Page 24 of Crash Course
And what about the daycare right next door? She’d keep that to herself. For now. No sense tipping her father off that she’d been snooping.
Dad nodded so forcefully, the skin under his chin jiggled. "That’s why we’re having that test redone." He dug into his pants pocket and slid his phone free. He scrolled, tapped, and tucked the phone away again. "I just sent you the other reports. Do me a favor and read them when you have time."
Gladly. "I just don’t understand how one report can be so skewed."
"Different labs, honey. Paul said our in-house lab did one test. The other two were done by independent companies. One independent got it wrong."
Paul again. Could he be holding back info? Only giving Dad part of the story?
"Well," she said, "it sounds like you’re doing everything you can. I’ll read the reports. By the way, I realized the other day I hadn’t logged into DOC in a while, so I tried it." She rolled one hand. "You know the system locks you out if you don’t log in regularly."
At this, Dad laughed. "Tell me you, of all people, got bounced."
"I did! Derek in IT called Wilma. Hopefully, tomorrow it’ll get squared away."
"It’ll get fixed. If not, I’ll take care of it. What’s new on Kalper?"
She eyed him. She didn’t talk about her cases, but with her client being a high-profile news anchor, GSR details had already been leaked. Probably by the prosecution, but it could have come from the PD. Or both. "GSR test is a problem. He somehow took a bath in gunshot residue."
"Could he have done it?"
"I think we’re all capable of things, Dad."
"Can you get around the test?"
"Not unless we come up with a reasonable explanation. Outside of the GSR, it’s mostly circumstantial evidence. I’m hoping a plea deal is coming our way."
"Will he do it?"
Again she shrugged. "I don’t have the foggiest. Initially, he said no deals. The GSR could be a problem for the jury. If he tells me he wants to testify, I might have to run away to some tropical island and live the rest of my life in peace."
Dad’s lips curved into a flashing, all-teeth smile that lit up his face. This was the smile that had made him a billionaire. When he unleashed it, people fell in line.
"That’ll be the day," he said. "You love it and you know it. You’re like me that way. War excites you."
He had her there. Except, the difference between them was that Dad refused to lose. Always. He’d do whatever it took to win. Win, win, win.
Cilla? She despised losing, but if she didn’t deserve a win and got one, she detested that more.
On Monday morning,a dripping wet Cruz stepped from the shower while the sports radio guys debated questionable calls by football refs the day before.
As if anyone could figure out that hot-ass mess? They’d blown more calls than there were stars in the sky.
Cruz might have to apply to be a ref. He’d be better than half those guys. Plus, Jayson Tucker, North Carolina's aging star quarterback, had spent the entire season getting his ass kicked because the offensive line couldn’t seem to stop an ant, never mind three-hundred-pound defensive ends.
Madness. All of it.
Just as one host went into a fresh tirade, Cruz’s phone rattled against the stone vanity top. He checked the screen.
Cilla.
Dripping wet and bare-assed naked and his fantasy woman calls. Had to be a sign. And, oh, oh, oh, didn’t this add yet another layer to those fantasies. Say a good spin in the shower? Something told him they’d steam up the place.
With his luck, his mother would bang on his door.
His gut twisted enough to rip all thoughts of an orgasming Cilla right from his brain.
Shaking his head, he wrapped himself in a towel and punched the screen. "Good morning."
