Free FIRE AND ICE by Julie Garwood

loved his hometown, Chi cago; and he loved his fellow man. He had never raised a hand against anyone; he didn’t own a firearm, and he didn’t believe violence ever solved a problem. He certainly wasn’t a threat to any law-abiding citizen. He had style and charisma and was always a gentleman. And oh, yes, he was a thief.
    As much as the authorities wanted to put him behind bars for various thefts they were convinced he had committed, they had yet to come up with a single shred of proof.
    One disgruntled investigator was quoted saying Bobby Rose was nothing but a common criminal. Chicago disagreed. There wasn’t anything common about the man. He did steal, but he had his standards. He only took from those men and women who had accumulated wealth through illegal or immoral means. Bobby knew, before any law enforcement agency, who those men and women were and, more important, where they hid their money. The lawhad been outsmarted time and again by Bobby Rose, and they didn’t like it.
    To most of the public, he was a modern-day Robin Hood. When times were tough, they needed to believe in him. And times were tough now. Families were finding it harder and harder to stretch the dollar. Prices for necessities were up, and salaries were either frozen or down. Home foreclosures were at an all-time high; outsourcing had become a hot-button topic, and it seemed that every other week another company closed its doors, putting more and more men and women out of work while greedy CEOs pocketed millions.
    Fear, frustration, and anger were the staples these days, and the “get-even” stories about Bobby Rose gave them hope.
    Sophie stood next to Bitterman with her arms folded across her chest, her stance rigid as she watched the live press conference. She didn’t recognize the man standing in front of the microphones, but that really didn’t matter. Her father’s accusers all looked the same to her. Dressed like senators in their designer suits, their hair as perfect as the knot in their ties, their speech as polished as fool’s gold, their expressions always righteous and indignant—they had to practice in front of a mirror to be perfect—they pounded on the podium with their fists vowing to bring Bobby Rose to justice.
    Her father got blamed for everything but the weather. And whenever the finger-pointing started, Sophie received invitations from the Chicago Police Department or the FBI, and sometimes the IRS, to sit down and have a chat about him. These weren’t invitations she could decline. If she didn’t cooperate, she would be dragged out of her office chair and taken into custody for obstructing an investigation.
    In other words: same old, same old.
    Bitterman awkwardly patted her shoulder, then squeezed past the crates and banged his already bruised elbow as he dropped into his chair.
    “Move those papers off that chair and take a seat,” he suggested.
    Too anxious to sit, Sophie turned her back on the television,leaned against the side of the desk, and said, “I don’t want to listen to another pompous speech about how terrible my father is. Please, just tell me what he’s been accused of now.”
    Bitterman hit the remote’s mute button and began to absent-mindedly rub the sting out of his elbow while he explained.
    “Kelly’s Root Beer. That’s what this is all about.”
    “Root beer?”
    He nodded. “The man doing all the yapping is Darren Ellis of Ellis, Ellis and Cooper, Attorneys at Law. Their firm represents Kevin Devoe.”
    Sophie glanced over her shoulder to look at the attorney. “And who is Kevin Devoe?”
    He didn’t immediately answer her question. “Do you remember how you wanted to write about Kelly’s closing, and I pointed out that every other newspaper in the city was already writing about it?”
    “Yes,” she replied. “And you were right.”
    “A company everyone in Chicago loves as much as they love the Bears shuts down after sixty-some years in operation, and people want to know