“Too late. Plus, I want to be distracted. Work’s always waiting.”
“It is, but you should get some rest too.”
“Now you’re being sweet. You’re right though, I should. The next few days are going to be chaotic.”
“Oh?”
“Remember I told you my client was beaten while in holding?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s to do with that,” was all I said.
I didn’t tell him that Luc being beaten had been a ‘master plan.’
Humming my disapproval, knowing he’d accept it as my dislike for mass incarceration, I murmured, “Rex?”
“I miss you too, Rachel.”
My smile was so big that it made my jaw ache.
“Night?”
“Night, my love. Sleep well.”
THIRTY-FIVE
REX
THREE DAYS LATER
“You sound stressed.”
Rachel blew out a breath. “It’s been a crazy couple of days.”
I knew that without her having to say a word. Though we’d been talking every day, the last couple of calls had ended with her yawning and her words slurring as she fell asleep.
Whatever was going on in NYC, she wouldn’t tell me. Client confidentiality.
It didn’t sit well with me at all.
Staying out of the MC business wasn’t helping matters either. It meant I couldn’t call on Maverick for information without getting a barrage of bullshit in return.
I wanted a break. Some respite. I needed that. So that meant I was, for all intents and purposes, blocked from any information that was strictly unavailable to the public.
“Is everything under control?”
“Mostly. There’ll be a court case soon enough, but it’ll be thrown out.”
“How do you know?”
“Trumped-up charges. They don’t actually make any sense. I’ve no idea why the DA is going through with them, but she is.”
“A bluff?”
“I doubt it. But maybe. I don’t know why the hell the DA decides what she decides.”
“For whatever reason, there’s no denying that she gets results.”
New York’s District Attorney had made a name for herself by taking a tough stance on mafia activity in the city.
Predominantly Italian activity.
As far as I was aware, the Irish, Russian, and Chinese escaped her ire, whereas the Italians got the full brunt of it.
If the DA was being a hard ass, I guessed I had confirmation of who Rachel’s client was.
Even though there’d been a change of leadership over Christmas—even I’d heard about that through the grapevine—the Famiglia, the Italian mafia, were still being targeted by the DA's office.
“You couldn’t get them to drop the charges for your client?” I asked, surprised.
“No.”
She didn’t sound happy about it. That was the perfectionist in her.
A sharp sound in my ear had me wincing. “What’s that in the background?”
“Traffic. I’m on my way to Manhattan.”
“Meetings?”
“Always.”
“Was your client angry?”
“No.”
I arched a brow. “Unusual.”
“I agree.” She huffed. “He’s playing a bigger endgame.”
“What kind of endgame? I know you’re not supposed to talk about this with me, but maybe I can help?”
She sighed, her exhaustion drifting down the line. “I doubt it. His great-uncle is in prison on trumped-up charges. The man’s in the Bellevue Hospital Prison Ward; he’s dying, and my client wants him to experience some freedom before that happens.”
Shocked she’d shared that much, I was silent as I processed the information she’d given me.
“I shouldn’t have said that—”
“No, it’s fine. You know I won’t tell anyone.”
“I know you won’t, but that doesn’t mean you won’t try to use it for the MC’s gain if you figure out who my client is.”
I snorted. “You know me better than anyone, so you also know that if you tell me something in confidence I won’t say a damn word.”
“I repeat—I know you won’t. But I know your brain.”
Rolling my eyes, I muttered, “What kind of trumped-up charges?”
“Multiple counts of murder one.”
“Jesus.”
“Yeah, the case was a mess. The prosecution said the great-uncle wanted to take over his family’s business,” she explained, her tone careful enough that I knew she was whitewashing over some of the minutiae.
“And that didn’t happen?”
“My client’s spent years liberating his great-uncle, not to mention wasting a fortune on the endeavor. I doubt he’d have done that if he didn’t believe the old man was innocent.”
“That’s not a yes.”
She laughed. “No, it isn’t. But you know how I work.”
“You’ll get him out whether he is or isn’t guilty because your client asked you to.”
“Exactly. I saw him the other day. He looks like hell.”
“You went to the hospital?”
“Yes.” Then, blandly, she repeated something she’d said earlier, “If you remember, my client was involved in a fight in his holding cell.”
My brow furrowed as I read between the lines. “And got transferred to Bellevue Hospital Prison Ward?”
“Yes.”
Where his great-uncle was being treated.
I had to smile. “That’s seems coincidental.”
“Doesn’t it?” she drawled. “Anyway, the pressure’s on to get the old man out before he dies. Which, because of end-stage kidney failure, is looking goddamn imminent.”
“What’s your next move?”
“I’m going to put pressure on the Attorney General.”
My eyes widened. “Hardcore.”
“After all this time, it needs hardcore. I’ve pulled all the plays I can. There’s clear proof that evidence was falsified and that the DA at the time turned a blind eye to the truth. Either way, my appeals get us nowhere. It’s bullshit, so now I need to barter with leverage.”
“The Attorney General owes you?”
“He does, but not enough for this. I’m afraid my client’s the one who’ll owe him the favor.”
I pursed my lips. “Shouldn’t you ask for approval first?”
“I was told to do whatever it took to get the old man out of jail. He can bitch at me later over how I achieve that,” she grouched. “Anyway, enough about work, how’s your day been? Have you managed to get some downtime?”
“I have. I got some sleep. I didn’t realize how tired I was until I came here. I can’t say that I feel better for it, but I must have needed it.” I scratched my stubbled jaw. “I got a workout in, ate some lunch. You know how it goes.”
“How much is it killing you not to work?”
My lips twitched. “It’s hard. I keep thinking about it, but then I force myself to switch off. I just need a break from it, you know?”