Brooke Parker.
A slow smile spread across his face.
A jackhammer pounded away on the opposite side of the street, so Cade stepped into a Mrs. Fields cookie shop to get away from the noise.
He answered the phone. “Ms. Parker. What a pleasant surprise.”
A throaty feminine voice. “I knew it was a corruption case.”
Cade grinned. They hadn’t spoken for two weeks, yet of course that would be her opening line. “So you’re calling to brag that you were right. Imagine that.”
“Actually, I’m calling about that favor you owe me.”
Interesting. “I still don’t recall ever agreeing to that.”
“Give it a moment,” she said. “I’m sure it will come back to you.”
There was a long pause, until Brooke spoke again. “Hello? Are you there?”
“Sorry. I was giving it a moment. Nope, still no recollection.”
She sighed. “I woefully underestimated how painful this conversation was going to be.”
Cade laughed, realizing he really had missed bugging the hell out of her like this. He could picture her, sitting at her desk with her hair pulled back, all long legs and high heels and sexy I-mean-business skirt.
It was not an altogether unpleasant image.
“What kind of favor?” he asked.
“The kind I’d rather not discuss over the phone, since it’s a sensitive matter. Perhaps if you’re free, we can meet this evening at Bar Nessuno on Grand? Say, six thirty?”
Admittedly, he was curious. For more than one reason. “Did you just ask me out on a date, Ms. Parker?”
“No.”
“Are you sure? Because I—”
“Still no. I need something, and you’re the one guy who can give it to me.” She cut him off before he could even say the words. “Yes, thank you, I’m aware of how that sounded. I’m hanging up now, Mr. Morgan. Six thirty. Bar Nessuno.”
With a smile, Cade hung up the phone, thinking that she’d sounded a little frazzled when he’d brought up the subject of their having a date.
Good.
CADE STEPPED OFF the elevator at the twenty-first floor of the Dirksen Federal Building, Starbucks cup in one hand, bag of Mrs. Fields Nibblers in the other. As he rounded the corner that led to the reception area of the U.S. Attorney’s Office, a tall man with light brown hair bumped into him, seemingly in a rush.
“Oh, shoot. My bad,” the guy blurted out.
Cade righted the coffee without spilling it—his shoulder might be shit, but having quick football reflexes still came in handy from time to time—then looked over and saw that the person who’d bumped into him wasn’t a man, but a teenaged kid.
The boy’s blue eyes widened, then he swallowed. “Um, sorry. I wasn’t watching where I was going.” He shifted uncomfortably. “Obviously.”
Cade gestured amiably with his cup. “No harm, no foul. Just try to keep it under sixty in the hallways.” Moving on, he made his way through the reception area and into the main office space.
The office was bustling, per usual, with the inner cubicles and desks occupied by secretaries and paralegals. The prosecutors’ offices ran along the perimeter, with the largest corner office belonging to Cade’s boss, Cameron Lynde, the U.S. attorney for the Northern District of Illinois. Cade made a pit stop at his secretary’s desk before heading into his office.
He held open the bag. “Cookie?”
“Yum.” Demi, his secretary, stood up and peeked inside. “Wow. How many did you get?”
“I was in the shop, there were all these good smells, and a cunning salesclerk mentioned something about a sale if I bought a dozen. I didn’t stand a chance.”
Demi looked at him shrewdly. She’d been his secretary during the entire eight years he’d worked for the U.S. Attorney’s Office, and they knew each other well. “You’re in a good mood this afternoon. I take it the hearing went well?”
“I had the defense attorneys sweating. Literally.”
“Nice. By the way, Paul called to touch base with you,” she said, referring to the office’s media representative. “He said his phone’s been ringing off the hook for the last thirty minutes.”
“Thanks, Demi.” Cookies and coffee in hand, Cade went into his office and settled in at his desk. He returned Paul’s call, and briefed him on the arraignment. As soon as he hung up, Demi appeared in his doorway.
“Let me guess. Another cookie?” Cade said.
“Actually, the reception desk called while you were on the other line,” she said. “You have a visitor. A Mr. Zach Thomas.”
“Do I know a Mr. Zach Thomas?”
“Not sure. He says he’s here because he has some evidence related to a case.” Demi lowered her voice. “The receptionist mentioned that he’s a teenager. And apparently, he’s been acting a little odd. When she asked for a photo ID to sign him in, he got nervous and said he doesn’t carry one. She wants to know if you’d like her to say that you’re unavailable for the rest of the day.”
Cade understood the receptionist’s cautiousness—security was tight in the federal building. But he assumed this Zach Thomas was the same kid he’d bumped into earlier, and he was curious to find out why a teenaged boy would be interested in meeting with him. “Tell reception it’s okay. I’ll come out.”
When Cade walked into the reception area, he saw the kid standing off to the side with his hands shoved into the pockets of his zip-up hoodie.
He went over, hand outstretched. “You must be Zach Thomas. I’m Cade Morgan.”
Fifteen or sixteen years old, the kid had a firm grip, although his palm was a little sweaty. “Sorry again about bumping into you earlier.”
“Trust me, I’ve taken a lot harder hits. My secretary said you wanted to speak to me about a case?”
Zach nodded. “Yeah, I have some, um, information. But I was hoping that we could, like, talk in private?”
Man, this kid was nervous. Quickly, Cade mentally scrolled though all his open cases—which, off the top of his head, wasn’t an easy thing to do considering he currently managed about fifty of them in various stages of the litigation process. He tried to come up with one in which a sixteen-year-old kid might have evidence.
Then his jaw tightened. About a month ago, he’d gotten a conviction against a forty-year-old west suburban man, a junior high school gym teacher who’d secretly used his phone to videotape male students undressing in the locker room. The teacher had shared the images online with a circle of his Internet buddies who referred to themselves as the “Boy Lovers.” Cade had flat-out refused to discuss a plea agreement—he didn’t negotiate with people who produced and distributed child pornography—and had taken the case to trial and gotten a guilty verdict on every count. The defendant’s sentencing hearing was scheduled to take place next week, and Cade was determined that the asshole would serve every day of the thirty-five-year maximum allowed under the Federal Sentencing Guidelines.
This kid, Zach—if that was even his real name—seemed older than junior high age, but perhaps he was a former student of the defendant’s who’d read about the trial in the news and wanted to share some information in advance of the sentencing hearing.
Cade’s gaze softened at the thought. “Sure, we can talk in my office. Follow me.” He led Zach through the corridor and gestured to his office door. “Have a seat.” With a quick glance at Demi, he signaled that she should hold any calls that came in. Then he shut the door behind them and sat down at his desk. “So,” he began casually, careful not to go into cross-examination mode, “what case would you like to talk about?”