Bad Behavior(76)

Rowan nodded, his attention now fully on Mr. Granade.

We questioned him for hours. By "we" I mean Mr. Granade questioned him while I took copious notes. Rowan told a life story that wasn't altogether unbelievable but had plenty of holes, especially during the prior three years when the murders occurred. His meth habit didn't help on the memory front.

Rowan had a normal childhood, good family-wealthy, even-and a decent education. All the ingredients necessary to make a contributing member of society were present, but at some point, he went wrong. Hard drugs and hard living made him look a lot older than his thirty-five years.

More than that, he did a lot of reprehensible shit. His lengthy rap sheet was one of the reasons the cops got on his trail in the first place. A murder charge he'd ducked five years ago definitely didn't help-another hooker, her body washing up along the banks of the Mississippi with Rowan as her last known john.

When we were finally finished and my notepad was almost completely full front to back, Mr. Granade called for the guard.

"You got any commissary money set up yet?" Mr. Granade asked.

"Nah, I don't think so."

"All right. I'll get with your mom to get that taken care of. Here's my card. They'll let you keep it. I expect a call from you anytime you have any problems, issues, anything. Got it?"

"Yeah, man."

"Don't say anything important over the phones. They're tapped. And I hope I don't have to remind you not to talk to anyone about your case. Just Ms. Montreat or myself. Not even your mother. Got me?"

Rowan nodded and darted his gaze over to me. I tried to fight the feeling of bugs crawling around on the back of my neck.

"Sorry about that earlier, Ms. Montreat. I didn't mean nothing by it."

"Apology accepted." I tried to smile at him. It may have turned out as a pained smirk.

He didn't seem to notice and gave me a gap-toothed grin. The guard swept in, unchained Rowan, and escorted him out.

The second the door clicked shut, I asked the question I'd been dying to ask ever since Rowan started talking. "You think he did it?"



       
         
       
        

Mr. Granade turned his blue stunners on me. "What does that matter?"

"Doesn't it matter? I . . . I just thought you'd know if, well, I don't know . . ."

He watched patiently as I stumbled over my words and finally gave up.

"It's our job to give him the best defense we possibly can, Ms. Montreat. His guilt or innocence isn't for us to decide."

"Okay." I gathered up my things and stood before following him to the door. He rapped his knuckles on the metal, signaling the guard to let us out.

I stood on my tiptoes and whispered into his ear. "So you're saying you think he's guilty, right?"

He shook his head and shot a smoldering look over his shoulder. "What am I going to do with you, Ms. Montreat?"





Chapter Three


WASH

The ride back to New Orleans almost killed me. What was I thinking when I allowed her to work this case with me? The rod in my pants could answer that question easily. Wouldn't even need two fucking guesses.

Fuck. She shifted in her seat, her floral scent circulating around the cabin and making me desperate to get close to her. Too close. Instead of pulling over, yanking her out of the car, and shoving her into the backseat, I rattled off a list of legwork I needed her to do. Of course, the thought of legwork drew my eyes down to her supple thighs, displayed nicely in her short skirt. Thank God for my sunglasses or she'd know I'd been checking her out the entire time we'd been in the car.

I tamped down my thoughts as best I could. They were almost foreign to me. Had I found women attractive before? Sure. I'd even fucked my fair share. But never an associate. I didn't fish off the office dock.

We had a strict policy in our firm-do not date the associates, do not lust after the associates, and certainly do not fuck the associates. I had been the leader in implementing the strict anti-fraternization rule after a few firms in town had their reputations irreparably tarnished by scandals involving too-young associates and too-gray partners. I reasoned any office relationships were a distraction and, as I did with all distractions, I forbade them. Any such fraternization would result in immediate dismissal-it was the rule, and I stuck by it.

But Caroline Montreat had somehow managed to make me break the rules I lived by from the very moment she walked into the office. It was completely out of character for my partner, Trent, to hire her. Trent Palmer had an even worse reputation than I did for being a hardass, and Caroline definitely didn't fit our firm's culture, to say the least.