The In Death Collection Books 21-25 - J. D. Robb [223]
“Why don’t you tell me why you’d enjoy that?”
“She made my life hell for nine months. Unless you’re a total fuckup—and you don’t look like one—you’ve got my file right there. Went into the system when I was eight, after my old man finally beat my mother to death and got his sorry ass locked up. Nobody wanted me. I got shot to that sadistic bitch. She used to make me scrub floors with a toothbrush, locked me in my room every night. Cut the power to it sometimes, just so I’d be in the dark. Told me my mother probably deserved what she got, and I’d end up the same way.”
She took a deep breath, then reached for the bottle of water at her elbow, drank. “I started stealing, squirreling money away for my escape fund. Got caught. She showed the cops all these bruises on her arms, her legs. Told them I’d attacked her. I never touched the bitch. So I’m slapped in juvie. Got bad, lots of fights.
“You’ve seen this picture before.”
“Yeah, a few times.”
“I was dealing illegals by the time I was ten. Bad ass,” she said with a smile that said she was ashamed of it. “In and out of kid cages until I was fifteen and a deal went south. I got cut up. Best thing that ever happened to me. There was a priest . . . This sounds very Vid of the Week, but there you go. He stuck with me, wouldn’t quit. He turned me around.”
“And you went into law.”
“Just seemed to suit me. That sadistic bitch had me when I was eight, and I was scared. I’d watched my mother die. She used that, did her level best to ruin me. And she nearly did. I won’t be sending flowers to her wake, Lieutenant. I’ll be strapping on red shoes and drinking French champagne.”
“When’s the last time you saw her?”
“I haven’t seen her, face-to-face, in four years.”
“Face-to-face?”
She took another sip, slowly. “I’m a lawyer, good enough to know I should have representation. I shouldn’t be talking to you. But I’m so damn happy she’s dead, I’m going to walk on the wild side. Four years ago, I was working for a high-powered firm. Junior partner. I was engaged to a guy who had a solid shot at the Senate. I was pulling in a big salary, one I worked my ass off for. She shows up at my office. Where I worked, for God’s sake. She’s all smiles, and look at you, aren’t you something. Made me sick.”
Maxie took one more slug of water, then slapped the bottle down again. “I should’ve kicked her out, but she caught me off guard. Then she hits me with it: She’s got copies of my record, all of it. The illegals, the cage time, the assaults, the thefts. It wouldn’t do, would it, for that to come out? Not with me in this cushy job, in this important firm. Not with me planning my wedding to a man favored to head to East Washington.”
“She blackmailed you.”
“I let her. So stupid. I gave her fifty thousand. In three months, she was back for more. That’s the way it works. I’m not green, I knew better. But I paid her again. Even when my relationship went down the sewer. My fault, I was so stressed, so determined not to let him know, that I torched it.”
She broke off a moment, and her tone changed, softened. “I’m sorry for that. Still sorry for that. So, I paid her for two years. To the tune of a quarter mil. And I just couldn’t take it anymore. I quit my job. And the next time she contacted me, I told her to go ahead. Go ahead, you bitch, do your worst. I’ve got nothing to lose now. Already lost it,” she said quietly.
“How’d she take it?”
“She was steamed.