Fight Fire with Fire Read online

  The moment Steven entered the office, he could feel everyone's eyes on him. But they all looked away before he met their gaze. That can't be a good sign, Steven thought. The knot in his stomach tightened. His coworkers seemed to be expecting the worst, as did he.

  As Steven walked toward his cubicle he could hear his heart pounding in his ears. Suddenly the D.A. stuck his head out of his office as if he had picked Steven up on his internal radar.

  "Wakefield, I want you in here right now," Garrison barked.

  Steven lifted his chin. I had to do what I believed was right, he reminded himself. And I didn't think it was right to leave Lila in that jail cell. If that's going to cost me my job, so be it. Steven took a deep breath and headed into Joe Garrison's office.

  The D.A. paced behind his huge black desk, his meaty hands clasped behind his back. "Sit down, Steven," he said quietly. "What I have to say won't take long."

  Steven slid into a leather chair and pretended to flick a speck of lint from his lapel in an attempt at nonchalance. His hands were still shaking slightly. He rested them on his knees and forced himself to look the D.A. in the eye.

  Garrison returned Steven's gaze and cleared his throat before he spoke. "I expected great things from you this summer, Wakefield. You came very highly recommended, and your grades were excellent. You carried yourself well too, with maturity and confidence. I thought you had terrific potential, but . . ."

  Steven's heart did a double back flip and then sank down to the soles of his shoes when he heard the word but. He found himself squirming in his chair and forced himself to be still. Somehow he managed to keep his gaze steady.

  "But things didn't work out the way I'd hoped," the D.A. went on. "Being able to separate professional and private life is extremely important in this profession."

  "Sir," Steven began tentatively "my belief in Lila's innocence has nothing to do with our personal relationship."

  "That's bull and you know it, Steven!" Garrison thundered. Steven's mouth snapped shut as the D.A.'s face darkened from pink to crimson. His eyes flashed dangerously, and Steven pressed himself back into his seat. Garrison sat down behind his desk and took a deep breath, obviously trying to compose himself.

  "An attorney has to think with his head, not his heart," Garrison said quietly, staring at Steven with a grave expression. "In the case of Lila Fowler, you showed me you're not able to do that. On top of that, you flagrantly disobeyed my instructions not to become involved with the girl."

  The D.A. unclasped his hands and laid them flat on the desk. "This internship is over," Garrison said firmly.

  The air whooshed from Steven's lungs as he saw all his dreams of a career in law burst into flames before his eyes. He opened his mouth to protest, but all that came out was a pathetic gasp.

  "My report to the school will be as fair as I can make it," Garrison continued, "but I'll have to tell the truth. I only hope that you've learned something from this experience and that you are able to put it to good use." The D.A. stood, walked to the door, and placed his hand on the knob. "Clean out your desk before you leave."

  "Can I say something, sir?" Steven asked as he rose to his feet. He wasn't ready to retreat with his tail between his legs. He looked down at the D.A. and was suddenly grateful that he had height advantage.

  The D.A. stuck his hands in his pockets. "Make it brief," he said crisply.

  "All right," Steven began. "You said an attorney has to be objective—to think with his head and not with his heart. When I bailed Lila Fowler out of jail, I wasn't thinking with my heart. I was thinking logically. And logic tells me that every shred of evidence you have against Lila is circumstantial."

  Garrison rolled his eyes and walked back to his desk. "You're just a rookie, Wakefield. You can't see what's staring you right in the face."

  Steven crossed the room in one long stride and leaned over the large desk to look Garrison straight in the eyes.

  "What's staring me right in the face," Steven said defiantly, "is a law enforcer who's victimizing an innocent sixteen-year-old girl because finding the real culprit is just too complex."

  The D.A. jumped to his feet, his fists clenched and his jaw set. Suddenly Steven's height advantage was inconsequential. Staring at the powerful, enraged man, Steven realized he could be in for the fight of his life if Garrison decided to take a swing.

  "How dare you?" the D.A. roared, beads of perspiration popping up along his forehead. "Get out of this office right now before I make you wish you never met me."

  Too late, Steven thought as he straightened up. He kept his eyes fixed on Garrison's face for a prolonged moment and then turned and walked slowly toward the door. His knees were like Jell-O, but there was no way he was going to let Garrison see how scared he really was.

  As he walked to his cubicle no one in the office said a word. Steven was sure they had all heard the end of his exchange with the D.A. They probably all thought they would be fired if they were caught speaking to him.

  Steven told himself not to look back. His internship might be over, but he had to focus on the task at hand—proving Lila's innocence. He couldn't waste any time feeling sorry for himself.

  Steven stiffly went through the motions of cleaning out his desk. He quickly opened drawers and started pulling out items that belonged to him—the silver pen his parents had given him, his leather appointment book, some notebooks he'd brought in. He stuffed everything into his briefcase at random.

  Suddenly something fell out of one of the notebooks and fluttered to the linoleum floor. Steven bent down to pick it up and drew his breath in sharply. It was a picture of Billie from a hike they'd taken together only a couple of months ago. She smiled out at him from the glossy surface, her blue eyes twinkling and her chestnut hair pulled back in a ponytail.

  A pang of regret stabbed Steven's heart as he sank into the rickety wooden chair at his desk. The encounter with Garrison slipped from his mind as he stared into Billie's laughing eyes. Lila had been so constant in his thoughts that he hadn't even thought of Billie in days. Now he was surprised at how much he missed her.

  Everything was so comfortable with Billie, he thought.

  Steven recalled the picnics, the trips to the lake, all the nights they had curled up together with a pizza and a good video. Things that Lila would never enjoy doing.

  Feelings of confusion tore through him. He had thought he was over Billie, but he couldn't be if he was suddenly so overcome with emotion.

  He held her picture tightly. It's funny in a sad, strange way that it was this internship that broke us up, Steven mused. Billie had thought Steven was putting his work ahead of her. But now he had lost both the internship and the love of his life. He shook his head as he replaced the picture in his notebook.

  Billie had been so cold to him in the last days before he left. Maybe I didn't try hard enough to make her understand, Steven thought. Maybe I just couldn't find the right words to explain that my work didn't come before Billie—it was just important in a different way. He sighed. It wouldn't do any good to think about that now. It was time to get on with his life, and that meant getting out of this office.

  Suddenly a thought popped into his head. The evidence room. Once he left the building, there was no way he'd ever get a chance to look at the Fowler case evidence again. If he was still going to help Lila clear her name, he was going to have to get one last look at the items locked away in that room.

  Quickly he glanced around the office. Now the fact that no one wanted to make eye contact with him seemed like a blessing. It would make sneaking into the restricted area unnoticed a whole lot easier. Steven cast a nervous glance at the door to Garrison's office. It was closed. It was now or never.

  Steven casually wandered down the hall and into the law library, doing his best to blend in with the bustling office activity. The shelves in the large room were lined with thick volumes bound in dark green and brown. Steven had spent several hours there doing research for the D.A., sometimes working far into the night.

  Steven walked swiftly through the empty library to the small, dingy room at the far end where evidence was kept. A guard stood outside with a sign-in sheet. Steven swallowed nervously as he approached. If the guard knew that Steven had been fired, there was no chance he would get into the room.

  But the tall, blond officer merely handed Steven the clipboard and pen. Steven scribbled his name and the date. If anyone questioned him later, he could tell them he was in there before he got fired.

  Steven handed the clipboard back to the guard and slipped into the room, closing the door softly behind him.

  The cubbyholes lining the walls held all kinds of items—gloves and sunglasses, bags containing fragments of hair and scraps of clothing, spoons and broken shards of mirror. Each piece of evidence was tagged and numbered for future reference in a trial or hearing.

  Steven walked up to the section marked Fowler Crest Case. It's still my case, whether I'm working for the D.A. or not, he assured himself fiercely.

  He examined the items he'd already studied dozens of times—the matches found in Lila's pocket, the monogrammed gloves that still smelled of gasoline, the bomb paraphernalia. Then something he hadn't seen before caught his eye. He glanced over his shoulder nervously before picking it up.

  It appeared to be a piece of the bomb that had caused the chaos at Palomar House. What could this charred, melted hunk of metal prove?

  Steven turned the item over, and his heart pounded. Painted on the surface was a soda brand logo—a logo that was very familiar. "ProSport Lemon," Steven whispered.

  A picture of John Pfeifer's untidy desk at the Oracle office flashed through his mind—the piles of papers, the candy wrappers, and the half-empty soda can. ProSport Lemon soda.

  Suddenly Steven felt charged with electricity. He wanted to run into the D.A.'s office holding the fragment of the soda can and tell him how it unquestionably linked John Pfeifer to the restaurant bombing—and to framing Lila for the crime. Which obviously meant that he also framed her for the torching of Fowler Crest. He was halfway to the door before he stopped short.

  Don't make the same mistake you did before, he told himself. You went to the D.A. too soon, without thinking everything out.

  Steven returned the tagged fragment of metal to the cubbyhole. He knew that if he removed it from the evidence room, it would automatically be considered tampered with, and it would be inadmissible in court. He couldn't risk that. It was the one piece of evidence that could clear Lila's name.

  Steven crossed to the door slowly this time. He had some work to do. And until he was certain of every last fact, he wasn't even going to try to talk to the D.A.

  I did learn something during this internship, Garrison, Steven thought with a wry smile. If you want something done right, you better do it yourself.

  Lila studied Steven's hands as he clutched the steering wheel of his yellow VW. Such strong hands, yet they could be gentle too. She remembered those hands stroking her hair as he held her, as he kissed her. . . .

  A flash of irritation banished the image from her mind. Steven had told her there was an important development in the case. But they had been driving for nearly fifteen minutes, and he hadn't even hinted at what the news might be.

  Lila fidgeted in her seat. Her emotions were jumbled and confused. In spite of the supercharged electricity between them, maybe she and Steven weren't meant to be. She felt a prickle of disappointment as she remembered his letter.

  Lila glanced at Steven's profile. I can't tell him how I feel about that letter now, she told herself. Not when he lost his job because of me.

  "You said you had something to tell me, Steven." Lila tried to keep the edge of impatience out of her voice. "What is it?" She smoothed her black-and-white-checked skirt.

  "You're just going to have to wait a little while longer," Steven said, keeping his eyes on the road.

  'Why?" Lila blurted. "What kind of game are you playing? You said you had to see me right away so I canceled my manicure, which, by the way, I needed desperately. So why don't you just tell me already?"

  Steven just laughed and shook his head.

  "I'm not going to tell you, I'm going to show you," he said.

  Lila watched, confused, as Steven turned the car into the parking lot of the Shop & Hop convenience store.

  "Just be patient and you'll see," he said.

  Patience wasn't Lila's strong suit. "See what?" she snapped.

  "Take it easy," he said with a lighthearted chuckle. "When you see what I have to show you, I have a hunch you'll be very happy."

  Steven was smiling as he pulled into a parking space right in front of the tall windows that made up the front wall of the little store.

  His joviality grated on Lila's already fraying nerves. Calm down, she told herself. If he's really cracked the case, this whole nightmare could be over before brunch tomorrow.

  Steven hopped out of the car and crossed to open Lila's door.

  "Come on, let's go get a soda," he said, offering his hand. Lila took it but continued to pout as they made their way inside.

  "Steven," she said as she eyed the garish posters advertising one-dollar gallons of milk and various brands of ice cream. "If you wanted to get something to drink, we could've gone downtown for an espresso. Or at least to the Dairi Burger . . ."

  "We had to come here," Steven interrupted.

  What was he talking about? What was so special about this cheesy convenience store? Steven opened one of the beverage cases. A blast of cold air hit Lila in the face. She backed away. "I'm not thirsty."

  "Go ahead, grab a soda," Steven urged.

  Did I never notice how weird he is, or is this the first time he's ever acted this strange? Lila wondered. She reminded herself that he had just lost his job. Maybe that explained his odd behavior. She let out a sigh and grabbed a bottle of sparkling seltzer.

  Steven snatched it from her hand. Lila almost yelped in surprise.

  "Steven, I'm beginning to think you've lost it," she said.

  "I promise I'm not crazy," he answered, returning the seltzer to the case. "I just thought you might like to try something different for a change. Be adventurous." He took another can of soda and gave it to her. "How about this one?"

  "ProSport soda?" Lila asked, holding up the can. The label was black with huge red letters and a basketball drawn to look like it was bouncing out at her. Now she was sure Steven had gone off the deep end. Just to humor him, she ran her finger across the list of ingredients.

  "Are they serious?" Lila blurted. "I can't believe what they put in this stuff—loads of potassium and vitamins, and calories. You must be kidding, Steven. I would never drink this in a million years."

  Lila saw a smile flicker across Steven's face. This was exasperating! The more annoyed Lila became, the happier Steven seemed.

  "Is something funny?" she snapped.

  "No." Steven shook his head, but his smile widened. "I just think you're proving my theory."

  Lila tapped her foot impatiently "I wish you'd tell me what's going on," she said. She started to shove the soda back into the refrigerator, but Steven pulled her hand back gently.

  "Don't worry about the calories," he said.

  Lila stared at him. He had said they were going to talk about her case, and all he had done was taken her to this dive on the highway. Now he was forcing some icky sports drink on her. "Please tell me this somehow has something to do with the case," Lila said, defeated. "Did the arsonist douse the mansion with this stuff before he lit the fire or something? I bet this junk could be substituted for gasoline."

  Steven laughed wholeheartedly this time.

  "Trust me, you'll understand in just a minute," he said as he walked to the counter to pay for the soda.

  "You've got five more minutes, Steven," Lila called to him as she breezed by the counter and out the door. "After that, I'm calling the loony bin."

  Chapter 5

  Steven walked out of the convenience store, grabbed Lila's hand, and led her to the grassy area next to the asphalt. It was time to prove his theory once and for all.

  "Take this," Steven said, holding the can of ProSport soda out to her. He noticed her delicate hands were trembling.

  "Honestly, this is so weird," Lila muttered. As she started to crack the tab on the can Steven put his hand over hers.

  "Wait! Don't open it," he said.

  Steven watched Lila's mouth twist into a pout. She let her breath out in an explosive little burst. "Honestly, Steven," she said. "You're being really strange. First you insist on buying me a soda I don't even like. Then when I'm actually going to drink it, you stop me." She tossed her hair impatiently.

  "Calm down, Lila," Steven said with a grin. "Where's your sense of adventure?"

  "My idea of an adventure is a cruise to the Caribbean," Lila said, rolling her eyes. "Not a rendezvous at the local Stop & Hop."

  The grin disappeared from Steven's face. When did she get so whiny? he thought. She's acting like a cranky child. Then he remembered that she must be under a lot of stress. It was unfair to keep her in the dark about his theory any longer. But he didn't want to tell her until he was absolutely convinced he was right.

  "Listen, Lila," Steven began, placing his hands on her shoulders and looking her directly in the eyes, "I don't want you to drink the soda, I want you to throw it."

  "What?" Lila screeched.

  Steven turned her gently toward the grassy field and pointed to a line of trees about fifty yards away.

  "I want you to throw the can of soda up and out, as high as you can and as far as you can at the same time," he directed.

  As Lila opened her mouth to speak Steven gently touched a finger to her lips. "Shhh, Lila, please. Just do it."

  Lila took a deep breath, rolled her eyes again, and tossed the soda can into the air. It made a small arc and landed a few yards away.