Page 22 of Insidious Threats
Naya scooped up two of the glasses and gestured for Maisy to grab the carafe. “Come on, let’s keep this party going.” As they abandoned Sasha, she called over her shoulder, “We’ll be at the bar.”
Sasha sighed, took a sip of her mint tea, and eyed what was left of Prescott & Talbot’s Top Five, the quintet of men who’d run Pittsburgh’s oldest, most venerable law firm for decades. Suddenly, ouzo didn’t sound like a half-bad idea.
Kevin Marcus, the youngest of the three by at least fifteen years, took the lead. “Sasha, we heard you ladies celebrating, and we wanted to come over and congratulate you on yet another victory. Outstanding result, and no small feat. Amanda Teale-James has a reputation as a tiger.”
Ever since she’d left P&T, on the rare, but not rare enough, occasions when her former employers wanted a favor from her, they pushed Marcus out in front. Hehadbeen the deputy managing partner of the litigation department when she’d been an associate, so she’d known him better than the others. Whatever bond they might have had was exceedingly thin at the time. Now, more than a decade later, it was nonexistent. Still, she’d given them points for effort.
Finally, she smiled. “Thanks, Kevin. I’m surprised word spread so fast. It was only a meeting with an ADR neutral. Not exactly the most exciting fodder for the legal grapevine.”
“It’s been a slow week,” John Porter, the oldest and dourest of the three, told her.
“And Mickey Collins gossips like my seventh-grade niece,” Marco DeAngeles added.
She flashed another smile. “I’d invite you to sit and share some of your ouzo, but my colleague and client made off with the bottle, so …”
She pushed back her chair and folded her napkin over her plate.
The Top Three ignored the universal signal that she was leaving and lowered themselves onto the bench seat opposite her and squeezed into the booth.
“We need to talk to you,” Porter said.
“I surmised as much.”
Seeing them now, lined up shoulder to shoulder, staring at her with matching frowns, she marveled that she’d once found them intimidating. But she had.
Prescott & Talbot’s Top Five—DeAngeles, Porter, Marcus, Fred Jennings (who’d died in his sleep a few years back), and, of course, Charles Anderson Prescott V (or Cinco, as he was known to both his friends and enemies), a direct descendent of the firm’s founding Prescott—had once wielded almost unimaginable power in her life. The three men sitting across from her were undoubtedly as influential as ever in some spheres. But they held no sway over her. Not anymore.
“It’s been a long day, and I need to get home to help get the twins ready for bed. So why don’t you guys tell me what you want,” she suggested.
Porter and DeAngeles exchanged a look. Then DeAngeles elbowed Marcus in the ribs.
Kevin swore under his breath, placed his hands on the table, palms down, and leaned forward. “We need you to find Cinco.”
She blinked. She didn’t know what she’d expected him to say, but it wasn’t that. “What do you mean, find Cinco?”
Porter glared at her. “As you know, Cinco unceremoniously resigned from the firm last summer.”
“I remember hearing something about that,” she demurred.
“Don’t be cute,” he snapped. “You were in his office the morning he tendered his resignation. Uninvited and unannounced.”
She gave him a level look. “You should probably let Kevin do the talking, John.”
Kevin managed a tight smile. “What John means is, Cinco’s departure was unexpected and somewhat chaotic. We really need to speak to him about some of the client matters he left behind, as well as some critical management issues.”
“So, speak to him.”
DeAngeles snorted, then pressed his hand against the table for leverage and began to rise from the seat. “This was a waste of time.”
But Marcus stopped him. “Wait. She doesn’t know.”
DeAngeles settled back on the bench with a thud. “You really don’t know?”
“Don’t know what?”
“Cinco’s missing. Nobody’s heard from him in almost a month.”
“You mean, you haven’t heard from him, right? Surely his family knows where he is.” She shifted her gaze from one worried face to another and then another. “Don’t they?”
