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I shot to my feet, threw my hand out to the chair arm while I gained my equilibrium, and rushed for the door. She’d come for me.
On the other side of the door was a Dixon, but the wrong one.
“Don’t be pissed. I’ll take care of all of them.”
Three lines creased his brow, but he quickly smoothed them out.
“Have you seen this shit?” Andrew thrust his phone in my face.
Prominent defense lawyer hid his own crimes
A moment of panic zapped through me until I read the first couple lines of the story. Heather Buchan hadn’t been making idle threats about turning this story loose.
I shrugged off the headline. “Want to come in?”
“How are you so calm? Did you tell anyone else about what you did?”
It was too early, and I was still buzzed. “Bourbon or coffee? I’m leaning toward bourbon.”
Andrew put his hand on my shoulder. “We’re both having coffee. I’d represent you, but I don’t think that’s wise.”
“I wouldn’t drag you into this. The headline is bullshit. There’s no crime if you aren’t even accused.” I dumped granules into the coffee maker and hit the start button.
“What the hell happened? Why is this coming out now?”
“She called me yesterday. Said I owe her because that sicko brother of hers is in prison.” I didn’t know how she was pulling strings from inside lockup, but apparently she could have communication with a reporter.
“Did you record that?”
“No, but the Bedford Hills Correctional Facility probably did.” I poured two cups of coffee and handed one to him.
“I’d call that blackmail.”
I blew on the hot liquid and took a sip. “As far as I know, she never filed a report.”
“You better hope she didn’t. If she was on a sting and didn’t take you in, she could be in more trouble than you.”
“I’m not the first person to solicit sex.” I’d been in a bad place.
“I can’t believe you did it at all. Women hang all over you at the bar. Why pay for what you can get for free?”
“I told you, I was shit-faced.”
“We’ve been beyond that, and I’ve never known you to be interested in prostitutes.”
“Bad day.” The worst kind of day . . . but one crisis at a time. At least the mystery texts were about this instead ofthat.
He glanced at me over his mug. Knew me too well to buy the excuse I was selling.
“Who do we know for PR? We can spin this. If we get out in front of it, it’ll die down.”
“I’m just going to ignore it.”
He stared at me incredulously. “You can’t do that.”
“Watch me.”
“What would you advise a client in your position to do?”
