The proof was indisputable, but insufficient for the prosecutors to close the case. Mitch Stewart’s influence and money had quickly assembled the best legal team for his son from high-class firms around the country, including Burton & Associates.
I hated that Charlotte was involved in a case about murder, but what I hated the most was the idea of her having to swim in such troubled waters with such big and dangerous sharks. My concern and dislike, however, were firmly but very difficultly concealed.
“Your father assigns the cases?”
“It still is his firm, Marcus. I have my own clients, but if he chooses, he can assign any case he wants to anyone he wants.” Charlotte gave me an exhausted, pleading look. In response, I only tightened my hold on her hand and pressed a delicate kiss to her knuckles.
“What if you decline a case?”
“I have. Jack Stewart’s. The resultant hassle wasn’t worth it.”
“Are you afraid of your father, Charlotte?”
A slow-devouring rage built inside me and expanded when Charlotte’s eyes widened with something akin to trepidation.
“In which way?”
Her voice trembled, but I assumed she was oblivious to the way she tensed each time the subject of her father came up.
“In the way that you do not dare to defy him. At all.”
“I told you. I am not that daring.” She smiled weakly and watched me over the rim of her cup of coffee.
“That is not true. You were daring enough to give me a chance, remember?”
The timid smile expanded, and her tongue darted out to lick coffee-coated lips. Admitting defeat to her charms, I leaned into her until I heard her breath hitch then took my time savoring her mouth.
“Continue, please.”
“Kissing you?”
“Oh, sweet Charlotte, I’m corrupting you already.”
“That is not true.”
Despite her grin, her voice was censorious, which reminded me of her hard slap from the previous evening. While she struggled to put her thoughts in order, I struggled to wipe the growing smile off my face.
“I went to D.C. to meet Jack Stewart,” she said. “I talked to his lawyers, to his father, to him, and the more I talked, the more I got the nagging feeling that something was wrong.”
“A true Cancerian values her feelings,” I muttered, distracted by her tongue as it glided lasciviously over her bottom lip.
“I do,” she conceded, wearing a pensive expression. “I value my intuition and my capacity to read people. I also talked to the prosecuting attorney, and oddly, my discussion with him felt more honest than that with my client. There are things Jack is not saying, which I believe his father knows. His behavior is strange to say the least, erratic at times. Among other things, he is accused of second-degree murder. He should be revolted at the allegation and determined to prove the prosecutors wrong because he should want to discover the true murderer in this story. Most importantly, he should be suffering for his fiancée. He is and does none of what I would expect from an innocent man.”
“You don’t believe he is innocent.”
It was a statement, plain and simple, and though Charlotte didn’t verbally agree, her eyes spoke volumes. She placed her fork and knife on the half-empty plate and straightened in her seat.
“That is all I can divulge. Regardless of what I think, I owe him confidentiality.”
“As usual the professional.”
“I have to be,” she murmured quietly. Her seductive voice reminded me of her uncontrolled moans as I was deeply sheathed in her hot, addictive body.
“I know. But I’m always here to listen when you need me to.”
I kissed her briefly because I needed the physical reassurance but did not deepen the contact since I knew I would not be able to stop myself. The strange sensation that Charlotte shouldn’t be a part of Jack Stewart’s trial intensified. I valued my instincts too, and they rarely failed me.
“It would have been so much easier for both of us if you hadn’t been a lawyer. But if you heard yourself talk, if you heard the dedication in your voice, you wouldn’t doubt for a minute that you are marvelous at what you do. But then again, I believe you would be marvelous at anything you did. That worries me.”
Charlotte blushed. “Why?”
“Because you’ll eventually figure out that I am not good enough for you.”
“You are such a fool. Once I’m in, I’m in, Marcus.”
Repeating the words she had whispered to me the previous night was a comfort I didn’t expect. Charlotte rose from her seat and climbed into my lap in one lissome movement. Her hands secured my face, and her mouth descended upon mine with firm delicacy.
Yet, her subtlety couldn’t conceal the passionate woman inside. When we resurfaced for air, she eyed me intensely, chidingly. In the face of her fervor, I couldn’t help but grin.
“When are you free this week?” I asked, tracing her lips with my thumb.
“I can make time Friday. Why?”
To my utter satisfaction, her curiosity immediately sparked. She prodded me with her fingers to offer the answer to her question, but before long, I discovered that a curious Charlotte was a sight I wasn’t willing to get rid of too swiftly.
Chapter 20
Charlotte
The inside of a courtroom always raised goosebumps on my skin. There was something solemn and elegant in the air even with all the uproar and commotion. It was also terrifying. Once a trial started, any outcome was possible, and the fate of the defendant lay in the hands of some unknown, unpredictable jury.
Jack was brought by the bailiff and looked considerably different from the last time I saw him. He was clean-shaven and wore a black suit with a matching tie and a crisp white dress shirt. His hair was brushed to the side, and his eyes were cast obediently downward. He looked subdued and distracted but properly grieving. Apparently, Drake had prepared him well for today.
Jack passed me by to sit next to Drake, and I experienced the same shiver that made my hair stand on end, so when Vincent Cole flanked Jack’s left side, I could only be grateful that I didn’t have to be so close to the man.
Drake and Jack talked in hushed voices, Drake giving him last minute instructions, while Jack hissed his approval and fisted his hands under the table so harshly that the skin turned white. Maybe he wasn’t that subdued after all.
“All rise,” the bailiff announced, and my heart started thumping faster.
And so, it all began.
We all stood respectfully as Jack finally and unequivocally became aware of his situation. All of a sudden, his face turned ashen, and his feet didn’t seem to support him properly.
From the audience, Mayor Stewart flashed him a warning glare, and his mother, Penelope, smiled encouragingly. She was perhaps the only one in their family who didn’t carry that cold-blooded expression that made you suspect the worst of her.
“Are both parties ready to proceed with this arraignment?” Judge Norton asked once everybody sat except Holden, Drake, and Jack.
“Yes, Your Honor,” both counselors answered.
“Mr. Stewart, you are charged with second-degree murder. If found guilty, the maximum sentence is incarceration for life. Do you understand the charges against you?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“How do you plead?”
“Not guilty, Your Honor.”
Jack’s voice sounded unexpectedly stable and collected. Behind the prosecution’s desk, Jennifer’s mother muffled her sobs in her husband’s neck, and Holden’s words rang in my head.
What if I was on the wrong side of this case? What if, by defending Jack Stewart, I made a mockery out of a family’s grief and a last abuse to a woman who had been unable to protect herself?
“Very well. Bail is set at 1.5 million dollars.”
“Objection, Your Honor.”
It was a pre-trial hearing, but Holden was already living up to the pit-bull image the media had crafted for him. As
he almost shouted the words, he looked ferocious like an animal, all but baring his teeth in anger. Although I was shocked by his objection, since it was not common or advisable to challenge a judge’s decision before the trial actually started, I was even more shocked that bail had been so quickly set.
Judge Norton raised his eyebrows in surprise and challenge of his own.
“Let me rectify, your Honor,” Holden amended. “The prosecution respectfully asks that bail be denied.”
“On what grounds, counselor?”
“On the grounds that Mr. Stewart is a class A felon, a danger to society, and a man with the resources to evade justice.”
“Your Honor, there’s no foundation for the prosecution’s claim,” Drake cut in, his tone tough as nails. “My client has no past criminal record, and there is no potential flight risk because it is in his best interest to face justice and be acquitted. In fact, the defense wants to present evidence of the prosecutor’s habit of intimidating defendants.”
Drake handed a folder to the bailiff, who handed it to the judge. In his corner, Holden fumed with hardly suppressed rage. There had been a case when Holden had argued against granting bail only to fail to prove the defendant’s guilt in the end. The man had been innocent, and he had almost been killed in prison. Certainly, that case had been a grave lapse in judgment for Leon Holden, but I doubted he had a pattern of malicious prosecution.
Judge Norton skimmed through the files, dissatisfaction clear in his gaze.
“If what I am reading here, Mr. Holden, is true, then I might even consider removing you from the case.”
Holden’s chin went up, and his eyes turned stony. He didn’t like to be backed up against a wall, and that was exactly where Drake had driven him.
“Do you have conclusive evidence to support your request, counselor?”
“Not at the moment, Your Honor,” Holden said.
“Then I am forced to caution you, counselor, that I will not tolerate abuse of power in my courtroom. Jack Stewart is not a felon as he has not been convicted yet.” Judge Norton’s gaze was sharp and determined as it fixed Holden, leaving him speechless, then he zeroed in on Jack. “Mr. Stewart, you will have to report to this court throughout your trial. Otherwise, bail will be revoked, and you will be imprisoned.”
“I understand, Your Honor,” Jack answered distractedly after Drake gripped his elbow with enough force to cause harm.
“Mr. Holden, if there are no other objections, is the prosecution prepared to begin trial?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
Holden was not pleased, that much was painfully evident when his eyes met mine. There was reproach there and maybe also regret, but we were on different sides as he had pointed out a week ago, and whatever my reticence or doubts, I defended Jack. If Holden was prepared, we had to be even more so.
“In that case, trial starts in six weeks.”
The judge stood, and the hearing ended as quickly as it had started. Holden gathered his files then threw a venomous glare in our general direction and an especially disgusted one to Jack, then he left.
Jennifer’s parents, huddled closely into each other’s sides, followed him quickly afterward. The mother was devastated. The father was just numb, a statue going through the motions.
“Does this mean that I’m free?”
Jack was almost hopeful, although quite naïve. Drake rolled his eyes, looking irritated as one did after hearing the same question over and over again. To my right, Cole sketched a smile that he quickly shrouded behind a concentrated scowl.
“Not yet, but you’ll sleep home tonight, Jack,” Cole told him when nobody seemed willing to offer an answer.
However, the day was not over, and there was still much work to be done. After he was cleared, Jack left court with the mayor and his mother, while Drake and Cole drove together in Drake’s Mercedes.
Although I had been invited to join them, I preferred to take the ride to Drake’s firm alone, if only to revel in some quiet time on my own.
Drake Kendrix Zane occupied the top floors of a building that looked as pretentious and intimidating from the outside as it did from the inside. An assistant, with her blonde hair tucked in a ponytail and her perfect designer dress complimenting her curves, greeted me by the elevators and led me all the way to the conference room where Drake and Cole were hunched low over stacks of papers.
The room was graceful and somewhat intimate, resembling more a private living room than an official area in a law firm. The paneled walls matched the chestnut furniture to perfection while the beige tones of the upholstery and the lighting fixtures invigorated the space. The far wall had a wide window sill and was made nearly entirely by framed windows. I was thankful that some were already open.
“Please take a seat, Charlotte,” Drake welcomed me with an unexpectedly warm smile. “Jack is supposed to arrive any minute.”
I nodded although Jack’s arrival didn’t generate any particular excitement. By the time he did manage to arrive, we had gone over several defense strategies and looked over the papers that littered the conference desk.
“Finally,” Drake muttered, but otherwise didn’t even acknowledge Jack’s arrival, and in his turn, Jack didn’t acknowledge our presence either.
The mayor’s son walked to the window, climbed on the window sill, stretching his legs, and lit a cigarette. It was, indeed, going to be a long day.
Drake stood, grabbed the half-smoked cigarette out of Jack’s fingers, and threw it out the window with what I could tell was his customary glare.
“You had homework, Jack,” Drake told him.
“Math, history? Oh no, let me guess. Philosophy?”
“Cut the idiocy. Who wanted Jennifer dead?”
Jack sighed loudly and banged his head against the window frame repeatedly. I couldn’t be entirely sure whether his frustration stemmed from being unable to identify who had wanted his fiancée dead or from not finding the perfect culprit to pin his own crime on.
“She was a stunning woman. Other men might have wanted her, I guess, but—”
The door of the conference room burst open, and the high-pitched voice of the blonde mannequin of a secretary invaded the whole space. Unlike the still man standing in the doorway, she was too noisy and her gestures so erratic that she appeared somewhat crazy.
“Sir, you are not allowed here. You force me to call security,” the woman kept saying, but nobody was paying her any attention.
The man advanced into the room while Jack slid off the window sill and froze. Drake stood, equally disturbed, and stepped in front of Jack, not to shield him from any danger but rather to defuse the pending explosion. Evidently, neither one of them had expected to come face to face with Jennifer Gunnar’s father.
“Sir, please.”
Drake found his bearings and made a curt gesture to his secretary. Immediately, she fell silent and left the room. Without her noises, the room was eerily quiet—the quiet before a storm.
“Mr. Gunnar,” Drake finally addressed him, and the man’s attention, which had been exclusively focused on Jack, shifted to his lawyer.
“Don’t talk to me,” Mr. Gunnar spat. His nostrils flared, his lips curled over his teeth, and loathing dripped from his stare. “I wanted to see with my own eyes how you are murdering my child all over again, how you drag her memory through the mud.”
“Mr. Gunnar,” Jack spoke and walked past Drake who failed to grab his shoulder by an inch. “I—I loved her. Maybe not like you wanted me to, maybe not like she deserved, but I did care for Jennifer.”
Cole watched the whole scene just as stunned as I felt. This might have been the longest, most charged speech about Jennifer I had heard from Jack’s mouth ever since we met. While he spoke, with eyes wide and full of sadness, and his body hunched and trembled, it was so easy to believe that he was nothing but an innocent man in agony.
“Don’t you say her name. Don’t you dare claim you ever loved my daughter. I warned her. I kept te
lling her that you were no good, that you would get rid of her first chance you’ve got. I never imagined you’d—”
“I was going to make her my wife,” Jack bellowed, turning grief into anger like an expert.
“That’s enough,” Drake cut in. “We all understand this is a difficult time for you, Mr. Gunnar, but I will not stand for this behavior or the accusations you make. I will ask you to leave this office immediately.”
Like clockwork, the security detail stepped in and gently motioned Mr. Gunnar outside, which made me believe they had been waiting for a cue all this time just outside the conference room.
“You are a disgrace. All of you are,” Mr. Gunnar hissed and shoved at the grabbing hands of the two bodyguards. “I hope you rot in jail, you murderer. I hope you’ll never see daylight again.”
After security finally escorted Jennifer’s father out, we remained silent. Jack returned to his seat on the window sill and smoked two cigarettes in quick succession. This time, Drake didn’t bother to curb his behavior. It was Cole who eventually resumed our discourse.
“How did you get along with Jennifer’s parents, Jack?”
Jack stopped in mid-smoke only to cast daggers at Cole. He seemed defensive, insulted, and dispassionate, all at the same time. Vincent watched through hawk’s eyes the emotions playing on Jack’s face, engaging in an already routine battle of wills. In the end, it was still Cole who won and Jack who caved.
“As you could see, they didn’t approve. They didn’t support us. Ever since we announced our engagement, her father tried to break us up. She had no relationship with her father, and she talked very little with her mother.”
“That sounds drastic.”
“Drastic was when he threatened to shoot me if I didn’t leave Jennifer alone.”
Cole looked disappointed. If he had intended to use Jennifer’s parents to testify in favor of Jack and build him the image of an adoring fiancé, then his tactic had been short-lived.
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