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WASHINGTON D.C.—TIDAL Basin
Naim Butler passed through tunnels of petals from Japanese cherry trees during his two-mile jog through the paved loop in West Potomac Park. He zipped past monuments that were lit, stunning, and inspiring his five-thirty a.m. A breath of fresh air. His curiosity about what would happen next in the Thurman saga kept him from sleeping.
You like the tension and difficulty, don’t you, counselor? In fact you like it a lot? Go on. Admit it. No matter how controversial or absurd, Naim needed the killer. What the hell are you thinking? You need a killer as much as a cartoon needs one. You should immediately apologize to yourself for blowing this morning jog on thoughts of Thurman when you have the beautiful and accomplished Brady Scott at a luxurious hotel awaiting your return.
He hadn't lost the fact that Brandy Scott was a part of the complex investigation that he worked on. That was the perfect reason to get back to her, extending this chapter of their love affair. Why had she been forwarded pictures of the dead justice? Why had she been a witness to her “source” being shot at and arrested? Why had she been tapped to investigate the arrest and conviction of a killer’s wife?
Albeit not in exploration mode, Naim decided to walk through the Franklin Delano Roosevelt Memorial, consisting of nine bronze sculptural ensembles depicting events from the Great Depression and World War II. Naim needed to gather the mettle to be as victorious as the thirty-second president. Japan attacked Pearl Harbor during Roosevelt’s fourth consecutive term in office. David Thurman’s attack on America was as heinous. An act of war. An act many would suggest that he should die for. An act that the forefathers expected the Sixth Amendment to protect.
Jogging again, Naim thought, what a dilemma. For Naim there was no conflict with assuring Thurman’s right to effective assistance of counsel. Passing the Thomas Jefferson Memorial, he thought, that is what you wanted, right, when signing the Declaration of Independence, staring at America’s third president.
Returning to the hotel, Naim was a man with a plan. He stretched on the pavement under five United States flags blowing freely. He was just a D.C. visitor finishing a run. A run that built his mental state—a necessity to get through the day. That was his outlook. Despite having his whole life ahead of him, he had to focus on the task at hand: Wednesday.
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Naim walked into the hotel glad that it was shimmering with lights from chandeliers. He was done with the city being cloaked in darkness- and evil. He looked forward to sunrise, as he boarded the elevator, heading to the suite. On the hotel’s top floor, he removed his headphones before entering the room. Tossing the keycard onto the living room’s coffee table, he went into the bedroom.
The bed was empty.
He panicked. Even if a tiny bit.
“Hey, Bran...” he called out, looking at the closed ensuite bathroom’s door.
The toilet flushed. Water ran, and then, Brandy came out of the bathroom dressed in a yellow panty and bra set. A groggy and sexy frown was written on her face.
Picking up the phone, she said, “Good morning,” climbing back in bed. “I’m going to order a carafe of coffee. And since super-lawyer just worked out, a protein-packed breakfast”
Stripping out of sweaty clothing, he said, “Please and thank you. Egg whites scrambled, smoked salmon, lots of turkey bacon, orange juice, bottle of Moët. I’m going to take a quick shower before breakfast in bed. You’re free to join me.”
“For which part.”
“Both,” he said, stepping out of his boxer briefs, “But if I had to choose one, I’d take the shower,” he added, walking naked to the bathroom.