Save Your Breath (Morgan Dane #6) - Melinda Leigh Page 0,7
handle. I’m a trial lawyer. You need an appellate lawyer. It’s a different process that requires a different skill set. You will get the most for your money if you hire an attorney who specializes in appeals.”
“You’re turning me down?” Mrs. Olander stared at the slip of paper as if it would bite her.
“Yes. You really need a bigger firm.”
Mrs. Olander took the paper, held it at arm’s length, and squinted. Her face fell. “They already said no.”
No doubt they hadn’t seen legs on the appeal either.
“I’m sorry.” Morgan empathized, but she couldn’t change reality for Mrs. Olander.
Mrs. Olander set the paper on Morgan’s desk. “You were my last hope. I’ve seen you on TV. You always seem so . . . righteous.” Her gaze rose, meeting Morgan’s. Mrs. Olander’s eyes were filled with disappointment, sorrow, and pain deep enough to scar the soul.
Yet she had spoken of her dead daughter-in-law almost with disdain. Had her maternal instincts blocked out her feelings for Natalie? Or had her son’s case drained Mrs. Olander to a point where she had no remaining emotional reserves?
Mrs. Olander studied Morgan for a few heartbeats; then her mouth pressed into a bloodless line. “What do I owe you for your time today?”
“Today’s meeting was a free consultation.” Morgan wanted nothing from the poor woman.
“Thank you.” Mrs. Olander rose and tucked her purse under one arm. “You could have taken the case and run up a huge bill, but you were honest with me. I do appreciate that.”
She turned and walked out of Morgan’s office with the stiff, painful gait of a beaten woman. Needing air, Morgan escorted her into the hall.
The door to the next office was open. Lance sat behind his desk. He took in Morgan’s face and the client’s in one glance, no doubt also reading the hopelessness in Mrs. Olander’s body language.
Morgan saw the woman out. When she closed the door and turned around, Lance was leaning in his doorway. Six two, blond, and buff, he wore tactical cargos, a snug black T-shirt, and a Glock. He looked more like a SWAT team member than a PI. Despite his badass appearance, his blue eyes were soft and concerned as they met hers.
“Is everything all right?” he asked.
Morgan nodded. She rented office space from Sharp Investigations. Since her cases often required the services of an investigator, the arrangement was convenient. The PI firm occupied the bottom half of the duplex. The firm’s founder, Lincoln Sharp, lived upstairs.
Morgan headed for the kitchen at the rear of the building. She poured a glass of filtered water from the pitcher in the fridge. She turned and leaned against the counter. The window that overlooked the backyard was open, and cool air wafted into the room, bringing with it the scents of falling leaves and woodsmoke.
“You look like you need something stronger than water.” Lance turned and leaned next to her. Their arms touched, his contact grounding her as always.
Morgan’s husband had been killed in Iraq a few years before. She’d spent two years burrowed under depression and grief. Last year, she’d reconnected with Lance, whom she’d dated briefly in high school. Their reconnection had blossomed into a relationship filled with love and respect. He’d asked her to marry him last spring. She was grateful every single day that she’d been given a second chance at love.
Morgan sighed. “That was a rough one.”
“What did she want?”
Morgan summed up the meeting in a few sentences. “I could have taken the case. It would have required a marathon of overtime, but I’m capable of filing an appeal. I would have charged her a fraction of what an appellate lawyer at a big firm would cost.” Doubt crept into Morgan’s chest.
As a former prosecutor, she was still adjusting to being on the defense side of the courtroom. When she’d first opened her practice, she’d been skeptical. Her years as a prosecutor had convinced her that almost all suspects were guilty. But her attitude had shifted. She’d proven a number of people innocent who had been charged with serious crimes. She could think of few things worse than going to prison for life for a murder one didn’t commit.
“We both know it’s unlikely that prejudice from one juror could cause an innocent man to be found guilty,” Lance said. “It takes all twelve jurors to convict. They have to reach a unanimous decision.”
“This is true,” Morgan agreed. “I felt terrible for Mrs. Olander, but I didn’t see an appeal going anywhere.”