When He's Dirty (Walker Security - Adrian's Trilogy 1)
I round the couch and sit in the chair Adrian had been sitting in, wishing I hadn’t put my gun in the drawer before opening the door. Somehow, my gun on my person just feels better. Not that I think Logan wants to kill me, but it would keep him from getting handsy, and he likes to get handsy. I don’t even know how Adrian would handle that. Would he just let it happen? Not that it matters. I don’t need anyone to save me from Logan. I’ve already proven myself quite worthy of that task.
Logan joins me but doesn’t give me space. He sits down on the coffee table in front of me, too close for comfort. “We need to talk about the Waters’ case.”
Beneath the surface, I bristle, but my courtroom face slides into place. “I’m not at liberty to discuss the Waters’ case with you and you know it.”
“I’m not asking you to discuss details. One of my clients came to me with a warning. He told me that you need to step away before it’s too late. And no, he didn’t elaborate but considering you have two dead witnesses and a clusterfuck over there at the DA’s office, we can both use our imaginations.”
My heart punches at my chest. “Which client?”
“It doesn’t matter and I know you know I can’t tell you that. I talked to your father. We want you to come back to the firm.”
I laugh bitterly before I can stop myself. “And my father thinks sending you to convince me will work? But then he really has no idea how badly we parted ways, does he? To him, all you did was fuck my secretary.”
He ignores my reference to our history and moves right past it. “He would’ve come himself but he says he made a pact of some sort with you.”
It’s not a false statement. After a year of turning every holiday or family get together into the hell I was avoiding, my father agreed to shelf the topic to save our relationship. On the surface, it worked.
“I went to bat for you,” Logan says. “He wants you back. I told him to show you he understands what you want from your career and the firm. I believe, I really do, that if you tell him you want your own division, he’ll give it to you. You pick the cases. You pick the staff. You have your own budget. I set the groundwork.”
“Even if he would,” I say, “even if I’d consider coming back, which is highly unlikely, I’m not walking away from this case.”
“Hand it over to the DA, who’s a pussy for having you frontline this. He’s protecting himself, his career and his life, and making you the fall guy. I’m worried about you.”
No, I think, studying his face, he’s not worried about me, but he is worried. Whoever this client is that warned me off the Waters’ case, Logan wants to please them. Or rather desperately needs to please them. Suddenly, it hits me. I know what this is about. The trade Waters offered me, the attorney linked to a long list of suspected money laundering schemes. “You’re representing Jason Whitaker.”
He leans back instantly, his spine stiffening. “My clients have nothing to do with this.”
“That’s a yes. My God, you never cease to surprise me. You can’t do anything honestly. It always has to be sneaky.” I stand. “Go home, Logan. Call me tomorrow at work and we’ll discuss your client’s potential dilemma. Maybe we can make a deal if he can give me something to use against Waters.”
His eyes bore into me. “When did you become such a bitch?”
“I’m pretty sure it happened about the time you buried yourself in my secretary on top of my desk.”
“Step away from the case,” he bites out.
I read beneath the words and say, “Or what?”
“I can’t promise to protect you.”
“You never did. I protect myself. Go home, Logan.”
He scowls and seems like he might argue, but finally turns on his heel and marches toward the door. I follow, and when he exits, I shut the door, locking it and leaning on the hard surface. Adrian is there almost instantly—tall, dark, and alluringly dangerous. His hands settle on the door on either side of me and I’m suddenly aware of how on display my past defending people like Waters is right now. “How much did you hear?”
“All of it,” he says, but he doesn’t comment further or ask a question. He just watches me with his dark brown eyes, unmoving, more stone than man, and I want to reach inside him and dig for his thoughts.
“What are you thinking, Adrian?” I whisper.
His hands come down on my neck, over my hair and he drags me to him. “What do you think I’m thinking, Pri?” he asks, his breath a hot tease on my lips, a promise of a kiss that doesn’t come.