She called me because she’s tired of watching the bad guys walk.
No matter what she tried, they always got off.
So, when she went up against Antoine Larroca, an evil man, she brought me in.
I’m the Fixer.
I know everything.
I can solve anything.
But the first time I saw her?
I lost it.
Because this chick is out of this world.
I’ve been with other women, sure. But someone like Theresa?
Curvy with just the right amount you can’t wait to squeeze.
Fighting the good fight against evil?
A broad like that doesn’t come around often.
There’s just one problem.
Those people she’s going after? The bad guys.
Those are my people.
Now I got a choice.
My heart… or my life.
1
Theresa
I’ve got you, you son-of-a-bitch. Finally.
I knew it was a dangerous thought. Every first-year law-student knows no case is closed until the perp’s led to jail in cuffs with a conviction. Though I’m only twenty-eight, I’d been with the District Attorney’s office long enough to know that there’s no such thing as an “open and shut case.”
Still. It was hard not to feel like I’d been handed one.
Of course, “handed” was a matter of perspective since I’d been chasing Antoine Larroca pretty much from the moment I was awarded my law degree.
Larroca was legendary bad news—hit man and gang enforcer. Ended people as easily as decent human beings popped candy. For years, he’d managed to kill all over this city—and possibly all over the country, if the rumors were to be believed—with impunity. He’d been to court more times than some judges sat behind a bench. Yet never been to jail.
I clenched my jaw, determination suffusing me. That ends today. I swear it.
As the bailiff led Antoine in, I forced myself to meet his cold, dark eyes. His hair formed an intense widows’ peak above his lined forehead and his nose was as sharp as the ice pick he’d used on many a victim while his lips were permanently curled in a snarl.
There was a confidence in his gaze and swagger in his step that almost unnerved me, and I swallowed hard and forced myself to project even more coolness in return.
He was going down the way most men like him did: thanks to the most innocent of mistakes. After all, Al Capone went to jail for tax evasion. As for Antoine Larroca… He rolled through a stop sign.
Police pulled him over, and after identifying him, used the traffic stop as an excuse to search his trunk—where they found four unlicensed guns.
Sure, it would have been sweet to nail his ass with a murder charge. Gun charges weren’t sexy, but if it got him off the street, it was a victory.
I eyed Larroca his entire walk to the defendant’s table, where I saw his lawyer whisper in his ear. I didn’t recognize the defense attorney as one of the mob’s regulars. Honestly, I assumed the mob’s law firm would have sent someone more pre-eminent to protect such a powerful asset. Maybe they knew Larroca was screwed, so why waste money on a powerful attorney?
Watching them in the moment, however, my stomach gradually sank. Did they knew something I didn’t? Larroca leaned away from his lawyer and gave a curt nod. I was so focused on watching the duo that I almost forgot to stand when the judge entered.
No sooner had I sat back down, that the defense attorney made a motion to dismiss the case. I scoffed, despite myself. What a desperate ploy.
Then, he gave his reason. “Your honor, my client was never read his Miranda rights.”
Wait, what? My head shot up from my notes on the case. This is the first I’d heard about any shit like that. I leapt to my high-heeled feet, a hip cocked to the side as I secured the judge’s attention. “That’s ridiculous, your honor, I’ve got nothing that says—”
“The arresting officer is willing to testify to the omission,” the lawyer shrugged and cocked an eyebrow.
I glanced toward the gallery behind me and spied an officer in uniform. The judge made him stand and he affirmed that he’d be willing to testify to his oversight under oath. After the judge asked him to sit, I saw a look pass between the cop and Larroca’s attorney.
Paid off, I thought. Mother fucker!
“Ms. Brannigan.” The judge called my name. “Ms. Brannigan, do you have anything to add?”
I had a lot to add. Like, when is this corrupt bullshit going to stop? And, when will men like Larroca pay for what they’ve done?
I couldn’t say any of that in court, though. So, I gritted my teeth and tossed my glossy black hair over my shoulder. Despite my short, slight figure, I drew myself up as tall as I could in my four-inch heels. No way I’d play it meek while my case went up in flames.
“The city has nothing to add at this time,” I replied in my most officious tone.
“Then, I’m afraid there’s nothing for me to do but dismiss this case. Court adjourned.” The bang of the judge’s gavel hit me like a gunshot, and I actually flinched.
As Antoine shook his lawyer’s hand and headed out of the courtroom, I forced myself to stare at him, all my rage and fury in my eyes, so he knew I wasn’t afraid of the likes of him.
He noticed me looking and smoothed his hair before the shitheel blew me a kiss.
Minutes later, I was back in my office doing everything I could to not lose my shit. I’d thrown my blazer into a crumpled pile in the corner and unbuttoned the top of my blouse to give myself some air. I tapped my foot and wrung my hands because otherwise I’d have thrown my office chair through the window.
Breathe, Theresa. Breathe. Rage wasn’t going to solve my problem.
I sat at my desk and quickly opened drawers and then slammed them shut, because at least it gave me something to do while the thwack of the wood was somewhat satisfying.
As I indulged in opening and shutting every drawer, something caught my eye. There, near the front of the center drawer, was a business card, drawing my attention like a magnet.
The card got shoved into the back of that drawer when I had first moved into the office, but the force I used when opening the drawer cause it to slide forward. It would have been a hard fucker to miss—a matte black card, with blue shining letters etched into the surface.
Professor McDonnell gave me that card at our last lunch before I moved to Chicago to take this job. The words he said as he slipped it into my hand rang in my ears as if it were yesterday: “Use it only in an emergency. Once you do… you won’t be able to go back.”
I knew I should close the drawer and let the card slide to the back once more. I had my whole career ahead of me and getting involved in something dangerous—illegal—could derail everything.
But fuck it. That monster Larroca was still free no matter how hard I tried.
I picked up the card, angling it just right in the office’s light so I could read the words. It simply said: “The Fixer,” with a phone number underneath.
It would probably be a bad idea to use the office phone. So, I grabbed my personal cell and dialed…
2