by Kara Lennox
“Mr. Logan and I have a difference of opinion as to what the new evidence means. I feel it’s important to pursue this so we’ll know the truth.”
“The truth? God, Jamie, surely you’re not that naive. There’s no room for truth in the court system, only different interpretations of events and evidence.”
Did he really believe that? Was she the only lawyer left who cared about true guilt or innocence?
“If we drop the ball, Logan’s going to put his own spin on this. And it won’t be pretty.”
“Read my lips, Jamie. No. My budget has been cut to the bone, and you know as well as I do every assistant D.A. in this office is overworked. I can’t have you gallivanting around on some fool’s errand, trying to scare up evidence that will convict a man who’s already in jail or exonerate one who’s already been pardoned.”
“And what if we convicted the wrong man?” she asked. “We can’t let Christopher Gables be executed if it’s possible we got things wrong.”
“If you help Daniel Logan spin the evidence that way, it would be a very, very bad development for everyone involved.”
Not for Christopher.
It would be easy for Jamie to slink out of her boss’s office and tell Daniel she was sorry, but she couldn’t cooperate with him anymore unless she wanted to lose her job.
But that was a coward’s way out.
“Jamie. You’re one of my brightest stars. Keep your nose clean, get a few more showy convictions and in a couple more years you might be sitting in this chair.”
“Me? District attorney?” She almost fell over.
“Why not you? You’re attractive, smart, hard as an unripe pumpkin and you get the job done. I’m not running for reelection. Someone has to replace me, and it might as well be you.”
Winston made a shooing gesture with his hands. “Go, Jamie. Earn your paycheck. And don’t lead with your heart.”
Dazed, Jamie backed out of the office and closed the door. District attorney? She didn’t appreciate that he’d mentioned her looks first, or that he’d compared her to a vegetable, but if he really meant what he’d said…
No chance of her advancing if it turned out she’d convicted an innocent man in her biggest, most publicized case.
Still, her conscience would not let her walk away from Daniel Logan and his quest. If the D.A. wouldn’t authorize her to cooperate, she would do what she could nights, weekends and on her lunch break. To do otherwise would be wrong.
A conscience could be a real inconvenience, sometimes.
CHAPTER FIVE
DANIEL’S FAVORITE HORSE, Laramie, thundered down the polo field as Daniel focused on the ball, leaning over the horse’s neck, becoming one with the surging animal.
He swung his mallet up, and with the perfect timing that happens so rarely, gave the ball a resounding thwack, launching it straight into the opposing team’s goal.
A cheer went up and he brought Laramie up and swiveled him around, feeling a momentary wash of elation at seeing his teammates congratulate him.
He often invited a local polo team to play on his field, just so he could keep his hand in the sport he’d enjoyed in college and give his two ponies some exercise. He also found that the strenuous mental and physical exertion that went with playing polo helped to sweep his mind of extraneous thoughts so that he could focus more clearly on the challenges of his Project Justice work.
Today, especially, he’d needed the stress relief of a good workout. His attempts over the weekend to gather evidence he would need to free Christopher Gables had met with only limited success. Any day now, the state would set the date for Christopher’s execution, and time seemed to be slipping away.
He hadn’t heard from Jamie over the weekend, and it was all he could do not to call her at home or on her cell. But she had to be handled delicately. Somehow, Daniel had to juggle the urgency of his quest with his desire not to push Jamie so hard that she walked away.
The chukker was over, and it was time to change horses, give Laramie a well-deserved rest. He had just dismounted, handing Laramie off to a groom, when he spotted Jillian approaching with a determined stride and a distinct frown.
Normally she didn’t let any aspects of her duties bother her on an emotional level. She was always upbeat, so a frown was out of character.
When she reached him, she handed over a cell phone to him. “Jamie McNair. You told me to put her calls through under any circumstances.”
“And I meant it.” He took the phone. “Yes, Jamie.”
“Took you long enough.”
“Jillian had to hunt me down. Sometimes I get away from all communications, just to clear my head.”
“She said you were playing polo.”
Jillian knew better than to give someone more information about him than they absolutely needed. “Yes, I was. Clears my head, like I said.”
“Hmm. Best I can do is a little deep breathing.”
“I’d be happy to teach you how to play polo,” he said cheerfully, refusing to let her put him down because he had money. He’d learned long ago not to apologize for his wealth.
“No time for that, I’m afraid. I’ll be over after work—around six. I hope you’re free.”
He smiled slightly at her high-handed tone. She was determined to prove to him he couldn’t push her around because of his money and position, and she probably secretly wanted to rankle him, too. If there was one thing Jamie feared, it was that someone would view her as soft.
He suspected she had a soft side. He’d get to it eventually.
“If I’m not free, I’ll rearrange my schedule. For you. We’ll have dinner.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“Yes, it is. Our brains will work much more efficiently if we—”
“Yes, yes, I’ve heard it before. We have to refuel our bodies.”
“You don’t disagree, do you?”
“I just… It seems frivolous, enjoying the sort of meals you routinely eat.”
This wasn’t the first time he’d run into this attitude. Some people, particularly those raised in poverty, felt guilty for treating themselves.
“I’ll see if Chef Claude can rustle up some gruel and moldy bread, if you’d rather.”
She actually laughed. “I’ll see you at six.”
“Is there a reason you’re coming, or will you leave me in suspense?”
She almost whispered her next words. “Can’t talk here. Have to go.”
Well, that was sufficiently mysterious.
He handed the phone to a still-scowling Jillian. “What?” he asked.
“I just don’t like that woman. She’s high-handed and snooty.”
“She’s insecure, and trying to establish her authority. Cut her some slack. As you pointed out, my actions might cost her her job, and she deserves some credit for at least keeping the lines of communication open.”
“But she thinks Christopher Gables is a serial killer. That’s nuts…isn’t it?”
“She thinks that only because she can’t stomach the alternative—that she put the wrong man on death row. Eventually she’ll turn around if I handle things just right.”
“You like her, don’t you?”
“Like her? I suppose I do.” More to the point, he wanted her in his bed, but though he shared a lot with Jillian, his sexual appetite wasn’t a subject he ever broached with her.
“You get all sparkly whenever you talk to her, or when her name comes up.”
“Do I?”
“Maybe this is none of my business, Daniel, but if you’re ready to get…romantic with someone, you can do better than her. Aside from the fact her profession is diametrically opposed to yours, she could be dangerous. People get crazy when their livelihoods, their very identities, are threatened.”
Daniel took a deep breath, held it, then let it out slowly. “You’re right, Jillian. It is none of your business.”
Jamie, dangerous? To his control, yes. But she wasn’t going to try to kill h
im.
He turned his back on Jillian to thank the guys from the polo club, but not before he saw the flash of hurt in her eyes.
Damn it, he didn’t want to hurt her. She was like a kid sister to him. Their fathers had been friends, and she’d been working for his family since her teenage years.
But neither was he willing to take dating advice from her. Although he wasn’t certain what she did on her days off, he didn’t think she dated, either. She was as socially isolated as he was.
Maybe he should encourage Jillian to take a different job within the Logan organization. His CEO was always trying to steal her. If she worked at Logan Oil and lived away from his estate, her life would be more normal.
He made a mental note to consider the possibility further. For the first time in years, he really didn’t want Jillian around, not if she was going to judge what he did—or didn’t do—with Jamie McNair.
JAMIE WAS SURPRISED, and not quite prepared, when Daniel himself answered the door with Tucker at his heel.
“Come in, Jamie.” He offered a brief smile, but his eyes were solemn.
“Thank you. Did your butler take the day off?”
“You know, you’re going to have to get that boulder-size chip off your shoulder if we’re going to work together.”
“Sorry?”
“Your resentment of my wealth. Would you like me better if I gave it all away and lived in a cardboard box under a bridge?”
She stepped past him over the threshold, her heels clicking on the marble floor. “You aren’t going to tell me your money is a curse, are you?”
“Far from it. I am grateful every day of my life for the circumstances I was born into. My parents gave me every opportunity, every advantage. If not for money, frankly, I’d be dead right now. Because legal skills alone would not have gotten me a pardon. It took money, too—for publicity, for lawyers, for scientific tests. My father made it his full-time job to exonerate me.”
Jamie took a mental step back. When she’d fired off her crack about the butler, she hadn’t expected this impassioned speech.
Did she resent his wealth? Maybe a little. As a prosecutor, she had a limited budget and limited resources. Maybe she did bristle at the fact he had unlimited supplies of both.
“The extent of your wealth overwhelms me,” she said in all honesty. “I can’t wrap my mind around it. But I didn’t intentionally malign your father.” She squatted down to greet Tucker and give him a little scratch behind the ears. It was easier to look into his sweet brown eyes than face Daniel’s challenging gaze.
“No, you didn’t. And maybe I overreacted. Let’s go sit down. Dinner should be ready in about an hour, is that okay?”
“That’s…that’s fabulous.” Whatever he served was sure to beat the dinner she would have had on her own—probably something frozen popped into the microwave.
She thought he’d take her down to the basement again. Instead, he led her down the same hallway as before, stopping before reaching the stairs where he entered a different room. It was a large library, probably larger than the public library she’d checked out books from as a child. The room was a symphony of warm wood and leather and stone, very masculine yet somehow cozy and inviting. An enormous stone fireplace dominated the room, smack in the center and open on two sides. Though it was only in the sixties outside, a low flame burned, giving the room more intimacy than it otherwise would have had.
Tucker headed straight to the fireplace and flopped onto a rug in front of the raised hearth.
The walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling shelves stuffed with all manner of books, from ancient-looking leather-bound volumes to current bestselling novels. At the opposite end of the room was a carved oak bar, which appeared fully stocked with bottles and bottles of liquor lined up on mirrored shelves.
Jamie was drawn, though, to a Christmas tree. The thing had to be fifteen feet tall, a lovely, lacy cedar whose top brushed the vaulted wood-beamed ceiling.
She looked up at a string of lights, only half strung. The tree was in progress. “I’d almost forgotten that the holidays were coming.”
“They’re not my thing, either, but Jillian always makes a big deal about the decorating. She seems to enjoy it.”
“Maybe if I had a place like this to decorate, I’d get more excited.” She could almost picture a Christmas morning here, stockings hung on that enormous hearth stuffed with goodies, shiny packages under the tree, a cheerful fire—never mind that Houston Christmases were often downright balmy.
Then she imagined children squealing in delight as they discovered the presents Santa had brought, the smell of hot cocoa…
She shook her head, alarmed by the fanciful turn of her imagination. The only things she knew of squealing children on Christmas morning were what she’d seen on TV. Her mother had always worked on Christmas because she could get double time, and presents had been a foreign concept.
One time, Toys for Tots had stopped by, wanting to give Jamie a shiny wrapped package. Her mother had tartly told them she didn’t accept charity.
“Jamie?”
She snapped back to reality. “Sorry. I’m curious—how do you celebrate? Do you hand out BMWs and diamond necklaces? Buy the biggest goose in town and stuff it with caviar?”
“You’re doing it again.”
“I am. Sorry.”
“My Christmas is always low-key. I give my employees bonuses, usually a few days before the holidays so they can do something nice for themselves. Then I let them celebrate with their families.”
“So you hang out here by yourself? I know your parents have passed away, but don’t you have any family?”
“I like the solitude. And no, no family. Oh, some cousins in Philadelphia. I invite them to visit every year, but they haven’t come since… Well, it was awkward. Small children involved, and all that.”
His relatives were afraid to expose their children to him? Because they thought he was a murderer?
That thought made Jamie unbearably sad. Though she’d believed he was a killer at one time, possibly even a serial offender, she had a hard time reconciling that possibility with the man she was coming to know.
“Christmas is hardly a blip on my radar screen,” she said. “No family here, either. Christmas is so overdone, anyway.”
“So that’s one thing we have in common,” Daniel observed. “We don’t get all caught up in the holiday baloney. Probably suits you just fine, am I right?”
“Absolutely. People go crazy. They spend money they can’t afford. They buy toys their kids will get tired of in a week.”
“They gain weight and spend all of January feeling guilty for their excesses.”
“They cut down trees that’ll just end up in the landfill.” She glanced at the behemoth of a cedar.
“I turn mine into mulch and use it for the gardens.”
“Well, all right, then. You’re excused for the ginormous tree.”
Daniel smiled at her, and something inside her that was hard and tight loosened just a bit. Maybe she did have a chip on her shoulder where money and privilege were concerned. She’d hated those snotty rich kids she’d gone to law school with who’d looked down on her because she didn’t drive the right car and wear the right labels.
Daniel did some good things with his money. Logan Oil was one of the most ecologically conscious fuel companies on the planet. The company donated massive amounts of money to clean up oceans, and Daniel personally gave away lots of money to worthy causes, not to mention all he did with Project Justice.
Maybe she would never relate to his lifestyle, but that didn’t mean she had to condemn him for it.
Condemn. Funny she should use that word.
“Maybe we should get down to business,” she said, hoping to reel her mind in from its errant path.
“Good idea. We can work over here.” He led her to a large walnut gaming table where they had plenty of room to spread out. The moment they got settled, a servant entered with a platter o
f hors d’oeuvres, small plates, napkins and wineglasses.
Daniel held up a hand when the servant would have poured them wine. “Not tonight, Manuel. We’re working.”
“Yes, sir.”
Jamie’s stomach was rumbling, so she availed herself of the nibbles—water chestnuts wrapped in crispy bacon, mushrooms stuffed with a wild-rice concoction, Brie and some of the tastiest crackers she’d ever sampled.
“So, Jamie, can I ask why you’re here?” Daniel asked, also diving into the food. “And with a large, fully stuffed briefcase?”
Right. She’d almost forgotten the reason she’d come. “First, you have to give me your word you won’t divulge what I’m about to tell you to anyone.”
“If it will help free Christopher—”
“It won’t.”
“Okay, I give you my word.”
“Good, because if it suited you, you could easily get me fired. I’m here because I want to find out what, if any, real connection exists between the Frank Sissom and Andreas Musto murders. Unfortunately, the district attorney doesn’t agree that this research is necessary or appropriate. He forbade me to assist you. In fact, he ordered me to throw every possible roadblock at you.”
Daniel set down the mushroom he’d been about to pop into his mouth. “Wow.”
“He’s my boss, and I’m supposed to support his policies. But I can’t walk away. I may not agree with you about Christopher’s innocence, but I want to find out what really happened. Who was the man Theresa saw in the kitchen? Where did those metal shavings come from? And who belongs to that DNA?”
“We may not want the same outcome,” Daniel said. “But we both want the truth, and we can help each other.”
“But I can’t do this on the county’s dime. My assistance is limited to evenings and weekends. And my part in this is to be kept in strictest confidence—unless and until we’re prepared to take some kind of legal action, such as filing charges or making a motion to have Christopher’s verdict overturned.”
“Of course. Believe me, I don’t want you to get fired. It’s not in my best interest.”
“So what about your servants? Jillian and Manuel and…the chef? Claude?”
