The Fitzgerald Ruse Read Online Free Page B

I should know it.
    “Is that a law firm?”
    She laughed. “Sort of. If you count one lawyer as a firm. Hewitt Donaldson’s a person. I’m his paralegal, and we have an administrative assistant. Hewitt works solo, often for other firms. He’s a defense attorney. The best in town.”
    To me defense attorney translated into potential client.
    “Well, I’m a private investigator. The newest in town.”
    Behind Cory, the elevator doors opened and Nakayla stepped into the hall.
    “And this is my partner, Nakayla Robertson.”
    Cory turned around, and I saw Nakayla’s eyes narrow.
    “We’ve met on a few depositions,” Cory said. “Will insurance fraud be your specialty?”
    “No,” Nakayla said coolly. “Finding the truth will be our specialty.”
    “Then I wish you luck. Most clients don’t want the truth. But if anyone can find it, I’m sure you and Mr. Blackman will sniff it out.” She looked from Nakayla to me. “Anything we can do to help you get settled, our office is just down the hall.”
    “Thank you,” I said, and took a step backwards to let her pass. The crunch of my foot smashing through the box of muffins almost drowned out her “You’re welcome.”
    We started with Nakayla’s office, arranging her desk so that she faced the window overlooking Pack Square. Then plastic protective covers were removed from chairs, lamps unboxed, and a filing drawer positioned as a credenza. We worked steadily, keeping our conversation focused on the task at hand.
    I preferred my office to be the mirror image of Nakayla’s. With my back to the window, I could get some work done. Otherwise I’d spend my days gazing at the square and mountains behind it, finding the vista an easy excuse to avoid work.
    When the basics were in place and we took a breather in the more comfortable furnishings of the central waiting area, I asked Nakayla the question that had been on my mind all morning. “Why don’t you like Cory DeMille?”
    “Was I that obvious?”
    “Maybe not to the average person. You forget I’m a trained detective.”
    “Who observes all, if you don’t count blueberry muffins.”
    Amanda Whitfield’s gift had been smashed flat and became the first item to land in Blackman and Robertson’s wastebasket.
    “I’m serious,” I said. “Is she someone we should stay clear of?”
    “No. I’m just not nuts about her boss. Hewitt Donaldson will do whatever he can to get people off. When I was at the Investigative Alliance for Underwriters, I had to testify in court against some of his clients. They’d submitted fraudulent medical claims that anybody could see were forgeries. I’d observed his clients performing physical activities that the phony claims stated would be impossible due to pain and suffering. During cross-examination, Donaldson went after me like a pit bull, basically calling me a liar and a pawn of the big insurance companies.”
    “Who were you working for?”
    Nakayla glared at me. “A big insurance company. What of it?”
    “And did his clients get off?”
    “No. They were convicted.”
    I laughed. “Then I guess the jury saw Donaldson for what he was, a desperate defense attorney grasping at straws.” I leaned forward in the new chair. Nakayla was curled up on the leather sofa, and I realized we had each staked out our territory. “One of my best friends in the service worked as an advocate for defendants. Whenever I had to testify at a tribunal, I dreaded his cross because he was doing his damndest for his client. He once told me if he could rattle a prosecution witness, then the emotion unleashed usually undercut the facts of the testimony. It was advice I took to heart, although there were times I’d liked to have jumped out of the witness chair and punched him.”
    “Well, I guess Cory’s all right,” Nakayla conceded. “And if she works with Donaldson, he must not be a total jerk.”
    “That’s the spirit.”
    “On the other hand, I work with you.” She grabbed a