Engaging his Enemy (Shattered SEALs #4) - Amy Gamet Page 0,17
his face. He’d slept for shit last night, his warm and fuzzy thoughts of Wyatt dissolving into the ether as his mind dreamed of Davina sharing his childhood bed. Now, he was grouchy and unusually petulant. “She’s late. How many murder trials has she handled in her career?”
Ben pushed his plate of half-eaten eggs away. “A lot. She was an assistant district attorney in Houston for eight years.”
“Has she ever defended anyone?”
“I’m her first.”
Moto shook his head. He had to be joking. There was no way an inexperienced litigator could handle this case. “Can you get someone else? Someone with a track record?”
“I can’t afford a lawyer with a track record. Besides, she’s a friend.”
The waitress appeared and refilled their coffee before disappearing into the diner. Moto drank the scalding-hot liquid. “Then I’ll pay for it.”
“No, thanks, little brother.”
“You have a bargain-basement lawyer who’s never defended anyone accused of murder. This is your life we’re talking about.”
“As long as that electronic trail leads right to my door, it won’t make a damn bit of difference who’s defending me. The proof is in the pudding, and right now the pudding says I’m guilty as sin.”
“Are you?”
“Stop fucking asking me that. No. You think I’d kill a federal agent?”
“Everyone is capable of murder, given the right motivation. Depends what he had on you.”
“I was selling real estate, for God’s sake.”
“Millions of dollars’ worth to anonymous buyers. You should have known better. You think you suddenly became a hotshot Realtor overnight? You think your fortune changed just like that?”
Ben’s stare hardened over the rim of his coffee cup. “Not everyone gets things handed to them on a silver platter.”
The bell over the diner entrance jingled and a petite brunette entered, her hair pulled back in a low ponytail and her suit two sizes two big. She crossed to their table. “I’m sorry I’m late. Are you ready?”
Moto held out his hand. “Zach Sato. I’m Ben’s brother.”
“Laney Devereux. I don’t shake hands.”
Moto eyed Ben, but he was already getting up. This woman wasn’t much for social graces. Moto took out his wallet and dropped several bills on the table. “How far are the cliffs from here?”
“About twenty minutes,” said Laney. “I’ll drive. We can talk in the car.” She led the way to a minivan. Ben took the passenger seat, and Moto opened the rear sliding door to a pink booster seat covered in crumbs. Laney didn’t miss a beat, reaching for the booster and tossing it into the back of the van. “Sorry about the goldfish.”
Moto frowned, flicking Goldfish crackers and crumbs onto the floor before sitting down. “Tell me about the crime scene.” Ben had already filled him in over breakfast, but he was interested in hearing her take, too.
“Eighty-five-foot cliffs down to the water and rocks below. Body was found floating in the lake a hundred yards away.” The car swerved sharply, slamming Moto into the door. Laney drove like her house was on fire, deftly passing pickup trucks and eighteen-wheelers. “Injuries consistent with a fall from that height. A fractured cranium, compound fracture of the leg. But the fall and the water didn’t kill him. Coroner says he died from asphyxia. No water in the lungs.”
Moto wondered how skilled the coroner was and made a mental note to have Logan investigate. “Strangulation?”
“Possibly. No ligature marks, but some bruising around the neck, along with severe bruising of his torso and face that are inconsistent with a fall and several hours old at the time of death.”
Moto liked her succinct retelling. “He was beat up.”
“Badly. Speaking of which, you both appear to have been in a fight.”
It was Ben who answered. “We had a few things to settle with each other.”
“I take it that’s over with? Because walking around with evidence of a beating doesn’t help me convince anyone you aren’t the physical type.” She eyed Moto pointedly in the rearview mirror.
“Sorry,” he said contritely.
Ben shifted in his seat. “Won’t happen again.”
“Shit, this is our turn.” She darted across two empty lanes of traffic and took the exit ramp at high speed.
Moto gripped the overhead handle to steady himself. “You always drive like this?”
“No. Sometimes I go fast.” She took a winding two-lane road up the side of a hill, his stomach swirling with each curve. The sun shone brightly. “Hand me my glasses,” she said.
Ben opened the glove box and retrieved them. Moto frowned. Just how often had he been in this car? Ben said Laney was a friend, but exactly