Evidence of Desire

by Lexi Blake

But suddenly she remembered what it had been like to walk down the hallway of Trey and Portia’s penthouse. She remembered how low the lights had been, how her eyes had to focus in the dark. God, she remembered the sound of Trey moaning, low and from somewhere deep inside.

  Isla forced herself to walk out of that damn elevator. She forced herself to walk down the hall, reaching into her purse for the keys. When she got to the door, she forced her shaking hands to unlock the door and walk inside.

  Okay, she was inside and safe and now she had to move. Five minutes. That was all she was going to give herself. She would shove whatever she could into her Longchamp and race back down to David.

  And she would kiss him. She wouldn’t go another moment without knowing what it felt like to kiss him.

  She turned and stopped again.

  Standing there in the middle of her apartment was a man dressed all in black. Long and lean and deadly. All she could see of him were his eyes, and they were cold orbs staring right at her.

  He was on her before she could scream.

  SEVEN

  David watched the elevator doors close as a car ahead of him pulled out of its parking space.

  Bingo.

  He didn’t give a shit that it was a tenant space. He wouldn’t be there for long, but he didn’t like the idea of Isla alone upstairs. It looked like the reporters had stayed outside her building, but one or two might have snuck in. They could corner her and she wouldn’t be able to fight her way out. It was best that they didn’t get split up at this point. She didn’t have the training he did to deal with difficult journalists.

  Like the ones the guards were holding back.

  “Are you involved with Isla Shayne, Mr. Cormack? Are you representing her as well as Trey Adams?” a deep voice yelled from the guard station.

  “Is it true Isla called you the night of the murder? Were you there?” The second reporter was a female. She looked like she was ready to hurdle over the guardrail if someone would let her.

  He had to give it to them. They were persistent. His cell trilled as he slammed the car door. At least it looked like the Audi had come through all right. His poor baby. He swiped a thumb across the screen to answer.

  “This is Cormack.” He started toward the elevators, keeping his voice low. The whole place seemed to echo.

  “Hey, Romeo, how’s it going? I hear you’re heading to a very special love nest,” a familiar voice said.

  He should have known Noah couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

  “Fuck you, Henry. We got swarmed by the press when I tried to drop her off at her place. I had to call the cops. We couldn’t move. She can’t stay here. Has this character assassination been going on all day? We’ve been out to the Hamptons to talk to the Adams kids. I haven’t watched the news.” No, he’d been watching a nasty soap play out right before his eyes.

  “Oh, you have no idea. They’re all over your girl,” Henry replied. “The regular news shows aren’t bad, but the tabloid shows won’t let it go. They are all over this story and they smell blood in the water. I’ve got the investigators dealing with her alibi. I want it so tight no one can question it. I’m worried Royce is going to start feeling some pressure and he’ll arrest Isla when he formally charges Adams.”

  Shit. He couldn’t deal with the idea of Isla getting shoved into jail because of some rumors, but people had been arrested for less. “Have them request her phone records. There were lots of calls made that night. Depending on which cell tower picked up the phone, we should be able to figure out if she was in her neighborhood or Trey’s when the crime was committed.”

  “We’re already working on it and the investigators asked her building for records. At that time of night she’s got to buzz in and out. They’ve got a security cam on both doors. She didn’t take her car so we’re also running down her cabdriver.” Henry said. “Not that it will help us with Adams’s building. Bad news there.”

  He winced, glancing down at his watch. How long had she been gone? He needed to get up there. He could lose the call while he was in the elevator, but he was getting antsy about her being alone. They needed to move. He didn’t want them in the same position they’d been in earlier. Once the cops left, the reporters would be right back to their old tricks, and they knew he was in the garage. “Are you telling me we don’t have any video footage from the night of the murder? That’s one of the most expensive buildings in the Upper East Side. They don’t have security cameras?”

  “They have one on the front door and one on the side, but the penthouse has a servants’ entrance and that camera had been down for two days,” Henry explained. “They were waiting for parts. It gets worse.”

  Fuck it. He was going to risk it. He pressed the button to call the elevator. “How?”

  “I’ve finally got the official police report. No signs of forced entry. If someone got in that night, they either had the code or Trey or Portia let the person in. Now do you want the good news?”

  He was surprised there was good news. “I would love any good news you could possibly give me because talking to the kids was a complete bust.”

  “The police found the murder weapon and they think they have a usable print,” Henry said.

  “Chef’s knife?” That would be his bet given the types of wounds she’d had. It was a weapon of convenience that could be found in most homes. It also led him to believe that whoever killed Portia hadn’t gone there with murder in mind. Otherwise he or she would have brought a weapon.

  Henry hummed his agreement. “Oh, yes, and it looks like it had been cleaned and placed back in the butcher block, which means our perp stayed behind after the murder. Even more interesting, the police now believe the fight that led to Portia’s death started in the kitchen. They found drops of the victim’s blood starting near the island in the kitchen and then trailing from there to the hall and to her bedroom.”

  That was not a good thing. “Which reinforces the idea that it was Trey and they had an argument, or it was someone she knew quite well and again they had an argument that led to the murder. Do we know if anything was missing?”

  “According to the police, there was a necklace worth roughly two million dollars sitting on the vanity in Portia’s closet. There was also a couple of hundred bucks in her purse and any number of random ridiculously expensive items that would have been easy for the perpetrator to take with them.”

  “I’m getting in an elevator. I’ll call you back if I lose you,” he said, stepping in and pushing the button for Isla’s floor. The doors closed as he continued. “So what’s the police theory?”

  He had a few of his own.

  The cell signal seemed strong in this building. Henry’s voice didn’t even waver. “They think Trey Adams went crazy and did that damage himself either before or after he murdered his wife. They could potentially say he wasn’t crazy at all and that the damage in the room proves that he knew what he’d done was wrong and he was attempting to cover up the crime.”

  “And since he would have known exactly where the knife was, premeditation could still be on the table. He’s the one with the most to gain if she dies, although we can mitigate that with the fact that while the money goes to him, Isla is the one who controls it.”

  “And we’re back to the beginning. We have to prove Isla isn’t involved with Adams.”

  He wanted to punch something. “She’s not.”

  “How sure are you of that?” Henry asked, his voice low, and there was a creeping sympathy that made David wince.

  “I’m sure.” He couldn’t back down on this.

  “Is your brain sure or your dick?”

  He practically growled because Henry could be sarcastic at the worst times. “Don’t you bring my dick into this. My dick is incredibly smart. My dick is picky.”

  “Your dick has had a long dry spell and that might be affecting you.” Henry sighed
over the line. “Will the kids help? We could use some good photo ops. If the kids stand beside her, that might help mitigate the damage the press is doing.”

  The elevator doors opened again. Thank god. There was a man standing and waiting for the elevator. David brushed by the man who was dressed in all black, a baseball cap pulled low on his head.

  “Excuse me,” the man said, his voice deep.

  David nodded, stepped out, and started toward her door. She had a completely different version of what five minutes meant. He should have driven her to Drew’s and prayed she fit into Drew’s wife Shelby’s clothes, but no, he wanted her to have her things around her.

  Maybe his dick wasn’t so smart.

  “The kids are a problem we shouldn’t talk about on the phone.” Despite the fact that he seemed to be alone, he had to take into account that someone was always listening. “I’ll fill you in when we get to Drew’s and I can be sure we have a secure line.”

  He got to Isla’s door and knocked.

  “That bad, huh?” Henry asked. “Well, I’ve read the dossier on the son and it seems like he and Trey had a few public arguments.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me.” Why wasn’t she answering? He touched the doorknob and the door opened. He stopped. “She didn’t lock her door.”

  “What? Are you up at her apartment?”

  He stepped into the small hallway. “Isla?”

  The place was incredibly quiet. He couldn’t hear her moving around and that was when he noticed her bar. When they’d left this morning, it had been perfectly neat, with a basket of mail to one side. Now the basket had been turned over, the insides dumped across the bar.

  “Isla?” Something was wrong. Very wrong.

  He moved into the kitchen and saw something that had him panicking. “Henry, I need you to call the cops. Send them up here. Someone’s in Isla’s apartment and she’s down.”

  Isla was facedown on the floor, her body still. His heart damn near stopped and he let the cell drop to the ground as he hit his knees. He could hear Henry shouting, but his whole being was focused on her. He reached for her hand. Warm.

  Her eyelids fluttered. “David?”

  He pulled her into his arms. “I’m here. Stay with me.”

  He held her and prayed the ambulance was fast enough.

  * * *

  • • •

  “I’m fine. I didn’t even have a concussion,” Isla was saying as he set her down on the couch.

  If he never heard the word concussion again, it would be far too soon. “I still think they should have kept you overnight. And I definitely don’t think you’re up for guests.”

  Detective Campbell had been waiting for them when they got to Drew’s place along with Noah, the two McKay-Taggart investigators, and that slimeball Royce Osborne.

  Campbell slid out his notebook. “I only have a few questions.”

  “I have many,” Osborne promised. “And you should be happy I’m willing to do this here and not in the hospital where the reporters were. I don’t think you would like it if my line of questioning got out.” He stood over her like the bully he was for a moment and then stepped back, glancing around the magnificent Upper West Side penthouse. “This is certainly an upgrade. It’s even nicer than what Trey Adams could provide for you.”

  Her jaw clenched, but the detective got to speak before David could.

  “Counselor, I allowed you to come along. Don’t make me regret it,” Campbell said.

  “Oh, I can make him regret it,” the new guy said in a lyrical Irish accent. Liam O’Donnell had met them at the hospital along with his partner, a pretty but tough-looking redhead named Erin Taggart. From what David understood, Erin was a Taggart by marriage.

  “Please let him,” Erin said, sitting on the couch beside Campbell and giving him a wink. “Li’s been behind a desk too long. He needs some physical work, if you know what I mean.”

  Li huffed a bit. “Like you don’t. You’ve been behind a desk as long as I have.”

  Erin shrugged. “What can I say? Age has mellowed me out. Besides, I kind of want to see what the douchebag says. He seems to know everything.”

  Osborne turned on her. “I’m an assistant district attorney for the city of New York. You should pay me some respect.”

  “Yeah, I’m not good at that,” Erin admitted.

  Noah moved in. “I don’t understand what the ADA has to do with the fact that someone broke into Isla’s apartment.”

  But David could guess. “The ADA thinks we set all of this up to make Isla look sympathetic and perhaps to get rid of some evidence.”

  Isla groaned. “I wasn’t sleeping with Trey Adams. I don’t have any reason to have killed Portia.”

  “I’ve got a hundred-million-dollar estate that says you do,” Osborne replied quickly.

  “And I’ve got a binding contract that states plainly I can’t touch that money for anything except to dole it out to the kids and Cressida, business purposes, or to take care of Trey.”

  “And if you marry him?” Osborne asked.

  Li held a hand up. “I’m sorry. Am I mistaken? Because I thought she was sleeping with this lawyer person who isn’t a Lawless.”

  Erin nodded. “She’s totally doing the lawyer. Good choice, girl. I love me an ex-athlete.” She poked her partner. “And I told you. His name is David Cormack. I gave you his stats and everything.”

  The Irishman rolled his eyes. “I told you. American football ain’t a real sport. Real footballers don’t wear all those pads.”

  Osborne shook his head and looked to David. “Is there a reason they’re here?”

  “I go where Big Tag tells me to,” Li replied.

  “Could I ask a couple of questions of Ms. Shayne?” Campbell asked, looking a bit haggard. “First of all, I need to ask it for the record. Do you have an intimate relationship with Trey Adams? Have you ever had one?”

  “I do not now, nor have I ever had an affair with Trey Adams,” she replied, her head held high. “I interned in the front office of the New York Guardians when I was in law school. That’s how we met. Our relationship was friendly in the beginning. At the end, I helped his wife take care of him from time to time. He often doesn’t remember who I am.”

  David sank to the couch next to her, hoping her closeness would keep him from doing something to Osborne that would have the detective hauling him out of here in cuffs. He would rather they waited until she had a personal attorney with her, but he worried Osborne would use that as an excuse to arrest her. “She’s said that a dozen times. Can that be the last?”

  “And I should believe it, why?” Osborne asked.

  “Because if you people would ever leave us alone, I would be having a relationship with David,” she said with a frown. “I can’t start one because you’re all here and you have been for freaking days.”

  He had to muffle a smile. It was good to know she was eager.

  The MT investigators bumped fists and nodded.

  Osborne paced, his thousand-dollar loafers clapping against the marble floor. “That seems awfully convenient. You didn’t know him a couple of days ago.”

  “I work fast,” she replied. “And I find it interesting that you would believe I would have a relationship with a man twenty years older than me but not that I’m attracted to one who makes sense to date.”

  “I don’t think it makes any sense that you would date him,” the ADA replied. “And he’s older than you, too. By a lot.”

  “By five years,” she shot back.

  “Four actually.” He watched Osborne carefully. It was interesting that the man couldn’t quite stop poking at Isla. “And by tomorrow the fact that we’re in a relationship will be news. I’m sure the pictures the press took of us will be everywhere tomorrow.”

  “Thank you for clearing that up,” Campbell
said, obviously sick of the personal stuff. “Now, what happened tonight? Do you remember anything about the attack?”

  “He was dressed in all black,” she said with a weary sigh. “He had one of those things on his head. Not exactly a ski mask.”

  “A balaclava?” Erin asked. “It’s the military equivalent, though a bit more high-tech in some cases. It covered everything except his eyes?”

  She nodded. “He had blue eyes, but I don’t remember a lot. Before I could scream he had his arm around my neck.”

  “Ah, the choke out,” Erin said with a smile, as though remembering good times. “I know it well.”

  “It could have killed her,” David said.

  “Not when it’s done right, and that makes me think,” Li mused.

  The detective turned to him. “You’re thinking professional, or at least military.”

  “She doesn’t have a mark on her, but he managed to knock her out for a good five minutes,” Li replied. “That feels like a pro to me. The question is why.”

  “I can think of a few reasons.” Osborne couldn’t keep his mouth shut. “Feeling the heat, are you, Isla?”

  David looked up at him. “What is your problem?”

  “My problem is with your client. First she lies about how much time passed and now she’s acting very suspicious,” Osborne replied.

  Isla sighed. “His real problem is that I slept with him once, figured out what a horrible mistake I’d made, and refused to go out with him again. Can we get him recused? Also, can I apologize for my horrible taste in men? I was going through a douchebag phase.”

  He’d already heard she’d briefly dated him. He reached for her hand. She’d been through the wringer and he wasn’t going to put her through more. “I’ll see what I can do. First he has to actually have a case.”

  Campbell was staring at the ADA. “If what Ms. Shayne says is true, I’m going to have a problem with you using your office to get back at an ex.”

  “Prove it,” Osborne dared under his breath. “We’ll be formally arresting your client in the morning after the psych exam. You’ve got your expert and I’ve got mine. We’ll see what the judge says. Good night. Enjoy your time here, Isla. If I can prove you’re in on this, I will. I’ll wait by the elevator, Detective. If you could hurry this along, I would appreciate it.”