Читать книгу Triple Time - Regina Kyle - Страница 11

2

“HEY, NELSON. BOSS wants to see you.”

“In a sec.” Gabe’s fingers flew over the keyboard, his eyes never straying from the computer screen. “I’m almost done with this motion.”

“Boss says now.”

Gabe looked up at his second-in-command, Jack Kentfield. “What gives?”

Jack lifted a shoulder. “Who knows? But you’re wanted on the seventh floor ASAP.”

“Great.” Gabe hit Save, closed the document and pushed away from his desk. Being summoned to the penthouse could only mean one of two things. Either he’d screwed up and was going to have his ass handed to him or he’d pleased the powers that be and was getting a commendation.

He wasn’t in the mood for either.

“Good luck,” Jack called after him as he headed for the elevator. “If you’re not back in ten I’ll send up a search party. Or start a memorial fund.”

“Make sure you hit up Tim in elder abuse.” The elevator doors opened and Gabe stepped in. “He owes me twenty bucks.”

The doors slid shut, leaving Gabe alone to wonder which fate awaited him upstairs. He couldn’t think of anything he’d done to warrant an ass reaming. Although, to be honest, his mind hadn’t totally been on his work since that night with Devin in the park last week. And on her doorstep.

Their kiss had been nothing short of explosive. Way more intense than anything he’d experienced before. He prided himself on his control. His ability to think before acting. All that had gone the way of the cassette tape when Devin surrendered to him, her soft lips parting under his, her full, warm curves molding to him.

A stirring below his belt buckle made him shake his head and silently scold himself. Down, boy. Big meeting coming up. Think clean thoughts. Mom. Apple pie. A busload of nuns on their way to a prayer meeting.

Gabe squeezed his eyes shut. He’d been a selfish, impulsive bastard to kiss her, but at least one good thing had come of it. Now he understood why Kara’s rejection had left him more numb than hurt. He’d been an idiot, proposing to her for all the wrong reasons. Thinking he could choose a life mate based on shared interests and political expediency. Thinking passion would come later and build slowly, like a roller coaster climbing that first hill.

It wouldn’t. And it wouldn’t have been fair to her. Or him.

With a ding, the elevator doors opened and Gabe stepped into the inner sanctum of Manhattan District Attorney Thaddeus Holcomb. Teddy to his friends. Mr. Holcomb to his underlings at One Hogan Place.

“Gabe.” Doris, Mr. Holcomb’s secretary from what seemed like the dawn of time, beckoned him closer with a wrinkled finger. “He’s waiting for you.”

She ushered him into an office three times the size of his own. Instead of a regulation-issue gunmetal gray desk like Gabe’s, the current district attorney sat behind a massive oak table. Matching bookshelves lined the walls, bright blue statute books and thick legal treatises artfully arranged alongside plaques, trophies and the occasional family photo.

“You wanted to see me?” Gabe took a seat in one of the two leather armchairs in front of the table.

Holcomb closed the file he’d been reading. “Nice work on Patterson. Convincing Judge Morrison to let in the defendant’s statement.”

“Thanks.” Gabe relaxed into the soft leather. Looked like it was going to be door number two.

“Any word on sentencing?”

“It’s scheduled for next Thursday.”

“Good. Keep me posted.”

Holcomb cleared his throat. Gabe steeled himself. Now came the real reason for their little tête-à-tête. Holcomb pushed the file across the table. “The police made an arrest in the Park Avenue homicide case last night.”

Gabe nodded. It’d been all over the morning news. A handyman was accused of sexually assaulting and murdering an eighty-five-year-old woman and her live-in nurse. A witness saw him leaving their apartment shortly before the bodies were discovered. “He’ll be arraigned tomorrow. Kentfield’s handling it.”

Holcomb shook his head. “I want you on this case. It’s a publicity magnet.”

Gabe folded his arms across his chest and frowned. Jack might be a bit of a prick, but he could handle the press as well as anyone. There had to be more to this than the boss was letting on. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“Nothing.” Holcomb shrugged, his innocent expression making Gabe even more convinced the DA had a secret agenda. “You’re my best prosecutor. You’re taking this one. End of story.”

Gabe picked up the file and stood. He knew when to press his luck and when to walk away. “No problem.”

“I’m not done yet.” Holcomb motioned for Gabe to sit back down, so he did. “There’s another matter we have to discuss.”

“Is there a problem?” Gabe’s frown deepened.

“I understand you’re thinking about running for this position when I retire next year.”

“Yes, sir.” Running for public office was the next logical step in Gabe’s career plan. First district attorney, then the state legislature and maybe even Congress. He figured he’d have to wait a few years before starting down that road. But Holcomb’s announcement that he wouldn’t run for a third term had sped up Gabe’s timeline a bit.

“I expect you’ll want my endorsement.”

“I was hoping.” Holcomb just admitted Gabe was his best prosecutor. That had to count for something.

“You’re an excellent lawyer, Gabe. The youngest man ever to head Special Victims.” Holcomb tilted his chair back, and Gabe’s heart rate kicked up a notch. This was it. Holcomb was going to give him his thumbs up. And with his backing, Gabe would be the front runner for DA.

“But I can’t endorse you.”

Wait, what?

The “thank you” he’d been about to utter stuck in his throat. Gabe barely suppressed a cough. “I don’t understand.”

“There’s more to being district attorney than trying cases.” Holcomb crossed one ankle over his knee. “You’re the face of the division. The people’s representative.”

“And you don’t think I’m ready for that?”

Holcomb twisted the gold signet ring he always wore on his right pinkie finger. “I don’t think the people of Manhattan are ready for you.”

“What’s that mean?” Gabe rubbed the back of his neck. He’d been crusading for justice ever since fourth grade, when he’d begged to be appointed hall monitor so he could help stop the bullying that went on behind the teachers’ backs. Now the feeling of his well-orchestrated future slipping away washed over him like fog. Cold. Damp. Foreboding.

“Let me put it to you this way.” Holcomb tented his fingers under his chin. “Remember the grand opening of the Family Justice Center?”

Gabe shuddered.

As if he could forget it.

The ceremony had been the one and only time Holcomb had asked Gabe to stand in for him. And it was a disaster from beginning to end. All his courtroom skills had deserted him. He’d flubbed the deputy mayor’s name, accidentally insulted the governor’s wife and dropped the cartoonishly large scissors trying to cut the damned ribbon.

But that wasn’t even the worst of it. No, the worst came later, at the reception, where he had to mix and mingle. Make small talk. Be charming.

He’d tried. But the harder he did, the more awkward the conversations became. He was about as charming as a cardboard box. He’d ended up leaving early, claiming he had to prepare for a trial the next day.

He could face a panel of black-robed Supreme Court justices. A jury of his peers. But put him in a room and make him talk to strangers one-on-one?

Crash and burn.

“Stick to your comfort zone.” Holcomb spun his chair around to reach for something on the credenza behind him, dismissing Gabe. “Shaking hands and kissing babies isn’t your forte. And it’s a job requirement for district attorney.”

“I can learn,” Gabe insisted. “Give me a chance.”

Holcomb twirled back around to face him, considering him through narrowed eyes. “Tell you what. The Feast of San Gennaro is in a few weeks.”

“Right.” Everyone knew that. The Italian street fair was one of New York City’s biggest and most popular events.

“I make a point to attend every year. Come with me, prove you can fit in with the crowd, and I’ll reconsider.”

“Fit in?”

“Meet people. Talk to them. Show me you can convince them to vote for you.”

“It’s a deal.”

Gabe rose, and Holcomb followed suit, extending his hand. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.” He was going to need it. Because he had less than a month to learn how to “fit in” with the masses who populated the festival. And no freaking clue how he was going to do it.

* * *

“NOT IN SERVICE my ass.” Devin punched the End Call button on her cell phone.

Her boss and mentor, Leo Zambrano, looked up from the triceps he was tattooing and smirked. “You realize you’re talking to an automated message, right?”

“That low-life, rat bastard PI’s disconnected his phone.” She circled her station at Ink the Heights, the Washington Heights tattoo parlor where she’d worked since she was eighteen and Leo had caught her camped out in the storeroom. Instead of the boot, he gave her an apprenticeship, and he put up with her even on days like today. It was a damned good thing her next customer was running late. In this mood, she might accidentally stab him with a needle.

“The one Manny referred you to?” Leo wiped a spot of blood from his customer’s arm with a paper towel and studied his handiwork. The dark outline of a phoenix rising from the rubble of the Twin Towers stood out against Hector’s olive skin. “His cousin’s friend’s sister’s boyfriend, or something?”

“Yep. The jackass totally screwed me. Took my thousand-dollar retainer, told me he was on the trail of a hot lead then disappeared.” She paced between her station and Leo’s, needing some way to work off her anxiety short of tipping over the autoclave and dumping sterile instruments all over the floor.

“Can’t Manny track him down?” Their errand boy knew everything about everyone in the Heights.

Devin shook her head. “He tried. Says the guy dumped his cousin’s friend’s whatever three days ago and hopped a plane to Miami. Probably his first stop on his way to San Juan. How am I going to find Victor now? All I hit on my own was dead ends. And I can’t afford to pay anyone else. Hell, it took me months to scrape up that thousand.”

She balled her hands into fists. It wasn’t just the money that got to her, although losing a grand sucked big time. It was that for the first time in years she’d felt like she was getting close to finding her brother, only to have that hope snatched away, leaving her empty, depressed and mad as hell at the snatcher.

Then there was the article she’d read a few weeks ago in the Times about a group home for mentally disabled adults in the Bronx that was shut down after reporters for one of the local news programs found residents being verbally abused, pushed, kicked, starved and even spat on. What if Victor was in a place like that? “I swear, if that little pissant shows his face in this neighborhood again I’ll...”

“Kick him in the balls?” Leo smirked and went back to tattooing. “Like you did to Fast Fingers Freddie?”

“Worse. More like rip them off and shove them down his lying throat.”

“I could loan you—”

“No.” She stopped pacing to stare him down. “I’m not taking your money. Haven’t you rescued me enough?”

“You’re the one bailing me out these days. You’re good. Better than good. I keep expecting you to toss me for one of those fancy places near your apartment downtown.”

She shrugged. “What can I say? I have a fondness for aging bobos with a hero complex.”

“And I’m partial to smart-mouthed muchachas who insist on doing things their own way.” Leo set down his needle, took another swipe at the tattoo with the paper towel, and covered it with a bandage. “That’s it for today, Hector. We’ll start on the shading next week. Same time.”

“Thanks, man.” Hector flung a few bills onto the counter on his way out. “See you in seven.”

Leo peeled off his gloves, threw them into the trash can reserved for medical waste and crossed to the Keurig machine on the other side of the room. He held up a K-Cup. “Want one?”

“No, thanks.” Devin checked the clock above the sink. Three twenty-five. Almost half an hour past her client’s appointment time. Probably another case of cold feet. “I’m wound up enough already.”

Leo shrugged and started his cup brewing. “So you won’t take my money. What’s next? The police?”

Devin choked out a laugh. “What’s the point? The scumbag’s long gone, and the cops aren’t going to chase after him for a measly thousand bucks.”

“How about Holly’s brother?” The machine stopped gurgling, and he removed his mug, taking a long, slow sip of the dark roast. “Doesn’t he work for the DA’s office?”

“Gabe?” She turned her back to Leo, emptied the autoclave and tossed in a handful of fresh tools to be sterilized, glad for the excuse to hide her reddening face. “What about him?”

“He saved your sorry ass when you ran into him last week. Maybe he can help again.”

Ran into him. That was a major understatement. But she’d only told Leo that Gabe had found her in Central Park and taken her home. And she wouldn’t have even told him that if he hadn’t asked about the bruises on her upper arms from where that fuckup Freddie had grabbed her.

“My ass is not sorry, and he did not save it.” She released her hair from its messy ponytail, gathered it up again and secured it with the scrunchie she held in her teeth. “I took care of myself. And Freddie. Mr. Clean didn’t know when to leave well enough alone.”

“Well, Mr. Clean looks like your best bet to get your money back. Maybe even find Victor.”

Devin stopped, her hand on the pressure switch of the autoclave. She knew she’d never get the cash back. But it hadn’t occurred to her that Gabe could help find her brother. “How so?”

Leo lifted one shoulder and sipped his coffee. “He’s in Special Victims, right? He must know people in Child Services.”

Damn. Why hadn’t she thought of that before?

Only one problem. It would mean indebting herself to the man she wanted to jump every time she got within ten feet of him. The one she should be avoiding like day old alcapurrias.

Her best friend’s off-limits, way-out-of-her-league baby brother.

It wasn’t just his relationship to Holly that made Gabe untouchable. It didn’t take a Rhodes Scholar to figure out he was built for commitment. Marriage. Two point five kids. A minimansion in Scarsdale. The whole nine yards.

And Devin...wasn’t.

She flipped the switch on the autoclave and sighed, her breath stirring the loose strands that had already escaped her ponytail.

“I know that look.” Leo leaned against the counter, setting his mug down behind him. Above his shoulder, framed photos of her work—and his—hung against the backdrop of the cheery lemon-yellow wall, constant reminders of how far she’d come since that fateful day when Leo had taken her in off the street. But not far enough for a smart, sophisticated guy like Gabe. “It’s your I-am-an-island look. The one you give when you want to scare everyone off and convince them you can go it alone.”

Sure. Fine. Let’s run with that.

“There’s no shame in relying on your friends every once in a while, hermanita.” He crossed to her and tugged her ponytail. “That’s what we’re here for.”

She softened at the use of his nickname for her. Little sister. “I know. I’m just...”

“Not used to depending on anyone. I get that. But this is Victor we’re talking about. Your brother. Who you haven’t seen in, what, twelve years?”

She winced, remembering their last minutes together. Her shaking with rage, screaming obscenities at the social worker who had dragged Victor away. Him clutching his favorite stuffed animal, a ratty armadillo, his sweet face wet with tears. Both of them scared shitless. “More like fifteen.”

“That’s fifteen years too long.” The bells hanging over the top of the door tinkled and he went to the sink to scrub his hands, preparing for their new arrival. “If you won’t take my money, at least promise you’ll think about calling Gabe.”

Devin’s stomach sank at the thought of facing Gabe again, but that was nothing compared to the way it pitched and rolled when she considered the alternative. Victor, stuck in a house of horrors like the one she’d read about it the paper.

“All right. You win.” As usual. She started toward the front of the shop to greet Leo’s next customer. “I’ll think about it.”

What the hell, she thought as she pasted on a smile. It wasn’t as if she could stop thinking about Gabe anyway.