Lawyer Trap by R. J. Jagger Page B

“Mostly about you.”
    The talk continued, but Aspen paid only enough attention to react when she needed to. Instead, she savored the fact that everything had actually returned to normal. Maybe she really did have a long-term place with the firm after all.
    Blake Gray’s office turned out to be slightly more than a desk and a credenza. It had a pool table, a wet bar, couches and chairs galore, plants, a treadmill, a fountain, and two old pinball machines—all pointed at an incredible view of the Rockies.
    â€œThis is just like my office,” Aspen said.
    Blake laughed.
    â€œNow you see why I can’t go back to Colfax.”
    The walls held expensive modern art, except for the wall behind his desk, which was totally barren except for an old check framed under glass.
    â€œThat’s the check I told you about,” Blake said, “the one that bounced. My reminder of reality.”
    She looked at it.
    $182.53.
    â€œInsufficient Funds” stamped in red ink.
    â€œAfter getting that check,” Blake said, “I spent a lot of time figuring out how to not get another one.” He chuckled. “Of course, it did no good. We still take our share of hits.”
    Five minutes later, Blake’s personal assistant escorted two people into the room. Aspen recognized the man—Nick Teffinger—from the news report, but wasn’t prepared for the live version. She took her eyes off him only long enough to glance at the woman, an attractive African American with a powerful body, professionally dressed, about Aspen’s age.
    â€œNice digs,” Teffinger said.
    He focused on the pinball machines.
    â€œI used to play a little when I was a kid,” he said, looking at Blake Gray. “If you want to make a wager, I’ll bet everything I own against everything you own.”
    Blake grinned.
    â€œI don’t own anything,” he said. “My bankers do. But I’ll bet everything that I owe against everything that you owe.”
    Teffinger walked over to the machine, tested the flippers, and put a ball in play as he talked to Aspen.
    â€œSo tell me the story,” he said. “How’d you find her?”
    Aspen talked while Teffinger and Blake vied for points. “It was no stroke of genius,” she said. “I knew the date that Rachel Ringer disappeared. It was at the top of my mind. When the news report came on about the other two bodies, who disappeared about the same time as Rachel, I just put two and two together. It was just a matter of one dot, and another dot, and a straight-line connection.”
    Then she told him about how she ended up in the water and actually found the head.
    â€œNo one knows yet that the head was detached,” Teffinger said. “We’re keeping that close to the vest. Have you told anyone about that?”
    She ran through her memory.
    â€œNo,” she said. “Just Blake.”
    Teffinger nodded.
    â€œGood. I’d appreciate it if you both kept it that way.”
    Not a problem.
    â€œThat’s all I know,” she added. “It was just a fluke.”
    Even though the ball was at the top of the board, Teffinger took his hands off the flippers and looked at her. “That’s not entirely true,” he said. “You heard that we found a fourth body too, right?”
    She nodded.
    That was true.
    â€œAnd you know her name, don’t you?”
    She swallowed.
    â€œWell, I did happen to sniff around some news articles on the Internet,” she said, “to see if anyone else also disappeared in early April.”
    â€œAnd?”
    â€œA name did come up,” she said. “Catherine Carmichael.”
    Teffinger was impressed.
    â€œBingo,” he said. “We haven’t confirmed it yet, but that’s who we think it is too. Again, keep that close to the vest.”
    After Blake Gray soundly beat Teffinger three games in a row, they ended up on leather couches drinking