Free Before She Dies by Mary Burton Page B

“Anytime Thursday would work. I just have to tell the guy a time.”
    Charlotte fished her BlackBerry out of her briefcase and checked her calendar. “How does one work?”
    “I don’t have to be at work until five.”
    “One it is. Do you have the address?”
    “It’s 101 Washington Street.”
    “Nice area.” And right smack dab in the middle of her world. The past had arrived in Alexandria and had set up shop.
    “It’s a small space in a bookstore, but it’s in a high tourist area. And traffic is king.”
    “You’ve learned a few lessons from Grady.” She’d learned her own share of lessons from Grady. Most weren’t good lessons but a few were. Like it or not, the guy knew how to work the crowds, and he knew how to spin a profit out of nothing.
    However, the comparison didn’t sit well with Sooner. “I’d like to think I figured out a lot for myself.”
    “Don’t be offended. It’s a compliment. See you Thursday.”
    “Sure. Thanks, Aunt Charlotte.”
    “Please, just call me Charlotte.”
    A small grin lifted full lips. “Charlotte it is. And Charlotte, I won’t horn in on what you’ve got going here. I can see that I make you uncomfortable. It’s a big enough city, so we won’t ever have to see each other.”
    “I don’t have a problem with you being in town.” The first hit of shock had eased, and her mind was already crammed with more questions for Sooner.
    “Sure you do. It’s written all over you. But it’s okay. It’ll be like we never met after Thursday.”
    She watched the girl walk away, already knowing she’d go to the mat for the kid.
    “So who was the girl?” Rokov’s deep baritone voice hovered above her.
    Charlotte remembered why she and Rokov would never make it. One day she’d have to lie to him. And that day was today. “She’s a kid I represented in court. Pro bono work.”
    “You’re doing a lot of that lately.” He smelled of motel soap and his own aftershave.
    “Seems so.” Did she imagine that he’d sensed the lie?
    “What was her offense?”
    “Shoplifting.” Sooner vanished around the corner.
    “She guilty?”
    She arched a brow. “None of my clients are guilty, Detective Rokov. You know that.”
    “That’s right. I forgot.”
    “So what brings you to the courthouse?”
    “There’s a shop down the street that might be able to help me with a case. I’d just parked and was passing by when I saw you.”
    “And so you stopped.” Her BlackBerry buzzed, snagging her attention down at the screen. Unknown Caller. “Hey, I need to get back. I’m burning the candle at both ends today.”
    He frowned. “Sure. See you soon, Charlotte.”
    “Sure thing, Detective Rokov.”
    “Detective Rokov?”
    “It’s your name.”
    “Kinda formal.”
    “It’s the agreement.”
    He leaned forward a fraction. “Time to renegotiate, counselor.”
    Her phone buzzed again in her hand. “I really do have to go.”
    “Run along.”
    She walked away slowly and carefully as if she didn’t have one regret or worry. She glanced at her text. Appreciate the help. G.T.
    G.T. Grady Tate. “Son of a bitch.”
    What were the chances she’d seen the last of Grady Tate? Slim to none.
     
    Rokov and Sinclair entered Tanner’s on King Street just as the owner flipped the Closed sign to Open . The owner was in his mid-sixties and had been in the custom leather business for decades. Rokov’s father had once said the man was an artist, and judging by the collection of leather jackets hanging from the wall, he didn’t doubt it.
    “Mr. Tanner,” Rokov said, pulling his badge from his pocket. “Mind if I ask you a couple of questions?”
    The old man lifted his gaze from a gray leather jacket sporting a jagged rip and peered over half glasses. Gray wisps of hair framed his thin face. “Daniel Rokov?”
    “Yes, sir. I didn’t think you’d remember me.”
    “Of course I remember you. You worked for me for two summers.”
    “That was a long time ago. I must have