“With a name like Carasco, I’m guessing you’re Catholic. Is this a religious thing?”
Carasco laughed. “No, it’s a money thing. Betsy is loaded.”
“Aah!”
“Can I buy you a drink?” Carasco asked.
“That’s very nice of you.”
“You’re very nice.”
Hayes raised an eyebrow. “How can you tell? We’ve just met.”
“Well, first thing, you’re a sympathetic listener who’s kind enough to pay attention to the woes of a man twice your age.”
“I doubt you’re twice my age.”
“See, that proves my point. I’m down in the dumps, and you’re trying to cheer me up, even if it requires a little white lie.”
Hayes smiled. “Maybe I used to be a Girl Scout, and this is my good deed for the day.”
“Were you a Girl Scout?”
Hayes laughed. “Far from it.”
Carasco grinned. “Were you a wild child?”
Hayes looked him in the eye. “I was.”
“Are you still?”
“Maybe. Why do you ask?”
“I just had a crazy idea—and I don’t want to offend you—but would you like to have that drink in my room at the Fairmont? It’s a suite with a great view of the city.”
“That idea isn’t so crazy, and you make a very nice first impression…”
“But?”
“But I have to be straight with you, Tony. I’m a working girl.”
Carasco looked confused.
“I’m a professional escort.”
Carasco brightened. “Oh, I get it. I’m just a little slow, what with the booze and all. But, hey, that’s not a turn-off. In fact, it’s a turn-on.”
He stood up. “Shall we go?”
Carasco didn’t know if it was the coke he’d snorted before they got to it or Stacey’s athletic and enthusiastic approach to her job, but he did know that he hadn’t experienced anything like sex with Ms. Hayes in years. By the time they finished, he was drained and dizzy and feeling better than he’d felt in a long time.
Carasco rolled to one side of the king-size bed and took deep breaths.
“That was amazing,” he said when he’d recovered enough to talk.
“Glad you approved,” Hayes said, rolling toward Carasco so one perfect breast nudged his arm.
“Jesus! I may need an EMT with a defibrillator.”
“I can always do mouth to mouth,” Hayes answered with a lazy smile.
“Maybe in a bit. I’m not as young as I used to be.”
“You certainly don’t act like a man who claimed to be twice my age.”
Carasco laughed. “Thanks for the compliment.”
“It was well earned.”
Carasco assumed that Hayes’s praise for his performance was part of the service, but he did feel like he’d held his own.
“How long have you been living in San Francisco?” Carasco asked.
“A little over a year.”
“So, this isn’t home?”
“No.”
Carasco noticed that Hayes’s answer wasn’t as playful as some of her other responses. “Ever think of moving?”
“Why?”
“I live in Oregon—Portland. I own some real estate, and I have a very nice apartment that’s currently vacant. It’s on the river with a killer view of the mountains.”
Hayes smiled. “I appreciate the offer. Normally, I’d give it serious consideration if the price was right, but I’m afraid Oregon is off-limits for me.”
“Oh, why is that?”
“I was busted a few times in Portland when I was new at this, and I took off. There are outstanding warrants in your hometown, and I don’t need the hassle.”
Carasco smiled. “If it’s the warrants you’re worried about, you’re in luck.”
“What do you mean?”
“I can get rid of those pesky things as easy as one, two, three.”
“How can you do that?”
“I’m a Multnomah County Circuit Court judge, Stacey, and judges have magical powers when it comes to dealing with warrants.”
CHAPTER TWO
Robin Lockwood was a lean and muscular five eight with short blond hair, blue eyes, and a face that was unmarked, despite having been a high school wrestler and a UFC cage fighter. Robin had abandoned her career in mixed martial arts after suffering a brutal knockout on a pay-per-view event in Las Vegas during her first year at Yale Law School, but she still kept in top shape by working out every weekday morning before going to her law office. This morning, Robin had skipped her workout at McGill’s gym. A lengthy federal trial had forced her to get an extension on a brief, and she was running up against the new deadline.
Barrister, Berman, and Lockwood was located in a modern glass-and-steel office building in the heart of downtown Portland. Robin asked her receptionist if there were any urgent messages before walking down a hall decorated with a series of artistic cityscapes, past the offices of her partner Mark Berman, her investigator/boyfriend Jeff Hodges, and their newest associate, Loretta Washington.
Robin’s spacious corner office had a stunning view of the Willamette River, the verdant foothills of the Cascade Range, and the snowcapped peaks of Mount Hood and Mount St. Helens. This morning, she was oblivious to nature’s masterpiece because the deadline hung over her like the sword of Damocles.
Robin had just started working on the brief when Mark Berman walked into her office. Robin’s law partner was six two, in his early thirties, and had long brown hair and bright blue eyes. Mark was married with a young daughter and had a sunny disposition that he maintained, no matter how stressful the case he was handling. While Robin was working out at her gym in the morning, Mark was rowing on the Willamette River to maintain the shape he’d been in when he was a member of the University of Washington’s nationally ranked crew.
“Got a minute?” Mark asked.
Robin didn’t, but she waved Mark toward a seat anyway. “What’s up?” she asked.
“Erika Stassen is a CPA at Kimbro and Fong, the firm that prepares my taxes. She has a serious problem. Can you see her?”
“I’m snowed under because of the Lowenstein trial. I’ve got a brief due and piles of work to catch up with. Can’t you handle it?”
“I would if I could, but it’s a criminal matter.”
“Can she make an appointment?”
“She’s in my office, and she’s really upset. You’d be doing me a big favor if you’d talk to her.”
Robin sighed and pushed the
