Red Hot Lies Read online

  Red Hot Lies

  Laura Caldwell

  They say bad things happen in threes. When her fiancé, Sam, disappears on the same day her mentor and biggest client is killed, hotshot Chicago attorney Izzy McNeil starts counting. But trouble keeps coming. Sam is implicated in the client's death, her apartment is broken into and it's not just the authorities who are following her.

  Now, to find Sam and uncover her client's murderer, Izzy will have to push past limits she never imagined. Lucky for her she's always thrived under pressure, because her world is falling apart. Fast. And the trail of half truths and lies is red-hot.

  Laura Caldwell

  Red Hot Lies

  The first book in the Izzy McNeil series, 2009

  Dear Reader,

  The Izzy McNeil series is fiction. But it’s personal, too. Much of Izzy’s world is my world. She’s proud to be a lawyer (although she can’t always find her exact footing in the legal world), and she’s even more proud to be a Chicagoan. The Windy City has never been more alive for me than it was during the writing of these books-Red Hot Lies, Red Blooded Murder and Red, White & Dead. Nearly all the places I’ve written about are as true-blue Chicago as Lake Michigan on a crisp October day. Occasionally I’ve taken license with a few locales, but I hope you’ll enjoy visiting them. If you’re not a Chicagoan, I hope you’ll visit the city, too, particularly if you haven’t recently. Chicago is humming right now-a city whose surging vibrancy is at once surprising and yet, to those of us who’ve lived here a while, inevitable.

  The Izzy McNeil books can be read in any order, although Izzy does age throughout, just like the rest of us. Please e-mail me at [email protected] to let me know what you think about the books, especially what you think Izzy and her crew should be doing next. And thank you, thank you, for reading.

  Laura Caldwell

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  My deepest appreciation to Margaret O’Neill Marbury, Amy Moore-Benson and Maureen Walters. Thanks also to everyone at MIRA Books, including Valerie Gray, Donna Hayes, Dianne Moggy, Loriana Sacilotto, Craig Swinwood, Pete McMahon, Stacy Widdrington, Andrew Wright, Pamela Laycock, Katherine Orr, Marleah Stout, Alex Osuszek, Margie Miller, Adam Wilson, Don Lucey, Gordy Goihl, Dave Carley, Ken Foy, Erica Mohr, Darren Lizotte, Andi Richman, Reka Rubin, Margie Mullin, Sam Smith, Kathy Lodge, Carolyn Flear, Maureen Stead, Emily Ohanjanians, Michelle Renaud, Linda McFall, Stephen Miles, Jennifer Watters, Amy Jones, Malle Vallik, Tracey Langmuir and Anne Fontanesi.

  Much gratitude to my panel of experts-Chicago Police Detective Peter Koconis; Chicago Police Officer Jeremy Shultz; private investigators Paul Ciolino, Sam Andreano and John Powers; criminal defense lawyer Catharine O’Daniel; Gabriele Carles and Jason Billups for their help with Panamanian real estate; Dr. Richard Feely for explaining Chinese herbs; Dr. Doug Lyle for his autopsy and cardiology expertise; Matt Garvin for his computer hacking intel, and Chicago Lions rugby coach Chris McClellan.

  Thanks also to everyone who read the book or offered advice or suggestions, especially Dustin O’Regan, Margaret Caldwell, Christi Smith, Katie Caldwell, Rob Kovell, William Caldwell, Pam Carroll, Liza Jaine, Morgan Hogerty, Beth Kaveny, Katie Syracopholous, Brooke Shawer, Clare Toohey, Mary Jennings Dean, Steve Gallagher, Les Klinger and Joan Posch.

  This isn’t your average eBook…

  Welcome to the Enriched Edition of Red Hot Lies by Laura Caldwell! This ebook contains exclusive content from Laura Caldwell herself that is not available in the print edition, including an interview with the author, deleted scenes, discussion questions and more. Enriched editions for the next two Izzy McNeil books-Red Blooded Murder and Red, White & Dead will be available in Enriched eBook format, too.

  We hope you enjoy this Enriched eBook. We’d love to hear about your experience and any suggestions for future editions. Send us an email at [email protected].

  Happy reading!

  Inspiration for Red Hot Lies By Laura Caldwell

  My first book-Burning the Map-caused some unanticipated trouble in my personal life. My mother, who was convinced I’d used her as inspiration for the mother in the novel, was irritated at certain traits that the character had but which she did not. I explained that was because the character was not her, but she remained wary about the whole thing, and was relieved when the mother character in my next book barely made an appearance. My real-life secretary (who was so lovely I referred to her as Mother Teresa) somehow saw herself as the bitter, sniping shrew of a secretary in the book. Nothing I could say could convince her otherwise, and it broke my heart.

  Those experiences rattled me so much that while writing my next six novels, I took pains not to have any character reflect even remotely on anyone in my life, including myself. But a few years ago, an author friend of mine asked why I wasn’t writing about lawyers in Chicago (since I was a lawyer in Chicago) and why my protagonists were never redheads (since I’m a redhead). I told her about people mistaking themselves for fictional characters and also assuming I was the main character in most of my books. “Who cares?” she said. “The law is fascinating, Chicago is hopping these days and everyone knows redheads have more fun. You have to write that stuff.”

  From that conversation, my Red Hot mystery series was born. In the first book, Red Hot Lies (MIRA, June 2009), Izzy McNeil, a sassy redheaded lawyer from Chicago, begins moonlighting as a private investigator after her fiancé disappears and the same day her client is killed. I’ve never moonlighted as a P.I., and many of Izzy McNeil’s traits are not mine, but I share more things in common with Izzy than with any of my other characters. And speaking of characters, I’m finally making Chicago a protagonist, too. And like any good protagonist, she’s sizzling fun, full of contradictions and always mesmerizing.

  Character List

  Izzy McNeil-Main character. Chicago trial lawyer turned P.I. after fiancé disappears and client, Forester Pickett, is killed.

  Sam Hollings-Izzy’s fiancé. Is a financial advisor at the wealth-management firm that handles most of Forester’s investments.

  Q (Quentin) Briscoe-Izzy’s assistant and dear friend. Previously a struggling actor.

  Max Rodriguez-Q’s boyfriend. His mother was a Las Vegas showgirl.

  Forester Carlton Pickett-Izzy’s biggest client. Owns the Midwest ’s largest media conglomerate, Pickett Enterprises. Lives in a large estate in Lake Forest, Illinois.

  Shane Pickett-Forester’s son and his only child. Forester made Shane his second in command at Pickett Enterprises, but everyone knows, including Shane, that he doesn’t have the business acumen of his father.

  Tanner Hornsby-Shane’s friend from high school. He leaned on Shane to convince his father to give Tanner his legal work piece by piece until Tanner controlled most of it. That is, until Forester pulled it from him and gave it to Izzy.

  Maggie-Izzy’s best friend. She is short with light brown hair. She is a criminal defense lawyer known for representing alleged drug runners and mobsters. Her grandfather, Martin Bristol, is a famous Chicago Assistant State ’s Attorney.

  Grady Fischer-A lawyer at Izzy’s firm. He handles mostly medical malpractice. He is tall with dark brown hair and a charming smile. He’s had a crush on Izzy since they first joined the law firm after college together.

  Charlie McNeil-Izzy’s younger brother. He is unemployed and lives off an insurance settlement after he was injured in a work-related accident. He spends most of his days napping, drinking red wine and reading-hence his nickname, “Sheets.”

  Victoria McNeil-Izzy’s mother. She’s a beautiful, elegant woman, always impeccably dressed with strawberry-blond hair. She runs the Victoria Project, which helps widowed women with children. After her husband, Izzy’s father, died, she moved to Chicago and married Spence.

  Bunny Loveland -The housekeeper Victoria hired when Izzy was a child. She is cranky and mean-spirited, but the McNeils love her and she always manages to give good advice, help and encouragement when it is most needed.

  John Mayburn-A sought-after Chicago P.I. often hired by Izzy’s firm. He is currently working a case against Michael DeSanto, who allegedly works for the mob. He is in his forties with a medium build and prides himself on being able to blend into his surroundings.

  Michael Desanto-An executive of Bank Midwest suspected of laundering funds for the mob. He is slick and mean and lives in a well-guarded mansion in Chicago ’s Lincoln Park.

  Lucy Desanto-Michael’s wife. She is kind and beautiful and completely unaware of her husband’s illegal activity. She is a stay-at-home mom.

  O ne day can shift the plates of your earth.

  One day can age you.

  Usually, I pride myself on my intuition. I listen to that voice that says, “Something bad is happening…” or maybe, “Get out now, you idiot.”

  But on that Tuesday at the end of October, my psyche must have been protecting the one remaining day while I still believed that the universe was kind, that life was hectic but orderly. Because I didn’t hear that voice. I never saw it coming.

  1

  Day One

  “McNeil, she’s not signing this crap.”

  “She told me she was signing it last week.”

  “She told you she was considering it.”

  “No.” I moved the phone to my other ear and pinned it there with my shoulder. With my hands free, I shifted about ten stacks of papers on my desk, looking for Jane Augustine’s contract. I punched the button on my phone that would send a bleating plea to my assistant. “She told me she was signing it. Period.”

  “That’s insane. With that lame buyout clause? No way. No. Way. You have no idea what you’re doing, kid.”

  I felt a hard, familiar kernel of fear in my belly.

  “It’s the same buyout clause she had in her last contract.” I ignored the personal comment he’d lobbed at me. I had gotten my fair share of them while representing Pickett Enterprises over the past three years and, although I acted like such comments didn’t sting, I often thought, You’re right. I have no idea what I’m doing.

  I finally found the current contract under a pile of production-facility agreements. I flipped through it as fast as I could, searching for the clause in question.

  My assistant, Q-short for Quentin-stuck his head in my office with a nervous what now? look. I dropped the document and put my hand over the mouthpiece. “Can you get me Jane’s last contract?”

  He nodded quickly, his bald, black head shining under the fluorescent lights. He made a halfhearted attempt to find it amongst the chaos that was my law office-redwell folders that spanned the length of my visitors’ couch, file folders, motions and deposition transcripts stacked precariously on my desk. Throwing his hands up, Q spun around and headed for his own tidy and calm workstation.

  “I’m not messing around, kid,” Steve Severny continued. Severny was the biggest agent/lawyer in town, representing more than half of Chicago ’s broadcasters and nearly all its top actors. “Change the buyout or we’re walking. NBC has been calling, and next time I’m not telling them no.”

  I swallowed down the tension that felt thick in my throat. Jane Augustine was the most popular news anchor at the station owned by Pickett Enterprises, my client. The CEO, Forester Pickett, was a huge fan of hers. I couldn’t lose Jane to another station.

  Meanwhile, Severny kept rolling. “And I want a pay-or-play added to paragraph twenty-two.”

  I flipped through the contract and found the paragraph. It was tough, yes, and it was favorable to Pickett Enterprises, but as much as I couldn’t lose Jane, I couldn’t simply give in to anything her agent wanted. My job was to land the terms most favorable to Pickett Enterprises, and although the stress of that job was always heavy, sometimes so heavy I could barely see through it, I would do my job. There was no alternative.

  “No pay-or-play,” I said. “It’s nonnegotiable. I told you that last time, and I’m telling you again. That comes from Forester himself.” It always helped to throw Forester’s name in the mix, to remind people that I was here, making their lives tough, because he wanted me to.

  “Then let’s talk about the non compete.”

  “Let’s do that.” I thumbed through the contract, grateful to have seemingly won a point. Q darted into the room with Jane’s previous contract, cleared a space on my desk and put it down.

  I nodded thanks.

  Q then placed a sheet of white paper on top of it, giving me a sympathetic smile. In red ink, he’d written, Izzy, your meeting with the wedding Nazi is in forty-five minutes.

  “Crap,” I said.

  “That’s right,” Severny said, his voice rising. “That’s what I told you before. It is crap. And we’re not signing it!” And with that, he hung up.

  “Mother hen in a basket!” I yelled, slamming down the phone.

  I was trying not to swear anymore. I thought it sounded crass when people swore. The problem was it sounded great to me when I did it. And it felt so damn good. But swearing wasn’t appropriate at a law firm, as Q had reminded me on more than one occasion, and so I was replacing things like goddammit with God bless you and Jesus Christ with Jiminy Christmas and motherfucker with mother hen in a basket.

  Q sank into a chair across from my desk. “I know you’re crazed, and I know you have to leave soon, but first I need some of your fiery, redheaded decisiveness.”

  I sat down, crossed my hands on my desk and gave Q my army-general stare. “I could use a quick break. Hit me.”

  Q was wearing his usual crisp khakis and a blazer. He tugged at the blazer to try to hide the slightly protruding belly he hated-his personal nemesis to the perfect gay physique. Not that this deterred him from sizing up the rest of the male species. Q had emerged from the closet six years prior, and though he had a live-in boyfriend, Max, he still enjoyed the “new gay” privilege of ogling every man he came across.

  He paused dramatically now. “Max’s mother is coming to town tomorrow.”

  “I see your problem.” Max’s mother was a former Las Vegas showgirl, an eccentric woman with whom you’d love to grab a martini, but who wears you out after two hours. The last time she’d come to Chicago, Q nearly broke up with Max just for an excuse to get out of the house.

  “How long is she in for?” I asked.

  “Two weeks.”

  “That’s not going to work.”

  “I know it’s not going to work.”

  “You can make her help with your Halloween party this weekend.”

  He nodded, reluctantly conceding the point. “What am I going to do the rest of the time?”

  “Watch a lot of football?” Q had retained many of his straight-man tendencies. A love of football was one of them.

  Q had gray eyes that I’d always found calming, but they flashed with irritation now. “That’s another not decisive, Izzy. There’s a question mark at the end of that sentence. And you know she’ll hover and talk, hover and talk. I won’t see a single play.”

  “Okay, okay. Tell Max she has to stay in a hotel, and you guys will pay for part of it.”

  Q ran his hands over his head again. “I guess maybe that would work.” He sighed. “God, I hate being in a relationship.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  Just then Tanner Hornsby, a high-ranking partner in his mid-forties, walked by my office. He was tall, with deep-black hair (dyed, I suspected) that arched into a widow’s peak. He was rumored to run five miles a day, every day, before work, and so he was lean and wiry, but he had the tired, slightly puffy eyes of a career drinker.

  He stopped now and frowned at us.

  Q turned in his seat. “Oh, hello, Mr. Hornsby,” he said in a breathy, effeminate voice, which he doled out only to annoy certain people like Tanner and his father.