by Leanna Floyd
Brooke laughed and said, “And you’re pretty transparent, you know that? I’m not a reporter, but I’ll take your assumption as a compliment. Even if I do think you’re just trying to hit on me.”
He sat there typing frantically, looked up at her and said, “Give me one sec—let me finish this before I respond.” She finished her soda and felt amused. When he kept typing, she checked her phone and saw the time, realizing she’d be late to class if she didn’t leave now. It was impossible to find a parking place on campus at this time of day. Still…she was enjoying the attention.
“There!” he said triumphantly, putting away his laptop. “With three minutes to spare.”
Brooke stood and smiled at him. “I’ve got to run or I’ll be late.”
“I’m Kevin—Majors. I write for an online news service. Maybe you’ve heard of it, Floridafirst.com?” He extended his hand and Brooke shook it.
“Brooke,” she said, still wondering why she was lingering. Had it really been that long since someone had flirted with her? “No, I’m afraid I haven’t heard of it. Do you specialize in covering trials, or…?”
“Nice to meet you, Brooke,” he said. “Yeah, I tend to do crime reporting, and this trial in particular intrigues me. Abby Winters called me a week before she was shot and wanted to know if I’d interview her.”
“Really? About what?” Now he had her full attention.
He smiled and said, “Two can play at that game. Not going to tell me your connection to the Barton trial, are you?”
She laughed and shifted her purse under her arm. “No, I don’t see why I should. No offense.”
“None taken. But I’m not sure why I should tell you why Abby Winters wanted to talk to me. However, maybe I could be persuaded over drinks…or even a real lunch—one that’s not from a food truck.”
They started walking beside each other toward the parking lot behind them.
Brooke wasn’t sure why she did it, but she reached into her bag and pulled out a business card. Dr. Gregory had insisted she have them made; as an employee of the university, it was legitimate to order business cards, but she still felt a little strange about it, like a kid playing dress up. Just her grad student mindset, she guessed.
“I’ve really got to run, Kevin,” said Brooke. “But here’s my card. Maybe we can make a deal. We can meet for a drink, and I’ll tell you why I was at the trial this morning, and you can tell me why Abby wanted to talk to you.”
They had reached the edge of the parking lot and stopped. Kevin took the card from her and smiled as he read it. Brooke thought it was definitely his eyes, green and luminous like the sea glass she used to collect on the beach as a kid. Kevin’s eyes were beautiful and flecked with light.
“So, should I call you ‘doctor’?” he said.
“Not yet,” she said. “That’s my cell number on there—call or text if you want to trade information. It was nice meeting you, Kevin.”
Chapter 16
Jacob joined the rest of his team milling about the desk where Lisa DeMato continued to sit. Various conversations were already in progress when DeMato looked up and said, “Jacob, I have a job for you during this lunch break.”
“You got it,” he said without hesitation, excited that she had singled him out. “I want you to talk to Zach Barton.”
The small holding cell wasn’t what Jacob expected. It smelled of grease and onions, and with a tile floor, no windows, and fluorescent lighting overhead, it appeared more like an exam room in a doctor’s office than a jail cell. A uniformed deputy had examined Jacob’s I.D. and court admissions form carefully before letting him in, saying they’d had several tabloid reporters attempt to bluff their way in. As the door locked behind him, Jacob nodded at the suited young man seated at a table facing him, about to bite into a burger.
“I’m Jacob Connor,” he said, extending his hand. “With Taylor, Dwights and Associates. Lisa DeMato sent me.”
“Zach Barton,” said the other man, putting down his burger, “as I’m sure you know.” He wiped his fingers on a napkin and then shook Jacob’s hand with a firm, strong grip. “You eaten? You can have half if you want it. Not bad, either—a little too well done for my taste, but not bad for fast food, I guess.” Fries anchored the burger wrapper along with a Diet Coke.
“Uh, no thanks, I ate already,” Jacob said and took the chair opposite Barton.
Only then did he notice that Barton’s left hand was cuffed to the metal office table. But otherwise, the defendant looked like a million bucks: sapphire blue pinstripe suit—Armani, Jacob wondered, or maybe Zegna—white shirt, maroon polka dot tie. In their sharp suits and short haircuts, they could pass for two young professionals meeting for a business lunch. In fact, this was probably the main reason Lisa DeMato had given him this assignment. What was it she’d said? Something about them both being “young men with some things in common”—whatever that meant.
Anyway, he was here now so he might as well do his job. DeMato’s husky voice, which she had lowered so no one else could hear, echoed in his thoughts. “Just hang out with him… see how he’s holding up…and maybe dig around about these past charges when he was in high school. Sounds like just the usual school boy hijinks, you know, vandalism and DUIs,” which had almost made Jacob laugh. He wasn’t sure about the schoolboys she knew, but those were not ‘usual hijinks’ back at Sadersville. Instead, he had just nodded as she continued: “…I’m still debating whether to put him on the stand. He wants it, his father wants it, but still…I’ve got a bad feeling about this one. You’re new to all this, so tell me what you’d think of Zach Barton if you were a juror.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he’d said, suddenly nervous at the prospect of meeting his firm’s most famous client. Now that he was here, though, he felt uncertain about his purpose.
“Sent you to babysit me, huh?” said Barton, shoving a couple of fries in his mouth. “Would it really be so hard to remember the ketchup? Okay, so I’m a murderer, right? But don’t we still get ketchup with our fries?” He smiled in a way that made Jacob relax; it was as if they already knew each other and shared the same sense of humor.
“I can try to get you some if—” Jacob said and started to rise.
“No, man—not your problem,” said Barton, taking another bite. “I’ll live without ketchup.” He paused to chew then licked his fingers and added, “So, how long you been with the firm?”
“Not long,” said Jacob, regaining his confidence. “DeMato just wanted me to check in and see how you’re doing. Lisa and I agree that the trial is going as well as can be expected so far.” Yep, he definitely had his swagger back.
“Whatever,” Barton said nonchalantly. “Just wish I could listen to some tunes while I’m sitting there lookin’ all sad and remorseful. Or check the market. Or make some bets. Anything would be better than that snooze fest.”
Well, there was clearly no doubt that Zach Barton was holding up just fine. Jacob had never seen anyone be so calm about something this serious.
“Any surprises coming up on this video?” Jacob stared deep into the other man’s eyes, startled by the dark blue depths there, and a coldness similar to what Jacob imagined you’d find at the bottom of the ocean.
“Nah, no biggie,” said Barton, staring back. “Lawson dug up my old charges from over ten years ago—you know, kid stuff. So, I smoked a little weed and drove home stoned from a couple parties. So, I slit some punk’s tires or got a little rough with some slut at a frat party. You’ve probably done the same, right? We all have. Besides, they could never get any of the charges to stick.”
“I hear you,” Jacob said, nodding. “Just wanting to make sure we stay ahead of Carver.” They were still staring each other down, neither willing to blink, let alone be the first to look away. “This girl at the frat party…anything they could dig up there? You know, pattern of violence toward women, sexual assault, that kind of thing?”
“Not really,” he said, adjusting his tie as he kept his
eyes locked on Jacob. “Daddy paid her a nice chunk of change, maybe even gave her a free boob job or something. She’s nothing to worry about.”
“Right,” said Jacob, finally breaking the stare-down and glancing at his watch.
“Nice,” said Barton, following Jacob’s glance. “Breitling? Or is that an Omega?”
“Yeah, it’s a Seamaster 300, co-axial,” he said, pleased to have his expensive taste recognized by someone who could appreciate it.
“I miss wearing my watches—got a platinum Rolex Daytona that’s my baby,” Barton said. “What do they think I’m going to do with it—hang myself? Or maybe they think I’ll go all James Bond on them and break out like that dude in Skyfall—you see that? Now that’s a badass flick!”
Jacob laughed and stood up. “You like movies, don’t you? Yeah, I saw that one. Liked it, but I’m more of an old movie buff myself. Hitchcock and De Palma, Kubrick and Scorsese. Well, guess I better get back in there before the fun starts again.”
Barton extended his hand and they shook again. Jacob took this as a positive sign. Maybe DeMato had been right, and they did have more in common than just their age. Still, Jacob wasn’t exactly sure what he thought of Zach Barton or what they should expect if they put him on the witness stand. He knocked on the door to let the deputy know he was ready to leave.
“What was her name, Zach? The girl you mentioned from the frat party?”
“I don’t remember,” Barton said, clearly lying, and smiled his wolf-smile again, all white teeth with a sharp edge. “If you dig around, someone at the firm can find it for you. My daddy and Jack Taylor were U of F fraternity brothers—SAE all the way! They go back a long way.”
“Great,” said Jacob, turning to walk out the door. “I’ll have someone chase it down.”
Chapter 17
Brooke looked at Jacob intently, trying to decide if he were telling the truth. “He did not say that!” she said, finally convinced. They were sitting on the patio at one of her favorite bars, The Catamaran, drinking margaritas on the rocks and nibbling on chips and fresh salsa. They could see the beach less than half a mile away, and it was nearly deserted.
Fluffy white clouds, luminous as pearls, continued to roll in from the sea and accumulate along the horizon. Although the wind had picked up, so far there was no rain. Jacob had just finished regaling Brooke with a blow-by-blow of his meeting with Zach Barton.
“Yes, he did say that,” Jacob said. “He’s definitely used to getting whatever he wants.”
“Well, before you say anything else about the trial,” Brooke said. “I need to tell you something.” She paused to make sure he was listening. “Dr. Gregory has been hired by the State as an expert witness…” Her mouth was suddenly dry so she took a drink before adding, “And he’s asked me to be his second. Which means I’ll be assisting him in profiling both Abby Winters and Zach Barton. So, we probably shouldn’t talk about the trial any more—hope you understand.”
“Brooke, that’s awesome! Isn’t this what you’ve been waiting for? It’s your big break. I’m so happy for you.” He raised his margarita glass and clinked with hers in a toast.
“After talking with Barton today, I can see why you find this creepy killer stuff so fascinating,” he said. “There’s something so—I don’t know the word—curious about the idea of being able to kill someone and feel no remorse whatsoever.”
“The word is sick,” she said. “Or inhuman or sociopathic or—shall I go on?”
He forced a smile and said, “You’re right, of course—there’s just something I almost admire about someone like Barton who doesn’t care about anyone else but himself. It just seems like it would make life easier, you know?”
“Being an egomaniacal narcissist never makes life easier, my dear,” she said and sampled her drink. “Not that I can clinically diagnose Barton, but based on what I saw today and what you’re telling me, he certainly fits the profile. Considering I’m working for opposing counsel now, you and I probably shouldn’t even be talking about Barton at all.”
They sat in silence for a minute, simply enjoying the cool breeze and outdoor air, and then he said, “You’re right. I shouldn’t have been talking to you—or anyone—about the trial. It’s just…well, I tell you everything, don’t I? Speaking of which, did I tell you about chatting with Alicia again last night? I swear I think I’m falling for her—and we haven’t even met! Isn’t that crazy?”
Brooke pushed a buttery-blonde strand of hair behind her ear, enjoying the wind on her face. She knew he was changing the topic on purpose—or was he? Did it matter if she and Jacob were on opposite sides of the Barton trial? Of course, not. Hadn’t he voted for the opposite political party in the last election? They disagreed about a lot of things and still remained friends. Besides, it wasn’t like they actually held opposite beliefs about Zach Barton. They were just doing their jobs.
She suddenly realized Jacob had asked her a question.
“Hel-lo, Dr. Douger—where are you?” he said. “Are you okay?”
“Sorry,” she said. “I was just enjoying the breeze and being here with you. Did you ask me something?”
He grinned and reached for a tortilla chip. “I asked you if it’s possible to fall in love with someone you’ve never met in person before.”
Brooke swirled her finger around the edge of her margarita glass and tasted the salt to her lips. “Well, a lot of the research indicates that the feelings we often associate with falling in love are the same ones we use when fantasizing. So, it’s not really that strange that you feel so strongly about someone you’ve never met. Right now, Alicia can still be your dream girl, your ideal woman. Once you meet her…well, that will be the real test.”
Jacob crunched a mouthful of chips as salsa dribbled onto his tie. “Damn it!” he said. “I knew I should have taken this thing off.” Brooke handed him her clean napkin, which he used to dab water on the dark spot. “Zach Barton’s daddy probably buys all his designer ties for him, but I have to pay for my own! This was one of my favorites!”
Brooke started to comment on the fact that he had just brought up Barton again, but let it go. Instead she said, “Well, I guess I better go. Early group session in the morning. Plus, I still have papers to grade. Not to mention more research for Dr. G. How did I let you talk me into meeting tonight?” She smiled and finished her drink. “Now, where did our waitress go?”
“I got this, Brookie,” he said. “You fly and go get your stuff done. I may have another and sit out here a little longer. Need to return some messages and phone calls. This feels nice after being in that stuffy courtroom all day.”
They hugged and as she drove away, Brooke wondered why it made her so uncomfortable when he brought up Alicia. She really did have a lot she needed to do that night, but she could easily have enjoyed sitting there another half hour. She wasn’t jealous. Was she? Not of someone who might not even exist! She thought of Kevin Majors then, the scruffy-hunky reporter she’d met outside the courthouse and hoped he would give her a call. She really was hoping to trade information about the case, but still you never know what can happen. Her phone chirped—Jacob probably had forgotten to tell her something—and she pressed the answer button to activate her car’s Bluetooth.
“Hello, what did you forget to tell me?” she said.
“Hmm, that you’re beautiful as well as super smart?” said a male voice that was definitely not Jacob’s.
“Oops, sorry,” she said, giggling at the caller’s retort. “Thought you were someone else. Who is this?”
“Kevin Majors—we met after the trial the other—”
“I was just thinking of you!” Slow down, girl, she told herself. “You know, thinking it would be good to discuss the Winters’ trial.”
“Great—me too. Could you meet tomorrow after work? Say, around 5:30? I can text you the address of a place not far from the courthouse.”
“Perfect,” Brooke said, regaining her composure. “I look forward to seein
g you then.”
“Thanks, see you then.”
She ended the call and smiled to herself. Let Jacob have his new online cutie! She might just have her own opportunity for making a new friend.
Chapter 18
Sipping coffee while on his balcony the next morning, Jacob watched the sun raise its golden eye above the horizon. He could smell the tang of saltwater in the air, along with the smoky scent of leaves burning, the smell of fall. He had woken up early, before his alarm went off, a rarity in itself, but had showered, shaved, and dressed for work with ample time to spare. He would go in early to work and try to beat the ongoing cluster of reporters outside the courthouse.
First, though, he wanted to savor the moment.
For the first time in a long time, Jacob felt something he rarely felt—happy. His relationship with Alicia was promising, and he was about to hear her sweet voice for the first time. As planned, he had texted her the day before and then told her he’d give her a call sometime soon.
Yes, Jacob couldn’t remember when he had felt so hopeful about his future. He lived in a great place, was close to Brooke, and was making a fresh start. He liked his job—despite the unspoken judgment he already felt from Brooke for being part of Zach Barton’s defense team. His life was coming together. He was no longer out partying, chasing girls, and looking for trouble. Maybe it was time to settle down now—if Alicia turned out to be the real deal, who knows?
Jacob had planned to wait until the next day, and then that evening to phone Alicia, but he simply couldn’t wait. Like a kid who thinks he knows what’s inside a Christmas present, he had to make sure what was beneath the wrapping paper. His hands were actually shaking as he dialed the number Alicia had texted him the night before.
Before he hit ‘call’, a million thoughts ran through his mind: What should I say? What if she doesn’t answer? Do I leave a message or not? What if she doesn’t sound how I imagined? He pushed his fears aside and made the call. The phone rang seven times, and he was starting to wonder if he’d dialed the right number. What if I dialed the wrong number?
