Unfit to Practice (40 page)

Nina shook her head. “Stay back,” she told the barefoot man.

Slowly, methodically, rhythmic as a man bringing up a bucket from a well, hand over hand, Paul pulled him up. Riesner's foot scrabbled against the rails. One time, two times, three times he lifted his slick leather shoe, trying to find a toehold. Suddenly, his foot stopped on the thin metal edge. Then, more scraping while a second foot looked for and found its place.

Paul helped him up. Suddenly, shockingly safe, Riesner looked through the safety grid into the vast open space of the atrium. A hush cloaked them all in woolen quiet, a hush filled with breathless anticipation as a hundred people watched what was happening above them. Riesner looked at the people below, their frightened faces, watching his shame.

Horrified onlookers.

He looked at Paul and Nina.

Paul broke the silence, his voice holding a fury Nina had never heard before. “I should have smacked you harder in that bathroom a couple years ago. Maybe it would have wised you up.”

“So it was you,” Riesner sputtered. A fleck of foam coagulated on the side of his mouth. He wiped blood out of his eyes. “You son of a bitch!”

Paul whispered to him, “You're history, punk.”

Riesner moved suddenly, striking like a snake. In a last desperate motion, he grabbed Paul by the neck and tried to take him along into the abyss. He managed to get him over the ledge. They toppled onto the grid together, Riesner twisting Paul around so that he lost his balance. Paul's foot slipped and he began to go over.

“Paul!” screamed Nina. She flung her entire body over the railing and grabbed his jacket, slowing his momentum just slightly.

Paul looked up at Nina and smiled. In a long moment, an eternal moment that hovered somewhere between life and death, he said, “Love you.”

“No! Paul! Don't leave me, please don't. I love you!” Nina screamed.

And slowly, imperceptibly, Paul stopped falling. His fingers tightened on the metal edge. His arms whitened as he began to straighten himself up with brute strength, even with Riesner still clutching him in a crude headlock, even with both his legs hanging into space. Riesner's right hand clutched at Paul's throat, grasping for his windpipe, clawing at him.

Nina saw a strange change come over Paul's countenance—strong, certain, terrifying.

Once he made it back up on the ladder platform, Paul's hand shot out. He took Riesner's hand into his and began to squeeze, increasing the pressure until Riesner began to scream. The bones in his fingers began to pop, then his hand, and then with one violent twist, Paul shattered Riesner's arm and dumped him back on the corridor walkway in a heap. The lawyer shrieked in pain.

“Loser,” Paul said, breathing hard.

Riesner rolled over, cradling his useless arm, faceup, contorted. Nina and Paul stood over him, looking down.

Tears started up and rolled down Riesner's face. He stood up slowly, brushing himself off with his good hand. Casting one quick glance into the eyes of his conquerors, he examined the faces of the onlookers below. How they ogled.

Nina had no trouble reading his face. His humiliation was complete. No one would ever respect him again.

Whirling around, fast as a gust of wind, he jumped over the balcony rail and hurled himself headlong into space.

Screaming all the way, he fell sixteen stories, down past the pretty green plants and white linen tabletops gleaming with glassware to the pretty concentric circular patterns on the atrium floor.

They heard him land.

Epilogue

A
FTER THE
C
ALIFORNIA
S
TATE
B
AR CASE
against Nina fizzled, Nina left Tahoe and moved to Carmel to be with Paul.

But that did not mean her tangled life tied up neatly with a big red bow.

Three days after Jeffrey Riesner's death, the hearing before the California State Bar Court on Howard Street resumed. Officer Scholl testified about Riesner's campaign to ruin Nina, which he had outlined in extensive, vituperative diaries, obtained from his home with a search warrant. No carvings of Nina were mentioned, however, although she would always wonder. Scholl explained in full, honest detail her mistake in letting Riesner out of her sight. In spite of her embarrassment, she was steady and firm in her testimony, blaming no one but herself.

She outlined the plot to bring Nina down. “He'd been looking for an opening for months, then one rainy day, he saw her car key lying on the table in court. That was the start. He said he went to her house late that night just because he wanted to see what he might find. It was his luck that she left her files in there.” He was good enough with his hands to carry off a crude forgery, then he had blackmailed Kevin Cruz into charging Nina with harassment.

The California State Bar withdrew all charges against Nina Reilly.

Two weeks later, amid public fanfare, Officer Jean Scholl won her promotion to the Detective Unit and the congratulations of the mayor.

Nina had thanked her privately.

“I was just doing my job. Finding the person who stole your vehicle,” she told Nina from behind her mirrored shades.

Lisa Cruz, who agreed to start a new therapy program, got permanent physical custody of the children. The D.A. hadn't yet decided what charges to file against Kevin. Within a few weeks of his return, the South Lake Tahoe police force kicked him out.

Cody Stinson got out of jail free. Heritage Insurance released Mrs. Vang's share of the money, and Marilyn Rose called Nina.

Bruce Ford had a minor surgical procedure, no complications.

Andrea had given birth to a beautiful baby girl in March. She named her June.

After the dust settled, at the end of May, Nina closed up her office in the Starlake Building.

She offered Sandy a generous severance package, which Sandy rejected. “Severance? That sounds like broken, and we're not.” She had groused and dragged her feet about the changes until she realized Nina was happy, then cheered right up. On her last day at the office, Sandy appeared in brand-new tennis shoes, ready to start a round of paid consultation with the Bureau of Indian Affairs. “Don't think you're getting rid of me,” Sandy had said. “I'm not through with you yet.”

Bob went to Sweden.

Nina put him on a plane, breathing a sigh of relief that she had taken care of the Nikki problem. The day after he arrived in Stockholm, he called to check in. Voices laughed and roughhoused in the background, low hums, high giggles.

“Who's that?” Nina had asked.

“Oh, Mom, in the rush and everything did I forget to tell you? That Swedish hard-core crust band Nikki's been working with on the Web site—well, they invited her here for a month, and here she is.” Something jostled the phone, and he came back on a moment later. “They're all here right now. Kurt's letting them practice in the rehearsal room at the symphony today. Awesome acoustics!”

Paul hired Wish to summer in Carmel as a paid intern, to run his office and help oversee some of the subcontractors that he hired for routine security jobs. Wish arranged for college credit for his work and was learning to surf. At the moment, he was renting a room in the house Nina had inherited from her aunt Helen in Pacific Grove, sharing with two other students who needed a roommate and were renting from her.

Leaving Tahoe turned out to be as hard as she had expected.

Closing up the office, farming out her cases, painful good-byes Nina could not escape because the small legal community knew everything that had happened, all these acts came hard. The concern and good wishes almost overwhelmed her decision to leave. Almost.

“Will you be back?” they all asked. “What will you do?” they said.

So she told them the truth. She would never quit law. She had thought over the past months and realized Brandy was set to get happily married. Mrs. Vang had begun a new life in a new country. Kevin's children had a devoted parent, not him, but then, he didn't deserve them.

Once again, she had reached down into the insane disorder of human relations, twisted, pried, and fought for a fair outcome. She had done more good than harm. That was all she could ever hope for. Like a California condor overcoming a brush with extinction, soaring on the wind, she had proven she could survive on her own. She also knew she didn't have to anymore. She would never give up law. But now, with her heart clamoring for attention, she decided to listen to it.

Leaving the house could have been terrible, but Paul and Matt and Jack had her packed and out in a jiffy, laughing and teasing, music loud, dust flying, boxes accumulating as high as Mount Tallac. Andrea would be using Nina's cabin to house a mother and her four children for a few months because the shelter couldn't accommodate so many comfortably. After that—

“You'll come back, Nina, won't you?”

Nina parked in a lot across from the bookstore cafe on Lighthouse Boulevard in Pacific Grove, went inside, and ordered two coffees. Where was Paul? He should be here by now. Outside, wispy fog flowed down the street. Now an ocean, not an ancient lake, bounded her town.

Drinking the milky brew, she felt a moment's dislocation. She had returned to her old town, down the hill from Pacific Grove Elementary, where she had gone to school. So much had happened in the years in between.

From behind her magazine, she watched a mother dump sugar into her daughter's cup of milk at the end of the counter, the little girl smiling and begging for more until the mother finally called a halt to the sugar feast, promising more, all the sugar she wanted in the next cup. Nina walked to the front and looked out the window. Night had fallen and the silver lights decorating the cafe windows blinked on.

Where was he? When she didn't see him on the street, she returned to the counter to wait, her heart at ease for the first time in a long time. He would come, and they would take a long walk through the town, stop at the Pier One, maybe go to the movies, then go over the hill to Carmel, home.

She could count on him.

Waiting, happy, she swung on her stool, back and forth. The delighted little girl a few stools away observed her, then spun, too, but in circles, her legs kicking out and in, long after Nina had stopped.

Watching the girl turning, hands gripping the spinning seat, ten or twelve or twenty times, Nina felt dizzy with possibility and hope. She knew now she could not control the life that flowed like the Pacific Ocean through her, its cold tides, its heavy weather, its clement, sunny days.

She wondered what the future would bring.

She swung around all the way around, just once. Simple thoughts swung through her head:

My name is Nina and I live down the street.

I am me.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

W
E WOULD LIKE TO OFFER OUR SPECIAL THANKS
to Peter von Mertens and Lynn Snedecor for reading the manuscript and making many helpful comments, Ann Walker for Tahoe leads, Bill Dawson for his intense interest in the issues that plague legal practitioners, and Deputy Sheriff Tom Hill of the South Lake Tahoe Police Department for answering questions about procedure.

Our brother, Patrick O'Shaughnessy, contributed the usual spice to our characters and plot, and continues to be the best worker's comp attorney in California, in our opinion.

Brad Snedecor was, as always, an indispensable creative accomplice.

Thanks to the California State Bar court personnel for their consideration.

The
California Bar Journal
was a source for information about bar court proceedings. We consulted a number of informative Web sites and books about the Hmong people for the story of the Vang family, including
www.geocities.com/CapitolHill/Congress/8725/unip2001.htm
and
I Begin My Life All Over: The Hmong and the American Immigrant Experience
by Ghia Xiong (contributor), Lillian Faderman. For Mrs. Gleb's testimony, we wish especially to acknowledge
The Psychology of Handwriting: Secrets of Handwriting Analysis
by Nadya Olyanova, ©1960, Sterling Publishing Company.

Our greatest respect and admiration go to our terrific agent, Nancy Yost, and to our perceptive editor, Danielle Perez. Many thanks to Irwyn Applebaum for his patient and benevolent style, and to everyone else at the Bantam Dell Publishing Group for all their hard work on our behalf—what good people.

And finally, an escapist lift of the coffee cup to the fine and clever company in the back booth at the Plantation Cafe: Bill Cheney, Ruth and Bill Dawson, Laura Ferrari, Jim Nicholas, Pat Spindt, and Sylvia Walker.

All mistakes are our own.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

P
ERRI
O'S
HAUGHNESSY
is the pen name for two sisters, Pamela and Mary O'Shaughnessy, who live in Hawaii and on Lake Tahoe, and in California and on Lake Tahoe, respectively. Pamela graduated from Harvard Law School and was a trial lawyer for sixteen years. Mary is a former editor and writer for multimedia projects. They are the authors of
Motion to Suppress, Invasion of Privacy, Obstruction of Justice, Breach of Promise, Acts of Malice, Move to Strike, Writ of Execution,
and
Presumption of Death,
coming in August from Delacorte Press. Readers can contact Perri O'Shaughnessy at [email protected].

Also by Perri O'Shaughnessy

M
OTION TO
S
UPPRESS

I
NVASION OF
P
RIVACY

O
BSTRUCTION OF
J
USTICE

B
REACH OF
P
ROMISE

A
CTS OF
M
ALICE

M
OVE TO
S
TRIKE

W
RIT OF
E
XECUTION

PRAISE FOR
PERRI O'SHAUGHNESSY'S
BESTSELLING NOVELS

UNFIT TO PRACTICE

“Nina Reilly seems to have hit her stride . . . O'Shaughnessy furnishes believable characters and well-drawn courtroom scenes, but what really gives this legal thriller its appeal is the genuinely unusual premise.”

—Booklist

“Nina Reilly [is] one of the most popular legal heroines ever called to the legal bar. . . . READ THE BOOK OR FACE THE MUSIC.”

—The Ottawa Citizen

“A lightning-paced read, highlighted by the fascinating cases Nina takes on . . . SUSPENSEFUL.”

—Romantic Times
Book Club

“With every book Perri O'Shaughnessy gets
better and better. I am continuously surprised by
the twists and turns that this book takes. . . . I LOVED THIS BOOK AND AS SOON AS I FINISHED IT,
I OPENED IT UP AND READ IT AGAIN.”

—
Mystery News

WRIT OF EXECUTION

“[Perri O'Shaughnessy has] crafted yet another crackling courtroom drama featuring a strong yet believably human female lead. MOVE OVER, JOHN GRISHAM.”

—BookPage

“O'SHAUGHNESSY DEALS READERS A WINNING HAND—THE SEVENTH IN THE SERIES OF REILLY ADVENTURES IS ANOTHER JACKPOT.”

—
The Orlando Sentinel

“SATISFYINGLY COMPLEX. . . . A twisty legal thriller that cuts to the edge.”
—Romantic Times

“CAPTIVATES WITH ITS SCENES OF WILY COURTROOM NEGOTIATION.”

—Publishers Weekly

“THE O'SHAUGHNESSY SISTERS DELIVER ON EVERY FRONT. . . . A tense and fast-paced legal thriller.”

—
The Tampa Tribune

MOVE TO STRIKE

“A FAST-PACED PAGE-TURNER . . . plenty of plot twists and turns . . . courtroom drama and deft legal maneuvering are still at the heart of this thriller, and the tough-minded Reilly is its soul.”

—
New York Post

“SUSPENSEFUL, ENTERTAINING READING.”

—BookPage

“COMPULSIVELY READABLE . . . very possibly her best . . . a page-turner that will keep you up at night.” —
The Drood Review of Mystery

“Slick and accessible . . . [a] labyrinthine plot . . . The characters are well-portrayed.”

—
The Plain Dealer
(Cleveland)

“Perri O'Shaughnessy weaves multiple strands of plot together in this sixth book in the popular series. . . . Courtroom sparring . . . adds still more luster to this fast-moving story.”

—Philadelphia Daily News