Hardass (Bad Bitch) (17 page)

He shook his head as if there were an annoying gnat buzzing in his ear, looked to me, and shot Matt a look that edged on a snarl.

“You know that was over ten years ago, right? You realize Fawn and I haven’t even really talked since the day we broke up?”

Matt stepped in front of me, standing almost chest to chest with Wash. Wash looked down at him, murder in his eyes.

“She still talks about you. I know you’re still in love with her.” Matt’s voice rose, anger simmering up to a boil.

“Just because your wife talks about how much better of a fuck I was than you are doesn’t mean we’re in love, Matt. I don’t give two shits what you do with your limp dick. So give Fawn my best and get the fuck out of my way.”

“Wash?” Kennedy had come down the stairs behind us. He was a ladykiller in a dark suit with a gray tie.

Both Wash and Matt turned to him.

“What’s, uh, what’s going on, guys?” Kennedy dropped down the last step. He gazed around the busy rotunda before turning back to the spectacle his brother was so close to making.

Matt glanced from one Granade brother to the next and dropped his gaze to the floor.
Beaten.

I’d only gotten half the Fawn story. I wanted it all. I turned to Kennedy. “I’ll be happy to fill you in. I think Matt was bragging about impregnating Fawn and then accusing Wash of being in love with said Fawn. That about got it, boys?”

Kennedy dropped his head back in an overblown show of exasperation. “Jesus, Turnbull, are you still on about that? Yeah, Wash dicked her back in the day. So did Lincoln, as we all know. Right, buddy?” He slapped an unamused Wash on the back. “But that was forever ago, and now Wash has moved on to greener pastures.” Kennedy waggled his eyebrows at me.

So Wash had been in love with Fawn but his brother Lincoln fucked her? The plot thickened right before my eyes.

“Fucking your associates, Wash?” Matt leered at me. “I should’ve figured you’d do some bush league shit like that.”

“What the—” Before I could finish the dressing down I had on the tip of my tongue for Matt, a blur of movement shot through the corner of my eye. Then Matt was on the floor, wailing and grabbing his nose.

Wash stood over him, as if unsure whether he wanted to kick the shit out of him while he was down or yank him up and hit him in the face again. “Don’t you ever talk about Caroline like that again.” His voice was quiet, far too quiet. It was scarier than a full-on yell.

Kennedy darted between the men and pushed Wash away with one hand while giving him a thumbs-up where Matt couldn’t see. “Wash, go.”

A security guard from the metal detector station stared at us, as if unsure how to react to two attorneys fighting in the courthouse.

“Go, man. I’ll take care of it.” Kennedy shoved Wash back a few more steps and turned to smirk at Matt.

“I’m going to have you arrested, Wash. You fucking assaulted me.” Matt’s voice was distorted through his hand, and a thin trail of blood ran down his cheek.

“Oh, can it, you blowhard. I’ll take you to TGI Friday’s or something. Maybe a tittie bar on Bourbon? My treat. Get up. Quit crying.” Kennedy waved Wash and me away as he knelt down to Matt.

Wash held out his hand toward me in a very non-colleague way. We’d attracted more than a little attention with our dustup, but Wash didn’t seem to care who saw us. His eyes, the ones that had been livid only seconds before, were kind again. When he looked at me like that, with a warmth that I knew could turn to a flame of desire in an instant, I couldn’t say no. I took his hand, and we left together while Kennedy promised Matt a hundred one-dollar bills and a lap dance.

Thursday morning’s attorney meeting was brief and led by Mr. Palmer instead of Wash. Mr. Palmer chose Terrell to assist him in another high-profile murder case over in Lafayette. The case seemed interesting—a high school kid accused of bullying another teenager into suicide. But I was covered up with the Bayou Butcher and didn’t even try to volunteer for it.

Terrell was over the moon and started packing up his desk for his temporary relocation to the satellite office in Lafayette. I hovered around, pretending to help, but really just getting antsy about him leaving me for such a long while. We’d been more or less inseparable for the past four years.

He tossed a couple of evidence books into a banker’s box and grinned at me. “Worried about who’s going to hold your hair when you puke after too many drinks on Bourbon Street?”

I crossed my arms over my chest and frowned. “That happened one time, Terrell. One. And you are still on about it, like, three years after the fact.”

He threw some legal pads into the box and stood. His grin turned into the warm smile that charmed the pants off many a man. “It’s going to be fine. I’ll definitely be back on the weekends. And it isn’t forever. Just a few months. You’ll be okay. Promise.”

“I know. I just worry about you, is all.” I picked at the hem of my red cardigan.

“Right. Sure you do. I don’t blame you for being sad. I am, after all, the most handsome man in the office. Eye candy gone. It’s a pretty big blow to morale.”

I smirked and looked him up and down. “I’ve seen it all, baby. It ain’t that great.”

He hefted the box and walked past me before backing up and dropping a kiss on my forehead. “Keep telling yourself that.”

I laughed even though I felt like my security blanket was being ripped away.

“I’m going home to pack. But I’ll call later, okay?”

I nodded. “Yes. Fine. Have a good trip out to the boonies.”

“I will. See you Friday night. Don’t drink all the Lynch Lane in my absence.”

“Never.” I planned on doing just that.

He disappeared down the hall, and I retreated to my office. I made a list of the things I needed to get done for the week, but my phone rang before I could finish.

Wash’s secretary’s nasal voice came over the line. “Dr. Snider called in, and Mr. Granade wants you to sit in on the phone call.”

“On my way.” I grabbed my legal pad and hurried to Wash’s office.

I entered Wash’s office and closed the door behind me. He already had Dr. Snider on speaker and was asking questions. “Is that conclusive for anything?”

“No, not yet. I’ve sent off the samples taken from the wooden pieces and the victims for DNA comparison. It’ll be at least a week.”

“No offense, Doc, but we already knew that. What do you have for me that’s new?”

“I was getting to that if you hadn’t jumped me on DNA results. There’s a new body. Looks to be Bayou Butcher.”

I dropped my pen.

“What?” Wash and I said in unison.

“Yeah, I got a call from the coroner just fifteen minutes ago asking me to consult. Dr. Russell is on vacation. I’m gearing up right now to head to the site. Bayou inlet on the other side of Pontchartrain.”

“You didn’t tell him we’ve retained you for this case, right?”

“This isn’t my first rodeo, Wash.” Dr. Snider chuckled. “No, I didn’t say a word.”

Wash met my eyes. We were on the same wavelength. A man on the inside of the police investigation was invaluable.

“I gotta go. Marked car just pulled up out front. I’ll text you the location as soon as I find out.”

“Yes. Thanks, Doc. You’re really earning your fee on this one.”

“No shit.” The line went dead, and I bounced up and down in my chair like an idiot.

Wash grinned. “You ready for some more field work?”

“Yes!”

He looked me up and down. “Not in that. You’re liable to get snakebit or taken off by the locals. Go home and get changed into something suitable for swamping. I’ll pick you up.”

He stood and grabbed a few things from his desk as I rushed out. I went straight home and bragged to Terrell as I changed into jeans, high boots, a tank top, and a sweater.

“I thought today was my lucky day, but you’re on your way to an active crime scene. Fuck me.” He shook his head.

“Okay. I’m out. Call me later.” I kissed him on the cheek and dashed out the front door as my phone buzzed. A message from Wash—he was waiting downstairs for me and had the general location from Dr. Snider.

I slid into the passenger seat and noted Wash had changed into jeans, boots, and a long-sleeved dark gray T-shirt. How could a man make a plain T-shirt sexy? I didn’t know, but I went with it.

We were on the interstate in minutes, heading over Lake Pontchartrain and following the breadcrumb trail Dr. Snider was feeding us with frequent texts.

“When we get there, the cops will hassle us and not want to let us through. Don’t worry. I know most of them, so we should be able to chat our way inside the crime scene tape. But”—he reached over and squeezed my knee—“if you see anything you can’t handle, just say so.”

“I can handle it.” After the morgue, I’d resolved to do my best to toughen up. Would it work? I didn’t know, but I was going to try to remain calm, professional, and detached. “If all else fails, I’ll vom off to the side as inconspicuously as possible.”

He laughed. “That’s my girl.”

I warmed. That was the closest thing to a declaration of more-than-just-like I’d heard from him. Of course, he could have said the same to a pet dog. I frowned.

He misread my expression and squeezed my knee again. “You can do it.”

I nodded and watched as the water receded and we were back on land. Wash zipped past the first two exits and took the third, winding around into a small town before the scenery turned wilder.

Another text pinged through. Dr. Snider was at the site. We were fifteen minutes away.

“Tell him to stall,” Wash instructed.

I texted the directive and settled in, watching the trees grow thicker, vines and moss weaving into the greenery. We passed over several creeks, the dark waters hiding more than just wildlife. He took a turn onto a gravel road that eventually became rutted dirt. The dark lane took us deeper and deeper into the brush until we saw the glint of sun on cars up ahead.

We rolled up to a cavalcade of law enforcement vehicles, at least ten blocking the lane. A police officer walked toward us and put his hand out.

Wash rolled down his window. “Ernie. Hey, man, how you doing?”

“Wash. What you doing out here?” The cop leaned down to the window and glanced over at me. “Hi.” He smiled, his face young and soft. He had to have been even younger than me. A total cutie, too.

“Hi.” I returned his smile.

“A little birdie told me there was another Bayou Butcher victim found,” Wash said.

Ernie rubbed his hand along his smooth chin. “Now, how’d you hear that? They told us to keep it out of chatter so the scanners wouldn’t pick it up.”

Wash shrugged. “We rep the defendant in this case. Just wanted to see what the fuss is about.”

Ernie shook his head. “I can’t let you through, man.”

“Sure you can. I’m an officer of the court. So is Caroline over here.”

“Nice to meet you, Caroline.” Ernie smiled bigger.

“Likewise, Ernie.” I gave what I thought was my most charming smile. I leaned over, knowing full well my sweater would pull away and Ernie would have an excellent view to my low-cut tank top. “I’m pretty much fresh out of law school. Never been to a crime scene before. I wish I could at least see what goes on.”

Ernie’s eyes went right where I wanted them to. Wash didn’t look back at me, though he tensed slightly.

“You certainly need to learn. I hear you on that. I volunteered to come out today, too.” He pulled his gaze back up to mine, so I turned my head and looked out the front windshield, giving him a guilt-free eyeful of my girls.

“It’s part of my job, Ernie. I have to defend my guy. You know this.” Wash’s voice was grittier than only a few moments before.

I slowly turned my face back to Ernie, giving him a chance to stop looking down my top before getting caught.

“I don’t know, man.” Ernie’s cheeks pinked a bit, making him even more all-American boy.

I leaned a smidge farther. “Please let us through. If anyone asks we won’t say a word about you. You have my word.” I stuck my hand out, and he took it.

He shook it gently and then simply held it in his. Wash shifted and clenched a fist on his thigh.

Ernie shook his head, his blond locks falling across his forehead. “Well, hell. Fine. But don’t mention me, got it?”

I squeezed his hand before pulling mine away. “Got it.”

Ernie smiled sheepishly. “Do you, like, have a card or someth—”

“Thanks, Ernie.” Wash hit the gas, and Ernie had to back away quickly.

“Hey!” I sat up. “You could have squished his foot or something.”

“Nah.” Wash pulled up on the far edge of the cruisers, either to keep a low profile or to set us up for a fast getaway. “He’s fine. I got him out of a jam when he was still a pipsqueak in high school. He owes me. You didn’t have to do that . . . that thing you did.”

“Do what? Convince him to let us through?”

We got out. Wash, brows drawn down tight, slammed his door and looked at me over the roof of the car. “No, flirt with him. You didn’t have to . . . to . . .”

He threw his hands up.

Was this happening? Were we doing this at a crime scene? I finally knew what people meant when they said they wanted to strangle someone. At that moment, wrapping my fingers around his throat seemed like an excellent idea.

“You’re being ridiculous.” I walked around the car and stared up into his eyes, daring him to say something else.

He glowered at me, the hardass in full force. But then his gaze slipped to my lips, and something other than ire lit his eyes. He gripped my shoulders and backed me into the car. I made a high-pitched sound when he pressed his body into mine.

“You make me crazy, Caroline.”

I met his gaze, defiant even as my body warmed to his touch, his aggression. “I can see that.”

He stroked down my cheek and rested his fingers around my neck. “Do you know what I wanted to do when he touched you? Any idea?”

“I was just—”

He kept talking right over me. “I wanted to break every finger of his that touched you. So he’d know you’re mine. So he’d know that touching you was a goddamn crime.”

“That—yes, that’s a little crazy.” I nodded even as he moved closer, his lips a tantalizing lure.