Robert Tanenbaum - Malice

"So how can I help you?" Karp asked.

O'Toole cleared his throat, clearly nervous. "Well, to be honest, Richie and I were wondering if we could visit with you in New York," he said. "Richie's a good friend-he's been doing this on contingency to help me out. He's also a fine lawyer, but he's in private practice, which in Sawtooth mostly means divorce cases, DUIs, and property disputes. He'd be the first to tell you that he hasn't done a lot of litigation, and none at the federal court level. Meanwhile, as you can imagine, the ACAA has pulled out the big guns-some suit with a tough rep named Steve Zusskin-and the university has someone else as a co-counsel, too. Richie's game, but he's also feeling a bit in over his head. He knows you by reputation, and when he heard you were a friend of the family, he asked if maybe I could arrange it for him to run what we have past you."

Karp hesitated. He wanted to help, but didn't want to insert himself into a case where he really had no business. "Well, you know, most of what I've done is prosecute criminals," he pointed out. "I've done a little litigation, but there are more qualified civil attorneys."

O'Toole took the answer the wrong way. "Oh, you're right. Hey, you're busy. I'm sorry to have bothered you. It's just that my brother made me promise that if I ever got into trouble of any kind, and he wasn't around, I would go to you."

"Hey, that's not what I meant," Karp replied. "I'm glad you called, and flattered. I'd be happy to meet with you and your attorney and give you my two cents. Maybe we can go over a little courtroom strategy…that sort of thing."

"That's great!" The relief in Mikey O'Toole's voice was palpable. "We can fly out on the nineteenth if that's all right. And I promise we'll make it short and sweet; then we'll get out of your hair."

Karp laughed and said good-bye. But as he flipped his cell phone shut, he had a nagging feeling that there wasn't going to be anything short and sweet about his meeting with O'Toole.

"My butt hurts," Lucy Karp told John Jojola as they walked past the front desk and into the saloon of the Sagebrush Inn on the south end of Taos. They'd just spent the day with her boyfriend, Ned Blanchet, rounding up cattle in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains in preparation for moving them to their winter range on the Taos ranch where Ned was the foreman.

Although she was getting to be a better rider-especially for a city slicker from Manhattan, she thought-she still wasn't used to a full day in the saddle. She was looking forward to a glass of merlot and a quick dinner with Jojola at the inn's great restaurant. Then it was shower, two aspirin, and off to bed to wait for Ned. Hey, that rhymes, she thought happily.

"You'd think with all that padding you wouldn't feel a thing," Jojola joked.

"Very funny, Jojola," she replied, sticking her tongue out. "And if I were you, I wouldn't be talking about 'extra padding'-I think you've been packing away the frijoles yourself."

Jojola laughed and patted his round belly. "Indians are smart like the animals," he said. "We put a little more on to stay warm in the winter."

Lucy was about to reply when she pulled up, sure that she must be hallucinating on residual peyote. At a glance, she'd thought the man sitting at a table in the cantina watching the door looked like S.P. Jaxon, the special-agent-in-charge of the FBI office in Manhattan. But then the hallucination stood and smiled at her and Jojola.

"Where in the heck have you two been?" Jaxon asked as he held out his hand. "We've been staking out the place all day waiting for you to show up. You know how much money you're costing the taxpayers?"

"You could have called the Taos Pueblo Police Department, but you feds probably don't bother to do any actual investigating," Jojola said, grinning as he pumped the agent's hand.

"Au contraire, my long-haired friend, we did inquire at the department as to your whereabouts," Jaxon replied. "The receptionist said you were out, but was a little tight-lipped as to where, and she didn't know, or wouldn't say, if you were with Lucy. No offense, but it's your partner there who I needed to talk to. So despite your snide comments about our abilities, we tracked down Ned Blanchet, who was still out riding the range like a good cowboy. I'm afraid we startled him some, swooping down in one of those black helicopters we're famous for. I was worried that he was going to put a hole in the fuselage with that thirty-caliber Winchester he carries before I could let him know we were friendly. He said you two were headed here. By the way, he said to say he was still going to drop by later, Lucy."

Lucy blushed. She was somewhat uneasy at Jaxon's sudden appearance following the peyote vision she'd had of him emerging from smoke and fire with an angry look in his eyes. Don't be silly, Lucy told herself. He's one of your dad's oldest friends. John said the visions couldn't always be taken literally.

Lucy had known Jaxon essentially since birth. He'd joined the New York District Attorney's Office a few years after her father and mother started working there and was still working there for the first few years after she was born. But "Uncle Espey" quit the DAO shortly afterward and entered the FBI Academy at Quantico. Her dad said it was because there wasn't enough action putting criminals behind bars, "he wants to shoot some of them."

Except for the occasional visit over the years, Lucy hadn't seen much of Jaxon, a tall man whose square-jawed face was neatly framed on top by a gray crew cut. He'd recently returned to New York City as the special-agent-in-charge and just in time to help thwart an attempt by an Iraqi terrorist bent on exploding a "dirty" atomic weapon beneath Times Square on New Year's Eve.

"You said 'we've'…as in 'we've been staking out,'" Lucy said, hating what sounded to her like a suspicious tone in her voice.

Jaxon did not seem to catch it. "Huh? Oh, yes, that's Agent Octaviano Tavizon, formerly of the Albuquerque office," he said, pointing to the young Hispanic man in blue jeans and a denim shirt who was watching them from the end of the bar.

Tavizon nodded but didn't smile or bother to come over and introduce himself. Instead, he turned his attention back to the big mirror that ran the length of the bar so that he could monitor the other patrons in the bar, the walls of which were decorated with Navajo blankets, the namesakes of long-horned cattle, and various examples of Western art, including several originals by the famous Indian painter R. C. Gorman.

"He takes his job seriously," Jaxon noted, turning back to the other two. "But I didn't travel all this way to introduce Lucy to good-looking G-men. In fact, I suppose you're wondering what brings me to Taos."

"I thought it was the silver-and-turquoise jewelry," Lucy teased a little self-consciously, but determined to get past the strange feelings. "Or the green pork chile at Orlando's New Mexican Cafe? Or perhaps you're in the market for a saucy little senorita?"

Jaxon laughed. "All except the last. My wife would kill me." He hesitated, his face growing somber, then added, "And maybe one or two other things. Would you mind if we went someplace private…like your room?"

For an instant, Lucy saw again the man surrounded by the smoke and flames and shuddered. "Of course," she said, then added, "Can John come?"

Jaxon looked at Jojola and nodded. "That may be wise, in fact. But remember, this is top-secret stuff. I'd ask you not to talk about it even with your folks for now."

"I appreciate the vote of confidence," Jojola said. "But I don't need to-"

Lucy cut him off with a meaningful look. "I want you to. Please." She turned to the agent. "I trust you, Espey, but I've just been through hell back in New York, and I have a feeling that you didn't fly here in your black helicopter to give me an award from a grateful government. If you're here, there's trouble not far behind; you'll say what you need to say and then will leave to put out some other fire. I want someone here who I can trust to help stomp on whatever embers you leave smoldering."