It is said that the truth is another country. They do things differently there. Aidan Conrad, a barrister with a bit of an unexpected sideline for a man of the law, has long been resident of that strange place.
The rough-edged barrister has always been intent on getting to the bottom of things. The real bottom, that is. Not the fake versions he’s offered by clients, witnesses and prosecutors alike. His firm, Dwight & Conrad, takes mainly cases that are far from clear-cut. Cases where the evidence points to a truth that Aidan’s gut instincts are just not happy with. Of course, none of his convictions make him an easy man to like… neither does his short fuse for bullshit. But over the years he’s forged a network of people he can trust to step in when the law needs a little help….
“Frankly, my lady, I don’t give a hoot who you are, whom you know or how much money you have,” Aidan Conrad stated calmly. He shrugged his Savile Row clad shoulders, leaned back in his chair and negligently crossed his legs. The charcoal suit and pearl grey shirt he’d selected just for this meeting had made the right impression on his guest, but now he wished he could lose the jacket. It was a smidgen too tight across the shoulders when he was carrying and the restrictive pull across his back made him twitchy. “You’ve been referred to Dwight & Conrad because you need help, so I suggest you use the time to tell me about your problem.”
The woman on the other side of the desk shifted before she clamped down on the tiny sign of discomfort. Conrad had expected nothing less. He’d met Lady Sybil once before at a charity event, though she certainly wouldn’t remember him. She was clever, well connected and accomplished, but the woman had a disapproving sneer that could turn milk sour. Skylar had raved about the way the woman’s makeup survived the expression for days after the gala – the brat was just weird that way. Right now though, bored and uncomfortable, Conrad thought that it might be entertaining to provoke his guest into a display of disapproval.
“It’s about my husband,” Lady Sybil began, hiding her annoyance behind a tiny sniff.
“Whoever recommended us didn’t tell you that we don’t take divorce cases?” Aidan interrupted.
“I’m not concerned about whom he’s sleeping with,” the woman snapped and Aidan almost cheered as the sneer made an appearance. Yes, it was pretty impressive.
“Then what are you concerned about?”
“That he’s trying to kill me.”