Page 31 of Smoke Screen
Over time, he’d run into her here and there. They’d struck up a friendship. Even met for lunch once in a while to talk politics and criminal cases. Interesting woman.
Zeke gave him a look. The narrowed-eyed be-careful-little-brother one.
“Don’t say it,” Phin told him. “If the feds think Maddy is involved, she needs a good lawyer. Cilla is a shark.”
6
At 3:00 Friday afternoon,Maddy stood in front of the main entrance to the Charlotte FBI headquarters waiting for the defense attorney Phin had referred her to.
According to online chatter, Priscilla Randolph was a badass.
As in, a badass times ten.
And now she was Maddy’s badass.
A man in a gray suit strode by, throwing some serious rotten energy her way. That was the third person giving her nasty looks. Whether they were employees or visitors, she didn’t know, but they were most definitely suspicious with the way they eyeballed her.
Did she look like a radical? She peered down at her navy slacks, white blouse, and heels. She’d even added a gold necklace for some I-am-a-professional oomph.
Obviously, it wasn’t working. And that didn’t help her already crackling nerves. She gripped her purse handle, squeezing hard enough to pop a knuckle.
This whole flipping thing exhausted her. Mental bedlam did that. And the meeting hadn’t even started yet.
Sigh.
“Ms. Carmichael?”
A woman with poker straight black hair cut into a razor-sharp bob approached. She wore a skinny black pantsuit tailored to long legs and a trim body.
This, also according to online photos, was Cilla Shark, the nickname the press had given her several years back when she’d devoured the prosecution in a high-profile murder case involving a professional athlete.
At thirty-five, the shark looked more like a supermodel than a ferocious lawyer.
Maybe that was part of her plan. Lure investigators in with her looks and then shred their case.
Maddy took a few steps, meeting her new attorney halfway, and held out her hand. “Ms. Randolph, hi. Thanks so much for meeting me.”
Swinging her briefcase to her other shoulder, Ms. Randolph shook Maddy’s hand. “Call me Priscilla. Or Cilla. I’m happy to help.” She offered a crooked smile. “Iloveeating the feds for a midafternoon snack. Especially on a Friday.”
Oh.
Boy.
“Um.” Maddy held up a fist. “Yay?”
Cilla laughed. “Definitely yay. Phin said you’re a friend. Coming from him, that means something. I know we talked on the phone about your previous conversation with the FBI. Is there anything else you’ve thought of, before we head in?”
They’d spent an hour on the phone that morning, reviewing the points from the previous day’s meeting with Special Agents Blackwell and Walker.
“No,” Maddy said. “I told you everything.”
She’d made sure of it. The minute she’d left the conference room the day before, she’d jotted notes, painstakingly recording every detail she could remember.
Just in case.
It turned out to be a good move when Cilla began peppering her with questions.
“Good.” Cilla gestured to the door. “Let’s get in there and see what the hell they want. Then we can both get on with our day.”
