Heat: An Alpha Male Criminal Romance (A Hotter Than Hell Novel Book 1) (6 page)

No, I could not positively swear I watched him from a few inches away the entire time. I told the truth and I lost the case. I gained a small bit of respect from Terry when I answered truthfully, but I couldn’t have cared less. It was a total bullshit defense that worked on a rookie cop. From that point on, I would take the extra time and call an all-night judge to get an over–the-phone blood draw warrant. This also meant I had to deliver the warrant-return to the courthouse first thing the next morning. It sucked after a long overnight shift, but it beat a drunk driver walking away.

Terry’s 1970 Corvette LT1 sits under a custom tarp so it escapes sun damage. The Vette is cherry red and gorgeous. If Terry wasn’t such a douche, I would have taken him up on his offer to drive the Vette around the block to check out how she handles. I also discovered that Terry’s offers are aliases for a quickie against the side of any semi-private shaded area he can find. I swear I couldn’t make this shit up. I’m even sure Terry has his Lothario locations mapped out. With these thoughts, imaginary, creepy-crawlies slide across my skin. Why does my life suck so bad that I need to come here in hopes of a new case?

I enter the office and smile at Brenda. She’s Terry’s legal secretary, office manager, and all-around problem fixer rolled into one. She’s over fifty, though I’ve never asked her exact age. She’s also pleasantly plump in a grandma-hugs kinda way. She keeps her hair dyed a vivid red and wears smock tops with two pockets in the front. I have no idea where she buys the things, and for all I know, she sews them herself. Hell, she most likely wears them to keep Terry at arm’s length. It’s her hair that adds a wild spark to the entire ensemble. Today, the smock is white with green embroidery on the pockets and lace at the neckline. Her green eyes also show a bit of spark. I know immediately that something’s up.

“Hey, Brenda.” I say as I walk to her desk and peer to the back of a long hallway where Terry’s office is located.

“Mak, you have perfect timing,” she confides.

Terry’s office door is closed, which offers another clue. “Spill it, lady.”

“He’s in there with his attorney.” She points toward Terry’s door.

I’m stunned. “Attorney at Law Terry the Fairy has an attorney?”

Her grin widens at the use of Terry’s nickname. She has worked for Terry for more than ten years. I like her, even though she carries true affection for Terry. In my opinion, he doesn’t deserve her. This, however, does not mean she lacks a sense of humor. “Apparently, he took the wrong woman for a ride and she’s filed a lawsuit and made a complaint to the state bar.”

I don’t like Terry, but I’ve never heard that he forces women. A lawsuit means she wants money. Now, I get the humor. Filing a lawsuit for something outrageous is something Terry would do. Today, he’s getting back some of his own medicine.

“I’m dying to ask what he did, but I’m almost afraid.”

She bites her lip before releasing it and replies, “I’m horrible for even smiling.” She laughs into her hand. “He dropped her.”

It takes a moment for her meaning to sink in. Terry’s thing is plowing women against an outside wall. “Come again.”

“He dropped her on her ass while doing the vertical.”

I’m only able to hold back my laughter because I hear Terry’s office door open. A professionally dressed woman enters the hallway.

“I’ll be in touch later this week,” she says as she walks into the lobby and turns her attention to me and Brenda. She simply nods and leaves the office. Brenda presses the phone system’s intercom and announces my presence. Terry sticks his head into the hallway three seconds later.

“And to what do we owe this great honor that you’ve graced us with your presence?” That’s Terry—a wiseass, a creep, and a great defense attorney who speaks his greeting to my tits.

“My cupboards are bare and I’m hungry.”

He doesn’t look up. “Good, because you won’t like the case I need you for. Step into my office and I’ll go over the details.” He turns to Brenda. “Bring the Connor file in, please.”

I follow Terry into his office and take a seat at his massive cherry oak desk. His office is large and showy. He has invested a great deal of money in the furniture alone. From the desk to the cherry oak bookcases that cover the walls, there’s obviously money in defending scumbags. And right now, I need some of that money.

Brenda walks in thirty seconds later and places the file on Terry’s desk. She leaves without looking at me and closes the door behind her. Strange. She’s never done that before.

Terry glances up and holds my gaze. He opens the file and hands me an eight-by-ten color photo. It’s a booking photo. The young man is badly bruised and chances are good he cleaned blood from his face before the photo was snapped. I can see a small cut above his eye, and I know those tend to bleed a lot.

“Dixon Connor, arrested last night for criminal damage. He had the misfortune to have a small amount of methamphetamine in his pocket when they searched him. He was tagged for one count of possession of a narcotic and three counts of drug paraphernalia, making it a felony arrest. His father is Don Connor, the main pastor at First Methodist in Paradise Valley, which also happens to be the church I attend. At Don’s request, I went down to see Dixon this morning. As you can imagine, he was jumpy. What surprised me the most is that he’s scared shitless.”

I try to absorb the story, but somewhere I get stuck on the fact that Terry attends church. Who knew? I feel no sympathy for a strung out, scared shitless junkie, nor do I find it odd. It makes even more sense given his father’s career. “So where do I come in?”

Terry lets out a small humph of breath. “When I said scared shitless, I mean exactly that. This kid whispered to me as soon as I got in the room with him that he’s one of Alonzo’s boys.”

“Wonderful,” I offer with clear sarcasm. Alonzo is a petty drug dealer and also fences stolen goods for the druggies in this area.

Terry’s eyes go hard, which is unusual. Even in a courtroom, he likes to come across as a nice guy, when in all actuality, he’s a shark. A bit of uneasiness travels up my spine.

“That’s not why he’s afraid.” Terry’s fist hits the desk, which makes me jump. “One of yours is taking payoffs and running Alonzo’s show now…”

I don’t let him finish. My chair flies back several inches when I stand. I point at Terry. “That’s bullshit and you know it. Just because you don’t like cops, it does not mean that they’re dirty. You’re an asshole,” I add.

Terry rolls his eyes. “And just because you think cops walk on water doesn’t mean they’re clean. You’re naïve, Mak. You have no idea what truly goes on. You weren’t on the streets long enough. In cop years you were just a baby when you left the force.”

My blood boils. Terry is always mouthing off about officers lying under oath. That’s his best tactic when it comes to getting his clients off. A cop’s word on the stand is what we live by. It’s our reputation. Sure, we make mistakes and when we do, defense attorneys are like flies on rancid meat.

The daily stress and lack of sleep from doing shift work don’t help. Add in the need to appear in court the morning after an all-night shift and mistakes happen in testimony. The defense attorney changes your words around to confuse you, asks a single question in several different ways, and basically tries his best to screw up your story. I know—I’ve been there. Now, Terry’s trying to say there’s a crooked cop at the Wendell Precinct. The men and women I worked with may no longer include me as family, but to me they are, and I’m no longer taking Terry’s shit. Eating is highly overrated; I’ll find another avenue to drum up cases. I’m unwilling to spend a minute more of my time with this jackass. I turn on my heels.

“Kennedy,” Terry huffs out.

I freeze for a moment before turning around and taking my chair again. “Fuck.”

Chapter Seven

“
EXACTLY.” TERRY STEEPLES HIS
fingers on the desk. “You know there’s a good chance this isn’t bullshit, Mak.”

So many things whirl through my head. I do not like Craig Kennedy, never have. He has his own code as far as street ethics are concerned. I was warned early in my police career to stay clear of him. That was before he made my life a nightmare whenever he was around.

He wouldn’t take no for an answer. No, I wouldn’t go out with him. No, I wouldn’t let him cop a feel, and no, I wouldn’t fuck him. I refused to date the cops I worked with is what I told him. And especially not married cops like Kennedy. Just no! When I finally threatened to go to a supervisor, he backed off and gave me the stare-down whenever he could. I’d just roll my eyes. I heard rumors from other officers that Kennedy walked a thinner blue line than the rest of us or that he often straddled it. Most of these rumors related to him getting aggressive during arrests. I stayed out of the gossip and away from Kennedy.

There are always two sides to every story and I tend to support my brothers and sisters in blue unless someone proves that I shouldn’t. Even though I don’t like Kennedy, it doesn’t mean I believe Terry. But, it makes me think.

“Lay it out for me.” My words are clipped because I’m still pissed.

Terry offers a slight smile that fades when I give him hard I-might-strangle-you eyes.

“Dixon says he wanted out and was done running drugs for Alonzo. Alonzo told Dixon it wouldn’t fly because Alonzo is no longer the main honcho and Kennedy is.” Terry’s eyes stay glued to mine as he adds, “Dixon left Alonzo refusing to take the drugs with him. Two hours later, Dixon’s picked up with meth in his pocket. He says he used a few days ago but had nothing left and that Kennedy planted the meth on him.” Terry pushes the picture of Dixon back my way. “This kid’s small and wiry, and he’s timid. He said he didn’t resist at all. Said he was walking home from his girlfriend’s apartment and Kennedy pulled up. Kennedy kicked over a few outside solar lights, beat the shit out of him, and arrested Dixon for criminal damage, resisting arrest, and drugs.”

I stare at the picture of Dixon as Terry continues. “I haven’t mentioned this because I know your blood runs blue, but there have been rumors about Kennedy for years. He has backing too. Someone big.” Terry places his hand up, palm toward me when I try to interrupt. “You don’t need to like it, agree with it, or work the case for me. I want you on it because you were an honest cop and if there is something going on, you won’t cover it up.”

He’s right, I won’t. This entire scenario doesn’t make sense, though. “I have trouble believing Dixon’s father is footing the bill. If it were a homicide, I’d understand, but not a felony drug conviction that’ll be reduced and have drug court as a possible option. If Kennedy isn’t hurt from Dixon resisting arrest, that will be plead out too.”

Terry cracks his knuckles. “You’re right. He isn’t footing the entire bill; I’m supplementing your end of it. I know you have trouble believing this, but I have a client or two who are innocent. Kennedy put them behind bars for his own reasons that have nothing to do with the law. He’s a liar and he’s damned good at it. I’ve wanted him for a long time. And if you take this on and it’s me footing the bill, I’m hoping you’ll give me a discount.”

That earns a tight smile. “Not on your measly fucking life.” Terry knows there’s no way I’d take a penny off his bill. I decide to twist his little weasel nose a little. “From what I hear, you may be in the poor house soon anyway, so this may be my shortest case yet.”

Terry’s face turns a delightful shade of burgundy. “Fucking Brenda. She needs to keep her trap shut.”

I smile.

Terry comes off his chair a bit and leans toward me. “Mark my words, Sheila will be my wife shortly and her tantrum will be a thing of the past.”

He’s serious. Sheila must be the woman he…umm…dropped. My stomach feels queasy over the thought of anyone marrying Terry. Yuck. Honeymoon… double yuck.

During the next thirty minutes, Terry outlines everything he’s ever heard about Kennedy and tells me what he wants me to do. Nothing overt, just feeling out my contacts and keeping my ear to the street. Terry knows I collect good street information, but he doesn’t know who gives it to me and he never will.

I leave Terry’s office with a check in hand. It will cover the first week of working this new case. I arrive five minutes late for my meeting with Penny at Starbucks. She’s sitting in the back corner and waves when she sees me. I order a Frappuccino, which is usually outside my meager budget. I splurge because of the check in my wallet, and, if I don’t have coffee, I may hit the closest bar and drink hard liquor until someone sticks me in a cab. Terry and the Kennedy mess is really playing with my mind.