Mean Streak by Carolyn Wheat Read Free Book Online Page B

you want to know something?”
    By now all the reporters had zeroed in on Matt; Lazarus stood alone, flanked only by Davia Singer.
    Matt’s resonant voice lowered just a tad, making them edge in a little closer. Emphasizing the fact that the reporters were hanging on his every word, Lazarus forgotten. “It’s my job to be a pain in the you-know-what. And Nick Lazarus doesn’t like it when I do my job, so he’s trumped up this case to teach me a lesson. Well, you wait and see who learns a lesson here. Just wait and see. That’s my advice to all of you.”
    There were more questions, but Matt waved them away with a friendly smile. He turned and strode back up the steps, without a backward glance to see whether or not I was following.
    It wasn’t until we reached the landing at the top of the stairs that he acknowledged my existence. He wheeled on me so suddenly, I took a step backwards. His face was a mottled red and the veins stood out in his neck. He shoved me behind one of the massive pillars and pinned me against the smooth marble with a sinewy arm.
    â€œYou will never , ever use the words ‘no comment’ again while you are my lawyer,” he said in a thick voice, biting off each word. “This is a media case and the only way we are going to win is to play the media as carefully as we play the judge and jury. If you have a problem with that, say so now and I’ll find somebody else to represent me.”
    When I’d agreed to take Matt’s case, I had no idea I’d be riding the Mean Streak outside the courtroom as well as inside. I nodded, too upset to speak, but knowing he was right. As long as Lazarus intended to try his case on the courthouse steps, we had to do the same.
    I had to do the same. I should have been the one to talk to the reporters, not Matt. It was my place, not his. He had only stepped up to the plate after I’d struck out.
    I had to get a hit next time, or admit I wasn’t ready for the bigs.
    I pushed open the giant carved wooden door to the courtroom with the name Justice de Freitas on the identifying plaque, and stepped onto the big roller coaster.
    I’d thrown up my popcorn and cotton candy after my first ride on the real Mean Streak; walking into my first-ever federal courtroom, representing the most famous defendant I’d ever had, I felt the same queasiness in my stomach. Of course, I reassured myself, this time I hadn’t had five beers and two joints before getting on the roller coaster.
    I reminded myself I’d gone back later for a second ride. By the time we’d left Cedar Point, the Mean Streak was my new favorite. I hoped I’d feel the same way about high-profile federal cases sometime before the verdict came in.
    Davia Singer sat at the prosecution table with her file spread out before her in neat, orderly stacks of paper. I gazed at her as I made my way up the aisle toward the defense table. What kind of lawyer was she? I wondered. How would we play against one another at trial?
    Davia. A soft, evocative name. A name that promised loose curls framing an olive-skinned face with huge dark eyes. A name that promised a soft, slightly accented voice. A name that held mystery, femininity, yet conveyed the strength of a David.
    Which left me playing the uncoveted role of Goliath.
    Lazarus stood aside and smiled as Riordan and I walked through the heavy door. It was the smile of a predator who sees his prey coming within claw range. I smiled back, beaming confidently. If there was one thing I’d learned from the man who was now my client, it was to radiate confidence no matter what. In fact, the more scared you were, the more important it was to make people think you had the world by the tail.
    I stepped up to the defense table and set my briefcase on its shiny surface. I opened it and pulled out a yellow legal pad and a nearly-empty manila folder. I set them carefully on the table, marking my territory as