This Case Is Gonna Kill Me Page 4

  Shade sighed. “This case generates billable hours, works to Chip’s strengths, and helps me fulfill a promise I made to his mother. She was my secretary back”—he waved vaguely—“in the day. I have a responsibility to her child.”

  “Yeah, okay, I get that … but getting back to me. Look, I like Chip, don’t get me wrong, but you’ve as good as said he’s a loser, and this is a dead-end assignment, but somehow you think this is going to help me? I’d hate to see what you’d do if you wanted to hurt me.”

  “Trust me, being roadkill in a fight between me and Gold would be far, far worse.”

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Keep your head down. Work hard. Don’t make waves. And hope I come out on top in the power struggle.”

  “And how long might this take?” I asked.

  “Oh, years. We’re vampires.”

  3

  “I hate this case. I hate this case. I hate this case.”

  The mantra didn’t make me feel any better. Some of my discomfort was my outfit—a very tight short skirt that gripped my hips and upper thighs. It wasn’t designed for sitting. It was designed for dancing. In addition to the skirt I wore a bright cobalt blue silk blouse with a plunging décolletage and a waist that emulated a corset. It only looked good if I wore a push-up strapless bra, which was also really uncomfortable.

  I had accessorized the ensemble with a wide choker necklace that drew attention to my best feature—a long, swan-like Audrey Hepburn neck—and a wide metal bracelet set with small seed pearls. I had finished it all with a pair of drop-dead gorgeous Manolo Blahnik shoes that had set me back eight hundred dollars.

  I’d had a date—a first date, with a cute guy I’d met at the health club. This was a big step for me. I hadn’t been out on a date since I’d ended my engagement. Or had it been ended by mutual consent? I wasn’t sure anymore. The only thing I was sure about was that I felt very ambivalent about the whole thing. Devon was a good guy and a brilliant architect, but he had expected me to follow him as he moved around the world. First stop: Dubai. I had nothing against Dubai, except that I couldn’t practice law there, and I was about to finish three years in law school. I wasn’t willing to put my career aside before I even started. Thoughts about the ex made it hard to concentrate on the Abercrombie pleadings, and then it was eight thirty and I had no choice but to call Pete and tell him there was no way I was going to be able to meet him at Citrus. So, now I pictured Pete sipping G & Ts and dancing with a bevy of tall, beautiful, long-legged girls while I was stuck at the office on the Fourth of July holiday with only Chip to keep me company.

  I had worked until one o’clock this morning, gone home for a few hours of sleep, and come into the office at seven thirty—and Chip had still beaten me in. I had run out at six to grab a salad for me and a calzone for him, then stopped at home to change into my date clothes because I was still hoping to get away in time to meet Pete.

  It wasn’t like my bitching showed any courage. There was no one to hear me but my sad little ficus. Chip was in his office preparing to argue that the dead witness’s deposition should remain part of the record. Harold Meyers had been a good friend to Henry Abercrombie, and he had given us a nice quote about how Henry had said that he never wanted to hurt Marlene or his kids and wanted to look after them all, during a card game at the Elks club. But now Harold was dead, and Gunther, Piedmont, et al. had smelled blood. Meyers was one of our better arguments for forcing Securitech into giving Marlene and her grown-up kids a boatload of money, but he was dead and couldn’t be cross-examined. Which was the argument from the other side.

  We had dredged up another poker buddy from the Elks Lodge, Jonathan Gelb, who had been present at that card game, and we just had to hope he remembered things the same way as poor dead Harold. But that hadn’t been enough for Chip. He had me tracking down every member of the club from that period, trying to find the other men who’d been at that fateful poker game. Naturally, Jonathan, who was seventy-eight, couldn’t remember any of the others except for Henry Abercrombie. I had this horrible feeling that we would get into the deposition meeting and Jonathan would forget he had ever been an Elk.

  Chip had decided that since I’d gone to Yale and done Law Review, I had to be a better lawyer than he was. I pointed out to him that I had no actual experience, and had never run a deposition, but he wanted me to lead, so here I was frantically typing up questions, trying to think of possible ways our opponents would twist and confuse the issues and listening to the music of my favorite band—Crooked Man—on my iPod, instead of live at Citrus while dancing with a really cute guy.

  I stared at the question I’d just written and realized it was just another way to phrase the same question I’d asked three times before.

  I leaned too far back, and my Evolution ball chair nearly tipped me onto my ass. I righted myself only because the heel of my shoe, skittering wildly across the slate tile floor, lodged in a grout seam. Why had I ever asked for this dumb chair anyway? I practically had to do sit-ups all day long to stay balanced. I should have just gone with a big cushy leather chair and to hell with my stomach muscles. It didn’t matter anyway. Twenty years from now, when Chip retired, I’d get his office, this case would still be pending, and I’d be fat and forty-five, single, childless, and married to my dead-end job.

  I suddenly laughed because my level of self-pity had just gotten too deep. It was one night. If Pete couldn’t understand work pressures, then I didn’t want to be with him anyway, and Crooked Man was playing for another four nights. I’d hear them before they headed on to Boston. And since I was giving up my entire holiday to Ishmael, McGillary and Gold, I figured I could have one weeknight when I left the office at six.

  I leaned forward and hooked my coffee mug with one finger. I started to sip, realized it had been a long time since my last sip, and looked down, swirling the cold caramel-colored dregs. Time for a fresh cup.

  I stopped by Chip’s office on my way to the kitchen. He looked up, and his jowls seemed as long as a basset hound’s ears. His eyes were red rimmed, and his hair was so oily that the combover had become separate clumps of hair with pink scalp peeking through.

  “Good God, Chip, you look like hell,” I said before I could bite back the words.

  “I didn’t go home last night,” he mumbled, then coughed to clear the fatigue.

  “You said you were leaving right after me,” I said.

  “I meant to, but I found some interesting responses in some interrogatories from…” His voice trailed away.

  “Well, then you’re stupid.”

  I was beyond caring about being rude. Maybe I’d get really lucky and they’d fire me. And I actually did like Chip, even if he was the millstone that was going to sink my career. I leaned across the desk and took the wireless mouse from his flaccid hand. I shook it in his face as I said, “Look, tomorrow is the Fourth. We can work all day, and it should be nice and quiet since everyone has taken off. Go home, get some sleep. I’ll finish up what I’m doing, and we can reconvene at eight a.m. tomorrow. How about that?”

  He rubbed a hand across his face. “Yeah, maybe you’re right.” He stood up and got a funny look like a colicky baby. “I think I forgot to pee today.”

  I laughed. “Well, you better take care of that, pronto. I’m going to go get a cup of coffee.”

  “You don’t mind me leaving you?” he asked as we moved into the lobby area.

  “No. I left you last night, and then you didn’t go home.”

  “You’ll go home, won’t you?” Chip asked anxiously.

  “Yes, I’ll go home. I work better when I’ve had some sleep.”

  “You must think I’m awfully dumb,” he said, and there was something about the way he said it that made me realize he wasn’t just talking about this case, or this night, but maybe about his career as a lawyer.

  “No,” I said gently. “I think you’re really dedicated, and the firm is lucky to have you.”

  He gave
me a grateful little smile and headed off to the men’s room while I walked to the kitchen. The Jura-Capresso busily ground beans, then groaned as it dispensed a double espresso into my cup. It finished, and I realized that what I had thought was just the coffee machine was actually the hum of the elevator coming to rest on the seventieth floor.

  I glanced at my watch—12:23. Who on earth would be coming by at this time of night on a long holiday weekend? It was silly, but I felt nervous. My rational mind took control. Chip had to call the elevator to go home. God, I was being stupid. Then I heard the distant hollow sound of a toilet flushing. My unease returned. I snagged my coffee and headed out of the kitchen.

  “Oh, Jesus … shit!” It was Chip’s voice, rising into an almost soprano range and cracking with terror.

  The tinkling of broken ceramic as my cup hit the slate floor was swallowed in sounds of rending and splintering wood. Two conflicting emotions warred for control.

  Retreat—run back into the kitchen and hide in a cabinet.

  Rescue—go to Chip’s aid.

  Chip was still shouting, so whatever was tearing through furniture hadn’t gotten to him yet. Then he screamed, a horrible sound like a dying rabbit. It was stupid. I couldn’t help it. I ran to help.

  The outer office, with its star-like arrangement of secretaries’ desks in front of the doors of the lawyers’ offices, was in shambles. Desks had been upended. One had been reduced to matchsticks. The musky, wild scent of werewolf filled the room. There was another smell too, sharp and coppery. The smell of blood.

  Looming in the midst of the rubble was a werewolf, huge and gray-brown. Chip was staggering backward. His left arm hung uselessly at his side, and blood poured from a gaping wound on his shoulder and upper arm. His coat and shirt were in tatters. So was his flesh. I could see the white flash of bone through the blood.

  “Linnet! Run!” he yelled.

  I loved him in that moment for thinking of me, but hated him because now the wolf knew I was in the room. Granted he would have known soon enough, but I might have had a few seconds to flee. I was still wondering if I’d actually run when the creature turned. The amber-colored eyes, set close to a long, wicked muzzle, were filled with a mad light.

  Beyond being terrifying, werewolves are disturbing. They remain bipedal, though hunched and twisted. They use their arms to help propel themselves, but they don’t have paws so much as hairy hands tipped with fearsome claws.

  He launched himself at me. I darted sideways, and he came up short because the hind claws on his back foot got tangled in the phone, cable, and Internet wires, which caused him to fall full length on the stone floor.

  I ran to Chip’s side, my absurdly high heels making it hard to balance. I got my shoulder under his good arm, and we fell more than stepped through the door into the office behind us. I slammed shut the door and threw the lock. Chip’s face had gone the color of fresh dough, and he was starting to shiver from shock and blood loss, but I couldn’t deal with that right now. I threw myself across the desk and grabbed the phone. There was no dial tone.

  “Shit!” I screamed, and jabbed futilely at the buttons. Then I remembered the torn and tangled wires in the outer office. There would be no call for rescue.

  Cell phone! My cell phone was in my purse … which was back in my office.

  Tears of terror and desperation tightened my throat. The office door gave a boom like a wooden gong, and a fist punched through the panel. The werewolf began tearing apart the door like a greedy child ripping paper off a Christmas present.

  Chip gave a moan of despair. I grabbed him, and we tottered through the connecting door into the next office. The werewolf just kept coming. Doors merely slowed him down. They looked like they were going through a wood chipper as the thing’s claws ripped them to pieces. I knew I needed to get out of my shoes, but there were buckles on the ankle straps and the werewolf wasn’t giving me time to unhook them.

  At the fourth office, the wolf seemed to lose all patience. He kicked into a run as he saw me closing the door. I got it shut and threw the lock, but the werewolf just came through it.

  Chip and I were cowering behind the desk. I smelled the faint whiff of Frédéric Malle. This was Caroline’s office. I yanked out the bottom drawer of the desk. Her small makeup kit was there, along with a bottle of hair spray.

  I straightened up and looked into slavering jaws. I closed my eyes and held down the plunger. My eyes snapped open at the scream of fury and outrage. The wolf was snarling and spitting, red tongue lolling out of its mouth. Apparently I’d sent the spray right down his throat. I took the opportunity to pick a different target. The mist shot into those maddened eyes. The wolf screamed and pressed his hands against his watering eyes.

  I dropped my pathetic weapon and grabbed Chip, and we headed back into the reception area. If the elevator was still there, we could get on and reach the ground floor. There was security at the building’s front desk. But why would they have let a werewolf onto the elevator? Because the guard was dead? Or maybe because our attacker hadn’t been in wolf form when it entered the building? He might have transformed in the elevator.

  It was crazy that my mind was concerned with these stupid issues—or maybe that was the only way I could keep from becoming catatonic with fear. Chip was resting more and more of his weight on me. I could feel my legs buckling, and then the weight was suddenly gone. Chip screamed. I looked back. The werewolf had reared up onto its legs and held Chip between his hands. The claws penetrated Chip’s body. He screamed again as the wolf yanked his claws in opposite directions. Internal organs spilled from the gaping tears in Chip’s body and onto the floor. Blood fountained from torn arteries, splashing on the desks, walls, and even the ceiling.

  The room reeked of blood and feces, overlaid with the scent of the calzone Chip had eaten for dinner. I vomited, then started screaming as I ran full out for the bank of elevators. I was dully aware of the agony in my toes as they were driven deep into the pointed tips of my shoes. I could hear the thud of paws hitting the floor behind me, getting closer and closer. I was sobbing now, I had no breath left to scream, and my mouth tasted of bile.

  There were four elevators. I had no idea which one had delivered the killer to my floor, and I realized I wasn’t going to have time to find out. I could feel the werewolf’s hot, rancid breath on my neck. I glanced back. His arms were outstretched, his claws ready to tear me apart. He gathered himself and leaped.

  Suddenly the heel on my right shoe broke. I pitched toward the floor, but I managed to throw out my hands to keep from face-planting. The gray-and-brown body flew over me. The massive fur-covered form hit the metal doors of the elevator, and they popped open. Not a lot, but it was enough to allow the werewolf to fall through.

  I heard an almost human cry of terror. One hand scrabbled at the edge of the hole, then there was a rapidly receding wailing cry. I lay panting on the floor for a few more seconds, then cautiously crawled over to the sprung doors and looked down.

  The werewolf had rolled snake eyes. Service lights threw shadows down the long, empty shaft. The heavy cables that pulled the elevator were vibrating softly. I could picture that falling body, hands reaching out desperately to grip the cables, trying to stop the plunge down seventy stories.

  I hoped he’d gone splat.

  * * *

  “You were incredibly lucky, miss.” The speaker was Lucius Washington, a NYPD homicide detective.

  It was almost two a.m. I was seated in the conference room on the seventy-third floor sipping a hot tea spiked with a bit of brandy from Shade’s office, and wrapped in a coat someone had left in coat check back in the winter. It was July, but I was freezing. Shade stood just behind my chair, and he kept rubbing my shoulder when I shuddered. It wasn’t actually helping, because he was a vampire and his hand was really cold.

  Lieutenant Washington was African-American, tall, and slim in that way runners and swimmers are slim. His skin was the color of rich caramel and there was the
hint of an epicanthic fold to his warm brown eyes. He also had a voice like dark velvet. The overall impression he projected was calm. It was incredibly comforting after the chaos on the seventieth floor.

  After the werewolf had taken a swan dive down the elevator shaft, I had managed to get back to my office and my cell phone. It was horrible, because there was no way to avoid going past the mess of blood, muscle, and viscera that had once been Chip. After my call to 911, I’d called my dad. It had taken him a few minutes to understand because I was crying so hard. After making Soothing Daddy Noises he asked if I’d called the police. I said I had. Then he asked, “Linnie, is Shade likely to bring in a Hunter?”

  The strangeness of the question had broken me momentarily out of my shock. “No, why would he?” And then I shrieked at him, “I know what killed Chip! It was a werewolf! I saw him kill Chip!”

  “Miss?”

  “Huh? What?”

  “I said, you’re lucky to be alive.”

  “Yes, I know.” I lifted up my foot and looked at the ragged tear where the heel of my shoe had been. “I think I must have weakened my shoe when I almost fell off my chair. I caught myself on the heel.”

  Nothing changed in Lieutenant Washington’s expression, but I had a feeling he thought I was an idiot if I could fall out of a chair. I hurried to explain. “I have this weird ball chair. Not a normal chair … It can be … tippy.”

  Tippy? Tippy? Now he knew I was an idiot. I stared up at him and wished the floor would open up and swallow me.

  “That’s okay. Whatever the cause, it’s a real good thing your heel broke. It saved your life.” I shuddered and took another sip of tea, and Washington laid a hand lightly on my wrist. His touch was a good deal warmer and more comforting than Shade’s. “Any idea who the wolf might have been?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “He wasn’t exactly wearing ID.”