Shame on Him

Waiting for him to continue, I don’t say a word.

“I’m going over Ted’s notes from your statement and I can’t read a damn word of his chicken-scratch handwriting. I just need to know whether or not you noticed the front door had been tampered with when you entered Richard Covington’s house,” he explains.

He wants my assistance with the case that should have been mine. This jerk actually thinks I’m going to help him?

“You’re absolutely correct. It would probably be the best thing for this case if we put our differences aside. After all, the goal right now is to find out who did this.”

I hear Dallas sigh in relief. “Exactly. It’s good that you can be the bigger person about this, Lorelei.”

Hearing my name fall from his lips gives me pause. He’s never said my name before, just variations of insults. I ignore the tug on my heart that it gives me and remember Kennedy’s words: shock him so much that it will throw him off his game.

“Oh, I’m definitely the bigger person in this instance, Dallas,” I tell him sweetly. “Grab a pen and jot this down.”

I can hear him rustling around through the line.

“I’m ready. Go.”

Channeling Kennedy, I toss aside my uptight nature for just a moment. “I’m going to wipe your ass with this case, Dallas Osborne. When I find out who killed Richard Covington, and I will, I’m going to point and laugh while you’re busy sitting at home on a Monday night with your dick in your hand.”

Ending the call, I toss my phone onto my coffee table and smile to myself.

Getting inside Dallas’s head might just be the best advice Kennedy has ever given me.





CHAPTER 4




I don’t know why I’m even shocked that you carry tools with you for breaking and entering,” I tell Kennedy as I watch her crouch down in front of Richard Covington’s door.

It’s been a week since I walked in this house to find Richard shot dead on the floor of his library. I had two cases to try and spent the rest of my time pulling up as much information as I could find on Richard and Stephanie. I probably never should have told Kennedy that I wished I could have an hour inside of Richard’s house to see if I could find anything that would help with the case. An hour later she knocked on my door and told me to wear black and bring a flashlight.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this. You know I could be disbarred for this, right?” I complain to Kennedy as I turn my back on her and stare out over the dark lawn. If I’m not watching it happen, I can just plead ignorance if we get caught.

“I thought you were going to quit. Who cares if they fire you?” Paige whispers as she aims her flashlight at the door so Kennedy can see.

“There’s a big difference between being fired and being disbarred, Paige. If we get caught, I could lose my license and never be able to practice law again.”

I should really be more concerned about the ramifications of what we’re doing right now. I shouldn’t be standing here while my friend breaks into a crime scene. At least one problem would be solved—my parents would finally know what I’ve been doing when they have to bail me out of jail.

“First rule of thumb if you’re going to make it in this business, Lorelei: always carry a paper clip and a torsion wrench in your back pocket and stop being such a candy ass,” Kennedy explains as she carefully sticks the tools into the lock with the precision of a surgeon performing open-heart surgery.

“I thought the first rule of thumb was to stick it to the man?” Paige says with a laugh.

“What the hell are we going to do if the alarm goes off?” I whisper, glancing behind us nervously.

“The alarm isn’t going to go off because Ted told me they had it disabled for the next few days so detectives can come and go whenever they please,” Kennedy says, her eyes never leaving the door as she fiddles with the lock.

A few seconds later, I hear a loud click.

“Got it!” Kennedy cheers.

She pulls another tool out of her back pocket, this time a Swiss Army knife, and slices through the police tape stretched across the door. She stands up, pushes open the door, and we follow her into the dark house.

“I’ll replace that when we leave. Keep your flashlights low to the ground. We don’t want anyone driving by to see the light bouncing around through the windows,” Kennedy warns.

We all turn on our flashlights and aim them at the ground.

“You’re sure the guard at the front gate won’t tell anyone we were here?” I ask her nervously as we step into the foyer.

“Positive. I went to high school with the guy and a few months ago his ex-wife had me confront him about wearing her underwear and heels. I told him I would send out a mass e-mail to everyone he knows,” Kennedy tells us.