Across the Border

By Cheryl Robbins Berg

Charity McLaughlin is a highly skilled trial lawyer, practicing law in Tacoma, Washington. She also has a new and exciting relationship with sheriff's detective Sean Robinson. Charity's friends have recently helped her survive serious mental illness and a harrowing attempt on her life. Now she simply hopes to live normally, with as little stress as possible. But this is not to be.

When Sophia and Manuel Vega come to her with a claim involving Sophia's badly botched surgery, Charity is once again embroiled in intrigue. Sophia Vega had been horribly scarred by the negligence of a noted plastic surgeon, who had claimed he could repair the results of an earlier mastectomy and make her beautiful again. Instead, he left her with jagged scars across her chest, and skin which resembles a burn victim.

Charity takes the case. But in doing so, she is unwittingly pulled into a deadly battle between Mexican and Honduran drug cartels, which are moving up the west coast into Washington State. This drug war is also being fought by her detective boyfriend, Sean. Charity does her best to help Sophia Vega in her claim against the doctor, while facts begin to unfold which make her wonder if one of the Vegas could be involved in the drug runnning operation. The final question becomes whether Charity and Sean will escape with their lives.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jul 15, 2011
• ISBN: 9781462029006

Cheryl Robbins Berg

An attorney since 1976, Cheryl Robbins Berg was a trial lawyer until her recent semi-retirement. She practiced personal injury law, tirelessly representing injured people against insurance companies and corporations. During her career, she served in leadership positions for many legal organizations, including becoming President of the Washington State Bar Association Litigation Section, the Puget Sound Inn of Court, and the Washington State Chapter of the American Board of Trial Advocates. She has lectured on trial practice in seminars around the country. Now enjoying her second career as a novelist, she lives in Gig Harbor, Washington, with her husband Rick and their cocker spaniel Tucker. This is her third novel.

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Contents

Acknowledgements

Foreword

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-six

Chapter Twenty-seven

Chapter Twenty-eight

Chapter Twenty-nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-one

Chapter Thirty-two

Chapter Thirty-three

Chapter Thirty-four

Chapter Thirty-five

Chapter Thirty-six

Chapter Thirty-seven

Chapter Thirty-eight

Chapter Thirty-nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-one

Chapter Forty-two

Chapter Forty-three

Chapter Forty-four

Chapter Forty-five

Chapter Forty-six

Chapter Forty-seven

Chapter Forty-eight

Chapter Forty-nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-one

Chapter Fifty-two

Chapter Fifty-three

Chapter Fifty-four

Chapter Fifty-five

Chapter Fifty-six

Chapter Fifty-seven

Chapter Fifty-eight

Chapter Fifty-nine

Chapter Sixty

Chapter Sixty-one

Chapter Sixty-two

Chapter Sixty-three

Chapter Sixty-four

Chapter Sixty-five

Chapter Sixty-six

Chapter Sixty-seven

Chapter Sixty-eight

Chapter Sixty-nine

Chapter Seventy

Chapter Seventy-one

Chapter Seventy-two

Chapter Seventy-three

Chapter Seventy-four

Chapter Seventy-five

Chapter Seventy-six

Chapter Seventy-seven

Chapter Seventy-eight

Chapter Seventy-nine

Chapter Eighty

Chapter Eighty-one

Chapter Eighty-two

Chapter Eighty-three

Chapter Eighty-four

Chapter Eighty-five

Chapter Eighty-six

Chapter Eighty-seven

Chapter Eighty-eight

Other Titles by Author:

Pending Litigation

Alex, My Son

Acknowledgements

I would like to express my sincere thanks to all of my friends, family and colleagues for their support in my second career as a novelist. Thanks to Arne Antos for reviewing my manuscript and suggesting changes which have clearly improved this book. Also, special thanks to my dear friend John Solis for all of his invaluable input.

And I especially want to thank my husband, Rick, for all of his support, inspiration and encouragement in both my writing career and life in general. He is always there for me. We have shared twenty years of marriage, and I look forward to many, many more.

Foreword

Most of the characters and the storyline in this book are fictional. I conducted research into the drug wars which are raging in Mexico, the United States, and other Central and South American countries, and included factual information to make the story realistic. The reader will recognize the names of some of our nation’s leaders, such as President Barack Obama, Secretary of State Hillary Clinton, and Secretary of the Department of Homeland Security Janet Napolitano. Also, I reference Mexico’s President Felipe’ Calderon. Many of the cities, towns, and businesses described herein are also real. However, none of the names of the drug lords are in any way accurate, nor are any of the other characters in the book. This is a work of fiction.

Prologue

She lifted her foot from the accelerator and slammed it onto the brake, as she cranked the wheel hard to the right. Taking the corner on two wheels, the BMW then bounced back onto all fours and shot down the darkened side street. She glanced into the rearview mirror and saw the lights of the SUV that was chasing her careen around the corner only split seconds behind her.

Crap, Charity muttered. Crap, crap, crap… Her knuckles white on the steering wheel, her heart pounding in her chest, she whipped the car left into an alley and barreled down it, praying that no one would step into the street carrying a trash can or leading a dog on a leash. Behind her, lights turned into the alley and the other car bore down on her.

She shot out of the alley, screeching sideways on M Street, and tried to correct the out-of-control fishtailing. But she could not. As the car whipped around for the third time, it jumped the sidewalk. She almost felt, rather than saw, the telephone pole looming toward her the darkness.

There was a deafening crash. And everything went black.

Chapter One

Three Months Earlier

Charity McLaughlin rode the elevator to the fourth floor of Old City Hall in Tacoma, smiling to herself. It was going to be a good day, a really fine day. She actually giggled a little. It had been a long time since she’d felt so happy. And on a Monday morning, too. Who would have thought she could be so content, so pleased with life on her least favorite day of the week?

The elevator doors opened and she stepped out into the hallway, turned right and walked the few feet to her office door. Looking through the glass, she read Law Offices of McLaughlin & Grey in big gold letters, adorning the wall above the reception desk. She was still pleased whenever she read her name like that, emblazoned across the wall. Mom and Dad would have been so proud.

She paused a moment in wonder, her hand resting on the door knob. Amazing. It had finally happened. Enough years had passed since their fatal accident that she could now think fondly of them and no longer feel an aching sadness. They were good, solid, caring parents, and she’d been lucky to have them. Now they were at peace, together. She smiled. Actually, she liked to think of the afterlife more along the lines of psychic Sylvia Browne’s description. What do you mean, at peace? Sylvia had asked once on the Montel Williams Show. ‘At peace’ conjures up an image of someone sitting quietly, hands folded in their lap, contemplating a cloud. Heck, no! They’re having a ball up there! Yep. Mom and Dad were having a ball up there.

And her own life had gone on. Quite well, actually, thank you very much. Well, eventually, that is.

A frantic waving of arms caught her eye, and she realized that their receptionist was wildly trying to catch her attention, while cradling the phone to her ear. Chuckling, Charity pushed the door open and stepped inside.

One moment, Mr. Atchison, Trish was saying into the phone. I think I might see Ms. McLaughlin coming down the hall. Could you hold, please? And she quickly pushed the hold button.

Charity had heard the name. All right! she exclaimed at Trish, giving her the thumbs up signal as she hurried around the reception desk toward her office. Get back on, and…

Trish cut her off, with, Gotcha’, boss, as she punched the hold button again. Yes, Mr. Atchison, Ms. McLaughlin is on her way to her office. She’ll be with you in a moment, okay? Good. Once again she pushed the hold button, hauled herself with some difficulty from her chair, and hurried after Charity. As she passed Buzz Grey’s office, he called out, Where’s the fire?

Backing up, Trish looked into Buzz’s office and said, Atchison’s on the phone. State Farm. The…

Reynolds case, Buzz finished for her. He held up crossed fingers. Trish returned the gesture and scurried the next few feet to Charity’s office door, her hand pressed to the ache in the small of her back. Leaning against the door jam, she prepared to listen in to Charity’s side of the conversation, her eyes trained on the lawyer’s face.

Charity pushed the button for line one and spoke politely into the phone. Hello, Bob? Charity here. How was your week-end? Best to make a little small talk, covering up how anxious she felt.

Fine, fine, Charity, the insurance adjuster replied. Beautiful May weather, wasn’t it? I got a little sail boating in. How about you?

A friend and I took a day trip to Vashon Saturday. Vashon Island was reachable by ferry boat from either Tacoma or Seattle. Surrounded by Colvos Passage, it stretched from the southern city to the northern one. There’s a neat little restaurant and bar there called The Hardware Store. Ever been? A slow smile spread over her face as she remembered the perfect day with the new man in her life.

Trish’s face registered exasperation. She shook her fist in the air, silently mouthing, Get on with it! at Charity. Cher waved at her dismissively.

So, anyway; Reynolds, Atchison was saying.

Yeah, we’re ready to start trial Wednesday, she said. Too bad the mediation failed last week.

Right, the adjuster said, and hesitated a moment. Well, we thought maybe we could continue to talk a bit. Derek and I met on Saturday for a while. Derek Douglas was the defense trial lawyer. He’s ready, too. But, you know it’s always better for everybody to avoid the uncertainties of a trial.

Yes, Charity said. And this one’s going to tug on the jury’s heartstrings. Fine fellow, David Reynolds. A high school teacher, so highly thought of. And now look what he’s had to deal with, all because of your driver’s negligence. Charity didn’t have to repeat the injuries suffered by her client, as both she and the adjuster were well aware of them. Most of his broken bones had healed, except for a limp in his right leg, which would be permanent. The worst injury had happened when his head rammed through the side window, slicing his windpipe. Thankfully, he could still speak. But it had taken nearly a year of speech therapy to rid himself of most of the slur. Now it was minimal, but clearly noticeable. He still taught, pushing through his partial disability. Charity looked up at Trish and waited for the adjuster to respond.

Uh-huh, uh-huh, she nodded into the phone. Well, Bob what are you talking here? Uh-huh, uh-huh. Well…

Trish leaped forward, grabbed a legal pad and pen from the side of Charity’s desk, and shoved them at her. What, what? she mouthed. Charity swiveled away from her, causing Trish to kick the desk in frustration. Charity continued to talk, her back to Trish, as Buzz appeared in the doorway.

So, what’s the new offer? he asked Trish.

Sliding him a look, Trish murmured, I don’t know. She won’t write it down, damn her.

Okay, Charity was saying, turning back toward them. I’ll call the client and his wife and pass the offer along. But I’m not going to recommend it. I’ll talk with them about whether we’ll counter, Bob. Yeah, okay. Let’s try and talk later today, all right? Okay. Thanks. ‘Bye.

She looked up at Buzz and Trish solemnly, but with just the slightest look of mischief in her eyes. Saying nothing, she pulled the main Reynolds file toward her and opened it. Buzz just leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. He knew Charity. This was a good sign. But although Trish also knew her boss well, she was far less patient and finally couldn’t control herself any longer.

"Well, well? How much is on the table, boss? C’mon!" she demanded.

Charity leaned back in her chair and looked at them. Two point three, she said. A slow smile spread across her face as she enjoyed the wide-eyed looks of her friends.

Buzz broke the moment of silence with a low whistle. Two point three million. Damn. Amazing, Cher. That’s a hundred fifty more than we told Mr. and Mrs. Reynolds that they should consider taking. Fine, fine job, sweetie. He crossed to Charity and held out his hand, which she grasped firmly, while standing up and pulling him into a bear hug.

Trish had started applauding. Then she circled her fist in the air and let out a Whoop, whoop, whoop!

Charity continued to smile, as she said, I’ll call the clients and get their authority to settle, but try for more. Then I’ll wait two hours, call the adjuster back and ask for another two hundred. We’ll settle at two point four.

Yep. It was a great day.

Chapter Two

An hour later the front office door opened and Megan swept in with a flourish. Always in a good mood lately, the statuesque redhead wore a broad smile and an Yves St. Laurent, lavender suit, the height of fashion. She worked four hours a day for Buzz and Charity, three days a week, handling all the billing and bookkeeping, and sharing office management with Trish. At age sixty, she liked to think of herself as a surrogate mother in addition to friend to the younger people in the office. Charity and Buzz were in their early thirties, and Trish was twenty-five.

"Trish, darling, how are you feeling?" she gushed, rounding the reception desk so she could get a better look at the young woman.

Trish glared up at her. Leave me alone, you, she said. I’m fat, thank you very much. My back hurts and I feel like I’ve swallowed a beach ball.

"But, sweetheart, you simply glow, Megan said, reaching out to grasp Trish’s hands and pull her to her feet. And just look at that adorable…"

Don’t say it! Trish jumped in, cutting her off. Just don’t say it! I swear to God, Meg, if you comment one more time on my ‘adorable baby bump’ I’ll punch you in the teeth. With that, she pulled her hands from Meg’s, plopped heavily back into her office chair, and turned back to her computer.

Megan just laughed, a rich robust sound, and patted Trish on the back. Hormones, dear, hormones. I understand, having had three beautiful babies myself.

No, Trish replied, over her shoulder. "It is not hormones. It’s twenty-five extra pounds, back pain, and the need to pee every five minutes. And I still have at least ten weeks to go! I hate this, I tell you, hate it. And my stupid husband keeps telling me how beautiful I am. Beautiful, my butt. You all need to leave me alone. Let me be miserable."

Megan turned away with a smile. "Okay, you brat. But you’d better be nice to Jason. He’s a wonderful husband and he loves you and this little unborn guy so much. So, treat him well. And I’ll remember this abuse you’re throwing at me the first time you ask me to baby sit."

Blackmail, Trish muttered with a sigh. Throwing her hands in the air, she turned back toward Meg. Okay, you win. I take it all back. You know you’re my BFF. Please promise me you’ll be my babysitter for life, free of charge, on a moment’s notice. Clasping her hands together she raised them in supplication.

Yeah, right, Meg replied with a grin. Anything you want, sweetie. In the meantime, just let me know if you need anything.

Trish smiled. Will do. And she began typing away in her computer again.

Meg passed Buzz’s office, waving at him so she wouldn’t interrupt a phone call he had taken, and stopped at Charity’s open door. Charity looked up as she appeared.

Hey, girl, you free for lunch? I’m feeling like sushi at Two Koi. And we need to compare notes from the week-end. Meg was happily married, her third and final marriage, to a logger. Jim Johnson was a Harley-riding guy who was the love of her life. On nice week-ends such as the last one, they usually went somewhere on the bike, either just for a ride or a two-day charity fundraiser of some kind. Meg and Jim had been married only four years, and she was still deliriously happy.

Sure, lunch sounds good, Charity said. Noon?

Noon, it is.

Stop by and get me.

Okay. Meg retraced her steps, heading back to her office to start the week’s paperwork.

Charity had already spoken with David Reynolds. He and his wife were relieved that a trial wouldn’t be necessary, and they were satisfied with the settlement offer. They gave Charity the authority to try for more, but accept what was on the table if no more was offered. So she was biding her time before making the call back to Bob Atchison to ask for another two hundred thousand dollars.

This was always a pleasant time in the life of a plaintiff’s trial lawyer, one who represents the injured person against insurance companies or corporations. She had no appointments scheduled, because Monday and Tuesday were blocked out for trial preparation. But she knew she would settle the case, so she did not need to use the time to actually prepare for trial. That meant she could catch up on past issues of the state’s trial lawyers’ paper, the Trial News, or the state Bar News, or other reading that had stacked up. She never felt like working other cases at times like this, and didn’t really have to. She was always careful to have her case load up to date when she was scheduled to start a long trial.

An hour later she was sitting reading last month’s issue of the New England Journal of Medicine when the phone beeped. Picking it up, she heard Trish say, Rick’s on line two.

That brought a smile to her face. It had been a while since she’d spoken to her favorite investigator, Rick Drummond. Rick was a teddy bear of a guy, in his forties, who looked like a younger version of Wilfred Brimley with a touch of Captain Kangaroo. He handled all investigations for her, competently and thoroughly. And over the years, he’d also become a good friend. She would never forget how he had helped save her life a few years back. She had blundered into a bad situation involving a medical negligence case which had morphed into a murder case, and her own life had been on the line. Rick had helped save the day.

Smiling, she picked up the phone. Hey, Ricky, how’s it goin’? she said.

Just fine, sweetie, just fine, answered the booming voice. And you? What’ve you been up to? No good?

None at all. Just enjoying life, she said.

Well, darlin’, you deserve it. Say, you got a minute?

For you, sure. What’s up?

Not much. It’s just that my business has really picked up over the past couple of years. The publicity over the big event has me in demand. Rick always referred to his involvement in saving Charity’s life and helping her solve the murder case in terms like ‘event’ or ‘that thing.’

She chuckled. Well, I’m glad the event helped your business. I admit, it enhanced my reputation as a trial lawyer, too. Business, especially referrals from other lawyers, really picked up when the paper broke the story. You know we’ve added a full-time paralegal.

Right, and good for you, he said. Well, I’m in the same position. I’ve been using a young fella’ to help me out part time. I’ve already tried him on some small investigations. He’s a witty guy, tenacious, and good with detail work. I’ve just decided to hire him full-time. Name’s Tim Bolton.

Good for you. I’d love to meet him

Great. That’s why I was calling. I wanted to bring him by to introduce him to you and Buzz. Thought maybe he could take on some of the smaller stuff for you, if you like him. You have any time this week?

Charity nodded at the phone. As it happens, I do. Let me check with Buzz. When are you thinking?

How about tomorrow afternoon?

Hold on a minute. She checked with Buzz and they set an appointment for the four of them at two o’clock the next day.

Chapter Three

The sun still hung above the horizon as Charity crossed the westbound Narrows Bridge, heading home to Gig Harbor late that afternoon. Silently giving thanks that the second, twin bridge had been completed two years before, greatly easing her commute, she gazed out at the sparkling waters of the Narrows as she crossed. What a beautiful drive. Every time she crossed the bridge on her way home from work and on to the Olympic Peninsula, she felt all tension melting from her body.

Having settled the Reynolds case for two million four fifty at three o’clock, she’d ordered the office closed early, and Buzz, Meg, Trish, the new paralegal Janine, and Cher all stopped at the little bar downstairs for a celebratory drink. Of course, Trish had a diet coke, and groused loudly about her need to abstain from her usual choice. She loved beer. Everyone had teased her, and reminded her that there were less than three months to go.

As she’d told Rick, her reputation for excellent lawyering over the recent years had brought her many good cases, and several multi-million dollar settlements or verdicts. They no longer had to struggle to make ends meet. She specialized in medical malpractice cases, but accepted personal injury claims in all areas, including car accidents, highway design defects, and products liability. Buzz was great on prep work; answering interrogatories, taking depositions, and preparing and arguing motions. He also took cases through arbitration. But he didn’t care for jury trials. When cases came close to trial, Charity always took over. She connected so well with juries, she was a natural. Long trials were stressful, but her successes were legion and she loved the challenge.

Today, driving home to her lovely house overlooking Colvos Passage, the southern tip of Vashon Island and across the water to Mount Rainier, she reflected on her life. It hadn’t been easy up to now. Her mistaken marriage, to put it mildly, was an error she vowed never to make again. But she’d survived, divorced, and was now living comfortably as a single woman.

While she’d been going through the divorce, Buzz had hinted at an interest in becoming more than just best friends. But she had resisted. It was an interesting thought, and she really did love him so much, but not in that way. So, she’d put him off. Buzz had understood, and they were as close as ever, as friends only. But who knew? Life was subject to change without notice.

Deciding she was in no hurry, she took the Olympic Drive exit, the first Gig Harbor exit off of Highway 16, which would drop her down into the southern end of the little artist town, requiring her to drive slowly through town along the water on her way home. The second exit, Wollocet Drive/City Center, bypassed most of the town and was the shorter route home.