02 Turn to Me - Kathleen Turner Read online

  Thirty minutes later I arrived at the firm, situated north of downtown Indianapolis in the nicer suburbs. I parked and hurried inside, taking a quick glance at the parking lot to see that Blane's car wasn't there in his usual spot. He probably was already in court this morning.

  I put my coat, purse, and travel coffee mug in my tiny cubicle on the first floor. Although I was out of the office a lot making runs, I had a little spot of my own with a computer. So much paperwork flowed through the firm they were forever trying to keep up with the typing, and if I was through with my runs I often helped out.

  After dropping off my things, I faced the most dreaded part of my day – checking in with the firm's office manager, Diane. A heavyset, no-nonsense woman, she'd taken a dislike to me almost from the moment I'd started. When James had found out about Blane and me he'd had Diane fire me, which she'd seemed to relish doing. Blane had hired me back, but Diane had become even more antagonistic towards me and I despised having to work for her. Not that I'd ever said a word about it to Blane. It smacked too much of wanting special treatment because of our relationship. Besides, anything he might do to try and alleviate the situation, short of firing Diane, would no doubt just make things worse, and I wasn't about to ask that he fire her.

  “Good morning, Diane,” I said politely, a fake smile plastered on my face as I stepped into her office.

  She looked up from her computer, her eyes narrowing as they fell on me. I kept still as she scrutinized me, despite the instinctive need to squirm under her inspection. It was rare that Diane didn't have something critical or disparaging to say about either my work, my appearance, or both.

  “Don't think that the weather is going to give you an excuse to not make your runs today,” she said brusquely. “I have a large stack for you and they all need to be delivered this morning.”

  My smile became strained as I replied. “The streets are fine,” I said calmly. “I shouldn't have any problems.”

  “Then don't let me keep you,” she said, gesturing to a stack of files on a nearby table. “And make sure you check in with me when you get back. There's plenty of work to be done so you won't have time to waste socializing.” She made “socializing” sound like it was something pornographic.

  I gritted my teeth, biting back the angry retort on the tip of my tongue. She was implying my visiting Blane, of course. It didn't matter that I rarely went up to his floor except to see if Clarice had any files for me to run. I grabbed the stack and took it back to my desk.

  “How was the dragon this morning?” Lori asked, stepping into my cube. She was a paralegal whose cube was adjacent to mine. No one held any particular affection for Diane, and her treatment of me had not gone unnoticed.

  “The usual,” I said with a shrug, not wanting to complain. Most everyone still treated me the same, even though it was common knowledge that Blane and I were dating.

  “I can't believe she's stupid enough to treat you the way she does,” Lori said, sipping from the cup of coffee she was holding. “I mean, come on, you're the boss's girlfriend, for crying out loud.”

  “She probably figures it's just temporary,” I remarked, knowing Diane was probably right on that score.

  “Still,” Lori protested, and I noticed she didn't contradict me, “you'd think she'd try to be a little nicer.”

  “I'd better get going,” I said ruefully, “before she checks to make sure I'm not 'socializing' too much.”

  Lori rolled her eyes at this and I silently agreed.

  I headed to the elevator, punching the button for the seventh floor. Blane had moved his office to the top floor when James Gage, Sr., had been indicted. Derrick Trent, the remaining partner, had expanded his office on the fifth floor.

  “Hey, Clarice,” I said, sliding into an empty chair across from her large, mahogany desk.

  “Morning!” Clarice said with a smile.

  I eyed her speculatively. “You seem to be in an awfully good mood this morning,” I teased her. “Would Jack have anything to do with that?” Clarice was divorced with two kids and was dating a high school science teacher named Jack. They'd been seeing each other for several months now.

  Clarice's smile grew even wider. “Maybe,” she said mischievously. “It was a good weekend.”

  “Good for you,” I said with a grin. “You deserve it.” Clarice was being cautious about being involved with someone after her first marriage had ended, but she and Jack had gotten progressively more serious. I was glad things were going well for them. I'd met him a few times and he seemed like a really nice guy. Clarice had finally introduced him to her kids a couple months ago.

  “What about you?” she said. “How was your weekend?”

  I hesitated, unsure if I should tell her all that happened. I decided vague would probably be easier. “Good. It was good. Blane and I got a Christmas tree.”

  “That sounds promising,” she said. Clarice had been thrilled to find out Blane and I were dating. Clarice had a soft spot for Blane and had worked for him long enough to see him go through woman after woman. I think she was hoping it would be different with me. “I saw Blane on the news Saturday,” she continued. “What was that all about? Was that you he rescued from that mugger? She sure looked like you.”

  I nodded. Clarice’s eyes widened.

  “Are you okay?” she asked worriedly.

  “I’m fine,” I replied, shrugging off her concern. “Blane got there pretty quick. I had a few bruises, that’s all.” She looked like she was going to ask more questions, but I hurriedly changed the subject.

  “Clarice, I was wondering,” I began, “are there any outstanding cases or clients that are particularly hostile toward Blane?” I figured that was the best place to start looking for a connection between the shooter and Blane.

  “How much time do you have?” she said dryly. “He's always had the odd nut job or two, but the case he's on now seems to have brought them out of the woodwork. Take a look at this.”

  She pushed a file folder toward me, full of papers. Bemused, I opened it. I read the first few and my hands turned to ice.

  The papers were all death threats, some more hideous and grotesque than others. The vividness of the more elaborate ones had bile rising in my throat. I paged through them slowly, aware that Blane had mentioned none of this to me.

  “How long have they been like this?” I asked quietly, swallowing the nausea.

  “A couple weeks,” she answered with a sigh. “I took them to the police, but they didn’t do anything. They think it's just a few crazies, nothing serious.”

  “I don't know about that,” I muttered. “What is it about the case he's on now,” I asked, handing back the folder. “The Waters' trial, that has people so upset?”

  “Blane’s defending a friend of his, a man named Kyle Waters. Kyle is a SEAL sniper,” Clarice explained. “He fought in Afghanistan and Iraq. On one particular mission, they were supposed to capture or kill some sheik that was an al-Qaeda leader. Well, on their way, a shepherd stumbled across them. There were only four of them, they couldn’t capture him. They determined he was an immediate threat, that he would warn others that they were there, so they killed him.”

  I processed this. “So now he’s on trial for wrongful death?” I asked.

  Clarice nodded. “Turns out that supposed shepherd was really an American citizen.”

  My jaw dropped. “Oh my God,” I breathed.

  “Not so fast,” Clarice said. “He was an American citizen who renounced his citizenship, converted to Islam, changed his name to Ahmed el Mustaqueem and moved there to fight for the other side.”

  “Oh.” Well, that certainly put things in a different light.

  “Exactly,” Clarice said knowingly. “But you still have the people that are all pissed off that they killed him, not that I particularly see it that way,” she added.

  “How do you see it?”

  She looked me in the eye. “I think it’s a hell of a lot easier to play armchair quarter
back from behind a desk than it is on the other side of the planet, surrounded by people who want to kill you. If that guy wanted to go fight for the other side, then he knew the risks. I think Kyle’s a hero and what’s going on is disgraceful. The man has been through three deployments and has a list of commendations and medals as long as my arm.”

  Her vehemence surprised me.

  “Does Blane feel the same way?” I asked.

  “I haven’t asked him,” she replied. “I assume so. He served in Afghanistan, so I would think he has an opinion on the matter.”

  I was confused. “If it’s a wrongful death suit, why is James prosecuting? Wouldn’t it be a private suit, not a county one?”

  “Usually,” she replied. “But in this instance, the man was from Indianapolis originally and the family got the county to bring the suit. If James wins, it sets a precedent that’s never been done before – a state government prosecuting a soldier. It’s disgusting, what James is doing.”

  I thought for a moment before asking, “Do you think I could look at the Waters' file?” I wanted to read through it, see if there was anything I could find that might shed some light on who had tried to kill us yesterday.

  “Sure, but don't tell anyone. Technically, you work for the firm so you could be legitimately helping with the case, but I don't want to get into trouble.”

  “No problem,” I assured her. “I won't breathe a word.”

  “Come by later,” she said. “The files are in the conference room and you can start there.”

  I agreed, thanking her before heading back downstairs to grab my stack and head back out into the cold for my deliveries.

  I finished my runs and was on my way to the courthouse for my last delivery, which had to be there by noon. Suddenly, I noticed my steering wheel was pulling to the right and an odd sound was coming from my car. I slowed down as it got progressively worse, finally forced to pull off to the side of the road. Grabbing my gloves, I pulled them on as I got out of the car. As I walked to the front, I saw what the problem was and groaned. My right front tire was flat as a pancake.

  I stood staring dumbly at it, wondering what the heck I was going to do now. I knew how to change a tire, but shied away from doing it in the freezing cold with all the slush and snow lining the road. I was sure to get filthy trying to change the tire by myself, and while I wasn't opposed to having to do that, I really didn't want to.

  Cars flew past as I contemplated my predicament. Not only did it look like I was going to have to lay out cash for a tow truck and new tire, there was no way I was going to be able to get my delivery to the courthouse in time. Diane was going to be pissed.

  As I wavered in indecision, a taxi pulled up and off to the side in front of me. Surprised, I turned to see a familiar figure get out and walk toward me.

  “Frankie?” I asked as he got closer.

  “Hey, K-k-kathleen,” he stammered, shoving his gloveless hands into the pockets of his jeans. “What hap-happened?”

  “I got a flat,” I gestured helplessly to the deflated tire.

  “D-d-d-do you n-need a ride?”

  I brightened. “That would be great!” If I could get to the courthouse, I could get the documents delivered on time and then I'd just call a tow truck from there.

  I went to grab my purse from the car and hesitated – I still had Blane's gun. There was no way they'd let me in the courthouse with it, that was for sure. Making a quick decision, I opened my glove box and pushed the gun inside, grabbed my purse and files from my car before locking it and following Frankie to the taxi. It was blessedly warm inside the car.

  “Where t-t-to?” he asked, once he was behind the wheel.

  “The courthouse, if you don't mind,” I answered, meeting his eyes in the rearview mirror.

  He nodded once and we set off. I was glad for the stroke of luck that had him nearby. After a few minutes, I ventured a question. “How have you been, Frankie? And your sister?”

  “G-g-good. C-Chrissy loves the s-s-s-snow.”

  I smiled. “Me, too. Especially here at Christmas.”

  “Your f-f-face is b-better,” he offered.

  I realized he meant the bruises from the encounter with the mugger the other night. I lightly touched the still tender skin of my cheek. “Yeah, thanks,” I said, surprised he could see them, considering how much makeup I had pancaked on this morning.

  We made it to the courthouse with about fifteen minutes to spare and I hurriedly dug inside my purse for money, glancing at the meter to see how much the ride had cost. I had just enough cash on me to cover it.

  “Here you go,” I said, holding out the money.

  Frankie tried to not take it, shaking his head. “You d-d-don't have t-to p-p-pay,” he protested.

  “I absolutely do,” I insisted. “I don't work for free and you don't either. Come on and take it, I've gotta go.”

  He reluctantly took the money, then handed me a scrap of paper.

  “M-my cell. In c-c-case you n-need a c-c-cab,” he stuttered.

  I smiled my thanks, grabbed my things and hopped out, slamming the car door shut behind me.

  “Thanks again, Frankie,” I tossed over my shoulder. “You were a real lifesaver today.”

  He waved at me and I spared a hand to wave back as I jogged up the courthouse steps, being careful of icy spots that looked slick.

  “Well, if you aren't a sight for sore eyes!” Hank exclaimed, a twinkle in his eyes. Hank was the head security guard, a large, imposing black man. While he may have looked threatening, Hank was about as likely to take somebody down as he would drop kick puppies. I liked him immensely, and he seemed to have a soft spot for me, too.

  “Hi, Hank,” I said with a grin, handing him my purse for his cursory inspection as I walked through the metal detector. “Finished Christmas shopping for those kids of yours yet?” Hank and his wife, Theresa, had five kids all under the age of ten.

  “Aw, Kathleen,” he said, a pained expression on his face as he gave my purse back to me, “you know I hate the mall this time of year.”

  “You hate the mall any time of year,” I retorted with a laugh.

  He grinned broadly and laughed as well. “You got that right,” he said.

  I made my delivery, then called a local towing company to tow my car to the tire shop to get the flat fixed. After that, I milled the hallways in indecision, wondering if I should call Clarice for a ride back to the firm. I thought about how Diane was going to react to finding out the runner had no transportation, and no good scenario came to mind.

  As I was putting off going back to the firm, and Diane, a thought occurred to me and I walked back to Hank. I waited until there was a break in the flow of people coming inside before interrupting him, “Hey, Hank, could I ask a favor?”

  “Anything for you,” he said with a wink.

  “I was wondering if there's any room left in the gallery for the Waters' trial?” I really wanted to see Blane, especially after reading those letters this morning. I was sure he was fine, but I couldn't shake the lingering unease.

  “That one's pretty crowded,” Hank said, “and been a bitch to keep secure with all the people wanting a piece of the action.”

  I sighed, disappointed.

  “But I think I can get you in,” Hank continued, glancing at his watch. “If you come with me, they just took a short recess and have about another hour to go before lunch.”

  I brightened immediately. “That's great! Thanks so much, Hank.”

  I followed him through the halls to the largest courtroom in the building. There was a crowd of people milling in the hallway outside the door, the buzz of conversation reverberating loudly off the walls. Another security guard stood by the entrance to the courtroom, checking people's badges before allowing them through. I kept up with Hank as his large size caused people to move to the side to allow him to pass.

  “This one's with me,” Hank told the guard, who nodded as we moved beyond him through the doorway.

/>   “Find a spot and settle in,” Hank directed, gesturing to the rows of benches, all of them filled nearly to capacity.

  “Thanks, Hank,” I said gratefully, and he gave me a smile in return before leaving. I looked around, finally spotting a narrow strip of empty space on the bench directly behind the prosecution's table. I was reluctant to take it, not wanting to be within such close proximity to James, but had no choice. Hurrying down the aisle, I muttered an apology to the bench's occupants as I squeezed into the nearly too small space. The man sitting next to me gave me a dirty look. I ignored him.

  A few minutes later, the prosecution filed in and took their seats. My heart seemed to skip a beat when I saw James. He was standing, talking with another lawyer. James was dressed in a dark suit with a white shirt and navy tie. He looked professional and honest. You'd never know what he was capable of just by looking at him. It made a chill go through me to watch him, remembering how his father had so easily condemned me to die and how James had done nothing to stop it. I wondered if the apple didn't fall far from the tree. Would James stoop to murder to achieve his ends? Could it have been him out in the woods yesterday?

  I froze when James glanced around the courtroom as he talked quietly, taking in the number of people filling the gallery. His gaze brushed past me and I let out a sigh of relief. Then I saw him stop speaking and his gaze flew back and met mine.

  I didn't breathe and my palms grew sweaty under his scrutiny. I swallowed hard, but refused to be the first to break the stare, not wanting him to know how much he unnerved me.

  His eyes were cold and his mouth curved in a smirk as he watched me. I finally let out the breath I'd been holding when he casually turned away, dismissing me.