Sal. He wasn’t the only one of my clients who had strongmen at their disposal. The fear tried to creep in again. I fought it down.

Once Sal was gone, I rose to leave.

“Stay,” Jonesy said, standing along with me. His tone was pleading. Maybe he already knew where I was headed. I’m sure he could guess.

“No. I’m going to get to the bottom of this. Unless you have any more information?”

He dropped his eyes. He’d given me all he could. Any more information could cost him his job or even his bar license.

I dropped a kiss on his cheek. “You’re a good friend, Jonesy. Thank you. I mean it.”

Lincoln was staying in a Washington Heights apartment. I hadn’t been to Harlem, much less past Harlem, in years. I didn’t care. I needed to get him face-to-face. I needed to know if he was out to bring me down.

I felt like a fool, falling for his smooth confidence, his sexual heat like a ditzy whore. Was he laughing at me, fucking me while he continued his plan to have me indicted?

Was what he told me about his family even true?

More than feeling foolish, I was afraid. If Lincoln had set out to bring me down, I was fucked. I didn’t fear Lincoln, and I certainly wasn’t afraid of an indictment. I could fight any charges, and I could win. I wasn’t the only hotshot hired gun in town, though I was the best. I would escape any noose, as long as I had a decent attorney working as my puppet in the courts. No, what I feared was what an investigation would turn up on my clients. They were the danger, not an indictment or even a trial. If they felt threatened and linked the problem to me, my life was on the line.

The cab dropped me in front of a prewar building, the exterior dingy yet still ornate along the cornices and eaves. I buzzed his apartment. His voice came through in a rasp.

“Yeah?”

“It’s Evan.”

“Okay.” Then silence.

He didn’t buzz me in. I pressed the button again. No response.

Oh, shit.
Did he have someone with him? Was he fucking someone else while simultaneously plotting my downfall? He really was a piece of work. For once, I should have listened to Jonesy. I stood and stewed.

“Hello?” I asked.

Nothing. The fear I’d been trying to ward off turned to anger. I let it in, allowing it to seethe and bubble over. No cornbread hillbilly was going to take me down.
Not a chance.

I talked directly into the grated speaker.

“You motherfucker. I swear to fucking God, when I see you again, I am going to slap the ever-loving shit out of you for trying to fuck with me. You will wish you were never born. I will run you out of this town and back to the fucking backwater swamp you came from, where you can find a first cousin to settle down with, you piece of shit. I will—”

The door next to me opened. It was Lincoln in a white T-shirt and pajama pants. His hair was wet, as if he’d just gotten out of the shower. It was dark and combed back. He looked like some Mafia capo from the twenties, all angular face and slicked-back hair. Lickable, though I wanted to pummel him to bits.

“Come in.”

I closed my mouth, saving the remaining vitriol for later. I followed without a word as he led me up a flight of stairs to his second-story apartment. It was tiny—an open flat with a kitchen, a bed, and a futon, which I supposed passed for a living room.

He closed the door behind us.

“Oddest thing. When I was coming down the stairs I think I heard some crazy neighbor threatening to send someone to a fucking backwater swamp. Can you believe that?”

He was behind me, but I knew he was smiling. Laughing at me. I wanted to claw his eyes out.

I whirled on him and looked up into the mesmerizing eyes that hid his duplicity.

“Why are you here?” I asked.

“I live here.”

He leaned back against the door and crossed his arms over his broad chest.

“You know what I’m asking. Why are you in the city? Why did you bring Castille here? Because I just had a very interesting conversation with Jonesy over dinner—”

“You had dinner with Jonesy?”

“Yes.” I crossed my arms to mimic him. “I did. Answer my fucking question. Why are you here?”

“You know why I’m here, Evan. I’m prosecuting your good friend Castille.”

“And what about me?”

He gave me a once-over with his eyes and licked his lips. I felt my traitorous body tingle in reaction. It was infuriating.

“What do you mean?” He was all coolness.

“I mean, Jonesy said that you are looking to bring down more than just Castille. You are trying to take
me
down.”

The hurt slipped into my voice. I didn’t want it to. I tried to strangle the hurt with my anger, but there it was. I thought Lincoln was actually interested in
me
, not the me that everyone else saw, but the real one.

He wasn’t.

My eyes watered. I had to break my connection with him and look at the ceiling as I willed the tears back down.

He stopped leaning against the door and encircled me with his arms. I pushed and fought against him.

“You fucking asshole. I believed you. I thought—” My sob cut through what I was going to say. I just couldn’t.

I tried again to fight him off, to get away from his scent and his embrace, but it was no use. His arms were like iron bands, my first taste of the imprisonment he had planned for me.

“Jonesy is wrong.” He said it with an acid inflection, but then his tone changed to soothing. “I
am
looking into your clients. That’s true. But I’ve never had my sights on you, professionally speaking, anyway.”

“I don’t believe you.” My tears slowed. I wanted to believe him so badly. I felt like I was starved for the connection we had. It felt like I’d been going along for years, blissfully unaware that a feeling like this even existed. But now, after only being with him for this short time, I didn’t want the connection to break. If it did, I was sure, something inside of me would break right along with it.

He reached up and stroked my hair but still held me fast with his other arm. “What can I do to make you believe me?”

“I want to see all your files.”

He chuckled. “Try again. Ask for something that won’t get me disbarred.”

I tried a different tack. One that would give me more insight than anything legal he could offer.

“Was your story about how you got the scar true?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Yes. Every last word. You can call my brother Wash and ask, if you want. I’m sure he’d be more than happy to tell you what a son of a bitch I am.”

His admission made me feel better. He was telling the truth. I had a pretty good bullshit indicator, and it wasn’t even beeping. It never did with Lincoln.

“Angel, this is nothing more than a case of cockblock à la Jonesy.”

“No, it isn’t.” I pulled back and he let me. I wanted to see his eyes. “He was right about you looking into my clients and me.”

I noticed the five o’clock shadow that graced his angular jaw. I wanted to feel it rub against me in all the right places. But first, I had to know the truth.

“Yes. That’s true. But I’ve never been after you. Do you think Wood would let me do that? He practically worships you.”

Of all the things I’d heard that night, that one shocked me the most. “Wood? Really?”

“Really. I’m surprised he doesn’t have an Evangeline shrine in his office. I mean, I’m sure Jonesy beats off to you every chance he gets, but Wood genuinely thinks you are the best criminal defense attorney in this town.”

My bullshit detector remained silent.

“Why are you looking into my clients?”

“I’m not going to tell you—”

My anger flared again. “You said—”

“You didn’t let me finish. I’m not going to tell you, but Drew came by and picked up all my discovery docs today. I assume you have someone in your firm collecting all the victim information for you? I’m sure an attorney of your caliber doesn’t do the grunt work.”

“Yes. I have associates on it.”

“Then all will become clear in short order. Trust me. If I was able to figure it out, you’ll figure it out in half the time.”

I leaned back into him and laid my head against his chest. His steady heartbeat was strong, a comforting thump-thump. I felt the fear falling away. I hated the feeling of fear, the emotion. There was a time in my life when I almost let fear destroy me, and I refused to let it ever happen again.

I wanted to believe him, to maintain our tenuous connection. Even if it was only for one more night. Even if tomorrow I found out all my worst fears were well founded and he really was looking to get my name in front of a grand jury. For tonight, I just wanted him. His steady strength.

He stroked down my back.

“It’s okay, angel. I promise.”

“Why do you call me angel?” Even I heard the weariness in my tone. My adrenaline was fading fast.

He scooped me into his arms and took me the ten steps to his bed. He scooted his wine-colored covers down and sat me on the edge of the mattress before taking my shoes off and kissing the arch of each foot. A thrill shot through me at the touch of his warm lips.

He stood. I couldn’t help but notice his erection tenting his pajama pants. He noticed, too, and tucked it into the waistband of his boxers. I groaned in irritation.

“Arms up.” He ordered.

I did as I was told, and he pulled my blouse over my head. He unclasped my bra and peeled it from me. His eyes paused on my nipples, already beaded and rosy. Then he pulled me to my feet and unzipped my skirt. He slid it down my body, dotting kisses over my stomach and legs as he did so. I was warm in all the right places. His touch made sure of it. He pushed me back so I landed on my ass.

“Lie down.”

I did, and he threw the covers over me and hit the light switch. I saw nothing in the new darkness.

“What are we doing?” I asked.

“Sleeping together.”

“Wait. Sleeping as in sleeping? No sex?”

I sank into his pillow, his clean scent washing over me in a pleasant wave.

“Not tonight.” He got in beside me and palmed my ass. “But not because I don’t want to.”

“Then why?” I yawned.

“That’s why. You’re exhausted.”

He snugged up to my back, spooning me. I wriggled back toward him, trying to get a feel of his dick on my ass. He growled and put a hand on my hip, holding me in place.

“Don’t tempt me, angel.”