by Trisha Wolfe
She reaches out and takes my hand. “Which instinct? The one signaling doubt, or the one pressuring you to concede to your partners?”
Checkmate.
She didn’t conquer me all at once. Not with deceit or tactic. My beautiful temptress claims her victory with truth. I kneel before her, taking her face between my palms. “You astonish me.”
I kiss her, sealing my lips over hers and breathing in the sweet taste of her.
When I pull back, her eyes are glistening with understanding. “You would defend Bates,” I say, testing her reaction. She doesn’t flinch. “Even if he is guilty. After what you’ve suffered.”
“He’s not my rapist,” she says, her gaze unwavering. “And he might have questionable morals, but he shouldn’t be convicted for that. I do believe in the law, Chase. Something has to remain steadfast.”
My lips quirk into a slanted smile. “Damn, that’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard. Rock-hard in a matter of seconds.”
Her bright smile sweeps through me, decimating the last of my uncertainty. “Work first?” she says, running her hands over my thighs, making me wish the casework was already behind us. “Then pleasure?”
I stand, adjusting my cock with a groan. “Sometimes I hate my rules.”
We break into the files, going over what we know and piecing together the case. I’ll never question Alexis’s determination again. Her ability to disconnect her personal life from a case is far greater than any of the lawyers in my firm, even me. I’m not sure if it’s the years gone by which has created a safe barrier, her introverted nature, or just sheer stubbornness—but she’s more than capable of seeing the details beyond a skewed perspective.
What’s more, I’m not one to work alongside anyone. I do so with the partners and mainly Gannet, when a case like this requires our vested collaboration. But even then I’m a soloist, developing my own opinions and angles.
I find a synchronization with her that thrills me.
With Alexis, I have no reason to shield my thoughts. She’s not seeking a weakness to overthrow me. And ironically, she’s the only one who has the power to wield my weaknesses against me. She accepts me wholly; the monster and the man. She doesn’t balk at my crude thoughts or actions.
“I can’t get a read on the victim,” she says, looking over her profile for the second time. “I wish we could interview her.”
“We’re lawyers, not cops.”
She peeks up. “You’re a lawyer. I’m your lackey.”
Just the suggestion has my pants tightening as I envision pulling her beneath me, showing her just how I like to treat my lackey. I clear my throat. “Read it out loud.”
“Samantha Dean. Twenty-three. Single. White,” she begins in a formal tone. “She works as a marketing director for an online fashion magazine. Spends a lot of time on her computer as she works from home. Dates mostly men she meets online. Which matches Malcolm’s own romantic lifestyle.” She flips the page.
I massage my temple, thinking past the pending headache. “In her first statement, she couldn’t remember if she scratched her attacker or not. There was no foreign DNA found on her person. No trace of her attacker. Then in her revised statement, she recalled that he scratched her. Inside her mouth. Why is that detail so important to her?”
Alexis shakes her head. Then she flips faster through the report. “But how? He wore gloves. I mean”—she holds up the picture of the victim taken at the hospital—“she was battered, yes. Her face is covered with bruises and her body sustained horrific abuse that caused abrasions. It was traumatic—but she clearly stated he was wearing gloves. The examination recovered surfactants and latex residue.”
I hold up a finger and then reach for a folder. “In her amended statement, she claims he removed a glove. That’s why it’s important.”
“And she just happened to remember that very specific detail later?”
Still digging through the reports, I say, “Are you suggesting a ruse on the prosecution’s part? You think a victim would be so easily swayed?”
She sighs heavily. “I don’t know,” she says. “Personally, I think that if the victim believes Malcolm to be her attacker, she might be desperate enough to put him away by saying whatever she feels necessary.”
“Only one problem – shit – her statement’s not here.”
“What’s the one problem?”
I glance up at her, giving up the search. “It doesn’t matter if the glove was removed or not. If the offender scratched her or not. It doesn’t matter because it wasn’t the offender’s DNA that was recovered. It was hers, on Bates’ car. So why—?”
I stop abruptly. Lacing my fingers behind my head, I palm the back of my neck, suppressing the urge to put my fist through a wall. “They’re withholding evidence,” I say, too calm compared to the storm rumbling to life inside me.
Alexis is off the couch and approaching me with cautious steps. “How do you know this?”
Lowering my hands, I get to my feet and reach for my suit jacket. “A rookie cop’s statement,” I say, sliding on my jacket. “He claimed other DNA was recovered at the scene or on the victim. It wasn’t clear, but that’s the only logical conclusion. The ACA is withholding it.”
“But why?” She steps toward me. “Where are you going?”
“Why? I don’t know – the DNA was corrupted? It’s too small a sample to share with the defense? She’s buying time to get a warrant for Bates’ DNA to compare?” I shake my head, exasperated. “Fuck. Any number of reasons why the ACA would withhold it isn’t good. I need to get the damn victim’s revised statement. We have to compare it to the cop’s. I need to find something I can use to get a relief to access all the prosecution’s evidence.”
“Wait.” She turns and grabs her purse. “You’re in lawyer mode. Stay here and work the case. I’ll have Jefferson take me back to the office to get the statement.”
“We’ll both go,” I say, but she’s already holding up her hand.
“There’s not much time if you have to make a decision tomorrow.” She gifts me with the sweetest smile, and my chest tightens. “I’ll be right back.”
As she turns to go, I reach out and grab her hand. “Don’t take long. There’s still the matter of pleasure to address once we nail this case.”
She waits patiently for me to kiss her. I seal my lips over hers, sweeping my tongue inside the tempting cavern of her mouth to taste her, telling her in one action that I don’t want to spend another moment without her.
If I get my way—which I normally do—I won’t ever have to.
19
Broken As Me
Alexis
I don’t see the gray lining the evening clouds. I don’t feel the bite of the cool night breeze. I pay no attention to the eerie quiet that blankets the city as I approach the town car. For once, I’m alive in the moment. Neither dreading the future nor regretting the past.
So when my phone rings, I smile. I don’t even look at the ID as I swipe the screen to accept the call, expecting to hear Chase’s voice. “Yes, sir?”
“Miss Alexis Wilde?”
My steps falter. My heart misses a beat and then kick starts with a hollow flutter. “This is she. Who am I speaking with?”
“Miss Wilde, this is Doctor Jerome Taylor. I’m sorry to be the one to inform you, but your brother is currently in the ER at the D.C. Memorial Hospital. You’re listed as his next of kin…”
The silence of the city falls away, replaced by screeching brakes and honking horns. Shouts and soaring planes. All the sounds of the world crash down in one united boom so that his words are some strange, foreign droning in my ear.
Then two words bleed through the chaos: drug and overdose. They come across the line so clearly, the cold sweat slicking my skin loosens my grip and I nearly drop the phone.
“Miss Wilde?” the doctor beckons my attention.
“Yes,” I say, clutching the phone as if that will steady the swaying. “I’m on my way.”
“Where am I going?” I glance around, and Jefferson is in my peripheral, waving his hand.
“Alexis?”
But it’s Chase’s voice calling my name that thrusts me forward. His gravitational pull reels me in. I move toward him, wondering why he’s running. “I have to go,” I say. “My brother—”
“I know.” His hands clamp around my arms, strong bands that keep me from falling. “I’ll take you.”
I shake my head a little, gaining equilibrium. “What do you mean you know? How do you know?”
Agitation at standing still grips my senses, then I’m moving. “I have to go.”
“Alexis, stop. I will take you. My car’s this way.” His hand latches on to mine, and that one action splinters the universe.
The routine I practiced no longer exists. I haven’t rehearsed this part. “How do you know?” I ask again, breaking free of his grasp and whirling around to face him.
His face is bracketed in hard lines, giving nothing away. He’s more practiced than me. “I’ve had someone looking in on your brother. I just got the call…probably right when you did.”
A moment of sheer confusion clouds my thoughts before I’m tunneling. “You knew where my brother was?” Hurt. Betrayal. Embarrassment. Guilt—so many emotions surface, but it’s impossible to know if they’re validated.
I shake my head again, taking a step backward. “I can’t do this right now. I don’t want to. I just need to go.”
“All right,” Chase says. “Let’s go, then.”
“No.”
The word darts forth without effort. Have I ever told him no before? Am I even permitted to within the confines of our relationship? The fact that I’m processing this here, now, snaps me out of my haze. “No, Chase. I’m going alone.”
Anger seizes his features. “You’re not going alone in your state,” he says, his voice deep and commanding. “It’s not safe.”
I almost laugh. “My state? I’ve been in this state for a lot longer than I’ve known you. I can handle it.” I take another backward step. “Besides, I’m not entirely sure how I feel about you failing to mention that you knew where my brother was. I need…some time to myself. And I just need to be with him like, right now.”
Chase stalks toward me, the breeze sweeping his hair lopsided along his forehead. He looks too disheveled, too unnerved. I have to ball my hand to keep from reaching out to him. “When you agreed to the terms of our relationship, you agreed that I’m to take action in accordance with your best interests.”
Stunned, I stare at him. How can he be so formal right now? “And you agreed that I could go to my brother at any time.”
“Yes, but not alone, Alexis. Not when you’re this upset.”
“Unbelievable,” I mutter. Licking my lips, I approach him, this man that I know I love—that I have opened myself up to. “Do you remember when we were lying in your bed? When I asked to reserve what I wanted for myself in this relationship? Or…I’m sorry…this exchange between us?”
For the first time, I see his face pale with fear. “Anything. I’ll give you anything you ask of me.”
Before I lose my nerve, allowing my emotions to crumble my will, I reach behind my neck and unclasp the necklace. I drop the silver skylark in my palm, the chain following its path to pool around it. I then extend my hand out to him. “Right now, I want to be free to decide my own best interests.”
A muscle feathers along his jaw. “Alexis, your guilt is—”
“Don’t,” I say, looking down at the ground. Not into his eyes. “Don’t talk to me about guilt. You can’t possibly fathom what I’m feeling.”
He doesn’t accept the necklace. Instead, he motions to Jefferson and asks for his briefcase.
“Chase, please—”
Jefferson returns with it quickly, handing over the black leather case before I’ve gathered my thoughts. Chase reaches in to produce papers. “You no longer wish to be under my ownership?” He tears the papers in half, then once more, before he places the pieces in my outstretched hand. My signature stands out against the white page, surrounded by the destroyed legalities of our exchange. “But keep the necklace. It was my gift to you.”
My fingers curl around the chain and torn document as I drop my hand. “Just like that?”
His chest rises, his broad shoulders tense. “If it’s what you desire, then yes. Just like that.” He takes a step forward then, putting him directly in front of me. His hands clasp my face, his breath searing my lips as I look up into his drawn face. “I made choices for which I’m bound to suffer the consequences. I’m human. I’m imperfect. I’ve also never done this before – this, between us, is all new to me. But all was done out of my concern for you.”
I swallow past the ache his touch provokes.
“You need to know,” he says, “your brother’s drug use didn’t begin after your parents’ death – or after you left. He was already on that course before then, Alexis.”
“How do you know—?” I close my eyes briefly, the answer so obvious it’s painful. When The Firm looked into my past, that covered everyone in my life. “You’re not going to make it go away that easily, Chase.”
“I know, but you deserve the truth. And,” he says, his thumb caressing my cheek as he tilts his head, his eyes fixed on me. “The agreement, the legalities…it’s all mute, anyway. It’s impossible to own a person whom you’ve already given ownership over your own heart.”
He kisses my cheek before he pulls away, so chaste compared to his intimate admission that’s left me breathless.
“Jefferson, take Miss Wilde to the Memorial Hospital in D.C.,” he orders. Then glancing at me, he says, “It will be all right, Alexis. Take as much time as you need.”
Somehow, I allow Jefferson to lead me into the back of the town car. I’m still clutching the shredded papers and necklace when the car leaves the driveway. Chase gave me what I asked for. Without protest, without a power struggle. Without a second thought.
I look over my shoulder to find him disappearing into the garage beneath his house. My chest aches with every breath. A fiery current lashes through my constricted airway, threatening to suffocate me.
I realize my decision was voiced out of pain and guilt. Chase tried to call me out on just that. But there’s no logic to be found where our emotions are concerned. Had I not been so consumed with Chase this past week…would it have made a difference for my brother?
I don’t know. I’ll never know. And Chase may feel he’s being punished for my guilt—but he’s not. The sight of him walking away…the sound of the paper tearing…
I am.
I’ve always succeeded in punishing myself.
The steady beep of the heart monitor is the soundtrack to my brother’s hospital room. It’s not really a room, more of a corner sectioned off by drawn curtains providing the effect of privacy. But the sound of his heart—strong, steady—is all I’m focused on.
I place my hand atop his, my fingers resting on the plastic hospital bracelet. Jake had gone into sudden cardiac arrest. His heart had stopped. He nearly died. By the time his doctor contacted me, all this had already taken place.
How was I working on a case while my brother was dying? How did I not feel him almost slip from the world?
It took me sixteen minutes to get to the ER doors. Sixteen of the longest minutes of my life. No one should ever be given that much time to think when a loved one is dying. Your thoughts go to the darkest, most destructive places.
Careful of the ventilator mask covering his nose and mouth, I stroke his dark hair away from his forehead. It’s longer now, just past his ears, and is dingy and stringy. His skin is so pale there’s a blue tinge. The doctor said that’s common with a heroin overdose.
&nbs
p; I glance away, my eyes blurring with the sting of tears. I blink them away as I suck in a deep, antiseptic-laced breath, forcing myself to look at him. His hospital robe is askew and I glimpse the defibrillator mark along his ribs, the outline of the pad where he was shocked three times. Restarting his heart.
I straighten his robe, my hands numb. It’s cold in here so I search for another blanket.
“Miss Wilde?”
“Is there an extra blanket?” I ask, not looking up at Doctor Taylor as I continue to hunt around the room.
“Jake is comfortable,” he assures as he pulls the curtain back. “He’s in the best state possible.” I meet his eyes then, noting the severity of his tone. “Jake was more than lucky, Miss Wilde.”
“Please, it’s Alexis,” I say, taking a seat on the only available chair.
The doctor sets his clipboard on a rolling cart. “Alexis, Jake was lucky because he was brought in before he went into cardiac arrest. Someone cared enough to recognize the signs of overdose and brought him in.”
That someone who cared enough wasn’t me. “Do you know who?”
His weathered face contorts. “No. They didn’t stick around. As is usual in circumstances such as this.”
I nod. “But he’s going to be okay. He was revived in time.” I don’t understand all the information being thrown at me since I entered the ER, but I do understand that when a person goes into cardiac arrest, it’s only minutes…seconds…that mean the difference between a full recovery and impaired motor skills. Brain death. Or worse… God, what could be worse? Death, I answer myself. I will always take care of Jake, no matter what. Death is what I won’t be able to survive.
Doctor Taylor approaches me. “I don’t want to upset or scare you—”
“Oh, my god, he’s brain dead.”
He rests his hand on my shoulder. “No, he’s not, and Jake’s vitals are good. I can’t say with any degree of certainty, of course, but I believe Jake will recover. What is concerning, however, is now that his body has suffered to this extent, his drug use is now even more of an issue.”
