Page 65 of The Pleasure of Panic

“Come on. I can’t wait for your seminar. I think this day might change my life.”

She smiles. It might even be a real smile and I make a promise to myself today to fix this. Whatever is happening, whatever she’s afraid of, I will stand in front of her. I will protect her. I will make it right.

We’re just driving past the Capitol building when Issy says, “Pull over.” She looks over her shoulder, halfway out of her seat, and says it again. “Pull over. Find a parking garage.”

“What?” I say, stopping at a red light. “Why?”

“That’s Jordan’s building back there. We have some time. Let’s just go in there and see if we can find out where he is. I need to talk to him. And if that doesn’t work, let’s stop by Chella’s Tea Room. She’ll know where he is.”

I turn right, pull in to the first parking garage I see, and drive up the ramp to park.

She’s got her seat belt off before I even cut the engine, and she’s out of the car one second later.

I catch up to her, wanting to say all the right things, but failing. Because no words come to me. Something is happening to her world right now. Something terrible. So I just walk next to her as we make our way down to street level and approach the forty-story building that houses her lawyer.

The lobby is sleek and sophisticated. There’s a doorman and a reception desk, so Issy heads over that way, me trailing behind her.

“Excuse me,” she says to one of the receptionists. “I’m trying to find out if there’s an emergency contact for Wells, Wells, and Stratford. They’re on mid-winter break, I guess, and it’s very important I get in contact with them.”

The receptionist just stares at her. “Mid-winter what?”

“I dunno,” Issy says. “They’re like, all on vacation I guess.”

More confusion from the receptionist. Then she looks at her co-worker and says, “Mellie, is Wells, Wells, and Stratford on some kind of break today?”

“No,” Mellie says. “I saw Wells Senior go up just a few minutes ago.”

Issy looks at me. I stare back at her. And we both shake our heads.

That motherfucker.

That arrogant motherfucker is lying.

CHAPTER NINETEEN - JORDAN

“So what do ya got?” I say, not bothering to look up as Darrel is about to knock his knuckles on the frame of my door.

“Jesus, man. You’ve got like a sixth sense about people or something.”

I smile, taking a moment to look up from the case file I’m studying. “Gotta be one step ahead at all times. You should know that better than anyone. Come in. Tell me what’s good.”

“Well,” Darrel says, easing himself down onto the chair in front of my desk. “We’ve got sixteen active cases right now and they’re all pretty much on track.”

I glance up at him again. “Jesus. When did we get so busy?”

“Word travels, I guess. Anyway—”

But he’s cut off by Eileen, my assistant, who does manage to knock her knuckles on my door frame before I can stop her. She’s sneaky like that. Maybe she should be the house private investigator? “Mr. Wells,” she says.

“What’s up, Eileen?”

“Someone’s here to see you. He’s very insistent.”

Darrel and I exchange a look that says, Yup, we know who this is.

“You want me to leave?” he asks.

“Nah,” I say. “It’ll be short, I’m sure.”