DEFENSE

by Glenna Sinclair

  “Hey Jess,” I said into the receiver.

  “Katie,” she replied. She was whimpering.

  “What is it?” I said, sobering up almost immediately.

  “Seb…” she croaked. “He was here.”

  “Shit!”

  Harrison flashed me a concerned expression.

  “I’m coming,” I said into the receiver. “Don’t go anywhere.”

  I ended the call and looked at Harrison.

  “It’s Jessica,” I said. “I have to go.” I unbuckled my seat belt. “I’m so sorry,” I said to the steward. “I have to go. Please let me off the plane.”

  “Ma’am, we’re preparing for takeoff,” he replied. “Please take your seat.”

  Harrison stood, too. “Let her off the plane,” he demanded.

  The steward ran to the back and telephoned the pilot. The other passengers groaned as he announced the short delay.

  “I’m sorry,” I said to them as I grabbed my purse.

  I turned to Harrison, but he didn’t even let me apologize.

  “We can go another time,” he said. “We have all the time in the world, remember?”

  The steward ushered us from the plane. Of course my dream wouldn’t last. Something always brought it crashing back down to earth.

  Chapter Thirty

  Harrison

  I wanted to go with Katie but she insisted she wanted handle it on her own. So I found myself back in my flat, missing her.

  I noticed there was a message left on my answering machine. I must not have noticed it when we got in last night. I hit play.

  “Harrison.” It was Brent Johnson, the manager of the Washington Wizards. “I heard you got off. That’s great. Let’s talk about next season sometime. Give me a call.”

  That git. He’d dropped me when the going got tough but wanted me back the second it suited him. No way. I wasn’t playing for him, or anyone. I was done with basketball. The only thing I could see in my future was Katie.

  I picked up the phone and dialed Brent’s number.

  “Harrison,” he said. “Thanks for getting back to me. So next season…”

  I let him yammer on before finally speaking.

  “I’m not coming back to the Washington Wizards,” I said.

  “Are you crazy?” came Brent’s reply. “Who the hell else is going to sign you on after that whole courtroom drama shenanigans? You may have gotten off, but a hell of a lot of people still think you did it, you know.”

  “I know,” I replied, calmly. “But I’m actually quitting basketball for good.”

  “Oh Jesus, you really have lost your mind. Okay, Harrison, you throw away your career. See if I care.”

  The call ended. It felt damn good. I was free from prison and free from my contract with that asshole. There was only one more thing I needed to do feel truly free, and that was to sell the house that Catherine and I had shared. Because once that was gone, so, too, would her ghost. And that would mean I could begin the rest of my life.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Katie

  Jessica was a state when I found her but she didn’t seem to be hurt. Not physically, anyway. Psychologically, her run-in with Seb had taken a serious toll. She was curled up on the sofa, all her fingernails bitten to the quick, a cigarette in one hand and a bottle of whisky in the other. I’d seen Jessica like this before, after Seb had first raped her. Then, I’d left my friend to deal with it on her own and she’d spiraled into a pit of despair. I wasn’t going to let her down again.

  I knew there was only one person who could help us right now. Galiema. Though we’d worked side by side and won the case together, we hadn’t spoken since. I’d laid into her so badly back at the courtroom and knew that such a personal attack would have caused wounds that would take a long time to heal. But even if I’d damaged our professional relationship, I hoped Galiema wouldn’t let it affect Jessica’s case.

  My hands shook as I dialed her number. It had only just turned 7 a.m., but thankfully, she answered the phone.

  “Katie,” she said in her usual clipped manner. “You waited a whole twelve hours before calling to dismantle the business. I assume that’s what this is about.”

  “No, actually,” I replied in an equally frosty manner. “It’s Jessica. Seb came to the flat and threatened her. We need to do something to get his bail revoked. He’s obviously dangerous.”

  Galiema dropped her sarcastic attitude straight away and got right back into business mode.

  “Were there any witnesses? If we can prove that Seb was loitering around the flat, then the judge might revoke the bail on account of him still being dangerous.”

  “No witnesses,” I said. “Just her word against his.”

  But then a thought hit me. Jim Larson had taken photos of the night Seb had threatened me. Would that photographic evidence be enough to prove that Seb was loitering outside a witness’s house? If we could get hold of the pictures and call an emergency court hearing, then we could have Seb locked up where he belonged by the end of the day.

  “Actually,” I said, “I think there might be someone who can help. That reporter, Jim Larson, the one who followed us around during Harrison’s case.”

  “What about him?”

  “He was the one who took the photos of me and Seb fighting. He might have one that clearly shows the location.”

  “Did he witness it?” Galiema asked.

  “Yeah, but he’ll never testify. Not in a million years.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Galiema replied. “There’s nothing like a financial incentive to get the media to help you.”

  “You want me to pay him to be a witness?”

  “Don’t sound so appalled. It’s perfectly legal.”

  I called Jim Larson and told him that if he came to emergency court with us as a witness, with the photos, I’d pay him double what the magazines had to print them in the first place. Galiema was right; he was onboard straight away.

  I left Jessica in Tim and Jonas’s capable hands then met Galiema and Jim at court. Galiema presented the case for Seb’s immediate re-arrest and Jim testified about the night he’d witnessed Seb harassing me, producing the photographs as evidence. The judge agreed that Seb was too dangerous to be on bail and issued a warrant for his immediate arrest.

  Galiema and I left the courtroom side by side.

  “Thanks for doing that,” I said. “I really appreciate you giving up your free time to help.” I was being sincere. It meant a lot to me that she’d gone out of her way to make sure Jessica was safe.

  “Just doing my job,” Galiema replied.

  The memory of me cruelly taunting her for being alone hung awkwardly in the air between us.

  “What about you?” she said. “I’m guessing you were with Harrison before all this happened.”

  I blushed. “Yes. We were just boarding a plane to go on holiday, actually.” I had a sudden urge to call him and apologize for running off like I had.

  Galiema nodded. Then she hailed a cab and started walking towards it.

  “Hey,” I said. “I guess you’ll be taking over the case alone from now on. So that was the last time we’ll be in a courtroom together as Rook & Scott. Don’t you think we should hug it out or something?”

  Galiema raised her eyebrows at me. “Why don’t we talk after you’re back from your holiday? You never know when I might need another strong lawyer by my side.”

  She hopped into the cab before I had a chance to answer.

  I watched her cab drive off, mulling it over on my mind. I didn’t know whether I wanted to work alongside Galiema as her business partner anymore. Before the trial, I would have leapt at the opportunity, but the future, now that Harrison and I had one, seemed undefined and exciting. I had no idea what it held and didn’t want to tie myself to another case that would take over my life again. My career had been the most important thing in my life. But if everything that had happened over the last few weeks had taught me anything,
it was that there was more to life than work. There was friendship. And there was love.

  ***

  I lay in the crook of Harrison’s arm. The morning sun streamed through the white lace curtains and a warm breeze came up from the beach, bringing with it the smell of salty sea air.

  Harrison and I had been on the island of Saint Kitt’s for almost a month now. Our original two-week holiday had just kept going. Neither of us felt like there was anywhere else we needed to be. Besides, there’d been so many exciting locations to make love in. White sandy beaches surrounded by palm trees, crystal clear oceans with the sun glittering off the water, Jacuzzis and volcanic springs and lakes; the list was endless....

  My cell started ringing.

  “I’m going to throw this thing in the bin one of these days,” I said aloud. I rolled over to answer it. It was Galiema. “Hey?” I said nervously. “What’s up?”

  Today was the day of Seb’s trial. Galiema and I had talked about me coming back but decided in the end that she would go it alone. Plans for Rook & Scott were still up in the air. We hadn’t decided not to carry on, but we hadn’t decided to quit, either. We’d just put a pin in it for the time being.

  “Katie,” Galiema said. “I have someone here who wants to talk to you.”

  I frowned and listened to the sound of her cell being passed over.

  “We won the case!” came Jessica’s voice.

  “Oh my God!” I cried, elated. “What happened?”

  “Well, it was Nick, actually. He came forward with evidence. He said he’d felt awful about letting you down the night Seb came to the house and wanted to make amends.”

  “What evidence?”

  “Those DVD boxes Seb kept in room. He kept strands of our hair in them. Isn’t that the creepiest thing you’ve ever heard?”

  I remembered finding the DVDs neatly stacked under Seb’s bed. They’d certainly looked like trophies, and the description he’d written on the inside jacket matched Jessica’s description. It hadn’t crossed my mind that the DVDs contained within them weren’t the trophies, but that a strand of hair had been collected and put inside.

  “They DNA-tested the ones they could,” Jessica continued. “They matched all the victims.”

  “Wow,” I said, bowled over. “Jessica, that’s great news.”

  I couldn’t help but notice how her bright, breezy tone had returned. Though I knew the wounds Seb had created wouldn’t disappear overnight, having him behind bars where he belonged would certainly go some way in helping her heal.

  Jessica and I ended the call. When I turned to Harrison, I saw he’d been awoken.

  “Good news, I take it,” he said.

  I grinned and climbed back into bed beside him. “Galiema won the rape case. Seb’s in prison.”

  Harrison wrapped me up in his arms and pressed a kiss to my forehead. “That’s great,” he said.

  I laid back, basking in the moment. Everything felt so perfect. I’d never been so happy in all my life.

  “You know,” Harrison said. “I dreamed about this place.” I gazed up at him and he continued. “When I was in prison. The beach, the morning sun, the silk sheets.”

  “Oh really?” I said suggestively. “And what were we doing in those dreams of yours?”

  Harrison grinned and rolled on top of me. I laughed and pulled his body into mine. We kissed deeply, passionately, knowing that this time, nothing was going to interrupt us. This time, we had all the time in the world.

  ~ End of DEFENSE ~

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  Beauty and the Billionaire

  Chapter 1

  The world swung and tipped in a way that felt both fun and scary as I swirled the last of the beer in the bottle, the glass clinking heavily against my teeth. A burst of laughter made me turn slowly, ponderously, to see just what was so funny. Was it me? Was it the bottle against my teeth? Even as I could still taste the crisp carbonation of the beverage in my mouth, I wanted another.

  I felt like I could drink all night. It made it easy to forget about how stupid my parents had been. There wasn’t a damn thing wrong with a cold beer—especially when I was enjoying it in the company of good friends.

  “I’m gonna slap that look off your face if I see it again,” Caro warned me, shaking her finger so vigorously it made me a little dizzy to try and follow it.

  “What look?” I asked, belligerent. I knew exactly what look she meant. It was the look that knitted my features together when I thought about things that pissed me off. Tonight’s subject was definitely my parents denying me the right to attend the very party I found myself so drunk at.

  “That one,” she insisted, poking me hard enough on the nose that I felt the cartilage pop. “And if you don’t stop it right this minute, Amanda Beauty Hart, I’ll tell your parents myself what a party pooper you are.”

  “Stop!” I hissed, glancing quickly around, trying to see if anyone had heard her. “Don’t say that stupid name.”

  “It’s your name, Amanda,” Caro sighed. “Aren’t you ever going to get over it?”

  Amanda I could deal with. And Hart wasn’t bad either. But sandwich Beauty right in between those two and it equaled the most ridiculous name in the history of the world. I hated it with a passion and did all that I could to keep my peers from knowing my middle name.

  I’d gotten up the courage exactly once to ask my parents what they’d been thinking when they inflicted such a name on me, but their answer had done little to satisfy my angst.

  “I guess that means Beauty’s in the eye of the beholder,” my dad had joked, earning him a sigh from my mom.

  “You’re already beautiful on the outside, sweetheart,” my mom had explained. “We just wanted to remind you that it’s important to be beautiful on the inside, too.”

  They didn’t have to remind me by giving me that name. I didn’t know how to feel beautiful on the inside, and I certainly didn’t feel beautiful on the outside. I felt most comfortable in a t-shirt, my brown hair was almost always in a messy ponytail, and I was hopeless at makeup.

  “That’s it!” Caro declared, whirling away and yanking me from my angry ruminations. “I’m calling your parents!”

  “Don’t you dare!” I cried, chasing her across the messy kitchen, bumping into the counter, a chair, and a fellow partygoer. I couldn’t plot my course correctly, and my legs seemed to have minds of their own. “Caro! My parents will murder me if they find out I’m here!”

  “They will not,” she scoffed, waving her phone at me.

  “Well, they’ll ground me for the rest of my life,” I said. That was much more feasible.

  “You’re going to college at the end of the summer, stupid,” Caro said. “They might say you’re grounded, but they can’t actually do anything to you once you go away to school.”

  She had a point, but it still made me cringe to imagine my parents showing up to the party to drag me home. They’d denied me permission to come here, and I’d promised them I’d stay home. But the siren’s song of a house party full of the friends I’d made in high school—complete with beer and missing all parental supervision—was too strong to resist. I wanted to see everyone in one place one last time before I went away to college. And when my parents decided to go out to dinner and a movie, I stayed home just long enough to see their car roll out of the driveway.

  “Just don’t call them,” I begged Caro.

  “I wouldn’t actually call your parents,” she said, rolling her eyes at me as she shoved her phone back in her pocket. “I just want you to have a good time and not be all mopey.”

  “I’m not mopey,” I protested.

  “Then prove it on the dance floor,” Caro said, grabbing me by my hand and pulling me into the l
iving room.

  All the furniture had been shoved to one end, clearing the wooden floor of obstacles, and the music boomed so loud that it rattled the windows. Dancing felt ethereal, like I was weightless, buoyed up only by the beat and the crush of people around me. It was easy to forget that anything was wrong as long as I was dancing, whipping my hair to the rhythm of the song, taking the first cold bottle of beer I was offered, not caring who it came from or why.

  There was only the beer. There was only the music.

  And then, there were the flashing red and blue lights of the police outside.

  “Shit! The cops!” Caro yelped, grabbing my hand. “Let’s go!”

  There was a mad scramble at the loud knocking on the door, the music still blaring, the beer still cool in my mouth. I let my friend drag me through the house, fleeing through a back door into the humid Texas night.

  “Stay where you are!” a voice over a bullhorn commanded, but then the rest of our friends who’d followed us in our escape congealed briefly around us and then scattered.

  “Run for it!” Caro urged, and it was all I could do to get my legs to obey, in danger at every second of tripping and falling over myself. If the cops decided to give chase, they couldn’t catch us all, but I didn’t want to be the weakest link in the pack.

  We dashed several unsteady blocks in a blind panic then cut down a side street and started to double back cautiously to assess the situation. By the time we returned to the scene of the party, the house was dark, as if nothing had ever happened there. The cops had left, either satisfied they’d scared all of us kids straight or with a couple of us in the backseat of the patrol car, about to learn a hard lesson about underage drinking.

  “Dammit,” Caro complained, as we shuffled down to her parked car. “I don’t want this night to end.”

  I was still high on the adrenaline of the chase, the endorphins of our successful escape, and, of course, all the beer I’d imbibed.