Indispensable Party (Sasha McCandless Legal Thriller No. 4) by Melissa F Miller
Authors: Melissa F Miller
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taking. He could no sooner undo what he’d done
than will the sunflowers up from the frozen ground.
And now he would die without
bouncing his Malia on his knee one last time. Without feeling her warm arms
wrapped around his neck as she snuggled in for a hug, smelling of crayons, and
milk, and sunshine.
Regret is just wasted energy ,
he told himself, drawing a last, shaky breath as the sun and the dormant fields
faded, first to gray, then to black.
Saturday
CHAPTER 6
Leo glanced
across the front seat of the Passat at Sasha. Her hands gripped the steering
wheel tightly, and her eyes were fixed on the stretch of Route 28 that unrolled
in front of them. She wore sunglasses to combat the early morning glare of the
sun off the snow banked along the sides of the highway. But he knew that,
behind the lenses, her eyes would be dull and tired.
He was worried about her. After
their meeting with Grace, they’d driven back to the lake house just long enough
to pack up, shut off the water, and pick up her car. Then, they’d caravanned to
Pittsburgh, gliding into the city on quiet streets in the dead of night.
By the time they fell into bed it
was nearly three o’clock.
Leo hadn’t spent the night at
Sasha’s condo in over a month, and he’d been surprised how out of place he’d
felt there.
He’d had trouble falling asleep, and
Sasha’s restlessness hadn’t helped. For most of the night, she’d flailed,
tossing and turning, and mumbled about killers and killer flus in her sleep.
If he hadn’t been worried she’d
misinterpret his action, he’d have gone out and slept on the couch. But, he
didn’t want to introduce any more distance between them.
I shouldn’t have convinced her to
take the case, he chastised himself.
But it was too late now.
Earlier, over bowls of baked
oatmeal with dried fruit, he’d tried to suggest they find a labor and
employment lawyer to handle the investigation into Celia Gerig’s background.
She’d waved him off and changed the subject to the recipe for her oatmeal,
proudly gesturing to the slow cooker where the steel-cut oats had cooked while
they’d slept—or tried to, at any rate.
Leo knew one thing for sure: if Sasha
was changing the subject to her cooking, she was uncomfortable with the
topic at hand.
He’d been selfish to ask her to
take the case. So what if Tate were inconvenienced? Shouldn’t Sasha’s happiness
come before some random corporate big shot’s?
He cleared his throat. “So, what’s
in this town? Old boyfriend?”
Sasha had insisted on driving to
their meeting in New Kensington, saying she was familiar with the town.
She took her eyes from the road
to look at him, and he smiled to let her know he was kidding.
“Hardly,” she said, smiling back
at him for a moment.
Her smile stirred a feeling of
tenderness, a lump in his throat.
“Then what’s the connection?”
She turned her attention back to
the road and said, “During law school, I did a clinical placement with a
community economic development organization, helping small businesses
incorporate in depressed former steel towns. I had clients in New Ken, Oil
City, Montour, all over. I spent a lot of time driving this stretch of road a
decade ago.”
“New Kensington’s depressed?”
“It was back then, but there were
lots of local micro-businesses getting off the ground,” she said.
“And now?”
“I’m not sure, to be honest.” She
signaled a turn and took the exit ramp. “I guess we’ll find out. So, tell me
about ViraGene. Why is Grace so sure they’re spying on you?”
Leo took in the homes on the edge
of town. Tired-looking brick ranchers sat next to small aluminum cottages with
metal awnings that had once been white but were now streaked with black grime.
A lopsided chain link fence ran along a cracked sidewalk. Someone had strung a
row of large Christmas lights across the top in a halfhearted attempt at making
it festive for the holiday. Tall weeds poked up between
than will the sunflowers up from the frozen ground.
And now he would die without
bouncing his Malia on his knee one last time. Without feeling her warm arms
wrapped around his neck as she snuggled in for a hug, smelling of crayons, and
milk, and sunshine.
Regret is just wasted energy ,
he told himself, drawing a last, shaky breath as the sun and the dormant fields
faded, first to gray, then to black.
Saturday
CHAPTER 6
Leo glanced
across the front seat of the Passat at Sasha. Her hands gripped the steering
wheel tightly, and her eyes were fixed on the stretch of Route 28 that unrolled
in front of them. She wore sunglasses to combat the early morning glare of the
sun off the snow banked along the sides of the highway. But he knew that,
behind the lenses, her eyes would be dull and tired.
He was worried about her. After
their meeting with Grace, they’d driven back to the lake house just long enough
to pack up, shut off the water, and pick up her car. Then, they’d caravanned to
Pittsburgh, gliding into the city on quiet streets in the dead of night.
By the time they fell into bed it
was nearly three o’clock.
Leo hadn’t spent the night at
Sasha’s condo in over a month, and he’d been surprised how out of place he’d
felt there.
He’d had trouble falling asleep, and
Sasha’s restlessness hadn’t helped. For most of the night, she’d flailed,
tossing and turning, and mumbled about killers and killer flus in her sleep.
If he hadn’t been worried she’d
misinterpret his action, he’d have gone out and slept on the couch. But, he
didn’t want to introduce any more distance between them.
I shouldn’t have convinced her to
take the case, he chastised himself.
But it was too late now.
Earlier, over bowls of baked
oatmeal with dried fruit, he’d tried to suggest they find a labor and
employment lawyer to handle the investigation into Celia Gerig’s background.
She’d waved him off and changed the subject to the recipe for her oatmeal,
proudly gesturing to the slow cooker where the steel-cut oats had cooked while
they’d slept—or tried to, at any rate.
Leo knew one thing for sure: if Sasha
was changing the subject to her cooking, she was uncomfortable with the
topic at hand.
He’d been selfish to ask her to
take the case. So what if Tate were inconvenienced? Shouldn’t Sasha’s happiness
come before some random corporate big shot’s?
He cleared his throat. “So, what’s
in this town? Old boyfriend?”
Sasha had insisted on driving to
their meeting in New Kensington, saying she was familiar with the town.
She took her eyes from the road
to look at him, and he smiled to let her know he was kidding.
“Hardly,” she said, smiling back
at him for a moment.
Her smile stirred a feeling of
tenderness, a lump in his throat.
“Then what’s the connection?”
She turned her attention back to
the road and said, “During law school, I did a clinical placement with a
community economic development organization, helping small businesses
incorporate in depressed former steel towns. I had clients in New Ken, Oil
City, Montour, all over. I spent a lot of time driving this stretch of road a
decade ago.”
“New Kensington’s depressed?”
“It was back then, but there were
lots of local micro-businesses getting off the ground,” she said.
“And now?”
“I’m not sure, to be honest.” She
signaled a turn and took the exit ramp. “I guess we’ll find out. So, tell me
about ViraGene. Why is Grace so sure they’re spying on you?”
Leo took in the homes on the edge
of town. Tired-looking brick ranchers sat next to small aluminum cottages with
metal awnings that had once been white but were now streaked with black grime.
A lopsided chain link fence ran along a cracked sidewalk. Someone had strung a
row of large Christmas lights across the top in a halfhearted attempt at making
it festive for the holiday. Tall weeds poked up between
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