In Hot Water

Putting down his napkin, Seymour stood. “Tell them I’ll be right there.”

“Don’t bother, Doctor, we decided to come to you.”

The taller of the two men had made that declaration and now strode over to Seymour. He had a stern look on his face.

“And who are you?” Maci demanded, furious with their blatant intrusion and total lack of manners.

“I’m Detective Greg Johnson,” the short, stout one said. “And this is my partner, Detective Oscar Ford.” They both flipped open their badges.

Maci was glad she was seated as every muscle in her body weakened.

Johnson’s gaze whipped to Ramsey. “Doctor, we have a warrant for your arrest. The charge is criminally negligent homicide in the death of your patient, Grant Dodson. Cuff him, Ford.”

Maci gasped in shocked horror at the same time Seymour’s tanned skin turned deathly white.

Three

Keefe Ryan looked like what he was—a socially inept attorney. He was short, bald, wore black-rimmed glasses and there was nothing attractive about him or his personality. Maci had always considered him to be the most boring man she’d ever met.

Yet when he walked into the police station, she had never been so glad to see anyone. She would never think ill of Keefe again.

In the process of being led out of the house by the two officers, Seymour had barked an order for her to call his attorney. She had waited until she was on her way to the station to do so. By then her mind had cleared somewhat, and she could punch in Keefe’s number on her cell phone.

He appeared now as composed as ever, dressed as impeccably as ever, though she knew he wasn’t. Maci had observed a little tick in Keefe’s right cheek when he was under stress and that tick was present as he made his way toward her.

Maci had been told to take a seat in the outer lobby and that the chief would be with her shortly. So far, shortly had not come, giving her plenty of time to observe the police station. This afternoon there was a lot of activity. Phones rang while officers and other personnel scurried about. Although she had received several curious glances, no one had bothered to speak to her or ask if she wanted or needed anything.

She couldn’t believe she was here. The horrendous circumstances made the situation even more demoralizing.

When the press learned of this…

“Maci, what the hell is going on?”

She turned her attention back to Keefe. She had never heard him say anything that resembled a curse word. But then she’d never seen him this flustered. His features were pinched and he was out of breath.

Despite the fact that Seymour could be overbearing at times, he and Keefe seemed to have a genuine friendship. While Keefe handled mostly taxes, he had at one time practiced some family and criminal law. So he wasn’t completely out of the loop when it came to helping Seymour. Maci never doubted Keefe had Seymour’s best interest at heart. If he wasn’t the one for the job, he would find someone who was.

“Seymour’s been arrested,” Maci said, hearing the tremor in her voice. She hadn’t bothered to tell Keefe what was going on beforehand. She had simply told him that Seymour needed him and to meet them at the police station. She’d hung up with Keefe still asking questions.

Keefe’s face now drained of its remaining color. “That’s preposterous.”

“It’s a fact,” she countered flatly.

“Are you all right, my dear?” Keefe cleared his throat, then peered down at her, concern mirrored in his eyes. “Of course, you’re not. Forget I asked that.”

“I’m fine,” she said, which was a lie. She was anything but fine. She was sick all over. She clutched at her stomach.

Homicide?

Her wealthy, charismatic husband accused of such an abominable deed was not possible. Only it was possible, or she wouldn’t be sitting in an obscure corner of this godforsaken place.

“You just stay put while I get this mattered straightened out,” Keefe said without further ado. “Then we’ll all be on our way home.”

“Thanks, Keefe,” Maci said, fighting back tears. How could this be happening to her well-ordered world?

Hopefully Keefe could indeed make this nightmare go away.

Moments later Keefe returned, his face as grim as hers. Her heart faltered. Perhaps gaining her husband’s immediate release wasn’t going to be as easy as Keefe had thought.

“The chief wants to see us both.”

Maci stood on unsteady legs, yet when she walked into the rather austere room, she held her head high and her shoulders back. She intended to conduct herself with dignity, and she expected the same from the tall, thin-faced man who was looking at her through narrowed eyes.

Chief Ted Satterwhite introduced himself, then beckoned for both of them to sit in the leather chairs in front of his desk. “Can I get you something to drink?” he asked in a deep, hoarse voice indicative of bad sinus drainage.

Both Maci and Keefe politely declined, then Maci asked, “Where is my husband?”

Satterwhite pulled out a big handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped it across his nose before answering, “Waiting to be questioned by the detectives. He’s been read his rights, and has requested that his lawyer be present.”

“Is that necessary?” Maci asked, thankful he didn’t outright blow his nose. She tried to keep her disgust from showing.

“That’s procedure, ma’am.” He pushed back from his desk and crossed a leg over his knee. “That’s how we do things in this department. By the book.”

“I’d like him to go before the judge this afternoon,” Keefe said in a huffy tone as though he resented being talked down to.

“All in good time, Mr. Ryan.”

“Chief—”

“The judge will hear the doctor’s case in the morning.”

“That’s unacceptable,” Keefe declared with a flare of his hand.

Maci groaned, especially when she saw the chief’s features tighten.

“Acceptable or not, that’s the way it is.” Satterwhite’s tone had gone from cool to cold.

His face suffused with unnatural color, Keefe opened his mouth as if to argue, but ultimately ground his jaws together. Maci felt him look at her.

Ignoring Keefe, she faced the chief. “May I please see my husband?”

Satterwhite took his time unfurling his gangly frame to full height. Bastard, Maci thought. He was in his element, lording his control over them. Maci fought the urge to lash out at him, to ask him if he knew who he was toying with.

After all, everyone knew the Ramsey name carried weight in this town. While that hadn’t always been the case, it was now. Her husband was no longer thought of as the downtrodden boy who had defied the odds and made good, but rather as a renowned surgeon. He’d built a stellar reputation in the medical community throughout the entire state of Louisiana. And here in his hometown of Dayton he’d used his wealth and power to the greater good.

Seymour wouldn’t tolerate this method of treatment. But that was before he’d been accused of causing his patient’s death, Maci reminded herself. A negligent homicide charge could relegate him to the bottom of the scum barrel in a heartbeat.

“That can be arranged,” Satterwhite said at last, coming from behind his desk. “Follow me.”

When they walked into the room where Seymour was held, Detective Johnson acknowledged their presence, then left. The chief followed shortly, leaving Maci and Keefe alone with Seymour.

For a moment, a thick, heavy silence prevailed.

“Are you all right?” Maci asked in an unsteady voice.

“I will be, when I get the hell out of here.” Seymour’s eyes darted to Keefe. “I’m assuming you can do that.”

Keefe blew out a long breath. “I can’t until morning.”

Seymour swore.

“Keefe’s doing all he can, Seymour,” Maci pointed out in a calm, soothing tone, hoping to defuse the volatile situation.

“Then it’s not good enough,” Seymour shot back.

Another awkward silence fell over the room. Maci bit down on her lower lip and looked at Seymour. He appeared tired and drawn, yet restless and hyper. Control was what fed him, what made him the man he was, and now that he wasn’t in control, Maci knew he’d be jittery.

Or was he simply acting like a common street junkie who was in the throes of coming off a drug high?

Maci’s stomach hated the path her mind had taken, but she couldn’t avoid the hard cold facts, not when they were being rubbed in her face.

Her husband was a drug addict, and according to the law he was accused of homicide.

“Satterwhite is not someone we…you want to tangle with right now,” Keefe said. “You have to know that.”

“I refuse to stay in this stinking hole overnight.”

Maci crossed to her husband and touched him on the arm. “Don’t do this to yourself. Spending one night—”

He shook off her hand. “I’m not some common criminal, and I resent the hell out of being treated like one.”

“They are accusing you of homicide, Seymour,” Keefe said in a low, even tone. “What do you have to say about that?”

“Dodson’s death was not my fault.”

Maci eyes widened.

Seymour’s smile was humorless. “See, my own wife doesn’t believe me.”

“That’s not true,” Maci snapped, feeling her face flush. “If you tell me you’re not responsible—” Her voice faltered, and she cleared her throat.

Seymour stared at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he focused on Keefe. “What are the exact charges against me?”

“I haven’t had time to read the report,” the attorney responded. “I only know what Maci told me.”

Seymour hit the palm of his hand on the tabletop. “Go talk to that prick Satterwhite then read the report. I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him. That redneck’s got it in for me, and he doesn’t care who knows it.”

“I sensed the same thing, Keefe,” Maci said, easing down into a straight-backed chair at the table.

“I’ll be right back.” Keefe’s tone was clipped.

Once he had left the room, Maci stared at her husband, noticing the strain weighing heavily on him. “I’m so sorry about this.” Her thoughts jumped to Jonah and she ached to hold him tightly right now.

“Tell me you believe me.”

“I want to, Seymour,” she said, feeling her eyes mist with tears, “but remember I’ve seen you high and it’s not a pretty sight.”

“Okay, so I was using when I operated on Grant, but I had full control of my faculties, for god’s sake. I would never do anything that asinine. You have to know that.”

“I do, but—”

Keefe interrupted her when he reentered the room.

“The charges stand as Maci described them,” Keefe said, tossing the folder down on the table, then sitting down. His gaze settled on Seymour. “Suppose you sit down and tell me your side.”

Seymour didn’t sit. He just began talking. “There’s really no side. The man bled to death through no fault of mine.”

“So you’re taking no blame at all?” Keefe’s tone was incredulous.

Seymour’s hard gaze didn’t waver. “None whatsoever.”

“Are you denying you were on drugs at the time?”

“No. Like I was telling Maci, I admit I had taken some pills, but I knew exactly what I was doing with that knife.”

“Passing out and slurring your words in front of the family doesn’t support that, Seymour,” Keefe said with low-key honesty, “especially since they know exactly the level of drugs ingested.”

“I agree with Keefe,” Maci said, her gaze also un-flinching on her husband, watching closely for some glimmer of remorse or something that would indicate he was the least bit sorry.

Nothing.

She flinched. When had Seymour become so calloused to the loss of human life? Had she been so caught up in her own life and that of Jonah that she’d failed to notice yet another dark side of her husband?

Maci couldn’t believe this was the same man she had married, who seemed to adore both her and Jonah, who lavished them with time and attention. Something was terribly wrong somewhere.

“How long have you had this nasty little habit?” Keefe asked.

“Since I had the accident that tore up my back.”

Maci sucked in her breath. That accident, which had been a car wreck, had happened several years before she married him. Surely, he’d hadn’t been addicted for that long.

“You mean you were hooked before you married me?” Maci barely choked the nasty words out of her mouth.

“Hooked is hardly the right word, my dear,” Seymour said with disdain. “Was I using drugs to help my back? Yes, and I still am. But I’m in control of the situation, not the other way around.”

Maci didn’t know how to respond, so she didn’t say anything. She felt like she’d been hit in the stomach with a brick. Apparently so did Keefe as his face seemed to have taken on a greenish tint.

“Make no mistake, Keefe,” Seymour said with conviction, “I’m not going down for this.”

“If that’s the case, then I’m certainly not your man. I suggest you find the best criminal attorney possible and hire him.”

“I agree.”

Keefe’s gaze didn’t waver. “Do you have someone in mind?”

“Yep.”

“Tell me who to call,” Keefe responded, “and it’s a done deal.”

“My oldest son.”

Maci stared at Seymour in shocked silence.

“Holt?” Keefe asked, clearly taken aback.

“That’s right,” Seymour said. “You told me I needed the best, and he’s the best.”

“But, Seymour, that doesn’t make any sense,” Maci pointed out, her mind reeling. “You haven’t seen your son in years.”

And she had never seen him. Not before she married Seymour or after. In fact, it was hard to remember that Jonah wasn’t Seymour’s only child. She had no idea what Holt Ramsey looked like. No pictures of him appeared anywhere in the house.

She knew very little about what had caused the estrangement between father and elder son, but she suspected a lot. Seymour had refused to discuss the issue with her, which she could understand. Suicide was a tragic and touchy subject.

What she did know was that Holt was a single attorney who rarely practiced his profession, choosing rather to spend his time on his sailboat. She had gleaned this information from the housekeeper who had been in the family when Seymour was married to his first wife. Annie had also told her that Holt blamed his father for his mother’s suicide. Since the housekeeper doted on the elder son, she still bemoaned the breach between her favorite men.

“Maci’s got a point,” Keefe said in a strained voice. “With all the bad blood between you and Holt, what makes you think he’ll help you out now?”

“He’ll come, all right.” A strange glint appeared in Seymour’s eyes. “If nothing else, he’ll use it as an opportunity to exact his pound of flesh.”

Four

He had no one to blame but himself. In the future, he would check his caller ID before he answered. Damn Marianne for giving out his number. He’d have to remember to speak to her about that.

Swallowing a frustrated sigh, Holt Ramsey stared at the sky and counted to ten while Keefe droned on, trying to make his case. The second after he had said hello, Keefe had rushed into the reason for the call and he hadn’t stopped yet. He hadn’t so much as taken a breath.

“Keefe, give it a rest,” Holt interrupted, his patience having long evaporated.

“Trust me, I’m aware of the situation between you and your father,” Keefe continued as though Holt hadn’t spoken.

“Hey, hold it,” Holt said, no longer willing to let Keefe steamroll over him. “Time out. Look you’re wasting your time. You’ve done your job. You’ve related Seymour’s tale of woe to me. All you have to do is tell him I’m not interested. Voilà! You’re off the hook.”

“Holt, please, hear me out,” Keefe pleaded. “Since you have a reputation for being one of the best criminal lawyers around, you’re the logical choice. More than that, your father needs you.”

“Yeah, right.”

“I know—”

“You don’t know jack, Keefe.”

Holt heard Keefe’s gasp, but he didn’t care. “I’ve heard all I need to hear, and I don’t know how to say it any plainer. I don’t care what Seymour needs or doesn’t need.”

“How can you say that?”

“Easy.”

“He’s your father, for god’s sake,” Keefe stressed. “Have you no shame?”

Holt gritted his teeth and swore silently. “It’s only because I respect you that I’m even still on the line. But I’d advise you not to push your luck.”

“Under the circumstances,” Keefe hammered on, “I don’t see how you can take such a hard-nosed attitude.”

Holt heard the pleading note in Keefe’s voice, but he ignored it.

“There’s nothing else I can say to make you change your mind?” Keefe’s harsh sigh filtered through the line.

“Is that a question, Keefe?”

“Yes.”

“Not a thing. Tell my father he made his own bed and that I’m going to take delight in watching him wallow in it.”

Keefe slammed down the receiver.

Holt in turn flipped the lid shut on his cell. Frustration and anger churned inside him and he knew it was time to make use of his gym. His favorite stress reliever was his punching bag. Hitting it repeatedly would definitely do the trick.

A smirk altered Holt’s tight features. It would certainly be better than heading for the jail, jerking up his old man and punching the crap out of him.

He despised his father so much that he knew he could do it.

But he wouldn’t. Holt walked to the bow of his boat and felt the warm breeze on his hot skin. Any time he thought about Seymour, his entire body reacted violently. He knew that for his own good he should let that hate go, that carrying it around would eventually eat him up.

It was starting to now. He grasped the railing and swore. If he never saw his father again, he’d be happy. He’d been certain Seymour felt the same way. So what had made him change and ask his son for a favor?

Fear.

The gut-wrenching, twisting kind. That would be unacceptable in Seymour’s world where everyone lived according to his rules and regulations. The thought of spending a day in prison, much less years, must be driving him insane.

Holt’s smile twisted into a sneer. Good. If Seymour was convicted, he’d get what he deserved. What goes around comes around. In his father’s case, this philosophy was proving to be true, and in a way Holt had never thought possible. Hooked on prescription drugs. He just couldn’t believe it. His father and drugs just didn’t mix. Seymour’s modus operandi was that he controlled everything; nothing controlled him.

It had always been that way. Even when Holt was a young child Seymour had wanted to control every part of his son’s life, just as he’d controlled Holt’s mother.

Only Holt had rebelled and oftentimes bested his father, especially when he shot down Seymour’s dream of his son following in his footsteps and becoming a surgeon. Instead, Holt had opted to become a criminal defense attorney. He had gone to work for a famous firm and done far better than even his wildest expectations until his mother’s death and a severe case of career burnout sent him off into uncharted waters on his sailboat.

And he hadn’t regretted a day he’d turned his back on his career and his father.

Holt wondered what had made Seymour slip into the gutter. Perhaps his young trophy wife was giving him trouble. Perhaps she’d decided to ditch him for a man her own age. Just the thought had probably sent his old man into a frenzy. Or perhaps his trip down Drug Lane had nothing to do with the second Mrs. Doctor Seymour Ramsey. Perhaps she’d turned out to be the wife of his dreams.

Holt couldn’t care less.

He’d never even seen the woman much less met her. Since Holt maintained an office in Dayton where he took on clients from time to time, news of his father always reached him.

Anything that pertained to the Ramsey family was big news. Unfortunately, that included him whenever he was in town. He’d been told by his friends that pictures of Seymour’s second wedding and the subsequent events had been splashed all over the pages of the daily paper.

Holt had counted his blessings that he’d been nowhere around, that he’d been on one of his long jaunts in and around Canada. If he’d been in the vicinity, he might have done something he’d regret, and Seymour hadn’t been worth that.

Seymour had ceased to mean anything to Holt when he’d divorced his mother years ago simply because she no longer pleased him physically or mentally. Six months later Lucille Ramsey had taken her own life by shooting herself in the stomach. A day before her death, she had told Holt she still loved his father, that she would always love him.

That declaration had devastated Holt.

After the funeral, he had severed all contact with Seymour. That had been years ago. How many years? He had no clue. He didn’t care. All he knew was he hadn’t forgotten or forgiven his father and that he could no longer bear the sight of him.

Holt shook his head trying to clear it. He squinted his eyes against the sun’s harsh glare and peered at the magnificent sail that billowed in the breeze. A sense of peace momentarily replaced the anger that had raged inside him.

Still, he strode down into his gym and battled it out with his punching bag. Later, after showering and swigging down a beer, he sprawled on the sofa and closed his eyes.

Only he couldn’t sleep. Images of his mother’s face swam before his eyes. He squeezed them tighter, willing his mother away. It was as if he could hear her whispering softly to him, telling him what she wanted him to do.

“No, I can’t,” he muttered out loud in an agonized voice. “I won’t.”

Everything appeared normal. Maci actually pretended her life was back to the way it was before Seymour’s arrest. But when she walked out the door and into the media scrum, Maci got a severe reality check.

Moments like that made her fear her life would never be the same, especially if her husband went to prison. Disregarding that unwelcome thought, she looked up from the set of house plans in front of her and wiggled her shoulders. She’d been working for several hours on a kitchen for a new client, and she was tired.

But her fatigue went much deeper than a sore neck and shoulders. Since Seymour had been hauled off in handcuffs, she hadn’t slept a wink. The fact that he’d been released on his own recognizance two days ago hadn’t helped.

Seymour, however, didn’t seem to have the same problem. Earlier at breakfast he’d eaten his omelet with his usual healthy appetite which prompted her to ask, “You really aren’t worried, are you?”

He put his fork down and looked at her. “Not in the least.”

“Well, I am,” she countered.

“I know you are, and I’m sorry, sorry for the pain I’ve caused you and Jonah.”

“What about yourself, Seymour? Even if you get out of this mess, your arrest is bound to have an impact on your practice.” Her voice rose an octave. “A man is dead.”

Seymour’s cup stalled halfway to his mouth, and his eyes narrowed. “I’d rather not have a replay of the past few days, Maci. I’m trying to get on with my life and my practice.”

Frustration surged through her. “And just how is that possible when every time we walk outside, bulbs flash in our faces and hurtful questions are thrown at us?”

“I’m sorry about that, too, but this will pass. In a few days, someone else’s life will be under the microscope.”

“Meanwhile, you’re going to go on with yours as usual.”

“Absolutely. And I suggest you do likewise.”

“It’s not that easy for me, Seymour.” She paused with a deep sigh. “The thought of you—”

“That’s not going to happen,” he said in a stern, harsh tone.

“Maybe not, if you’d consider looking for another criminal attorney.” She refused to back down and play the feebleminded mate without a thought of her own.

“That’s not necessary. I’m certain Holt will be here.”

“How can you be so sure, especially when he gave Keefe an emphatic no? Shouldn’t you at least have a contingency plan?”

“You worry too much, my dear.” Seymour wiped his mouth and then stood. “I’m going to the office. Give Jonah a hug for me. I’ll see you this evening.”

He leaned over and pecked her on the cheek. “Oh, I’ve invited Keefe for dinner. Please inform Annie.”

Maci didn’t move once he was gone. Anger and shocking disbelief threatened to engulf her. When had Seymour gotten so arrogant? Were the drugs responsible for this haughty and unrepentant attitude? For all their sakes, she prayed Seymour was right and that his son would show up and clear his father’s name. If Holt was the crackerjack attorney Seymour and Keefe said he was, then he would be their savior on earth.

Suddenly, Maci felt the urge to see her son. Jonah seemed to be the only thing that grounded her. When she walked into his room, Liz rose and smiled at her before glancing at the child who was sound asleep on a pallet. “He just conked out.”

Maci squatted, then leaned over and grazed Jonah’s apple-red cheek with her lips before standing to full height. “That’s good. We played long and hard last night.”

“Ah, so you let him stay up late?”

Maci gave her a sheepish grin. “Actually, I’m guilty of two infractions. I let him sleep with me.”

“I bet he loved that.”

“We both did,” Maci responded, settling her gaze back on her baby. “I just don’t want the little bugger to think it’s going to be an every night thing.”

Liz’s eyebrows rose, but she didn’t say anything.

“I’ll check in with you later on today. I’m off to see a client. Call if you need me.”

“You know I will,” Liz said, an uncertain look crossing her face.

“What?” Maci prodded, sensing there was something else on Liz’s mind. “Hey, don’t ever hesitate to ask me anything, especially if it pertains to Jonah.”

“I’m not sure I should take him out today, like to the park, for instance.”

A frown marred Maci’s unblemished features. “You shouldn’t. That pack of media wolves outside will probably attack you as well. No way will I put Jonah or you through that abuse.”

“Is…is Dr. Ramsey going to be all right?”

Again Maci heard the reluctance in her voice, and while she didn’t want to talk about the dreadful situation, she had no choice. Liz had become part of the family shortly before Jonah’s birth, following a slow and in-depth search for the right person to help care for her son. The young woman, who had yet to marry and have a family of her own, had turned out to be a jewel. Maci knew she owed her an explanation.

“Let us pray that he is,” Maci said at last. “As of two days ago, he was released on his own recognizance, and that’s a positive thing.” She couldn’t bring herself to say that he was out of jail.

“He’s such a nice man. I can’t believe this is happening to him.”

“Thanks for your concern, Liz. Just keep us in your thoughts, and take care of Jonah. That will help us as much as anything.”

“You can count on that. Those people with the microphones and cameras don’t scare me.” Her tone was defiant.

They do me, Maci almost said but didn’t. “That’s the attitude. I’ll see you both later.”

On her way downstairs Maci smelled the strong aroma of fresh coffee. She peered at her watch. She had time for another quick cup. Food, however, was out of the question. She hadn’t eaten anything since Seymour’s arrest anyway.

Once she reached the sunny breakfast room, Annie brought her a cup of coffee. Drinking leisurely, Maci stared out the window, taking in the beautifully manicured rolling lawn. Flowers splashed the lush greenery with vivid color.

She loved this place, loved the grounds and the old colonial pillared house that Seymour had purchased long before he married her. She had refurbished it to suit her tastes with Seymour’s encouragement. He had told her the renovations were long overdue. Maci had been relieved as she and the first Mrs. Ramsey had nothing in common when it came to interior design.

“Mrs. Ramsey, you have a call. It’s Mrs. Trent.”

“Thanks, Annie.” Maci reached for the phone, grateful her favorite client and friend chose that moment to call. “Hey, Bobbi, I was just on my way to see you.”

Thank God, she had her work to keep her mind occupied.

“Keefe, may I get you another drink?”

“No thanks, Maci. I’m fine.”

“I’d like another one,” Seymour said with a smile. When Maci hesitated, he raised his glass to her, his eyes mocking. “Never mind. I’ll get it myself.”

Maci ignored him and smiled at Keefe. “I hope dinner was to your satisfaction.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Keefe said in a slightly flustered tone. “Your housekeeper outdid herself.”

“Actually, it was Maci who made the shrimp dish,” Seymour said. “My favorite, by the way.”

Keefe returned the favor with a smile. “Well, as I said, it was delicious.”

“When I have the time, I love to cook.”

A silence fell over the study for a long moment, then Keefe set his drink down and cleared his throat. “Seymour, has it dawned on you yet that Holt is not coming?”

The doctor placed his drink on the mantel before leveling his gaze at his attorney. “Did you hear from him?”

“No.”

“Enough said.”

“No, it’s not,” Keefe rebuked in a blustering tone, only to quickly modify it when color surged into Seymour’s face.

Maci knew Seymour was agitated that Keefe had crossed him. But she was glad the attorney had done so since she hadn’t made a dent in Seymour’s armor at breakfast. Maybe together she and Keefe could talk some sense into him.

“I’m telling you, we need to call another attorney,” Keefe stressed. “Jack Little—”

“Not interested.” Seymour leaned his head back, drained his glass, then plunked the glass down on the bar and promptly refilled it.

Maci winced. She feared her husband was replacing drugs with alcohol as he’d overindulged every night since his brief incarceration.

“All right, Seymour, you’re the boss,” Keefe said with obvious displeasure.