The Man Who Has No Soul (Soulless 1)

He was the only thing missing.

“If Mom moves out here, she’s staying with you, not me.”

“Really?” he asked incredulously. “When you’ve got 6,000 square feet?”

“You’ve got to choose—you or her.” I didn’t have the patience to house both.

He didn’t have a lot of options, so he sighed. “Fine.”

I picked up my papers and set them to the side. “Let me know when your flight gets in. I’ll have Cleo arrange to pick you up and get you moved in here.”

“Ooh…that’s right. I get to see that bombshell, Cleo.”

I ignored what he said. “I’ve got to go. Have a lot of stuff to catch up on before tomorrow.”

“Alright. See you soon.”

Nine

Cleo

I sat in the lobby for forty-five minutes even though I had so much shit to do.

“Cleo, he’ll see you now,” the receptionist said.

“Thanks.” I welcomed myself inside and saw Nigel Frankwood sitting behind his desk in a corner office with stunning views of the city behind him. He was in a crisp black suit, with large shoulders and a big size that made him intimidating in the courtroom. “Hello, Mr. Frankwood.” I reached his desk and extended my hand.

He looked up from his laptop then rose to his feet, giving me a genuine smile. “Cut that shit out and call me Nigel.” He shook my hand then indicated to the plush armchair facing his desk. “It’s been a long time, Cleo. What brings you by?”

Nigel Frankwood used to be one of my clients—until he moved out. His wife wanted something closer to his office so he wouldn’t be home so late all the time, but I doubted that made much of a difference. “To ask for a favor, honestly.”

He leaned back in the leather chair, his arms crossing over his chest. “If you need legal advice, you can pick my brain anytime. We both know how many times I’ve picked your brain over much of the last decade.”

I smiled. “Well, thank you. But it’s not legal advice.”

“Before I forget, do you have any units available? My wife likes our new place, but I’m not a fan. I thought having a regular PA would be enough, but…I totally took you for granted.”

That was quite the compliment. “The units almost never open up—and there’s a waitlist.”

He sighed. “I know. But with the kids and everything, a nanny just isn’t enough.”

I wished I could help him, but I just couldn’t. Deacon managed to get the last one, and I still wasn’t sure how he’d pulled it off. “I’m sorry, Nigel.”

“Damn. Anyway, what is it that you need?”

“I have a client who needs legal help.”

“I can set up a meeting, and we can talk about—”

“I should have phrased that better,” I said. “I mean, I’d like you to represent him.”

He stared at me blankly, as if he couldn’t believe the question. “Cleo, I’m booked solid for the next eighteen months.”

I believed it—because he was the best defense lawyer in the world. He’d won all of his cases, thought out of the box, got murderers off with a simple slap on the wrist. He was not a person you wanted to argue with, especially if you were on the opposite side of that argument. Sometimes it was hard to believe because he was so kind outside the courtroom. “I figured you’d say that, but I really need to help this client.”

He rubbed his fingers across his hard jaw. “Who’s the client?”

“I can’t say.”

He shook his head slightly, amused. “Of course you can’t.”

“It would mean a lot if you could help me out. This client…is…” I didn’t know how to describe him. “He’s a really good man who’s just in a bad situation. He spends his life helping other people, and I really want to help him with this.”

“Why would such a good man need the best criminal defense in the country?”

“Well…it’s not exactly like that.”

Now, he leaned forward. “Cleo, what kind of case is this?”

I didn’t want to say.

“Cleo.”

I cringed. “Child custody.”

He rolled his head back with a sigh. “You know I don’t do those kinds of cases.”

“I know, but I need the best for this. His ex-wife is a very spiteful woman.”

“Look, child custody is very straightforward. He doesn’t need someone like me going to war for him—”

“He says he has skeletons in his closet.”

“What kind?” he asked immediately.

“He wouldn’t say.”

He straightened in the chair. “Let me get this straight. You ask me to represent a client without telling me who he is, without telling me exactly what I’m dealing with here, and for the type of case I don’t even do?”

“Yeah…pretty much.”

He sagged back into the chair, rolling his eyes.

“I know it’s a lot to ask, but I wouldn’t ask unless it was important.”

He directed his gaze out the window.

“Nigel, come on.”

He was still quiet.

“If there’s something I can do for you, name it.”