School of Fish (Fish Out of Water #6) - Amy Lane Page 0,13
what I’m talking about,” Ellery said, relief washing over him. “Do you have any pets or anything to care for?”
“My dog, Captain,” Tyson said. “He’s a pit bull/shepherd mix. A rescue.” His square-jawed face went sloppy with adoration. “He’s super cute and so sweet.”
“Okay, then, I would like to talk to you both tomorrow.”
“I don’t have money for—”
“Don’t worry about the hourly,” Ellery said. “Show us last year’s income tax, and I’ll have Jade come up with a reasonable fee. I just want your family and your dog to be someplace else while this is going on.”
“But we take public transportation!” Ralene said. “We can’t take that dog on the train!”
Ellery pursed his lips. “Give me five minutes,” he said politely. “I’ll be right back.”
He stood and left them in the office looking out the peaceful window, which featured a view of some of the spectacularly large leafy trees Sacramento was known for. The entire office, actually, from the windows looking out onto the trees in the yard next door to the wall with Ellery’s degrees on it, which was painted the color of a stormy blue-green ocean, was designed to make people feel serene and invigorated.
They could come here and take charge of their lives, with Ellery’s help.
But first Ellery had to take charge of his very late and very wayward boyfriend.
The nest of rooms in the refurbished Victorian house were part of a bigger office complex. As far as Ellery knew, they shared space with a headhunting firm next door and an adoption agency downstairs, which to his mind sort of added to the normalcy of a defense attorney. Everyday people could end up in extraordinary circumstances.
He and Jackson had decorated the suite with strong, happy colors—the teal gray in his office, the soothing browns and tans in the vacant office, and Galen had a strong combination of brown and burgundy.
And fortunately his door was open so Ellery didn’t feel bad about bothering his new partner.
Galen Henderson had been a stunningly handsome man before his motorcycle accident. His narrow, appealing face with its patrician features and bold nose was probably the toast of Miami. He wore his hair longer now, and kept a neatly trimmed goatee to help hide the scar that marred his temple and his cheek, but his brown eyes and sharp, sardonic gaze were still incredibly magnetic.
His Southern roots and Ellery’s no-bullshit Yankee pragmatism were probably the things that would get the firm—now officially Cramer & Henderson, with Henry and Jackson listed as PIs in smaller script beneath their names—off the ground and through their first year.
Of course it helped that Henderson was so excited about practicing law again following his hiatus after his accident that he was willing to follow Ellery’s lead. Ellery had the feeling this man didn’t let much else guide him.
“What’s up?” Galen asked as Ellery poked his head in the door.
“Have you heard from Henry?” Ellery chewed his lower lip.
“Uhm… no.” Galen frowned. “Wasn’t he supposed to pick Jackson up and visit the PD’s?”
Ellery grimaced. “Yeah. They left over an hour ago.”
Galen’s very expressive eyebrows “expressed.” “Oh dear.”
“I told him to do one thing,” Ellery said, fighting panic.
“It could just be traffic,” Galen soothed. “Here, let me text Henry. He’s—”
“Less likely to ignore your call,” Ellery finished darkly.
Galen nodded, completely on board with that.
“I need to go grab AJ for an errand. Tell me what Henry says.”
Without waiting for an answer, Ellery strode to the empty conference room. He’d had Jade decorate this place, making it professional and comfortable at once. The chairs were roomy and supportive—and pretty, with sturdy wooden frames and fabric cushions—and the massive oval-shaped table in the center was heavy oak. At one end, with his laptop plugged into an outlet, sat a young man with long and tiny spirals of sunset-colored hair, and a pale brown face with pinpoints of dark brown freckles. He had a delicate chin and soulful eyes, and so much eagerness to help, Ellery always felt bad for asking him for anything extra.
But that didn’t mean he didn’t.
“Hey, Mr. Cramer.” He smiled excitedly, and Ellery wondered why Ellery was always “Mr. Cramer,” but Jackson was either “Jackson” to his family or “Rivers” to the people who really wished he just fucking wouldn’t do whatever it was he did to piss them off.
“Hey, AJ. Look, I’ve got a favor. Are you game?”
AJ closed his laptop screen and nodded. “Yeah, sure. What do you need?”
Ellery outlined AJ’s job as chauffer and then winced.