Chapter 28
Chapter
Twenty-Eight
LUNCHBOX
The courthouse steps loomed ahead like a bad omen in good lighting. The architecture was clean, symmetrical, and self-assured. It was also cold, distant, and far too open for my tastes. The same could be said for Grace, I guess. Except right now, she wasn’t Grace.
Today, she’d taken the role of an attorney: Amorette Black, her twin sister.
She walked with a kind of purpose that said power, class, and assurance.
It was almost spooky how well she vanished into this role.
We’d never met her twin, but Grace possessed a kind of innate sensuality and playful charm that filled her every interaction whether she was throwing a brick at our heads or teasing us in bed.
This role as her sister? It wasn’t her. They might be identical, but I’d never mistake one for the other. They were so different, beautiful—but different. Gracie?
She was ours.
“She’s going in,” I said, low into the mic.
"Copy that," Alphabet replied from the van a block down. “Got eyes on north and east. Goblin’s chewing something, I think it used to be a protein bar.”
Goblin made a rude noise in the background. Alphabet laughed. Considering we got protein bars for the Staffy, he’d probably scored himself a treat. I shifted against the stone planter where I’d taken a seat to “eat” lunch and have a coffee.
It was cold out here, the air bitter and dry. It had snowed recently, but they’d had more than enough time to clear the streets and sidewalks. There was still snow frozen on the green spaces, but everything else was dry and clear.
For now.
The sun had been out the day before, but today had started out steely gray and seemed determined to take an icy turn. I checked my watch as Grace made it to the top of the steps.
“She looks like she’s going to war,” Voodoo mused in my ear. “Anyone else turned on by those heels?”
I snorted, but before I could reply, Bones said, “Too sedate. She needs more height and definitely more color.”
“She could take an army,” I said easily enough. “It’s not the shoes.”
“Nope,” Alphabet said, though the smile in his voice echoed down the comms. “It’s definitely that sway she just added to her hips.”
Grace paused at the top step and glanced back. While she didn’t look at any of us specifically, she did adjust her sunglasses with her middle finger. I damn near laugh out loud.
“How is her tracker reading?” Bones asked.
“Five by five,” Alphabet said. “Give us a little kiss, Gracie, when you get inside. Want to make sure it stays that way.”
“Hmm.” The little hum carried. Since she was “working,” she could hear us and we could hear her, but she wasn’t supposed to talk to us.
“Almost wish we weren’t working,” Voodoo mused. “We could play a game of who can get her to swear loudest.”
“Focus,” Bones ordered. “She’s inside.”
“I got her.” Voodoo was already in the building and had a backup comms for her in case hers triggered the metal detectors. It shouldn’t, but never say never.
It was hard not to stare at the doors to the courthouse like I could see through them. Maintaining a relaxed posture wasn’t that challenging. Sounds filtered in via the comms.
Security.
Why was she there?
Meeting another attorney from her firm.
Which one?
Mark Sinclair.
Ah. Second floor.
Step on through, but the briefcase has to go through the x-ray scanner. And she’s in,
“Excellent.” Alphabet was pleased. The ID passed muster. Of course it did, but still.
“Miss Black…” A voice called and I cocked my head to the side.
“Fuck,” Voodoo muttered. “Incoming image.” I didn’t have to imagine him snapping a photo and sending it to us. My phone dinged a few moments later. Five foot four, blonde, with impossibly long hair, dressed in a pantsuit, but looking pale and worried.
“Miss Black,” the woman said again. I could almost feel the deep breath that Grace took.
“Joan Reilly, homemaker, recently divorced, re-entering the workforce—she’s actually also enrolled at Northern Virginia Community College working on an administrative degree.
Two kids. Piece of shit ex—oh, and he’s in jail.
Your sister represented her briefly last year on a housing matter—they were trying to evict her.
Your sister got it halted and then turned around.
Reilly is her maiden name. She never took her husband’s.
” The swift thumbnail from Alphabet carried a genuine note of admiration.
I didn’t disagree. Hard life for the woman, but she was surviving.
“Ms. Reilly,” Grace said. Oh, that was unsettling. Even her voice changed. Still warm, but with… a different note. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. “It’s good to see you.”
“You too!” There was a rustle of fabric but a video had also popped up on my phone.
Voodoo had a good view of the interaction.
The woman had embraced Grace, a brief, polite type of hug that suggested a far friendlier relationship than an attorney and former client.
“I heard you’d moved on to a different firm. ”
“I’m sorry, were you trying to reach me?” Grace’s tone was calm, controlled and very much in charge, though it held distinct notes of care.
“I was, but it was kind of very last minute. Ronnie is being a dick.”
“Ronald Grant,” Alphabet was already reporting. “He’s in jail, on month five of a thirty-eight month stretch.”
Grace touched a hand to Reilly’s arm and moved them aside from the foot traffic. “I thought he was still in jail.”
The woman let out a long sigh. “He is, but his parents are suing me.”
A frown tightened Grace’s expression. “Visitation?”
“Checking,” Alphabet said, but Reilly was already nodding.
“I don’t… his father is abusive. I don’t mind his mother seeing them. She’s a good grandmother, and I wish I could convince her to leave her husband. He’s worse than Ronnie.”
“Guy’s got a record and she’s not wrong,” Alphabet said with a whistle. “Wouldn’t hurt anyone if he got hit by a bus tomorrow.”
“Are you trying to work out an agreement with her?”
“Yes.” Another long, almost wet sigh as the woman folded her arms. The weight of it all seemed to be crushing her.
“I told Phyllis—his mom—she’s more than welcome to come spend time with the kids at my place.
I’ve even invited her to a couple of the birthday parties and to the park.
But her husband…he wants Nathan to spend weekends with them, and more… ”
“Nathan, age seven, and Matilda, age five.” Alphabet was definitely feeding her what she needed.
“We need to move her along,” Bones said, though it wasn’t unfeeling or harsh. I doubted he liked hearing the defeat in this woman’s voice anymore than we did.
“Nathan?” Grace said slowly. “Not Matilda?”
The angle hid half of her face, but her mouth had firmed.
Yeah, she’d caught that too. Reilly nodded.
“He doesn’t care about Matilda, just Nathan.
Wants to man him up and a bunch of other misogynistic bullshit.
I just want him to be safe and that man is always drinking, yelling, and hitting his wife.
I will not let Nathan be exposed to that. ”
“Tell me you found someone good to represent you.” Even as her sister, the steel came out in her voice. Or maybe they both possessed that. Would make sense.
“I do! Melinda Cho. You recommended her last year when we were talking about the house and about future family issues. Ronnie can’t see the kids because I have a restraining order and he’s in jail. I don’t even have to take them to see him. But his parents…”
Now Grace reached out to take Reilly’s hand and clearly, she was squeezing it. “Good, Melinda’s tough as nails. Listen to her and make sure you do everything by the book, but also document everything. You are still doing that right?”
“Oh yeah, I never forgot that lecture. I’ve logged all their calls, everything he’s said, all the things I’ve witnessed both before and after.
I also have some photos—they’re old family photos of Ronnie’s but you can see the abuse in the pictures.
Bruises that pop up in odd places. The lost look in Phyllis’ eyes. ”
“I’m glad you’re still doing it. Every piece of data helps and if you have a clear log that shows you have documented each movement, that is evidence a judge can take into account.” Then Grace held up her hand. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Reilly…”
“I told you, you can call me Joan. You said I could call you Am, but it seemed kind of weird to yell that in here.” She huffed out another breath then caught Grace’s hand again for another squeeze. “You have to go.”
“I do. Listen to Melinda. Keep documenting. Maybe see if your mother-in-law will go to a counseling session—or a shelter.”
Was it me or did Grace really want to help this woman? Some of it was the part, sure, but she was really focused on her.
“I don’t know, but I’ll try. Please, go, I don’t want to make you late.”
A flash of a quick, almost apologetic smile on Grace’s face before she turned to continue. I caught the moment she spotted Voodoo. There was a brief moment of recognition but her expression didn’t ripple.
Good girl.
“Guys,” she almost said it on an exhale.
“I’ll see what we can do,” Alphabet answered. “But not right now. Let’s focus on Sinclair while we’re here.”
A single nod of acknowledgement.
She took a controlled breath then headed toward the bank of elevators before she paused and glanced at the stairwell. The elevator was a tight location, one entry, one exit. But Voodoo was already up and heading for the stairs. The image cut in and out as he climbed.
“Sinclair is…” Alphabet told her which courtroom and which judge. The whole plan hinged on what Sinclair did when he saw her. “Voodoo, you’ll have to lose the phone video if you go into the courtroom. Switch to lapel camera.”
“Got it.” The sound of a door closing carried.
He made the switch to lapel cam before he was out of the stairwell. The video feed cut, and the new one took a moment. It came back in, low resolution and a little snowy, but definitely visible.
Grace was leaving the elevator along with a few others. She scanned the different signs, then headed for the one for Judge Wharnack’s courtroom.
Wharnack. That name sounded like he should be a cartoon character. I took another swallow of coffee.
“Deep breaths, Dollface,” Bones said, his voice steady and calm. “You’re panting. Pause. Take a breath. This is your op. You have the control.”
A few steps from Wharnack’s courtroom, she stopped and put a hand against her abdomen. She took a controlled breath. Another. Then another. The rigid line of her shoulders eased and her expression shifted to neutral.
She’d buried all of her usual fire under layers of plausible deniability and an airtight demeanor.
“Ready,” she murmured the word, it was barely audible.
Then she was moving. As she opened the door, a bailiff was right there at the door and he glanced from her to Voodoo then motioned for them to take a seat.
Grace moved toward the third row back from the front. Voodoo took the last row and he had a good angle for her.
A better angle for Sinclair.
There was a hum of white noise, and two attorneys were at the front of the court talking to the judge. No clients visible, maybe the clients didn’t have to be here?
We still didn’t have a bead on Mendoza, so we’d work on that.
The white noise vanished, then the judge motioned the attorneys to step back. Sinclair was easily recognizable, even without his standard firm portrait.
Hyper-slick. Corporate veneer. A guy who used his clients like leverage, his assistants like furniture, and everyone else? Collateral.
I wish we had some zoom capability. Sinclair looked pleased with himself, for all of three seconds. He blanched when he caught sight of Grace. No way to mistake how all the color drained from his face and how stared at her like he’d seen a ghost.
I cracked my knuckles.
Mark Sinclair was guilty as fuck.