Chapter Sixteen
“Off the case! You shittin’ me?” Rachel drained off half of the double-shot scotch whiskey from the glass. “It’s that fuckin’ Lancer. I recognize his hand in this; can smell him a mile away. He hates my guts and this is his idea of payback time.”
Taz glanced around. The outburst drew blatant stares from the patrons at Bailey’s Bistro but Rachel didn’t seem to care.
“He hates you?”
“Yeah. I s**t all over him. It was three years ago. I was defending a woman who was charged with killing her husband. It was Lancer’s big case: Lots of press. TV coverage. He was struttin’ around like a bantam rooster in front of the cameras, taking advantage of every photo-opp he could grab: Big smile, always a poignant comment, he was after murder one– the death penalty, and he thought he ha
