Read SSC (2011) The Road to Hell for Free Online

tell his lover and law partner the truth. Or at least, the partial truth. But he knew how Ms. Propriety would react:
    “ You can’t do that. It’s unethical.”
    And if he told her the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth? “You’ll be disbarred! Jailed. Maybe even killed.”
    No, he’d have to fly solo. Or swim solo, as the case may be.
    Steve pulled two six packs of Heineken out of the refrigerator and tossed them into the cooler. “Okay, it’s really a business meeting.”
    Victoria cocked her head and pursed her lips in cross-exam mode. “Which is it, Pinocchio? Fishing or business? Were you lying then or are you lying now?”
    For a tall, lanky blonde with a dazzling smile, she could fire accusations the way Dan Marino once threw the football.
    “ I’m going fishing with Manuel Cruz.”
    “ What! I thought you were going to sue him.”
    “ Which is what makes it business. Cruz wants to make an offer before we file suit. I suggested we go fishing, keep it relaxed. He loved the idea and invited me on his boat.”
    So far, Steve hadn’t told an outright fib and it was almost 8 A.M. Not quite a personal best, but still, he was proud of himself.
    For the last five years, Manuel Cruz worked as controller of Toraño Chevrolet in Hialeah where he managed to steal three million dollars before anyone noticed. Teresa Toraño, a Cuban exilado in her seventies, was nearly bankrupt, and Steve was determined to get her money back, but it wouldn’t be easy. All the computer records had been erased, leaving no electronic trail. Cruz had no visible assets other than his sportfishing boat. The guy didn’t even own a house. And the juiciest piece of evidence – Cruz fled Cuba years ago after embezzling money from a government food program – wasn’t even admissible.
    “ Just you and Cruz, alone at sea.” she said. “Sounds dangerous.”
    “ I’m not afraid of him.”
    “ It’s not you I’m worried about.”
    * * *
    Victoria punched the RECORD button on her pocket Dictaphone. “Memo to the Toraño file. Make certain our malpractice premiums are paid.”
    “ You and your damned Dictaphone,” Steve complained. “Drives me nuts.”
    “ Why?”
    “ I don’t know. It’s so…”
    “ Organized?”
    “ Anal.”
    Victoria pulled her Mini-Cooper into the Matheson Hammock marina, swerving to avoid a land-crab, clip-clopping across the asphalt. The sun was already baking the pavement, the air sponge-thick with humidity. Just above a stand of sea lavender trees, a pair of turkey buzzards flew surveillance.
    Victoria sneaked a look at Steve as he hauled the cooler out of the car’s tiny trunk. Dark, unruly hair, a slight, sly grin as if he were one joke ahead of the rest of the world. The deep brown eyes, usually filled with mischief, were hidden behind dark Ray Bans.
    Dammit, why won’t he level with me?
    Why did he always take the serpentine path instead of the expressway? Why did he always treat laws and rules, cases and precedents as mere suggestions?
    Because he has more fun making it up as he goes along.
    Steve drove her crazy with his courtroom antics and his high-wire ethics. If he believed in a client, there was nothing he wouldn’t do to win. Which was exactly what frightened her now.
    Just what would Steve do for Teresa Toraño?
    They headed toward the dock, the morning sun beating down so ferociously Victoria felt her blouse sticking to her shoulder blades. The only sounds were the groans of boats in their moorings and the caws of gulls overhead. The air smelled of the marshy hammock, salt and iodine and fermenting seaweed. The fronds of thatch palms hung limp in the still air.
    “ Gimme a kiss. I gotta go,” Steve said, as they stepped onto the concrete dock. In front of them were expensive toys, gleaming white in the morning sun. Rows of powerful sportfishermen, large as houses. Dozens of sleek sailing craft, ketches and sloops and schooners.
    “ Sure, Mr. Romance.” She kissed him