Derision

by Trisha Wolfe

  This is the cost of owning a person: losing sight of yourself, your sanity, in order to take care of them. Alexis is more than my responsibility; she’s my passion. And she may not want her rapist punished—but I do. I’ve been able to focus on nothing else all day but finding and castrating the bastard.

  The statute of limitations isn’t up. Once he’s found, if she still feels unable to press charges, that’s fine. I’d rather avoid putting her through a ruthless rape case, anyway. I know how traumatizing it can be for the victim. Hell, I’ve been the tormentor on the other side of the stand.

  I don’t need the law to punish him. There are other, more rewarding ways to penalize a rapist.

  She’s given me little information to go on in this endeavor, however. Trying to locate an anonymous man from three years ago who only gave a first name—most likely a fake—is like chasing a ghost.

  I’ve battled cases like this before. I’ve won cases like this before. These evil shits prey on women at their most vulnerable, victimizing them further. I make a mental note to have Sol examine our past cases and highlight any that match a similar MO.

  The loud knock drags my attention toward the door. “Mister Larkin, sir. I’m sorry, but Mister Gannet wouldn’t accept your request to be left alone.” Julia’s voice sounds harried over the intercom.

  I hit the button. “It’s fine. I’ll handle it.” I march toward the door and unlock it.

  Gannet opens it and steps inside before I can turn the knob. “You pulled the investigator off the Bates’ case?”

  “Shut the door,” I say as I head toward my desk.

  The slam of the door tenses my shoulders. I crick my neck.

  “Why would you pull Sol off the case without consulting me first?” he asks. “Sol is our best investigator.”

  “Exactly,” I say, sinking my hands into my pockets as I face him. “And I need his expertise on something else right now. I have a freelancer working the metadata angle. It’s covered.”

  He shakes his head, his jaw tight. “Something else? You mean something personal,” he says, then holds up his hand. “Fuck it. I don’t care. I’m not talking about the fucking metadata – I’m talking about the DNA discovery.”

  “I thought you chalked that up to a rookie mistake?”

  His narrowed gaze bores through me. “You mean you don’t know?”

  A sharp stab to my gut—that’s what it feels like. “Know what?”

  His dark eyes blaze. “The fucking DNA discovery, Larkin. The analysis the ACA sent over. The one that the warrant for Bates’ car produced which proves he had been with the victim.”

  Hands balled into fists, I approach him slowly, cautiously. “When did the ACA send this?”

  “About an hour ago. But, Chase—” he eyes me seriously now; all contempt drained from his tone “—we need Sol on this. This could be the nail in Bates’ coffin.”

  I grip the back of my neck, my teeth clenched. “Specifically, what DNA do they have?”

  “The sweep uncovered a smudge of blood—the victim’s blood—on the trunk handle.” He crosses his arms. “And you know what was in his trunk?”

  “Medical supplies. He’s a fucking doctor.”

  “Gloves,” he states, irritated.

  I pace my office. “So we demand our own experts be allowed to examine the evidence, claim the blood was transferred there from the victim’s house or the lab.”

  Gannet shakes his head. “That’s a huge reach,” he says. “I’m not saying we can’t stir up some doubt. Everyone knows those lab techs are morons. But if you want to go there, we need Sol to interview all the techs, paramedics, CSU… He’s the only one good enough to dig up any kind of mistake that we can use.”

  He’s right. And yet, I’m torn. Pressure builds at my temples and I pace some more.

  “Larkin.” Gannet’s solemn tone breaks through my thoughts, and I stop. “We’ve never discussed this before, not seriously—”

  “And we’re not now,” I say.

  “We have to.” He steps forward. “In all likelihood, Malcolm is guilty. We have to bring this to the attention of the other partners and vote on a course of action.”

  I grit my teeth, the pressure pulsing in my ears. Ethically, I can’t demand we continue to represent Bates unless all the partners agree. “We’ll discuss it later this week. After I’ve read through the DNA report myself and decide if we have a case or not.”

  “All right. Sounds good.” He turns to leave, but pauses. “You might want to read over the victim’s statement, too. To compare it before you decide.”

  “I’ve read it,” I say, making my way around my desk.

  “How? The ACA only just submitted it today.”

  I glance up. “I read it at the police station.”

  Halted at the door, he stares at me, a hard line bracketing his mouth. “Whatever’s going on with you, get it under control. The ACA submitted an emended statement, Larkin. Stating the victim was suffering shock during her first interview and now recalls more details of the attack.” He sighs a lengthy breath. “The Commonwealth knows your tactics. They’re building a strong case. So…just consider the ramifications.”

  He’s never feared any ramifications from the Commonwealth before. I eye him suspiciously. “Do you think the Commonwealth wants a conviction bad enough to plant evidence?”

  My question wipes the stern expression from his face. “That’s a dangerous game, Larkin. Personally, I wouldn’t go down that road.”

  I hold his stare a moment longer, waiting out his poker face. Then it’s there; his tell. Just the slightest tick of his eye. Gannet wanted Bates inducted into The Firm, or he wanted to use his request as a means to feel out my loyalty to my client—whether I believe in his innocence. Now he’s going to push for a vote to have our representation removed from Bates.

  He has an agenda, but I’m just not sure what it is. Not completely. Making me look incompetent on this case could swing the partner vote in his favor for a takeover. And that might be all it is. But there’s an unsettling feeling I can’t shake—like this goes deeper.

  “All right,” I say, dismissing him. “Later this week.”

  Once he’s gone, I pick up my phone and pull up a text to Alexis. My thumb hovers over the onscreen keyboard, my brow creased as I consider whether or not I want her on this case anymore.

  Before last night, I held no reservations, but seeing how I’m struggling to keep my personal feelings from affecting my judgment—a rarity for me—I can’t help but want Alexis far away from all of this.

  “Fuck.” I shove the phone in my pocket and jam my fingers through my hair.

  Motivation is key. A person’s motivation drives every decision, whether right or wrong. A bad choice can feel like the only right course, if your motivation is strong enough. I used to have no trouble deciphering my motivations.

  Then Alexis complicated things. I want to punch myself for thinking it—it’s such a prick excuse. Only it’s the truth.

  Right now, my motivation is to get a handle on this case, then get control over the chaotic force annihilating my life. But I knew how dangerous she was for me before I went there—I knew she’d upset my world. I just didn’t believe I’d fall for her as hard as I have.

  I tap the intercom. “Julia, bring me every document that ACA sent over.”

  “Yes, sir. But I thought you wanted—”

  “Now,” I grate. “And give Miss Wilde the day off. Have Jefferson take her…wherever she wants.”

  The pause on the other end of the line almost makes me question my directive. Then Julia’s, “Yes, sir,” seals my resolve. I can’t do my job if I’m thinking about Alexis. And I can’t stop thinking about her when she’s so damn near.

  I need her away from all this filth of the rape case.

  I groan, knowing I’ll suffer her dejection later. Hell, I don’t know how the others get anything done at all with their fucking subs trotting all over the floor. Then I smile, shaking my hea
d at my own idiocy.

  They’re not in love.

  I am.

  There’s the fucking truth of it.

  If Bates is guilty—and he better pray the evidence proves otherwise—then maybe pulling my representation is for the best. I don’t want to concede to Gannet, but I can’t defend a rapist. At one point, sidelining my own convictions for the law wasn’t an issue.

  The law is the law. The law is rules and order. It’s steadfast.

  However, things have changed.

  Change.

  That pesky inevitability.

  Fuck me.

  The Firm is closed through the week. Which makes it the perfect, peaceful place to reflect on the case. I walk the length of the penthouse, my hands tucked into my pockets. I come here when a case is wearing on me and I need to put things into perspective.

  It’s my domain.

  I pour a bourbon and then settle on the long white couch facing the floor-to-ceiling window. The city isn’t dark yet, just a hint of night touching the sky. There’s an illusive feeling I can’t quite grasp; as if I’m skirting the obvious.

  All evidence points to a guilty verdict for Bates. The freelance investigator can neither confirm nor deny that the metadata of Bates’ computer was altered. Sol’s investigation backs this up. That’s not good.

  I can argue it wasn’t altered with a lengthy and tedious testimony from an expert witness about metadata, but the prosecution can argue their side right back with their own expert. With no factual evidence to prove it one way or the other, it’s a draw. Probably not even a very good angle to support doubt. Unless there’s one or two IT techs on the jury, the metadata angle is a wash.

  The only alternative is to create another suspect. I have Sol digging through the victim’s personal life, scouring friends, family, friends of family, and the like. Seeking anyone that I can steer the jury toward.

  In all honesty, it’s a desperate move. One that if the jury is smart enough—if there’s any one juror with half a brain—will see coming.

  There’s also the issue of public opinion. Malcolm Bates was dubbed Doctor Date Rape by the fucking press. We escaped the court of public opinion during the first trial, as the jury was sequestered, but that won’t help us now. Bates has been all over the media.

  In all actuality, Bates is guilty. Case done. I should let it go.

  But there’s one niggling doubt I still harbor—one suspicion that’s brought me here before I make the decision to drop the case.

  I set my drink down and pick up the folder to my right. Before I thumb to the victim’s statement, my phone beeps with a text message. I sigh, setting the folder on my lap and digging out my phone.

  Alexis: I need you

  Her words are like a kick to my stomach, and I feel each one, loathing myself. She knows just what to say to make me give in to her. Regardless if I stand by my choice not to involve her further, closing her out feels like I’m severing one of my own damn limbs.

  I haven’t yet decided what to do about her brother, and I had hoped to have that figured out before now. There’s the pressing conviction that I owe her the truth—but there’s also the nagging certainty that it will result in a worse predicament for her.

  I have Sol on watch until I decide. For now, the only option is to talk to the judge overseeing her brother’s newest charge. Luckily, Judge Morris is a member of The Firm, so getting Jake’s jail time exchanged for a treatment center should be easy enough.

  It’s what I feel will truly make Alexis happy. And that’s all I want.

  Me: Where are you?

  Alexis: The lobby

  Dammit. I already know before I ask.

  Me: Jefferson?

  Alexis: Yes. I made him. Don’t be angry

  Too late. I’ll have to have a word with my employee to clarify what I meant by take her anywhere she wants.

  Me: Get in the elevator

  I head over to the panel and enter my code, giving Alexis access to the penthouse. When the metal doors open, my chest constricts. She’s wearing a silver silk blouse tucked into a pinstripe skirt. Her hair is raked back into a loose bun, highlighting her green eyes. She looks elegant and sexy; like she tried hard to please me today.

  The thought pangs my chest, even if I was right not to see her. There’d been no way I could’ve left her alone after one glimpse. I’d have spent the day in my office peeling away her layers of clothing, getting lost in the feel of her.

  The elevator doors begin to close and I reach out and stop them. “You look beautiful. So beautiful, in fact, you’re a welcome distraction.”

  She cranes an eyebrow as she steps out of the elevator. My gaze is drawn to her heels, then drags up her legs. “Distraction,” she repeats. “Blaming me for your lack of work productivity? So that’s why I was sent away.”

  The hurt in her voice tears through me, and I’m unable to keep from clutching her hips, pulling her against me. Not sure who’s in need of reassurance more. “That, and I didn’t want the case to upset you.”

  She looks down, placing her hand against my chest. “Chase, I love how safe you make me feel. I love feeling protected by you. I’ve never been able to let my guard down around anyone.” Her eyes flick up. “So please, don’t shut me out.”

  I fist her blouse, tugging the back up so I can touch her warm skin. “Even if I think it’s best?”

  She releases a small sigh. “I’m really not that breakable.”

  For a year, I’ve craved just that; to break her. Hear her desperate pleas. Feel her unravel beneath my touch. Gain control over the woman who threatened every bit of mine. And last night, I witnessed her break. Only it didn’t have the effect I once desired.

  She broke me right back.

  She fused herself under my skin. I can’t breathe without craving her scent. Every taste is bland if I’m not consuming her. All my senses demand only her. I may’ve broken her restraints, freed her of the ties to her pain—but she’s equally made me her captive.

  I rest my forehead to hers. “Temptress, breakable doesn’t make us weak.”

  As I pull back, her eyes study me, seeming entranced over my use of us. “I understand that, but it has been three years.” She blinks up at me. “I’ve given you my trust. Now you have to trust me. I want to work this case with you. I can work this case with you.”

  She’s so delectably defiant. More so than I ever realized. My fingers trace the smooth skin of her waist as my gaze roams the room. “You picked a very inappropriate environment to make your stand,” I say, finding her eyes.

  Her gaze tracks the wall behind me, where one of the St. Andrew’s crosses are stationed. “Or very appropriate,” she says with a hint of a smile. “I’m not opposed to mixing work with pleasure.”

  A low growl works its way free as I force her close, our clothes an annoying, constricting barrier. I lower my mouth to her ear. “There’s a price for teasing me, temptress.”

  She quivers a little in my arms, and I love the way my words elicit rising gooseflesh along her skin. “I make good on my debts,” she says.

  This is not the same woman who entered my conference room nearly a year ago. Oh, she’s still every bit the docile Alexis I’ve fallen for, the woman who captured my being, but she’s now the complete version of herself—aware of her inner strength, even if she hasn’t fully embraced it yet.

  I want to be the man to help her embrace it.

  “This place doesn’t intimidate you?” I unbutton the top of her blouse, skillfully working my way down. “No apprehension?”

  As I push her blouse open, revealing the lacy black lingerie she’s wearing beneath, I curse. Her smile steals over me. She knows she devastates me, can make me do anything with just one request.

  “Julia took you shopping, I see.” My gaze hungrily devours her. “You bought this on my account?”

  “I did.” A sultry smile curls her lips. “Do you approve?”

  “Ardently.”

  “And no,” she says,
lifting her chin. “I’m not scared. You’re here with me, so there’s no reason to fear.” She tentatively reaches for my tie and I nod, giving her permission. Knowing how much sway she holds over me and yet still seeking my approval is her power. The gift of another’s strength is the ultimate arousal.

  Before Alexis, I thought I understood myself. The need, the desire, the absolute compulsion to dominate—there was no question of who I was. But just as Alexis was a shell of her true self, so was I. I haven’t changed. The longing to control is still present; only now it’s magnified, becoming clearer.

  I don’t wish to dominate her—I crave her relinquished control to me. There’s a difference between the two that I thought I understood before, but now realize, with Alexis, I’ve only just begun to explore.

  As she eases my tie free, I grasp the back of her neck and pull her mouth to mine, sensually tasting her, breathing her inside until it aches. When I release her, I take her hand in mine and lead her toward the red section. “Without a little fear, where’s the excitement?”

  Her gaze widens as she takes in the St. Andrew’s cross. “I’m not sure I even know what this is used for.” Her hand reaches out toward the lacquered wood, her curious nature trumping any reservation.

  “Undress,” I instruct, my breathing already speeding. “But leave the halter corset. For now.”

  “A man who knows his lingerie,” she says, unzipping the side of her skirt. “That’s sexy.”

  “When did you become so mouthy?”

  “About the time your cock was hitting the back of my throat.”

  Jesus Christ. I jerk my dress shirt off, ridding myself of the confining thing as I stalk toward her. “I think you’re trying to provoke me.” Sealing my hands around her wrists, I bring them up against the top of the X.

  Her chest rises with her quick breaths, her breasts grazing my chest. The friction of the lacy material clashes with her smooth skin, sending arousing tremors all the way to my cock.

  “Keep your arms raised.” I release one of her wrists. She keeps her gaze trained on me while I secure her other wrist in the cuff. There’s enough slack in the chain between the wood and cuff that her arm isn’t strained; just restrained enough to stir her arousal.