Promises I Made Read Online Free PDF

hotel. I entered through the front doors first and took the elevator up, but instead of stopping at the door to my room, I continued on to the stairwell, wanting to make sure no one was waiting there. I’d heard too manyof Cormac’s raid stories—accounts of fellow grifters who’d been caught—to be careless so close to Playa Hermosa. According to Cormac, SWAT teams hid on fire escapes and in adjoining apartments, in stairwells and in work vans. Sometimes someone would come to the door disguised as a delivery person, asking for a signature to make sure they got the right person before the rest of the team swooped in. Other times a group of them would come in full force so the suspect wouldn’t have time to plan an escape.
    I took the stairs to the first floor, confirmed that the stairwell was empty, and headed back upstairs to let myself into the room. Housekeeping had come while I was gone, and the room looked exactly like it had when I’d checked in two days before.
    I put my backpack down on the bed and set my laptop up on the little table by the window. I used my new prepaid credit card to access the Wi-Fi for the next twenty-four hours, then signed up for an account on a VPN to mask my activity.
    I started by looking up attorney-client privilege. According to Wikipedia, privilege existed as long as the communication happens between a client and his or her attorney for the sake of securing legal advice. I read through the list of exceptions, my gaze snagging on the third one: the communication is made for the purpose of committing a crime . I wasn’t planning to commit a crime. Was I? Did it count that I was willing to do anything to get Parker out of jail? What if I talked to the attorney and then decided that committing another crime was the only way to do it? Would the possiblelogistics of my situation—like getting a new fake ID—count as committing a crime?
    I didn’t know, and I wasn’t willing to risk finding out. I filed the option away for later consideration and went back over the newspaper articles about the Fairchild con and Parker’s arrest.
    I typed the name of Parker’s attorney into the search bar, then clicked Images. A severe-looking woman blossomed in several photographs across the screen. Her face was smooth and unlined, her red hair pulled back into a tight bun. Once I had a picture of her in my mind, I searched for information about her other cases, hoping she had experience with at least one high-profile case like Parker’s. But the closest she’d come was a robbery gone bad in Hawthorne. The suspect had been seventeen and coerced into the theft by his older brother, a well-known gangbanger. The younger brother was convicted as an adult and sentenced to ten years for accessory to murder. Not exactly promising.
    I read through articles on the Fairchild theft chronologically, starting with the ones that appeared right after we’d stolen the gold. There were stock photos of Warren, commanding in a suit and tie, obviously some kind of promotional photo for the billion-dollar company owned by his father. The picture held no trace of the Warren I knew, the mentally ill man who’d stockpiled gold in a bunker under his carriage house, security against an unknown threat that only he saw coming. There were a few pictures of Parker, too, and my heart leaped into my throat at the defiant lift of his chin, the stubborn shine in his eyes. His face was morefamiliar to me than my own, and I suddenly missed him with a force that almost brought me to my knees.
    I clicked on more of the results, skimming the articles for something, anything, I could use.
    . . . Detective Castillo said the investigation is ongoing.
    A press release issued by lead detective Raul Castillo claimed that . . .
    . . . questions into the investigation, led by Detective Castillo . . .
    It didn’t sound like they had much. Parker wasn’t talking. I knew it was