Gabriella's Prosecution [The Black Iris Club 3] (Siren Publishing Everlasting Classic)

by Skye Michaels

  “That’s pretty impressive in a scary way.”

  “They begin their recruiting of new members as early as elementary school. They target isolated Hispanic children with family or social problems, give them attention, and gradually bring them into the group. What we have as a result are large numbers of pre-teen and teen sociopaths who are willing to kill at the drop of a hat and have absolutely no moral compass. They do what they have to do to survive or get what they need or want without compunction. They are organized in small, local cliques or area gangs with a defined territory and similar ethnic roots and each has its own distinct name. They are competitive, self-reliant, mistrustful, socially isolated, defiant, and most prevalent in low-income communities. This is why taking down Ramón Gonzalez may lead to disassembling the entire local Toros organization. They are loosely affiliated with other national gangs, but their leadership is isolated.”

  “Aren’t you afraid to be living in a house that used to belong to a gang member?”

  “No. The gang did not own Quixote Acres. It was an asset of one of the Columbian cartel members. Anyway, title is held by a family land trust, and my name doesn’t appear on any public records.”

  “According to Kaylin, when they were checking out the members of The Black Iris Club during the Alan Baker investigation, your name didn’t appear as a member.”

  “I let my membership lapse while I was campaigning and only recently joined again. I have to be careful in my position. Confidentiality agreements are only as good as the people who agree to keep something confidential. It is a risk, but I enjoy my membership there and the friends I’ve made in the club.”

  “Will you take me there?”

  “Of course, if you want to go. It would be an interesting experience for you.”

  Gabby and Miguel made their way back to Quixote Acres where they groomed and put the horses up with thick pads of hay and a mound of Christmas treats. They settled on chaise lounges by the pool and ended up relaxing in the hot tub with a pitcher of chilled sangria and a platter of cheese, meats, and crackers.

  “This is heaven. Your housekeeper certainly left us well provisioned. And I love this wine.”

  “Sangria. It’s red wine and brandy with marinated fruit. I think Magda also puts in some apple juice.”

  Miguel and Gabby prepared a late afternoon Christmas dinner. Miguel’s housekeeper had left instructions for heating all of the side dishes and for baking the ham, and dinner came together with almost no effort. They ate on the patio and, when they were done, cuddled up on the sofa in the great room. They made love on the floor all but under the branches of the Christmas tree by the flickering light of the fireplace.

  “You are my best Christmas present, querida. This has been a wonderful day.” He nuzzled her neck, and his head dipped down to capture the turgid nipples poking through the lace of her bra and her shirt.

  It had been quiet, but Gabby found she enjoyed this first Christmas day being just the two of them. They had a lot of getting to know each other to accomplish even though she had actually known him for two years. This was totally different than their work relationship and totally different than any of her prior relationships with other men. While he didn’t try to overwhelm her all the time outside of the dungeon, he definitely had a dominant edge to his personality. She could see that he would be the alpha in any relationship in or out of the dungeon, and his hand frequently found its way to the seat of her britches. She had to laugh. The full-seat leathers were definitely the way to go. She had tried to bring up the subject of the ruby necklace again only to be shut down decisively.

  “Querida, I do not want to hear any more about the necklace. It looks lovely nestled between those beautiful breasts of yours, and I want to see it there frequently. I won’t insist you wear it constantly. I know women like to change jewelry, but I want to see it on you. It was lonely in the box all by itself.” There was that fanciful thought again. She had to admit that the ruby pendant did indeed seem to be happy on her chest.

  The rest of the weekend passed too quickly for Gabby. They made love frequently, cooked together, rode the horses, played with the dogs, swam in the pool, and played a few sets of tennis. On Saturday she called both Kaylin and Chloe to let them know she was all right and that the weekend was going well. She knew they were concerned about her and this new development. After all, for two years she had been claiming that she couldn’t stand Miguel. She knew now that the fact he was her boss—and a very demanding one at that—coupled with his overwhelming masculine aura had made her nervous. She now found she loved being cuddled in Miguel’s arms on the sofa while they watched movies or in bed at night after they made love. He gave his affection freely. She had enjoyed their trips to the dungeon during which he taught her more about the practice of BDSM and more about his personal tastes, which she had to admit were a little out there. She thought he was keeping a tight rein on his desires and that she might not be getting the “full treatment.”

  That was just as well. She needed to adjust to this new lifestyle slowly. She wanted to be able to enjoy it because she knew that Miguel wanted her to enjoy it. But she had also had her own curiosity and fantasies as well, especially since Kaylin and Chloe had become involved with Jack and J.J. She had wondered why her friends seemed to enjoy the BDSM play and be okay with it. They were both very accomplished, successful, and self-possessed women. She giggled. And they carried guns. Now, she was beginning to understand. The sex was amazing. She had never had such a strong reaction to any man. She had to wonder if it was just that she had been having sexual fantasies about Miguel for two years, or if it was the BDSM element. She needed more time and experience to figure it all out for herself. After they had taken Ollie back to Fox Run and she packed her things on Sunday evening, she was a little sad to be leaving.

  “I hate to see you go, querida. But, I’ll see you in the office tomorrow.”

  “Thank you for a wonderful weekend, Miguel, and for the necklace. I’m still not sure…”

  “Do not start that again. I think Doña Maria Christina is glad that her necklace is seeing the light of day again.”

  “You know, as strange as that sounds, I think you’re right about that.”

  “Why is it strange?”

  “Well, it is a necklace after all and not a person or pet.”

  “Yes, but sometimes things are not what they seem. I sometimes feel—I don’t know—vibrations from inanimate objects.”

  “That is a little fanciful for such a realist, Miguel. But I guess ‘there are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’ Who am I to question that? I thought I felt a certain warmth pulsing from the pendant myself.”

  Miguel helped Gabby carry her bags down to her SUV, and he and Lennon and McCartney watched as she loaded Murphy into the car for the trip back to east Fort Lauderdale. She could see he didn’t want her to leave, and she felt the same way. It was way too early to feel so connected to him. She had to keep a close watch on her emotions here. She had to be sure this was a good thing for both of them.

  Chapter Six

  The State’s Attorney’s Office in the Broward County Courthouse, Fort Lauderdale, Florida, Monday morning, December 29, 2014

  Gabby was still reeling from the weekend. She wasn’t sure how she felt about it all, but she knew her body had enjoyed every minute with Miguel. He had wrung responses from her that she had never dreamed she was capable of feeling. She was amazed she could still walk. She needed a lunch with Kaylin and Chloe to talk this situation out. She didn’t think she could do it on her own. She knew they were going to want an explanation since she had been declaring her dislike of Miguel for two years. She called them and arranged a lunch at Cheeburger Cheeburger for one o’clock.

  In the meantime, she had a major prosecution to orchestrate. She and her team had reviewed the evidence in the case, and they had delivered the discovery materials to opposing counsel. Gonzalez’s first chair, Bradley Levine, wa
s a pompous, self-important prick from one of the large national firms with offices in Fort Lauderdale. He thought that the luster of his New York partners bounced off them and shined on him. Not so. He was not nearly as skilled as he thought he was, despite his five-hundred-dollars-an-hour price tag. In her opinion, the second chair associate, James Walton, might have the sharper legal mind and bear more watching. Ramón Gonzalez definitely had some help in paying for his defense.

  Gabby picked up her phone to call her paralegal, Mayra Rodriguez. “Mayra, are the trial binders about ready? I’d like to start looking through them and maybe make some revisions or additions.”

  “They are almost done. At least they are up to date. How was your weekend? Mine was great. Wait until you see the ring my husband got me.”

  Yikes. Here comes the dissembling and glossing over of facts. “My weekend was good, actually. I spent it with a friend.” Not exactly true, but close. She and Miguel were certainly better friends than they had been before the weekend. “I have a meeting with the boss later to go over my strategy, so I’d like to be ready for him.”

  “I hear that. I’ll bring them in.”

  Gabby and Mayra spent an hour reviewing the trial binders and catching up on the general gossip in the office before her phone buzzed with Miguel’s request for her to come into his office for their meeting.

  When she walked through the door, she was struck by the picture of him standing next to his window with the sun shining in on his black hair. He had removed his jacket, the sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up his muscular forearms, and his tie had been loosened. “Close the door, Gabriella.” He smiled, and her heart did a little flutter. She closed the door and flipped the lock. He walked across the office and took her into his arms for a quick, hard kiss. “I missed you in my bed last night, querida.”

  Not as much as I missed being held in your arms. That was something different for her. She had never been a clingy, needy woman. She was very able to stand on her own, but Miguel seemed to have gotten under her skin. She really needed that lunch with the girls to sort this out.

  “I missed you, too.” She flipped the lock and opened the door again and sat down in one of the leather chairs across from his desk, spread her papers out, and crossed her legs. “I have a first draft of my voir dire questions for jury selection, and a first draft of my opening statement for you to look over.” She handed him some sheets of paper. He sat down behind his desk and began to read. She noted that he picked up the John Lennon Montblanc fountain pen and began to make some notes in the margins. She smiled to herself. She was glad that he really did like the pen.

  “We want to be sure to ask the potential jurors whether they have any family or friends who might be members of a gang—especially the Hispanic ones.” He looked up and saw the frown on her face. “I know that smacks of racial profiling, but facts are facts. Jurors from that demographic are more likely to have gang members among their friends and family. If you would feel better about it, you can ask that question of all the jurors.”

  “Actually, I would feel better about it. I know we want to weed out anyone who might possibly be sympathetic to gangs. Maybe we should ask them if they have ever been members of a gang as well.”

  “Good point. Do that. Do you have a sense of where Levine and Walton are planning to take the defense based on their discovery requests? Levine is a slippery bastard. I’ve come up against him before. He’s not afraid to dazzle them with bullshit and try to put you off your stride with a million defense objections. Don’t let him get to you.”

  “Yes, I got the feeling that he might be trouble. He also thinks he’s much better than he is. I think Walton is the better attorney actually.”

  “You are probably right there. Have you lined up the prosecution experts? Ballistics and firearms? What about video from any security cameras in the area?”

  “I have a ballistics guy signed up. All he can say is that the kill shots were fired from the nine-millimeter Glock that was found at the scene. There were no fingerprints, and we haven’t been able to put it in Gonzalez’s hands. We have one very grainy video from a liquor store across the street that shows a black SUV pulling up and then quickly pulling away again. There are some flashes of light that I am sure are the gunshots. There is no clear shot of the license plate or faces of the passengers. It’s really not worth too much other than to say that Gonzalez, and most of the Los Mara Toros Rojas, drive similar black SUVs.”

  “It doesn’t sound like we have a very tight case, Gabriella. I’m a little concerned.”

  “We have the eye witness testimony of Mrs. Alma Garcia, who was in the store at the time of the shooting. She knows these guys from the neighborhood, and she recognized Gonzalez.”

  “Eye witnesses are notoriously unreliable. Are you sure you can get her through her testimony and the cross examination?”

  “She seems solid. She’s a lovely, no-nonsense grandmotherly type who deplores the way the gangs have taken over her neighborhood. They have everyone scared. Like you said the other day, they are vicious and dangerous. I have requested that BSO do regular drive-bys of her house to discourage the gang from attempting to scare her out of testifying.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about them scaring her. They are much more likely to just kill her. I don’t like the sound of this. Can we possibly get her into protective custody?”

  “I have suggested that, but she takes care of a young grandchild and doesn’t want to be out of commission.” Gabby saw him frown. “I know. They could put her out of commission permanently. I’ll try to talk to her about it again.”

  “Good. Do that. By the way, this is another short week. After the holidays you are going to be very busy preparing for the trial that starts early in February. Would you consider going to Puerto Rico for New Year’s with me? Since I didn’t get down there for Christmas, my parents are putting on the pressure for New Year’s. We can leave after work on Tuesday and return on January 4th.”

  “That sounds wonderful, Miguel, but I have Murphy…”

  “That is no problem, querida. You can leave him at my house with Lennon and McCartney. Magda will be there to take care of all the dogs and keep an eye on things.

  “Where would we stay?”

  “At my family home, of course. Mamá and Popí are anxious to meet you.”

  “Oh, Miguel. I think it’s a little soon to be meeting your parents. We’ve only been dating a couple of weeks.”

  “This is true, but we have known each other for two years. Don’t worry about it. My parents don’t bite—well, maybe Popí.” At her shocked look, he burst out laughing. “Really. They are nice people who love to entertain. Christmas begins after Thanksgiving and lasts until February. That’s the way it is in Puerto Rico. We are seriously partying people. What do you say?”

  Gabby glanced out his office door and saw the shocked look on his secretary’s face. Apparently she didn’t hear him laugh out loud often. “Okay, I’ll go, but you had better put your Scrooge face back on. You’re going to shock the whole office.”

  “I guess I have something to smile about, querida.”

  Chapter Seven

  Bahia Honda, the Gatto Estate in the mountains above San Juan, Puerto Rico, Wednesday morning, New Year’s Eve, December 31, 2014

  The drive up the mountain on the dark, twisting road to the Gatto estate the night before had been nerve wracking. Miguel’s father had sent his car and driver to the airport to pick them up, and she had been a little nervous about what to expect given Miguel’s disclosures about his unusual family dynamics. However, when they arrived, the senior Gattos had been hospitable and welcoming, and they had both hugged Gabby.

  “Thank you for having me for this holiday. I’m sure you would rather have Miguel to yourselves.”

  “Nonsense, Gabriella. We are both glad to have you here for the weekend, my dear. Miguel never brings girls home to his mamá and popí. He is afraid we’ll have the priest standing by to finalize the nuptials
.” His laugh was deep and rich.

  “That’s true, Popí. I know your tricks, and I am always on the lookout.” Gabby could see that they were close and that there was a lot of love in this house. Miguel’s father kept a hand on his mother’s back, or held her hand, or pressed her to his side during the greetings.

  Miguel’s father, Alberto Carlos Jorge Gatto-Fernandez, was a tall, well-built man in his early sixties who looked very much like Miguel. His hair was iron gray, but his bright-blue eyes still sparkled. Before he had retired, he had been the Secretary of the Treasury of the Commonwealth of Puerto Rico. He shared a devastating smile with his son, but Gabby could detect a dominant edge now that she knew what to look for. Nonetheless, she was hard-pressed to believe that he was a sadist, and that the kink ran in all the Gatto men. That really seemed a bit fanciful.

  Miguel’s mother was a beautiful woman with wavy white hair pulled up on her head in an elaborate bun. She was dark eyed and petite and wore a dark-blue dress, high heels, and pearls even at the late hour. She did not look at all like a sub, or like she had ever been a sub. Gabby thought that maybe people in the past had practiced the lifestyle but didn’t name it. She doubted they acknowledged themselves as Doms and subs. Señora Carolina Alba de Gatto was elegant but friendly, and her accent was a little heavier than Señor Gatto’s. Gabby would be interested to see if she could detect the truth over the weekend. She would definitely have her eyes open.

  She and Miguel enjoyed a glass of sherry with the Gattos before retiring to Miguel’s suite in the east wing. From what she could see in the dark, the Spanish-style house was an enormous and confusing maze. Miguel had told her that it had been in the family and added on to many times over the centuries and that it was on the National Registry of Historic Homes. Their luggage had been carried to their rooms by a white-coated servant and efficiently unpacked and hung in large, elaborately carved armoires. Apparently this old home did not run to closets.