Page 97 of Oath
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 almostfeelthe 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.
