Two things were immediately clear to Will. First, Taylor had a few residual resentments of his own. Secondly, Taylor was every bit as uneasy and worried about this situation as he was.
“You’re right,” Will said at once. “That was out of line.”
“It sure as hell was. When I think of the bullshit—” Taylor swallowed the rest of it so fast, he made a choking sound.
But Will knew what he’d been about to say, and his face turned as red as Taylor’s was white. “I apologize,” he said. “I didn’t—I really didn’t mean what you thought I meant.”
“Oh, the hell you didn’t.”
“Taylor, I don’t want to fight with you.”
“Then let’s not.” Taylor rose, picking up his cereal bowl, and carried it to the sink. He turned the taps in a brief blast of water, and said without turning around, “I’ll see you tonight.”
“Will you keep me posted today? I don’t mean a couple of phone messages—”
It seemed that once again he had said the wrong thing. Taylor swung away from the sink. “If you’re not happy with phone messages, take your damned cell off Do Not Disturb. Comprende?”
Will put his hands up in a Don’t Shoot gesture.
Taylor gave him a final glare and stalked out of the kitchen. Riley wagged his tail, watching him, then turned to Will.
Will said, “Tell me the truth. Is my head still there?”
Riley grinned, tongue lolling.
* * * * *
The news wasn’t a whole hell of a lot better at the office.
“What in the name of God is that?” Will stared in horror at the gold-painted…bird? covering most of the lobby wall.
Euphonia said doubtfully, “It’s our logo, right? The American eagle?”
“That’s not an eagle. It’s a…a chicken. A giant golden chicken.” Or maybe a vampire bat? No, a bat would have ears. Maybe a dragon? He couldn’t seem to tear his gaze from the menacing-eyed monster chicken swooping down from the ceiling, talons stretched toward prospective clients.
“It might be a little overwhelming,” Euphonia agreed diplomatically.
“A little? It’s the whole wall.” Will shook his head. “We were better off with the lovebirds and parasols. Get the painters back in here. They’ve got to fix that. If MacAllister sees it, he’ll hunt them down one by one and shoot them.”
Euphonia smirked, but was back to business a moment later. “Is Agent MacAllister coming in today?”
“I doubt it.”
“Because these were delivered first thing this morning.” With an apologetic look, she handed over two identical, fat, official-looking envelopes with the return address of US District Court, Central District of California, Western Division.
Subpoenas.
Great. Because life wasn’t complicated enough right now.
Will retired to his office, now a restful shade of cloudy blue-gray, and opened the envelope. Inside was a subpoena to appear at deposition.
Well, well. It looked like Mikhail Bashnakov—The Technician—was finally going to face justice.
That had been a long time coming. So long, in fact, Will had almost forgotten the court case was still pending.
He wondered if he and Taylor would be seeing Kelila Hedwig in a courtroom someday soon.
The good news was they did not need to appear until after the New Year, so in theory, it would not interfere with completing the surveys for Webster Fidelity. They could enjoy their holidays in peace.
Yeah, right. Webster Fidelity had them on an electronic leash, and that’s how it would be from now on.
He picked up the phone to call Taylor, then decided this news could wait. Instead, he tossed the subpoenas in his desk drawer, told Euphonia he’d probably not be back that day, and headed out for Encinitas.
Rain poured down, flooding the freeway. In the distance, streaks of flashing light turned the pewter-edged clouds a bruised black and purple.
Will kept an eye out for the silver Honda Accord—for any sign of a tail—on the four-hour drive to the Webster Fidelity jobsite, but there was no indication he was being followed. And as sure as he’d been the day before, he found himself now wondering if he really had simply made too much of a coincidence.
There was no word yet from Stuart Schwierskott, so he tried phoning Dina Shey at Gently, Fallis & Landreth again. To his surprise, his call was put through.
“Dina Shey,” stated a cool, melodious voice.
“Ms. Shey, nice to finally speak. This is Will Brandt, one of the men you hired Schwierskott & Associate to run surveillance on.”
Shey didn’t miss a beat. “I would say what a surprise, Mr. Brandt, but given that you’ve left us thirteen messages over the past weeks, I’d be lying. What can I do for you?”
“You can start by telling me who hired you to hire Schwierskott & Associate.”
“You’re a former federal agent, Mr. Brandt. I’m sure you’ve heard the term attorney-client privilege before.”
“You’ve presumably passed the bar, Ms. Shey, so I’m sure you’ve heard that if a client initiates a communication with a lawyer for the purpose of committing a crime, the attorney-client privilege typically doesn’t apply. Likewise, the State of California allows attorneys to disclose information learned from a client that will prevent death or serious injury.”
She chuckled with apparent good humor. “Rule 3-100B Confidential Information of a Client: A member of the bar may, but is not required to reveal confidential information relating to the representation of a client to the extent that the member reasonably believes the disclosure is necessary to prevent a criminal act that the member reasonably believes is likely to result in death of, or substantial bodily harm to, an individual.
“Do you have any proof that my client—currently unknown to you—is planning a criminal act likely to result in death of, or substantial bodily harm to, yourself or another individual?”
“No. I don’t have any proof.”
“I didn’t think so. Well, it was lovely chatting—”
Will said quickly, “Ms. Shey, I don’t know you, but you’d have to be
