Angie surged to her feet. She’d been waiting for Brixton since 8:00 a.m. She knew he liked to come into his office and work quietly, catch up on admin on Sunday mornings, and that there would be a skeleton staff along with someone to admit her. “One of your staff let me in,” she said.
“I thought I told you we were done here.” He strode to his desk and depressed the buzzer on his phone. “Debbie! Get security. I want this woman out. Now.”
“Wait,” Angie said, raising her hands, palms out. “Please, just wait. I have a proposition.”
“Jeezus, Pallorino, you have effing balls coming in here like this, I’ll hand you that, but—”
Two burly security guys appeared in the doorway. “Sir, you called?”
“Get this woman outta here.” Brixton rounded his desk and dumped his briefcase on top. “She’s trespassing.”
“Hold it,” Angie instructed the guards. “Jock, you’re gonna want to hear this.”
The guards moved in and took her by the arms. Brixton opened the Tim Hortons bag he’d brought with him and took out his breakfast sandwich. He set it on his desk, ignoring her.
“Just hear me out, and then I’m gone. I swear.”
“You’ve done your begging. I’m done listening. I’ve already had a nervy, media-shy, and extremely wealthy client back out of a contract because of all the publicity you and that damn body in the moss have gone and heaped all over CI. Frankly, I’d like to kill you, Pallorino. I can’t even begin to tell you.”
“See that?” She jerked her chin to the check she’d set on his desk. “It’s a retainer. There’s a fee of three hundred dollars per hour coming on top of that. Plus a bonus. Plus expenses. All yours, apart from fifty percent of the bonus, which goes to me if the client is satisfied.”
He looked down. Confusion chased across his broad features as he read the amount on the check. “What client? What is this?”
“It’s yours—it all goes to Coastal Investigations if you allow me to take this case under your agency umbrella. Client wants me specifically, no one else.”
“What in the hell are you talking about?”
“Call your guards off me, and I’ll explain.”
He jerked his head to the door. “Let her go. Give us a minute. Wait outside and shut the door.”
Angie waited until the security guys had departed Brixton’s office. Once they were alone, she said, “I’ve been offered a case. High-profile client. Like I said, the money is all yours, minus expenses and part of the bonus. But only if you hire me back purely on a contract-by-contract basis.”
“Three hundred perhour?”
“Yup.”
He snatched the check off his desk. “And this retainer is against the hourly fee?”
“On top of.”
“Who’s the client?”
“Connected in the right places. If we do good by this client, the client will recommend us. There’ll be more work like this coming in.”
“Us? There’s no freakingus, Pallorino.”
“Fine.” She reached across his desk for the check in his hand. But he snatched it out of her reach.
“What kind of case?” he said. “Is this going to get us in more trouble?”
“Cold case. Old one. Nothing suspicious so far as I can see. Client just wants information about the victim leading up to an accidental death. Victim is a family member. It’s a personal, closure thing.”
He looked dubious. He rubbed his chin hard, then flicked a glance at the window as if seeking a way out while still hanging on to that fee. He inhaled deeply.
“I’ll tell you something else, Jock. My exposure in the media, my notoriety, isexactlywhat brought me this case.” Angie slowly took a seat, expanding her presence in his office, taking up his space, projecting confidence, a relaxed demeanor. She felt anything but. It had an instant calming effect on Brixton. She’d learned how to work him.
“Meaning?”
