Hear No Evil by James Grippando Read Free Book Online

thing.”
    “Yes,” said Torres, but he was looking straight at Jack. “A terrible, terrible thing.”
    “How’s he handling it?” asked Harry.
    “About as well as can be expected.” Again he looked at Jack, then added, “Of course, he has his setbacks every now and then.”
    “Well, give him my best,” said Harry.
    “I will. Actually, I left him in pretty good spirits. I can’t get into details—grand jury secrecy and all—but I think we’re pretty close to an indictment. With the victim’s family in south Florida, the case has been assigned to the Miami office.”
    “I was wondering about that,” said Jack.
    “Yes. Alejandro asked me to handle the case personally. It’s sort of unusual for the U.S. attorney to actually try a case. But Alejandro’s a good friend. I told him I would.”
    “That’s nice of you,” said Jack.
    “Least I can do,” said Torres.
    Outside the house on the back patio, on the other side of the opened California doors, the band suddenly stopped playing. The lead singer grabbed the microphone and announced, “We’re about ready for cake. Could the birthday boy start making his way toward the stage, please?”
    “I guess that’s our cue,” said Harry. “Great to see you again, Hector. Thanks for coming.”
    “I wouldn’t have missed it.”
    Jack said, “And thanks again for the nice words.”
    Harry started away, and Jack was about to follow when Torres grabbed him by the sleeve and stopped him. He spoke slightly above a whisper, softly enough so that no one but Jack could hear him amid the party noises. “I hate to have to say this at your father’s birthday, but it needs to be said. Stay the hell out of the Pintado case.”
    “Is that coming from you or Alejandro?”
    “Both. And if need be, I’ll make sure you hear it from your father, too.”
    Jack chuckled lightly. “You really think that’s going to stop me?”
    “Only if you’re as smart as he says you are.”
    “You’re out of line, Mr. Torres.”
    “And you’re out of your league, Mr. Swyteck.”
    Jack met his stare, finding not so much as a trace of a smile on the prosecutor’s face. “We’ll see about that.”
    Jack turned and worked his way through the crowd, passing one smiling well-wisher after another as he headed toward his father on stage. He wondered if Torres knew something—if somehow he’d discovered Jack’s personal stake in defending Lindsey Hart. Or was he just protecting his old friend Pintado, playing the typical prosecutor’s mind game, trying to screw with the mind of the opposition? It wasn’t clear.
    His stepmother hugged him as he reached the stage. Jack hugged her back, but he turned her body just so, allowing himself one last glimpse of Hector Torres amid a jubilant crowd.
    The man still wasn’t smiling.

9
    J ack met Lindsey for breakfast at Deli Lane, a popular sidewalk café in South Miami. The street and sidewalk were paved with Chicago brick, and a tidy row of young oaks, each of identical height and limb span, planted at regular-spaced intervals, lent a Disney-like precision to the thoroughfare. The humidity had driven most customers inside, but they chose an outdoor table beneath the shade of a broad umbrella. Every few minutes, an exercise enthusiast jogged or walked past them, while a hungry stray terrier sniffed around for fallen scraps of bacon or French toast. Jack couldn’t help overhearing the cosmetically enhanced supermoms at the next table, one of whom wanted to sue her plastic surgeon for making her a full cup size larger than she’d requested, and she was just, like, so totally pissed, darling, because her husband had blown her entire malpractice claim by sending the doc a two-page thank-you letter and a bottle of Dom.
    The women finally finished off their three hundred calories for the day, divided the bill down to the last penny, and sped away in their respective gas-guzzling SUVs, leaving Jack and Lindsey in sufficient isolation to talk