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“Mr. Quinn. I am aware the Rothwell Agency would have liked to be included in the investigation, but it is an ongoing police matter.”
“We have -.”
“The Seattle PD is not the FBI. The Rothwell Agency doesn’t have friends in high places within our organization.”
Grady falls silent, a muscle in his jaw ticking. Okay, that was… I mean, they should whip them out and measure, right?
The captain turns his attention to me with a smile. “We are running down some leads. The defender’s office has provided us a list of your cases from the last two years.”
“You don’t think it’s from before that?” My grip on the handles of my purse tightens.
“We believe if it were from a disgruntled former client, it would be a more recent one.”
“Not someone who recently was released?” Grady asks, crossing his arms over his chest and frowning. The captain shakes his head.
“All possible leads are being looked into. Have you had any negative contact with former clients? Any hate mail, that kind of thing?”
“My mail goes through the defender’s office. They have people who check it before it comes to us – like with these threats. If there have been, I haven’t been informed.”
The captain nods, running through a few more details of the leads they are chasing. I stare as he lists the names they are most interested in. No. I can’t believe a single one of these people would be behind threats like this. There’s no way.
“We’ll keep in touch with any further developments,” the captain finishes, rising out of his chair as I shove to my feet. I reach for his hand numbly, shaking it and letting Grady guide me out of the room.
I believe in my clients, and I have to believe none of them would be responsible for this.
“Are you ready to go to dinner from here, or did you need to go home to freshen up first?”
I blink in surprise, my eyes meeting Grady’s in the rearview mirror. The driver is turning into traffic. Right. Dinner.
“We can go from here. I don’t need to get changed.”
Grady nods. He and the driver share a conversation while I turn my face to the window, watching the cold rain fall and the raindrops roll down the car window. How the hell did my life get so complicated?
The car pulls up in front of the restaurant, and the doorman hurries over, holding an umbrella out as Grady opens my door. Stepping out, I fall into step with them, bracketed between the two men. The sound of the rain is loud on the umbrella above our heads.
“Ms. Rampwood,” the hostess beams at me as we step inside. She takes my coat, gesturing through the restaurant. I don’t need to be shown to the table. The Rampwoods have a standing table reservation here. No one else is ever seated at our table, even if it is empty and the restaurant is fully booked.
Grady trails me, his eyes darting around. The family table is near the window, with a sweeping view of the marina below. I love eating here. I love the view.
Pete grins, winking at me as he raises a glass of wine. Aunt Laura smiles, nodding at me and turning back to speak with Pete, and Uncle Ken climbs to his feet, folding me into a hug and pressing a kiss to my cheek.
I take my seat beside Uncle Ken. Pete and Aunt Laura have kindly allowed us to have the view. The other four seats at the table are empty. Huh.
“Mom, Dad, Artie, and Holly aren’t joining us?”
“No, dear,” Aunt Laura flashes me a sympathetic smile. “We wanted to see how you were holding up.”
Her eyes linger on Grady, standing with his back to us so that he can watch the restaurant and the entrance. We’re tucked into the corner here, so he only has one direction to watch.
“Oh. I’m okay.”
Aunt Laura shoots me a look, an elegantly sculptured eyebrow rising.
“Really, Aunt Laura. I’m okay. My routine hasn’t changed much. I don’t have the fullest social calendar or anything.”
Pete snorts into his wine, ignoring his mother's censorious glare.
“How did you get roped into coming tonight?” I ask him. Pete sighs, taking another sip of his wine.
