Page 64 of Fatal Pattern

“It’s complicated. Are you available today?”

“I have one more case on the docket at the north regional courthouse. Should wrap up in an hour, but I’m starving. Haven’t eaten all day.”

“Can we meet at that Mexican place around the corner from the courthouse? Dos Hermanos.”

“Best carnitas in the county. I can be there in two hours.”

“Perfect. See you then.”

He grinned at Tori. “See? I can charm a woman when I need to.”

“Oh please.” She rolled her eyes. “You offered food to a hungry lawyer. That’s not charm, that’s basic survival.”

“Hey, it worked.”

“Because she’s hungry, not because you’re irresistible.” Tori stood and stretched, her borrowed shirt riding up slightly. “But you’re not taking me to get tacos dressed like this.”

His undershirt, her jeans from yesterday, hair in a ponytail. She looked like she’d been through exactly what she’d been through.

“Right. Harlee’s bringing clothes?”

“Should be here soon.” Tori gathered her notes and laptop. “Then we can head out. This meeting with Janice could change everything.”

Tori disappeared down the hall. Blade planted his elbows on the counter. Now he had to figure out how to ask Janice Lebowitz, of all people, to funnel them intel. That wasn’t a playbook move. It was reckless. But options weren’t on the table.

If there really was a second murder book, the only shot at prying it loose lived in Janice’s hands.

18

Blade watched Tori signal the waiter for another basket of chips and salsa. Her second refill. He shook his head and grinned.

“Seriously? You’re gonna clean them out of tortilla chips.”

“Can’t help it that you’ve been starving me.” Tori crunched through another chip loaded with salsa verde. “Besides, this is authentic. Not that jarred stuff you probably keep in your fridge.”

“I can’t believe a woman who weighs maybe a hundred and ten pounds soaking wet can put away more food than I can.” Blade gestured at the empty basket between them. “Where does it all go?”

“Fast metabolism. Plus, I grew up eating real food. Maria made empanadas every Sunday. Pernil on special occasions. Arroz con gandules that could feed half the neighborhood.” Tori rolled the words like she was back in Little San Juan, each name of a dish landing with the rhythm of home.

The smell of sizzling fajitas drifted from the kitchen, mixing with fresh cilantro and lime. Blade’s stomach growled.

“What about you?” Tori asked. “What did the St. James family feast on?”

“Cornbread. Lots of cornbread.” Blade scraped the bottom of the chip basket for a crumb and popped it in his mouth. “Eight kids, two parents working dawn to dusk. Cornbread stretched everything. Cornbread with beans. Cornbread with whatever fish we caught. Cornbread with more cornbread when times got really tight.”

“That explains a lot about you.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

“Why you never order bread at restaurants.”

Of course she noticed. Tori noticed everything. It was a detail Kiara, after five months, had never picked up on. He loved her thoughtfulness, but no matter how many times he mentioned his dislike of bready foods, she continued to bring them. Case in point, the pastries she brought this morning.

Well, that didn’t matter anymore. She wouldn’t be bringing him carbs or anything else now.

He reached for his water glass. A flash of light near the entrance caught his eye. Janice Lebowitz swept through the door, navigating the crowded restaurant like she owned the place, her blond hair defying both gravity and the humid Florida air. He stood and waved her over.

She sauntered to their booth with the confidence of someone who’d never met a courtroom she couldn’t command. Late fifties, probably on a first-name basis with her plastic surgeon, but not overdone. Professional polish with just enough edge to remind you she’d clawed her way to the top.