Page 37 of Not Mine to Rescue

I was. “Is it too much to ask not to have that moment rubbed in my face?” My tone must have shifted because the senior partner called me into his office.

The words, “Is this going to be a problem?” should be banned from the language. Every language.

When the third paralegal pulled their phone out, I hurried past them saying, “Late for court.”

I wasn’t.

In fact, I was over an hour early. That meant killing time in the little conference room adjacent to the clerk of court offices. It was located as far away as I could get from my usual haunts because the lawyers up there were Jim’s friends, too. I’d seen those damn photos almost a dozen times by now.

You’d think it would hurt less by that point.

Two cops gathered by the coffee machine someone set up on a credenza. They were discussing local events as I tried to concentrate on my case. I did a good job until I heard one of them say, “I think it was the Destroyers. They started a gang war in our backyard.”

“Everyone thinks that, but no one can prove it.”

Would it be horrible to eavesdrop? Then again, this wasn’t related to any active case, yet. I weighed the interests of my client versus the chances I’d have to use this in court. Of course, I could make myself known. Introduce myself as the lawyer assigned to their retainer while Jim was on⁠—

The urge to growl as soon as “paternity leave” crossed my mind was difficult to suppress. And for that, I listened, kept my mouth shut, and my head down.

Their conversation grew more intense.

“Four men go missing and we’re supposed to ignore that?”

“It ain’t exactly like losing those assholes is a loss. Frankly, if the Destroyers killed them, they helped rid the county of at least a dozen rapes and god knows how many assaults.”

“Still.” The cop was going to say more, but finally noticed me. “Why aren’t you upstairs?”

Busted. “Too much noise.”

Obviously, that was a lie. The clerk’s office was a hive of activity. The one who’d asked muttered, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

The other one recognized me. He’d arrested Wombat, and I’d torn his “reckless endangerment” charge to shreds. “Honoria Ryder.”

Joe Langner said my name all wrong. “You forgot the best part, Esquire.”

I packed my things, knowing I wasn’t wanted here.

“Your boys better mind their p’s and q’s.”

Was that a threat toward my firm’s client? I straightened to my full height and blessed the three-inch heels I’d worn for giving me extra leverage today. “My boys?” Perhaps I should have put the emphasis elsewhere, but I didn’t.

“Yeah, the Destroyers MC. Although you know that’s a misnomer. It should be motorcycle gang.”

He was baiting me. I projected calmness I didn’t feel. “Do we have a problem I need to address?”

“Yeah, four men are missing. Two of them are tied to an assault on a couple who own a bar downtown. We suspect they all assaulted a young woman who was hospitalized the next day, but we can’t press charges on them because conveniently, they’re all gone, and she doesn’t remember a thing.”

“Have you placed a notice with the state agency?”

“The state, the feds, all of ’em,” he replied.

“Then we wait, correct?” I replied.

The other cop piped in. “No one’s going to find them.”

“Why is that?”

He leaned in. “Because that girl, she’s dating the Destroyer’s treasurer. He’s got guard dogs on her twenty-four-seven.”