had a set of lungs on her. And a voice that could cut glass. I think I was going to need to get my ears checked after that. But I stood my ground.
She thrust her head out her car window. “I’ve had it with you, you little bitch. You’ve been meddling in my life since you came to SDU. I’m sick of your ugly face. I’m going to make you regret the day you crawled out from whatever rock you lived under before you came to San Diego.”
“Are you threatening me, Tiff?” I asked cooly, an amused smile on my face.
“No. I’m warning you. Because it’s going to happen.”
“Okay,” I scoffed and waved a dismissive hand at her. No matter how many times Tiffany had tried to make my life miserable, she never succeeded. She was nothing more than a pesky housefly as far as I was concerned. I wasn’t going to take any more of her dramatic threats. She was a spoiled brat who didn’t know how good she had things.
Tiffany’s eyes narrowed and her brows dove into a tight, threatening scowl. She looked hawklike. “Don’t underestimate me, Samantha Anna Smith.”
Surprise lit up my face.
“That’s right,” she hissed, “I know who you are. Don’t think I’m some dumb blond you can laugh at. You have fucked with the wrong woman, you infected cunt.”
How the hell did she know my middle name was Anna? Had Christos told her? That seemed unlikely.
“Watch your back, bitch,” she said, then threw her car into reverse, backed up dramatically, and floored it. Her Mercedes growled a low threat as it disappeared at the end of the parking aisle.
Great. As if I didn’t have enough troubles already.
Chapter 4
CHRISTOS
Half an hour after leaving my house, I walked through the cool marble interior of the San Diego Hall of Justice, looking slick in my dark suit. People in similarly formal and conservative attire milled about the wide main hallway, conducting impromptu meetings before going into the various courtrooms. Uniformed deputies in tan shirts, olive pants and bulky gun belts were scattered throughout the space, as were a few members of the S.D.P.D. in dark blue uniforms. It was all so formal and civilized.
A woman in one of those sexy fitted business suits carrying a briefcase peered at me over a pair of reading glasses. Her hair was in a neat mess on top of her head. Sexy librarian or sexy attorney? Same difference. I tossed her a dimpled smile and her composed, professional expression crumbled into a school girl grin.
May as well amuse myself before going into battle.
Russell Merriweather, my attorney, stood head and shoulders above the crowd in a dark charcoal suit, chatting on his cell phone. His ebony dark skin contrasted brilliantly against his impeccable amethyst button down shirt and striped tie. When he noticed me, he narrowed his eyes and flicked a nod in my direction. As always, he was all business while inside the courthouse.
I walked up to him as he ended his call. He slipped his phone inside his suit jacket and turned to me. “What the hell did you do to your eye, son?”
I opened my mouth to answer.
He held up a halting palm. “Stop. I don’t want to know. Buy some concealer before the trial. We don’t need the jury jumping to conclusions about you at the trial Friday.”
I smiled. “Actually, I was thinking about getting the other one banged up so they match.”
Russell repressed a smile and shook his head. “You do that,” he said sarcastically. “But get some concealer either way.” He put a fatherly hand on my shoulder. “On a more serious note, have you made a decision regarding the plea bargain offered by the District Attorney?”
I grit my teeth. “Fuck the D.A. I’m not guilty.”
Russell nodded. A glint of approval passed across his eyes. “I expected nothing less from you, son. But may I remind you,” he said ominously, “once you enter a plea, it’s set in stone. No going back. If we go to trial and the jury finds you guilty, you run the risk of up to
She thrust her head out her car window. “I’ve had it with you, you little bitch. You’ve been meddling in my life since you came to SDU. I’m sick of your ugly face. I’m going to make you regret the day you crawled out from whatever rock you lived under before you came to San Diego.”
“Are you threatening me, Tiff?” I asked cooly, an amused smile on my face.
“No. I’m warning you. Because it’s going to happen.”
“Okay,” I scoffed and waved a dismissive hand at her. No matter how many times Tiffany had tried to make my life miserable, she never succeeded. She was nothing more than a pesky housefly as far as I was concerned. I wasn’t going to take any more of her dramatic threats. She was a spoiled brat who didn’t know how good she had things.
Tiffany’s eyes narrowed and her brows dove into a tight, threatening scowl. She looked hawklike. “Don’t underestimate me, Samantha Anna Smith.”
Surprise lit up my face.
“That’s right,” she hissed, “I know who you are. Don’t think I’m some dumb blond you can laugh at. You have fucked with the wrong woman, you infected cunt.”
How the hell did she know my middle name was Anna? Had Christos told her? That seemed unlikely.
“Watch your back, bitch,” she said, then threw her car into reverse, backed up dramatically, and floored it. Her Mercedes growled a low threat as it disappeared at the end of the parking aisle.
Great. As if I didn’t have enough troubles already.
Chapter 4
CHRISTOS
Half an hour after leaving my house, I walked through the cool marble interior of the San Diego Hall of Justice, looking slick in my dark suit. People in similarly formal and conservative attire milled about the wide main hallway, conducting impromptu meetings before going into the various courtrooms. Uniformed deputies in tan shirts, olive pants and bulky gun belts were scattered throughout the space, as were a few members of the S.D.P.D. in dark blue uniforms. It was all so formal and civilized.
A woman in one of those sexy fitted business suits carrying a briefcase peered at me over a pair of reading glasses. Her hair was in a neat mess on top of her head. Sexy librarian or sexy attorney? Same difference. I tossed her a dimpled smile and her composed, professional expression crumbled into a school girl grin.
May as well amuse myself before going into battle.
Russell Merriweather, my attorney, stood head and shoulders above the crowd in a dark charcoal suit, chatting on his cell phone. His ebony dark skin contrasted brilliantly against his impeccable amethyst button down shirt and striped tie. When he noticed me, he narrowed his eyes and flicked a nod in my direction. As always, he was all business while inside the courthouse.
I walked up to him as he ended his call. He slipped his phone inside his suit jacket and turned to me. “What the hell did you do to your eye, son?”
I opened my mouth to answer.
He held up a halting palm. “Stop. I don’t want to know. Buy some concealer before the trial. We don’t need the jury jumping to conclusions about you at the trial Friday.”
I smiled. “Actually, I was thinking about getting the other one banged up so they match.”
Russell repressed a smile and shook his head. “You do that,” he said sarcastically. “But get some concealer either way.” He put a fatherly hand on my shoulder. “On a more serious note, have you made a decision regarding the plea bargain offered by the District Attorney?”
I grit my teeth. “Fuck the D.A. I’m not guilty.”
Russell nodded. A glint of approval passed across his eyes. “I expected nothing less from you, son. But may I remind you,” he said ominously, “once you enter a plea, it’s set in stone. No going back. If we go to trial and the jury finds you guilty, you run the risk of up to
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