Evidence of Desire

by Lexi Blake

  Noah’s eyes softened. “I’m sorry. You knew him? I should have thought of that, but you’ve been out of the game for a long time. You rarely talk about it.”

  “I’ve met him a few times. We were never on the same team. His wife was a lovely woman. She ran a lot of the charity works for the league. Smart lady.” He took the coffee. It looked like he was going to need it. “I’ll get changed. How bad is the press coverage at this point?”

  “David, maybe I should call Henry,” Noah said, sounding hesitant for the first time. “He’s out on the island with Win, but I can hold down the case until he gets here.”

  “I thought they wanted me.” He knew what Noah was doing, giving him an out. He wasn’t going to be cowardly enough to take it. Because Noah was right. If this wasn’t an open-and-shut case, it would be the case. Hell, he could make something of it no matter what the evidence showed. Even if there was clear proof that Adams killed his wife, there was likely a defense. A defense no one had ever used in a case this big.

  CTE. Chronic traumatic encephalopathy. Every athlete’s nightmare.

  Who better to bring it than a man who might suffer from it one day?

  “She does want you,” Noah replied. “She asked specifically for you. You’re perfect for this case. It’s not easy finding a Harvard-educated lawyer who also played in the NFL. And I don’t think the press coverage is bad yet, but the minute the sun comes up, you know the vultures will start to circle. I wanted to try to be there if they take him into custody.”

  “Don’t you mean when they take him into custody?”

  Noah shrugged. “I’m trying to be optimistic.”

  “Stop,” he shot back as he started for the bedroom. No time to shower. That would have to wait, and he needed to get into battle mode. He would be stepping into those lights today and there would be nowhere to hide. “I don’t need Suzy Sunshine as my second. I need Dour Dan.”

  Noah frowned in a way that looked silly on that matinee-idol face of his. “I can be that. And they’re definitely hauling his ass down to the station. The question is how they do it. We should hurry if we intend to mitigate the damage.”

  “All right, then. This is my case.” He said the words, allowing them to sink in. “I’ll get dressed. You figure out what kind of shit storm we’re walking into, and have Margarita start writing some statements about the victim. I want her to get the clerks working on everything we know about Trey Adams and his state of health, both physically and mentally. If he’s popping pills, I want to know where they came from. If he’s seeing a shrink, I want the phone number. And everything on their marriage. If there’s a single rumor of someone cheating or even thinking about leaving, I want to know. Go through every gossip rag for the last two years. They suck, but there’s sometimes a kernel of truth to those stories and they’ll give us a place to start. But the medical records are the key to this case. You understand?”

  He would need all the medical records, and there would be tons of them. Over the course of his career, Trey Adams would have been injured many times. But it was the head injuries that David was particularly interested in. Could decades of small traumas to the brain have turned a hero into a killer?

  Noah was already on his phone. “Margarita, I need you to get up. What do you mean? You’ve already made breakfast and been to the gym? What’d you make?”

  He opened the closet and started pulling on his new uniform. It was still a form of armor. He was going to need a very thick skin to come out of this one whole.

  * * *

  • • •

  Isla Shayne glanced at the clock. Five forty. How much longer would she have? How much longer could she stand here in this apartment where she’d come for parties and dinners and remain calm and cool?

  How in all that was right with the universe could Portia Adams be dead?

  A hand reached down for hers, a slender body leaning, and she felt a silent sob go through Miranda Adams’s body. Isla squeezed her hand. Miranda was barely twenty but she was holding up like a champ. She’d been the one to phone Isla after her father had called her at her dorm at Columbia University. Miranda had been the one who met her in the lobby of her parents’ building.

  But it had been Isla who’d made the long ride in the elevator, who’d used Miranda’s key to get in, who’d walked into a bloodbath.

  “When will they take her out?” Miranda asked.

  Her. Her mother. When would they take her body away? “It could be a while, sweetie. The medical examiner just got here a couple of minutes ago and the district attorney isn’t here yet.”

  “Should Dad be talking to the detective?” Miranda straightened up, her shoulders squaring.

  “I’m trying to keep things civil right now. I don’t want to risk them hauling in your dad. If we play the game right, we might be able to avoid parading him in front of the press, but I need his defense attorney here.”

  “Why can’t you handle it? Isla, we trust you. You know us.”

  “I do, but David Cormack knows criminal law and I think he’ll be very good at talking to your dad,” she replied quietly. “I’m good at handling a lot of different legal situations, but I have no experience with this.”

  None, or she wouldn’t have taken a single look at the scene and ended up vomiting in one of the elegant large planters that decorated the penthouse. Yeah, she’d had to explain that to the police. She glanced across the room to where the detectives were speaking to her client.

  “So you woke up and she was dead?” Detective Campbell was a tall man in an elegant suit. He had midnight skin and eyes that had seen way too much of the world. And yet his voice was soft as he stared at his subject.

  Trey’s eyes were unfocused, bleary. “Portia? Portia’s dead?” His face went blank for a moment and then his jaw tightened. “I knew that. I knew she was dead.”

  They hadn’t allowed him to clean up yet. Trey Adams still had blood on his hands and his shirt. He’d tried to get up and hug his daughter, but the police weren’t allowing him to do anything but sit in the living room.

  He had gotten bad. Much worse than the last time she’d seen him, and she had to wonder what they would find in his tox screen. “Detective, I would prefer to wait for his attorney.”

  Campbell turned his stare on her. “I thought you were his attorney.”

  “She’s a good lawyer,” Trey said, nodding her way. “If you’re looking for one, you can’t do better than our Isla. Known her since she was a kid and now she looks out for us. Doesn’t she, Randi? Isla’s the best. For me and . . . I know she’s dead.” He ran a hand through his hair.

  Miranda moved in closer to her father, speaking to him in soothing tones.

  The detective drew Isla away, taking her out of earshot of Miranda and Trey. “I thought you told me the antianxiety meds would make him better.”

  “He is better. He’s talking and not crying. We managed to get him to let her body go,” she replied. And that had been a close thing. She’d had to talk him down because she couldn’t let Miranda see her mother’s body, couldn’t let her know how much blood had spilled. She had to hold it together until David Cormack got here. That was all she had to do. Keep things from falling apart until the big guns arrived. Her job was to not screw up and let her client incriminate himself.

  And not break down because it was truly tragic.

  What happened to him?

  That’s not the Adams I know.

  The cops were all whispering. These were New York’s finest, career cops who rarely blinked, but it was easy to see that even the most hardened officer was off his game today. Being in the presence of a living legend was bad enough. When that living legend turned out to be a fragile, broken version of the man they’d once called the greatest to play the game, it seemed to have thrown some of them for a loop.

  “Gentlemen . . .” Campbell’s deep voice had t
hem scrambling to get back to work. The detective gestured for her to move with him, slightly out of Trey Adams’s earshot. Two officers took up watch on the suspect—how could he be a suspect?

  “I’m trying to handle this as delicately as possible,” Campbell said. “But I need you to explain his situation right now. Will I be able to question him?”

  “Yes. He has good days and bad days. You’ll absolutely be able to question him. But I can’t promise you he’ll remember what happened.”

  “I think we can come up with some ways to help him along,” a deep voice said.

  She turned and was facing a blond-haired man in a superexpensive suit. One she knew well. “Hello, Royce. I don’t suppose you’re here for a social visit.”

  Royce Osborne was born to work in the district attorney’s office. He had Superman good looks, the ability to convince people he cared, and the dark soul of a true amoral demon. He was all about the win, and his record showed it. If he thought he couldn’t win, he would drop the case no matter how desperate the victims were.

  She couldn’t believe she’d dated that walking hairpiece, but then she’d let herself be set up on a blind date, and at first he’d seemed nice. That had changed over the course of their relationship. It was two months of her life she wouldn’t ever get back, and she was fairly certain at some point he’d stolen her moisturizer. She was never again going to date a guy who spent more time getting ready than she did.

  Royce smiled, his teeth definitely too white to be natural. “Not at all. I’m here to lay the groundwork and to talk to the public. This is going to be a big case. I want to make sure no one screws it up, but it looks like you’re not doing the same, sweetheart. You’re not a criminal lawyer. Decide to play with the big boys, have you? Do you think that’s smart?” He looked around the room, his face becoming a mask of disgust. “What the hell happened? Jesus, he looks like shit. Are we sure he’s the perp and not the victim?”

  “Keep your voice down, Royce. His daughter is here,” she said under her breath. She looked over and it seemed like Miranda hadn’t heard him.

  The assistant DA shrugged. “Should she be here? Shouldn’t we clear all the nonessential people out? Speaking of that, should he still be here? Detective, is there a reason you haven’t arrested this man?”

  “Well, ADA Osborne, I tend to prefer to figure a situation out before I rip apart families and force potentially innocent suspects to do a perp walk in front of a thousand cameras,” Campbell replied laconically. “Tell me something. Did you smile for your close-up? I bet you didn’t come in the back way.”

  Royce smiled dismissively. “The public needs to know they have the best representing them. My talking to reporters reassures the people of New York that the DA’s office can handle this. Now, Detective Campbell, I must insist that you do your job. Arrest this man. I want him outside in handcuffs in thirty minutes. We can do this down at the station.”

  Campbell frowned. “There is no point in humiliating the man. I’ll be honest. I’m not convinced that he has the mental capacity to know what he did, if he did it. I’ve been trying to get him to cooperate with processing, and I think he’ll do that more readily if he’s in a familiar place.”

  “Force him,” Royce insisted.

  “He’s not trying to be uncooperative,” Campbell replied. “He’s confused and scared. I’m trying to do this in a way that doesn’t further the trauma.”

  “I don’t care about his trauma,” Royce replied. “It’s an election year and my boss is running on a law-and-order platform. We care about the victim. I’m not going to allow this to turn into fucking O. J. Simpson, do you understand? We will show the world that New York doesn’t care if you’re a celebrity. You come here and kill someone, you get treated like the thug you are.”

  “Whatever happened to innocent before proven guilty?” Isla asked.

  “The fact that you can even ask that question with a straight face proves my point,” he replied. “You shouldn’t attempt to represent this man, Isla. I’ll tear you apart and I won’t think twice about doing it. I would rather we did something more pleasant. Why don’t you call in one of the big boys and let them handle this, and when I’ve got some free time, maybe we can go to dinner and I’ll fill you in.”

  Or she could punch him. She was pretty good according to her self-defense teacher. This was sort of self-defense. He was offending her greatly with his mouth and she could shut it with her fist.

  “Well, well, look at that, Noah. You see, that is what we call a triple threat,” a new voice said. “He’s managed to violate our client’s rights, sexually harass the females, and bring into question his own police department’s competency. This one’s going to be easy, brother.”

  “I love it when the DA does our job for us,” Noah Lawless said.

  Noah was an old friend and a welcome sight. If he’d been irritated to be called to work early in the morning, it didn’t show on his face. Noah looked young, his blue eyes shining as he smiled her way.

  David Cormack was different. He didn’t look young and shiny, but there was a competence about the man that called to her. His dark hair was cut ruthlessly short. His suit was fashionable, but she could tell this wasn’t a man who spent endless hours on his skin care regimen. Nope. He spent that time in the gym. No amount of expensive suit could cover those muscles.

  She held out a hand, welcoming Noah. “I’m grateful you’re here.” She caught Miranda’s attention, calling the younger woman over. “Miranda, these are the men I was telling you about. They’re very good.”

  The cavalry was here. Thank god. Noah looked like a knight on a stallion, swooping in to save the damsel in distress. Normally she didn’t think of herself that way. She was strong and smart and able to handle almost anything thrown at her.

  Except blood and death and heartache.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Miranda.” The man who’d spoken to Noah stepped up. Now there was a white knight. “I am sorry for your loss. My name is David Cormack. I’m going to be looking out for your dad.”

  Isla watched as Miranda shook his hand. It was startling how he changed from the man who’d stared at Royce with a hint of disdain. Now he looked down at Miranda with the kindest eyes. He wore a suit to rival Royce’s, but the difference was already apparent. He hadn’t said I’ll be representing your father like almost any other lawyer would. He’d said he would be looking out for her father. This was a man who knew that words mattered, that intent was important.

  “Thank you,” Miranda said quietly, releasing his hand. She looked back up at Isla. “I should go soon. I hate to leave Dad, but I have to get to Oscar’s place in Brooklyn. He’s not answering his phone. My brother sleeps in most weekends and nothing wakes him, but I don’t want him to open the door when he goes out for coffee and get besieged by reporters. I need to get there before they find out where he’s living.”

  David looked over his shoulder, but Noah was already on the phone. He nodded Miranda’s way. “You can take our car. It should be ready for you in five minutes. He’ll pick you up in the parking garage and go out through the service entrance. The herd is thin there.”

  Noah hung up. “He’ll also stop and pick up an associate of ours. Her name is Margarita Reyes. You don’t need to be alone right now. She’ll keep reporters off your back, but she’ll also give you all the space you need.”

  Miranda looked up at Isla, an expectant look on her face.

  Isla nodded. She trusted Noah. They hadn’t been close, but Austin had liked him and she liked his sister, Mia. They’d met at social functions and charity balls. “I need to stay here to monitor things with your dad. You go on. They’ll take care of you—and, Miranda, I’m so, so sorry. We all loved your mother.”

  Miranda sniffled and started to turn. She moved over to where her father was sitting, tears streaking down her face as she spoke to him.

  “
Are you letting her go?” Royce asked. “We should probably question her.”

  Detective Campbell frowned. “A few minutes ago, she didn’t matter. Make up your mind. And do you think I haven’t questioned her? She’s given a full report on everything she knows. She wasn’t the one who found the body.” He called over a female officer. “Benson, please escort Ms. Adams down to her car. She needs to inform her brother of their mother’s passing and she would like to do it before the press does.”

  The blonde nodded and then put a hand on Miranda’s shoulder. “Come on. Let’s get you out of here.”

  At least someone was showing some compassion.

  “Detective.” David held out a hand. “How are the wife and kids? Last time we talked, Devon was sweating his SATs. How’d that work out?”

  A genuine smile crossed the detective’s face. “Top five percent of the country, Counselor. My boy’s heading for the Ivies.”

  “Could we deal with the situation at hand? I love a good reunion as much as the next person, but I would like to know why the suspect isn’t in custody.” Royce had puffed up, like an overstuffed peacock trying to get the attention back. “I want the suspect cuffed and carted out of here in less than half an hour. Do I make myself clear?”

  “This is my crime scene,” Campbell shot back, staring the ADA down. “I understand this is a big case for you, but I don’t walk into your office and tell you how to handle juries. There is something wrong with Trey Adams both physically and mentally and I will handle him as I see fit.”

  “And if the detective does as you ask and hauls my client out in front of that sea of press, I will have great grounds to move the trial to someplace less media obsessed,” David pointed out. “I’ll make sure the judge knows that the DA’s office wanted to taint the jury pool.”

  “Taint the jury pool?” Royce asked. “By arresting a suspect? Wow, you are really digging deep, aren’t you, Cormack?”

  Watching the new guy stand up to Royce made her spine straighten. She was Trey’s advocate. She needed to stop being emotional and get her head in the game. “I assure you a judge will not look favorably on the fact that you chose to take an incredibly famous man who is struggling with mental illness, keep him in blood-soaked clothes, and parade him in front of Manhattan’s press corps, and you chose to do this knowing you are sensationalizing a crime that doesn’t need any help. If you perp-walk him covered in blood, that will make the cover of every magazine in the country. No one will care about the facts of the case. That picture will seal the verdict. All you’re doing is putting it in people’s heads that he’s a monster. And we will move for a change of venue.” She looked at her new partner. “Perhaps the suburbs.”