My Lost Daughter Read Free Page A

capacity with suits, both the male and female versions. Since the completion of the new government center complex, the legal community had claimed the bar as their own. The atmosphere was straight out of
Casablanca,
circa 1993, with whitewashed walls, ceiling fans, and a black piano player who played when no one could hear and everyone was too preoccupied to listen. But deals were cut here daily, plea bargains and under-the-table transactions, the days of a person’s life dealt out like so many playing cards. Attorneys would brag about settling a case in Division 69; everyone knew that meant over drinks at the Elephant Bar.
    Clinton Silverstein and Marshall Duffy, both district attorneys, were standing at a table near the front door. It was one of those high tables with no stools, the kind used by establishments like the Elephant Bar to cram more bodies into a small space. Silverstein was running his finger around the glass rim of his gin and tonic while Duffy poured beer from a pitcher. Duffy was black and handsome, dressed in a stylishly tailored pin-striped suit and a crisp white shirt and tie. He towered over the short, stocky Silverstein. “You’re a righteous nutcase, you know,” he said, “even if I do call you a friend.”
    â€œI’m a nutcase. Well, at least I don’t wear tinted contacts. Do you know how weird those things make you look?” Silverstein stepped back from the table, loosening his tie and smiling at the other man.
    Duffy tipped his glass and let the beer slide down his throat before responding. “My baby blues. Women love them. As long as they get me laid, I’m wearing them. So what’s the big deal with this transfer? I thought you put in for it.”
    â€œBefore, I put in before, back when Fowler was still running the unit. I’m sick of the misdemeanor division. Shit, if I have to handle another DWI, I’m gonna hang myself from a tree with a beer bottle stuck up my ass.”
    â€œSo you don’t. You got the transfer. What have you got against Forrester? She can’t be all that bad. Nice little ass. Reminds me of my wife’s.” Duffy stepped back and almost toppled a plastic palm tree.
    â€œI don’t care what she looks like. I just know she’s one tense lady. What she needs is a good tranquilizer, a good fuck, or both. That’s what I think. She’s going to run that unit with an iron fist.”
    â€œSounds like the pot calling the kettle black, my man.” Duffy’s eyes turned toward the door. “Take a big slug of that drink, Clinty. Your new boss just arrived.
    â€œLily,” Duffy called to her. “Over here.”
    The bar was dark and smoky, and Lily’s eyes were still adjusting from the sunlight outside. She followed the voice. “Hello, Marshall. Looks like the party started without me.” She was anxious, scanning the room. From the looks of it, the entire agency and half the private attorneys in the area were here.
    â€œHey, we’re all waiting for you. You’re one of the guests of honor tonight. What’re you drinking?”
    She started to order her usual glass of white wine and then changed her mind. “I guess a margarita, with salt.” As Duffy flagged the waitress, she added impulsively, “Order me a shot of Patrón.” Might as well do it right, she decided. This is what the men did when they had a bad day, came over here and got smashed. It appeared to work for them. Maybe it would work for her. Today had been a rough one, and the new job assignment was weighing heavily on her mind.
    â€œWhoa there, I’m impressed. Clinton and I were just talking about you. He’s been telling me how excited he is about working with you.”
    â€œGuess he’s not that excited. He just walked away.” Lily laughed, but it wasn’t really funny. Attorneys like Silverstein presented another problem she had to contendwith, one brought on by