Chapter 1
Ebony
Present
“Oh, this is my jam!” Ebony Reece yelled as she turned up the car radio and rocked her body to the thumping bass of the song.
It was Thursday evening, one more day until she could start her weekend.
Her family was having a huge cookout on Saturday for her twin cousins who had just graduated from Spellman.
Whenever her family had a gathering whether it was a cookout or dinner or even a brunch, it was like a party.
Her Aunt Bernice would cook every piece of meat they were allowed to eat, while Bernice’s younger sister Shan would prepare salads galore.
Her Uncle Pete would guard the grill flipping burgers like Ronald McDonald had taken lessons from him.
Tabby would be on the music, speakers blasting old school hits with a few new school songs for the younger folk thrown it.
It promised to be a great time and Ebony couldn’t wait.
For the last three weeks she’d been working late hours, spending most mornings running between the courthouse and the office while Ben worked the Ramone Vega murder case.
She’d been working at Donovan Law, LLC for the last four years and absolutely loved her boss Benjamin Donovan because of his laid-back attitude in the office and unmitigated ferocity in the courtroom.
Normally, she enjoyed watching Ben work his defensive magic.
He was a dynamic litigator who charmed jurors with his warm smile and charismatic demeanor.
He was also fine as hell in a suit and even better looking when he came out of his jacket while getting witnesses to admit everything including who they’d slept with back in high school.
He was virtually unbeatable in court and that wasn’t just her opinion, his record alone could prove her point.
Until the Ramone Vega case.
Ben hadn’t been sure about this one and Ebony felt bad for him.
They’d done everything they normally did, bombarding the district attorney’s office with discovery and suppression motions on a daily basis.
They’d impeached expert witnesses before the prosecution even had a chance to put them on the stand.
But there had been something more, something Ben felt he couldn’t ignore.
“It’s in his eyes,” Ben had confided in her one night when they were at the office late. “He killed those people. I can see it in his eyes.”
Ben had seemed shaken after that and when she’d left him at the office she’d wanted to call his brother or one of his cousins to come over and check on him. But in the morning he was back to normal, ready to fight for a man’s innocence he didn’t even believe in.
But that was all over now.
On Tuesday the jurors came back after three days of deliberations—they were deadlocked. A mistrial was declared and Ramone Vega walked out of the courtroom with a smile on his sadistically handsome face.
Ebony’s voice escalated as she tried to match the singer’s high note.
She’d always wanted to be a singer and had believed in her talent until she realized believing wasn’t paying her bills.
At the same time, having a day job to make ends meet didn’t have to kill the dream.
Her solo was interrupted by the blare of a police siren and the corresponding flashing red and blue lights.
“Shit!” She cursed and immediately turned her music down. She pulled over to the side of the road.
Ben had already cleared half a dozen speeding tickets for her with his friend down in the traffic division. He was going to be pretty pissed if she got another one. Ebony took a deep breath and tried to prepare herself to be nice and cordial, something she didn’t do well most of the time.
She sat up a little straighter and yanked on the hem of her shirt, so that the V-neck collar moved down slightly.
Squaring her shoulders so her assets were on full display she put on her prettiest smile.
When the tap came to her window, she pressed the button to roll it down with one long-nailed finger.
But her smile soon disappeared as she stared into the eyes of a killer.
Ben
It never failed. The second Ben got to the door and was about to leave his house, his cell phone rang.
It wasn’t the office because he’d sent Ebony home about an hour or so before he left at five.
And if there was one thing he knew for certain about his legal assistant, it was that when he said it was quitting time, she took those words to heart and made a fast escape for the front door.
To party no doubt, because Ebony had a very high-spirited personality and didn’t bother to hide it, not even when she was at work.
Ebony was in her late twenties and had been with his firm for the past four years.
Mrs. Jefferson, his first assistant/office manager had been there when he started the firm five years ago only to retire a year later when her daughter gave birth to quintuplets and needed her help.
Ebony was efficient and intelligent and nosy as hell.
She talked a lot and loudly, took long lunches and harassed a good portion of their clients.
But she was the best fit for the firm. Clients knew not to play with Ebony.
When she called them about their payments, they paid or risked her going off on them.
She typed faster than anybody Ben had ever known—even with nails that were as long and as sharp as weapons—and the office was organized right down to the blue gel pens she purchased from the supply company because they were his preference.
There was no argument that she was an invaluable asset to the firm.
But that didn’t stop her from getting on Ben’s nerves at least three days out of the work week.
“Ben Donovan,” he answered the phone stopping in front of the door.
“This call is strictly a reminder. Dinner at Aunt Bev’s this Sunday at five. That’s two days from today. Don’t even think about using me as an excuse should you not attend.”
Ben only smiled. His older brother, Max, was so damned serious.
“Good to hear you’ve got my back, big bro,” he said before pushing the button on his key fob to automatically unlock his car doors.
“Well, since they believe I’m my brother’s keeper, I was told to remind you again,” Max replied.
He had missed the last few get-togethers, Ben admitted to himself.
But he’d been in a very high-profile murder trial.
He’d barely had time to breathe or to hit the gym or anything else he liked to do for fun.
Now that the case had been declared a mistrial he was seriously thinking about a little vacation, maybe a couple days on some lovely beach where he could swim until his muscles ached, then sleep until late morning and eat until he couldn’t move.
That was his idea of the perfect vacation.
“I’ll be there,” he said.
The Donovans were a close-knit family. Even though they had relatives scattered across the world, they kept in close contact with each other.
That was something bred in them from generation to generation.
Ben remembered his father telling him that their great-great-grandfather Elias Donovan said there was nothing more important than family, not business and definitely not money.
Only family survived. Ben believed that wholeheartedly and normally never missed a function.
“You okay?” Max asked when he’d been quiet for a few seconds.
Ben had just climbed into his car and was staring through the front windshield at a piece of paper that wasn’t there twenty minutes ago when he’d parked and locked his car in his driveway.
“I’m fine,” he finally replied, still deciding whether or not he was going to reach for the paper. “Just trying to get to the gym before it gets too crowded.”
“You and that gym. It’s like your second home,” Max told him as if he didn’t already know this.
Slipping on his aviator sunglasses Ben reached for his seatbelt. “It’s good for my health,” he told his brother. He left out that it was an excellent way to work off stress and to keep his mind focused on the important things in life since the field of work he’d chosen wasn’t the most calming.
“If you say so,” Max said. “Stop by and see your niece sometime, she’s growing like a weed. You probably won’t even recognize her.”
That thought made Ben smile. Max and his wife Deena had adopted a beautiful baby girl from a small town in Brazil.
Their mother Alma, along with her business partner Noreen Lakefield, ran a non-profit agency called Karing Kidz which facilitated adoptions for children in North and South America.
His niece Sophia was the absolute apple of Max and Deena’s eyes.
She’d also wrapped her Uncle Ben around her baby finger so tightly he’d already opened a trust fund that would be hers on her twenty-first birthday.
“I’ll recognize her and she’ll definitely recognize her favorite uncle. Tell Deena I said hello,” he said.
“Will do,” Max replied. “Be safe.”
“Will do.” Ben agreed and disconnected the call. He tossed the phone onto the passenger seat and stared through the windshield at that piece of paper.
It wasn’t a traffic ticket, nor was it a flyer or one of those postcards advertising a party that Ebony often had. No, this appeared to be a regular sheet of copy paper folded in half. No big deal. Except, the weird feeling in his gut warning him that it was, in fact, a big deal.
He stepped out of the car, grabbed the paper and then sat back in the driver’s seat with it in his hand. With a shake of his head, he decided that wondering wasn’t getting him anywhere, he just needed to read the damn thing. He opened it.
Think Again
Route 215, Exit 11
It was typed and cryptic and the headache that had been sluggishly hanging around since about ten o’clock on Wednesday morning began an immediate pound as if to say, “I’m back!
” Ben had no idea what this address meant but he closed the door and started the engine, his mind already trying to figure this out.
As he drove, an incident from earlier today played in his head. It was something he’d planned to forget, to ignore and file away with other bizarre events in his life as a defense attorney. But now, maybe it made more sense.
He’d been walking to his car, going down the steps to the underground garage across the street from his office building.
The facility was well-lit on both floors but like traveling through the gates to the White House to get a car in and out, which was the reason he’d chosen this place instead of the above ground lot a half a block down.
His shoes clicked rhythmically across the concrete as he pulled his key from his pocket and disengaged the automatic locks.
The headlights flashed on and off as the sound of his alarm being disabled echoed throughout the space.
He was about a foot away from his car when the man stepped out, stood in front of him arms folded over his chest.
He wore an expertly tailored cedar brown suit.
His thick inky colored hair was combed back and generously sprinkled with a glossy sheen.
Burnt orange complexion, dusky brown eyes and lips that spread into an eerie smirk topped off his description.
Almost exactly the description the witness had seen walking out of the house and climbing into a gray Lexus the night Congressman McGlinn and his wife were brutally murdered.
“I didn’t get a chance to thank you the other day for a job well done,” Ramone Vega spoke in his heavily accented voice.
This exact make and model car had been mentioned in a witness statement which had been suppressed from the trial, but Ben wondered about it now. Then, because he had to accept that the trial was over, he shook the hand that Vega extended to him. “No problem. It’s my job.”
Vega nodded. “I guess they’ll want a new trial.”
They did. Ben already knew that. He’d known that on Tuesday, the second Julius Talmadge, the Assistant District Attorney on the case, had slammed his briefcase closed and stomped out of the courtroom. He also knew because they’d already served him with a motion stating their claim.
Ben only nodded and eased his hand away from Vega’s.
“We’ll be ready for them the second time around, huh?” Vega asked with a chuckle.
Ben didn’t laugh.
“I won’t be representing you at the new trial,” he told him and kept his eyes trained on the other man’s.
Vega didn’t look shocked, only annoyed. “I pay my bills with you, man. So, what’s the problem?”
“I can take or release any client I want. That’s in our retainer agreement. You paid me for this charge and this trial date. I represented you. I’m not obligated to re-try this case for you.”
“Don’t do this Donovan.” The sentence had been simple enough, its tone meant to be a warning.
Ben shook his head. Something about Vega had always bothered him. No, it wasn’t something, it was guilt. The man was as guilty of murder as Ben was innocent. And knowing that, he couldn’t effectively represent him, he wouldn’t represent him, not again.
“It’s already done,” he stated although, he was just on his way to the Justice Center now to file the motion to strike his appearance. “You need to find yourself another lawyer and fast. I’m sure the prosecutors are going to push for a speedy trial.”
Ben didn’t wait for a response, he just turned and walked away.
“I want you on this case,” Vega yelled, his accent almost gone, his voice deeper, deadlier.
Ben didn’t like having his back to the man as he walked the rest of the distance to his car. When he was at the driver’s side door, he opened it and tossed his briefcase into the back seat. He looked up at Vega who was watching him intently.
“I won’t work on this case. And I’m not going to change my mind,” he said, keeping his voice in a deadly serious tone that just about matched Vega’s.
Without a care as to whether Vega had a response, Ben climbed into his car and pulled off. Watching Vega through the rearview mirror, he reached into his jacket pocket for his cell phone. When he turned toward the exit, Vega had been still standing there, looking at him drive away.
Ben hadn’t given a second thought to what the man might have been thinking or doing. He’d just been glad to have this case behind him.
Now, he wondered if it really was.