About That Night (FBI/US Attorney #3)(28)
“Well, Ms. Pierce, seeing how my client is unemployed, his current office is his home. Eight hundred North Lake Shore Drive. The penthouse. Mr. Rhodes will be expecting you at four thirty sharp.”
Ten
THE PHONE ON Kyle’s desk rang, the double ring that indicated the call came from the security desk in the lobby of his building.
“Ms. Pierce is here to see you, Mr. Rhodes,” Miles informed him when he answered the phone.
“Thanks, Miles. Send her up.”
Kyle hung up the phone and saved the document he’d been working on, thinking that this was indeed an interesting turn of events. If anyone else from the U.S. Attorney’s Office had asked to see him, he would’ve told him or her exactly where to shove that request. Even though they’d held up their end of the deal last Tuesday, they were still at the top of his shit list for the whole “terrorist” business, which meant no favors for federal prosecutors. Period.
Except he’d found this particular request, from the illustrious Rylann Pierce of the amber eyes and sharp tongue, difficult to say no to.
He was…curious to know what she wanted.
This story she’d told his lawyers, about some “investigation” into an incident that had occurred at Metropolitan Correctional Center two weeks ago, sounded a little fishy. He’d already been released from MCC by that time, so he wasn’t sure what knowledge, if any, he would have about anything that had happened after that. But according to his lawyers, she’d been quite vehement in her desire to meet with him.
And that intrigued him even more.
Last Tuesday, when he’d gotten home from court, he’d done two things: first, he’d gone on a long run, taking his sweet-ass time and going as far as he’d wanted without having to worry about ankle monitors, U.S. marshals, or SWAT teams storming the beach. Then the second thing he’d done was Google Rylann Pierce.
He’d found her on LinkedIn and saw that she’d clerked with a federal appellate judge in San Francisco before joining the U.S. Attorney’s Office. He’d also read press releases from the Northern District of California regarding several high-profile cases she’d prosecuted. From what he could tell, she’d had a successful career in California and then, suddenly, she’d moved back to Chicago.
He had a feeling there was a story there, but whatever it was, Google wasn’t saying.
Kyle heard a knock at the door. He got up from the desk and made his way through the penthouse, not realizing he’d been grinning the whole way until he saw his reflection in the foyer mirror.
Chill out, dickhead. She’s just some girl you walked home.
Perhaps this was, in fact, all a bizarre coincidence, and she really was there to talk about some case. Or maybe…it was something else. Maybe she’d been thinking about him all week, the same way he’d been thinking about her, and just couldn’t stay away.
His smile widened. Only one way to find out.
Kyle opened the door and saw her standing on his doorstep, long, dark hair a-flowing and looking like a Hitchcock heroine, with her belted trench coat and high heels, and carrying a briefcase at her side.
“Counselor,” he drawled.
“Mr. Rhodes,” she said, her voice slightly husky.
That was as far as they’d made it on Tuesday. But this time, there were no reporters, no cameras, and no team of defense attorneys. It was just the two of them now.
Kyle pushed open the door. “Come on in.”
“Thank you for meeting with me.” She brushed past him, the delicate scent of something floral and feminine trailing after her, and stepped into the foyer.
He shut the door, then turned and looked her over. Nine years ago, she’d been eye-catchingly attractive, but now there was something else, something more polished, sophisticated, and undeniably appealing.
Something a man who’d spent most of the last five months in prison would be hard-pressed not to notice.
“It’s been a while, Ms. Pierce,” he said.
Her lips twitched in a smile. “Actually, it’s only been about a week.”
He folded his arms across his chest challengingly. “Couldn’t stay away?”
She opened her mouth to say something, then appeared to change her mind. “Maybe we should sit down somewhere and talk.”
Right. About this mysterious “investigation.” He gestured to the open expanse of the loft-style penthouse. “Make yourself at home.”
Rylann walked into the living room area, curiously checking out the place. “Looks like you’ve done well for yourself these past few years.” She threw him a sideways look, her eyes dancing with amusement. “Aside from that tiny issue with Twitter.”
“Just so I know, how many jokes can I expect about that?”
“It’s almost too easy,” she said with a laugh. “You once said that someone was going to cause a lot of panic and mayhem if companies didn’t start paying more attention to denial of service attacks. How prescient of you.”
Kyle stopped. “You actually remember I said that?”
Rylann paused for a moment, then shrugged nonchalantly. “Only because of the Twitter fiasco.” Moving on, she took a seat in one of the sleek Italian leather armchairs and set her briefcase on the floor.
Kyle sat on the couch across from her, watching as she slid off her coat, revealing a dark gray suit with a cream silk shirt underneath. “Before you say anything else, maybe we should address the eight-hundred-pound gorilla in the room.”