Chapter 6
Caleb stayed at the office late to work on a law review article focused on progressive prosecution.
Stacks of legal journals, lecture notes and appellate briefs littered every available surface of his desk.
It was slow going, though, because even after an intense midday workout, he felt restless and cagey, too distracted to make much of a dent in his writing.
On his way to the parking lot, Evander McGhee caught up with him, easily matching his long strides. He was the same height but fifteen pounds slimmer, with deep brown skin and eyes the color of burnt coffee.
“I can’t believe you’re cutting out early,” he joked.
“It’s after seven,” Caleb said.
“Which is early for you,” Evander pointed out.
Caleb grunted. He typically worked sixty hours a week, sometimes more, depending on deadlines. He was widely published in leading law reviews and was considered one of the university’s most prolific tenured professors. Evander was no slouch, either.
The two of them met in law school at UT Austin.
After class one day, they struck up a spirited conversation that continued over coffee and barbacoa tacos.
By the end of the meal, a lifelong friendship had been born.
When Caleb walked away from his career as a criminal defense attorney, it was Evander who encouraged him to apply for a faculty position at Northbridge.
It was one of the best decisions he’d ever made in his life—second only to the decision to leave his father’s law firm.
“I thought you were already gone for the day,” he said to Evander.
“Nah, I had a late meeting. Robinette called to make sure I’d be on time for dinner,” he added with a chuckle.
Robinette was his college sweetheart turned wife of seven years.
A busy software developer, she was every bit as much a workaholic as her husband.
They were childless by choice, preferring to spoil their nieces and nephews instead.
“She made reservations at that new spot downtown—The Gilded Spoon. Ever heard of it?”
Caleb shook his head.
“It’s some high-end joint that’s been getting rave reviews,” Evander elaborated.
“Nette and I made a pact this summer to improve our work-life balance. That means cutting back on the long hours, taking more vacations, spending more quality time together, embracing spontaneity.” He put air quotes around the last two words.
Caleb chuckled. “Sounds like a plan.”
“It’s ambitious,” Evander acknowledged, “but I’m willing to give it a shot. Happy wife, happy life, right?”
“So I’ve heard.”
Evander laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. “Your time is coming, bruh. You can’t run forever.”
“Watch me,” Caleb retorted as they reached the parking lot, and not a minute too soon. “Have a good dinner, and say hey to Nette for me.”
“Will do.” Evander tossed up a peace sign and strode off to his Benz while Caleb climbed into his truck and headed home to his downtown bachelor pad.
Twenty minutes later, he pulled off Houston Street and swung into the parking garage connected to the Towers at the Majestic—or the Towers, as the high-rise building was known to its residents.
As he rode the elevator to the top floor, he was grateful that at that hour, most of his neighbors were already ensconced in their luxury apartments, or out for a night on the town along the River Walk.
He wasn’t in the mood for small talk, and more than a few residents were serial chatters.
The moment he crossed the threshold of his penthouse, he knew he wasn’t alone.
Without turning on the lights, Caleb dropped his messenger bag by the door and crossed a gleaming expanse of hardwood floor to the wet bar.
Calmly, deliberately, he filled a glass with whiskey and lowered himself onto one of the bar stools that ran the curved length of the counter.
Fifteen-foot windows with custom-designed wrought-iron bars provided a panoramic view of the San Antonio skyline, now awash in flame from the setting sun.
As Caleb sipped his whiskey, he quietly contemplated the stunning view he took for granted every day.
“I take it you’re not going to offer me a drink.” A coolly amused voice spoke from the shadows of the living room.
Caleb didn’t spare a glance over his shoulder. “Only invited guests receive that kind of hospitality.”
There was a low chuckle. “Testy, aren’t we?”
“Can you blame me?” Caleb drawled sardonically. “You’d think for all the money I pay to live here, I could count on better security.”
“Now, Caleb, you of all people should know that for the right price, no door remains closed to me. Which brings me to the purpose of my visit.” There was a deliberate pause. “Your old man is still refusing to take Lito’s case.”
“That’s his prerogative, isn’t it?” Caleb said with mild unconcern. “Last I checked, the firm’s not exactly hard up for business. Besides, I think they’ve already met their monthly quota of representing embezzlers.”
“Come now,” came the smiling rejoinder, “there’s always room for one more.”
Caleb shrugged, keeping his back turned on his visitor. “Guess the old man doesn’t think so.”
“Apparently not. However, I’m of the opinion that he can be persuaded otherwise.” When Caleb showed no reaction to the veiled threat, the voice continued, “We both know, Caleb, that I can make your father take Lito’s case.”
“So what’re you doing here?”
“I came to reason with you, man to man.”
“By breaking into my apartment and skulking in the shadows until I return? I don’t think so.” Shaking his head, Caleb downed the rest of his whiskey and reached for the crystal decanter to refill his glass. Despite his cavalier tone, every muscle in his body was rigid, primed for the unpredictable.
Experience had taught him such preparedness.
“I don’t have to remind you, Junior, that all it takes is one phone call to bring all of Crandall Thorne’s dirty laundry to light.
And I know for a fact there’s one particular item you’d do anything to keep safely tucked away.
” Soft, triumphant laughter razored along Caleb’s nerve endings, making his gut clench in instinctive outrage.
In a deceptively bored tone, he drawled, “You of all people should know that Thornes don’t respond to blackmail.”
“Don’t they? I beg to differ.” But the man was angry now, impatience lacing his next words. “Talk to your father, Caleb. Appeal to his common sense. This doesn’t have to get ugly, unless you want it to. Tell Crandall to take Lito’s case.”
“Even if I were to do that, what makes you so sure he’d agree?”
“Don’t insult my intelligence, Junior. We both know how much influence you have over your father. One word from you and the old man is on his knees, eager to make amends for his past sins. If anyone can make him see reason, you can.”
Caleb had had enough. He wasn’t in the mood for this bullshit. He was tired and edgy, filled with a restlessness that had plagued him all afternoon, tracing back to the library encounter with Daniela Moreau.
Forbidden fruit had a way of making a man ravenous.
And reckless as fuck.
With an economy of motion, he reached beneath the counter and grabbed the Glock 34 tucked away for just such an occasion. Quick as a snake striking, he was on his feet, the pistol racked and aimed at the intruder’s chest with lethal precision.
“Get out,” he said, low and controlled.
The man faltered, visibly paling beneath his tan. His shock lasted about ten seconds before a slow, self-assured smile twisted his mouth. “You won’t shoot me, Thorne. Not with my men parked outside the building, waiting for my safe return.”
“I’d have a round of bullets between your eyes before they even suspected a thing. You know that.”
“Ah, but you’d never get out of here alive.”
One shoulder lifted in a shrug. “I’ll take my chances. Now for the last time, leave before my finger starts to twitch.”
The man got slowly to his feet, one elegant hand smoothing a nonexistent crease from his expensively tailored suit jacket.
Pale blue eyes assessed Caleb in shrewd silence.
“I remember an idealistic kid fresh out of law school—bright-eyed, bushy-tailed and ready to take on the world. Your father stole that innocence from you. Wouldn’t you give anything to get a little of it back? ”
A solitary muscle ticked in Caleb’s jaw. He said nothing, calmly keeping his Glock trained on the intruder.
“You need something to live for, Junior. We’ll have to find it for you, before it’s too late.” He gave a thoughtful pause. “You should seriously consider returning to the courtroom. You were one helluva lawyer, a rare talent. I know Lito would be thrilled to have you represent him.”
“Not gonna happen,” Caleb said flatly.
“Never say never. I suggest you give it some thought.” The man offered a benevolent smile, then tipped his head. “I’ll be in touch.”
And then he was gone, leaving only a subtle scent of Dior as proof that he’d been there.
Slowly Caleb walked back to the bar and returned the Glock to its hiding place.
Picking up his drink, he swallowed the rest of his whiskey and set the glass down with a thud.
Suddenly his hand tightened around the base, then lifted and hurled the glass against the nearest wall.
Shards of crystal exploded, showering across the floor in a violent storm.
Simmering with fury and something else—something he didn’t want to identify—he grabbed his car keys and slammed out of the apartment.