Hardass (Bad Bitch) (19 page)

Caroline

I clasped and unclasped my hands as we rode up to the lofty heights of Luke’s office.

“It’s okay to be nervous. I can’t imagine having to give bad news like this every day.” Wash leaned against the wall next to me. His closeness and warmth assuaged some of my nerves.

“Yeah. It just sucks. Like, doing nothing wrong and then having to get hit with ‘Hey, your brother’s been sadistically murdered, and can you ID him?’ out of nowhere. Not cool.”

He shrugged. “Sometimes other people make bad decisions, and then we have to live with the aftermath.”

The elevator pinged to a stop, and we stepped out. This time, the receptionist showed us straight to Luke’s office.

He rose from behind the massive desk and came over to greet us. “So good to see you both again.” His smile was friendly, though a bit strained.

We hadn’t told him the reason for our visit, just that it was urgent. After dropping Dr. Snider off, we’d come straight to Luke’s office.

Luke scanned both of us—no doubt noticing our casual clothes and the mud on our boots.

“Is it more bad news? Have you found Tyler?”

The question punctured my heart. The answer to both questions was yes.

“Let’s sit for a moment, if that’s okay?” Wash waved toward the uncomfortable modern chairs.

We took our seats as before, Luke sitting opposite us.

“There’s really no easy way to tell you this, Luke.” Wash pulled a photo from his briefcase.

Luke’s eyes widened. “What? Tell me what?”

I reached across the table and took his clammy hands in mine.

“State troopers found a body this morning up off Pontchartrain in a small bayou. We went to check out the crime scene. I’m just going to shoot straight with you.” Wash leaned forward. “I think your brother is the Bayou Butcher’s latest victim. But we’ll need you to ID the body. I didn’t want you to have to go down to the morgue, so I brought a photo, if that’s okay.”

Luke squeezed my hands almost to the point of pain and let out a breath. He turned his head to the window. We were silent for quite a while, waiting for Luke to compose himself.

Eventually he let go of my hands and nodded, and Wash handed him the photo. He pulled a set of reading glasses from his inner suit coat pocket and inspected it. “It’s—” His voice broke. “It’s him. It is.” He tossed down his glasses and covered his face with his hand.

Wash and I exchanged a look. Our prime suspect was verified dead. If we could somehow prove that Tyler was killed after Rowan’s arrest, we could use that to exonerate Rowan of all the murders. But we didn’t have a chance without a more positive date of death. Problem was, I’d checked every nook and cranny for Tyler over the past month and hadn’t heard a word about him. It was as if he’d dropped off the face of the earth right after Rowan’s arrest. None of it looked good for Rowan.

We sat with Luke for about an hour, trying to figure out Tyler’s last whereabouts and any more known associates we could question. Luke didn’t tell us anything we hadn’t already tracked down, and I didn’t want to keep questioning him when he was so clearly grieving.

After offering more condolences, Wash and I left him and returned to the office. The talk with Luke had gone well, all things considered, but we had more to worry about. The trip to the morgue and the visit to Rowan would each be pivotal. Wash and I spent the rest of the day going over possibilities, discussing what could happen to the case either way. There were several loose threads, problems, and difficulties. But the one thing that bothered me the most was the obvious question Tyler’s death left. If Tyler wasn’t the killer, then who was?

It was getting late when Kennedy strolled through Wash’s door, unannounced as usual. He had a fading shiner under his left eye and his usual infectious grin.

“What happened there?” I asked and began straightening up my papers.

“Turnbull. He kept bitching about his nose, so I gave him one free hit to shut the fuck up. Popped me good. You owe me.” He pointed to Wash and plopped down in front of his desk.

“You know how many times I’ve had to take up for your sorry ass? You got off easy. You still owe
me
,
little brother.”

Kennedy loosened his tie and peered out the door. “Speaking of getting off easy, is that Corinne chick working late?”

Wash slammed an accordion file on his desk. “It’s Yvonne, and no. I’m sure she’s gone home for the evening. Stop preying on my associates.”

I held in my snicker, barely. Kennedy didn’t. He tapped my upper arm with the back of his hand. “Hey, Caroline, hear that? What is it they called this in law school? Some kind of doctrine of handsy something?”

I laughed. “Doctrine of unclean hands. One cannot come into court and ask for relief when his own hands are dirty. But I think you’re going more for a pot and kettle analogy.” I stood. “You two figure it out. I have an early morning.”

Kennedy rose and whipped his tie off, draping it over his shoulder. “I’ll walk you out.”

“Sit down, little brother.” Wash flipped Kennedy off and hustled me out the door. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

Kennedy’s laugh followed us down the hall and to the elevator.

Wash carried my file for me. It was cute. With his hair all ruffled, jacket off, and shirt unbuttoned, he looked like a harried law professor late to a class. Totally kissable.

He stood close to me in the elevator, our thighs touching as we eyed each other’s reflections. The parking deck was deserted this late at night, so I was happy to have some company.

“If you have any trouble tomorrow, call me. Okay?” He walked me to my car.

“I will. But I won’t have any trouble.” I took my file from him and put it in the backseat.

When I shut the door and turned, he was close and moved closer still, pushing me against the car door. I looked up at him, wanting him but unsure if I could withstand the damage he could do to my heart. He put a hand on my cheek, and I closed my eyes at his touch.

He kissed me lightly at first and then put his hand at the small of my back, pressing me into his hard body. His lips became insistent, demanding, and my knees went weak. I gripped his shirt at the waist, fisting the material as warmth built between my legs.

He broke the kiss but kept eyeing my lips as if he wanted to do it again. “I’ve needed to do that all day. My apologies.”

I smiled. “I’ve needed you to do that all day. Apologies accepted.”

He smiled.
Hello, dimples
.

“All right. I’ve got to get back to Kennedy before he finds some unwary female associate who’s working late.”

He backed away and crossed his arms as I got in my car. Before I closed the door, I batted my lashes at him. “Oh, and Wash, if you have any trouble tomorrow, call me. Okay?”

He smirked and nodded.

I watched him disappear in my rearview and ignored the pain in my heart. Why was it so hard to leave him? I’d been with him all day. Hell, married people didn’t see each other as much as we did. But I still wanted more. I realized I probably always would. And wasn’t that just a bitch?

The next morning, I rolled out of bed at an ungodly hour and got ready for work. I’d left my voice recorder at my desk, so I’d need to stop by the office on the way to the morgue.
Great.

The apartment was so quiet without Terrell. I missed him terribly, especially when I realized I would have to do my own dishes while he was out.
Bummer
.
The Lynch Lane wine didn’t taste as good without him to share it with, either. But I still drank it, of course.

After over-spraying perfume in the hope it might cover the morgue smell, I drove to work. Only Mr. Palmer’s and Wash’s cars were in the deck. It was too early for anyone other than straight-up kiss-ass associates to be at work. I guess I was the only one of those.

I snagged my recorder off my desk and maneuvered down the hall to Wash’s office. The door was closed, and some sort of argument was going on inside.
What the hell?

I kicked off my heels and crept closer, my bare feet silent on the marble.

“It’s not something we do at this firm, Wash. You know that!”

“I know. I know. Look, I’ve been meaning to tell you about it. I wanted to have a sitdown, the three of us, and discuss it.”

“Dammit, Wash. This isn’t something you can just
discuss
.
I
have to fix it. She’s been a great associate up until now. And now, I can’t let her stay here if you two are going to continue what you’re doing.”

My heart seemed to stop and I froze. Me. They were talking about me.

“Trent, there’s no reason for this to have to force her out.”

“Yes, there is. This firm has a strict policy on that, and you know it. Hell, you helped write it. We don’t want to be known as one of the predatory firms that goes through a lot of associates, especially not female associates. And especially not because of fraternization.” Mr. Palmer’s voice had reached a fever pitch. “This is our very reputation you’re messing with.”

“I can fix this.” Wash’s voice grew in intensity, anger roiling in its tone. “We’ve managed to keep it professional at work. We can keep doing that.”

“You know that won’t work.” A slapping sound, as if Mr. Palmer had slammed his hand down on Wash’s desk. “I don’t want to have to terminate her, but I will to save this firm’s good name.”

“It’s not her fault.” Wash’s voice was a sharp bark.

“Don’t you think I know that? Don’t you think I hate that she’s the one that has to be punished for your fuckup? She has to go. I can’t very well fire you. We’re partners here. This is the only way.”

“I can fix it.”

“No, you can’t. I’ve already decided. She has to go. I’ll give her two more weeks to transfer her workload on the Bayou Butcher case, but after that she’s out.”

“Trent—”

“That’s it, Wash. She’s gone.”

“Fine, she’s fucking gone,” Wash yelled.

If my heart had stopped, it began to beat again, but only like a bird in a cage, flapping its wings too hard against the bars and destroying itself in the process. I backed down the hall and grabbed my shoes, my tears hitting the floor in small, silent splashes.

I sat in my car, for once glad I didn’t get the choice parking enjoyed by the partners. I could stay here for a while and just let the tears fall. No one would see me. Not Mr. Palmer, not Wash. Their conversation was on repeat in my mind. Wash putting his career, his firm’s reputation, ahead of what we might have had together.

I wanted to go home, crawl under my covers, and stay there until I heard Terrell’s key in the lock, but he wouldn’t be home for days. I was alone. My tears came faster at the thought, and I couldn’t cover my sobs anymore. I was the stupid associate who fell for the boss and would pay the price. God, had I not seen enough movies or read enough books about this very thing? I was a living cliché.

Wash’s bright eyes flashed across my mind, his dimples, his messy hair. All of it was a dagger embedded beneath my ribs. I let myself cry, let the hurt out in the small space of my car, surprised the windows didn’t burst from the pressure.

I toyed with blowing the case and driving to Lafayette to see Terrell. No. I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t let the boys’ club win. I forced myself to dry it up, to sit up straight, to stop being the girl Mr. Palmer had painted me as.

The gaping hurt in my chest wasn’t visible to the naked eye. Only I knew it was there. I flipped down my visor mirror and examined the wreck that was my face. With shaking hands, I reached into my purse and grabbed my makeup bag. Fifteen minutes of work and I looked human again. No more tear streaks, no more smeared mascara. I looked almost like the same person who walked out of my apartment this morning. Only I knew the difference.

I started the car, resolved to see this day through and then start job hunting. I couldn’t think about Wash. I wouldn’t. I drove to the hospital in a mourning haze. The conversation was still stuck on repeat, but this time playing like a dirge. The bright sun rising over the river didn’t seem to notice the darkness that had sucked me down.

I followed the familiar path to the morgue, greeting the man at the front desk and telling him I was there for the autopsy. He waved me through. I took a deep breath and pushed past the first set of doors, the now-familiar smell of death wafting to my nose.

Everything seemed so sterile, so impersonal, but it did nothing to erase the smell of decay. It brought me back to the here and now, to doing my best for my client no matter what was going on in my personal life.

I entered the room with the drain in the floor and found Matt, Toby, and a couple of other troopers standing around. Dr. Snider was scribbling notes on a clipboard, and his assistant was laying out an array of shiny metal instruments. The hum of the fluorescents created an undercurrent of discomfort, though I supposed nothing in the room was designed for anything other than utilitarian purposes.

Dr. Snider stopped writing and straightened up. “I assume you’re with the defense attorney’s office?”

I nodded and played along with the charade. “Yes. Caroline Montreat.”

“Nice to meet you.” Dr. Snider grinned a bit, clearly enjoying our cloak and dagger routine. “Well, looks like everyone is here. We can begin.”

Toby waved me over. “Good to see you again. Maybe one day we can meet under circumstances that don’t involve a dead body.”

I did my best imitation of a smile despite the pit in my stomach. “That would be nice, actually.”

“Where’s Wash?” Matt asked.

“Had another appointment.” I gave him a look over my shoulder. His nose was a mottled blue toward the top, and his eyes had dark half-moon slivers beneath them. Wash had clocked him good.
Wash
.
I pushed the thought of him down, as far down as I could.

“Pussing out on the autopsy and sending the baby lawyer instead?” He sneered. “Figures.”

“The last person I recall pussing out was you on the floor of the courthouse grabbing your nose and crying like a five-year-old,” I snapped.

Toby whistled before holding his fist out. “Damn. Nice one, Caroline.”