Page 96 of Declan's Dove

The sound of heels clicking on the floor and the wolf whistles that follow have me sitting up. A tall, blonde woman in a red power suit and black high heels makes her way to my cell. She looks familiar, but I can’t seem to place her.

“Declan O’Malley?”

“That’s me,” I answer, standing and walking over to her.

“My name is Allyson Archer, and I’m your attorney,” she says smoothly. “Kayce Eaton sent me.”

Shit.

“You are being let go, Mr. O’Malley. The charges against you have been dropped. The doctor no longer wishes to press charges.” Her blue eyes sparkle with a cunningness I’ve only ever seen in men during combat. “Guard, please release my client.”

“What about Violet?” I ask.

“I’m not her lawyer. I’m afraid I can’t answer that question for you.” I don’t believe her, but I’m not going to start an argument that could change her mind about helping me get out of here.

The guard unlocks the cell, and I step out, following my attorney down the hallway. “You’ll need to sign some forms and then we will grab your belongings before you can be fully released. After which, I will take you home.”

“The guys aren’t waiting for me?” I’m not surprised they aren’t all waiting in the lobby, but maybe a little shocked Pres didn’t send someone down to pick me up at least.

“Your brothers,” she says the word brothers as if she’s just tasted something sour in her mouth. “Are at the clubhouse meeting with Kayce. I’m sure they will fill you in on anything you need to know when you get there. In the meantime, I’ll be your ride.”

“All right.”

We go through the motions of signing everything and picking up my belongings. We get to the parking lot and my chin nearly hits the pavement when she stops in front of a citrus green 1970 Chevrolet Chevelle SS with a black vinyl top in mint fucking condition.

“Holy shit.”

“Shocked to see I own such a pristine car?” The smile on her face is the only indication this woman has shown that she’s not a stone cold hard-ass since she got here. I half expected her to have a driver or own a BMW. She definitely comes from class and makes good money. How the hell she knows Kayce, I don’t know.

“No. Just wasn’t expecting you to own a car like this,” I admit. “Don’t lawyers usually drive Porches, or have drivers who take them around?”

“Being a biker, one would’ve thought you’d be against stereotypes,” she teases, opening her door and getting in.

I open mine and follow suit. “You’re right. I guess it just goes to show to never judge a book by its well put together cover.”

She starts the car and smiles over her shoulder as she backs us out.

“I’ve always loved old cars. This one was a gift. When I first got it, it was a piece of shit. When I won my first case, I got it fixed up and have been adding little things to it here and there,” she says. “I haven’t been able to drive her much lately, but when Kayce called and asked me to come here as a favor, I thought it was the perfect opportunity to stretch her legs a little.”

“Where did you come in from?”

“I live in Crestview, but I have another office I work out of in Baron’s Edge from time to time. I don’t work there much since a colleague of mine passed away. I believe you know him. Henry Moreau.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Hmm. I thought maybe it would since you’re dating his daughter, Violet Moreau. Well, Swanson is her legal name. Although, I believe she’s going by Dupree these days.” My body goes rigid. Not sure how much this woman knows or if I’ve just walked into a trap with a woman working for the other side.

“Relax. I’m a friend of Kayce’s. He and Henry were trying to take down this group of dirty cops and politicians together,” she says.

“As I understand it, Henry was one of the dirty ones,” I drawl, my voice a little menacing.

Her hand comes up, almost as if she’s trying to push pause. “I know Henry had his issues, and he did his own share of bad shit. I’m not delusional. But I also know he was targeted and had no choice in some of what he did. He was trying to protect his daughter.”

“Protect her?” I damn near scream at the woman. “He approved of that asshole marrying her and then turned the other cheek when she was being beaten and abused. So, please, tell me how he was trying to protect her by doing shady shit and letting assholes like James Swanson get away with that shit.”

“Henry had been collecting evidence on James for years. He was connecting the dots between James and a man named Marco Cusenza, and their other associates. After Violet was hospitalized, Henry called me to tell me about his plans. Two days before his alleged suicide, Henry sent a package to my office in Crestview. It’s a key to a safe deposit box. It came attached to a note addressed to me, explained when to give it to Violet, and included another sealed envelope addressed to Violet directly.”

“Do you know what’s in the safe deposit box?” I ask, still not feeling like I should trust the lawyer. They’re paid to twist the truth after all.

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