'He really has no other choice. But there's backup if he falters.'

'Good.'

'We have another problem that I wanted to run by you,' Grant said. 'Amanda Jaffe made a motion for discovery in the Dupre case.'

'So?'

'She wants the police reports for the nineteen-seventy shootings at Pedro's drug house and the reports about Jesus Delgado's murder.'

'Do you think she's onto the club?' Grant's friend sounded concerned.

'I don't know but I don't think we should take any chances.'

'You want to kill her?'

'No. The next lawyer who was appointed would see the motion and want to know what was in the reports, and we don't know who in her firm knows about the request.' Grant laughed ruefully. 'We can't kill everyone.'

'So what do you suggest?'

'We need to control Jaffe,' Grant said. 'I've had a tail on her since she started representing Dupre. She's seeing a psychiatrist because of what happened while she was representing Vincent Cardoni. I've got a copy of her psychiatrist's file. I think she can be frightened into backing off on the reports and laying down on Dupre's cases.'

Chapter Thirty-Eight.

Amanda worked until seven-fifteen on a motion to suppress. She could have worked a little longer, but she was tired, and Agatha Christie's Witness for the Prosecution was on TV at eight. After locking the office, she headed for the eight-story garage where her car was parked. A cold rain was falling, and there were few people on the street. Amanda hunched under her umbrella. When she reached the garage, a slender man followed her into the elevator. He wasn't carrying an umbrella, and his long dark hair was beaded with water. The man smiled. Amanda nodded and pressed the button for six. The man punched the button for seven.

The garage was open to the elements, and Amanda felt a blast of wind as soon as she stepped out of the elevator. There was no one else around, and only a few cars were left at this hour. Amanda's heartbeat sped up and she became hyperalert, something that happened often in isolated situations since the attack by the surgeon.

Amanda heard footsteps. The man from the elevator was walking a few paces behind her. Amanda fought to keep her panic at bay. She told herself that he was just looking for his car, but she still slid her keys between her fingers, points out, after using the remote on her key chain to unlock her car.

Amanda quickened her pace. To her relief, the footsteps behind her stayed steady. The distance between them widened and she started to relax. Then two men stepped out of the shadows, cutting her off from her car. One of the men stared past Amanda to the man who was following her, and the other man smiled. Amanda spun, sick with fear, and drove her keys into the face of the man behind her. He screamed as Amanda raced by him toward the exit stairs. If she made the street, she could shout for help, but her attackers were coming fast. She'd never have time to open the steel exit door. Amanda veered right and raced down the ramp seconds before a shoulder crashed into her, knocking her off her feet. She threw out her hands to break her fall. The keys went flying as her knees smashed into the concrete. She ignored the pain and struck out, but the man who had tackled her buried his head in her back and she had no place to land a punch. Then the other two men were looming over her. The man she'd punched with the keys was bleeding. He knelt down, said 'Bitch,' and slammed a fist into Amanda's face. Her head bounced off the concrete, stunning her.

The wounded man drew back his arm again. Before he could strike, the third man grabbed his coat and yanked him back. Amanda stared at the third man's flat, pockmarked face. Their eyes met. Amanda screamed. A hand clamped over her mouth. The man with the pockmarked face took a rag and a bottle of liquid out of his pocket. Amanda felt a surge of adrenaline and almost broke free. The hand over her mouth released, and the rag took its place. She tried to hold her breath but the fumes worked their way into her nostrils. A moment later, she passed out.

It took a second for Amanda to feel damp and cold as the water from the puddle in which she'd been dumped worked its way through her clothes.

'Sleeping Beauty is getting up,' someone said.

Amanda turned toward the voice. A sharp pain in her head made her grimace. Raindrops bounced off her face.

'Do we get to fuck her now?' the wounded man asked.

'Patience,' answered the man with the pockmarked face, who was obviously the leader.

'I want to make this bitch scream. Look at my face.'

The leader nudged Amanda with the toe of his boot.

'What do you say, senorita ? You want us to make sweet love to you? It would be something you'd never forget. We are very good lovers.'

A wave of nausea swept through Amanda. She rolled to her side and fought the urge to throw up, afraid to show any weakness.

The leader turned to the man who'd tackled Amanda. 'I don't think she likes us.' He looked down at her. 'But that doesn't make any difference, does it, Amanda.'

It took a second to register that they knew her name. She looked up at the leader.

'What you want to do, what you don't want to do, doesn't matter one bit. We own you. We can fuck you, beat you, cut up your face and make you look real ugly so no one would ever want to fuck you again. It's all up to us.'

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