DEFENSE

by Glenna Sinclair

  As I leafed through the notes, my conviction began to falter. Mark was right. Shantelle hadn’t been prescribed any of the drugs that were found in her system. So where had she gotten them from? My whole body prickled with ice.

  “You see,” Mark added, “my suspicion is that your whole case hinges on the jury concluding that Harrison Wrexler didn’t push Shantelle, that it was just an accident, and that she tripped and fell. Well, now it doesn’t matter whether you make them believe your story or not. With this amount of drugs, mixed with the alcohol your client admitted to having purchased for her in the bar the night of her death, Miss Leeson falling off the balcony was next to inevitable. All your client had to do was lead her out there.”

  He sat back, looking smug. I couldn’t believe I’d let that smarmy creep put his dick inside of me. But if I’d been so wrong about Mark, could I also have been wrong about Harrison?

  I didn’t want to believe what I was hearing, but the facts were staring me in the face. Was Harrison really a cold-blooded killer?

  “So, in my honest opinion, you ought to tell your client to take the plea,” Mark continued. “Since we’re setting the wheels in motion to charge Mr. Wrexler with the murder of his late wife, Catherine...”

  It felt like the whole world had dropped away beneath my feet.

  Galiema had heard enough. She folded up her report and stood abruptly. “We’ll take the deal back to our client,” she said tersely. “You’ll have your answer in twenty-four hours.”

  “Actually,” Mark said, “in light of the new charges we’ll be bringing to your client, the judge is looking for his immediate re-arrest. It’s insane you managed to bail Wrexler in the first place. I guess they really needed that one hundred K down payment. Anyway, he’s more than happy to recant that now that it’s evident how dangerous your client really is. He’s not just a murderer; he’s a serial killer, with a very specific, recognizable MO and a certain type of victim.”

  I could hardly breathe. This was too much to take in, too much to process. They were going to arrest Harrison again, take him back to prison and the men who would beat him. He was going to have to stand trial, face a jury, have his story plastered all over the papers.

  Galiema stood there fuming. Mark just smiled.

  “I’d hurry back to your client if I were you,” he said, consulting his watch. “The warrant for his arrest has been approved. The police have had something of a head start on you.”

  I shot up to standing, my mind a whirl of confusion, and swept out of the room, avoiding Mark’s outstretched hand. Galiema was hot on my heels, following me out, already calling the office on her cell.

  “Fuck,” she said as she raced down the steps. “How the hell did we miss that extra evidence?”

  I was trembling so hard I could barely get the words out. I needed to speak to Harrison, to warn him that the police were on their way to re-arrest him. But even if he knew, what could he do? The second he set foot outside of the office his ankle bracelet would alert the police anyway. Either way, he was screwed.

  Galiema started speaking rapidly to whoever had answered the call at the Newland & Rook offices. I hailed an approaching cab, and we both bundled into the back.

  “I’ve told them to refuse entry to the police until we get there,” Galiema said.

  “Mark said they have a warrant,” I mumbled. “They’ll just batter down the door.”

  I slumped against the seat, feeling defeated. This was like a nightmare.

  “That will buy us a minute or two at the least,” Galiema replied. She leaned forward to the cab driver. “Can you step on it? We’re in a rush.” Then she turned to me. “We have to get there before Brent Johnson finds out. He’s going to flip.”

  “Who cares about Brent Johnson?” I cried. “Harrison’s the one who’s facing trial! Who’s going to prison!”

  Galiema gave me a look. “Katie, you heard Mark. You saw the evidence. Harrison Wrexler is as guilty as sin. Our orders were to keep it out of the media’s eyes. The only way to avoid a high-profile court case is by urging Mr. Wrexler to take the plea deal.”

  “But he’s not guilty,” I cried. “He can’t be. He just can’t.”

  The conviction in my voice was failing me. Tears were starting to creep into my eyes.

  Galiema narrowed her eyes at me. There was a look of suspicion in them, like she suspected that my feelings for Harrison extended beyond the usual client-lawyer boundaries.

  I looked away, trying to calm my welling emotions. But it was all too much. I couldn’t lose the love of my life. I couldn’t have Harrison sent back to prison to be beaten up by those inmates all over again, knowing he’d have to endure twenty years of it.

  The cab rounded the corner onto the street our office was located. A police van was parked right outside. There were paps all over the place.

  “We’re too late!” I cried.

  We pulled up and leapt onto the sidewalk. Galiema rushed right over to the paparazzi.

  “Get these cameras out of here!” she barked. “We have an injunction out against you filming our client.”

  One of the paps smirked. “I think your injunction covers us following him in relation to the Shantelle Leeson murder charge. There’s nothing covering your ass for the charges against him killing his wife. We have every right to be here.”

  “I’m going to sue every last one of you,” Galiema hissed.

  I shoved past them all and into the foyer. They couldn’t follow us inside private property, but the second Harrison set foot outside he would be fair game.

  The elevator was taking too long. My whole body was buzzing with adrenaline and fear. I needed to see Harrison before it was too late. I needed to look in his eyes and see whether he was the man I thought he was, the man I thought I’d fallen in love with.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Harrison

  I was a bag of nerves all morning. I’d hardly slept at all. I kept staring at the door to my room, waiting for someone to come in and announce something.

  The Newland & Rook offices were abuzz with people. On weekdays it was like a completely different place. I’d gotten used to this being my and Katie’s love den. Everyone else felt like intruders.

  It was midday when I heard a commotion. A thudding noise, like someone pounding on the door. I raced to the door of the office and poked my head out.

  A huddle of lawyers were around the main doors. They’d been closed and bolted. Security stood on either side.

  I paced out and walked past the room where I had convinced Katie to let me take her as a lover. It seemed so changed in the stark daylight. With Katie looking so withdrawn and small, it felt like a million years had passed since I’d first penetrated her on the tabletop.

  “What’s going on?”

  The receptionist looked at me with a concerned expression on her face. She was deliberating whether to tell me something. But in the end she didn’t need to. I could hear through the door clear as day.

  “We have an arrest warrant for Mr. Wrexler! By not allowing us entrance to the premises you are obstructing the course of justice!”

  The blood drained from my face. I staggered back as a cold sweat came over me.

  What was happening? Where was Katie? How had the meeting at the DA’s office resulted in the police wanting to re-arrest me?

  Everyone was looking back at me, like I was some kind of circus freak.

  “You heard the man!” I cried, gesticulating with my arms. “Open the doors!”

  The security guards did as I commanded. The doors burst open, and a stream of cops raced in. They saw me standing there and headed right for me.

  I held my hands up in a truce position, but that didn’t stop them tackling me to the ground, pressing me facedown into the hardwood floors. I felt a knee jam into my back as a heavy police officer pinned me down.

  “Harrison Wrexler, you’re under arrest for the murder of Catherine Wrexler.”

  “What?” I cried.


  “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law,” the police officer continued.

  I couldn’t believe what was happening. I glanced at the door where all the lawyers were crowded, watching the spectacle unfolding in front of them. All at once, I caught sight of Katie. She’d appeared at the main doors of Newland & Rook, looking like a beacon of light on a stormy day, and pushed herself through the crowd of whispering lawyers.

  When she saw me facedown on the floor, my hands being roughly cuffed behind me, she stopped dead in her tracks and gasped. Her skin turned an even paler shade than usual, making her almost ghostlike.

  She rushed forward. “Harrison, don’t say anything,” she said.

  But how could I not? I was being arrested in front of the woman I had fallen in love with for the murder of my wife. Something had happened in the meeting with the prosecutors; some kind of damning evidence had been presented on me that warranted my immediate arrest and the retraction of my bail. Whatever it was, it must have been even more incriminating than all the evidence in the autopsy report had been. I just couldn’t bear the thought of Katie thinking I could be capable of killing Catherine.

  “Katie,” I stammered. “I didn’t do it. I didn’t.”

  I was shaking my head. My whole body was trembling. The police hauled me roughly to my feet.

  “Stop, Harrison,” Katie said. “Please. Don’t say anything else. I’ll meet you at the station. Just hush.”

  “But I didn’t do it,” I said again urgently, willing her to trust me. “You know me, Katie. You know me.”

  “Please,” she whispered, wiping a tear from her eye. “You need to be quiet now. Everything will be okay.”

  But it was too late. The cops began yanking me away, tearing me away from the woman I wanted to be with, ripping me from my relevant freedom. They marched me quickly down the hallway, heading for the exit. Katie watched, her hands over her mouth, a horrified expression on her face.

  “Katie!” I cried, before the door was shut and my view of her was extinguished.

  The noise of Newland & Rook faded away as I was tugged into the elevator by the police. They didn’t speak. Everything felt like a dream. All I could do was remind myself to breathe.

  We reached ground floor, and the doors opened into the foyer. A mad part of me got the sudden urge to run—I was taller and stronger than both the men flagging me—but I was too broken by what had happened to even attempt it.

  I was led out through the main doors, and all at once lights began flashing in my face. The paparazzi must have been tipped off about my re-arrest. I bowed my head, trying to keep my face away from their probing lenses.

  As I was guided into the back of a secure police van, I looked back up at the glass high-riser I’d just come from—the place that had brought me back to life over the last two days. There, in the window, her hand pressed against the glass, stood Katie.

  Then the doors to the van shut tight, locking with a thud, and she was gone from sight.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Katie

  I watched the prison van until it disappeared from my view. Harrison was gone, taken from me. Taken somewhere where I wouldn’t be able to touch him.

  I knew where he was headed and called the prison immediately, requesting to see my client at the first available opportunity. But as night fell, I’d still not heard anything back. I must’ve made a hundred pestering calls by the time night fell.

  “How can they do this?” I vented to Galiema. “I’m Harrison’s lawyer, for God’s sake. It breaks his constitutional rights not to let me see him.”

  “Not if he’s been assigned an attorney by the state,” she replied in her usual emotionless way.

  “Why would he be assigned a state attorney?” I said. “He has me.” I quickly corrected myself. “He has us.”

  “Not anymore,” Galiema said.

  She played me a voice mail Brent Johnson had left on her work phone. The call had come in while Harrison was being arrested. In the message, Brent made it clear in rather strong terms that he blamed Newland & Rook for what had happened, particularly with the paparazzi. He refused to contribute a single penny more to us for Harrison’s defense.

  “But Brent’s just his manager!” I cried. “It’s not up to him who represents his players. Harrison can get anyone he wants to represent him. Harrison’s our client, not him.”

  “Mr. Wrexler,” Galiema corrected, noting that I was becoming overly familiar, “may not be aware what is going on at the moment.”

  I mulled her words over. Maybe he wasn’t aware. Or maybe he was, and he just didn’t want to see me.

  ***

  For two agonizing days I was refused access to him—no phone calls, no visitation rights. I wasn’t sure how I even got through it. I fell asleep on each of those nights aching for him, desperate to feel his touch, desperate to take him inside of me and have him fill me with his love. But with the evidence the DA had on him, the chances of me ever holding Harrison in my arms again was slim to none. The thought was overwhelming.

  Finally, on Wednesday evening, I got a call saying I’d been added to Harrison’s visitor list.

  “Do you mean as his legal representative?” I asked.

  “No, ma’am,” the voice on the other end of the phone said. “Just as a visitor.”

  I ended the call, stunned. So Harrison really had chosen someone else to represent him. He really had been avoiding me. He’d been the one to cause the pain I’d felt over the last two days about being kept away from him.

  ***

  Finally, I was given a slot to see him. I was dressing in my bedroom, and, in the room next door, I could hear Jessica moving around. She’d been discharged the day of our fight, but we’d barely spoken; things between us were still frosty.

  I went into the kitchen. Tim was drinking coffee. He poured me a cup.

  My stomach was a knot of nerves. I didn’t know if I could even take a sip.

  “Busy day at the office today?” he asked.

  Tim had noticed how quiet I’d become over the last two days, ever since Harrison had been taken from me. He hadn’t pressed me on the issue. He probably assumed it was because of Jessica. Little did he know that I’d fallen in love with my client, that we’d had one weekend of sexual bliss, and that the whole thing had ended in a nightmare.

  “I’m visiting someone in prison,” I said. I forced myself to take a sip of the coffee. It was bitter.

  “A client?” he asked.

  “Sort of…” My voice trailed away. “You? Busy day ahead?”

  Tim smirked. Our home was his office. His bedroom was strewn with art pieces that, quite frankly, would never sell.

  “I’m spending some time with Jessica today,” he said. “Me and Jonas are going to the bar with her. It’s her first shift since she was discharged.”

  I nodded, willing myself to show more interest. But I couldn’t. All I could think about was seeing Harrison again.

  Tim pulled up a chair and gestured for me to sit.

  “Babe,” he said. “Will you tell me what’s wrong? You’ve been a shadow of yourself over the last few days.”

  I shook my head. Where could I even begin? What could I possibly say about what had happened between me and Harrison?

  Tim touched my hand. “Whatever it is, I’m not going to judge.”

  I hesitated and chewed my lip. Then I let it all out. I poured out all the details of the case and the way I’d become embroiled and infatuated with my client in the process. Tim listened to me, a stunned expression on his face. When I was finished, he said simply, “Wow.”

  “I know, wow,” I repeated.

  “Hey,” Tim said, leaning over his steamy cup of coffee. “You don’t believe that Harrison drugged her, do you?”

  “I don’t know what to believe,” I said, shaking my head. “He completely cut me out afterwards. Why would he do that if he didn’t feel ashamed of something?” />
  “Katie,” Tim said. “You’re overanalyzing it. What’s your heart telling you?”

  “My heart?” I said, looking out the window at the passing DC traffic below. “My heart says that Harrison would never be capable of murder.”

  He was too gentle for violence; he was the softest, kindest person I’d ever met.

  “Then you have to find a way to prove Shantelle took those drugs of her own accord,” Tim said.

  I shook my head, feeling completely defeated.

  “You can’t give up on him,” Tim pressed. “I mean, didn’t you say that Harrison didn’t know Catherine had been prescribed the drugs she was on? That she went to a different doctor so it wouldn’t show on the insurance?”

  “Yes. So?”

  “Well, what’s to say that Shantelle didn’t do the same?”

  I leapt up from my seat. “Oh my God, Tim. That’s it! Maybe her employers stigmatized workers with mental health problems.”

  “What was her job?” Tim asked.

  “She was an exotic dancer. And porn star.”

  Tim raised his eyebrows. “Well, there you go! Maybe she couldn’t get work while being medicated for mental health problems, so she had to lie?”

  “Or maybe,” I added, “a previous diagnosis of anxiety and depression would make her too much of a liability for the company. You know, because it could make them vulnerable to a lawsuit if she claimed that the work she did for them caused her mental health problems.” The words were tumbling out of me now.

  “So she went to a different doctor,” Tim said. “Went under the radar.”

  A voice from the doorway startled us both.

  “Maybe she bought the pills off the Internet to medicate herself?”

  Tim and I looked round to see Jessica standing in the doorway.

  “There’s plenty of ways to get hold of prescription drugs through illegal means,” she added. “I could have told you that if I hadn’t been lying in a hospital bed....”