Trusting Danger (Danger, #2)(78)
Moore gave her an appraising look. “Your parents will be disappointed to hear that.”
“I know.” Claire twisted her hands in her lap. “I don’t want to let them down, or you,” she added, “but corporate law isn’t how I picture spending my life.”
“How do you picture spending it?”
Without hesitation, Claire blurted, “I want to help people.”
“Not soulless corporations?” Moore asked with a smirk.
Claire laughed. “No. That would drain my soul, I think.”
Professor Moore slipped off her reading glasses, tapping one arm of them against her lower lip. “What about criminal law? You seemed passionate when speaking on Chris’s behalf. What about working as a defense attorney?”
Claire shook her head. “I know everyone is entitled to a vigorous defense, but representing mostly hardened criminals . . . I don’t think I’d be able to sleep at night after what I’ve been through lately.”
“Do you think you could prosecute them?”
“As an assistant US attorney?” Claire laughed. “I don’t think so.”
Professor Moore smiled. “I get your point. Then I think you have a problem if you don’t want to waste the outstanding education we’ve been able to give you here.” She paused to consider. “There aren’t many other options left if you want to avoid corporate law or criminal litigation, unless you consider family law. But I’m sure if you put your mind to it, you’ll come up with a way you can use a law degree.”
Professor Moore stood up and gave Claire an approving look.
“You’ve surprised me, Miss Parker. I truly thought you didn’t have it in you to be a good lawyer.” When Claire stiffened, Moore reached out to tap her gently on the arm. “Don’t get me wrong, you have the intelligence. I just wasn’t convinced you had the tenacity or grit it takes to succeed in law. I see now that I was wrong. You may not be cut out for the courtroom or a large firm, but I do believe there’s a place in our justice system for you. You just need to find it.”
Claire’s eyes widened as she stared at Moore, unable to believe what she’d just heard. The unexpected praise surprised her, and she wanted to linger in it like a warm bubble bath.
“Take the bar, Miss Parker. And let me know what you decide to do with your future.”
With that, Professor Moore picked up her portfolio and clacked out of the room on her high heels, leaving Claire staring after her.
Chapter Sixty-Nine
The Metro Police were staked out at dinnertime near a century-old renovated townhome in the Columbia Heights neighborhood in DC.
Grayson stood down the block next to a lieutenant, glancing again at the photo on his phone of the man they sought. As he listened to the team’s preparations through the earbud he wore, he shook his head at the memory of how stunned he and the others were at the revelations Rex Gibson made that morning.
Who would have thought the Iceman would be a defense attorney?
Gibson had explained how he’d been assigned a court-appointed attorney named Dustin Abbott several years ago when he was picked up for dealing. Once Abbott had spoken with him at length and learned of Gibson’s background, he’d dropped hints about an opportunity for Gibson to increase his income. When Gibson took the bait, Abbott brought him into the drug empire he was building by recruiting from his client pool. Apparently, new small-time dealers who’d been arrested for the first time were eager to receive personalized free legal help 24/7 in exchange for a little leadership. Gibson’s chest had puffed out a little as he’d recounted how quickly he’d moved up the ranks in Abbott’s organization.
As the team lead began a countdown, Grayson adjusted the earbud in his ear.
“Three. Two. One. Go!”
Two of the team members surged forward, wearing shields over their faces. They forced the home’s front door open with a battering ram.
Apparently, Gibson had a healthy sense of self-preservation and had recorded many of his phone conversations with Abbott. He’d transferred the digital files to a flash drive and kept it in his safe deposit box, the very same box that fit the key that had been found during a sweep of Gibson’s home after his arrest. Gibson was only too happy to provide the name of the bank and his box number, and sign off on permission for the box to be accessed without a warrant. Being able to disappear without a trace was an awfully strong motivator.
As the rest of the team rushed inside single-file, Grayson listened to the ensuing commotion.
“Over there!”
“Where?”
“Son of a bitch . . . he’s gone out a side window! Go!”
Several more seconds went by before, “We don’t have eyes on him!”
The lieutenant standing beside Grayson cursed hard. As he picked up his radio and shouted out instructions, movement caught Grayson’s attention from the corner of his eye.
He turned and squinted at a figure running down Sherman Avenue.
Can it be?
Grayson thought quickly, comparing the fleeing figure to what he knew about Abbott. About six foot one, a hundred sixty pounds, African American, short-cropped black hair, thirty-eight years old. This guy looked pretty damn close, and he was wearing a business suit as he sprinted down the street like his ass was on fire.