“Not much to tell,” she said. “I met Tony at a rock concert. The entire time he was performing on stage, he was staring at me. I was staring back, starry-eyed. On our second date he asked me to marry him. It lasted less than three years.”
“Why not longer?”
“That’s two questions.”
“Technically, I think you’ll have to admit it’s more like a natural extension of the first,” Jack said. “You don’t strike me as the kind of woman who does anything halfway. So why did your marriage end so fast?”
She kept her eyes on the romping twins as they returned to their watchful mother. “I didn’t have a clue what I was getting myself into. Making a marriage work and providing for the needs of a child have to be two of the hardest jobs anyone can take on.”
“You’ll get no argument from me.”
She tilted her head as she looked over her shoulder at him. “I can see that. You made it past thirty without marrying. Good for you.”
Surprise lit his face. “I could almost swear you meant that sincerely.”
“I did. Of course, it’s easier for males.”
“Easier?”
“Society encourages boys to concentrate on finding a career and focusing on who they are and what they hope to achieve in life. Girls are brainwashed into thinking that their real value comes from looking good and their real career is getting a mate. Instead of seeking out fulfilling work and getting to know ourselves, our time is wasted in the pursuit of the right clothes, cosmetics and crash diets.”
“But you didn’t fall for that,” Jack said.
Diana snickered at the obvious sincerity of his statement. “I fell for it so completely I got married at the stupid age of twenty-two.”
“How long did it take for you to smarten up?”
She shook her head. “I sometimes wonder if I ever will.”
“Now that, I don’t understand.”
“The other day I was waiting outside a judge’s chamber. There were three magazines on the table I hadn’t read—an American Bar Association Journal, a Lawyers Weekly and a fashion magazine. And there I was flipping through the fashion magazine, wondering whether I should be investing in wrinkle cream before it’s too late. The problem with dumb behavior is it doesn’t disappear even when examined and understood.”
He was looking at her with nothing less than admiration. “Smart, beautiful and blatantly honest. Wow.”
For one full, foolish moment she allowed herself to wallow in the sweetness of being a woman admired by a man she admired.
The next moment cold reality had Diana firmly on her feet, distancing herself from the danger that dwelt on that bench. She headed for the trash bin and dropped in her empty yogurt container, silently cursing herself.
Sharing her personal experiences and feelings with a man was an invitation to intimacy. She knew better. And she’d done it anyway. That dumb behavior definitely hadn’t disappeared.
She felt him move beside her as he disposed of his empty container. He wasn’t even close to touching her, but his nearness was still too disturbing. She retreated to a nearby cedar tree, rested her back against its ancient bark and stared through the gracefully laced branches at the still blue sky.
He followed to within a few feet, crossed his arms over his chest. “Shall I pretend you’re dumb, ugly and insincere? I can, you know. I’m a very good actor.”
She smiled reluctantly.
His returning grin was full of good-natured mischief as he rested the edge of his shoulder on the tree trunk. “I guess I can tell you now that at high school graduation, I was voted the one most likely to finally get his foot out of his mouth.”
She’d needed him to back off and he had. The man was special.
“I should have that medical information for you tomorrow,” he said. “Shall we schedule to meet at a particular time and place and synchronize watches or will a call suffice?”
“Do I dare ask how you’re going to get access to Bruce’s confidential medical records?”
“With wit and charm, of course.”
She shook her head, despite an inability to keep a smile off her lips. “Wit and charm notwithstanding, E.R. records aren’t kept very long.”
“But insurance carriers keep their records forever. And I happen to know which carrier covers the employees at Weaton Real Estate.”
“What if the records clerk isn’t female?”
The confidence on his face was both dastardly and disarming. “They’re always female, thanks to a society that has women trying to track down men instead of a top-notch career.”
“You don’t have to sound so pleased about it.”
“As reprehensible as the reality may be, it certainly makes my job easier. Besides, I love the idea of being pursued by a bold beautiful woman.”
Yeah, she bet he’d had a lot of experience with such pursuits, too. Not that she blamed the women.
Diana was chuckling in wry amusement when something caught her eye. For a second she froze in disbelief. The next second, she grabbed Jack and pulled him behind the tree with her.
“Diana, please, a woman normally buys me dinner first.”
“Don’t make me laugh now,” she said, releasing her hold on him while her hands were still cooperating. “Staker’s coming up the path right toward us.”
Jack moved closer. Diana told herself he had to in order to hide from anyone passing on the other side of the tree. But his hard thigh was suddenly touching hers, and the clean warm scent of him was filling her senses.
He bent near her ear and whispered, “Are you ashamed to be seen with me?”
She raised her eyes to his. The heat of his look went right through her. She clamped down on the excitement building within her and told herself she was stronger than this.
“Jack, I can’t become one of your women.”
For an instant, he was perfectly still. Then he drew back and a rescuing swirl of cool air bathed her hot skin.
No argument, no charming words, simply retreat. She let out a private sigh of gratitude and relief.
His next whisper was subdued, barely audible. “Tell me why we’re hiding from Staker.”
“Because of who is with him.”
CHAPTER NINE
JACK HELD HIMSELF a half inch away from Diana—not by the strength of the arm anchored on the tree trunk, but by the sense of decency a man held on to when a woman said no.
He’d felt her body quiver when he’d whispered in her ear. She wanted him, and heaven help him, he wanted her. But her message had been unequivocally clear, and the eyes looking into his were cool and controlled.
What’s more, she was right. She couldn’t become one of his women.
He’d handled a hundred love scenes with beautiful, nearly bare, actresses and had never once lost his focus or been carried away.
But the more he was around Diana, the less he was himself. He wished to hell he knew who he was.
Footsteps could be heard coming up the path, as well as a woman’s muffled voice. When the footsteps faltered, then stopped, the voice became more distinct.
Jack peered out from behind the tree. No more than ten feet away stood a tall blond woman and a stocky man with black hair and a thin mustache. Obviously, the guy was Staker. Jack wondered who the woman was.
“…supposed to be on-call so I can’t get away,” the blonde said. From her voice and business suit he deduced she was a professional.
Staker took her hands in his. “Then we’ll spend the weekend at my place.”
The ruthless prosecutor sounded a lot more like a man trying to coax a woman into his bed at the moment. From the way the woman looked at him, Jack had a pretty good idea he’d be successful.
“I can’t park my car at your place again,” she said. “It’s too risky.”
“We’ll put it in the garage.”
“Your neighbors might see me driving in. They’re starting to notice. One of them even waved at me the other morning. They probably t
hink I’m living with you.”
He smiled. “So what if they do?”
“George—”
“You’re right. We’ll leave your car at your place. I’ll pick you up there at ten. Should be dark enough. No one will see you. Okay?”
She nodded.
“Don’t wear any panties or bra.”
She sighed. “Don’t do this to me. I have to get back to work now.”
Staker moved in closer. “Give me a kiss to keep me going until tonight.”
Her eyes darted nervously around, but Jack ducked behind the tree before she looked in his direction.
“I can’t,” the woman said. “Someone could see us. I have to go.”
Jack looked again in time to see Staker nod and step back. “Tonight then.”
“Tonight,” she repeated as she turned from him and walked quickly toward the parking lot. When she’d gotten in her car and driven off, Staker pulled out his cell phone and punched in a number.
“It’s me. Any messages?”
He stood there listening for a moment. “I don’t have time to talk to a reporter about the Pearce case or any other. Blow him off. What? Don’t worry, I’ll handle her. She’s only pissed because I didn’t show her the questionnaire before it was sent out. Look, I’m on my way back to the courthouse now. I’ll stop by her office and smooth things over. Yeah, right. See you in twenty.”
Flipping his cell phone closed, Staker started toward the parking lot. He hopped into his car and drove off.
“Who was the blonde?” Jack asked as he turned back to Diana.
“My friend,” Diana said in a voice Jack had never heard before. Only then did he notice how pale she was.
“You didn’t know about her and Staker,” Jack guessed.
She shook her head as her eyes went to her watch. “I have to get back to the office. Call me when you learn something. Thanks for the yogurt.”
His eyes followed her as she walked back to her car, wanting to do something to relieve her distress, not having a clue what that would be.
“LEROY, HAVE A MINUTE?” Diana asked after she knocked on his office door.
The man scowled up at her from behind packs of case files. His office looked even worse than hers.
“No, but you’re coming in anyway, aren’t you?”
She stepped inside, ignoring his querulous tone. “Word around the office is that you lost your last case to Staker because of a leak.”
Leroy squinted at her. “Why are you here, Mason? To get some new material for yet another joke at my expense?”
She sent him a serious look that matched her tone. “There’s nothing funny about a leak in the office, Leroy.”
He frowned at her a moment before waving at the chair in front of his desk. Diana figured that was as close to an invitation as she was going to get. She closed the office door and took a seat.
“Tell me about the case,” she said.
“My client was picked up in his car seven blocks away from a convenience store that had been robbed of four hundred and fifty dollars ten minutes before. He had four hundred and fifty-one dollars in his wallet and seventy-two cents in his pocket. The clerk at the convenience store said the guy who had robbed him wore a black ski mask and leather gloves. Neither was found on my client or in his car. The clerk said the robber was six-two. My client was five-eleven. The clerk couldn’t pick him out of a lineup.”
“Did the store have a surveillance camera?”
“Broken.”
“Doesn’t sound to me like the prosecution had a case.”
“They didn’t until Staker called to say they recovered the weapon used in the robbery, and my client’s fingerprints were on it.”
“How did he get the weapon?” Diana asked.
“He claimed an anonymous tip.”
“Why do you think there was a leak?”
“When I first interviewed my client, I went through the drill, assuring him that anything he said to me was confidential. He told me he’d robbed the store using a toy pistol. When he drove away, he threw the ski mask and gloves in a trash can, wrapped the pistol in a towel and dropped it in a Toys for Tots collection box sitting on the sidewalk. The donated toys are supposed to be new. Since my client’s toy gun wasn’t, the collector threw the damn thing in the trunk of his car and promptly forgot it. He retrieved the pistol from his trunk the day the deputy came asking.”
“Someone could have seen your client drop the gun in the Toys for Tots collection box.”
“At midnight? When it was wrapped in a towel?”
Diana had to admit that didn’t sound likely.
“The robbery made the papers when it happened. But there were no follow-up stories around the time when the anonymous call was supposed to have been made. Why would anyone wait six months before reporting what they’d seen to the sheriff’s office?”
Good question. “Could your client have told anyone else about the gun?”
“This guy has no family, no friends, Mason. He’d arrived in state two days before the robbery and had been living out of his car. No one knew he was going to rob the convenience store—not even him. It was a last-minute act.”
“Where did he get the toy gun?”
“He picked it out of a trash bin while scrounging for food that morning. He had no money for bail. I told him not to talk to anyone in jail and he swears he didn’t.”
“Why do you trust his word?”
“The regular jail cells were full so they had to put him in an isolation unit. No one was there to talk to. I checked the logs. He had no visitors.”
“Did you discuss your client’s confession with anyone at the firm?” Diana asked.
“Ronald asked about the case, and I told him. No one else. But his office door was open at the time. Someone must have been in the hallway and overheard us.”
“What about your interview notes?”
“I didn’t take any notes of the confession. The only way Staker could have known where to look for that gun is if someone at this law firm heard me talking to Ronald and told the prosecutor.”
Had someone? Specifically, had Gail? Was she passing confidential information to Staker about the cases being handled at the firm?
Diana couldn’t imagine Gail doing that. But Gail was having an affair with Staker. And Diana would never have imagined that, either.
Staker had been despicable to Gail when she worked in the prosecutor’s office. Stealing cases that came across her desk that would be an easy win. Dumping the ones that should have never gone to trial into her in-basket for no other reason than to make her look bad. At least that’s what Gail had said. She’d told Diana that she’d left the prosecutor’s office because she loathed Staker so much she couldn’t continue to work with him another moment.
But it wasn’t loathing that Diana had heard in Gail’s tone in the park earlier.
AS MUCH AS JACK CONSIDERED marriage a major mistake, he found the ceremony uniting the two blind souls oddly compelling. Seeing people so gleefully ignoring all the divorce statistics and boldly stepping onto the gangplank of matrimony was a little like watching a couple of full-fare passengers skipping aboard the Titanic.
Impending disasters always had a way of riveting one’s attention to the scene, whether on-screen or off.
Jack arrived late to the informal ceremony that united Margaret Gilman and Raymond Villareal in her garden full of sunshine. He’d been detained at the insurance company charming a young female clerk into unlocking the office and letting him have a look at the files. He was eager to tell Diana what he’d learned.
As Jack stepped from the house into the backyard, Margaret was finishing what must have been an individually written set of vows for her intended.
“…and lastly I promise that I will never, ever ask you if what I’m wearing makes me look fat.”
There was an appreciative chuckle through the couple of dozen guests gathered around to witness the ceremony. But it was Ray who wore the bigges
t smile as he took his bride’s hand in his.
“Margaret, I can’t promise I’ll always mow the lawn before it reaches the windowsills, slam-dunk every dirty sock into the laundry hamper and not scorch the walls with curses when the damn Christmas tree lights get tangled. But I do promise that ‘I love you’ will be the first words out of my mouth every morning and the last words I say to you every night and that loving you will be what makes my heart beat happily each moment in between.”
Not bad. Jack had a feeling he could like this guy. As soon as the couple was pronounced husband and wife, Ray kissed the bride with such enthusiasm that Jack found his eyes searching for Diana.
She stood on the other end of the garden. Mel was next to her. Behind Diana stood a big guy, slugging down champagne and trying to look down her blouse.
Jack had no doubt that the creep was Ray’s stepson. No wonder Margaret had asked him to be on hand today.
He started toward them but had to come to an immediate halt when a dozen well-wishers surged forward to surround the bride and groom. He was waiting for them to pass when a voice behind him said, “You’re Diana’s detective.”
Jack whirled around to see an oddly dressed man. A deerstalker cap crowned his head. A calabash pipe curled out from his lips. Over his dark suit he wore a brown checkered cape.
The strange attire was definitely familiar, although Jack couldn’t immediately call to mind why.
He held out his hand. “Jack Knight. Have we met before?”
The man released the pipe in his mouth and gave Jack’s extended hand an impressive shake. “We share the same profession. I’m Sherlock Holmes, formerly of two-twenty-one Baker Street, London.”
Of course. The hat, the cape, the pipe. Had this been a masquerade party, Jack would have laughed. But guests to weddings didn’t come dressed as fictional detectives. What was with this guy?
“I’m retired now, of course,” the man said as he knocked the edge of his pipe against a ceramic candy dish on a nearby table to dislodge some nonexistent tobacco. “But do feel free to consult with me if there are any aspects of the case that become confusing.”
For the Defense Page 14
