Just Dreams (Brooks Sisters Dreams Series Book 1) (6 page)

He smiled.  “Sounds like a plan.”

***

Later that afternoon, Charles Morgan, Sr. stood up to greet his son’s best friend.   Tyler Fox was shorter than Mr. Morgan, with a darker complexion and a stocky build.  The two men engaged in an elaborate handshake and gave each other a man hug.  Mr. Morgan gestured for Tyler to have a seat.  He then eased a hip onto the side of his desk.  “It’s good to see you, son.  How long has it been?”

“Last Thanksgiving when I had dinner here,” Tyler said.  He pat his stomach.  “There’s nothing like Mama Morgan’s cooking.”

Mr. Morgan chuckled.  “I’ve got to agree with you there son.  Listen, I asked you to come see me today because I need your help.”

“Anything for you, Mr. Morgan,” Tyler said.  “What kind of help are we talking about?”

“Well, you know the lawsuit Charles filed against Peachtree Consulting?”

Tyler nodded.  “Yeah, he told me he was going to file the suit and it’s gotten a lot of news coverage.”

“Well, Charles told me the other day that he doesn’t just want to get money out of Peachtree Consulting.  He wants to bring the firm down.”

Tyler frowned. “Bring them down? What do you mean by that?”

“He has this crazy idea that Peachtree Consulting was working for a government agency not authorized to conduct domestic operations when the accident happened.  He wants to find a way to prove it and then leak that information to the public.”

Tyler leaned forward in his seat.  “Mr. Morgan, this is very serious business.  If what Charles is saying is true, we’ve got rogue operatives hiring Peachtree to conduct unauthorized operations on U.S. soil.”

“I know.  I’m afraid he’s going to get his fool self killed.” Mr. Morgan rubbed his hands over his face then he stood up, walked around the desk, and sat down behind it. 

“I tried to talk him out of it, but you know how he is.  Once he’s set his mind to something, nothing can stop him.  You two are like brothers.  Hell, you spent so much time at my house growing up I thought about claiming you on my tax returns.  Can you talk to him?  If you can’t talk him out of it, can you at least get the F.B.I. to protect him?”

Tyler grimaced. “I’ll talk to him.  But you know how the F.B.I. is - strictly by the book.  They’re going to want to open up an investigation and they’re going to want him to testify.  Does he have any proof?”

Mr. Morgan shrugged.  “He didn’t say.  The Court did order Peachtree Consulting to produce documents.   Maybe there’s something in there.”  He shrugged again.  “Thank you for helping me with this.”

“No need to thank me, Mr. Morgan.  With all those great meals I’ve eaten at your dinner table over the years, it’s the least I can do.  Don’t worry.  I’ll look into this.”

***

That evening, Kathy walked into O’Shaughnessy’s - a dimly lit Irish pub popular with off-duty Miami Beach police officers.  Kathy liked it because it was in her neighborhood, the drinks weren’t watered down and she felt safe.  It also served up some pretty good food.

Charles was already seated at the bar with some sort of amber colored liquor in a low-ball in front of him.  Kathy nodded and waved at some of the patrons who greeted her.  She walked up to him, looked at his glass and raised her eyebrows. “Hi there.  I see you’ve started without me.”

Charles smiled and shrugged.  “Well, you are five minutes late.”

Kathy grimaced. “Sorry about that.  At least five people stopped me on the way out of the office and traffic was terrible tonight.”

The bartender set a glass of pinot noir onto the bar in front of her. “The girl works too hard, I say.” He had a thick Irish accent.  “You need to distract her more often.  It’s rare to see her out and about before nine of an evening.”

Kathy put an index finger to her lips.  “Now, now, Roarke, don’t go telling the man all of my secrets.”

Charles put his elbows onto the bar and rested his chin in his hands.  “Please, feel free to tell me everything about her.  She knows all about me.”

Roarke chuckled, winked at Kathy and walked away to tend to his other customers.

“Why don’t we get that table in the back over there? We can order something to snack on.  I’m starving.  I haven’t had anything since lunch,” she said.

“Sounds good.”

Kathy picked up her drink and led the way over to the table.  They took their seats, perused the menu and ordered some food. 

Kathy settled back into her chair and turned to Charles.  “So, what do you want to know about me?”

“Well, I’ve already learned more about you than I knew before,” he said.

“Really?  What have you learned?”

“That you like to drink red wine.  That you like to hang out in this bar and know half the patrons. That you work late most nights.  That tells me you’re a dedicated professional who works long hours and comes in here to decompress.  It also tells me that you live nearby, you don’t cook much, you feel safe here and you’re friendly.”

Kathy raised her eyebrows.  “That’s very observant of you.  I guess I need to be careful who I bring in here lest they learn too much about me.  Tell me – how do you know I live nearby?”

“That’s easy,” he said.  “You work in downtown Miami, but this bar’s in South Beach.  No-one who lives on the mainland would cross the causeway several times a week just to have a drink and some dinner.  Besides, the Beach is a logical place for you to live.  It’s only fifteen minutes away from your office.”

Kathy nodded.  “That makes sense.  I can see that.  What else have you guessed about me?”

“I’ll never tell,” he said. 

Kathy laughed. 

The food came.  Over dinner, they discovered they had more in common than either of them would have guessed.  She discovered that he’d grown up in New York – just like she had.  Only he’d lived in Long Island and she’d lived in Brooklyn.  She learned that they both liked action movies; however, he didn’t share her enthusiasm for spy novels.

“How can you like action movies and not spy novels?” she asked.

“I can suspend my disbelief for an action movie.  It’s not supposed to be realistic.  But spy novels?  They’re totally unrealistic,” he said.

“How would you know?” she asked.

He shrugged. “My best friend’s an F.B.I. agent.”

Kathy found herself enjoying his company immensely.  He was funny and charming and oh, so sexy.  She covered her wineglass with her hand when Roarke tried to pour more wine into it.

“Oh no,” she said.  “I’ve reached my limit.  It’s a school night.”             

Charles looked at her quizzically.  “You’re taking some classes?”

“No silly.   I just meant that it’s a weeknight.  I have a hearing in the morning.”

“Oh.  Is it a hearing in my case?”

“No.  Another one.  And I still have some case law to look over before I go to bed.  I hate to be a party pooper, but I’m going to have to leave soon.”

“No problem.”  He signaled for the check.  “Can I give you a lift?”

“You don’t have to.  I usually just walk.  I’m only a couple of blocks away.”

“It would be my pleasure.”

Charles insisted upon paying the bill.  She reached for it when the waitress dropped it onto the table, but he snatched it up first.

“What are you doing?” she asked.  “This is on the firm – client entertainment and all that.”

“No, I’ve got it.  I haven’t enjoyed good drinks, good food and nice conversation with a pretty lady in a while,” he said.

Kathy frowned.  “I’m not a lady, I’m your attorney.” 

Charles cracked up.  After a second, she joined in. “Wow.  Did I just say that?  It’s a good thing I turned down that third glass of wine.  Lord only knows what would have come out of my mouth then.”

“I’m going to have to get you drunk one day to find out,” he said.

She shook her head and wagged her index finger at him.  “No. No. It’s against firm policy to get drunk with clients – you might leave a bad impression.”

“Or a really good one,” he said.

Kathy chuckled.

He paid the bill and they left.  He drove a black, late model BMW.  He opened the door for Kathy, closed it behind her and then walked over to the driver side and slid in.  His car was immaculate - unlike hers which invariably had a layer of sand on it.  Living close to the beach caused her car to get sandblasted often.  She made a mental note to get it washed.

“Nice car,” she said.

“Thank you,” he said.  “Now which way do I go?”

“Keep straight on this street and then follow the bend around until you see the entrance to Poinciana Towers on the left about a block up.”

He whistled.  “Poinciana Towers?  The law business must be treating you well.”

She laughed. “Don’t get too excited.  I don’t own the unit. I’m renting.”

“Renting?  Girl, don’t you know you’re just paying someone else’s mortgage?  Why are you renting instead of owning?”

She shrugged.  “I used to own a big house in Miami Shores but, after my divorce, I guess I just wanted to be footloose and fancy free.  The thought of being tied down to one place and having a mortgage just didn’t appeal to me.  And then the real estate market crashed.”

“All the more reason for you to scoop up a place now.  You can get a good price on it. Before, they were way overpriced,” he said.

“I know.  I know,” she said.  “Bill tells me the same thing all the time.  I’ll buy when I’m ready to.  Here we are.  Just drive up to the entrance over there.”

They pulled up to the entrance of her building.  Charles unlocked the doors. A valet attendant opened Kathy’s door.  “Hello, Mrs. Brooks,” he said in a heavy Cuban accent.

“Hello Ruben.  Thank you.”  She climbed out.

Charles got out of the car and walked over to her side.  Ruben turned to him.  “You want me to park the car for you Sir?” 

Charles shook his head.  “No, I’m just saying good night to the lady.”

“Okay.” Ruben headed into the valet shack. 

Kathy turned to Charles. “Thanks for dinner.  I had a good time.”

“I did too.”  He paused and looked into her eyes.  She lowered her gaze and found herself staring at his lips.  He leaned forward.  For a second, she thought he was going to kiss her on the lips.  He kissed her cheek instead.  She felt her pulse jump at the brief contact.

“Good night,” he said.

“Good night.”  Her voice was a little breathless.

On Saturday afternoon, Donald Peachtree waited for his contact at TY Park in Fort Lauderdale.  He had left his wife and children at a birthday party at a nearby cabana and wandered off to a bench next to the lake.  He sat there watching ducks frolic as he tried to figure out what to say to Manning.  A former Army Ranger who’d seen more than his share of combat, Peachtree wasn’t afraid of anyone.  But something about Manning gave him the creeps.  Maybe it was his quiet way of talking or his Zen-like calm manner.  He didn’t know.  He just knew that if he didn’t want to lose his government contracts, he had to find a way to end this mess as soon as possible. 

He felt the hairs prick up on the back of his neck.  He turned his head. Manning was standing behind him. “I keep telling you not to sneak up on me like that, Manning.  One day, you might get yourself killed.”

Manning, an unremarkable, clean cut, dark-haired guy of average height and build wearing jeans and a polo shirt, smiled.  He walked around the bench, sat down next to Peachtree and looked straight ahead.  “You let me worry about that, old chap.” 

Peachtree wondered how a Brit came to be an American spook.  He should have been in MI-5 or something – not some secret government agency in the U.S.  They sat there in silence.  As it drew on, Peachtree shifted on the bench.  He looked over at Manning who sat there watching the ducks.  He never liked spooks.  They tended to be odd birds who couldn’t be trusted or controlled. “Look, I’ve got to get back to my family or they’re going to wonder where I’ve gone.  You’re the one who called this meeting. What do you want?”

Manning watched the ducks for a moment more then turned his gaze to Peachtree.  “It should be fairly obvious what we want to talk to you about, old chap.  We want to know what you’re doing to make that lawsuit go away.  We’ve been watching the news coverage and following the progress of the case and we don’t like it.  Pay the man whatever he wants.  This is not the time to be penny wise and pound foolish.”

Peachtree’s face reddened.  “What? Is this my first day on the job?  We’re doing everything possible to make this lawsuit go away.  We’ve already told him to make us an offer.  The guy just won’t settle.  He’s one of those cowboys out for revenge or something.  We’ve already moved on to plan B.”

“And what, exactly, is plan B?” Manning asked.

Peachtree grinned.  “Plan B is to encourage him to settle.  We find his pressure points and squeeze until he’d be happy to accept cash in lieu of revenge.  My man is already working on that angle and we’ve come up with a few ideas.”

Manning frowned.  “Don’t underestimate him Peachtree.  He worked with some of our people on a few missions while he served in the Marines.  He’s smart and as tough as they come.  He can also be ruthless.  He once broke out of an Indonesian prison camp taking out nine guards in the process.  If you press the bloke too hard, you might bite off more than you can chew.”

Peachtree waved a hand.  “My man McAllister can handle him. We can be pretty ruthless too.  That’s why you people hired us in the first place.  By the way, McAllister brought me some pictures recently suggesting that Mr. Morgan and that lady lawyer of his might be engaged in more than an attorney/client relationship.  We might be able to use that to encourage him to settle.”

Manning nodded.   “If your plan B doesn’t work, we’re going to plan C.  There’s too much at stake here to let Morgan find out too much.  And another thing - someone at the F.B.I. has pulled your file.  While there is no mention of your work for us in the official file, the last thing we need is for sister agencies to start poking around and discovering things by accident.  We’d have a bit of cleanup to do then.”

Peachtree was silent.  Manning didn’t have to say any more to convey the message.  He knew what cleanup meant.  It meant erasing the entire problem. If it came to that, he’d have to be ready to leave the country in a hurry. 

He straightened his shoulders and looked Manning in the eye.  “The only cleanup taking place here will be of Charles Morgan, Jr. if he can’t be persuaded to settle.  But don’t worry.  He will.  Every man has his price. Sometimes it’s just not money.”

Manning nodded.   “Glad to hear it, old chap.”  He stood up and turned to face Peachtree.  “Enjoy the rest of the day with Melissa and little Amy.  You’ll be hearing from me soon.”   He strolled off.

Peachtree balled his hands into fists.  How dare that bastard even mention his family?  He hadn’t risen through the ranks of the military allowing runts like that to shake him.  He’d just have to do a little clean-up of his own when all was said and done. He took a few deep breaths and let the rage pass out of him.  It was a little trick he’d learned during his work in the Far East.  An angry man made mistakes.  In his line of business, you couldn’t afford to be angry.  That, as far as he was concerned, would be Morgan’s downfall.  After he regained his equilibrium, he got up to join his wife and daughter at the party.

***

Later that afternoon Charles walked into an Internet café on Washington Avenue.  He stopped just inside the entrance and scanned the room. People of all ages and types were huddled at computers doing everything from checking their e-mail to fixing their resumes to surfing the web.  Others milled about chatting while they sipped lattes, cappuccinos and iced coffee from Styrofoam cups. Some were dressed in business suits. Others wore t-shirts and shorts.  Smooth jazz blared from the speakers. The place had an almost party-like atmosphere. 

One young woman wearing a pair of headphones typed furiously into what appeared to be a Word document, her face scrunched in concentration.  A steaming mug sat next to the keyboard.  Charles smiled, remembering the early days when he worked in Internet cafes and wore a similar expression.  She was probably writing a novel. 

He spotted his contact, Darryl, sitting at a table in a corner at the back of the café.  Good.  They’d have a little privacy.  Darryl’s dreadlocks were tied back with a leather strap.  His eyes were glued to the monitor of his laptop as his fingers worked their magic on the keyboard.  Charles wondered what he was doing. The monitor went dark as he approached the table preventing him from getting a glimpse.  Darryl looked up at him.

“Ras clot!” he said.  The irritated expression on his face did not clear when he saw that it was Charles who had interrupted him. He snatched up his cell phone and glanced at the time. “Chuh.  You come early Mon and mess up me ting.  I was only a minute away from success.”

“Success, huh?  Big word for you.  What were you working on anyway?” Charles asked.

Darryl looked around to make sure no one was listening.  “Let’s just say that I was doing a little fundraising for the cause.”

Charles raised his eyebrows. “I see. Well maybe I can help you with that.”  He looked around the café.  “Is there somewhere more private where we can talk?”

Darryl nodded.  He packed up his laptop, grabbed his cell phone and led Charles out of the back door of the café.  They crossed a parking lot and then the street behind it and headed into a small West Indian bakery.  The smell of curry and other exotic spices permeated the air.  An older woman manned the counter.  Darryl nodded at her. She nodded back and watched them stroll through a door at the back of the shop.  They walked down a short hall and made a left into Darryl’s lair.

Computers, printers, scanners, cameras and other high-tech equipment were strewn throughout the space which looked as if it belonged in a lab instead of the back of a Caribbean bakery.  Darryl put an index finger to his lips, took a seat behind a huge u-shaped console, and flipped a switch underneath it.  A red light appeared on the console that soon turned green.  Darryl looked up at Charles and gestured toward a seat in front of the desk.

“We’re clean now, mon,” he said.

Charles sat down.  “I need your help.”

“It’s been a long time since ya’ come here seeking my assistance.  I thought you were out of the game,” Darryl said.

Charles nodded.  “Yeah, you’re right.  Officially, I am out of the game.  But I still require your assistance.  Is that a problem?”

Darryl grinned.  “Nah mon.  In my book that makes you a better client.  I don’t have to give you the government discount anymore.”

Charles grinned.  “Still enterprising I see.  No.  I don’t qualify anymore for the government discount, but maybe you could cut me a little break for old time’s sake.”

Darryl nodded.  “What ya’ need?”

“I need to break into a law firm computer system and download documents kept in a database there.  You probably heard about the lawsuit I brought against Peachtree Consulting, right?”

“Yah mon.  It’s all over the news.”

“Well, Peachtree got a confidentiality order entered and produced documents to my attorney on an ‘attorneys eyes only’ basis.  That means she can’t show them to me.  I need to see those documents.  Her law firm keeps them in a database using a program called Concordance.”  Charles reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet.  He extracted a card and handed it to Darryl.

“Here’s the name of her law firm and her e-mail address.  She’s able to access the database by signing onto her law firm’s network via the Internet.  I’ve written the web address she used to access the network on the back of the card.”

Darryl glanced down at the card and then looked up at Charles, his mouth twisted in a sneer. “That’s all you need?  This will be a piece of cake.”

“They can’t even suspect you’ve taken this information,” Charles said.  “That would put my attorney in a tight spot with the Florida Bar ethics committee.”

Darryl nodded.  “In that case, I might have to plan a little diversion.”  He put the card down on the desk.  “This will cost you ten.”

“Agreed.  Shall we do a dead drop like the good old days?”

Darryl grinned.  “Yes, just like the old days.” 

“I’m going to need instructions on how to use the Concordance database and a copy of the program,” Charles said. 

Darryl waved a hand.  “I’ll throw that in at no extra charge.”

Charles blew out a breath.  “Thank you, man.  I knew you’d be able to help with this.” 

Darryl stood up, came around his desk and shook Charles’ hand.  “It’s good to see you, mon.  Don’t be a stranger.”

“Okay,” Charles said. 

They walked out of the office and into the bakery.  The smell of the food and spices made Charles’ stomach rumble.  He turned to Darryl.  “Can you hook a brother up with a beef patty and some coco bread?”

***

Kathy sat at her desk reviewing the index her paralegal had prepared of the documents produced by Peachtree Consulting.  She would still have to review the documents themselves, but, from what she could see, Peachtree had failed to provide a single document describing the work Wilkes was engaged in at the time of the accident.  She’d have to file a motion to get the Court to order the company to provide better discovery responses.  Sighing, she put down the index, turned to her computer, typed in her password and pulled up a similar motion she had recently drafted in another case.  There was no need to reinvent the wheel. 

She had just started writing the introduction section when her telephone rang.  It was Bill.  What did he want? Kathy frowned and hit the line button.  “Hello?”

“Kathy, I’m glad I caught you.  Do you have a moment to stop by?”

“Yes, of course.  I’ll be right over.” She hung up, saved her document and headed over to Bill’s office.  When she got there, his door was open.  She hesitated before entering since Royce Evans, one of the law firm’s banking lawyers, was seated in one of the chairs in front of Bill’s desk.  The two men appeared to be having a heated discussion.  Royce’s face was flushed. Bill didn’t look too pleased himself. 

Kathy knocked on the door.  Royce closed his mouth into a thin line and tried to glare a hole into her. 

Bill looked up and waved her in.  “Kathy, come on in here and have a seat.”  He turned to Royce.  “You and I will talk about this later.”  When Royce opened his mouth to speak, Bill held up an index finger to stop him.  “Later.”  He inclined his head toward the door.  Royce closed his mouth, rose from his seat, aimed another malevolent glare in Kathy’s direction and stalked out of the office. 

Kathy looked at Bill with wide eyes.  “What?  Why does Royce, with whom I’ve exchanged no more than pleasantries, suddenly hate me?”

Bill’s face was grim.  “Because he just got a call from a receiver he’s representing in the Banco Superior bankruptcy who told him that he’d find another law firm to represent him if we didn’t find a way to settle that Peachtree Consulting case you’re working on,.  Apparently, the receiver’s getting pressure from the federal government on this one.”

“But that’s outrageous!  They can’t do that.  It’s completely unethical, not to mention unconstitutional.  A party has the right to the counsel of their choice,” Kathy said. 

Bill looked at her the way parents look at children when they first learn the world isn’t fair.  “They just did.”  His voice was matter-of-fact.  “And that’s not all.  I’ve received similar calls from attorneys in our D.C. and Tallahassee offices. 

“But –.” 

Bill shook his head. “Where are we on the Peachtree case? Have they made any settlement offers yet?  Have we?”

Kathy swallowed her protests. “They offered us a million dollars to walk away.  Charles rejected the offer outright and refused to make a counteroffer.  He told me that he has no interest in settling the case.  He wants his day in court and he wants to inflict as much pain as possible on Peachtree in the interim.  He seems more interested in revenge than money.  Even though the lawyer in me knows that’s not rational, I can’t say I blame him, Bill.  I mean, they did kill his wife.”