by Hannah Ford
My face burned when I realized he didn’t know the most basic facts about me – where I was from, where I lived—and yet we’d done and said things that were shockingly intimate.
“Thank you, Jared.” Noah hung up the phone and began gathering up the breakfast things.
I sat there for a second, feeling awkward. What was I supposed to do now? I couldn’t very well wear his clothes home. It was just boxers and a t-shirt, no bra. Definitely not appropriate for wearing outside. At all.
“I guess… Um, I guess I’ll go get my things,” I said, and Noah gave me a curt nod.
I walked to the bedroom, confused by what had just happened. Why was Noah suddenly shutting down giving me the cold shoulder? Had I done something? I ran the last few moments over in mind, but I couldn’t figure out what had happened. We’d been sitting there, talking and joking around, and then he’d kissed me… it seemed like the call from Professor Worthington had made him upset.
Jesus.
Professor Worthington.
My law professor.
The professor I was technically working for, the one I would need to write me a recommendation for any internships I wanted to pursue, the one who would be responsible for giving me a grade this semester.
The sheets in Noah’s bedroom were in a tangle just the way we’d left them, and I had to hunt for my clothes. I gathered them up then changed back into the skirt and shirt I’d been wearing yesterday.
My face was burning with embarrassment. How could I have been so stupid? Getting involved with a client? Sleeping with him? The first time could be forgiven, but the second….
When I got back to the kitchen, Noah was pouring himself another cup of coffee.
“The car is waiting for you downstairs,” he said.
“Thanks.” I stood there for a moment, not sure what I was supposed to do. “So I guess I’ll be seeing you around… um, on the case, I mean,” I added quickly, just in case he thought I meant I wanted to see him again.
It was obvious from the way he was acting that he didn’t want to see me again.
“Good bye, Charlotte,” he said, his tone dismissive.
“Bye.”
***
When I got back to my apartment, I took a long, hot, shower, letting the water pulse over me, hoping to erase the memory of Noah Cutler. I wasn’t sure it was going to work, and I was right. I couldn’t stop thinking about him. There was a lump in my throat, and for some reason, I felt like I wanted to cry.
Which was ridiculous.
How could I feel like crying over a man I’d just met less than twelve hours ago? But I couldn’t get away from the fact that it hurt. The way he’d dismissed me, the way things had seem to change so drastically. One moment we were joking around, then kissing, his hands moving up my body, giving me goose bumps… and then the lust in his eyes had disappeared in an instant, replaced with a devastating hardness. Maybe it was true that you couldn’t have amazing sex with someone you didn’t know. Or you could, but then you’d be left with these upsetting consequences.
I stayed in the shower until the water ran cold, then got out and wrapped myself in a towel. My phone was on the counter by the sink, and it began buzzing with a call.
It was a number I didn’t recognize, and I answered it immediately, hoping it was Noah, hoping he was calling to tell me he was sorry about how we left things, that he didn’t mean to seem cold, that –
“Charlotte?”
I recognized the voice immediately. It wasn’t Noah. It was Professor Worthington.Was he calling to fire me? Had Noah told him what had happened between us? Had Noah insisted that I be taken off the case?
“Hi, Professor,” I said, combing through my brain and trying to think of anything I could possibly say to save my job.
“Where have you been?” he demanded gruffly. “I’ve been calling you for the last half an hour.”
“I was in the shower,” I said.
“Charlotte, if you’re going to be working with on this case, then you’re going to have to make sure you have your phone on you at all times. Do you understand?”
“So I’m still on the case?” I blurted before I could stop myself.
“Why wouldn’t you be?” Professor Worthington had gone from sounding rushed to sounding slightly pissed and really annoyed.
“No, I just… I meant…” I couldn’t come up with a good explanation, so finally I just said, “Professor, I want you to know that I am one hundred percent committed to this case, and I will do whatever it is you need me to.”
“Well, then act like it. I need you to meet us down at the police station in thirty minutes.”
“The police station?”
“Yes. Noah Cutler is going to be questioned, and I’m going to need you to take notes.”
“Of course.” My pulse pounded. Not only was I still on the case, but I was going to be there when the police interrogated Noah. It was amazing experience -- Professor Worthington was one of the best criminal defense lawyers in the city. I’d get to witness a true master at work. And not only that, but Noah would be there. The prospect of seeing him again shouldn’t have excited me, especially given the circumstances. But it did.
“And Charlotte?”
“Yes, Professor?”
“Get it together.”
The line went dead before I could reply.
***
The police precinct was located on Druid Street, right across from a row of high-end bars and subs. There was no car to pick me up this time, obviously, so I was forced to take the subway. Which was fine with me.
It had been awkward earlier, sitting in the back of a limo, knowing that Jared, Noah’s driver, probably knew exactly what I’d just done with his boss. Although Jared didn’t seem all that thrown by any of it – in fact, he was perfectly polite and professional. Which made me think this was probably a normal occurrence – Jared having to take home some girl who’d just spent the night with Noah.
Not that that was surprising. Noah was gorgeous and rich and brilliant. He was charming and sexy and he knew all the right things to say. I was sure he’d had models and actresses and whoever else he fancied.
When I walked into the police precinct, I was the first to arrive—there was no sign of Noah or Professor Worthington. I’d expected it to be scary and foreboding, but it wasn’t. There was a receptionist sitting behind a glass partition, and a few officers milled around a desk in the back.
“Can I help you?” the woman behind the partition asked me. She had a short blonde bob and was wearing a very chic pair of horn-rimmed glasses. I wished I could pull off glasses like that, but you had to be a very particular kind of person, usually a hipster. Which I most definitely wasn’t.
“Yes, I’m here with Noah Cutler. I mean, I’m supposed to be meeting him and his team here.”
“Mr. Cutler hasn’t arrived yet,” the woman said. “But you can have a seat over-”
But before she could finish her sentence, the door to the precinct went flying open and Noah came storming in, a harried-looking Professor Worthington trailing behind him. Neither of them even looked at me.
Instead, Noah marched right up to the receptionist.
“I’m here to see Detective Rake,” Noah said. He was wearing a long grey coat over expensive-looking black pants. His hair was freshly styled, his face smoother than it had been when I’d seen him earlier. He must have shaved. He looked like he was about to go to a magazine shoot, not be questioned in a murder.
“Of course, Mr. Cutler,” the receptionist said without even asking Noah’s name. She must have been expecting him, or maybe she knew who he was from his reputation as a lawyer. She picked up a phone and pushed a button. “Detective Rake, Noah Cutler and his lawyer are here.” She replaced the receiver. “He’ll be with you in just a moment.”
Noah didn’t reply, instead heading back toward the front door and pacing angrily. The receptionist was watching him, her gaze moving over his body, his face, and her eyes caught
mine. She raised her eyebrows and shook her head at me, and I knew what was trying to convey – wow, he’s hot.
I thought about giving a slight shake of my head to indicate I didn’t agree, but there’s no way she would have believed it. So I nodded my ascent. There really was no way around it – Noah was beautiful. Even this receptionist, who knew he was here to be questioned about a murder, was acknowledging it.
“I’m not waiting more than two minutes,” Noah growled as he paced around the lobby.
“Noah,” Professor Worthington said, shaking his head. “You need to calm down. We can’t have you being questioned while you’re in an emotional state. You need to seem like you have a cool head about you, you can’t come across as defensive, or …”
“Fuck that,” Noah said. He pulled his gloves of angrily and shoved them into the pocket of his coat. “This is bullshit, making me come down here, and you know it.”
“It’s a show of good faith,” Worthington said. “You need to show that you’re playing by the rules. I don’t like it, and you don’t like it, but that’s how it is. That’s what you would tell a client, and you know it.”
“No, I wouldn’t,” Noah said. “If I were my own client, I’d say the police can go fuck themselves, and if they want to question you, they can come to your apartment.”
Worthington sighed. “Noah, you hired me because you trust me. Now you have to listen.”
Noah shook his head angrily and continued pacing around the lobby.
So far, neither he nor Worthington had even acknowledged my presence.
“Oh,” Worthington said finally when he saw me standing there. “Charlotte. Good. You’re here.”
Noah still didn’t look at me.
“Yes, I’m here,” I said. I held up the fresh notebook I’d grabbed from my stash on the way out the door. “I’m ready to work.”
“Good,” Professor Worthington said. He pulled a manila file folder out of his bag and handed it to me. “This is some preliminary information about the case. It’s very bare bones, and in the coming days I’m going to need you to start fleshing it out. I would appreciate your discretion in this matter, Charlotte. You’ll be working directly under me, and so you’ll be bound under the same rules of attorney/client confidentiality as I am.”
“Of course,” I said.
“Why the hell are they making us wait?” Noah raged.
“Noah,” Worthington said. “I’m sure they’ll be –”
Just then, the receptionist slid back the partition and poked her head out. “Detective Rake will see you now,” she said, her eyes never leaving Noah. “You can head back. It’s through the double doors, third door on the left.”
“It’s about damn time,” Noah said.
He pushed through the doors, Worthington hot on his heels.
I took a deep breath and followed them.
***
They put us in an interrogation room. It was just like the kind of room you’d see on TV, only slightly nicer. There was an oak desk in the middle, with a couple of chairs in front of it, and one behind it. There was a futon against the wall, folded up into couch position, the mattress covered with an eggplant-colored cushion cover.
Noah and Professor Worthington took the two chairs in front of the desk, and I figured the other chair, the one behind the desk, was for Detective Rake. So I sat down on the futon.
The detective hadn’t come in it yet, so I pulled out the folder Professor Worthington had given me and began reading up on the case. Noah was furiously typing away on his phone. He wasn’t complaining anymore, apparently deciding to take his energy and channel it into something productive.
The first page in the folder was a black and white photo of a smiling girl. She was about my age, with gorgeous straight black hair and a perfect smile. She had a bit of an exotic thing going on, her eyes done up in a smoky liner. She was pushing her hair back with one hand and she was looking down, like someone had caught her mid-laugh. It was a picture that was supposed to look candid, but the lighting and the backdrop made it obviously a headshot.
She must have been a model or an actress.
I flipped to the next document and almost gasped. It was the same girl, only this picture was a close up of her neck. And she was obviously dead. There were red and purple marks on her skin, some of them so dark they were almost black. You could see the outline of a hand on her throat. Someone had strangled her to death.
I took in a deep shaky breath. I needed to be professional – I couldn’t have Professor Worthington noticing me having a reaction to what probably was just some run-of-the-mill autopsy photos.
I went to flip to the next page, but before I could, the door opened and a police officer walked in. Detective Rake.
He surveyed the room and then spoke.
“Hello, everyone,” he said. “Noah, I presume?” He held his hand out to Noah, who shook it reluctantly.
“Colin Worthington,” Professor Worthington said. “Counsel for Mr. Cutler. And this is my assistant, Charlotte Holloway.”
The detective gave me a friendly nod.
“How long is this going to take?” Noah demanded.
“It shouldn’t take long.” Detective Rake was speaking in a jovial manner, seemingly not phased by Noah’s bad attitude. He took a sip from the paper Starbucks cup he was holding. “Would you like some coffee?” he asked. “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to settle for what we have here at the station. I can’t stand the stuff myself, but then, I’m a bit of a coffee snob.” He held up his cup as if to confirm it.
His tone was pleasant, but it was a subtle dig. He was drinking the good stuff, and if any of us wanted anything, we’d have to settle for the shitty police station coffee.
I shifted on the futon, wondering how Noah was going to react.
But he didn’t reply, just glanced at the detective and then back down at his phone, continuing to type whatever work or email he’d been working on before.
“No, thank you,” Professor Worthington said.
Detective Rake turned to me. “Would you like anything, Charlotte?” he asked.
I opened my mouth to say no, but then I remembered earlier, in Noah’s kitchen, him telling me that all serious lawyers drank coffee, that I needed to drink the good stuff only, black, with no sugar because that would ruin it.
Fuck him, I thought. What an ass, ignoring me like this after what we did this morning
“I’d love some,” I said.
“Excellent,” Detective Rake said. His blue eyes sparkled. He was young for a detective, or at least, he looked young – I could see a tiny bit of salt and pepper starting at his temples, but his skin was fresh and unlined, his eyes bright. Something about his face was a little bit impish, like maybe he enjoyed messing with people. “How do you take it?”
“Just a little cream and a lot of sugar,” I said. “The more sugar the better.”
“Just like me.” He winked and then disappeared back through the door to get more coffee.
Noah finally glanced at me, and I thought I saw anger flash on his face for a moment. But then he went blank again, his gaze returning to his phone.
“Here you go,” Detective Rake said, returning with a paper cup full of coffee.
“Thanks.” I took a big sip, trying not to gag. I didn’t know much about coffee, but even I could tell this was a watered down version of the real thing, and it was so sweet I could practically feel my teeth rotting. “Perfect,” I said.
“Can we get going?” Noah asked, shoving his phone back into his coat pocket. “I have somewhere to be.”
“Of course, Mr. Cutler,” Detective Rake said. He sat down behind the desk and pulled out a legal pad and a ballpoint pen. “You are aware that this interview is being taped, both by video and audio, and that any statements you make here may be used against you in a court of law?”
“Yes,” Noah said, sounding unconcerned.
“Thank you, Mr. Cutler.” Detective Rake pushed a photo across the tab
le toward Noah. It was an exact copy of the one that was in my folder, the headshot of the smiling girl. “Do you know this woman?”
“Yes.”
“And what is her name, for the record?”
“Dani DeClair.”
“And how did you know the victim?”
“We were friends,” Noah said.
“Friends?” Detective Rake pressed.
“Yes.”
I realized I was supposed to be taking notes, for what, I had no clue – since the meeting was being taped, both by video and audio, we could probably just get copies of those if we needed to. But I did as I was told, just in case.
“Did you have a sexual relationship with Ms. DeClair?”
“Yes,” Noah replied. He sounded bored, like the fact that he’d had a sexual relationship with a girl who’d been murdered was of no consequence.
“But you just said you were friends.”
“Friends can have sex, Detective,” Noah said, his tone hard.
I felt my cheeks heating up and I concentrated hard on my legal pad.
“What kind of sex did you and Ms. DeClair have?” Detective Rake asked. He leaned back in his chair, casually crossing one leg over the other, like he was used to questioning wealthy businessmen about their involvement with the victim of a murder.
“The kind I always have,” Noah said, smirking. “Good.”
Professor Worthington sighed. “Listen, my client has been more than cooperative, coming down here on a Saturday to answer questions about a crime he hasn’t even been charged with. And if you’ve come here to drill him about his sexual history, well, that’s ridiculous.”
“On the contrary, Professor Worthington. This case has everything do with Noah’s sexual history.”
It did? My heart skipped a beat.
Detective Rake picked a file folder up off his desk and opened it, his eyes scanning down the document on the front page. “Do you know a club called Force?” he asked.
Noah’s eyes immediately darkened. “Yes,” he said.
“Would you say you’ve been there regularly?”
“Don’t answer that,” Worthington instructed quickly.
