Page 41 of White Raven
“Ryan Sykes.”
That gave him pause. After the conversation at Sarah’s apartment, of course he knew why that would be the person to look for, but…something had clearly developed since then.
“She’s running,” Jenkins validated, signing into the system.
“Yep. She called. Told us she had a plane to catch. I need to make sure we’re right before we set off on a scavenger hunt. If you can find her, is there any way to know what flight she hops on?”
“Of course I can, I’m a fucking genius.”
“I owe you one, Brando.”
“I accept cash, chocolate, and expensive gaming chairs,” Jenkins smiled, scooting a notepad toward him while shaking ink into his pen.
“Noted. Call me when you get something.”
Call ended.
CHAPTER 8
CRIPPLING CASES
It felt good to settle into a familiar routine. Felt good to zip that garment bag open and pull out a crisp suit. The weight of his briefcase…the balance of something relativelynormal. Even the taste of the bagel from his favorite spot on the drive to the firm made Brent’s body relax. This was the right move. There wasn’t any such thing as ‘too soon’. Not if he could start piecing his life back together after all this. Hell, even the string of curses at Boston traffic made him feel good right now. So what if cream cheese flew out of his mouth? The deposition would start in forty-five minutes. He wasn’t too keen on taking criminal cases, but easing back in would take time, and he was in no position to complain about whatever scraps they’d give him to build back up.
C.J. Parks was not only beautiful, but truly a viper in court. If her looks didn’t stun you, her sharp tongue would get that job done. Brent remembered being on the receiving end of that shit on more than one occasion. Their short relationship in law school was both a blessing and a curse when it came to being hired at the same firm. While they did squabble about the stupidest shit, he could always count on her scratching the eyes out of anybody that dared to buck up to him around here. He’d be lying if he said it wasn’t good to see her standing with a group of interns at his office door with balloons and champagne. A ‘welcome back’ banner hung over his door, and the rest of the office chimed in with their cheering and clapping when he stepped out of the elevator and made his way toward them. He smiled, shaking hands with a few before they dispersed, and C.J.followed him into his office, sitting the champagne on the corner of his desk.
“You could act a little more surprised, prick,” she smirked, perching her thigh on the side. Her long blonde hair fell over her shoulder and her pencil skirt seemed extra short today.
“Would it have made it any less humiliating?” Brent asked, sitting his briefcase in his chair, and opening it to pull files out.
“We’re just happy you’re safe,” she sighed, folding her arms in front of her. When he looked over, her fierce green eyes seemed like they were searching for something behind those long lashes…something that hadn’t been there for a long time.
“If you’re that happy about it, then I’m curious why I haven’t seen you since it happened. I’ve been home for a while now. Just buried Mom, too.”
“You know I don't do well with that kinda shit.”
Brent smirked and tossed a few files onto his desk. “And you know I don’t do well with surprises, Cece.”
She slipped off the desk and stood by the window, looking out over busy Boston. “I’m sorry. I should have been there, but I didn’t wanna make the situation worse with any drama regarding your…ex.”
“If that bullet wouldn’t kill me, you women are gonna put me down for sure.”
C.J. snapped her head over her shoulder. “The fact that you’d even put me in the same category as‘those women’makes me wanna bash your face in.”
“Missed you too,” Brent scoffed, ignoring her and adjusting his tie.
“You know what I didn’t miss?” she started, turning to face his back. “The fact that suddenly, you don’t seem to care what’s in the papers or the tabloids. It’s either that, or you’re doing it on purpose to try and send some kind of message.What I’m interested in is who, exactly, that message is for?” A newspaper slid across the top of the files he was sorting, and he was at least grateful that this time, it didn’t make front page news. Two shameless shots of him losing his shit in Wren’s arms at the funeral. Go fucking figure. Brent shoved it away, stacking the folders and turning towards her.
“What makes you think, after what I’ve been through—no—what meandthat girl in those photos have been through, that I would givetwo shitsabout sending a message to anybody, Cece? No, the cameras that continue to flash away my fucking personal life are not lost on me. Yes, I knew they would probably stamp it all over the place. No, I couldn’t possibly care less. Is that what you need to hear? Because aside from that, whatever I have going on in said personal life is no longer your business. Hasn’t been your business for several years now.”
“I just need to be sure that your head is clear for this deposition, Brent. As happy as I am to see you back, we can’t afford for you to be sloppy, either.” Her stare cut like a dagger. She extended a manicured finger at the newspaper. “It’s shit likethat, that makes us look bad.”
Brent bristled, but only for a second. He faced her, taking a bold step forward and stopping just in front of her face. “It sounds like you still think I earned my place at this firm only by my last name. Funny how that last name put you in the spotlight once upon a time, and you didn’t have any objections then.” Oh, that struck a nerve. The tips of her ears burned red. She opened her mouth to speak but Brent held up a finger. “Let me be clear. If I thought I wasn’t ready to come back to work, I wouldn’t be here. If I think I can’t handle myself, the case is yours. While I’m eager to get back to some sort of normal, I amnot, inanyway, ready for this kind of bullshit. So, can you at least let me get my feet wet before you decide to shove me in with concrete shoes?”
C.J.’s shoulders slackened, and she sighed, rolling her eyes and dropping her arms to her sides. “Fine…sorry. You’re right, it’s not my place.”
Brent smirked. “How’d that taste?”
She shoved him in the shoulder and waltzed past his desk to leave. “Like vinegar. Conference room two, in fifteen minutes, Stratford.” Her voice trailed off as she slipped out the door and out into the hallway.
