Read Online Dead Lawyers Tell No Tales by Randy Singer - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Randy Singer
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minutes about the logistics, but the assistant U.S. Attorney eventually agreed to Erica’s conditions. She knew the investigation was too important for him to pass up a chance at this meeting. And he didn’t know the half of it.
///
Later that night, Erica played the game well, sharing a drink with her visitor as if nothing had changed. It wasn’t until her vision startedblurring that she realized she had been drugged. By then, her mind was in quicksand, the world spinning around her, the betrayal complete. Her last thoughts were not about her lover but her baby. She put a hand over her stomach, as if to protect the tiny embryo, growing in what should have been the safest place on earth.
“I’m pregnant,” she muttered, but she wasn’t even sure the words were coming out right. “Please don’t hurt my baby.”
12
LANDON GOT OUT OF BED EARLY Tuesday morning and would not have been more excited if he had been starting work as the attorney general of the United States. He was a firm believer that everything happened for a reason. The hearing before the Character and Fitness Committee. The brawl at the Gordon Biersch Brewery. His representation by Harry McNaughten in General District Court. All of this had culminated in an opportunity to show McNaughten and Clay what he could do. He had sent out hundreds of résumés, but God had orchestrated events in a way that Landon could have never anticipated.
Kerri was taking a personal day so she could take care of Maddie and look for a day care. She got up early and fixed Landon breakfast, and he felt like a superstar. He arrived at the firm parking lot at eight o’clock and immediately liked the feel of the place. The firm was housed in a classy brick building with pillars on the front portico that made it look like a miniature version of a courthouse. It was on Laskin Road, the gateway to the oceanfront, less than a mile from the beach. He enteredthrough glass doors with the firm name stenciled on them and met a young African American woman manning the front desk.
“I’m Landon Reed,” he said. “I’m supposed to start work today for Mr. McNaughten.”
The nameplate on the granite countertop that surrounded the reception desk read Janaya Young . Janaya had curly black hair, a round, pudgy face, and black-rimmed glasses. There were pictures of Janaya and two young boys who appeared to be twins on the shelf behind her.
“Was he expecting you?” she asked.
“Yes.”
Janaya put on her headset and dialed an extension but apparently got no answer. She dialed a second number, which Landon assumed was McNaughten’s cell phone.
“He’s not in yet. Why don’t you have a seat in our waiting room, and I’ll let Mr. Benedict know you’re here.”
Just off the main reception area was a sitting room with a fireplace and some funky-looking striped beach furniture. The fireplace had a beautiful oil painting displayed over it—a sailboat in the Caribbean—and there were bookshelves on each end that prominently displayed Parker Clausen’s books right alongside more notable legal-thriller authors such as John Grisham and Michael Connelly. Landon had a seat and glanced around. The entire office had hardwood floors and crown molding. There was marble trim around the fireplace. It had the feel of casual success, and Landon decided that he could get used to working in a place like this.
He sat on a green couch with pink striped pillows for five minutes before Brent Benedict, the firm’s managing partner, came into the room. Landon’s palms were sweaty, and he was a little surprised at his own nervousness. He had played in front of packed stadiums, but he was wound tight about his first day at a new job.
Landon stood and shook Benedict’s hand. Benedict wore a pressed white shirt and red tie. His black shoes looked like they had just been shined, and his perfect posture, along with precise and aggressive movements, showed that the man was still military at heart. His
///
Later that night, Erica played the game well, sharing a drink with her visitor as if nothing had changed. It wasn’t until her vision startedblurring that she realized she had been drugged. By then, her mind was in quicksand, the world spinning around her, the betrayal complete. Her last thoughts were not about her lover but her baby. She put a hand over her stomach, as if to protect the tiny embryo, growing in what should have been the safest place on earth.
“I’m pregnant,” she muttered, but she wasn’t even sure the words were coming out right. “Please don’t hurt my baby.”
12
LANDON GOT OUT OF BED EARLY Tuesday morning and would not have been more excited if he had been starting work as the attorney general of the United States. He was a firm believer that everything happened for a reason. The hearing before the Character and Fitness Committee. The brawl at the Gordon Biersch Brewery. His representation by Harry McNaughten in General District Court. All of this had culminated in an opportunity to show McNaughten and Clay what he could do. He had sent out hundreds of résumés, but God had orchestrated events in a way that Landon could have never anticipated.
Kerri was taking a personal day so she could take care of Maddie and look for a day care. She got up early and fixed Landon breakfast, and he felt like a superstar. He arrived at the firm parking lot at eight o’clock and immediately liked the feel of the place. The firm was housed in a classy brick building with pillars on the front portico that made it look like a miniature version of a courthouse. It was on Laskin Road, the gateway to the oceanfront, less than a mile from the beach. He enteredthrough glass doors with the firm name stenciled on them and met a young African American woman manning the front desk.
“I’m Landon Reed,” he said. “I’m supposed to start work today for Mr. McNaughten.”
The nameplate on the granite countertop that surrounded the reception desk read Janaya Young . Janaya had curly black hair, a round, pudgy face, and black-rimmed glasses. There were pictures of Janaya and two young boys who appeared to be twins on the shelf behind her.
“Was he expecting you?” she asked.
“Yes.”
Janaya put on her headset and dialed an extension but apparently got no answer. She dialed a second number, which Landon assumed was McNaughten’s cell phone.
“He’s not in yet. Why don’t you have a seat in our waiting room, and I’ll let Mr. Benedict know you’re here.”
Just off the main reception area was a sitting room with a fireplace and some funky-looking striped beach furniture. The fireplace had a beautiful oil painting displayed over it—a sailboat in the Caribbean—and there were bookshelves on each end that prominently displayed Parker Clausen’s books right alongside more notable legal-thriller authors such as John Grisham and Michael Connelly. Landon had a seat and glanced around. The entire office had hardwood floors and crown molding. There was marble trim around the fireplace. It had the feel of casual success, and Landon decided that he could get used to working in a place like this.
He sat on a green couch with pink striped pillows for five minutes before Brent Benedict, the firm’s managing partner, came into the room. Landon’s palms were sweaty, and he was a little surprised at his own nervousness. He had played in front of packed stadiums, but he was wound tight about his first day at a new job.
Landon stood and shook Benedict’s hand. Benedict wore a pressed white shirt and red tie. His black shoes looked like they had just been shined, and his perfect posture, along with precise and aggressive movements, showed that the man was still military at heart. His
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