Crave
Chapter Five
"Am I boring you,Mr.Rothe?" Not. Hardly. His public defender's voice was a kind of lullaby in Isaac's ears, her aristocratic inflection and perfect grammar soothing him so much he was oddly afraid of her. Originally, he'd closed his eyes because she was simply too beautiful to look at, but there had been an added benefit to the lights out. Without the distraction of her perfect face and her smart stare, he was able to fully concentrate on her words.
The way she spoke was poetic. Even to a guy who wasn't into the hearts and flowers routine.
"Mr. Rothe."
Not a question, a demand. Clearly she was getting fed up with his ass.
Cracking his lids, he felt the impact of her nail him in the sternum--and tried to tell himself that she was making such a big impression because it had been years since he'd been around a true lady. After all, most of the females he'd fucked or worked with had been rough around the edges, just like him. So this precisely coiffed, clearly educated, perfumed exotic across the table was some kind of stunning anomaly.
God, she'd probably faint if she saw his tattoo.
And run screaming if she knew what he'd been doing for a living for the last five years.
"Let me try to get you bail," she repeated. "And then we'll see where we are."
He had to wonder why she cared so much about some scrub she'd never met before, but there was an undeniable mission in her eyes, and maybe that explained it: Clearly, being down here with the riffraff was exorcising some kind of demon for her. Maybe it was a case of rich-guilt. Maybe it was a religious thing. Whatever it was, she was damned determined.
"Mr. Rothe. Let me help you."
He so didn't want her involved in his case . . . but if she could set him free, he could take off and he was undoubtedly safer out in the world: His old boss would have no trouble sending a man into this jail on a charge and engineering the assassination right under the noses of the guards.
To Matthias, that would be child's play.
Isaac felt his conscience, which had been long silent, send up a holler, but the logic was sound: She looked like the kind of lawyer who could get things done in the system, and as much as he hated to involve her in the mess he was in, he wanted to stay alive.
"I'd be grateful if you could do that, ma'am."
She took a deep breath, like she was having a break in the middle of a marathon. "Good. All right then. Now, it says here you live over on Tremont. How long have you been there?"
"Just over two weeks."
He could tell by the way her brows went together that that wasn't going to help him much. "You're unemployed?"
The technical term was AWOL, he thought. "Yes, ma'am."
"Do you have any family? Here or elsewhere in the state?"
"No." His father and brothers all thought he was dead, and that was just fine with him. And them as well in all likelihood.
"At least you don't have any priors." She closed the file. "I'll go up in front of the judge in about a half hour. The bail's going to be steep . . . but I know some bondsmen we could approach to put up the money."
"How high do you think it will be?"
"Twenty thousand--if we're lucky."
"I can cover it."
Another frown and she reopened his file, taking a second gander at his paperwork. "You stated here that you have no income and no savings."
As he stayed quiet, she didn't give him flak and didn't seem surprised. No doubt she was used to people like him lying, but unfortunately, he was willing to bet his life that what he was keeping from her was far, far deadlier than what her Good Samaritan antics usually brought her in contact with.
Shit. Actually, he was betting her life on it, wasn't he. Matthias cast a wide net when it came to assignments, and anyone standing next to Isaac ran the risk of being in the crosshairs.
Except once he was gone, she was never going to see him again.
"How's your face?" she asked after a moment.
"It's fine."
"It looks as if it hurts. Do you want any aspirin? I've got some."
Isaac stared down at his busted hands. "No, ma'am. But thank you."
He heard the clip-clip of her high heels as she got to her feet. "I'll be back after I--"
The door opened and the muscle who'd taken him up from holding came barreling in.
"I'm off to talk to the judge," she said to the guard. "And he was a perfect gentleman."
Isaac allowed himself to be dragged upright, but he wasn't paying attention to the officer. He was staring at his public defender. She even walked like a lady--
His arm got yanked hard. "You don't look at her," the guard said. "Guy like you doesn't even look at someone like her."
Mr. Manners' death grip was a little annoying, but there was no faulting the SOB's opinion.
Even if he'd had a garden variety job and nothing more than a couple of speeding tickets, Isaac wasn't anywhere near that league of woman. Hell, he wasn't even playing in the same sport.
The way she spoke was poetic. Even to a guy who wasn't into the hearts and flowers routine.
"Mr. Rothe."
Not a question, a demand. Clearly she was getting fed up with his ass.
Cracking his lids, he felt the impact of her nail him in the sternum--and tried to tell himself that she was making such a big impression because it had been years since he'd been around a true lady. After all, most of the females he'd fucked or worked with had been rough around the edges, just like him. So this precisely coiffed, clearly educated, perfumed exotic across the table was some kind of stunning anomaly.
God, she'd probably faint if she saw his tattoo.
And run screaming if she knew what he'd been doing for a living for the last five years.
"Let me try to get you bail," she repeated. "And then we'll see where we are."
He had to wonder why she cared so much about some scrub she'd never met before, but there was an undeniable mission in her eyes, and maybe that explained it: Clearly, being down here with the riffraff was exorcising some kind of demon for her. Maybe it was a case of rich-guilt. Maybe it was a religious thing. Whatever it was, she was damned determined.
"Mr. Rothe. Let me help you."
He so didn't want her involved in his case . . . but if she could set him free, he could take off and he was undoubtedly safer out in the world: His old boss would have no trouble sending a man into this jail on a charge and engineering the assassination right under the noses of the guards.
To Matthias, that would be child's play.
Isaac felt his conscience, which had been long silent, send up a holler, but the logic was sound: She looked like the kind of lawyer who could get things done in the system, and as much as he hated to involve her in the mess he was in, he wanted to stay alive.
"I'd be grateful if you could do that, ma'am."
She took a deep breath, like she was having a break in the middle of a marathon. "Good. All right then. Now, it says here you live over on Tremont. How long have you been there?"
"Just over two weeks."
He could tell by the way her brows went together that that wasn't going to help him much. "You're unemployed?"
The technical term was AWOL, he thought. "Yes, ma'am."
"Do you have any family? Here or elsewhere in the state?"
"No." His father and brothers all thought he was dead, and that was just fine with him. And them as well in all likelihood.
"At least you don't have any priors." She closed the file. "I'll go up in front of the judge in about a half hour. The bail's going to be steep . . . but I know some bondsmen we could approach to put up the money."
"How high do you think it will be?"
"Twenty thousand--if we're lucky."
"I can cover it."
Another frown and she reopened his file, taking a second gander at his paperwork. "You stated here that you have no income and no savings."
As he stayed quiet, she didn't give him flak and didn't seem surprised. No doubt she was used to people like him lying, but unfortunately, he was willing to bet his life that what he was keeping from her was far, far deadlier than what her Good Samaritan antics usually brought her in contact with.
Shit. Actually, he was betting her life on it, wasn't he. Matthias cast a wide net when it came to assignments, and anyone standing next to Isaac ran the risk of being in the crosshairs.
Except once he was gone, she was never going to see him again.
"How's your face?" she asked after a moment.
"It's fine."
"It looks as if it hurts. Do you want any aspirin? I've got some."
Isaac stared down at his busted hands. "No, ma'am. But thank you."
He heard the clip-clip of her high heels as she got to her feet. "I'll be back after I--"
The door opened and the muscle who'd taken him up from holding came barreling in.
"I'm off to talk to the judge," she said to the guard. "And he was a perfect gentleman."
Isaac allowed himself to be dragged upright, but he wasn't paying attention to the officer. He was staring at his public defender. She even walked like a lady--
His arm got yanked hard. "You don't look at her," the guard said. "Guy like you doesn't even look at someone like her."
Mr. Manners' death grip was a little annoying, but there was no faulting the SOB's opinion.
Even if he'd had a garden variety job and nothing more than a couple of speeding tickets, Isaac wasn't anywhere near that league of woman. Hell, he wasn't even playing in the same sport.
