Page 1 of Slow Burn (The Boston Beauties)

PROLOGUE

ABBY

Present Day

‘Good morning Miss Dawson,’ District Attorney David Fitzpatrick said to me as I walked into his office first thing on Monday morning. I was exhausted from the flight the night before, having spent the weekend in Las Vegas. I was only home long enough this morning to shower, change and drink a pot of coffee. ‘I hope this is as important as your endless text messages this morning indicated, I only have five minutes.’

I didn’t have an appointment—after everything with Matt’s trial last year, I didn’t need one—but I got to his office early anyways in hopes of catching him before he started what I knew was going to turn into a very busy day. I owed him the courtesy to give him as much notice as possible, as his success benefited me and my family. As a new DA, having only been in the position for a few months, he was already trying to make a name for himself.

I smiled as I walked towards his desk, knowing he was going to owe me one after this.

‘Trust me, it is,’ I told him, taking a seat and making myself comfortable in the chair in front of his desk. I dug a thick binder with all the information Breton had prepared and meticulously organized. I placed it on his desk; he looked up at me with a raised eyebrow.

‘You are going to have to give me the executive summary,’ he shook his head as he rolled his eyes at me. ‘I don’t have time to read that.’

‘You are going to have to give my client and anyone else involved immunity.’

He sat back in his chair, looking at me with interested eyes. ‘People don’t usually ask such bold requests.’

‘When have you ever known me to be an ordinary person?’ I quipped back. We met when he was an Assistant District Attorney two years ago, at the time Matt had first been arrested. Naturally, my aunt and uncle hired me on as their lawyer, and as a personal appeal from both the mayor and the DA at the time, my family requested that I work with ADA David Fitzpatrick. During the months that led up to Matt’s trial, we had worked closely together on building a case to put Matt behind bars. It was a quick trial, and in the end, the jury found him guilty of the premeditated murder of my beloved cousin.

It was a hard and dark time for the family, having just lost Josh a few years prior. This one affected us harder, as there was no closure, not without a body—Matt had taken that away from us.

‘Does this happen to have something to do with your cousin?’

I leaned forward, opening the binder to the last page, where a yellow Post-It note with six words was stuck.

His eyes went wide and his mouth hung open, and David Fitzpatrick wasn’t the kind of man to be taken by surprise. ‘Now do you understand my urgent need to see you and my immunity request?’

He nodded, looking up to me and then down to the binder, flipping through it as I continued to speak. ‘There’s evidence in there that proves my cousin Josh was murdered, he didn’t commit suicide or accidentally OD, just like the family had been insisting from day one. That binder is a road map for you to prove that Matthew, whose true identity is Justin Taggart, and his siblings are the ones who planned and carried out his death. As we speak, his brother, Jordan Taggart is sitting in a Moroccan jail. As the binder indicates, best to extradite him back to America. These siblings have also been involved in elaborate international fraud schemes, laundering money, running drugs, shell companies, identity theft, and running escort rings.’

‘And you know this how?’ he asked me, scanning a page in the document.

‘I need immunity.’ I looked at him straight in the eye, not budging on my request.

‘You do?’ he questioned, worry crossing over his face.

‘Not me, I’ve known since December but have been bound by client privilege. But I need immunity for my client.’

He nodded. ‘You have my word, I’ll grant it—so far as I can.’

I smiled. Knowing all the facts, there would be charges laid, the DA’s hands would be tied, and there would need to be some justice dealt out.

‘Good, now I need you to go arrest Jordanna Taggart, also known as Julia Featherbe, she runs a salon spa in Worcester.’ I relaxed, nodding to the binder. ‘Everything else you need is in that binder.’ I looked at my Fit-Bit for the time. ‘And if I’m not mistaken, you should have received an email with supporting video incriminating these bastards.’

‘How…’ His eyes narrowed at me.

‘My client will be arriving at the private departures’ terminal around four this afternoon. You can ask then, full cooperation is what is on the table.’

The composed DA ran a hand through his hair and let out a huge breath. ‘Abigail, are you sure? This could be huge...or bite me...usin the ass.’

I nodded, feeling vindicated. For so long our family has maintained that Josh had to have been murdered, that suicide wasn’t in his character. But with the opioid crisis that was plaguing New England, the authorities summed his death up to a spoiled rich kid who got carried away.

‘Trust me; he’s been working on this since before…’ I took a deep breath. ‘Trust me, he’s done his work, it’s all there. Don’t ask me how he got it, it’s all too technical for me.’

‘Alright, I’ll see you at the terminal,’ he told me, clearly indicating our meeting was over.

‘Oh,’ I stood from the chair, looking down at him. ‘There is one more thing.’

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