LITMIR.BIZ

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had been a bastard, a part-time preacher, part-time grifter, and full-time loser, but he’d left his only son with a dog-eared Bible and a few pearls of wisdom.

      Maybe old Isaac Dennis had been right. Cole certainly had experienced his own personal tumble. Nearly to hell. This pathetic little cottage only served to remind him of that.

      As if reading his thoughts, Deeds said, “It was the best I could do.”

      “This place is just my style,” Cole lied, managing the kind of conspiratorial smile he’d been known to flash a jury when cross-examining a witness and closing in for the kill. He’d never looked smug or self-righteous, just not surprised when the prosecution’s star witness was led down the garden path, trapped into admitting things he or she had tried to hide.

      “Give me a break,” Deeds said. “Think of it as temporary.”

      “Now you give me a break.” He and Deeds both knew that not only his credit but his reputation had been destroyed in the past quarter of a year. His once-sizable bank account had withered to a few thousand bucks. His house, Jaguar, and job had disappeared. But he was still good with his hands, able to fix about anything broken, so Deeds had somehow convinced the owner of this shack to rent to him despite his current lack of employment.

      “I need a job.” Cole rubbed a hand around the back of his neck. Jesus, he hated asking for anything from anyone.

      “We’re working on that.”

      By “we,” Deeds meant the partners at the law firm, where Cole had once been their brightest star. Now his license to practice law had been suspended and was currently “under review.”

      “You can still clerk at the firm.”

      Cole nodded. He’d swallow his pride if it meant getting a paycheck, but it still stuck in his craw that the very interns and law students he’d mentored would now be higher on the food chain than he’d be. Well, so be it. He’d been in tight spots before and had always landed on his feet.

      He’d do it again.

      Besides, he had a plan. One he couldn’t tell Deeds about. A plan that was his personal secret.

      A gust of wind swept down the street, trailing after a rumbling, converted bus spewing exhaust. The driver ground the gears as he reached the intersection, and somewhere, a few houses down, a dog barked. Lights began to glow in some of the neighboring windows though night was still far off. A few kids played on skateboards and bikes, and rap music blared from a beat-up garage two doors down, where a couple of twenty-something men were working on the engine of an older Pontiac.

      “I had a moving company put your stuff inside. Still in boxes, I’m afraid.” Deeds handed him a small ring with two keys, one for the house, the other for the Jeep.

      Cole managed another wry smile. “It’s not as if I don’t have some time on my hands.”

      Deeds snorted. It was almost a laugh. Almost. “So, I’ll be talkin’ to ya.”

      “Yeah.” Cole stuck out his hand. “Thanks, Sam.”

      Deeds grabbed Cole’s palm. Squeezed hard. “Stay out of trouble.”

      “I will.”

      “I mean it.” Deeds didn’t let go of Cole’s hand. “And for God’s sake, don’t go looking up Eve or anyone associated with Roy’s death, okay? It’s a closed chapter.”

      “Of course it is,” he said, forcing conviction into his tone as Deeds finally dropped his hand. He had to play this carefully. No one could suspect what he intended to do.

      Deeds’s eyes narrowed as if he weren’t buying Cole’s new attitude. Thin lines of frustration were etched on the lawyer’s high forehead. “Just so we’re on the same page. Whoever killed Kajak has either left the vicinity or is laying low.”

      “Or is dead.”

      Deeds held up a hand, silently warning Cole not to say anything else. “Maybe. Doesn’t matter. You keep your nose clean. You and I both know that you’re not the New Orleans PD’s favorite son, so don’t give them anything to work with. We’ve still got that small charge to deal with.”

      Cole’s jaw tightened when he thought about the misdemeanor that was still smudging his record. “I was set up,” he muttered through lips that didn’t move. “I haven’t smoked dope since I was an undergrad.”

      “Even if I believe you, the weed was found in your glove box while you were out on bail.”

      The muscles in Cole’s jaw tightened even more, and his fingers were clenched so tightly over the handle of his briefcase that he knew his knuckles had blanched. “Someone yanked the taillight fuse of my Jag to make certain I’d be pulled over. When I reached for my registration, the bag of marijuana fell out. If the stuff was mine, would I have been so stupid? So careless?”

      “Hey, you don’t have to convince me. But I still have to clean it up. Get it off your record.”

      Cole swore under his breath.

      Deeds touched him on the arm. “So the pot wasn’t yours. So someone set you up. Okay. I believe you. But you’re the one who broke bail. You knew the terms, that you weren’t supposed to talk to anyone involved in the case, and you couldn’t help yourself.”

      Cole couldn’t argue that one. He’d tried to contact Eve and had paid the price.

      “Stay away from her, man,” Deeds advised, lowering his voice as if the kid jumping the curb on his skateboard could hear or care about their conversation. “She’s bad news.” Deeds’s cell phone rang, and he slipped it out of the clip on his belt. “Deeds.” A pause. “Oh hell…Look, I’m on my way.” He checked his watch, mouthed, “I’ve got to go,” and when Cole nodded, he sketched a wave, folded himself into his BMW, found his earbud, and switched to the hands-free mode of his cell as he turned the ignition.

      As the sleek car roared away from the curb, Cole headed inside, but he knew he wasn’t going to take Deeds’s advice. One of his first acts as a free man would be to confront Eve.

      Hang the consequences.

      She had to keep moving.

      Couldn’t waste time.

      Eve headed to the cash register, pulling out bills. She didn’t want to think about her father’s culpability or innocence or anything else about the trial. It was all water under the bridge, and the fact that she’d wondered if Roy Kajak’s reference to “evidence” had something to do with Tracy Aliota’s death was just her own way of admitting she didn’t completely trust the father she’d thought she loved.

      She finished paying her bill and walked outside to a day that was even gloomier than before. Purple clouds scraped the tops of the spindly pines in the perimeter of the lot. Raindrops pounded and splashed on the cracked asphalt, forcing Eve to make a mad dash to her car.

      Samson howled in his cage, and as she shushed him she spied water on the passenger seat. Swearing under her breath, she grabbed the towel she kept in the car for just such emergencies. In the past few weeks the window had begun to slip a bit, refusing to seal. Kyle had looked at it a couple of times but hadn’t been able to repair the damned thing. She mopped up the small puddle then leaned across the bucket seat, pressed on the button to raise the window, and heard the electric motor whine to no avail. The glass didn’t budge. She’d just have to live with it and call a mechanic once she got home.

      If she ever made it.

      Her headache had dulled, the edges softening, and she wasn’t going to let something as inconsequential as the broken window bother her. She could even put up with Samson’s now-intermittent mewling.

      She drove out of the lot and onto a side street before locating the ramp to the freeway again. Nosing her Toyota into the flow of traffic heading toward the gulf, she tried to relax. So Cole was a free man. So what? She wondered if he would return to New Orleans. Her sister-in-law

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