Identity Theft

By John Abramowitz

A man walks into the Texas Capitol. Shots ring out. A young aide lies dead. The killer's excuse? He was under a spell.

Sounds like a job for Hunter Gamble, right?

Wrong. After his disastrous "victory" in the trial of Samuel Pollard, Hunter has turned his back on defending oppressed vampires, mages, and zombies. Having accepted a position at his father's giant litigation firm, he's trying the glamorous cases, working in a corner office, and making a six-figure salary--and hating every minute of it.

As Hunter plots his exit strategy, he finds himself inexorably drawn to the case of the Capitol shooter, who is an old friend from law school. As he works to clear his friend, Hunter discovers that there is much more at stake in this case than whether one man was under a spell. Before long, he finds himself pulled into a magical conspiracy dating back to before the Unveiling--and with a singularly cold-blooded wizard at its heart.

The clock is ticking. The search for answers is on. And the author of Atticus for the Undead invites you to come along for the thrill ride--and get the magic back.

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Abramowitz
• Release date: Apr 15, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301909957

John Abramowitz

John Abramowitz is a long, tall Texan (very, very tall) born and raised in Fort Worth, Texas. Educated at Grinnell College in the great state of Iowa, he considers Iowa his second home state, and keeps on good terms with both by eating both barbecue AND corn. When he's not watching way too much sci-fi/fantasy TV or reading similar books (or working, obviously), you can usually find him reading the news or playing video games. He currently resides in Austin, Texas, where he works as a lawyer and author.

Book preview

IDENTITY THEFT

John Abramowitz

Copyright 2013 John Abramowitz

Smashwords Edition

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Furthermore, while this is a legal fiction, the emphasis is on the fiction. While some of the case law referenced in this book is real, some of it is fictitious, and in any event, nothing in this book should be construed as legal advice or as establishing an attorney-client relationship.

Also By John Abramowitz:

Novels:

Weaver (The Weaver Saga, Book 1)

The Void (The Weaver Saga, Book 2)

Atticus for the Undead (Hunter Gamble, Book 1)

Short Fiction:

The Antlerbury Tales

Acknowledgments:

As always, I owe profuse thanks to a whole lot of people for getting Identity Theft to the finish line. Here goes:

To my always-faithful cadre of beta readers: Ericka Skinner, Suzanne Capwell, Madeleine Lee, and Mary Ann and Ben Abramowitz

To Chryse Wymer, who slogged through my prose and made it so much better.

To the amazing Steven Novak, cover artist extraordinaire. Why this guy doesn’t have a big-money contract to do cover art for a major publishing house is beyond me. For my fellow writers out there who want to hire him, that’s http://www.novakillustration.com/.

To the members of Team Awesome who joined me in the many WRITING SPRINTs that created this book and provided moral support along the way: Alexandra Corinth, Emmie Mears, Nicole Evelina, Shannon Mayer, Shauna Granger, and Courtney Marquez.

And finally, to the good and generous folks who chipped in to my Kickstarter campaign. Thanks to you, I finally have the funding to advertise this book and hopefully make it the bestseller it deserves to be. In no particular order, you are: Ken Suh, Emmie Mears, Lindsay Buroker, Jaenelle Hilligas, Sarah Sipe, Jennifer Rosenbaum, Sarah Uhl, Elizabeth Greenberg, Nicole Brunk, Deanna Stanley, Matt Greenbaum, Shan Lakhmani, Ericka Skinner, Marley Nelson, Shannon Mayer, Mary and Allan Kelly, Lindsay Middaugh, Danielle Kulawiak, Kristen Romanelli, Kriss Morton, Melody-Ann Jones Kaufmann, Jacob Sloman, Anne Abramowitz, Regina Anaejinou, Louise Sloman, Tetyana Gaponenko, Erik Berglund, Joseph Sloman, Elizabeth Bookbinder, Harley Thomas, and Mary Ann Abramowitz.

Prologue

Clifford Hammond had never done anything illegal in his life.

He walked through downtown Austin toward the Capitol Building, mechanically putting one foot in front of the other. The sidewalk bustled with pedestrians, but Cliff paid them little notice as his mind raced, desperately trying to figure out some way to stop himself from doing what he was about to do. Then, among the jumble of passersby, Cliff’s eyes fell on a dark-haired woman who was leading a young boy through the crowd. The youngster was not making this task easy, however, as he had his face buried in a book—one of the Fear Street novels.

That sight derailed Cliff’s thoughts.

He saw in his mind’s eye the countless nights he’d spent sitting on the edge of Logan’s bed, reading Encyclopedia Brown aloud as the boy fell asleep. Their nightly ritual. I wanna be a detective like Encyclopedia, Daddy! Logan had said to him one day. What would Logan think when he turned on the TV and saw that this time, Daddy was the bad guy?

Can’t think about that.

The morning sun shone down on Cliff as he continued his mindless walk toward the Capitol. He passed several more clumps of people, and it occurred to him to try to warn them—to tell one of them what was about to happen. Then someone could call the police. This could all be avoided. Cliff opened his mouth, drew breath—but the words would not come.

Dammit! I should have known!

Time to try something else. But what? He passed restaurants, bars, and coffee shops. Perhaps he could stop in at one of them, buy some time to think of a way out of this mess. Cliff willed his body to turn and take him into the nearest restaurant, but found that that, too, was impossible. His feet would not deviate from their preprogrammed course.

He could see his reflection in the windows of the restaurants he passed. His hair lay flat atop his head, impeccably groomed and parted. Jill would hate it.

Reflexively, Cliff reached into the pocket of his suit jacket and withdrew the comb he always kept there. Every morning, he brushed and combed his hair to look perfectly professional, and every morning, like clockwork, Jill messed it up as soon as he came out of the bathroom. His snooty, rich guy look, she called it. The comb was his secret weapon.

Cliff was turning it over and over in his hand when the idea struck him: his arms. He still had control over them. And he had a Swiss Army Knife in his briefcase…..

Lifting the briefcase, Cliff opened it slightly and clutched it to his chest to prevent its contents from falling out. He saw the knife tucked away in a pocket, and one hand closed around the handle. The cool metal felt reassuring against his palm. This was his way out.

And yet.

Even knowing what was at stake, Cliff could not make himself do it. He could not bring himself to plunge the point of the blade into his chest. He did not want to die.

If I did, Jill would probably make sure to mess up my hair before they put me in the ground. The final indignity. A dark chuckle escaped his lips at the thought.

He reached the Capitol, ascended the steps, and pulled open the wooden double doors. He was greeted by the sight of a metal detector in between two large, white pillars. A kindly-looking state trooper was working the metal detector. The name tag on her chest identified her as Darlene.

Maybe I can write her a note….

Dropping to one knee, Cliff opened a briefcase and withdrew a legal pad (he was never without one) and a pen. Putting the pad on the floor, he began to write feverishly.

NEED YOUR HELP. AM GOING TO M—

But he found that he could not finish the message. He tried, over and over again, willing his arm to move, to make the pen write a U, and then an R, but it wouldn’t do so. He let out several guttural grunts as his attempts to write letters produced only wild scribbling.

Excuse me, sir? A woman’s voice broke through the cloud of frustration around his mind. He looked up and saw the state trooper, Darlene, giving him a worried look. The people ahead of him in the line were gawking and staring at him as well, apparently unsure what to make of his bizarre behavior. Are you all right?

Err—yeah, I’m fine, he said, rising slowly to his feet. Apparently, warning the guards was out of the question. Just making a note to myself.

Darlene gave a dubious-sounding chuckle, still frowning. Please, let her not believe it. Let her pull me aside for questioning or escort me out of the building. Something. Anything.

But instead, she simply turned and went back to her work. Cliff forced his face to assume an even expression, though his mind was awash in curses. When his turn finally came at the security checkpoint, Cliff handed the Swiss Army Knife to Darlene, and then placed his briefcase on the X-ray machine’s conveyor belt, along with his cell phone and keys. By all rights, his briefcase should set off every alarm in the machine, but he doubted it would. Surely the strange man had seen to that….

He stepped through the metal detector and came up clean. Sure enough, the X-ray machine found nothing suspicious either. Smiling at the state trooper, Cliff started toward the elevators. As he walked, he reached into a pocket and pulled out the picture the strange man had given him. He currently saw the world as if he were looking at a television screen full of static—a result of what the strange man had done to him—but he could make out the picture well enough. Short blond hair, a round face with ample baby fat in the cheeks and chin, a genuine-looking smile beneath blue eyes. He looked like a nice man.

Guilt stabbed Cliff in the gut at that thought.

He arrived at the elevators, their silver doors emblazoned with the emblem of the State of Texas. He pressed the down button, waited, and then rode the elevator to the Capitol Extension.

As he walked down a poorly-lit corridor with plain white walls, Cliff had the distinct impression that he was in the basement of a warehouse rather than the State Capitol Building. Only the picture frames lining the walls, containing photos of various parts of the building, gave the gloomy hallway any life at all

Finally, Cliff arrived at his destination: the Capitol Grill. Public Welcome, the sign said. They may rethink that after today.

The smell of fresh-brewed coffee invited Cliff inside. As he stepped into the Grill, he saw a line full of people waiting to order breakfast from the servers who stood behind the counter. In the background, he could hear what sounded like a radio news broadcast. He strained his ears to make out the anchor’s words.

…convictions of mages, zombies, and other so-called ‘arcane’ clients have skyrocketed in recent months. Hunter Gamble, once considered the state’s premiere attorney specializing in ‘arcane defense,’ left that area of practice almost a year ago….

Hunter! Cliff’s thoughts brightened momentarily at the memory of his old law-school classmate. I’ll call Hunter. He’ll know what to do.

Meanwhile, the reporter continued, arcane rights remain a hot-button issue in the upcoming elections, with newly-minted nominee Ellis Boyer emerging as one of the state’s strongest advocates for better legal protections for arcane-Americans. Boyer was Austin’s district attorney until he resigned that post to mount a Congressional campaign. The man he hopes to unseat, Congressman Hoyt Boone, continues to push for passage of the Post Unveiling Tort Reform Act, or PUTRA….

Cliff tuned out the rest of the broadcast and headed toward the tables. It didn’t take him long to find the target. The man sat in plain view, hunched over a bowl of cereal and a steaming mug of coffee, dressed in a suit, his tie safely tucked away inside his shirt. Stopping a few yards shy of the man, Cliff opened his briefcase once more.

This time, Cliff dug around until he found the special object that the strange man had inserted into the case. A gun. Nothing fancy, a simple revolver. Just enough to get the job done. With a sigh, he picked it up, grasped the trigger, and pointed it at the man.

"Get down!" someone shouted as commotion erupted behind him. Cliff could hear footsteps scampering about in the background. He saw his target start to dive under the table—

Cliff closed his eyes before he squeezed the trigger, but it didn’t matter. The sound of the shots would ring in his ears for days to come.

Chapter 1

Several Hours Earlier…

"It’s the eye of the tiger, it’s the thrill of the fight…."

The music was background noise for Holly Shepard as she jogged on the treadmill. She held a stack of flashcards and was going through them methodically, reading the question on the front of each card, guessing at the answer, and then flipping the card over to check herself. Sweat had long since broken out on her forehead and exposed torso, but she ignored it, along with the slight burning sensation in her lungs. Holly found that physical exertion helped focus her mind and enhanced her memory.

Plus, multitasking like this was often the only way she had time to exercise at all.

Well, that’s it, Holly said under her breath, reaching the last card in the stack. She closed her eyes as she reshuffled the cards, gathering her thoughts. Only three wrong that time. Getting better.

Opening her eyes, Holly looked down at the timer, which said she’d been running for forty-five minutes. Fifteen left. Plenty of time for another run-through before breakfast. Holly gave the cards one last shuffle—and felt a tap on her shoulder.

She took off her headphones and turned her head, already knowing who she’d see. Sure enough, it was Daniel. He smiled at Holly, his blue eyes twinkling beneath a mop of sandy blond hair. Hi, sweetie, Holly said, pressing the pause button on the iPod clipped to her waist. She kissed him as she stepped off the treadmill, his goatee tickling her lips. Didn’t wake you, did I?

Not guilty. But, Daniel said, wrapping his arms around her waist, I don’t suppose I could talk you into coming back to bed with me?

Holly pursed her lips. That was an awfully tempting offer. But…. Can’t, she said and held up the flashcards. Duty calls.

Can’t it call back in, say, an hour or so? Daniel ran one hand up her back, not seeming to care that it was covered in sweat, and then slid his fingers beneath the fabric of her sports bra. The touch sent an electric tingle up and down Holly’s spine, making his offer even harder to resist—which was no doubt exactly what he intended. I can make it worth your while.

I’m sure you could. Holly gave him a smile laced with regret. But I’ve gotta be ready.

Daniel’s chin dipped to his chest. He released her. You got a hearing this morning?

Yeah, a couple of quick ones, but these are for the case against the DeLeon Company.

Daniel’s eyebrows lifted. The water contamination case?

Holly nodded.

Isn’t that trial in, like, three months?

A slight flush warmed Holly’s cheeks. Yeah.

"And you think an hour of studying now will make the difference?"

Holly sighed. "Daniel, the case is worth millions of dollars. Tens of millions of dollars. I can’t blow it. And you know how bad my memory is. That means that for the next few months, these… She held up the flashcards. …are my new best friend."

The joys of dating a workaholic, Daniel said, rolling his eyes at her playfully. At least, she hoped it was playful. Want I should start breakfast?

Sure. Holly kissed his cheek. What time is it anyway?

Five-fifteen. Daniel padded into the kitchen of the apartment they shared, pulling a frying pan down from the cabinet. I’ll never understand how you do it.

Do what? she asked, toweling off.

Work seventeen or eighteen hours a day on five-hours sleep.

Learned skill, Holly said, coming up behind Daniel and wrapping her arms around his neck. And speaking of learned skills, any chance you’d be willing to teach me one?

Hmm?

"Cooking. I’d like to be able to make you breakfast someday. Well, without poisoning you anyway." She gave a slight smirk.

Hey, you keep me in the lifestyle to which I’ve become accustomed, Daniel said, turning his head and bringing their lips together. What more can a guy ask for?… Well, except a girlfriend who’s home every now and again.

You might get your wish—today looks like it’ll be a light day. If the stars align, I’ll be here when you get home.

Was that a wince on Daniel’s face? He hesitated a moment and then said, Actually, I think they’re doing inventory at the pharmacy today, so I’ll probably be late.

Holly pouted. They can’t leave that to the peons instead of the big, mighty pharmacist?

The big, mighty pharmacist has to run the show and make sure the peons do their jobs right, Daniel chuckled. "Though, speaking of delegating, aren’t you co-head of the litigation division at your firm?"

Yeah. Why?

Where’s your co-head in all of this? Can’t he take some of the prep work off your shoulders?

Gamble? Holly felt her expression harden at the thought of Hunter. Uh-uh. This is my case. I’m not gonna risk him screwing it up.

You let people help you with the research—you were willing to risk it then.

That was different. Holly released Daniel and went to the fridge to get the orange juice.

How?

The people who helped me with the research were first-year associates. Have you ever met a first-year associate?

Not other than you, a few years ago.

They’re like puppy dogs, Holly said as she poured orange juice into a tall glass. Incredibly ambitious puppy dogs. They’re very eager to please. That means they work hard, and tend to be thorough.

"And you don’t think