Courting Death - Carol Stephenson [46]
“Still without a proper autopsy, isn’t the case based largely on circumstantial evidence?”
“Yes, and expert opinion.”
“Here’s Dr. Chang’s phone number. Give him a call. He’s very busy but I’m sure he’ll give you a consult if you use my name.”
He flagged a waiter down. “Would you like another glass of wine? If you’re interested, there’s a contemporary art exhibit at a gallery that just opened next to City Place.”
I gave an apologetic shake of my head. “It’s been lovely, but I have several hearings tomorrow that I need to prepare for.”
With surprising speed his hand darted across the table and seized mine. “I don’t suppose your faithful little bodyguard over there in the corner has anything to do with your decision?”
I tugged but his fingers only tightened in a painful grip. “Stop it, Damian. You’re hurting me.”
He sneered. “Maybe he’ll come to your rescue. I made him the moment he crossed the street to slink behind me.”
Enough. I didn’t want to cause a scene because that would bring Sam breathing hellfire. However, I wasn’t about to be a pawn in whatever game Damian was playing. I gauged the angle and gave a swift kick under the table.
“Ow!”
His shin didn’t stand a chance against the pointed toes of the Bruno Maglis that had been a birthday present from Kate.
Damian’s grip loosened and I yanked my hand free. Grabbing my purse as I rose, I took a step back and almost bumped the table behind me. I turned my head slightly. “Excuse me…”
A man with a stocky build in his forties sitting by himself glared at me. Despite the chill he wore the sleeves of his shirt rolled up, exposing a myriad of tattoos. His crew cut almost bristled with indignation. No, it couldn’t be my former client Trevor Jordan’s father.
Last I heard the father was still in jail. In the aftermath of his courtroom outbreak, the authorities had found an outstanding warrant for possession of firearms. Trevor’s maternal grandmother had taken him in like he said and hopefully given him the stable environment the young man so desperately needed.
Then I saw this man’s eyes and hair were dark whereas Tommy Jordan had been fair. “Sorry.”
I turned my attention back to the immediate problem at hand. During the brief period I had been distracted, Sam had materialized beside Damian and had his hand clamped tightly on the other man’s shoulder. The testosterone emanating from the two men almost steamed in the cool air.
Anger blazed in Damian’s eyes but he managed a tight smile. “I guess the party’s over. If you would be so kind to remove that beefy hand of yours, Detective, I’ll pay the bill. Unless you wish to take care of it.”
Sam released his grip and Damian flexed his fingers. Then Sam slapped the man between the shoulder blades, causing him to lurch forward. “Thanks, pal, for offering to pick up the tab.” He dropped a receipt on the table. “The lady and I will be on our way.”
Sam ambled toward me, draped an arm around my shoulders and urged me in the direction of the street. I cast a look at the next table but the burly man was no longer there. Didn’t like the free entertainment, I supposed.
Sam turned and headed toward Olive Avenue.
Because there were too many pedestrians around to make an even bigger scene, I asked tightly, “Where are we going?”
“You parked at the city garage on Banyan like you always do, didn’t you?”
Was I that predictable? “Yes, it’s well lit and there’s plenty of people at this time of the night…” Stop it. No need to defend my choice of parking.
“Then that’s where I’m taking you.”
When we reached a storefront closed for the night with no listening ears nearby, I dug in my spike heels. “Damn it, Sam. What the hell did you think you were doing back there? I got nothing out of Quint.”
A scowl replaced Sam’s normal good ol’ boy expression. He placed his hands on his hips and leaned in to me. “You have no sense at all, do you Red? Is defending every sob story that walks into your office worth your life?”
The light from the display window cast the harsh planes of his face into shadows. Anyone looking at the