Brunelle nodded weakly.
“So yeah, that was my day,” she concluded. She picked up her menu again and finally started hunting for something to order. “What was so fucking great about your day?” she grumbled without looking up.
Brunelle's desire to share his victory had completely evaporated. He wasn't angry, but his joy was definitely gone. “Oh, nothing special,” he lied. “I just got a lot done, is all. I was productive.” He shrugged and smiled weakly into his water as he took another drink. “That makes for a nice day.”
“A nice day,” Kat scoffed as she lowered the menu and glanced out the window. “Well, maybe you should go for a fucking walk,” she joked darkly.
Brunelle looked at the door. There was nothing he'd rather have done right then.
Chapter 23
In the event, going for a walk was exactly what Brunelle did after dinner. The rest of the meal had been just as tense and unpleasant as the beginning. He listened and offered measured comments, but Kat was preoccupied with getting home to Lizzy, and Brunelle was eager to stop being another thorn in her day's side. He handed the waiter his credit card as soon as the food came and they were out of there in under an hour. Kat walked straight to her car and Brunelle walked up Jackson Street. Toward Capitol Hill.
He didn't really think about where he was going; it was just the opposite direction of the rest of the International District. Away from the waterfront. Uphill, so his legs burned. The better to think with.
There were a lot of different, interlocking thoughts, grinding in his head. Like mismatched gears. Different shapes and sizes, designs and materials, but each turning every other gear in the row as it spun.
Kat. Robyn. Boyfriend. Girlfriend. Lover, master, friend. Duty, desire, obligation. Want. Need. Love. Lust. Sex. Right, wrong, justice, ethics. Normal and aberrant. Satisfaction and frustration. Expectations and disappointments and regrets. And realizing you've reached your destination when you didn't even know you were on a journey.
Brunelle found himself in front of The Opal Room. It was late enough that the club was open but early enough that it was still empty. There was a flyer taped to the door.
MASQUERADE FETISH PARTY.
THIS SATURDAY.
CUM NOT AS YOU ARE
BUT AS WHO YOU WANT TO BE.
Brunelle's heart caught fire. She was going to be there. He knew it.
And he knew he would be too.
Chapter 24
Brunelle stayed in his office all day Friday. He only had one court hearing—a pre-trial on a run-of-the-mill gang shooting—but he sent Yamata to cover it. Ambitious young prosecutors cover preliminary hearings for senior prosecutors. And senior prosecutors who don’t want to run into attractive young defense attorneys send ambitious young prosecutors to the Pit to cover their hearings.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see Robyn Dunn. Just the opposite really. But he didn’t want to see here right there, right then. Not at the courthouse, not at work. If they ran into each other, it might break the spell. He might say something stupid. She might say something stupid.
Brunelle shook his head. She wouldn’t say anything stupid.
But he might. Or she’d look at him in some way he didn’t understand, and it would fluster him, and he’d lose his nerve. No, he needed to stay as far away from Robyn as humanly possible on Friday, so he could get as close to her as humanly possible on Saturday.
By the time Saturday evening came around, Brunelle was more than ready to find Robyn. And he was prepared. Well, as prepared as he knew how. A career as a trial attorney had taught him that sometimes you have to just go into uncertain situations and do your best. Walk into the courtroom even if you don’t know what’s going to happen. But it also taught him to be as prepared as possible before walking into the unknown. If he did run into Robyn, he wanted to be prepared. So he did what he always did before a big performance. He read up on it.
Geeky, he knew, to read up about sex. But it had paid off for him before. His first serious girlfriend had benefited from his checking out an anatomy book to determine, in advance, exactly where this thing called the ‘clit’ was.
So where his earlier reconnaissance mission had been cut short by the arrival of the police, his academic studies had proceeded uninterrupted. He remembered well enough where the clit was, but if he found himself with Robyn, far more experienced than him, he knew, he wanted to at least try to keep up with her expectations. He wanted to impress her. He wanted to satisfy her.
But first he had to find her.
The party had started at 9:00. Brunelle had considered waiting until 10:00, but the thought that he might miss his chance with Robyn got him there by 9:15.
A lot could happen in an hour.
There was a line to get in, but it moved quickly, and Brunelle soon found himself in a crowded, gyrating, pulsating room of costumed fetish enthusiasts. Not exactly his normal crowd. But he liked it. The mask covering his face helped. He'd spent a lot of time trying to decide on a costume. More geeky online research looking for a character from a movie or a book who might fit into what he was pretending to be. But then he decided to stop pretending he was something he wasn't. He just wore a black suit, white shirt, and skinny black tie he dug out of the back of his closet. A simple black mask over his eyes and nose and he was done. If you didn't know him, you wouldn't recognize him. And if you did know him… well, she'd know exactly who he was.
Brunelle pushed his way through the crowd. He recalled from his last trip that there were rooms off to the back, but a good portion of the crowd apparently didn’t get the memo. Several couples were already engaged in various stages of, well, engagement. Brunelle looked away—not because he minded watching or they could possibly have expected any privacy, but because his masked eyes were scanning the room for Robyn. So he was completely unprepared for the woman who grabbed him by the tie and slammed him against the wall before shoving her tongue in his mouth.
He didn’t resist, but he didn’t reciprocate either. It was obviously not Robyn. Robyn was white. And after she pulled away and went back into the crowd for more, Brunelle realized she might not even have been a woman. Somehow that didn’t bother him as much he thought it probably should.
He really needed to find Robyn.
And there she was, across the room, staring right at him.
“Fuck,” Brunelle exhaled.
She was even more beautiful than he’d fantasized. He’d imagined every type of fetish fantasy costume. Leather, lace, thigh-highs, riding crops, but nothing matched what she’d settled on.
She was wearing a hospital gown. A sexy one, short, and open in the back, he knew. But that wasn’t what was so perfect. It was the fake pen sticking out of her right cheek, right under the red leather mask barely covering her perfect blue eyes.
She wanted him to recognize her too.
Except for the pen, which had been extracted by the surgeons, it was what she was wearing when he’d seen her at her most vulnerable, and her most resilient. Her strongest.
She locked leather-rimmed eyes with him and smiled. The fake pen tipped up on one cheek and her dimple appeared on the other. He smiled too and stepped toward her. She didn’t move an inch. She knew he’d come to her.
He did.
But when he got there and leaned in for a kiss, she dodged it. Instead, she grabbed his hand and led him away from the main room and its frenzied crowd, down the dimly lit corridor to the private rooms. She walked ahead, her back to him, his hand firmly held by hers. Sure enough, the hospital gown was open in the back. She was wearing thin lace panties, the same blue as her eyes, and no bra.
He watched the swing of her hips as they went, easily imagining the baby blue underwear dropping to the floor. The blood rushing in his ears matched the rhythm of the club's music. He felt simultaneously hypnotized and hyper-aware. They reached their room. Robyn let go of his hand long enough to unlock the door, then backed in, pulling him onto her as they spilled inside.
Brunelle barely noticed the furnishings. A sparse bed against one wall and a small table with some things strewn across it. But his attention was squarely on the woman in his arms. She pulled the fake pen off her face and threw it against the wall even as her mouth merged with his. His hand quickly undid the ties to her gown; hers made short work of his belt and his pants hit the floor almost as fast as her costume. They undid his shirt and tie together and fell onto the bed in nothing but their underwear, which was no barrier for probing hands.
Her grasp was firm and practiced, her body hot and welcoming. They didn't speak as their hands explored each other, tongues entwined, hearts racing. She kept her eyes open, staring into his in a way he'd never experienced before. It wasn't the mask that still surrounded them. It was the message they sent. 'Take me.' A command to be commanded. He could hardly do anything but obey.
He stood long enough to slide off his underwear. Robyn slipped her own off and leaned back onto the bed, opening her legs to him. A moment later he was on top of her. A moment after that he was inside her. As close as humanly possible.
She gasped when he pushed in, then grabbed the back of his neck and they quickly found their rhythm. Something about her made Brunelle feel bigger, stronger, more desirable than maybe he ever had. He buried his face into her hair and varied his pace to elicit more gasps and moans from his partner.
He was lost in the moment so was taken completely off guard when she reached down to his hips and pushed him out of her.
He jerked his head up. “What's wrong?” he panted. “Did I do something wrong?”
Robyn smiled into his eyes and shook her head slightly. “Nothing wrong, Dave.”
He was glad for that, but still didn't understand. His expression said as much.
“Why did you stop?” she asked.
He was even more confused. “Because you wanted me to. I mean, you stopped me.”
His heart was pounding. Her hands still held his hips. He was poised at her opening, one strong thrust from being inside her again, damn her hands. She leaned up and took his lower lip in her teeth. She pulled at it and let go, then looked into his eyes. “So?”
It took a moment for her comment to register. It took less than that for Brunelle to grab her wrists and pull her hands over her head. He held her wrists in place, stretching her lithe body taut, and pushed back into her, deeper than ever. She screamed. He smiled. He knew he wouldn't last. It didn't matter.
Soon after, spent, he let go of her wrists and pushed himself up and out of her. He laid down next to her and wrapped his arms around her waist. He was disappointed he'd finished so soon. He wondered if she was too.
As if reading his mind, Robyn rubbed her perfect, dimpled, scarred face into his chest and sighed. “Good start, Dave. Go ahead and catch your breath. There's no rush. I rented the room for the whole night.”
She glanced to the table. Brunelle did too. Among the things she'd brought, he noticed a pair of handcuffs, one of the half-open manacles forming the shape of a heart.
She leaned up and kissed his chin even as her hand slid lower to see if he might ready again soon. “We have a lot to do tonight.”
Chapter 25
Much like how he felt about his initial performance with Robyn, Monday came sooner than Brunelle would have liked. It wasn't just that he was worried about the outcome of the hearing on Jacobsen's motion to dismiss. He'd lost plenty of motions in his career. But he didn't want to have to do it so publicly. The courtroom was packed. Sex sells, even in the courthouse. Duncan was skipping the festivities—a little too lurid for an elected official—but Fletcher and Jurgens were there. Chen too, and a couple of the other detectives who had assisted on the case. And Jessica Edwards. And hiding in the back, behind the newbie prosecutors and local reporters, was Robyn Dunn.
Brunelle had the class not to wink at her. It had been an amazing night, but he wasn't exactly sure where they stood. Luckily he was distracted when a further scan of the room led to another familiar face, one he was genuinely surprised to see again. At least right then.
“Dr. Sylvan.” Brunelle inclined his head to the defense expert in the front row. “Good to see you again.”
More curious than good, but Brunelle didn't really mind the sexologist's presence. He was feeling pretty non-vanilla after his night with Robyn. “Here to watch the show?”
But Sylvan grinned. “I'm not really into watching,” he quipped. “Unless it's research. I'm here to participate.”
Brunelle cooked his head. “Participate?”
Sylvan smiled and nodded. “Yes, I'm here to testify.”
Brunelle frowned. But he didn’t reply. There was no testimony at that type of motion to dismiss. It was what the lawyers called a ‘Knapstad motion,’ named after the case that established the procedure. It was basically a ‘Is that all you got?’ motion. The defense concedes all the State’s evidence and then argues that even if it’s true, it’s not a crime. Unfortunately, the case was a perfect candidate for just such a motion. Jacobsen could concede everything and then argue it was just an accident, not a crime. The standard was whether any reasonable jury could find that a crime had been committed. If the judge didn’t think so, she would dismiss the case. The good news was all Brunelle usually had to do to defeat the motion was implore the judge to just let the jury decide. If they acquit the defendant, fine. And if they convict, that’s proof that a reasonable jury could find a crime. Why take it out of their hands?
So why had Jacobsen brought Sylvan to testify?
Brunelle walked over to the prosecutor’s table and sat down. Yamata was already there.
“Did that guy,” she asked, looking at Sylvan, “just say he’s going to testify?”
Brunelle nodded, but didn’t say anything, the gears in his mind turning.
“We’re going to object, right?” Yamata confirmed. “You don’t get to call witnesses at a Knapstad motion.”
Brunelle nodded again. “I know.” But he didn’t answer her question.
“So we’re going to object?” she repeated.
Brunelle wasn’t sure. He was getting an idea.
Judge Quinn entered then and everyone in the courtroom stood up until she announced, “You may be seated.”
Jacobsen and Atkins had been whispering to each other during Brunelle and Yamata’s conversation, but Jacobsen was paying full attention when Quinn asked, “Is the defense ready to proceed on its motion to dismiss?”
The defense attorney stood to address the court. “Yes, Your Honor. Our witness is present and ready to testify.”
Quinn’s eyebrow shot up. “Witness?” She knew the law too.
“Yes, Your Honor,” Jacobsen quickly replied. No doubt he expected resistance and was prepared. “We believe Dr. Sylvan’s testimony is necessary to show why no reasonable jury could possibly find this tragic event was anything other than an accident.”
Quinn pursed her lips. “If the jury needs a witness to explain it,” she tested, “doesn’t that mean that the jury should make the decision?”
Yamata nodded, but Brunelle sat stock still. Preliminary motions weren’t just about keeping the case alive. They were also about preparing for trial. Even assuming Brunelle won the motion to dismiss, Sylvan was going to testify at the trial and he was going to tell the jury it was an accident. Unless Brunelle could effectively cross examine him. And what better way to prepare his cross than a dry run? Besides, Brunelle was cocky enough to think he might actually be able to change Sylvan’s mind. Then Atkins wouldn’t even have an expert at trial.
Brunelle stood up. “The State has no objection to Dr. Sylvan testifying at this hearing. So long as the State is allowed to cross examine him.”
Yamata grabbed his coat sleeve and whispered what every lawyer in the room was thinking: “What the hell are you doing?”
But Brunelle kept his eyes on the judge as he whispered down to his co-counsel, “Trust me.”
Yamata let go of his arm and pushed back in her cha
ir. It was pretty obvious she didn’t trust him at all. But it was his case.
Quinn didn’t seem to trust him either. “Are you sure, Mr. Brunelle? I wouldn’t ordinarily allow testimony at this type of hearing.”
Translation: object and he won’t get to testify.
“I’m sure, Your Honor,” Brunelle replied. “The State has confidence in its case.”
“Too much confidence,” he heard Yamata mutter.
Quinn hesitated, then shrugged. “Very well. There being no objection from the State, I will allow Dr. Sylvan to testify. I’ve already read the pleadings and was prepared to receive argument from the lawyers. Shall we move directly to Dr. Sylvan’s testimony?”
Brunelle and Jacobsen both agreed and Sylvan stepped forward to be sworn in.
“What the hell are you doing?” Yamata demanded in Brunelle’s ear as they sat at counsel table. “We win this motion on the pleadings. Whether it was an accident or not is the jury’s call. But you’re letting the defense expert tell the judge that no jury could possibly do this. Are you trying to lose so the Bar will get off your back?”
That stung. “Wow. No.” He whispered back. “No. And I already got the Bar off my back.” He had been about to explain to her what he was doing, but he lost the desire to bring her on board. “I know what I’m doing.” Then, to put her in her place, “This is my case.”
Yamata wasn’t really one to be put in her place, but she huffed and crossed her arms. “Your case. Your funeral. I’m not taking any blame for this fuck up.”
Brunelle nodded. Fine, he thought. But he suddenly doubted his decision ever so slightly and really hoped it didn’t turn out to be a fuck up after all.
Substantial Risk (David Brunelle Legal Thriller Series Book 5) Page 11
