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He and I both knew that as soon as the evidence was gathered and charges filed, it would have to be sent to Messina’s representation as part of a fair trial. After that, it would only be a matter of time before Dad and Bubbe had thugs knocking on their doors again.
“I haven’t passed the bar yet, Mr. Zola, but I’m not an idiot,” I said. “You’ve got to do better than this.”
Zola studied me again. “What are you going into? Criminal defense?”
I frowned at the sudden change of subject.
“Are you staying in Massachusetts or coming to New York?” he continued. “I’m guessing you’re either taking a job at a criminal defense firm or you’re going to the public defender’s office. Am I right?”
I chewed on my lower lip. “Actually, I haven’t completely decided where I’m going yet.”
Like anyone who knew anything about the stresses of exiting law school, Zola balked.
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” I said, willing the flush not to rise up my neck. “But that’s neither here nor there.”
Zola dug around in his interior jacket pocket for another business card. “Well, bully for me, then. I already left one of these with your dad, but you should have one too. I happen to know the domestic violence bureau at the Brooklyn D.A.’s office is hiring, if you’re interested.”
I accepted the card and stared at the stark black lettering.
“If you can cross-examine anyone the way you did me, they could probably use you. But, Ms. Crosby?”
I looked back up. “Yeah?”
Zola looked toward my dad’s room, and his bright eyes flashed. “If your father has something to say, I hope you’ll help him say it. The D.A.’s office will offer him whatever kind of protection we can. Victor Messina is a bad man, and the sooner he’s off the streets, the better.”
Zola pressed the down button for the elevator again. Seconds later, the bell rang.
“Please think about it,” Zola said as he stepped inside. “And if you want me to pass your resume on to the DV unit, let me know.”
“Thank you,” I said, slightly stunned as the doors closed.
I looked at the business card again. It wasn’t what I was expecting when I’d run out to meet him, but it was certainly something to think about.
Thirty-Four
It took ten more days for Dad to get a private nurse settled (against Bubbe’s very vocal arguments against it, which quickly quieted down once she realized that Annalisa made excellent Cuban-style coffee), have his hand surgery, and feel well enough to move around again. When I left, he was getting around the house with relative ease, his newly bionic hand packed against his chest in a sling.
I arrived back in Boston on a Thursday morning, courtesy of an early morning, first-class plane ticket messengered by a certain pushy tycoon who made no secret of wanting me back. While his concern for my father hadn’t waned over the last week and a half, Brandon’s calls had become more frequent, his tone slightly more irritable, and he was rarely willing to say goodbye. I might have found it annoyingly clingy if I didn’t miss him just as much.
I walked into the clinic ready to make up my missed days. It was busy, with a long line of people waiting to meet with an attorney. I went to the cubicle cluster I sometimes shared with my classmates when I wasn’t working directly with Kieran. Several were finishing up their early hours while Professor Ashe moved between them, checking and rechecking their work. I was the first to arrive for the later shift.
Eric was at the desk next to mine, finishing a meeting with a new client. He nodded as I walked past to check in with Kieran.
“Excuse me, Mrs. Sanchez,” he said to his client before standing up to look over the flimsy walls of his cubicle to where I was setting down my things. “Watch out. She’s on a rampage today,” he said before popping back down to Mrs. Sanchez.
I frowned and then walked to Kieran’s office, where she was clearly in the middle of a contentious phone call.
“You can’t keep blowing her off!” Her voice echoed down the hallway.
Obviously, it wasn’t a client phone call.
“It makes me look like an idiot when you and I aren’t on the same page, and she’s getting pissed off too. You’re supposed to be my client, for crying out loud! I should know these things first!”
Huh. Apparently, it was a client after all. I knocked lightly, and Kieran looked up with a dagger-sharp glare.
“No,” she said on the phone as she waved me in. “No, I’m not going to drop you, you idiot. I wouldn’t do that. But please, will you take this shit seriously? Miranda has sharks for representation, and they’re circling the ship right now.”
The voice on the other side of the line mumbled something that made Kieran roll her eyes. She tugged a file out of her desk and handed it to me.
