* * * * *
Declan sat behind his desk staring down at a file he wasn’t really seeing. He’d slam-dunked his plea bargain that morning, dealt with the press, and then planned to move on to the next case. But productivity had been elusive. Zoe lingered in the back of his mind, distracting him. Something he’d dealt with the entire damn day.
The sun was fast disappearing into the horizon, and he’d struggled with focus from the moment he’d arrived. It didn’t help that he’d stayed at Zoe’s until after seven. And though he’d had to make a mad rush home to shower and change, he still could swear he smelled her scent on his skin. Seductive and soft. Teasing him with its presence.
This was so unlike him. Women were not distractions. They were fun and they were trouble. With his father’s health failing, he was taking over more and more of the leadership of the firm. He couldn’t afford to be distracted. As it was, his father fought the need to take on less. Declan hoped to prove he could handle things so his father would rest. It would be good for his mom to see his dad more too. Lately, she’d seemed pretty withdrawn about his father and Declan wondered if there was trouble. He’d questioned both of them, but neither would talk.
“Guess who just called wanting our services?”
Declan looked up to see Michael Wright entering the room. Nicknamed “Pretty Boy” by the press for his classical good looks, he had a nasty way of winning all his cases. Declan should have liked him for that. There would have been a time when he would have.
Michael settled into a visitor’s chair, making himself at home. In reality, Declan had mixed feelings about Michael. Maybe because Michael reminded him a little too much of himself in his early days in law. Michael would do anything to win. He made choices that got him attention, not justice. Choices his father condoned and Declan didn’t. That part about his father was hard to swallow. He justified everything as supporting the system. The system protects the people. To some degree, Declan believed this as well. But a bad case had turned him to the truth. Fame. Money. Success. It wasn’t worth letting killers walk free. Nor was it worth his self-respect. He’d learned that the hard way. A bad case that still burned him inside out had made him see the light. Hell, he’d almost left the years he’d invested in law behind.
But his father had convinced him to stay. Declan’s condition was that he got to choose his own cases. Ones he believed in. Still, as his father eased toward retirement, the partners were taking a closer look at Declan. They wanted him to produce money, plain and simple. It came down to the cold, hard dollars. Now, Declan had to decide what to do. If he didn’t take over, his father wouldn’t retire. If he did, he might not be able to look in the mirror.
That left him in a hell of a spot.
“Well?” Michael snapped his fingers. “You’re supposed to be guessing about the new case. Are you with me?”
Snapping out of his reverie, Declan forced his attention back to Marcus. Leaning back in his chair, Declan thought through the most high-profile headlines in the news.
There’d been a lot as of late. Normally, he’d been more interested than he felt at this particular moment. “Not a clue.”
Michael gave him a bright white smile. “One hint…Marks.”
“What?” Declan asked. “No way. He and my father had that political dispute years back. No way he’d come to us.”
“That’s old news for two weathered businessmen.”
“True,” Declan said, “but I thought Marks already hired the competition?”
“He did. It’s not Marks who wants to hire us. It’s his attorney and close ex-friend, Ray Ryder, who Marks says is the true guilty party.”
“How’s that?”
“Marks says Ryder managed his holdings and did the trades without his knowledge. Something about phony books, too.”
“And what does Ryder say?”
“That he’s innocent, of course.” Michael laughed as he spoke. “Isn’t that what they all say?”
Michael still has a lot to learn. “Actually, no. Attorney-client privilege tends to make people feel free to share the truth. Just not always before you get them off.” Lord knew Declan had learned that the hard way. After he’d gotten a killer off, the man had confessed. The nature of the crimes still clung to Declan’s sleep in the form of guilt and nightmares. It had been six months, and Declan still couldn’t let it go.
With a shrug, Michael dismissed Declan’s words. “Your dad is letting me sit in on the meeting tomorrow. I’m the second chair.”
“If we take the case,” Declan said. “Don’t get ahead of the game. There are no guarantees until we size things up.”