by Lexi Blake
“Or you’re brilliant and wanted the scene as contaminated as possible.” David leaned against her bar. “If I wanted to fuck things up for the police, that’s what I would have done. The scene was too bloody. You have two ways to go—you clean or you use all that blood in your favor. First you ensure that the police won’t be able to find the murder weapon. In this case, they think it was a chef’s knife. You clean it up and hide it among the knives in the kitchen. They might find it, might not, but as long as there’s no DNA, it could be hard to prove. As for the actual blood on the suspect, well, it’s a reasonable thing for a man to want to hold his wife. I can argue that’s where the blood came from, not the crime. Showers are iffy. If you don’t get every single bit of her DNA off him, it could come back to haunt you. Then what Trey did with the police, well, that was a very physical fight. After the Taser, they tackled him good. Any injuries he had could have come from that fight. How can we know? It could be enough for reasonable doubt.”
She stared at him for a moment, her skin chilling. “You honestly believe I did that?”
His face softened. “Not at all. Isla, I’m sorry if I offended you. I’m a defense lawyer. I sometimes think in very cold terms.”
And that was why he was good at his job. When she was negotiating a contract, she wasn’t thinking of the other side of the contract. She would go in and get absolutely everything she could for her client. “Sorry, it’s been a long day. For the record, I wouldn’t do that. I know there are people out there who would, but that’s not me.”
“I believe you, but the DA is going to use those twenty minutes against us. You said the scene was chaotic?”
She hated thinking about it, but the scene was right there. If she closed her eyes, she could see it easily. “Her bedroom had been ransacked. I got a glimpse of her closet and it was the same. It looked like whoever killed her was searching for something.”
“We’ll get a full accounting of everything in that room,” David promised. “I assume there’s an inventory.”
It had been one of the first things she’d insisted on when she’d become the Adamses’ attorney. She didn’t want insurance to fight them in case of a loss. “We’ve got both a paper inventory with receipts and provenance where applicable, and a video inventory. It covers everything she had insured. All the jewelry, the art. She had a couple of designer pieces that would be considered worth a lot of money. Some of the furniture was scheduled as well. And there was cash in a safe she kept hidden, but I don’t know where that safe is. They kept a good amount of cash on hand. I don’t know if the kids know.”
David was a large, masculine presence in her sunny, feminine kitchen. It reminded her of how long it had been since she’d invited a man into her place. “I’m sure we can find it. If we can establish something was taken, we can potentially argue that this was a burglary gone wrong. Is it possible that someone could have broken in? Would a camera have caught them?”
“I don’t know. Despite the security at the front, there are always ways in. There’s a back entrance that delivery people use. The service elevator goes straight to the kitchen for deliveries, and it’s helpful when they would have parties. They could bring the catering staff up that way instead of parading them through the party space. But there should be a camera on that entrance, and you would need a code to get into the back door if no one was there to let you in.”
“How often did they have parties?” David asked.
“Portia loved parties. Even with Trey having all his problems, she still held parties and charity events at the penthouse at least once a month or so.”
“And how often would she change the pass code?”
Isla winced. “She wasn’t good at that. Trey used to take care of things like that. When he became unreliable, she kind of gave up. She wasn’t good at remembering things like security codes. So now we have what might be a lot of people who could have had access.”
But that was a good thing. Any argument David could make that went against Trey being the only suspect was a good thing.
“All of that should be fairly easy to get our hands on. Sit down. You’re exhausted. I can microwave lasagna, despite what Margarita will tell you. I can’t believe she showed up at the hospital with a full meal for Noah.” David stepped up to the refrigerator.
“I thought it was impressive, and Noah seemed perfectly happy.” The bright and attractive lawyer had brought what she called snacks but what everyone else in the world called a three-course meal. Noah had practically melted at her feet. “It was nice that she thought about him.”
And it was nice to talk about anything except the case. How long had it been since anyone was in her apartment? Much less a gorgeous, nice, intelligent man who could microwave lasagna for her. It would be even nicer if he was here for a date and not as her client’s attorney.
“Margarita thinks of everyone, but Noah in particular. I like her a lot. I don’t want her to get trapped in that weird web he seems to spin around women.” He pulled out the baking dish that held the lasagna. “I think it’s the puppy eyes. Or the billionaire brother who is quick with the cash. Was he always such a manwhore?”
“Noah? Oh, no. In school he was superquiet. He tutored Austin in computer programming and they became friends. Noah was a sweet kid.” That seemed like another world. “The plates are above your head. Do you want some wine? I’m fairly certain this is one of those times when we should drink.”
“Sure, I could use one,” he agreed. “Do you know of any problems in their marriage?”
And they were back to the issue at hand. “Beyond the fact that he’s been slowly losing his mind over the last twenty years? I know you have to ask all the questions, but I’m telling you they still loved each other. They didn’t have a typical celebrity marriage. They didn’t like to be apart.”
He cut two slices and placed them on plates. She knew she should be the one playing the gracious host, but he was right. Exhaustion was taking its toll on her. She sipped her wine and watched him. Even through the material of his dress shirt, she could tell the man was cut. He was the all-American type. He was her type.
Yep, she was way too tired to make any kind of decision. She was hollowed out inside and searching for some solace.
He pressed the button to start the microwave. “I’m going to need you to get me a list of everyone who’s spent time with both Portia and Trey in the last few weeks. Did she have a particular friend she spoke to regularly?”
“She was close to her sister. Cressy is with the kids right now.” Trying to protect the privacy of Miranda and Oscar was paramount. She’d spoken to Miranda while they were waiting at the hospital, and she and Oscar were heading to their aunt’s place out in the Hamptons.
“I’d love to talk to her.” The microwave dinged and before long David placed a heaping plate of comfort food in front of her. “I’d also like to know if there was anything coming up in the future they might have been stressed about.”
He sat down next to her, a plate in front of him. Yeah, she was going to have to rethink her meal plans for the rest of the week. He was a big guy.
“There was something she was planning for, but I wouldn’t say she was stressed about it,” Isla admitted. “She was excited about the party.”
“Party?” He put a forkful in his mouth and his eyes closed. “This is incredible. Do you know how long it’s been since I had real food? I eat takeout and drink protein shakes. You’re a woman of many talents, Isla.”
Ah, she’d always known the cooking thing would come in handy. Her grandmother had been all about food. “Thanks. It’s an old family recipe. As to the party, I was talking about Trey’s birthday. Portia was planning a huge party to celebrate. We recently signed a contract with the Four Seasons for their ballroom and she was having a mini documentary made. I hadn’t seen her this excited since Trey made the Hall of Fame on his first ballot.”
Blue eyes flared and he nodded enthusiastically. “Three Super Bowl rings, four-time league MVP, record holder for highest ever QB rating; damn straight he made it on the first ballot.”
She sobered a bit because that had been yesterday’s thinking. She had to deal with today. “Unless this scandal hurts him.”
“O.J. is still enshrined in Canton,” he pointed out.
“O.J. was inducted long before he was accused of murder,” she replied with a sigh. “We’ll have to see. You played pro ball for a few years, right?”
He nodded. “I did. I went to Harvard at the tender age of seventeen. I made the team there and got drafted to play for Seattle when I graduated. I think I’m one of the only Ivy Leaguers in the last couple of years to make it. I was solid and cheap. Played for seven seasons though I spent a lot of time on the bench the last three years and then tore my ACL. It wasn’t repairable, so I got early retirement and a one-way ticket to law school. It’s probably for the best. I was beat to hell by the time I made it to the pros. I played QB in high school and we had no line whatsoever. I got sacked fifty-two times over my high school career. I switched to safety in college because they thought I was too short to play QB. That year there was a dearth of talent at my position. If it had been two years later, I probably wouldn’t have been drafted at all and my law career would have started a lot earlier.”
He’d played. He certainly had the build for it. And he wasn’t short. The man had to be six foot two. “Sorry. At one point I’m sure I would have known that. I kind of grew up around it.”
“Nah, I was inconsequential.”
“You made it to the pros. That’s hardly inconsequential. That’s the top of the world. Well, that particular world.”
Though even in the pros there was a vast difference between the superstars and the men like David who’d likely made league minimum or close to it. If he’d been a second stringer, he would have made an excellent salary, but even that could be eaten away. She knew far too many players who came out of the game without much money left. Though, given his suit, she wouldn’t be surprised if this man had taken care of what he’d made.
He turned to her, taking the glass of wine she offered. “Why did you ask for me? I would think you would want Henry.”
Henry Garrison was known as the Monster of Manhattan when it came to defense lawyers, but someone she trusted had been very sure of who they should go with. “I contacted Carey after I called the police. He said no one would handle it better than you. I didn’t ask him why at the time. I remembered that you seemed nice and competent, and I called up Noah.”
“Well, I’ll have to thank Carey. I’ll be honest, I’m a little surprised he knows who I am.” He turned serious. “I need you to be prepared. This is not going to be easy. We’ll have two trials.”
“The first by the press and the second in a courtroom.” She’d lost her appetite but forced herself to eat something. He was right. The first battle had already begun and they were in a bad position. The press would want the most salacious story possible. Trey as the killer would bring in far better ratings than Trey the grieving husband. Once it got out that Trey was suffering from CTE, it would be difficult to convince anyone he didn’t have a hand in his wife’s death.
That first public excoriation would influence the second trial because it wouldn’t matter where the potential jury members lived, they would have heard of Trey Adams and his wife’s murder. It would be human nature to come in with preconceived notions, and the press would set those in motion.
There wouldn’t be anywhere she could go, any channel she could turn on or radio station she could listen to that wouldn’t be discussing and dissecting the crime. Portia and her life would be stripped down and examined to see where she’d “gone wrong.”
“You’re close to this family. It might be easier if you stepped back and let me investigate. I’m going to do some of it myself, but the majority of the heavy lifting will be done by my firm’s investigators. We use McKay-Taggart. They’re quite good at what they do.”
She had the feeling he was trying to tell her something without actually saying it. “You don’t want me to work with you?”
She was surprised at how much that hurt. Despite the atrocities of the day, she’d liked being around him. He was the first man in a long time she’d felt something for, and she was self-aware enough to admit that this felt like rejection.
He reached out and put a hand on hers, the sensation nearly electric. “I didn’t say that. It would help enormously if you went with me on these interviews. I need to get into their world, and you’re the perfect one to guide me around, but this will get nasty. Some of the people we contact won’t want to talk to us. The family will start to take sides, and that’s when the nasty surprises arrive. You might find out things you’d rather you didn’t know. Every marriage has its secrets, and I’m giving you the chance to not have to live with that knowledge. You could stay with the kids and advise them and start to shift the company and assets over to them for a smooth transition. You could isolate yourself so you only have to deal with the press when it’s totally necessary.”
Was he really giving her an out because he thought she could get hurt? Was he trying to treat her like he would one of his clients’ family members? Or was he thinking his life would be way easier without the girl who knew nothing about criminal law trailing after him?
“I’m only trying to spare you pain, Isla,” he explained. “This could get messy and you’re intimately involved. I meant what I said. You would be marvelous at easing my way. You know this world in a way I don’t, but I can work with all of that if it makes your life a little easier.”
“I’m not some delicate flower.” She didn’t like the idea of him thinking she was fragile. She’d been keeping up. It was a terrible day and she was still standing.
He pulled his hand back, leaning away from her. “Again, I didn’t say that.”
She missed the warmth of his hand on hers. “I don’t want to drag you down, but I also don’t want to be left out. You’re right. I know their world better than anyone else. People will talk to me. Trey can’t help you. I owe it to Portia to do this. If you think I can’t handle it, you’re wrong.”
He stood up, taking his empty plate to the sink. “I never said you couldn’t handle it. I said maybe you shouldn’t.”
She was too emotional and she wasn’t listening to him. The last thing she wanted to do was annoy the man she’d brought in to save Trey. “Can I sleep on it? I’m making this far too personal. I think I want to be involved. I think it would be hard for me not to be, but I shouldn’t make any kind of decision today. Tonight. God, it’s been a long day.”
“Of course.” He was quiet while he washed off his plate and placed it in the sink. “Do you have anyone you can call?”
“Call?”
He looked back at her as though trying to decide if he should pursue his line of thought. “I don’t think you should be alone tonight.”
She hadn’t even thought about it. What would happen when she was alone again? When she closed the door behind him and she had to think about everything? Right now she was running on adrenaline and it was easy to put things out of her mind, but when she was all by herself and the place was silent, would she hear that cry again?
Tears immediately sprang to her eyes. Damn it. She’d held it together all day. “I don’t . . . I work. I work all the time. My parents are gone. I don’t have anyone.”
Austin was gone. She’d dealt with that though. That had happened long ago. It wasn’t affecting her now. Was it?
It struck her forcibly that she’d shut down all those years ago, shut out people who might have offered her friendship or more because she’d watched Austin die. She’d loved him and he was gone, and she hadn’t truly lived since that moment. She wasn’t in love with him anymore. It had been too many years and they’d been
children, but his death was still holding her back. She’d buried herself in work and held herself apart. She’d gotten involved in her clients’ lives because she didn’t have one of her own. It was easier to care about them, to find a way to make herself a part of their families because they were safe.
Except they hadn’t been safe. Her “safe” family had blown apart over the course of a single day and she was alone again.
“Hey, it’s going to be okay.” He started to move toward her.
She backed away. “Don’t. If you touch me, I’m going to fall apart.”
His face softened, a fact that didn’t make him any less manly. The truth was he’d shown his compassion over and over that day, and it had drawn her in like nothing else could have. “Would that be so bad? I’ve found you can’t put yourself back together properly until you’ve fallen apart.”
“You don’t even know me.” Though it sounded a lot like he did.
“I know you’re kind. I know you’re hurting and I know you’re human. If you want to talk, I’m here. What you’ve been through—only a few people in the world know the horror of having to see a scene like that. It affects us all even if we have no idea who the victim is. If you care about the victim, well, it changes everything. Don’t feel bad. Why don’t you go and take a shower? Cry there if you can’t do it out here with me. Let it out and you’ll feel better. Your head will be clearer. If it’s all right with you, I’ll bake those place-and-bake cookies I saw in the fridge and when you’re ready, we can work on a schedule for tomorrow.”
She wanted nothing more than to walk up to him, have him open his arms, and wrap herself around him. Something about David Cormack was solid and safe. But she couldn’t give in to the instinct. He would view her differently, see her as something less. Most men in her profession did. “I will take you up on the shower. And thanks for staying for a while.”
