Sunset Point: A Shelter Bay Novel (6 page)

“Janet Kagan ran a popular restaurant. She and her son served good food at fair prices, which brought in both tourists and locals. The bar and grill would have provided a good, honest living. But that wasn’t enough. Because she’s greedy, dishonest, and doesn’t believe the law that all of you and I are expected to follow applies to her.

“The amounts varied from month to month, but on average, for every two thousand dollars of legitimate money Mrs. Kagan brought in, she might bring in, say, thirteen thousand from drug trafficking. Then, she’d list the entire fifteen thousand as income from the restaurant on her income taxes.

“It’s that simple. Mrs. Kagan was taking the drug cartel’s dirty money, putting it through a wash cycle, and sending it back squeaky clean. For this she charged anywhere from a one to three-percent fee. Which may not sound like much. Until you realize that millions and millions went through her laundry over a five-year period.

“The key to the longevity was the grill being such a high cash flow business. Because if she’d claimed earnings of fifteen thousand on any given month but only had bank deposits of two thousand, that would have drawn attention, and she’d have gotten caught much sooner.

“Just as she would have if she’d opened up a high-end restaurant, where diners typically pay with credit cards. But a bar and grill, especially one that’s open for lower-priced breakfasts in a financial neighborhood of office buildings and does a large part of its business in drink sales, brings in a significant percent of its proceeds in cash. So, there are no records to disprove whatever she might claim.”

She paused, staring silently down at the woman for a long, pointed moment. Showing no conscience, Janet Kagan merely returned the look, meeting Tess’s gaze with not so much as a flinch.

As she returned to stand directly before the jury, Tess slowly shook her head.

“The defense attorney will tell you that Mrs. Kagan is an innocent victim of her son. He will ask you to believe that her only involvement in the business was to cook the meals. Which did, as you’ve heard, also included less expensive clams and oysters illegally harvested from unapproved waters, thus risking the health and even the lives of innocent diners.

“When I proved that she was the one who kept the books and made the bank deposits, his answer was that she only wrote down the amounts her son told her. Then, as if that were too implausible, Mr. Parker tossed in a tall tale of her much larger, much younger son being so abusive she feared what would happen if she didn’t go along with his scheme.

“I say the defense
hopes
you’ll believe the outrageous stories you’ve been told by Mrs. Kagan and her
character
witnesses,” she said, not bothering to conceal her scorn, “because he knows he cannot win this case on logic. Or truth.”

Up until now, Tess’s presentation had been as calm and efficient as Nate supposed she herself would be. But suddenly things changed. Without warning, her dark eyes flashed with fiery indignation, and color flared in the olive skin covering high cheekbones. Fascinated, he couldn’t take his eyes off her face.

Although his attention was riveted on Tess, Nate sensed that the others in the room were as surprised as he’d been by her abrupt metamorphosis.

“Despite the constant posturing of the defense, this case is very straightforward,” Tess insisted. “We have provided you with substantial facts consisting of eyewitness testimony, including testimony by Portland Police Bureau detectives and agents from both the DEA and the FBI who went undercover, acting as drug dealers looking for a partner.

“Not only did Mrs. Kagan negotiate the deal on her own, she did not seem at all intimidated by her son when she jumped at the opportunity to grow her laundry business by taking on a new client. You’ve also heard from airline and hotel employees that she was enjoying the five-star, first-class week in Mazatlán she paid for partly with proceeds from that deal.”

As she turned toward the blown-up photos of the woman, pictured with her head thrown back as she laughed, enjoying margaritas at a beachfront bar with one of the DEA agents posing as a dealer/partner, there were encouraging murmurs of disapproval from some of the jury members.

“If you follow the instructions that Judge Keane will set out for you, your verdict will be a fair and just verdict. It will also be a verdict for conviction.”

Then, she finally smiled, that warm, intimate smile that Nate had only fantasized about. In this case, he decided, reality had it all over fantasy, hands down.

“Thank you for your time and patience during the past three weeks,” Tess told the jury. Her voice had returned to its usual calm tone. “I’m confident you’ll discharge your obligation to the law in full.”

As she returned to the prosecutor’s table, a hush lingered in the air. Nate wondered if he was the only observer fighting back a strong impulse to applaud.

“Thank you, Ms. Lombardi,” the judge said. “We’ll adjourn until tomorrow morning, when Mr. Parker presents his closing statement for the defense.”

The spectators in the crowded courtroom rose as the judge retired to his chambers. As Tess spoke with her colleagues at the table while gathering up her papers, Nate slipped out of the courtroom.

And waited.

Tess was flushed with success as she left the courtroom and headed toward the doors leading outside. Unless the defense attorney pulled a very surprising rabbit out of his hat tomorrow morning, there was a very good chance she’d won this case for the state.

One down and one to go.
She still had the afternoon case to argue. She was running that closing through her mind when she found her way impeded by a familiar and decidedly unwelcome roadblock.

“You were terrific in there,” Nate said with a slow, easy smile that usually worked wonders with women of all ages. This time it failed. Miserably.

“I was merely doing my job,” Tess said briskly. “I assume you brought my wallet, Mr. Breslin?” She held out her hand, palm up, waiting for him to give it to her and be on his way.

“It’s Nate,” he said, taking her outstretched hand. Her skin was as soft as he’d imagined. Soft and warm. But her eyes were annoyed. Nate found himself enjoying the contrast. “Legally Nathaniel, but the only person who’s actually ever called me that was my mother whenever I was in trouble.”

“Which, from what I’ve witnessed thus far, suggests you heard it a great deal growing up… My wallet?”

“In a bit,” he murmured, taking the opportunity to examine her at close range. To the casual observer, Tess Lombardi appeared cool. Remote. Decidedly untouchable. But having seen that burst of passion she kept hidden inside her, he was going to enjoy watching the ice crack. “After lunch.”

“Really, Mr. Breslin, I’ve already told you that I have absolutely no intention of having lunch with you. Today or any other day.” She tugged her hand, which had fit very nicely into his, away. “Now, if you don’t return my wallet and leave, I’ll have no choice but to call a bailiff and have you thrown out of here.”

Nate forced himself to remain outwardly nonchalant. He slipped his hands into the pockets of the khakis he’d dug out of the back of his closet to wear to the courthouse. Another perk of the writing gig was that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d worn a suit.

“I can’t stop you. But I’d certainly appreciate it if you didn’t have me thrown in the slammer until you hear me out.”

“You said I was driving you crazy,” she said.

She was looking at him. Hard and deep. Like a hostile witness she was about to begin cross-examining. Nate wondered what she was going to say when he told her that a ghost had mysteriously slipped her into his dreams night after night.

“You
were
driving me crazy. Are,” he corrected.

A couple of reporters Nate recognized as working for
The Oregonian
passed, eyeing them with unmistakable interest.

“Look, it’s a little difficult to discuss it here. You
were
planning to eat, weren’t you?”

Tess felt herself weakening, despite her best intentions. Although she knew she should turn on her heel and march out of the courthouse without listening to another insane word, she found herself rooted to the spot.

It’s only curiosity,
she assured herself.
That’s all. Curiosity.

“I was,” she admitted. “I don’t usually take the time, but I didn’t have breakfast this morning. And I still have another case to sum up this afternoon.”

She didn’t bother to mention that after an unusually restless night brought on by her out-of-the-blue encounter with Nate Breslin, she’d overslept, waking up a mere twenty minutes before she was due in court. There was no point in letting the annoying man know that he’d affected her in any way.

“Have lunch with me, counselor,” he coaxed with a winning smile. “And I promise you a true-to-life ghost story that beats any fictional tale I’ve ever written.”

“Ghost stories don’t really interest me.”

“Not even when you play a starring role?”

“Now you’re definitely lying.”

“Those disapproving Puritans referred to fiction as nothing more than a well-told lie. If that were truly the case, I suppose you could rightfully accuse me of making my living telling whoppers,” he agreed. “But I swear I haven’t added a single embellishment to this particular tale.” He lifted his right hand as if taking an oath. His eyes lit with a humorous spark that, while totally different than the frustrated anger of last night, could be even more dangerous.

“I know I’m going to regret this.”

“Does that mean you’ll have lunch with me?”

“How could I resist such a unique invitation?” she asked dryly.

As they walked down the steps of the courthouse, Tess glanced pointedly at her watch. “I do hope this little tale of intrigue is a short story. I have to be back by two.”

“For Kagan’s son’s trial. Don’t worry, I wouldn’t risk putting you in contempt of court.”

Despite his easy promise, Tess had the feeling that Breslin would do exactly that if he had a mind to. It was obvious that the man was accustomed to getting his way. She’d be well advised to keep that fact in mind.

“What would you say to walking a couple blocks?” Nate asked, naming a restaurant that was a slice of old Portland and a mainstay of the city’s dining and social scene.

“The place is packed at lunch. We’ll never get a table in time for me to make it back to the courthouse.”

“No problem. I’m a friend of the owner. We have a table waiting for whenever we get there.”

Tess folded her arms. “Well, no one can accuse you of not having an oversized ego. You were that sure I’d have lunch with you?”

“If you hadn’t agreed, I would’ve eaten alone. As for the reservation, I was trying to make things easier for you.”

“If you were truly interested in making things easier, you simply would have left my wallet at the office.”

“If I’d done that, you would’ve missed one helluva good story.”

“Ah, yes,” she drawled, dripping sarcasm. “The story. Which is it this time? Vampires or zombies?”

“Neither. Like I said, it’s a ghost. The old guy lives in my house and appears to be determined that you and I meet.”

She stared at him, trying to discern whether or not he was joking. He had to be. Surely he wasn’t crazy enough to believe the things he earned a very comfortable living writing about were true?

“I didn’t think you’d believe me,” he said, accurately reading her silence.

“You’re right. I don’t,” Tess said. “Though I will give you credit for one of the more original pickup lines I’ve ever heard.”

His grin was as quick as it was dangerous. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you that jumping to conclusions often results in uncomfortable landings?”

“I never jump to conclusions.”

He nodded as they swerved to avoid a jaywalking pedestrian. “Good for you,” he murmured. “Because if there was ever an occasion that called for an open mind, this is it.”

She was about to comment on his curious statement when they’d reached the restaurant.

“This is one of my favorite places,” she admitted as they entered the quaint brick building that had survived even as office towers had sprung up like mushrooms around it.

“Isn’t that a fortunate coincidence since it happens to be mine, too. I eat here whenever I get up to Portland.”

From the restaurant owner’s exuberant greeting, it was apparent Breslin was at least telling the truth about being a regular customer. It also didn’t escape Tess’s notice that they were led through the solarium dining room to the most private table on the foliage-and-flower-filled, peaceful patio that was worlds away from the stressful hustle and bustle of the courthouse.

She found herself wishing she hadn’t discovered that they had anything—even something as innocent as a taste in restaurants—in common.

“How did you know about me liking this place?” she asked after they’d ordered drinks—a craft beer for him, ice water with a slice of lemon for her.

“I have a spy in your camp,” he admitted.

“A spy?”

“Alexis Montgomery.”

That was the most surprising thing the man had said thus far. And even more difficult to accept than his stupid alleged ghost.

“I don’t believe you. Alexis is my best friend. She’d never give away my secrets.”

His mouth quirked at the corner. “The fact that you enjoy one of the city’s more popular dining spots is not exactly a sacred trust, Ms. Lombardi.”

Objection overruled
. She chalked up a point for him. “So what else did Alexis tell you? And how do you know her?”

The server chose that moment to arrive with their drinks, then took their meal order, making her wait for his response until they were alone again.

“Matt Miller is my attorney. And except for the information that you’re a dynamite prosecutor who just happens to appreciate farm-to-table food, as well as telling me that you are much too good for me, Alexis didn’t reveal a single, solitary personal thing about you, Tess.”