Read Online Bad Moon Rising by Katherine Sutcliffe - Free Book Online

out of money, you know.”
    “If you couldn’t afford a lawyer, you shouldn’t have
called one.”
    “I suspected any lawyer who advertises on the wall of
the women’s bathroom wouldn’t charge his clients out the yin yang. You’re not
exactly Johnny Cochran, you know.”
    “If I was Cochran, you’d be paying six hundred bucks
an hour.” He stepped around her. “Call my office Monday. Set up a payment plan.”
    Exiting the building into the heat, J.D. paused,
checked his watch. He was to meet Beverly at twelve sharp for lunch. He would
just make it if he hurried.
    “You could at least give me a lift to my car,” Holly
said as she moved up behind him. “Or will you charge me for that as well?”
    Christ, the woman had attitude, and if there was anything
he wasn’t in the mood for at the moment, it was attitude. He glanced over his
shoulder, prepared to tell her to get lost. In the harsh light of the August
sun, she looked pale, her face pinched by stress and concern. Pretty. Too damn
pretty. Keep walking and don’t look back. Holly Jones had trouble stamped all
over her.

5
    The traffic along Royal Street was typically heavy as J.D. maneuvered his Mustang through the tourists and cars
parked bumper-to-bumper along the curbs. He could almost read their minds as
the sightseers looked at French Quarter maps, mopped the sweat from their
brows, and stared up at the sun as if it had no right to beat down on their
miserable shoulders. Yeah, the heat and humidity were a bitch, but what did
they expect from New Orleans during the heat of summer? If they wanted cool,
they should have gone to Alaska.
    He checked his watch—quarter of twelve—and glanced at
Holly, who had remained quiet the last ten minutes, eyeing the statement in her
hand. J.D. suspected he’d never see a red cent from Holly Jones. Nothing new.
Half of his clients never paid him. Filing suits against them did little good,
even caused him to be in the hole. His grandmother often said, “You can’t get
blood out of a turnip.”
    Holly Jones could hardly be labeled a turnip, but he
knew the look of financial woes.
    For the third time in the last ten minutes, Holly
called Melissa’s number and didn’t get an answer. Returning her cell phone to
her purse, she slumped into the Mustang’s leather seat, then stared out the
passenger window. Her slender fingers drummed the console with impatience.
    “So, if you aren’t a hooker,” he said, breaking the
stilted silence between them, “how do you know Melissa?”
    “What difference does it make?” She shook her head and
searched the faces of the pedestrians lining the sidewalks. There was an
intensity in her perusal, as if she expected to recognize someone. There was
also avoidance. Each time a face swung her way, she turned. “Something’s
wrong. I know it. She didn’t show for her john this morning. She’s not
answering her phone or returning my messages.”
    “Maybe business is good.”
    She turned to face him. “What do you mean?”
    “She’s occupied.”
    “Why do I get this feeling you’ve got a hump on for
hookers? What happened to you? Get fed up terrorizing the criminal element in New Orleans? Thought you’d play the good guy for a change?”
    “The district attorney is the good guy, Miss Jones.
Most of the time. My prosecution arguments weren’t personal. I did my job.”
    “Something happened. You look like hell. Though not in
a bad way.” Her gaze moved from his profile down his body. Her mouth slightly curved.
“I like the look, in fact.
    Smile and you might even make it to human.”
    She continued to study him with eyes as sharp and
savvy as his own. Too sharp for such a pretty face. Too full of life’s hard
knocks. “Careful,” he said. “I charge extra for insults.”
    “You’re very bitter, aren’t you? Let’s see.” She
tipped her head and narrowed her eyes. “Maybe you didn’t actually walk away
from the D.A.’s office. Maybe you were fired. You rolled