Attractive Nuisance (Legally in Love Book 1) (4 page)

CHAPTER FIVE

Misdemeanor

Camilla pulled up the footage of Falcon’s words to the press last night again.

“I’ve got a team of my strongest attorneys on this job.” Falcon nodded a stately nod at the crowd, furrowing those fuzzy brows of his. They looked smaller on camera. The compliment was flattering. Falcon looked good—better than in real life. That was a rare gift. He looked stately, almost gubernatorial, standing on the front steps of the Yavapai County Courthouse with its Doric columns and walkway leading out to historic Whiskey Row, where locals and tourists came to feel like Arizona was still part of the Old West.

“We’re building a solid case already.” Falcon had announced it with flair, and Camilla knew he referred to her own speedy find of another case on Lexus Nexus, a precedent related to repeat offenders in car thefts. In fact, the database for lawyers’ use had seemingly endless references for their Beemer Bandit arguments, as Camilla was still discovering this morning in her search. Man, how many car thieves were there in the U.S.? It seemed like the whole country was one big
Grand Theft Auto
video game. She shuddered but reflected that her own car sat safe in the courthouse parking lot today—safer because of the temporary jailing of one Veldon Twiss.

Veldon Twiss, age thirty-three. Resident of Prescott for eight months, according to DMV and utilities records. Previous criminal record—in this county—an accusation and acquittal for shoplifting mouse traps at Walmart; a speeding ticket that was dumbed down to a “waste of finite resources” charge for going six miles per hour over the limit on Highway 89; a charge of parking in a handicapped spot without proper authority, which was later dropped when he produced his hanging tag that had fallen onto the floor of his car.

Huh. Not exactly a hardened villain. However, three run-ins with the police in eight short months did smack of guilt on some level. Some people couldn’t stay off the cops’ radar, no matter what. These petty offenses,
three
of them, waved a serious red flag in Camilla’s face. Guilt. Even though courts ruled him innocent. She laced her fingers behind her head and leaned back to stretch out her neck. She could see a pattern emerging.

The office was silent, other than the occasional tapping of her own fingers on the keyboard. Where was Zane? It was after eight o’clock already, and he was supposedly coming in at seven this morning to get down to business. Camilla had come in at six, just so she could be as ready as possible with facts, orient herself to the details of the case. For one, she needed to purge her personal emotions on the subject—since Falcon himself accused her of having a conflict of interest by being a BMW owner. And two, she intended to chuck a tsunami of preemptive research at Zane. That way he couldn’t simply steamroll her when he came in. Camilla needed them to be equally yoked oxen in the team pulling the wagon, and she didn’t know if she trusted herself to keep on task or to not let him take the lead. He was such a natural leader. She wanted him to lead the jury, not lead Camilla.

Back at the computer, she clicked on an old story featuring the Beemer Bandit. He’d swept through Maricopa County, one of the highest population counties in the United States, and plucked out BMW after BMW from the front yards and carports of Scottsdale mansions. Only about half of the stolen vehicles, and there were about fifty of them, were ever recovered. He’d done the same thing in Denver, in Bel Air, California, and in Henderson, Nevada, with no better recovery rate.

Cretin.

The front door to the office closed with a bang, making Camilla jump in her seat. “Hey. What did I miss?” Zane’s shoes clicked on the tile floor as he came toward Camilla’s cubicle. He toted a dual-carrier of paper cups with lids in one hand, and a bulging white and red paper sack in the other. “We could use some food for thought, right?” He plunked the sack and drinks down on Camilla’s desk, a grease stain oozing from a splotch on the bottom of the sack onto the papers she’d been working on. She plucked it up fast, before it could spread onto anything important.

“I know, I know, I’m late. But before you get out your yardstick to rap me across the knuckles, I have an excuse.”

“You had to wash your truck again from spending all night four-wheeling in mud?” She peeked under the lid of the paper cup. Orange juice. She loved orange juice. She hadn’t had any in weeks, not since she started making payments on her car. It’d been too dear a luxury. It tasted like sweet, tangy heaven and slid down her throat in a cool line to her stomach that made her eyes close reflexively. He didn’t say anything for a minute. She peeked open her eye and saw him staring at her. He coughed a little.

“No, but that was a good guess. I like the way you think. In fact, for that, I’m going to offer to take you out hill climbing with me and my buddies next time we go.” He jostled her arm, making a drop of juice splash up and hit her on the lip. She looked up at him. He was wearing Saturday clothes, dark jeans, a nice-fitting polo shirt that hugged his biceps, and had a tweed jacket over his arm. It was fall, after all. Dang it. She’d secretly been hoping that ninety-percent of his attraction was housed in those slick suits he wore on weekdays.

No such luck. And she didn’t respond to the invitation to join him in the mud.

“So. Back to my excuse.”

“I don’t need to hear it. Look at what I found.” She pulled out her files and began to explain the things she’d dug up about Veldon Twiss.

“Who names a kid Veldon these days? It’s just asking for a life of struggle. You’ve got to be pretty strong to endure something like that.” Zane pulled a sandwich from the sack and took a huge bite, then spoke through the food. “When I was out rock hunting with the Boy Scouts last time, that story I was telling down in magistrate court, you remember—that trip? Anyway, there was one kid who came along with them, not a regular, and his name was Scrogan. I mean, talk about a handicap.” He took another bite.

Could they move on? “See, he’s got a bit of a record here in Prescott.” She handed him her printout of Twiss’s petty crimes.

“Not very damning. What else have you got?” He wadded up the wrapper, the crinkling paper making quite a real racket, and tossed it in the trash in the cubicle across from Camilla’s. “Two points. Ahhhh!” He made the airy “crowd goes wild” sound effect. When she shot him a get-serious stink eye, he said, “Look, I just don’t think three acquittals makes a man guilty. That’s three ‘innocent’ declarations. How can we even bring those up?”

She quirked her lips. Zane just wasn’t getting it. She had to make it personal. “Tell me. How many times have you been stopped by police in the last eight months?”

He looked at the ceiling as if counting. Great. And exasperating.

“Fine.” Idiot. She explained. “I haven’t been stopped by police three times in the last eight years. Or eighteen. Or my life. This guy is a cop magnet. And chances are, the cops’ instincts are good. Where there’s smoke there’s fire.”

Zane frowned. “Tell me about this Beemer he swiped.
Allegedly
swiped, I mean.”

Lawyers. They always had to speak so technically. “Fine.
If
this is the Beemer Bandit, and if this method of operation he’s been using in three other cities of targeting open carports or garages and hot wiring the car with some kind of computerized skeleton key that seems to work on all BMWs, then this fits the profile.” And from what Camilla could tell, it did. She was convinced they had their man.

Zane snagged a rolling chair from the next cubicle and slid close to Camilla. Too close. So close she could smell the faint hint of diesel fumes lingering on his clothing. Dang it. Diesel fumes were her Achilles’ heel. “Let me see this.” He reached his arm across her, grazing her shoulder and sending one of those zings she dreaded up her arm to her neck and head. Those zings—they were the bane of her existence. She couldn’t think straight for a good sixty seconds after one of them. They were like a Taser shot to her brain.

Zane sat back and scanned the printout. Camilla spent the time reorganizing the zapped gray matter. Eventually he said, “Wait. What does this say here?” He shot up to his feet, his leg brushing hers. “You’ve got to be kidding me. This jerk!” He slapped the file down on the desk, sending his chair rolling into the carpeted wall of her cubicle and knocking her picture of a kitten askew. “He stole it from the fundraising raffle for Wishes for Kids? Why didn’t anyone mention that?”

Camilla, back on point and snapped awake by this outburst, frowned. “Falcon told us that yesterday on our way down to the press conference. He mentioned it twice in his interview with the
Daily Courier.
Didn’t you read the links to the articles I sent you? I emailed you like fifteen different news reports so we could help Falcon figure out how to steer the stories our way.”

“Yeah, I must have missed a message or two.”

Or fifteen. The bum. What was he doing with all his time?

“It just chaps me that this guy thinks he can go and highjack a donated vehicle like that—one that is meant to raise funds for sick kids.” Zane paced back and forth, randomly punching the various cubicle walls, sending tremors through the potted plants. “You know who’s sick? Veldon Twiss. Sick! Or if he’s not, I’m going to
make
him sick when he sees me wind the jury around my little finger in court. That guy is going to swing from the gallows if I get my way.”

Wow. When Zane came on fire, he came on fire.

“Then I hope you get your way. We BMW owners everywhere will thank you for it.”

Zane stopped his pacing. “You? You own a BMW?”

“Yeah. And?” What was he going to say about it? How insanely jealous he was that he didn’t think of it, and instead put his hard-earned money into a jacked up monstrosity of a truck with mud flaps and too much chrome? Well, not that there could ever be too much chrome. Camilla had a soft spot for chrome…

“And…” Zane broke into laughter. It went on for a while, until Camilla began to feel insulted by it. “I guess I pegged you differently, that’s all.”

“You pegged me?”

“Sure. Everybody pegs everybody else. It’s what we do.”

“Judge not that ye be not judged. That’s what the Bible says.” Camilla didn’t like being told she’d been pegged.

“Oh, get off that. We judge people all the time. It’s character assessment, not ‘judginess.’ And we’re lawyers. We have to make judgments every single day. And we ask for them day and night. Lenient judgments, harsh judgments. It’s all about judging in this business. So get over it.”

In through the nose, out through the mouth.
Breathing became a focused chore, as did not lashing out at him with her sharpest tongue.
If you can’t say anything nice…

“Be real.” Zane opened the sack and took out another breakfast sandwich, shoving a huge bite in his mouth. “I know you pegged me. First day we saw each other. You had a ‘first impression.’ And what did you think? I’ll bet I know.”

“Oh, really. Astonish me with your insight.” Yessireebob. She’d very much like to know what he thought she thought. This should be instructive. She sat back and folded her arms over her chest and crossed her legs. Oh, she’d worn too short of a pencil skirt for that today. She had to tug it down. What was she thinking when she got dressed this morning? Snap.

Zane finished the whole sandwich in a second bite and got a pensive look while he chewed, and then he gulped. “You thought…” He stepped back into her cubicle and sat himself on her desk. “‘There goes the best looking guy I’ve seen all day.’ And then you thought, ‘He’s a cocky son of a gun. I wonder what makes him think he’s so great.’” He leaned down and looked right into Camilla’s face. She could see how thick his dark hair was, right down to the roots. “And then you thought how much you hoped I was the new attorney on staff here you’d heard about. I’m right. Right?”

Her heart rate went Benedict Arnold on her, the turncoat, and sent heat to her cheeks. How was she supposed to answer that? Exactly, I thought you were the hottest thing I’d ever seen and couldn’t even get my bearings—so badly that I botched a court case? She hated him so much right now.

“Tell me something. How old are you, Zane Holyoake?”

“Thirty-two.”

“Then you’re old enough to know that a twenty-seven year-old woman with a law degree knows her rights and when she should respond to a question or not.” She pulled a sandwich out of the bag for herself and took a huge bite. “Now, let’s get to work and build this guy’s coffin.”

She gathered up her files and led him to the conference room where they set up their research shop, and where Zane sat six inches closer to her than was comfortable. Space bubble. He just had a smaller space bubble than she had. That was it. She sighed, did her best to ignore every brain Taser that shot off when his elbow grazed hers, and got to work.

By lunchtime, they’d established a timeline of Veldon Twiss’s whereabouts for the last year, but they couldn’t yet find him anywhere farther back than that. They had him in northern Maricopa County, not in Scottsdale proper, but in the vicinity. He was living in hovels and didn’t have a job, but his bank records showed an occasional deposit in the $1000 range.

“That could be his finder’s fee. He could have been working for a larger outfit.” Camilla chewed the top of her pencil then tapped it on the legal pad. “We could be onto a lead for a huge ring of Beemer Bandits.”