Page 159 of Liar's Point

“What made you leave Houston? From everything I’ve read, your practice there was thriving.”

He leaned back in his chair, watching her warily. Today he wore a light blue dress shirt that matched his eyes, and the sleeves were rolled up.

“It was,” he said.

“So? What happened? Falling out with your partner?”

He didn’t answer at first, and she prepared for a deflection. It was none of her business, really, but given what they’d been through over the past six weeks, she decided, why not just ask?

He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk. “Some partnerships are toxic.”

Aha. So, she’d guessed right.

“If you know what I mean.”

She sighed. “I do, yes.” She looked around his office. “Well, I’m glad you’re here now. I don’t know where I would be without you. Actually, I do. I think I’d be dead.”

Alex frowned. But he didn’t argue, and they both knew it wasn’t an exaggeration.

She pulled an envelope from her purse and set it on the desk.

“That’s for you.”

He looked at it but didn’t touch it.

“I have to say, I feel a bit like a mobster showing up here with a thick stack of cash.”

He smiled. “I take all forms of payment.”

“Yeah?”

“Yep.” He took the envelope and slid it into his top desk drawer. “Thank you.”

“Thank you.”

“So, am I guessing right that you’re leaving town?” Alex asked.

“I am, yes.” She sighed. “At least for a while. I wanted to get you paid before I go so you wouldn’t think I was trying to skip out or anything.”

He smiled.

“I’m glad you came by. I’ve got an update from the prosecutor’s office.”

Cassandra tensed. Anything to do with Malcom still made her queasy. He was under house arrest awaiting trial, but she still found herself looking over her shoulder all the time. Every now and then she even caught a whiff of his cologne. PTSD, her therapist had told her. But Cassandra couldn’t stamp out the fear. She’d discounted her instincts before and she’d been wrong.

She cleared her throat. “What’s the update?”

“Well, you heard about how John Krueger was arrested in Brownsville.”

She nodded.

Malcom’s hired gun had been apprehended trying to sneak across the border in the back of an eighteen-wheeler.

“He’s cooperating now,” Alex said.

“Cooperating?”

“Not surprising, really, since his DNA was recovered from the crime scene. They have quite a bit of leverage over him.”

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