Julie James - About That Night

“I know what the Seventh Circuit says,” he said with a glare. “But this whole thing was just a fight between two inmates gone wrong. Show me what you’ve got that proves anything other than that.”

Rylann could already tell—he was going to be an absolute joy to litigate against. “I’m happy to.” She unzipped her briefcase, pulled out a file that she’d prepared with all of Special Agent Wilkins’s investigation reports, and plunked it into Channing’s hands. “Here you go. There’s a letter on top outlining my proposed discovery schedule. Exculpatory evidence three weeks before trial, full witness list two weeks prior.”

He looked down at the file in surprise, obviously not having expected to walk out with the FBI reports today. “Yes, well. I’ll…be taking a look at these right away.”

“One other thing I should mention. For security reasons, Manuel Gutierrez has been transferred out of MCC and moved downstate to Pekin.” Given the inmate’s concerns about his safety, Rylann had felt that was the safest course of action.

Channing nodded. “I see.”

From his blank expression, Rylann guessed that he did not, in fact, see. Most likely, Channing had no clue who Manuel Gutierrez was. Which was precisely why she liked to hit defense attorneys with the FBI reports right away. It sent them a message, right from the get-go, that they had some catching up to do.

Not surprisingly, Channing had no further demands at that hearing.

UNFORTUNATELY, THE SWEET taste of victory did not linger long.

“I’m striking out with the other inmates,” Agent Wilkins said over the phone later that afternoon when Rylann was back at the office.

To further bolster her case against Quinn, Rylann had asked Wilkins to talk to some of the inmates at MCC to see if any of them could provide support for their theory about Quinn—that he’d been giving preferential treatment to certain inmates who’d carried out his retaliation. “Are they afraid to talk to you?”

Wilkins snorted. “They’re not afraid—they all want deals. They know that Gutierrez was taken out of MCC after meeting with us. Apparently, the rumor floating around is that he’s playing golf at a minimum-security facility in Miami.”

“Of course that’s the rumor. One day I have to find this elusive federal prison where everyone runs around free, plays golf, and eats five-course meals.”

“Frankly, I don’t think most of these guys know anything about any special treatment Quinn was giving Jones and Romano,” Wilkins said, referring to the two other inmates they believed had done Quinn’s dirty work. “But I wouldn’t put it past them to claim otherwise if they think it means they’ll get a shortened sentence and an all-expense-paid trip to southern Florida.”

“What about going directly to Jones and Romano? Are they willing to talk?” Rylann asked.

“Not a chance. As soon as I mentioned Quinn’s name, they both demanded to speak to a lawyer. They know exactly why we want to talk to them—the whole prison is buzzing about Quinn being indicted.” Wilkins’s tone turned apologetic. “Sorry I couldn’t come up with more.”

Rylann rocked back in her desk chair. She was disappointed but not surprised. “Like you said, if these guys are so insistent on deals, I couldn’t trust anything they said anyway.”

“Too bad Manuel Gutierrez didn’t know anything. Since he’s already agreed to testify, that would’ve been perfect,” Wilkins said. “What about Kyle Rhodes? I take it the same goes for him?”

“Not sure. I’ve been in court so much recently, I haven’t had the chance to circle back to him yet,” Rylann said.

“I could do the follow-up interview if you like,” Wilkins offered politely. “It’s just that you’ve been the contact person with him thus far…”

“Nope, I’ve got it covered. I’m adding it to my to-do list for the day as we speak.” As Rylann reached for a pen, her second phone line rang—and then her cell phone chimed immediately after that with a text message. She quickly checked the caller ID on both while jotting down a note on her daily calendar.

“You sure?” Wilkins said with a chuckle. “You sound awfully busy right now.”

Sure, she was a little inundated right then. But since she was the one who’d established the relationship with Kyle Rhodes, it would be odd to suddenly send in the FBI to talk to him. Besides, there was no way that Meth Lab Rylann was going to get a reputation in her new office of not pulling her weight. “I’m positive. It’s on the official checklist,” she assured him. “Which means—”

Rylann stopped abruptly when she saw what she’d written amid all the distractions.

Do Kyle Rhodes.

Clearly, she and her subconscious needed to have a talk about that one.

KYLE ALMOST HAD a heart attack when he peered down at the Post-it note his sister had given him.

“This is your password? Clearly, that’s the next thing we need to fix,” he said as he logged on to her laptop. Jordan had asked him to stop by her store to see if he could figure out why her Internet connection had suddenly crashed. Based on her password alone, he was already dreading what he might find.

Standing next to the desk, Jordan gave him a quizzical look. “Mom’s maiden name and the years Grandma and Grandpa Evers were born. Why would anyone ever think of that combination?”

“Or you could just make the password one-two-three-four,” he offered. “Since you’re obviously trying to have your identity stolen.” He pointed, lecturing. “Listen and learn: you need fourteen characters, minimum. Use random letters, not words. Here’s a tip: think of a sentence, and use the first letter in each of those words. Mix it up between upper and lower case. Then pick two numbers that mean something to you—not dates—and stick them somewhere between the letters. Put a punctuation mark at the beginning of the password and then a symbol, like a dollar sign, at the end.”

“Yes, sir.” Jordan grabbed a pen and another Post-it note. “Um, could you repeat everything that came after mixing up the upper and lower case?”

Kyle took the pen from her. “I’ll come up with something for you.” He shooed her off. “Now go away. Sell some wine. I’ll call you if I need someone to push an on-off button.” He thought of one last thing. “By the way, when’s the last time you updated the firmware on your router? Okay, from your blank expression, I’ll mark that down as a big ‘never.’ “

Shortly after she left, his cell phone rang, and Kyle saw that it was Rylann. The two of them had been playing phone tag all afternoon—not that he particularly minded hearing her sexy, throaty voice on his voicemail.

He knew, from the press release the U.S. Attorney’s Office had issued last Friday morning, that the grand jury had indicted Adam Quinn. Since then, there’d been some local media interest in the case—a guard instigating the murder of a federal inmate was exactly the kind of juicy public corruption scandal that Chicago journalists loved to report about—but thankfully, none of the witnesses’ names had been revealed. He was more than happy to stay out of the spotlight as long as possible on this one.

“It appears congratulations are in order, Ms. Pierce,” he said when he answered his phone. “I see you got your indictment. I believe a certain somebody said something about calling me when that happened.”

“I’ve been waiting for a time when I had more than five seconds to talk.”

“Oh.” Kyle rocked back in the desk chair, liking the sound of that. “I’m flattered.”

“Because I also need a favor from you.”

Of course she did. “You know, counselor, I think that card you keep playing—the one that says, ‘Redeemable for old times’ sake’—has officially expired.”

“Uh-oh, I better check.” There was a pause on the other end of the line. “Nope, May 2012. We’re still good.”

He fought back a grin at that one. “What do you need?”

“I have a few follow-up questions related to Quinn,” Rylann said. “It should only take twenty minutes. Thirty, tops. Is this a good time?”

As if on cue, Jordan stuck her head into her office. Seeing him on the phone, she pointed to her computer and whispered. “Is it fixed?”

Kyle shook his head. No. Go away.

He waited until Jordan left before answering Rylann. “Actually, I’m in the middle of something at my sister’s wine shop. Can I call you back?”

She hesitated. “How long do you think it’ll be?”

“Maybe a half hour.”

“I have plans later tonight, so I was going to leave work after I finished talking to you. You were the last item on my checklist,” she said. “Maybe we can talk tomorrow instead?”

“Unfortunately, I’m going out of town tomorrow morning and will be gone all week,” he told her. He was flying to Seattle, San Diego, and then to New York to talk to three potential candidates for a senior-level position in his start-up company. Given the whole Twitter debacle, it had taken some convincing even to get these guys to agree to meet with him.

“This was something I’d been hoping to wrap up in the next few days…” she mused out loud. “How about if I call you in a little while, after I get home? I live in Roscoe Village, so it should be about thirty minutes. Does that work?”

“Roscoe Village is right by my sister’s store. DeVine Cellars, on Belmont. Why don’t you just stop by here on your way home and we can talk in person?”

The words flew out of Kyle’s mouth before he could even think about them.

Apparently, Rylann was just as surprised by the offer as he was. “I, um…hadn’t considered that possibility.”

Neither had he, but the more he thought about it, the faster he was warming to it. If for no other reason, he was curious to check out today’s skirt suit selection. “Well, if you want to talk to me this week, counselor, I’d start considering it. That’s the only time I’m available for pesky assistant U.S. attorneys.”

“If I were to agree to this, it would be solely because—as it so happens—I’ve been wanting to check out your sister’s shop for a while now,” she said. “I hear she’s got the best wine selection in the city.”

Kyle grinned. “You keep telling yourself that, counselor. Maybe in thirty minutes, when you get here, you’ll actually believe it.”

A DEFIANT THIRTY-SEVEN minutes later, when Rylann walked into DeVine Cellars and felt the cool air of the shop hit her, she momentarily felt as if she were back in San Francisco. There had been a store just like this only a block from her old apartment that she’d frequented often—cozy yet sophisticated, highboy tables scatted throughout, and bin after bin filled with wine bottles.

Rylann scanned the store and saw customers at two of the tables but no sign of Kyle. She walked over to an empty table tucked into a corner against the wine bins, hung the strap of her briefcase on the back of one of the chairs, and took a seat.

She’d just begun to read the chalkboard over the main bar, which listed the wines the store had available by the glass, when she heard a friendly voice to her right.

“Looking for anything in particular?”

A slender, very pretty blond woman with blue eyes smiled as she approached the table. Even if Rylann hadn’t recognized Jordan Rhodes from the photos that had been in the media over the years, she would have known instantly that she was Kyle’s sister. Though nearly a foot shorter than Kyle, and with hair that was several shades lighter, those blue eyes gave it away.

Before Rylann could say anything, Jordan cocked her head with a look of recognition. “I know you. You’re the prosecutor who handled the motion to reduce my brother’s prison sentence.”

Rylann assumed Jordan had been in court that morning to support Kyle. Or maybe she’d seen the photo of the two of them that had done the media circuit. “You have a good memory. Actually, I’m meeting Kyle here tonight. Is he around?”

For whatever reason, Jordan appeared shocked by the question.

“You’re meeting my brother here?” she asked. “Are you sure about that?”

“Pretty sure. It was his suggestion, actually.”

Jordan stared at her. “Are we talking about the same Kyle Rhodes? Tall; freakishly lustrous, shampoo-commercial hair; has this weird thing about giving people nicknames?”

“I heard that, Jordo.” Kyle came around the wine bins, wearing jeans and a navy crewneck sweater. As he approached, Rylann noticed that he hadn’t shaved that day and that the scruff along his strong, angular jaw made him look very…beddable.