Knox

by Lisa Ladew

  Blood poured from the back of his head. Ten people got on their cell phones to call 9-1-1. Someone from inside the bar came out and began to perform mouth-to-mouth CPR on him without checking for vital signs. See, that person should have had to answer for what he did. Even I know you should only perform chest compressions on someone with head trauma—never mouth-to-mouth.

  The ambulance took way too long to arrive, and Stephen was pronounced dead when they get to the hospital. I was charged with second degree murder, and to this day, my questions are the same. Where did that transsexual woman go? She never came forward when my defense lawyer was looking for witnesses. We combed the campus and the area for months. We even offered one hundred thousand dollars as a reward for any information about that night. No one ever came forward.

  Why did the other ten witnesses—most of them from my fraternity—refuse to testify on my behalf? They all saw that what happened to Stephen was an accident, yet not one of them was willing to stand in my corner. A few of them pulled me aside during the investigation. They said they couldn’t get in the middle of a murder case, or that it was too damning for their future careers or their family’s reputation.

  The district attorney was gunning for me to go down. It had become political, and I was a symbolic lamb he wanted to send to slaughter. It was perfect. He happened to be pushing for stronger penalties for violent offenses. He could use me to send a message.

  I learned an important lesson from that tragic night. Not everyone who says they’re your buddy has your back. In the end, it was only my dad, Mandy and Claire who were at my side. It’s family who stuck around, and it’s my dad who saved my hide. Now, it’s time to pay the piper.

  “Yes, Dad. I’ll do it. So what do I need to know before these lawyers arrive?”

  Spencer, Mandy’s longstanding butler, knocks on the door, and my dad calls for him to come in.

  “What would you like, Spencer?” Dad asks.

  “Miss Kara Henry and Miss Rebecca Clark are here to see you, sir.”

  “Send them in,” Dad answers. He puts the pool cue and balls back before looking over at me. “You remember Kara, right?”

  “How can I forget?”

  “Good. Follow my lead. Let me do the talking.”

  The lawyers walk in and my dad greets them. “Come in, ladies.”

  I shake my head slightly and smile after I turn to look at them. The young woman nods. I can tell she’s thinking the same thing I am. She spilled coffee on me this morning. I’m guessing I’ll get her number after all.

  Chapter Six

  Rebecca

  “Let me see if I get this straight,” Kara says after we sit to hear what the Sloans want. “Hypothetically, a woman may have been partying with two men. She ends up taking too much heroine on their property, after which she hypothetically slashes her own wrists and dies?”

  “Exactly,” my father says.

  “Does she hypothetically have a history of cutting herself or any other psychological instability?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “In theory, what does she use to slash her wrists?”

  “Possibly a knife from the men’s property.”

  “And whose fingerprints or DNA might the police find on that imaginary knife?”

  Dad looks over to me. “Probably no one. Maybe one of the men’s. Possibly the lady’s as well.”

  “Where’s the imaginary knife?”

  “It may have been cleaned with industrial cleaners and then got lost.”

  Kara shakes her head and laughs. She has to know this is not good.

  “About this woman—hypothetically speaking of course, Solomon—has she been at the men’s property long enough to pick up any of their body fluids anywhere on or inside her body?”

  “Well, yes. She’s hypothetically a call girl, and that’s why she may have been on the men’s property to begin with.”

  Kara looks at me and then back at the men. “Gentlemen, the completely fictional scenario you’re describing could be considered an accident, depending on whether the men come forward, and all the evidence is intact. If the DA thinks there’s foul play, there could be a thorough investigation, which could lead to charges of involuntary manslaughter or second-degree murder. Also, if the DA wants to prove a point—that maybe you lured this fictional woman to your place with intention to kill her—then there’s the possibility of a first-degree murder charge.”

  “Who could the charges be against? Both men?”

  “If they’re not forthcoming, both men would be in a world of trouble, especially for the person who’s about to launch a new arm of their publicly traded company. You know how these things go, Solomon. The mere publicity of an investigation, laying of charges, or an arrest could derail your business activities.”

  “Shit,” the older Sloan shouts.

  “You didn’t let me finish, Sloan.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “This worst case scenario is only possible if there’s evidence linking the men to the crime, and the victim to the crime scene. Like fingerprints, semen and other DNA.”

  “What would you advise these men to do if something like that happened?”

  “To turn themselves in before the evidence comes back to them.”

  “And if they don’t?”

  “Then they should never engage law enforcement. It would be time for these men to distance themselves from the event, but mark my words here, Solomon. It’s not a road without consequences. The longer things take to come to a head, and in particular, given the people who that dead woman may be related to, the worse the situation can become. This can spiral out of control, and take down more than those two men, eventually. Also, don’t forget the web of lies.”

  Solomon Sloan stands up. “Kara, a word outside?”

  The two head out to the hallway, and suddenly I’m left to face Jonathan Sloan—the man from this morning. I should have taken his number then, but I got the sense he was assessing me somehow, with those piercing eyes. He stood too close to me, gave off a captivating energy, and drew me in with his charm when he offered to replace my tablet.

  Everything about him was infectious. That’s why I had to get out of there. Just from what I had seen this morning, I sensed a guy like him would leave someone like me needy and vulnerable, or turn me into someone obsessed. Right now, considering that warning Kara gave me, I see my gut feeling was right.

  My legs are restless from sitting in Kara’s limousine for too long. Jonathan is staring at me again. I stand up and walk over to the pool table. There are four oil paintings that line the wall behind it. They offer a great distraction, and an excellent reason to avoid his gaze.

  “Miss Clark—is it actually Miss?” he asks, getting up and standing beside me as I look on.

  “Yes, it’s Miss.”

  “Can I call you Rebecca?”

  “Yes, yes of course.”

  “Rebecca, then. Are you still too busy to let me replace that tablet?”

  “I’m beginning to see you’re not one to dance around an issue.”

  “It’s never been my style. Is that a yes?”

  “The law firm will take care of it. Thank you, Mr. Sloan.”

  “Please. Call me Jonathan. How about a drink this week? Or dinner perhaps?”

  “Thank you for the offer, Jonathan, but it’s not necessary.”

  He scoffs at me and returns to the armchair where he was sitting. I do exactly what Kara says. I do not make eye contact or engage him.

  “Haven’t you heard of innocent until proven guilty?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You’ve already made up your mind about me, Rebecca.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “My father calls you to speak about an item, and for whatever reason, I’m already guilty in your eyes.”

  “That’s not true. I—”

  He turns away from me and looks at the wall near the office door. “You know what, Miss Clark? I don’t believ
e you would be best suited to have any involvement in whatever my father chooses to do with your firm.”

  “Why is that, Mr. Sloan?”

  “Admit it. You think I’m guilty.”

  “I—I do not. All your father has asked for is advice based on a scenario. How could I believe you’re guilty of a hypothetical situation?”

  “What other reason could you possibly have to turn me down for dinner or drinks, Miss Clark?”

  “For one,” I start, “I’m very busy at the law firm. I work long hours almost every night.”

  He rolls his eyes and I realize I’ve followed him to where he’s standing. Again, we’re inches away from each other. He’s a lot taller than me. I have to crane my neck to look up at him, even in these five-inch pumps. I stand my ground, waiting for his reply. His response surprises me.

  He gently places one hand on my shoulder. I do not move. My brain is telling my muscles to move away, but I’m frozen. I feel a heat rise to my face. He snakes the other arm around my waist. My stomach clenches from just his touch. He leans his head in and brings his lips close to my ear.

  He whispers, “I don’t bite, Rebecca,” and I think I’ve soaked my panties.

  He lets out a breath on my neck and desire engulfs me. I tilt my neck slightly and his lips are now caressing it. He trails a set of tender kisses down to my collarbone.

  “Mmmm,” I let out a moan that I swear is not from my own mouth. It wrenches me back to reality. I’m acutely aware that now, my hands are around his waist and one leg is already sliding up and down his pant leg. I let go and back away from him, all the way back to the pool table. I’m hot and panting, and the man has barely touched me. He’s dangerous. He’s addictive.

  “I’ll pick you up at eight tonight,” he says.

  “Sorry, I—”

  Kara and Solomon return before I can answer. I couldn’t be any more relieved. Kara informs us that she has to get to other clients. We leave, and I let out a thankful breath when we’re back in the limousine, headed back to Manhattan. She looks at me intently. She’s studying my face, my clothes and all my body language.

  “Did I not tell you to keep your hands off that man, Rebecca?”

  I hesitate, and that’s all Kara needs, to know something happened.

  “What’s the matter with you? What happened back there?”

  “Nothing,” I reply. “I didn’t think—I mean, I—it didn’t hit me that he was Jonathan Sloan.”

  “You mean you know him? Jesus, Becky. You swore that you didn’t.”

  “I don’t—I mean I do, but not that way you think.”

  “Pull yourself together and tell me how you know him. If I see you this frazzled again, you may want to start looking for another place of employment.”

  I take a deep breath, and explain what happened this morning at the coffee shop. She nods. She looks out the window and doesn’t say anything for a few minutes.

  “Okay, so you don’t know him. That’s what I’m hearing and that’s how I’m expecting it to stay. Keep it professional. Understood?”

  “Yes. You have my word, Kara.”

  “Good. So let me finish some details about Sloan Sports and Entertainment. This is the part that’s the most relevant to what we just spoke about. Sloan has experienced exponential growth. The entertainment arm is now in over one hundred countries around the world, including most of South America, the Caribbean, much of Europe, and happily blazing trails through Africa, Russia, and China. That’s all great, but what most people don’t realize is the real estate arm has grown even more. Their assets include sports arenas, private college sports facilities, professional practice facilities, and a major share in over one hundred resort developments in the Caribbean and Dubai.

  “Six months ago, our firm took the company on as a client, to carry out the acquisition of Warrior Revolution Sports. It’s Sloan’s biggest competitor. The deal is worth half a billion dollars, and when it goes through, it will make Sloan Sports and Entertainment a multi-billion dollar entity. We’re about four months away from wrapping up this deal. It’s got big stakes for everyone involved, and is playing out in the public eye. Do you know what this means?”

  “I would speculate that Sloan can’t afford to have anything negative happen in the public domain for a while?”

  “Correct, but it’s not just Sloan. Warrior Revolution is also at risk, not to mention our firm. This is why I need you to find out as much as you can from Jonathan.”

  “Sorry, what? Kara, you just said—”

  “I know what I told you. I said to keep it professional. As far as I’m concerned, you’re the best person to get to know him, gain his trust, and find out how bad this really is.”

  “Kara…you’re asking me to spy on him? Couldn’t that call my professional conduct into question?”

  “All we’re asking you to do is limit our firm’s exposure, Rebecca. We will protect you. The best thing that can happen is for this to go away. The next best thing is if Jonathan is holding the proverbial smoking gun. It allows Solomon to distance himself and the company from the pain that Rushton is guaranteed to bring to the table. Even our firm can do our part to wash our hands of it, by simply referring Jonathan’s criminal defense to another lawyer. No matter what direction we decide on, just make sure you don’t let this assignment get personal.”

  A call comes in on her phone. She resumes her speakerphone negotiations and her usual tirade. I lean back into the seat and exhale, but inside, I’m reeling. I straighten out my suit jacket with both hands, trying to pull myself together. As I reach into the pocket, there’s something in it that wasn’t there before. I pull it out. It’s Jonathan Sloan’s business card.

  Chapter Seven

  Jonathan

  The sharp and sassy legal team leaves. That Rebecca chick is sexy as hell, and there’s something about her that strikes me as—different somehow. My dick agrees, so I’m thinking, hey, if all goes well, there may be some fringe benefits to covering for my father. Lawyer pussy is some of the sweetest pussy around.

  Dad goes back to tending to his rose bushes, and I’m ready to bust out of the place and head back to Manhattan. I have a sinking feeling that what I just agreed to do for my father will be my complete undoing. But I take my lumps and I’m ready to run with it.

  I’m itching to get out of the place, except I promised Claire I wouldn’t leave until we got a chance to talk. Climbing up the back stairs, I head for her room. I’m already not in the frame of mind to have a long catch up session, so I practice my ‘I can’t stay long’ line in my head to make it convincing enough. The girl can read me like a book.

  As I approach her room I hear voices. It’s Claire and Parker. It’s loud. Too loud. I don’t hear shit breaking, so I stand in the hallway and wait it out. I say to myself if they keep it up for more than a minute and nothing gets thrown, I’m leaving. I’ve done enough stepping in for family, and maybe it’s time I let things be.

  As I stand there, I hear what they’re talking about, and I’m better off waiting. Claire’s probably gonna need me after this one. Their door is open and I’m standing right outside. They’re so deep in their argument, they don’t even see me. Parker still looks like he’s in control. Claire is off the deep end.

  “Why did you marry me if you feel this way, Parker!” she shouts across the room.

  “Baby, I wish you would stop asking that. Why do you keep asking me that same question over and over again?”

  “I want to know.”

  “Why now? Why not two years ago when you said yes?”

  “It doesn’t add up, that you could love me and take that job in Dubai. I hate Dubai. You know I do. Now tell me why, Parker. Why did you marry me?”

  “Hun, you know I could have done a lot worse. Look at you…brains and beauty, and you’re so hot in bed.”

  Parker is walking on thin ice here. Claire looks like she blew a gasket on the last comment. If I were him, I’d be turning tail and letting her calm down
before she chops off a testicle.

  “Well, why did you take that damn job on the other side of the world?”

  “You know exactly why I took it. Your mother asked me to do whatever your Uncle Bill asked, and this is where he said he needed me.”

  “Bullshit. You think I don’t check my facts, Parker? He said you asked for that assignment. I want to know why. Now don’t try and deflect the question. Why did you marry me?”

  “You’re rich, Claire. What else?”

  “Don’t give me that crap. Your family is rich too.”

  “Not as rich as you are.”

  He walks up to her and rubs her shoulder. “Come on baby, you know I just got back after six weeks. I missed you so bad. Just forget about that asinine question. Let’s try to pick up where we left off.”

  She pulls away. “You think I’m going to back down, but not this time. I asked you a simple question—why did you marry me?”

  “Claire, for the love of God. Please stop and take your clothes off. I’m only back for a week, and if you’re not coming there with me, I need to get as much of you as I can before I go back.”

  I’m getting tired of the dramatics and I’m ready to go. But now I want to know why too. Parker showed up after years of Claire pursuing him unsuccessfully, and after two months of dating he asked her to marry him. When she said yes, they had the fastest mega-wedding I ever saw—one that would have taken eighteen months to plan, and was executed to a tee in three weeks. I always wondered why the sudden change of heart.

  It looks like she breaking him down. The man is nervous as hell, pacing and placating. She’s onto something. I stand there as though I’m watching a soap opera episode. I rationalize it up and down, telling myself I’m waiting just in case I need to break up a fight, but really, I want to know almost as much as Claire does. She stops him and holds him by the forearms.