Man with the Muscle

by Julie Miller

  Not one diet cola to be found. Coffee? She closed the refrigerator and turned to the empty coffeemaker on the counter.

  Out of luck. The only caffeine in the house was on the serving tables the caterers had set up, and she wasn’t going back to the party any sooner than she had to. The whole point of sneaking off to the kitchen was to find ten minutes of silence where she could nurse her headache and maybe think a bit more about how she wanted to open her statement to the jury when Demetrius Smith’s trial started in the morning.

  She already had her arguments lined up. Her evidence was all in order, the witness list approved. Her boss, District Attorney Dwight Powers, had signed off on her strategy for putting away the reputed gang leader. Smith claimed he’d been an innocent bystander as the ten-year-old boy had been shot and killed in his backyard, thinking he could plead out to lesser charges. But Audrey intended to nail him to the wall for a list of crimes ranging from drug-dealing and witness intimidation to Calvin Chambers’s murder.

  As it did every time she read or thought about the ten-year-old’s death, Audrey’s memories went back to the night of Gretchen’s murder—to the much more personal understanding she now had about violence and innocent lives so cruelly and callously taken. Inevitably, her thoughts of that night ended up at a shadowed hedgerow, where a dark-eyed, opinionated, compassionate cop had given her a few moments of respite from her grief.

  You get Smith.

  Alex Taylor had angered her, touched her heart, held her hand and handed down an edict.

  Right. No pressure.

  Apparently, the support of KCPD, as well as career success and personal independence, hinged on winning this trial.

  No pressure whatsoever.

  No wonder her head ached.

  It was Audrey’s first big case as a prosecutor. Her chance to prove she was smart enough, gutsy enough and tough enough to win a case without the backing of her father’s firm. Rupert Kline expected her to fail and was waiting to pick up the pieces with a hug and a told-you-so. He expected her to come to her senses and accept the lucrative partnership he’d offered in his firm. All his money and influence hadn’t been able to save her mother from the cancer that had ravaged her body and ultimately silenced her beautiful spirit. So, by damn, he wasn’t going to let anything happen to his little girl.

  Even if all that love was smothering her.

  So in the kindest, most reassuring way she knew how, Audrey was fighting to be her own woman, to create her own success story—to build her own life that included her father, but wasn’t dominated by him. Her mind was more focused, her goals clearer now, than they’d ever been. She didn’t need Daddy’s money to get the job done. She didn’t need his name to give her clout.

  She didn’t need lectures from some doubting Thomas of a cop, either. She could do this.

  She had to do this.

  Beyond getting a ruthless criminal off the streets, she needed to succeed in order to prove that, at twenty-seven, with a degree from Smith and a juris doctor from the University of Missouri, she was no longer Daddy’s little girl. She was more than the pretty princess in the gilded Kline cage.

  So why had she agreed to help her father host this fundraiser for a scholarship to honor Gretchen’s memory on the night before the trial began?

  Proof that she was her own woman, indeed.

  Audrey pulled out a glass and filled it with water from the tap, hating that vulnerable place in her heart. “Why can’t I say no to you, Daddy?”

  Probably because the arts and friendship were worthy causes. Probably because she was as fiercely protective of her father as he was of her. Audrey had moved back home those last few months when her mother had been ill—to take care of Rupert as much as her mother. Despite the tragedy, Audrey had finally understood what it felt like to be needed. Her. Not her family’s money, not her father’s name. Her parents had needed their daughter to be there, to love them, to be strong when they couldn’t be.

  Just like he needed her tonight.

  But she really should be practicing her opening statement.

  Taking a long drink of water, Audrey pulled out a stool from the counter and sat. Using the center island and the two ovens as her imaginary audience, she began. “Your Honor, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I’m here today to prove that every citizen of Kansas City deserves justice. Every citizen deserves to feel safe, walking his own streets…” She groaned and shook her head. “Too pompous.” She tunneled her fingers beneath the tendrils of hair loosely pinned at her nape and massaged the back of her neck. “No child should live in fear of walking home from school… What’s this?”

  Lowering her glass, Audrey picked up the sealed envelope lying on top of the basket of pledge cards on the counter. Recognizing the neat handwriting on the front, she smiled. “Charlotte.”

  Feeling as if she’d just gotten a hug, Audrey slit open the flap and pulled out a note card that was as smart and unassuming as the woman who’d sent it. Charlotte Mayweather was another classmate who’d gone to the same private high school she, Gretchen and Harper Pierce had attended. Audrey tried to remember the last time she’d seen Charlotte—certainly not at Gretchen’s funeral. And she hadn’t been included on the guest list tonight because Audrey had known she wouldn’t be able to come.

  Still, as Audrey read the note, she wasn’t surprised to see that Charlotte had enclosed a check for the scholarship fund. Somehow, Charlotte had known that they were honoring an old friend tonight. Although she’d never been the social butterfly Gretchen was, Charlotte had always been adamant about supporting the causes—and people—she cared about.

  I wish I could be there

  the note began.

  Like you, Gretchen made a point to come visit me from time to time. She could always make me smile. Here’s a token of my affection for her, and how much I miss her. Thanks for doing this for her, Aud.

  Good luck with the trial. I’ll be following you in the papers.

  Charlotte

  Good luck? Audrey sighed with a bit of melancholy as she tucked the note and check inside the envelope and dropped it back into the basket. Was there anyone in Kansas City who wasn’t watching how she handled the Smith case?

  And how many of them expected her to fail?

  The swish of the kitchen door sweeping across the threshold gave her a split-second notice to paste a smile on her face before company joined her. “There you are.”

  Audrey turned to the distinguished man with the silvering, receding auburn hair and smiled. “Daddy.”

  “I wondered where you’d gotten off to.” He picked up her sandals and carried them over to the counter where she sat. He pressed a kiss to her temple and dropped the shoes into her lap. “No fair skipping out if I can’t. Our guests are starting to leave. Will you see them off at the door while I chat up another ten grand from the Bishops?”

  “Of course.” Pulling up the skirt of her gown, she pinched her feet back into the high heels. She inclined her head toward the basket on the counter. “We received a card with a check from Charlotte Mayweather, too.”

  “Charlotte? Now there’s a name I haven’t heard for a while.” He pulled the card from the basket. “How is she doing?”

  “I’m not sure,” Audrey answered, fastening the delicate buckle at her ankle. “I haven’t been to see her lately. But I know she misses Gretchen as much as I do.”

  “You had a wonderful idea with this scholarship. Gretchen was such a patroness of the arts, it’s fitting that she be remembered this way.” Audrey knew by his frown that he’d reached the end of Charlotte’s note.

  “Even she knows about this unpleasantness with the Smith trial.”

  Audrey plucked the card from his hands and returned it to the basket. “That unpleasantness is my job. If I win, I’ll have the track record to be able to run for district attorney myself one day.”

  “And if you lose, you’ll be vilified by the press. Why don’t you come back to Kline, Galloway & Tucker?” Where I
can protect you.

  Where she’d never be anything more than Rupert Kline’s daughter. Or wife to one of his partners, if he had his way. The unspoken arguments were clear and familiar.

  But she needed to make her own decisions—captain her own victories and suffer her own mistakes without her father’s money or influence to either make them happen or go away. Audrey needed him to know that she was smart enough, capable enough—that she was the necessary element to build her own career and find her own happiness, instead of accepting that her life was the result of whatever her father’s doting yet misguided love for his only daughter allowed it to be.

  Not wanting to tax what energy either of them had left tonight, Audrey wisely changed the subject. “So, are we a rousing success?”

  Rupert pulled back the front of his tux and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his tailored wool trousers. “Everyone is interested in giving this time of year. I think Clarice earned her money with this event—pulling it together so quickly and bringing in a lot of donations. She knows how to throw a party.”

  Did she detect a hint of admiration when her father mentioned the event planner’s name? Audrey felt a smile curve her own lips. Her father had been widowed for nearly three years now. If the right woman turned his eye, she wasn’t against him seeing where things might lead. A new girlfriend might even distract him from his fixation on her. “Are you and Clarice planning on staying up late tonight to, um, go over some numbers after our guests leave?”

  “I may have invited her to stay for a brandy to congratulate her.” Rupert took her elbow and helped Audrey to her feet once she was cinched in and ready to report for duty again. He tapped the tip of her nose with his finger and smiled. “But you just put those matchmaking thoughts away, missy. We’re only discussing business.”

  “Does Clarice know that?” As much as she hated the nickname he’d given her as a toddler, she loved her father even more, and let that argument slide, as well. She laid her palm over his heart, brushing over the bulge of his pacemaker to feel the strong beat of it beneath her hand. “I just want you to know, that if business turns to pleasure, I’ll be locked up in my office upstairs, and I won’t hear a thing that might go on in your study—or anywhere else on the first floor.”

  “You’re wicked, missy.” He scooted her out of the kitchen and Audrey was instantly assaulted by the noise and colors and pressure to be the perfect hostess again. As one of the tallest men in the room, it was easy to spot Harper Pierce when he excused himself from a conversation and headed into the foyer. Harper strode toward them, and Rupert whispered against her ear.

  “Speaking of matchmaking, I noticed Harper has been sticking close to your side all evening. He knows the board is considering him for a partnership at the firm. Do I give him credit for wanting to date you, or hold it against him?”

  “Daddy!” Audrey swatted his arm for teasing her. “Harper was engaged to Gretchen. Don’t start throwing him at me before he’s done mourning her loss.”

  He arched one of his silvery-red brows in a paternal warning. “Harper’s an ambitious man. I don’t know that he’d let grief stand in the way of getting what he wants.”

  “I don’t care for him in that way anymore. He’s just a friend—one who’s co-hosting this evening’s fundraiser with me. That’s why he’s been so attentive.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Seriously.” Audrey reached up to straighten her father’s bow tie. “I’m looking for a man who’s a little more into me than he is my daddy’s law firm or bank account.”

  He caught her hands in his and pressed a kiss to her fingers. “I want that for you, too.”

  Audrey grinned. “And he has to have a personality, support my career, be a good kisser and treat me like a princess.”

  Rupert laughed. “You don’t ask for much, do you? Just promise me you won’t be so hard on the boys and focused on success that you wind up all alone.”

  “That formula worked for you, didn’t it?”

  “Yes, I found success. But I also found someone to love. I married your mother and had a family.”

  “I will, too, Daddy.” Audrey stretched up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “I promise.”

  As he excused himself to speak with the Bishops, Audrey turned and fixed a smile on her face for Harper’s benefit.

  “Were you and Rupert talking about me?” Harper asked, his lawyer’s voice smooth and concise. Audrey hoped he couldn’t feel the flinch that came with automatically steeling herself against the possessive touch around her waist. “I thought I heard something about marriage?”

  “Don’t flatter yourself, Romeo.” Maybe her father was right. Was Harper rebounding from his relationship with Gretchen and setting his sights on becoming more than friends again? Their dates in high school seemed like a lifetime ago and, as far as Audrey was concerned, that was where any romance with him should stay—in the past. Subtly twisting to move his hand to a less intimate position, she pointed to the front door at the far end of the foyer. “I see the Hunts are leaving. I’d better go thank them and say good-night.”

  “I’ll come with you.”

  Audrey endured a half hour of kisses and handshakes before the ache from her constant smile got a welcome relief from Jeffrey Beecher, the assistant who worked for tonight’s event planner, Clarice Darnell.

  “Audrey?” Pushing his way through the dwindling crowd, he hurried from the back of the house to join her. The earbud he wore, and wire running down the back of his collar, made her assume the interruption was related to the party. “Audrey, do you have a moment?”

  “Sure.” She worked the muscles on her face, trying to relax them. “Is there a problem?”

  “Can’t this wait, Beecher? And you’re to address her as Miss Kline.”

  She stiffened at the unwanted and unnecessary defense on her behalf. “Audrey’s fine. What is it?”

  He reached inside his suit jacket and pulled out an envelope. “This just came for you.”

  “At this hour?” Audrey frowned and took the letter.

  “Maybe it’s another donation.”

  “I don’t think so,” said Jeffrey. Harper harumphed at her side while the hired help monopolized her attention.

  “A courier delivered it to the service entrance—said to bring it to you immediately. I gave him a five-dollar tip.”

  Jeffrey pushed up his narrow-framed glasses onto the bridge of his nose and cleared his throat. That was when she realized he was waiting to be reimbursed.

  Normally, Audrey would have given him the money herself, but with nothing on but gray silk and lace, and no cleavage to speak of, she had no purse or pockets or hiding place to stash any cash. She turned and rested her hand on Harper’s sleeve, dredging up one more smile. “Do you mind?”

  “Not for you.” Although Harper’s enthusiasm faded as soon as he turned his attention away from her, he pulled out his wallet and took Jeffrey aside.

  For a delivery that sounded so urgent, the envelope was curiously devoid of red flags or clues as to what the contents might be. A glance through the guests gathering in the foyer indicated an easy exit to the kitchen was out of the question. Staying here meant she’d have Harper looking over her shoulder. Audrey opted for the quickest route to uninterrupted quiet by following the next couple to depart out the front door.

  The night air instantly whipped through her hair, giving her senses a reviving shock and raising goose bumps along her arms. There was a dampness to the December breeze, hinting that they’d have a dusting of snow by morning. Perhaps taking a moment to find a wrap for her bare shoulders would have been a smarter move. But she was out here now, the porch was deserted, and the only sounds of company came from the music inside and the crunch of tires over bricks as the valet staff drove up with cars for guests waiting in the driveway below. Hunching her shoulders and shivering against the cold, Audrey moved beneath one of the brass lamps framing the entryway to study the envelope.

  Jeffrey was right. It
didn’t look like any pledge card or personal note regarding tonight’s scholarship benefit. There was just her name, typed and neatly centered, along with the address and the courier service logo. No return address, but that was probably included inside. Perhaps it was something from the defense attorney pertaining to Demetrius Smith’s case, or a proof of some reporter’s column about the pretrial buzz for the newspaper. Trading her society hat for her attorney persona, she opened the envelope and pulled out the enclosed letter to read it.

  Her blood chilled.

  Oh. My. God.

  “You’ll catch your death out here, ma’am.”

  Audrey jumped a mile inside her skin at the voice in the shadows. As the letter floated to the ground, she spun around to locate the balding man in a dark utility uniform climbing the steps onto the porch. Instinctively, she backed against the house at his approach. He was between her and the door now, and he just kept coming.

  Her pulse thundered in her ears as she put up her hand. “Stop right there. Please.”

  That he did what she commanded surprised her even further. With an apologetic nod, he stopped and retreated a step, giving her a chance to calm her nerves and focus in on the name badge pinned to his dark gray parking valet’s jacket.

  “Bud.” She called him by name, recognizing him now as another employee of Clarice Darnell’s event staff. “You startled me.”

  “Sorry about that, ma’am.” Fear had given the dampness of the night a chance to sink beneath her skin and she was truly shivering now. “I just wondered if you’d forgotten your coat. I’d be happy to get it for you.”

  “I’m fine.” Audrey rubbed her hands up and down her arms, completely aware that her words belied her actions. He could think her spoiled, an idiot or a liar—she didn’t care. She just wanted him to leave. “I got overheated inside. The fresh air feels good.” She pulled away from the chilled moisture of the limestone facade, standing straight and tilting her chin, determined to take control of her emotions. “That’ll be all.”