A Raging Dawn by C. J. Lyons Page A

it came from Kingston Tower, then Devon controlled it. As soon as he dealt with men like Eugene Littleton and his partners in crime. People needed to understand that no one trespassed on what was Devon’s. No one.
    Gena slurped her tea, almost dunking her outrageous blonde curls in the process. Despite being a beautiful woman with a body she loved to flaunt, Gena was a slob when it came to table manners. No appreciation for the finer things in life, she was ruled by her passions—passions that, from the rumors Devon had heard, ran to the extreme. Enough that she’d left a top-tier firm in Philly to come here and open a solo practice.
    “And then you’ll extract a personal payment for ending the strike, right?” she asked, her eyes gleaming. “One custom-made ego trip ready for carry-out. What will it be, Devon? A night spent with you? Will you make her husband watch?”
    Without him needing to order, a young waitress appeared with a tray laden with succulent specialty items, none from the menu everyone else ordered from. Only the chef’s best for Daniel Kingston’s son. The chef whose wife worked as hostess.
    Devon nodded to the girl as she poured tea for him, her arms moving in graceful arcs. She finished her task and left, never once making eye contact with him. He eased his elbow along the top of the bench as he watched her walk away.
    “Oh,” Gena said in a breathless voice that made Devon wonder about the attorney’s own proclivities. “A mother-daughter double feature. Wouldn’t that be sweet?”
    “Need you be so crass, Gena?” He kept his tone light, maintaining the facade of boredom, hiding a frown. She had no idea what he had planned, and if Devon had his way, she never would. He cast a lazy glance around the crowded restaurant. None of them would.
    “It’s my nature. Besides, you like having me around, someone who sees what you do and can appreciate it without judging.”
    “Speaking of judges—”
    “Heard about the mistrial.” She made a tut-tutting sound. “So disappointing. I know you were counting on an acquittal. Especially after what happened this morning. Do the police have any leads?”
    Devon scowled. “No. My men saw nothing out of the ordinary, not even the ones I had patrolling Tymara’s floor.”
    “No cameras?”
    “The original system hasn’t worked in decades. I’m in the process of updating it, rewiring the entire Tower, but the work won’t be done until after the New Year.”
    “Too bad. A mistrial means your buddy—”
    “Eugene is merely a tool, a means to an end,” he corrected her.
    “Whatever. He gets to go through all that again. Plus facing whatever new charges the DA drums up.” She jammed a wad of rice noodles into her mouth, didn’t bother to swallow before speaking again. “Which means he stays behind bars. Without talking, just like he has for the last six months. My bet? He won’t last long. The Brotherhood will get to him first.”
    He frowned at the melodramatic nickname the street had bestowed on the men he hunted. Wondered, not for the first time, if they’d christened themselves in an effort to feed their egos. “No. I want him alive.”
    “Good luck with that. No way in hell is he going to get bail, not after what he did today.”
    “You defend him. Get him released.” He sipped at his tea, enjoying the faint undertones of jasmine. “Now that the public defender’s office must recuse themselves, you can take it on pro bono. A service to the community, defending the rights of a poor, defenseless man victimized by the system.”
    “Pro bono?” Her chuckle ended abruptly when he nodded. “Do you have any idea what I’m paid for my time?”
    “You’ll be well compensated.”
    “Damn right.”
    Devon smiled, letting it reach all the way to his eyes. He enjoyed her look of appraising curiosity. Time to cement their partnership. He set his cup down delicately so that the fine-boned china saucer didn’t even quiver. “Of course, you