to hear it from you. And she’ll be in the lobby in about ten minutes.”
Eric was stunned to numbness. He couldn’t believe what he’d just done. He’d lied, straight-faced, to the man partly responsible for giving him his life back. Kelly Ralston was going to stay buried in Huntsville, and Eric was responsible for that, too.
Prison is where Ralston belongs. The man was a dangerous psychopath. Kelly Ralston had said that if he ever got free, he would find Eric and slit his throat. Even worse, he’d threatened MacKenzie, a six-year-old girl who was the picture of innocence.
MacKenzie had been the victim of enough crime in her young life. She might never recover from the trauma of losing her mother in such a violent manner; she still had nightmares about blood. Eric would do whatever it took to protect her.
Even lying.
After reminding everyone that the building would be fumigated on Thursday and everyone should plan to take the day off, Daniel disconnected.
Eric dragged his feet on the way down to the lobby, opting for the stairs because he didn’t want to talk to anyone about his outburst. Helluva way to start the second day of a new job.
The marble-floored reception area was deserted except for Celeste Boggs, the foundation’s office manager, receptionist and self-proclaimed head of security. As far as Eric knew, her actual job responsibilities had nothing to do with security, other than keeping undesirable visitors from gaining access to the rest of the building from the lobby.
But she was pretty scary. In her seventies, she was the antithesis of a sweet little old lady.
“Mr. Riggs,” she greeted him without the hint of a smile on her blood-red lips. “Leaving so soon? You haven’t even had time to warm up your office chair or fill out forms for the personnel office.”
“Actually, I’m looking for someone. A woman named Brianna Johnson has an appointment—”
“At ten, yes, I know. She’s not here yet. I can call you when she arrives.”
“Okay. I’ll just...be in my office.” He could start setting up a filing system or...count paper clips or maybe prepare a resignation letter. So far breaking the bad news to Ralston’s girlfriend was the only thing anyone had asked him to do.
He turned and had almost made it through the frosted-glass wall that separated the lobby from the rest of the building when he heard the front door open. He turned—and froze. The woman who walked through that door was mind-bogglingly beautiful. She had creamy white skin, black hair and deep blue eyes—he could see the color even from a distance. She reminded him of a young Elizabeth Taylor, except in a more petite package.
She dressed like a River Oaks debutante—a brown suede jacket over a creamy silk blouse and black wool trousers, along with black leather high-heeled boots. And she walked with the grace of a ballet dancer. This couldn’t possibly be the girlfriend of a rough character like Kelly Ralston. No possible way.
The woman smiled uncertainly at Celeste, who didn’t return the favor. “Hi, I’m Brianna Johnson. I have an appointment with—”
“Sign here. And I need some ID.” Celeste thrust a clipboard at her.
As the woman signed her name in three quick strokes and accepted a clip-on visitor badge from Celeste, Eric continued to study her. She had pretty hands, but the blunt, unpolished nails didn’t really match up with the rest of her.
Celeste glanced over at Eric, waiting for him to say something.
“Ms. Johnson?” He closed the distance between them and extended his hand. “I’m Eric Riggs.”
“Oh, hello. You can call me Bree.” She shook his hand firmly, decisively. This was a woman of confidence and power. She had either money or a prestigious job. Or both. Again he had to wonder why someone like that would associate with a vicious, violent man like Kelly Ralston.
Bree treated him to a steady, measuring gaze but without a hint of recognition. A month ago Eric had achieved minor celebrity status when the governor had pardoned him, and his conviction for murder had been overturned. Eric’s brother, with Project Justice’s help, had found the real killer, who had damn near taken another victim before being subdued. But a few splashy headlines later, it appeared Eric’s fifteen minutes of fame had run its course. Or maybe Brianna didn’t watch the news or read the papers.
“So are you going to handle Kelly’s case?” Bree asked.
Oh, boy. This wasn’t going to be easy.
“Why don’t we...” He started to say they should go to his office. But it was still a mess. No diplomas on the walls, boxes sitting around unpacked, and there was only one guest chair. He’d rather go somewhere more comfortable.
“Yes?” She looked at him with bright, inquisitive eyes.
“Why don’t we go to the break room. I need a coffee.” Or a shot of bourbon.
“Okay.”
He led her down a long hallway toward the kitchen, which was always stocked with all kinds of healthy snacks as well as the ubiquitous office vending machines and a huge bowl of candy. Daniel insisted his people eat well and take care of themselves. The foundation had a workout room, too.
“You can’t imagine how excited I was when I got the news that Project Justice was taking up Kelly’s cause. For seven years I’ve been trying to get someone to listen to me, to believe that he couldn’t have committed a violent crime. Finally, someone is willing not only to listen but to do something.”
This was getting worse by the minute.
“Coffee?”
“Okay, sure. Black, please.”
The sitting area adjacent to the kitchen was deserted. It was furnished with a couple of comfy sofas, coffee tables and a selection of recent magazines. Occasionally it was used as a waiting area for guests, since the lobby was intentionally without any chairs.
Bree settled with her coffee in a wingback chair—the highest chair in the room. The power seat. He sat on the sofa opposite her, his stomach feeling as though a nest of vipers had taken up residence.
Without delay she placed her briefcase on the coffee table and opened it.
“Daniel said to bring all of the materials I have relating to Kelly’s arrest, conviction, appeals—”
“Bree, wait.” He couldn’t let this go on any longer. It was awful to have to be the one to crush her hope, but better now than later. He would hate to make her cry. “I know Daniel told you we were taking on your, um, boyfriend’s case, but circumstances have changed and, unfortunately, it’s not going to be possible.”
Bree stared at him, her mouth open for a few brief seconds before she clamped it closed.
“I’m sorry—”
“What circumstances? I only talked to Mr. Logan yesterday.”
“Sometimes priorities can change rapidly, and our first responsibility is always to the cases we’re already working—”
“That’s
