By R. J. Jagger
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Additional resources for Lawyer Trap
She had minimal makeup and styled her shoulder-length brown hair close to her head, to give it a trim professional look, even though she didn’t particularly like it that way. The clothes felt foreign, as if they belonged to someone else. They were a far cry from the usual jeans and T. She pushed through the glass doors into the reception area, got informed by a way-too-cute receptionist that the office manager hadn’t arrived yet, and was invited to wait in the lobby. Instead, she walked down to the 44th Floor to see if Rachel Ringer was in.
The bar was closed but they rapped on the door until someone answered. The woman they were looking for, in fact. Natalie. Teffinger explained the situation, including the fact that Davica herself had suggested that they talk to her. “I don’t know why she’d do that,” Natalie said. ” They ended up sitting in a booth, drinking diet Cokes. Teffinger asked if the place had a men’s room, was told, “Of course, that’s city code,” and then used it. When he came back, Sydney and Natalie were chatting like old friends.
Not to mention a biker bar on every street corner—tattoo magnets. He rolled his six-three, 225-pound frame into the blue-collar town mid-afternoon and checked into a sleazy rat-in-the-closet hotel, paying cash—the kind of place where no one noticed anything and remembered even less. He tried to take a short nap, but some hooker in the next room kept screaming fake orgasms. So he drove around to check out the tattoo shops, just in case the perfect woman happened to be hanging around one of them.