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“But where do I start? He might not even be in Texas. He could be in Mexico or Costa Rica or Canada for all we know.”
Artyom shook his head. “No. He’s not the type. He’s the kind of man who is too scared to run far. He’ll be nearby, hiding out and keeping tabs on things. I wouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t pop up to ask Macy for money.”
Now, there was a thought. What if he and Macy were able to lure Burt out of hiding?
“Be careful,” Artyom warned, seemingly reading his mind. “And stay out of Leung's business.”
“I will,” Danny promised even though he had absolutely no intention of doing so. He would have to get into their business if he wanted to find Burt and get those drug charges off Janie.
“Danila,” Artyom said soberly, “I know what it’s like to be torn between the woman you love and your loyalty to the family. It’s not easy, and you’ll have to choose. At some point, we all do. All you can do is hope she understands why you chose us over her.”
But, the thing was, Danny wasn’t sure he ever would choose family, their bratva, over her. Would Artyom and Nikolai and the others understand why he chose Macy over them?
Or would he end up finding out just how good Boychenko had gotten at working Kostya’s crematory furnace?
Chapter Seven
“You okay?” I asked as I pulled into a parking space outside the law firm.
“Yes.” Janie fidgeted anxiously with her purse strap. From the look of her blotchy face and red eyes, she looked as if she had slept even less than I had. Coming home at sunrise and falling into bed exhausted, knowing I had to get up in less than four hours, had me really considering Danny’s offer to support me.
“Ready?” I sensed she wasn’t. Going inside and sitting down with these lawyers made the whole thing unbearably real. Whatever they said would change her entire life. Would she hear the good news? I hoped so.
Janie nodded silently and opened the door. As she moved, I caught a glimpse of the chunky ankle monitor she had been forced to wear as part of her bond agreement. I got out and locked the car and fell into step next to her. The gleaming glass building was the tallest in a trio on the corner of the development. The cool interior was a blessed change from the steamy heat of a June morning, and the smell of coffee from the small café in the lobby reminded me that I had skipped a cup this morning in my rush to get out of the house on time.
A man behind the reception desk directed us to the elevators and the floor we needed. The ride up was quick, and we stepped off the elevator into a very plain and less-than-impressive waiting area. It might not have been as snazzy as the offices onThe Good Wife, but they didn’t need to be if they were good. The firm had an exceptional reputation, and my late-night Googling had shown hundreds of five-star reviews and lots of glowing mentions in local Facebook groups for divorcing moms and parents dealing with family custody issues.
“Janie?” Chess Mendoza popped up from a waiting room chair and walked toward us with a bright smile on her face. She was even prettier in person than she was in her Instagram and TikTok images. I could see why Danny’s uncle was gaga for her. “Macy?”
“Yes.” I shook her outstretched hand and stepped back as Janie did the same.
“I wanted to come down today and sit with you if possible,” Chess explained. “Not for the sensitive things,” she clarified. “For support and to help come up with a plan to help you spin your case in the media.”
“Oh, I’m not sure I want this to become a media frenzy.” Janie made a face. “I really just want this whole thing to go away.”
“I know you do,” Chess said. “I can’t even imagine what you’re going through right now. To be torn away from your kids? And framed?”
“You believe me then? That I didn’t know about the drugs? That I didn’t steal from the pharmacy at work?”
“Of course, I do! My best friend, Samantha Tamayo, worked with you at Memorial.”
“Sam-Tam?”
Chess smiled at her friend’s nickname. “Yes! She told me that you’re an incredible nurse. That you’re hardworking and kind and patient and fastidious. She and the other nurses who have worked with you have written all these letters of support.” Chess reached into her Stella McCartney tote and produced a handful of envelopes. “Your friends care about you. They want to help you. I want to help you.”
Janie started to cry, and I hurriedly slipped an arm around her shoulder. As she tried to compose herself, two attorneys stepped out to welcome us. We were ushered into a conference room and took seats after being introduced to their team. The lead attorney went over the custody case first, going line by line through the police and social worker reports to get our side of the story. They were incredibly thorough, and I relaxed at the realization that we were in good hands.
“There’s a hearing on Friday regarding the children and their continued placement in foster care,” Dalton, the lead attorney, explained. “We’re going to do everything we can between now and then to build a case to get the kids back. Failing that, we’ll push for increased visitation.”
“Okay.” Janie nodded. “And my job?”
“We have an investigator who will be digging into that situation. She’s very good,” Dalton assured us. “She’ll find the truth.”
“I never accessed any medication outside of the tracking system. Never,” Janie insisted. “I always used my tag and my code and only ever dispensed medications prescribed to my patients.”
“And this drug that was in your system and your children’s systems?” Annabelle, the second lawyer, consulted her notes. “Promethazine? Is that a drug you routinely used with your patients?”
“Promethazine. Phenergan. Sure, that’s a common medication used in the ICU, but not as an oral suspension. It’s an IV drug.” Janie exhaled loudly as if irritated. “And frankly, if I was going to sedate my kids and burn us all alive, I wouldn’t use something that would risk them waking up and suffering. I would steal something that would actually work.”
