Bad Behavior(140)

Chapter Twenty


WASH

The car ate up the interstate between New Orleans and Angola mile by mile. The radio was on. I didn't hear it. Trent's threat to fire Caroline was still foremost in my mind. I was the one who'd made the mess, but she'd be stuck suffering for it. I couldn't let that happen.

I'd told Trent Caroline was fired. Then I told him I was leaving right along with her. I didn't care what it looked like or if it hurt the firm. She was it for me. I had never wanted anyone the way I wanted her. Her wit, her smarts, her kindness.

I couldn't let her go, so I would have to go with her. I'd be damned if I was going to sacrifice her for my career. I'd already given up plenty to have my name on the door. Even so, Palmer & Granade could go back to being Palmer & Associates. I could go out on my own. We could. Granade & Montreat. Hell, even Montreat & Granade. I didn't care which, as long as we were together.

I smiled and thought about how we would run our office. Maybe I could enforce topless Tuesdays when we didn't have any client meetings?

The memory of the first time I saw her floated through my mind. She was clearly a law school student, her clothes too casual, her hair in a rough ponytail as she sat and watched me try a case. She had been impossible to miss, her wide eyes and eager expression. It had been years, but I recalled how her eyes had followed me as I walked the well in front of the jury, examining witnesses and evidence. I'd wanted to ask her to coffee then, but didn't want to get the reputation as the sort of attorney who chased after hot law students. Still, she had stuck with me so strongly that I'd tracked her down, found out where she attended school, and put in a good word with Trent about her hiring. I'd brought her to me. And, I realized, I intended to keep her.

The rest of the drive to Angola was filled with considerations of how to separate my book of business from Trent's, which other associates, if any, to take with us, and where we could get office space. But what if she said no? A sinking sensation rushed through me.

I shook my head. I'd convinced dozens of juries to see things my way. I could do the same with her, especially if I did it with more than just words. My smile was back at the thought of seducing her into being my partner at law.

I went through the security check outside and rolled into the prison. The wait to see Rowan was longer than usual. So much so that I wondered if the security guard from my last visit was trying to get even. I texted Caroline a few times, asking how she was doing at the autopsy. She didn't respond. I just hoped she was okay. She was tough, but even I got queasy at my first autopsy. Not that I would ever tell her that.

By the time I was allowed back to see Rowan, I'd waited a total of two hours despite raising hell and threatening to call the warden.

Rowan shuffled in and was chained to the steel table per usual. He looked much the same, though his head was freshly shaved.

"Where's Ms. Montreat?"

"She's busy. Just you and me today. First things first. You know a Gene Rourke?"

"Yeah. He lived at the house." He picked at a scab on his cheek.



       
         
       
        

"You or Tyler friends with him?"

"Tyler talked to him a couple times, but that guy was crazy. Never came out of his room for nothing except to eat."

"So Tyler and he didn't go out together or anything?"

Rowan pressed his lips together and shook his head. "Naw, that guy never left the house. I think he had some sort of, I don't know, brain thing. Didn't want to leave his room, couldn't leave the house." He twiddled his fingers at his temple.

I sighed. "Fuck." If Rourke never left the house, then the chances were slim to none that he was the Bayou Butcher, and we were back to square one on suspects.

"Okay, there's another thing. I've got some news for you. I don't know if it's good or bad yet, but we need to discuss it."

He leaned back and squinted at me. "What news?"

"Tyler Graves was found dead yesterday. Murdered just like all the other Bayou Butcher victims."

His mouth dropped open, and just the threat of his foul breath had me leaning back.

"Are you shitting me?" he asked.

"No."

He rolled his eyes. "Man, I don't even know what . . . I just talked to him like, I don't know, two weeks ago."

I leaned forward, my elbows on the table. "You spoke to him?"

"Yeah." He nodded.

Anger scorched down my spine. "Why didn't you call me and tell me about it before now?"

He shrugged, his chains rattling at the movement. "I didn't think it was important."