Barristers & Bones (Las Vegas House of Spades #1)

1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

L una

My birthday–and too much tequila–triggered the nightmare. I could usually yank myself awake when the demons stirred, but tonight my guard was down, and my mind threw me back to that dark room where I swam in pain, blood, and thirst.

“Luna, wake up!” Sylvie yelled, shaking my shoulders.

I gasped like a drowning victim coming back to life. “I’m okay, I’m okay.”

Sylvie Spade had saved my life that day, and her peculiar, slightly scary family gave me safety and security while I healed. She looked so pretty and sweet, with her wavy blond hair and dimpled smile, but it was complete bullshit. She could be as mean and lethal as any of her cousins.

“Goddamn it,” she breathed, “I hate when you do that. It freaks me the fuck out.”

It freaked me out too. I lay there panting and sweating for a few moments while she muttered next to me. Our apartment sat on the second floor, behind the iconic Palm Desert Oasis Mortuary, a sprawling funeral home compound with its own private cemetery in the center of sunny Las Vegas.

“How come I’m the only one who gets a hangover?” The watery, early-morning light made me squint, and my tongue felt like I’d eaten roadkill and washed it down with battery acid.

“Because you’re a wussy lightweight. Come on, you’re probably dehydrated too.” She patted my leg, then pinched my butt to get me moving. I was too tired to retaliate.

We headed to the kitchen for water and aspirin, and I started digging through the freezer. “How about ice cream for breakfast?” I held up a container. I still felt shaky from the nightmare, and my body craved sugar.

She smirked and grabbed two spoons. “What’s one more bad decision?” So we ate pistachio ice cream from the carton that tasted faintly of freezer burn while watching two South Park episodes.

Then Sylvie decided if we were up, she might as well start her workday. “Come on. I already embalmed and bathed Ms. Elwood yesterday. We can do her face and hair.” She dragged me down to the cosmetic preparation room on the other side of the quiet, dim mortuary.

The prep rooms and garage where the bodies were dropped off sat tucked away on the other end of the mortuary. As we walked through the quiet space, the smell of lemon furniture wax and vanilla air freshener filled the air. Filtered, colored light came in through the stained-glass windows and lit the pews.

The Spade family owned the mortuary complex, which Sylvie and her grandfather, Ezra Spade, ran. The House of Spades also owned several other, more questionable businesses around town.

Sylvie was the mortician, and Ezra ran the funeral home. Our other roommate, Alexa, and I sometimes moonlighted as “assistants.” We were both poor law students, and Ezra discounted our rent in return for helping with the larger funerals. I sometimes assisted Sylvie with preparing the bodies, and it was a great setup–except for my occasional queasiness.

She had a separate cosmetic prep room where she kept all her flesh-colored fillers, cosmetics, hair products, and other items lined up on the shelves along the walls used to repair and beautify the bodies. A tray full of surgery-type tools for a little “under the hood” work also sat on her prep table.

At six in the morning, the day after my birthday, I helped Sylvie prepare the embalmed corpse of Ms. Elwood who’d died on the toilet.

“Why do so many people pass away in the bathroom?” I asked as we wheeled her body out of the walk-in refrigerator.

She shrugged. “A postmortem examiner told me when a person has a heart attack or a blood clot, it might feel like a bowel movement. Or the actual bowel movement itself could cause so much pressure, it triggers one.”

We wheeled the gurney to the cosmetic prep room. “What was her cause of death?” I asked.

“The postmortem report stated her heart looked oversized and heavy, so probably a heart attack and age. We’re all going to die somewhere. If I can’t die asleep in my bed, the bathroom isn’t a bad second choice–as long as it’s clean.” The Spade family had a straightforward, pragmatic approach to death.

I turned on the overhead light, chasing away the shadows. “That’s probably why Ezra drinks a glass of prune juice with his breakfast.” Along with being Sylvie's grandfather, Ezra was also my former legal guardian. He got custody of Sylvie and me a few months after I was taken out of my parents’ house, half-dead on a stretcher.

“Yep. Ms. Elwood’s daughter didn’t find her for a few days.”

“What shape was she in?” I murmured as we fastened flesh-colored caps over the eyes.

“Her organs had just started to break down, but it wasn’t bad. Putrefaction hadn’t set in, and besides the usual urine and bowel release, the smells were manageable.” Sylvie kept a container of menthol ointment in her work area, which she wiped under her nose when an overly ripe corpse came in.

I surveyed the face and thought this one might take a little extra work. Ms. Elwood died in her late eighties, and her nose had somehow gotten smashed. She also looked a little sunken and concave, but I knew Sylvie could fix it. She and Ezra were the best at what they did.

The Spade family purchased the property in the early 1960s. First, they built a cemetery and then a sprawling funeral home, which they renovated and upgraded over the years. The Spades and the mortuary had become my home, and I loved my adopted family fiercely even though their level of morbidity and strangeness sometimes rivaled that of the Addams Family.

“Are you ready to do her mouth?” I asked, pulling out cotton gauze, a plastic mouth former, and forceps from a drawer.

“Almost. Thanks.” She snipped the simple suture holding Ms. Elmwood’s mouth together, then pried her jaw apart by placing the heel of her hand on the forehead and pushing down on the chin.

“Give me some gauze, will you?”

I handed her a wad, and she used forceps to work it into the throat to absorb any lingering moisture or gas. Then, she worked some into the nostril cavities and massaged the nose back into shape. Next, Sylvie added filler inside the cheeks and formed the mouth into a soft smile.

“How does that look?” she asked.

I leaned over and studied the less-wrinkled face. “A little more on the right.”

She nodded and stuffed a bit more filler into the right upper cheek area. “How about now?”

“It looks good.” I handed her the needle injector with a small nail and nylon wire already loaded.

She leaned in and punched the nail into the lower jawbone just below the gums. It hit the bone and held. Then she loaded it again and punched another one into the upper jaw. Drawing the wire together, she closed Ms. Elwood’s mouth, tied off the wire, and tucked the small ends inside the lips.

Peering around her, I inspected the face. “Nice work. Now for the burial clothes and cosmetics.”

Sylvie glanced at me. “You look like you’re doing better.”

I smiled as I watched her work. “Yeah, there’s nothing like preparing a dead body in a dark mortuary to get my mind off my nightmares.”

I thought the nightmare would be the worst part of that Monday, but after reading the email from my law school counselor later that morning, I realized I’d grossly underestimated the amount of feculence one day could hold. The glass doors of Fowler, Underwood, Carter, and Knox, Legal whooshed open with a surge of artificial chill that did nothing to cool my boiling temper. I marched up to the front desk and made eye contact with the receptionist.

“Hello. I need to speak with Roman Fowler. I’m Luna Cross, and he should be expecting me.”

My irritation and resentment might have leaked through because the woman at the desk raised her eyebrow. Her nameplate read Brenna Wilson . The woman’s blond, highlighted hair framed a pretty, made-up face, and her tailored dress fit well. But her expression made me want to check myself for food in my teeth or nasty stains.

“Are you a client?” she asked.

“No, I’m a law student. Roman Fowler has just been assigned as my mentor, and I’m supposed to complete my internship here. But I need to talk with him about–”

“A law student?” She interrupted, her painted lips twisting into the faintest sneer. “Do you have an appointment?”

“Klim Hudson from the law school sent me over. Roman should know I’m coming.”

Brenna’s fingers danced mockingly over her keyboard. “It’s Mr. Fowler , and I don’t see your appointment. You’ll have to wait.”

“If you could just tell him I’m here–”

Her smile sharpened. “Take a seat, Ms. Cross. I’ll let you know when he’s free.”

“It will take maybe two minutes–”

“Have a seat,” Brenna repeated, emphasizing each syllable.

I sighed, turned to the plush leather couch, and slid my backpack off. Pulling my laptop out, I decided to use my forced time with “bitchy Brenna” to do some reading. I figured I’d give her a few minutes, then start pushing back if she didn’t get me in to see Fowler soon. Just over forty minutes later, I slid my laptop back into my backpack and stood up.

“It’s been forty-two minutes. You haven’t gotten up from your desk or picked up the phone to let Mr. Fowler know I’m here.”

“Your observations are noted,” she replied with glacial efficiency. “But Mr. Fowler is extremely busy. When he has a moment, I’ll let him know you’re here.”

I had to hand it to F.U.C.K. Legal. The acronym of their names and their sleek, cold law office gave off a straightforward message. Their frigid receptionist was the perfect complement.

“Bullshit.”

“Did you say something?” She rolled her eyes but didn’t look up from her screen.

“You can keep rolling your eyes, but I doubt you’ll find much back there.”

Her fingers paused mid-air, then resumed typing at double speed.

“Do your employers know you treat visitors like this?”

“Ms. Cross, I assure you I treat everyone who comes to our offices with the respect they deserve,” she retorted.

“I’m sure you do.” I started walking around her desk toward the frosted glass doors behind her.

“Mr. Fowler will see you when he’s ready,” Brenna said loudly, standing up and trying to block me.

“That’s a little hard to do when he doesn’t know I’m here.” I breezed past her and pushed into the law offices. I could move faster in my loafers than she could in her heels.

A large desk sat in the inner foyer, and a lean, middle-aged man in an immaculate black suit worked behind it. His desk faced an impressive conference room, and several luxurious offices lined the walls. And, of course, they had a view of the Strip.

“I’m looking for Roman Fowler,” I told the man as I approached his desk.

Brenna trailed behind me. “You can’t just barge in here–”

I cut her off like she’d done to me. “I’ve been sitting in the lobby area for the past forty-five minutes with your useless receptionist, who never buzzed Mr. Fowler to let him know I was here.”

“That’s not true!” Brenna insisted, with obvious forced indignation. “And I’m deeply offended by your accusation.”

“I didn’t intend to offend you, that’s just a bonus.” I spared her a glance and turned to the lean, middle-aged man in the crisp black suit. “Are you Roman Fowler?”

The man stood and turned to Brenna. “Ms. Wilson, we’ll discuss this when our visitor is gone. Go back to your desk.”

“Yes, Mr. Anderson,” she murmured, glaring at me before she turned and walked back outside.

Damn it, this guy wasn’t Fowler either. He reminded me a little of Mr. Anderson from The Matrix , with his slim build and formal manner. Minus the sunglasses.

I held out my hand. “Hello, Mr. Anderson. There’s been a misunderstanding, but one I hope we can clear up quickly. Is Roman Fowler available?”

“Call me Gideon. He’s on the phone but should be available shortly. Can I get you a coffee or cappuccino?”

“No, thank you.”

He tilted his head. “May I ask why you need to speak with Roman? I’m the office administrator. Maybe I can help.” Gideon sat on the edge of his desk.

Hope rose in my chest. Maybe I didn’t even need to talk with Fowler if Gideon would dismiss me. Then I could be on my way.

“That would be spectacular. My name is Luna Cross, and I’m a law student. You’re probably aware that we’re required to have a mentor and complete an internship with an attorney.”

Gideon nodded, but his demeanor cooled almost imperceptibly. “Where did you say you’re from, Ms. Cross?”

It was a strange question. “Arizona, but I moved to Las Vegas in my early teens.”

“I’m aware of the law school requirements. So Roman has been assigned as your mentor, and you plan to intern here?”

“No!” I winced and lowered my voice. “Not if he’ll agree to release me. I had another attorney already lined up since I plan to go into water law. But Klim Hudson, my law school counselor, emailed this morning and told me he’d assigned me to this law firm and Roman Fowler instead.”

Gideon studied me for several seconds, as if weighing my words. He didn’t say anything for so long that I worried I’d angered him.

“No offense to any of you. Well, maybe Brenna.”

Gideon’s head cocked. “Klim assigned you to Roman?”

“Yes. And when I told him I already had an internship lined up, Klim said it was either Roman or I didn’t graduate.”

“And what was your response to that?”

I shifted uncomfortably, and my eyes slid to the side. “I’d rather not tell you.”

Gideon’s lips twitched. “That’s alright. I’ll call Klim and ask him myself.” He reached over to pick up his phone.

I sighed loudly. “I called him the male version of a period cramp. See? You don’t want me as an intern here. I’ve been told I have no filter and ask way too many questions.”

“Noted. Why do you think Roman can get you out of the internship?”

“After twenty minutes of… discussing the issue, Klim promised that if Mr. Fowler would agree to release me, I could go back to my original mentor.”

“And this was after you called him a period cramp. Anything else that might be pertinent to this issue?”

I rocked on my heels and looked around. “I may have said a few other things, but I don’t recall.”

“That’s a typical attorney evasion.”

I shrugged sheepishly. “Anyway. I’m sure you have other law students interested in interning at your firm. Students who’d be a much better fit here.”

“We always have requests, but I’m not sure they’d be a better fit.”

I ignored that last part. “So, will you call Klim and let him know your firm will release me?”

He smiled benignly. “As much as I’d like to help, you need to speak directly with Roman. I’m also curious what you’ll call him if he tells you no.”

Before I could answer, the door to the office behind me opened, and a tall, coldly handsome man in an expensive, custom-made suit strode out. His charcoal-brown eyes landed on me and his black eyebrow lifted. He had a lean, fit build, and a wicked scar running along his neck.

My back went up, and my palms got sweaty. I didn’t like or trust attractive, well-groomed men; they tended to be self-centered pricks.

Gideon nodded to the man coming toward us. “You’ll have to put your case to Roman himself, Ms. Cross. But if it were up to me, I’d say you’d fit in well here.”

“I’m Roman Fowler, and you’re Ms. Cross, I assume?” A frigid, amused smirk tugged the corners of the man’s mouth.

“Yes.” I held out my hand, and when we shook, a zing raced up my arm. His large, calloused palm felt solid and cool as he squeezed my hand and then let go. I wondered where the callouses came from.

“Klim Hudson contacted me and told me you’d be coming.” His deep voice was flat.

My stomach dropped because I wanted to get to Fowler before Klim did. Stupid, bitchy Brenna.

Plastering on a benign, pleasant smile, I met his gaze. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Fowler. I assume you have several law students who’d love to have you as their mentor.”

“Probably.”

“I’ve already lined up a mentorship with another attorney, so if you could tell Klim Hudson you’re alright with having another student assigned to you, I’ll leave you to your billable hours.”

“No.”

“No?” My voice had gone up a few octaves.

“That’s right. No.”

“Does that no mean you don’t want me to take up any more of your time, or no, you won’t release me?”

His lip curled. “I’m not releasing you.”

“Why? I don’t want to be here, and you can easily find someone who does.”

“Because if I have to mentor someone, it might as well be you. Now tell me exactly why you don’t want to be here.”

The fake smile slid off my face. “Look, Mr. Fowler, I want out of this internship.”

He studied me. “You’ve made that clear. Why, Ms. Cross?”

I unclenched my hands and tried to reel in my frustration. “I’m not interested in the areas of law you practice, and until Mr. Hudson informed me of the change, I’d never heard of you or your firm. Your offices are beautiful–if a little cold–and I’m sure your firm’s acronym doesn’t reflect your legal philosophy. Anyway, I have other plans.”

Gideon covered up a laugh with a cough, but we both ignored him.

“And what are your plans?” Roman asked mildly.

“I want to go into water law. It’s fairly specialized, and your firm doesn’t practice it. So I’d appreciate it if you’d let Klim Hudson know.”

“Your candor is refreshing. Still, no.”

The bastard was playing with me now. “Okay, how about this for candor? I’d rather eat glass than intern with your firm where I’d have to deal with bitchy Brenna–and you–all day. Mr. Anderson seems decent, so I won’t include him.” I put my hands on my hips and leaned forward. “I plan to practice in another area of law, and we’ve got nothing to offer each other. Why are you forcing this?”

He smirked and took me in. “Ms. Cross, let’s cut to the chase.”

“Let’s,” I muttered.

“Despite your clear annoyance and disappointment about the last-minute change, I am not releasing you.”

My eyes narrowed to slits. “Why?”

“Because I don’t have to, and you won’t bore me. Instead, we’ll start with you shadowing me over fall break.”

“Shadowing you?” I repeated, my words coated in annoyed disbelief. “As in, spend my fall break following you around?”

His cold eyes locked onto me. “Exactly. Make the most of this opportunity.”

The room seemed to shrink, and his resolve crumbled my hopes. Pressing my lips together, I contemplated my next move. Silence stretched between us before I exhaled slowly.

“Fine. But don’t expect me to be agreeable or pleasant about it.” This arrogant mother fucker wasn’t going to break me.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” The scar on his neck stretched as he tilted his head, assessing me. “I’ll pick you up at eight on Monday to start our week together.”

I blinked at him. This just kept getting worse. “You’re picking me up? Why ?”

“Did I not just make that clear?” Amusement laced his tone.

Deciding on a different tack, I loosened my shoulders. “Listen, I’ll meet you here. You don’t need to chauffeur me around.”

“Consider it a perk of the mentorship, and I’ll let Klim know you’re staying. See you Monday, Ms. Cross.” He turned and walked back into his office. Somehow, my last name sounded like a swear word when he said it.

Dismissed, I turned to Gideon and blew out a breath. “Well, it looks like I’ll see you next week. You appear to be the only sane one in this circus.”

He smiled and patted my shoulder. “Hang in there. He’s a decent man, he’s just good at hiding it.”

“You work with attorneys, Gideon. I think your opinion of what constitutes ‘decent’ is probably low.”

“Fair point, Ms. Cross.”