Page 9 of Rough Ride

Despite the warmer weather, Kye was reclining in the living room in the armchair in front of the lit fireplace. Grier was across from him, beer in hand, feet propped on the coffee table. He’d arrived the day before to help with “babysitting” as he’d called it. It was late afternoon, and the two of them were chatting quietly. His eyes wandered across the foyer to where he could see Eliana at the dining room table.

She was on the phone, clearly pleading with the person on the other line, as she waved a piece of paper in the air. He could only make out every other word of her rant before she dropped the phone to the table. The other person must have hung up on her. In the last five days, she’d barely left that table.

The boxes had long since been emptied of the paperwork and were now piled in some sort of organized mess that only Eliana could understand. From what he’d observed of her, she was incredible. Sifting through every piece of evidence that had been stacked against the two men, she insisted on working the case from the reverse.

If I can prosecute them, I can defend them, she’d said in a half daze at three in the morning a few days ago. Even though he didn’t have the faintest idea on how to be a lawyer, he knew what odds were, and they were definitely stacked against them.

Eli Torrez and Brock Crawford had not only been spotted at the bar in Portland, but video surveillance had them entering the back alley at eleven thirty, ten minutes before reports of gunfire were called in, and the same camera showed them fleeing the scene before they were hauled in by police an hour later. Their guns, which had clearly been fired recently, were still on them.

“I say those bastards are getting what they deserve,” Grier commented as he swigged the last of his beer. “Torrez and Crawford were real bastards.”

“That’s no secret,” Kye agreed. He was still watching Eliana. She was rubbing her neck as though it ached, and she stood to pour herself another cup of coffee. That woman caffeinated like a junky.

“Think she can do it?” Grier asked as he reached over the table to check the contents of Kye’s beer. Seeing it was empty, he frowned.

“I don’t know,” Kye admitted.

“You’d better have a backup plan if she can’t,” Grier suggested, and Kye looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “I know you, Kye,” he said, “if Eliana can’t get these guys off death row, you’re not going to let Max kill her. You’ve been in love with her for years.”

“You’re right, I won’t let him kill her,” Kye agreed. Grier stood and picked up both empty bottles.

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know,” Kye said with a shrug. Grier nodded and made his way into the kitchen where he tossed the bottles into the sink and opened the fridge to fetch more. He popped the lid to one and took a swig as he looked over at Eliana who was leaning over the edge of the table reading a dissertation. The front of her blouse was coming down ever so slightly, and Grier glanced at Kye who was texting on his phone, before returning his eyes to the supple skin he could just see the tops of.

Feeling eyes on her, Eliana looked up to see Grier staring at her chest, and she quickly stood upright. Her eyes narrowed at him, and Grier shrugged as he’d been caught. “Want one?” he asked, referring to the beer in his hand. Eliana adjusted her glasses, pursed her lips, and didn’t bother responding as she went back to work. Opening a second one, he walked over and set it in front of her. “My contribution to the war effort,” he teased.

“Thanks,” Eliana said sarcastically as she moved it off the stack of papers he’d set it on. The condensation from the outside had left a ring on the paper. Sighing in frustration, she picked it up and began shaking it to dry the water.

“You understand all this?” Grier asked, picking up a paper and reading over it. “It’s not even English…”

“No,” Eliana corrected and pulled the paper out of his hand, “some of it is Latin.”

“Latin?”

“Yes, Latin.”

“Who speaks Latin?” Grier asked, leaning on the table.

“Lawyers and doctors,” Eliana replied shortly. “It’s a dead language. You know, dead? Like I’m going to be if I don’t have this done in the next two days.” Her short tone was an indication she wanted him to leave her alone. Grier wasn’t catching the hint.

“Kye won’t let Max kill you,” Grier said, picking at the label on his bottle. “He’s still in love with you.”

“He’s got a funny way of showing it,” Eliana stated, still distracted by something she was reading.

“If Max would do us all a favor and die, we could get this mess taken care of a lot easier,” Grier commented, and Eliana looked up from the stack.

“If so many people want him dead, why doesn’t someone just kill him?” she asked only half sarcastically.

“Not the way it works,” Grier said, turning around to face her more fully. “Max gets offed, it’d be anarchy. Every officer would claim a bid for his throne. It’d be like the incident with the Defectors times a hundred. The whole club would collapse if Max didn’t appoint a predecessor.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Eliana said, standing upright. She surpassed her coffee and grabbed the beer he’d brought her. Lifting his bottle in a small salute, they both drank.

“It may not be bad for you, but it’d be bad for a lot of people. The Screaming Demons are the main source of income and jobs in this town. You might live, but a lot of others would lose their livelihood.”

“Livelihood that’s supported by crime? I don’t feel bad about that,” she said, removing her glasses and tossing them on to the table.

“For a lawyer, you’re pretty ignorant.”