Unbalanced

Unbalanced

John Foxjohn

Watermark Press

This book is published by Watermark Press

New York, New York 10014 USA

Copyright 2015 by John Foxjohn

Warning: The unauthorized reproduction of distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 (five) years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing by the author or publisher.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Other Books by John Foxjohn

Author picture

Biography

Chapter One

Trees and road signs flashed past on the Angelina County road. Janice Huggins glanced at the speedometer and pushed down on the gas. The gauge climbed to thirty-five and the trees became a blur in her one good eye. The East Texas summer sun sparkled off the hood, mixing with tree shadows.

A tear dropped onto her cheek and she brushed it away. Without taking her eye off the road, she reached across the seat to pat Annie’s leg, reassure her.

She froze. Where was her friend? Frantically, she searched, reaching farther. She lunged to see if Annie had fallen between the passenger door and seat. Remembering the road, she jerked up and screamed, Where’s Annie?

Trees sped by faster and she slammed on her brakes. The car fishtailed and then spun on the loose gravel and dirt. A red cloud billowed around the car like a thick fog, but she didn’t care—she had to find Annie.

When the car stopped spinning, she flung the door open and stumbled out. She gasped in pain. Wheezing from the exertion, she tasted a mouth full of fine dirt that turned her stomach.

Annie’s crystal blue eyes and bright red hair flashed in her mind. She forgot her pain and ran around the front of the car, jerking the passenger door open. Annie fell to the ground and Janice dropped beside her, easing her head out of the dirt. Are you hurt, my angel?

When Annie didn’t respond, she picked the doll up and held her in the crook of her arm, stroking her bright red hair and wiping tears off Annie’s face. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Please talk to me.

Annie’s eyes fluttered and then opened. Her words resonated in Janice’s head. I’m okay. Not hurt. Are you taking me where I told you to?

Crushing Annie to her chest, Janice said, I am so glad you weren’t hurt. Yes, we’re going to let you make sure no one hurts you again. Kneeling on the road, Janice sat Annie in the passenger seat and reached across for her purse, taking out a small plastic brush. She removed the rubber bands from Annie’s pigtails.

Exhaust from the idling car overrode the scent of wild flowers, but Janice ignored it and brushed Annie’s hair, humming as she counted the strokes. When she stroked the doll’s hair one hundred times, she sat back on the road.

Reaching up, Annie brushed her bangs away. You know I don’t like hair in my face. She pointed a pudgy finger at Janice. If you don’t hurry, we won’t make it in time.

Janice smiled at her friend. She should comb her own hair, but Annie was more important. Annie cared about her appearance. She hoped her friend’s dress hadn’t gotten dirty when she fell out the door.

Fear surged through her and she leaped up. Should she take Annie to the hospital to have her checked out? No, Annie said she was okay, and the last time she took Annie, the doctors tried to lock her in that funny room.

As the sun beat down, chills burst over her. She needed to get her task done. Annie gave her instructions on what she needed to do. She couldn’t let her down again. She gently placed Annie in the front seat and sped toward Lufkin.

The car swerved into the parking lot of the Angelina County Courthouse, and Janice glanced at her watch. She’d just made it. She picked up Annie. See, I told you I’d get you here in time.

Janice jumped out of the car and hurried to the back. She opened the trunk, grabbed a bag with one hand and cradled Annie in the other. Don’t yell, Annie, we need to hurry.

Marching across the back lawn of the courthouse, she hummed, Onward Christian Soldiers. She hesitated a moment to inhale the scent of magnolias filling the air as the July sun seared everything in its path. Stopping, she set her bag down and opened it, humming as she brought out her daddy’s .357 Magnum.

She closed her one good eye and inhaled the scent of gun oil as she held the gun on the side of her face. The cold metal relaxed her, but her eye snapped open when she remembered what Annie needed to do. She handed the gun to her friend and smiled when Annie inspected it.

When a van pulled into the parking lot near the back door, Janice moved Annie close and whispered, Annie, are you sure this isn’t wrong?

No, silly. The Bible says an eye for an eye. They took a lot more than an eye from me and they have to pay for what they did.

Won’t they arrest you for this? Janice asked as tremors sped through her.

The doll’s red hair shook and her face scrunched into an exasperated expression. We’ve been over this time after time. It is not illegal for me to protect what is mine.

Annie held an index finger to her lips to make sure Janice didn’t say anything. It’s time for them to pay for what they did.

A radio crackled with unintelligible words, jarring Janice and Annie out of their conversation. Janice sighed and changed directions, heading straight for the sheriff’s department van. Her hand trembled as she gripped the gun tighter.

She couldn’t talk Annie out of it. Janice didn’t want to do this, but she couldn’t stop Annie.

The groaning van door slid open, causing Janice’s heart to thump in anticipation, and a deputy let two men come out.

Dressed in orange coveralls with a chain connecting to the cuffs on their feet and hands, the short redheaded one stumbled, but caught himself on the door. The tall one reached out and grabbed his arm, helping him gain his balance.

Laughter from the two men shot daggers through Janice. Rage contorted her face. They’d laughed like that as they took turns raping her in the rear. When her insides ripped open and she’d screamed, they laughed harder.

When they shot her and threw her in the garbage dump, their braying laughter seared her brain as they sped away.

As the deputy turned to shut the door, Annie rushed forward, gun extended.

The tall one’s head turned toward her. His eyes widened and he opened his mouth to yell.

***

Inside the Angelina County Courthouse, John Abraham, a twenty-five-year-old rookie deputy, yawned. He glanced at screen showing the back entrance where the transport officer would bring the prisoners into the courtroom. He’d never understood why they needed a deputy to sit and watch. He’d worked the night shift and wanted to go home.

When the transport officer arrived, he called the dispatcher and gave his mileage. The sheriff’s department recorded the time and mileage of vehicles transporting prisoners. This precaution protected the officers from complaints that they did something other than transport them from point A to point B.

Flopping in the chair, John yawned and flipped the switch that would record the arrival. His heart jumped into his throat when he glanced at the monitor. A woman clutching a baby in one arm and a gun in another ran toward the van. He froze and couldn’t move.

As she neared the van, she extended the gun in her right hand.

He grabbed his walkie-talkie but his dry mouth wouldn’t allow him to speak. As she fired the first shot, he screamed, Gun.

Like in a horror movie, red splotches appeared on the tall prisoner’s chest. Almost in slow motion, blood splattered the van behind him.

The transporting officer dived sideways as the woman turned the gun on the short prisoner who stood like a statue, his mouth open to scream. Whether words came out or not, John never knew.

Three rounds hit the short prisoner—one of them ripped into his groin. He slid down the side of the van, leaving a wide red streak.

Inside the courthouse, the deputy’s heart thundered as the woman ran close to the tall prisoner lying on the ground. Gun extended, she pulled the trigger several times. The man’s body convulsed with the impact of every round.

Out of bullets, she continued to pull the trigger and he imagined the firing pin clicking on empty casings. She then turned the empty weapon on the short one.

No sound penetrated the roaring in his ears as the gun fell from her hand.

Sirens and screams pierced the young deputy’s ears as he leaped out of his chair. He shook his head to clear away the nightmare. When he glanced back, the woman remained standing, talking, and stroking the baby’s hair.

Chapter Two

A polished oak table and a lemon fragrance separated Michael Deaton and his attorney in the Harris County courthouse in Houston, Texas. The petrified defendant sat with his back to the conference room door. A summer sun blasted through two large bay windows, illuminating the built-in oak bookshelves in light oak paneling. Fluorescent lighting reflected off the shiny tile on the floor.

Bryanne Hartford (pronounced Bry-anne), Deaton’s attorney, sat across from him. Charged with capital murder of his wife, a crime he vehemently denied, he awaited the jury’s decision alone. His family had deserted him. Even his teenage children believed him guilty and would have nothing to do with him. He’d endured the entire trial with his wife’s family and his own sitting on the prosecution side of the courtroom—waiting for a guilty verdict that would mean his death.

She shifted in her seat and couldn’t decide what to do with her feet to stop them from tapping on the floor. She wiped her sweaty palms on the sides of her dress. All of her life, she’d wanted her own law firm so she could represent clients like Michael, ones she believed in. Since graduating from law school, she’d worked for a large firm in Houston. She’d developed a huge reputation as a criminal defense attorney—especially in the area of murder defense.

With the law firm, she didn’t have a say in which clients she represented. The cases were assigned whether she believed in the person’s innocence or not, and that wasn’t the reason she’d wanted to be an attorney or why she went to law school.

Three months before, she’d taken the plunge—opened her own office. Now she had a client she believed was innocent and had taken on the responsibility of defending him.

Her stomach twisted into knots. It scared her to death. If she failed, she honestly believed an innocent man would be convicted and face the death penalty. She hoped she had done her job well enough.

With a face the color of copy paper, Michael sat almost at attention with his hands clutched together in his lap. He gnawed on his inner lip.

Bryanne took a deep breath to get control of herself. She couldn’t let him see anything but confidence—an emotion she didn’t have at the present. She took another deep breath. Everything's going to be okay. We've given the jury a lot to consider, and I really believe they'll come back with a not guilty verdict.

You promise? he asked, the hope obvious in his voice.

I can't promise that. If I did, you'd know I was lying, and I promised I wouldn't lie to you.

A tear trickled from the corner of his eye and his lips trembled. His entire body seemed to vibrate.

In a soothing tone, she said, Michael, we've talked about this before. No one can predict what a jury will do. I've seen them bring back verdicts no one could explain. She reached over and patted his hand. We are in good shape. All we can do now is wait.

She believed the jury would find him not guilty, but she had a plan in place just in case that didn’t happen. The last thing she could do was tell her client of her alternative plan. He was in bad enough shape. She forced a smile. I know it's easy for me to say because I'm not the one… She caught herself. She was about to say facing the death penalty, but that wouldn’t be the best wording at the moment. I’m not the one on trial. I wish we could do more—we'll just have to wait.

His voice shook. Please don't think I’m ungrateful. I don't know what I’d have done without you these last few months. I’m just scared, that's all.

Before Bryanne could say anything, the bailiff opened the door and stuck his head in. The jury has a verdict.

The bailiff’s announcement choked the air out of the room. Moments passed with sobs and heavy breathing. Bryanne’s stomach did flips, leaving her with a queasy feeling. She emptied her lungs in one gush. We'll be right there.

Michael heaved himself from his chair but didn't seem to be able to stand on his own. He held onto the table like his life depended on it. Finally, he regained his composure.

No matter what the verdict is, I owe you a debt of gratitude for taking this case, Michael said. I don't know what they'll do, but without you, I would've never had a chance. His voice shook and tears streamed out the corners of his eyes. I didn't kill Melissa, but that didn't seem to matter to anyone but you. You are the only one who believed me.

Bryanne forced a smile. Let's get this over with so you can get your life back in order.

As they hurried to the courtroom, spectators gawked at them in the hallway. Conversations died when they got close. They strode through tension so thick it seemed to stick to them. The noise ceased when they entered the courtroom. As they took their seats, a couple of deputies moved to stand behind the defense table.

He shivered and lowered his head.

It’s normal. Don’t worry about it. If the jury returns a guilty verdict, they will need to place you in custody. They’d talked about this and she’d prepared him for it, but she wanted to reassure him.

When he nodded, Bryanne turned her attention to her notes. She understood his anxiety. If she were in his place, she’d probably have stubs left on the end of her hands where she’d have eaten her fingernails all the way to the knuckle.

The bailiff interrupted her thoughts by announcing the judge. No one spoke as he entered, but squeaking seats and rustling clothing invaded the silence. She stood and sucked in a deep breath. Her knees shuddered and her queasy stomach flipped as the jury filed into the room and took their seats. Not a single one of them looked in the direction of the defendant. A long time ago, she'd stopped trying to figure out what different signals meant from the jury. She had hoped they would at least give a little sign of encouragement.

On Bryanne's right, Michael attempted to hold back a sob, but it came out almost as a gurgle.

Mr. Foreman, has the jury reached a verdict? the judge asked.

In the front row, a man stood. Your Honor, we have reached a verdict.

Is this a unanimous one? asked the judge.

All the jurors nodded, but the foreman replied, Yes, Your Honor.

Only a couple minutes had passed, but it seemed like it took an hour as Bryanne's heart slammed against her ribs.

Mr. Foreman, hand your verdict to the bailiff.

No one in the courtroom breathed as the bailiff’s shoes squeaked on the floor as he retrieved the note.

An emotional bomb inside the courtroom ticked, waiting to explode.

Once he handed it to the judge, he retreated to his usual place.

The judge read the note, frowned, and glanced at the defense. Would the defendant stand.

Bryanne rose and stood beside her client. Time dragged as the judge looked at the verdict. Tension almost sucked the air out of the courtroom, and Michael gasped.

Michael Deaton, a jury of your peers in Harris County has viewed all the evidence presented by the district attorney—the arguments put on by your attorney, and has come to a unanimous conclusion.

Bryanne almost groaned. Would the old windbag just tell them the decision? Michael was about to faint and she might fall right there with him.

The judge stared at Bryanne for a long moment with his head cocked. The jury finds Michael Deaton…not guilty.

Her knees turned to rubber as the courtroom exploded with pent up noise. Michael bent at the waist trying to catch his breath. A roaring in Bryanne’s ears made it difficult to hear the judge tell him he was free to go. The relief was almost overwhelming. Michael sagged into his chair as if his legs wouldn’t hold him any longer.

Bryanne took a deep breath and sat. She grasped the edge of the table as her entire body vibrated with adrenaline. She’d never played team sports in her life, but this had to be the feeling in a person when he scored in the final seconds to win a championship—one he’d worked and prepared for all his life.

With tears streaming down his face, Michael said, Thank you. You've saved my life, and I’ll never forget it as long as I live. I promise you—I'll pay you if it takes me the rest of my life.

"The important thing right now, Michael, just get your life back in order. That's what matters. You did not commit this murder, but you didn't use the best judgment in the world. That's what got you here to start with, and you need to work on that."

If you need anything, just call. She squeezed his hand.

Bryanne eased her way through the throng of spectators who still stood in shocked disbelief. Outside the courtroom, she breathed in the hot summer air. She needed to run in the worst way. Some people drank, others worked out at the gym to relieve tension—she ran.

Instead, she took out her cell phone and dialed Carolyn’s number. Bryanne’s assistant answered on the first ring and without wasting time saying hello, asked, What did the jury do?

Not guilty.

Wheeee. I knew you'd do it. Still the only attorney in the country with a perfect record in murder cases.

I wish I’d had as much confidence in the verdict as you did.

Guess what? Carolyn’s voice bubbled over the phone. Without waiting for an answer, she hurried on, Your office is ready.

Her friend’s enthusiasm caused her to smile. Do you want to meet there?

Yes, but please don't go in until I get there.

She had rented office space in downtown Houston, but because of time she had to spend on the capital murder trial, she’d had to work out of her condo while the burden of remodeling the office fell on her friend.

It was about fifteen blocks from the courthouse to her office and she debated how to get there. She would have loved to take off running, but her high heels and dress made that impossible. The sun made walking impractical. Instead, she decided to hailed a taxi. Houston had come up with a program called Six in the City. Taxicab fares anywhere in downtown Houston were just six dollars.

She found one immediately, but as it turned out, he not only was talkative, but recognized her.

Hey, you’re the female attorney who won that big case last year. Saw you on the news.

Bryanne smiled and nodded, hoping her verbal non-response would give him an idea, but it didn’t.

Didn’t I read that you were the lawyer for that guy who killed his wife? No offense ma’am, but they need to stick him in the electric chair.

She sucked in a deep breath that smelled like old onions and bit back a nasty reply. The jury just found him innocent.

He glanced at her in the mirror. You must be as good as they say. He was guilty.

They arrived at her office and saved her from replying. She thrust a ten at him for the six-dollar ride. She would’ve waited for change but she would’ve had to remain and listen to him. At that moment it was worth four dollars just to get away from him. He’d sing a different tune if he was sitting in the courtroom awaiting a jury’s decision.

Carolyn stood at the door as Bryanne entered. She followed her beaming assistant. Hope you like it.

I’ll love it. I told you I trusted your judgment.

I know, but I want it perfect.

It will be. Now, let’s look inside. Bryanne patted her friend’s arm.

Carolyn, a short, plump, brown-streaked blonde with big eyes, the type that never seemed to blink, stepped aside and swung her arm in an invitation.

The outer area had beige carpet. A polished desk sat in the right corner with a computer and matching chairs. The left side of the room had a love seat and two black leather chairs. Small tables held potted plants that looked real but probably weren’t, and the walls held landscape paintings hung at eye level.

Carolyn indicated the lone door on the left and hurried to open it. Bryanne stepped in, and like the outer area, her office had beige carpet. A full bookcase lined the right wall, and a large desk sat in front of a window overlooking a park. She inhaled a lavender fragrance.

Diplomas from the University of Texas and the University of Texas Law School, along with Bryanne’s bar certificate, hung on the back wall. What caught Bryanne’s attention the most was a gold nameplate at the front of the desk that said, Bryanne Hartford, Attorney at Law.

She spun and caught her friend’s hands. It’s perfect. You did a fantastic job.

Carolyn radiated her thanks. You think so?

Absolutely. Bryanne released her hands and indicated one of the chairs in front of the desk. Have a seat. She sat in the office chair behind the desk, tested it a moment before spinning around in it. She held her hands out. See, just what I needed.

Henry and Leon’s offices are ready too. They’ll be here tomorrow.

Bryanne smiled, reached across her desk and picked up the World’s Best Boss coffee cup Carolyn had given her.

Do you want some coffee? I made a fresh pot. She rose to leave but stopped. Bryanne followed Carolyn’s gaze to the open door where a woman on the dark side of fifty stood. She had gray hair with streaks of brown, swollen, red eyes from crying, and wrung her hands in front of a faded blue dress.

Carolyn hurried to the door. Ma’am, can I help you?

The woman swayed against the doorjamb. Bryanne rushed from behind her desk and helped Carolyn, who’d caught her. They led her to a chair.

I don’t know what to do. I need help, she said in a trembling voice.

She continued to tremble. Bryanne glanced up at Carolyn. Do we have any hot tea ready?

Yes, we have some Earl Grey I made for myself. You want me to put any cream and sugar in it?

No, just black. She’d read somewhere hot tea helped with shock, but the article didn’t say to put anything in the tea. She didn’t know what was wrong with the woman or if she was in shock, but tea couldn’t hurt.

Kneeling by the woman’s chair, Bryanne asked, What can I do to help you, Ms….

Huggins. I’m sure I am doing everything wrong. A friend of mine suggested I come and talk to a lawyer named Bryanne Hartford. I don’t know how to go about it.

Bryanne’s chest tightened and her own hands shook at the sad shape the woman was in. Ms. Huggins, you haven’t done anything wrong. I’m Bryanne Hartford.

Oh, thank God, she said as Carolyn hurried in with a steaming cup of tea. The assistant stepped back when the woman took it in both shaking hands and inhaled the fragrance.

Bryanne rose and eased behind her desk. Ms. Huggins, please tell me what the problem is.

Tears trickled down the woman’s wrinkled face and her lips trembled. It’s my daughter. They’re—fixin’ to kill her.

Chapter Three

Andrew Benjamin Hurst, known to all as Andy, stood with his hands jammed in his pockets in the conference room of the Angelina County District Attorney’s office. With his back to the attorneys sitting at the table, he stared out the window.

At last, he took a deep breath, pivoted, and sat. The open folder on Janice Marie Huggins stared at him. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, and rested his chin on steepled fingers. No matter what I do, I’m in trouble. This is a battle I can’t win.

Maybe the public will understand, Myra Thomason, an assistant district attorney, said.

Andy, the thirty-eight-year-old district attorney, pursed his lips as her overdone perfume threatened to kill any invading insects. He shook his head. If I prosecute this, most of them are going to say we are protecting the criminals. The two men got exactly what they deserved. The woman should be given a medal.

I think you— Myra Thomason started.

He held us his hand. If I don’t prosecute this, I’m not doing my job.

Sir, I don’t think you are giving the people of this county enough credit, Myra said. They overwhelmingly elected you over a much older and experienced man.

Frank Lodge smirked. I think Andy’s right. This is East Texas, not New York.

Myra spun in her seat. That’s totally uncalled for. What do you do—spend your nights thinking up little jabs about me being from New York?

Massaging the bridge of his nose, Andy jerked up a folder and rapped the edge on the table. The sharp blows ended the argument.

Barry Alston leaned back in his seat. What’s our alternative?

Flipping the folder back on the table, Andy said, Huh-huh—good question. We have a grand jury true bill. I’d be guilty of malfeasance if I didn’t prosecute this. I can assure you my political opponents will make sure I’m charged, too.

He paused for several moments. I should’ve waited to take this to the grand jury.

Myra held her hands out to both sides. Waited for what? Her voice screeched like a cat with its tail caught. We discussed this. We could’ve waited for ten years, but nothing’s going to change.

Andy stood, followed the scent of old coffee to the end of the table, and poured a cup from the carafe. Taking a sip, he sucked in a deep breath. She was right. Facts were facts. Janice Huggins took a gun and shot two men to death. Whether he or anyone else thought she had the right didn’t matter. He’d sworn to uphold the laws of the state.

Nowhere in the Texas penal code did it say murder was legal when the person doing it thought they had a reason. It really didn’t matter if he wanted to get her out of jail and pin the medal on her himself.

His mistake was sending it to the grand jury without a charge and leaving it up to them. It shocked him to the core when they issued the true bill for capital murder. Now he couldn’t come back and put her on trial for a lesser charge. All he could do was hope for a plea.

As if reading his mind, Barry said, The court appointed Will Ryan as defense. I’d bet he pleads this one. It’s in everyone’s best interest, and he’ll know he can’t possibly win it.

Andy closed his eyes a moment. Ryan would plead it. No doubt. It was in everyone’s best interest. Everyone except Janice Huggins. She needed mental help, not jail, but the public would roast him over a spit if he went that route, too.

You going to let me prosecute this? Myra asked.

Her anxious tone didn’t surprise him, but he half-turned in his seat to wait for the other half to argue against Myra taking the case.

Frank didn’t surprise him. I’m the one who should prosecute this one. He held up one finger. First, I have more experience. He held up a second finger. Second, I am from East Texas and know the culture and people around here. He held up a third finger. Third, and most important, if you assign a woman to prosecute this case people will say you did it so it wouldn’t look like you were out to get a woman.

Myra jumped up, face livid. That’s absolutely ridiculous and sexist.

Leaning back in his seat, Andy massaged his temples as the two went at each other. He was going to have to do something about them. Their ambitions were tearing the office apart. He couldn’t trust either one. They’d sell their souls to the devil to have his job. They’d also sell him down the river in a minute if they thought it would help advance their careers.

When the two stopped arguing, Barry said, Personally, I’ll take it if assigned, but I don’t want it. It’s a bomb waiting to explode. However, I think Andy has to take it himself. If he assigns this to one of us, people will say he doesn’t have the courage to take the hot ones.

Barry cut a look at Frank. I’m also from East Texas and elected officials can withstand a lot of things here, but not a question about their courage.

Uh-huh, Andy said. I agree. I have to take this one. Listen, let’s do this—

The intercom on the conference table buzzed. The secretary said into the speaker, Mr. Hurst, Janice Huggins’ attorney is here to see you.

Sophia had never called him Mr. Hurst, and Ryan would know not to come by at this time of day.

He tapped on the arm of the chair as the assistants glanced at each other. Reaching forward, he pushed the button. Please tell him I am in a meeting at the moment, and to call or come by this afternoon.

Sir, the attorney here claiming to represent Ms. Huggins isn’t Will Ryan.

A knot formed in Andy’s stomach. He didn’t like surprises, and especially in something like this. No way could this, whatever it was, be good for him. He blew out a breath and pushed the intercom button. Who’s the attorney?

Houston attorney Bryanne Hartford.

Andy fell back into his seat. His headache multiplied tenfold.

Ah—Andy, Frank said. I changed my mind. I think Barry’s right. You should handle this case yourself.

Myra not saying anything left him believing she now held the same opinion. What had he done to get this man-eater on his back? He hadn’t followed Bryanne