Table of Contents
Victim of Revenge
All Rights Reserved.
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Also by Liza Mitchell
About the Author
Victim of Revenge
Hot Pursuit
Liza Mitchell
Published by Feather & Bleed Press, 2019.
All Rights Reserved.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations used for review purposes.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book is intended for mature, adult audiences only. It contains extremely sexually explicit and graphic scenes and language that may be considered offensive by some readers. This book is strictly intended for those over the age of 18.
All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older. All acts of a sexual nature are completely consensual. No one is related in this book.
VICTIM OF REVENGE
Copyright © 2019 Liza Mitchell
Edited by Jennifer at Mistress Editing
CHAPTER ONE
____________
CAREY
What the hell was he doing here?
She tried to pull away from his deep green eyes—they’re hazel, he’s not that special—but they held her with an intensity that she’d completely forgotten.
“Ms. Falzon, could you answer the question?” the judge prodded her gently, trying to keep the trial and her testimony moving along.
“I’m sorry, Your Honor.” She was completely exhausted. She’d been on the stand for hours. Their lunch break kept getting pushed back further and further. The prosecutor seemed relentless in his cross-examination, but she could almost feel it coming to a close, and she might, might, make it out alive.
It had been years since she’d testified as an expert witness, and she’d absolutely dreaded the day that she’d have to return to the courtroom. Carey was sure that any prosecutor, any good prosecutor, would bring up her absence to challenge her credibility. This one had yet to do so… He might have something to do with it.
“Can you repeat the question?” she asked the attorney contritely.
“Of course. How much were you paid by the defense for your expertise in crime scene analysis?”
“The defense didn’t pay me directly. I work for the private investigator, Mr. Canter, and he paid my fee of fifteen hundred dollars.”
“And how long have you worked for Mr. Canter?”
“Three years.” Her palms broke out in a cold sweat. She unfolded her hands and placed them on her thighs. The most important thing is to remain unemotional.
“Where did you work prior to being employed by Mr. Canter’s agency?” The prosecutor shuffled around some papers on his desk like the answer was right there, but maybe she could help him out.
“Objection, irrelevant,” the defense attorney called out calmly.
“It speaks to her credibility and expertise,” the prosecutor countered.
“Overruled.”
Unemotional. “I worked for Lakeside County,” she said, her gaze fixed on the set of hazel eyes at the back of the courtroom.
“For how long?”
“Eight years.”
“Ms. Falzon, why did you leave your position as Assistant Director of Lakeside County’s Crime Scene Investigation Unit?” He’d stepped around in front of the table and crossed his arms, impatiently waiting for her answer before he’d even finished asking the question.
She closed her eyes and exhaled slowly. When she reopened them, he was still there, still staring, still the drawing her in. “I needed a change.”
“Let me rephrase. Was your separation from that position voluntary?”
“Objection. Relevance. Your Honor, we’ve established Ms. Falzon has a long history as a crime scene investigator.” The defense attorney waved his hand as if he was bored, but Carey knew it was an act. This was the moment they’d feared. Hopefully, his objection would be upheld.
The judge shook his head, unmoved. “Overruled. I’m sure there’s a point to the line of questioning.”
“I chose to leave the county.”
“Really? When did you resign?”
“July.” Keep your answers short. Answer only what is asked.
“When did you start working for Mr. Canter?”
“January.”
“You didn’t work for six months? What were you doing?” The prosecutor was still leaning against his table with a smug fucking look on his face. Carey wasn’t sure if she just wanted him to go for the throat and get this over with, or maybe if she danced just right, she could dodge the question he was building up to.
“Objection, Your Honor.” The defense attorney had amped up his attitude to faux exasperation. “Is it really relevant whether Ms. Falzon did crosswords or cross-country skiing for six months?”
“Sustained. Get to the point. Let’s wrap this up.”
Thank fuck.
“Sure, no problem.” The prosecutor sprung from his recline position, grabbed a piece of paper off his desk, and sauntered over to the witness stand. “Could you please read this internal memo from the District Attorney’s office sent to your Director the day you handed in your voluntary resignation?”
She glared at the prosecuting attorney as she took the paper from him. What she wanted to do was grab his head with both of her hands and slam it against the railing in front of her. She didn’t know him; she had nothing against him except that he was being a cutthroat motherfucker, and if she were a man, this memo wouldn’t mean shit.
“Objection. This memo was not turned over in discovery, Your Honor.”
“Ms. Falzon,” the judge said, with his hand outstretched.
She passed him the paper. Her cheeks were on fire. She ground her teeth so hard that her ears started to ring. So much for remaining emotionless. And all the while, she glared at the emerald green eyes at the back of the courtroom. He’d come here to watch her be destroyed, humiliated. He didn’t have the decency to stay away.
The three men whispered next to her, deciding her fate, and she just tapped her foot anxiously. See, because a court is the worst place to be with a secret—that seems obvious. But if she had to read this memo, she couldn’t explain it. She couldn’t defend herself. Unless the defense attorney rescued her on redirect, but his obligation wasn’t to her. It was to his innocent fucking client. Which was the only reason she was here in the first place.
She’d worked for Mr. Canter’s agency for three years. All he did was independent consulting for defense attorneys. Three years, and this was the first time she’d had to come to court to testify. In three years, she’d helped him comb over police reports and crime scene photos and lab reports to help innocent people mount an adequate defense… plus answered his phones, bought him coffee, picked up his dry cleaning—well, that last one was an exaggeration.
When she took the job, her one requirement was that she’d never have to step foot in the county courthouse again. Now this prosecutor wouldn’t accept her collaboration without her testimony. Probably because someone had tipped him off about what was in the damned memo.
Because the thing was, that memo? It wouldn’t hurt their case. It wouldn’t hurt her credibility. Shouldn’t. But now her credibility had been challenged, and even if wasn’t read, the jury would have this nagging mistrust of her in the back of their heads. There were rules and things they have to disregard and blah, blah, blah, but it’s all a game. And he knew it.
So if she didn’t read the memo, there’d be an ominous shadow hanging over her testimony. If she did read the memo, there’d be a real shadow hanging over her testimony that shouldn’t affect her credibility. But it would.
You know who would walk away from that memo un-fucking-scathed? He would. Again.
CHAPTER TWO
____________
DAWSON
He’d almost given up on the idea that fate would bring them together again.
Almost.
Of course, his Assistant District Attorney had run his prosecution strategy by him before the trial, and Dawson knew he couldn’t say no. Honestly, he was shocked it had taken this long for his office to unearth this little piece of dirt on Carey. She and Canter had been destroying their cases left and right for years. One would have thought her termination—separation—would have come up sooner.
He couldn’t say no. He couldn’t put himself before the case. He wished he could save her, but he also knew that this would bring her into the courthouse. Finally. She would be within his reach.
Dawson had been waiting outside the courtroom, hoping to catch her after her testimony. Maybe take advantage of her exhaustion and get her to agree to a lunch or even a coffee. But her damned testimony carried on and on and he couldn’t take it anymore, knowing that she was right there. He hadn’t seen her in years, and she’d been the only woman on his mind.
Carey’s eyes found him the second he snuck in the back of the room. And if looks could kill… He’d be dead right now, but he’d die a happy man having her face be the last thing he saw.
Truth be told, he’d thought of destroying that memo a dozen times. Especially after he’d received the promotion to District Attorney. But he’d already jeopardized his career once and survived; he didn’t need to invite another scandal. Which probably made him quite the asshole and very deserving of her vitriol. But that wasn’t going to stop him from winning her back. Well, winning her, period.
The judge shouldn’t let this memo be read in court. It didn’t actually speak to her credibility. What it did was plant a seed of doubt. The defense attorney was backed into a corner—throw his witness under the bus, or have the jury always wonder Why did she leave? What was in that memo?
“I’ll allow it,” the judge finally stated.
Dawson glanced to the bench. The judge hadn’t noticed his presence in the room, only Carey had. And she was fucking flaying him with her gaze. He wished he could save her. He deserved all of her hatred. He also deserved her forgiveness.
For a man who could control everything around him, he only felt helpless when it came to her. He fucking hated it. He felt ready to crawl out of his skin seeing her put through this shit again.
“Ms. Falzon.” His Assistant District Attorney leaned against the bench, a smug and triumphant smile across his face. Dawson wanted to strangle him. The prick was getting too much joy out of this, humiliating her. “Would you like to tell us why you separated your employment with Lakeside County, or would you like to read this memo for the record?”
Carey never took her eyes off him. She hadn’t spoken to him in three years. She’d blocked his number. His emails bounced back undelivered. Even his letters came back with “return to sender” scrawled across the front.
“My colleague and friend sent me emails detailing his feelings for me, as well as graphic fictional stories about my advances on him.” Each word was saturated with pain and hatred. “His fantasies were taken as fact, despite both of our statements to the contrary. I was asked to leave my position due to a conflict of interest. Three months later, he was given a promotion to District Attorney.”
“Sure. Now, you were fired because you developed an inappropriate relationship that brought into question all the investigation you had done for the county.”
“I was asked to leave because an assistant district attorney sent me an email.”
Dawson had done more than that. They both had. But there was no proof of their encounters. She was sticking to the story that he’d told his supervisor, hoping to save both of their asses. It didn’t work. His fantasies had done her in, that much was true. He still thought about her falling to her knees in front of him or showing up in his office late at night, bending over his desk, begging for his cock.
It made him hard just thinking about the things he’d written to her years ago. He shifted in his chair, adjusting his pants around his growing length. Carey’s withering stare probably should have had a calming effect on him; instead, it made it worse. The battle, the chase, that was half the fun. And she looked ready to put up a fight.
The prosecutor moved to walk back to his seat but stopped short. “One more thing. Who is your landlord?”
Carey’s face twitched, and she turned her gaze to the prosecutor. “Mr. Canter.”
“Where do you live?”
“In an apartment above his office.”
“Where does he live?” the ADA asked casually.
“In the other apartment in the building.”
“How much do you pay in rent?”
Oh, that slick fucker. Dawson knew exactly why Carey had faltered. He knew where this line of questioning was going. That ADA had found a way to take a tinge of doubt and turn it into a pattern.
“It’s part of my compensation package.”
“Huh, seems like you might have more than a professional relationship with Mr. Canter. You get paid your fifteen-hundred-dollar fee and free rent. Any other benefits the court should know about?”
“Objection!” The prosecutor slammed his hand on the table. “This is outrageous.”
“Sustained.”
“Nothing further.” The prosecutor waived his hand dismissively and took his seat.
“Ms. Falzon.” The defense attorney stood for his redirect. Please fucking salvage this. “What is the nature of your relationship with Mr. Canter?”
“He’s my employer,” she said. The fire was gone from her eyes, and her shoulders slumped slightly.
“Thank you, nothing further.”
“Ms. Falzon, you’re excused. Court will adjourn for the day. The defense will continue at eight a.m. tomorrow.” The sound of the judge’s gavel was drowned out by shuffling papers and fabric as everyone stood and gathered their things, preparing to leave the courtroom.
Carey stepped down from the witness box. Her eyes were fixed on the door behind him. She’d spent the better half of the last hour looking at him, and now she refused to meet his gaze. She strode down the center aisle, her shoulders rigid and chin held high. Even among the noise of the other dozens of people around them, the sound of her stiletto heels rang out as her feet pounded against the wood floor. Her hips swayed with every footstep, and even her fucking tits bounced as she made her way toward him.
She was every wet dream he’d had for the last three years.
“Carey,” he said, standing up as she passed by him. His voice came out louder and rougher than he’d intended. She didn’t even pause. Her gaze didn’t falter. She walked right by him out into the hallway and headed toward the bank of elevators.
He followed behind her. His own feet echoed hers as his dress shoes struck the marble floor. Dawson buttoned his suit coat and straightened his pants, because his fucking blood was pounding, and Carey’s ass was swaying in front of him, and all he wanted to do was to get her alone.
CHAPTER THREE
____________
CAREY
There was a reason she’d refused all contact with him after she’d left her position. She couldn’t say no to him. Even though she resented him and blamed him, she still wanted him. She still missed him
. She needed to get away from him because there was no chance in hell she was going to let him win.
She picked up her pace and slipped into an empty elevator just as the doors were closing and exhaled slowly before turning around and pressing the button for her floor.
“Motherfucker!” She jumped and pressed her back to the wall of the elevator. “Why? Why, Dawson?” How had he gotten in behind her?
“Carey, just listen.” His voice was low and commanding. It wasn’t a request, it was an order. A warmth kindled in her core while her fingers itched to reach out and slap him.
“Just hit the next floor. I’m leaving.” When he didn’t move, she reached toward the panel of buttons and jabbed whatever three floors her fingers hit.
Dawson put himself between her and the control panel and grabbed her wrist, forcing it back down to her side. His other hand reached behind him and pulled the emergency stop.
Her mouth fell open. “You are absolutely ridiculous,” she said as she jerked her hand from his grip and retreated to the far corner of the elevator. “I hope that sounds some sort of fucking alarm somewhere calling fire, police, and EMS, you arrogant asshole.”
“Then I’d better talk fast.” He took a step toward her.
“Stay away from me,” she snapped. “It doesn’t matter what you say.” She glared at him and could feel her cheeks burning. She was pretty sure if she looked down at her chest, redness would be blooming across her sternum. Her body always betrayed her. Dawson smirked, knowing the telltale sign of her arousal. Fucking pale skin. He smelled rich and spicy, looked fucking amazing—better than she remembered. She wanted his hand on her wrist again, and those goddamn emerald eyes kept crawling over her body and would not stop moving.
Neither did the elevator. Ha, he couldn’t control everything.
Dawson spoke in a measured voice. “I didn’t know they monitored personal email accounts at work. I did everything I could to rectify it. Come back.”
Victim of Revenge (Deep Desires) Page 1
