by Kylie Brant
The defense attorney gave her a smug look before addressing the judge again. “From Ms. Jacobs’s reaction, it’s apparent she hasn’t been apprised of all the facts. But I’m prepared to prove that this wasn’t a kidnapping attempt at all, but a consensual meeting between two people involved in a romantic relationship. Detective Connally was insanely jealous at Patterson’s interest in my client, and broke in on them when they were engaged in one of their—” he coughed discreetly “—tête-à-têtes.” His lowered tone perfectly conveyed a man embarrassed to be betraying another’s peccadilloes. “What we have here, Your Honor, is a love triangle, and a contrived story by the police to discredit the other suitor for Miss Patterson’s affections.”
“Your Honor.” A.J. shot from her chair. “The contrivance exists solely in Mr. Paquin’s imagination. In his eagerness to see his client freed, he’s manufactured this…” She gave an incredulous laugh. Paquin wasn’t the only one who could showboat. “…this fairy tale. We have witnesses who will testify that Meghan Patterson was being held against her will.”
“And I can produce witnesses who will attest that my client and Miss Patterson had been engaged in an ongoing sexual affair.”
A.J. heard the strangled gasp behind her, knew it’d come from Meghan. She kept her attention firmly on the judge. “This is a pathetic attempt to manipulate this court, Your Honor, into dropping felony charges against a known criminal.”
Judge Holley gave her a reproving glance from over the top of her bifocals. “I’ll be the one to decide if this court is being manipulated, Ms. Jacobs.” She turned to Paquin again. “You say you have witnesses to support your claim?”
Joel folded his hands before him urbanely. “Yes, Your Honor. I have three of them here with me today.”
Swiveling in her chair, A.J. noted that the courtroom was sparsely populated. Prelims didn’t normally garner a lot of attention. Out of the corner of her eye she observed Dare seated in the back, typing on a laptop. It wasn’t difficult to pick out the three witnesses Paquin was referring to, as they were the only people seated directly behind the defense counsel’s table.
“Well, let’s hear from your witnesses, Mr. Paquin.”
At the judge’s words, she sank in her seat. A.J. slid her legal pad closer and prepared to take notes. But sitting quietly throughout the witness’s testimony proved excruciating. When given the opportunity, she grimly cross-examined each of the three. The lone woman of the group professed to work as a maid at a motel she claimed was frequented by Delgado and Meghan. One man was a bartender who insisted the two of them had often been seen at the bar where he worked. And the third was a gas jockey at a station on the outskirts of the city. His testimony was perhaps the most damaging. He stated that he’d seen the couple on several occasions, often engaged in a heated argument as he filled the tank on Meghan’s car. Which he proceeded to describe, down to the make and license number.
A.J. fired question after question at each of the three, attempting to pin them down to specific dates and times. Each was able to recall the specifics she asked for, which was in itself suspect. Few had memories that sharp. She was unable to lead any of them into a contradiction. But of course, she was working at a disadvantage. She hadn’t had the luxury of checking their stories out for herself.
In the end she had to rely on the strength of the testimony of the detectives and Meghan to convince the judge. Detective Madison presented an articulate picture of the abandoned restaurant Meghan had been held in, describing her gagged-and-bound state when he’d entered the room behind Connally.
A.J. was somewhat concerned about Gabe maintaining his calm, but she needn’t have been. He stated the facts in clear, concise terms and remained stoic during Paquin’s attempts to discredit him. Her respect for the detective grew. His words were uttered without heat; not even an inflection gave him away. But his eyes… She wondered how Paquin could stand before him and not be seared by the threat emanating from the man.
Meghan wasn’t quite as composed, although she was struggling admirably to maintain control. She’d had a nasty shock when Paquin had spun his tale, and there were a couple of occasions when her voice shook while answering. But she, too, exhibited a surprising strength when faced with the defense attorney’s questions. The delicately built blond met Paquin’s gaze head-on and flatly denied his spin on the events.
In the end, of course, it came down to Holley. A.J. waited with an outward calm she didn’t feel, for the judge to render her decision. It was telling that she wouldn’t have had any doubt about the outcome even a few hours ago.
The woman on the bench frowned as she re-read her notes. With the streaks of gray mingled in her brown hair and her world-weary eyes, she looked every day of the fifty-nine years she was credited with. But she had a conservative reputation, and A.J. was banking on that to work in the prosecution’s favor.
The judge looked up, removed her glasses. “I am naturally troubled by these two diametrically opposing views. It is difficult to overlook the testimony of the defense’s witnesses.”
Behind her, A.J. could hear a barely audible groan emanating from Connally.
“But I can think of no more credible witnesses than two highly respected Chicago police detectives. Their testimony leads me to my decision to uphold the charges the state has brought against Mr. Delgado. The trial will proceed as planned.”
Even as she released a breath from oxygen-starved lungs, Paquin was on his feet. “A trial may take months to schedule. I’m requesting bail be set so my client can be free to assist in his own defense.”
Rising, she said smoothly, “The state objects to bail being set, Your Honor. Mr. Delgado has been charged with a very serious crime. He has a history of priors, and no permanent address. Without a job or family in the state, he’s a decided flight risk.”
The judge pursed her lips. “Again, I have to agree with the state. But I will do all I can to ensure a speedy trial for your client, Mr. Paquin. You and Ms. Jacobs get together and provide me with a list of dates to begin, shall we say…three months from now?” She stood, signaling that the proceedings were at an end.
Exchanging a grim glance with Mark, A.J. reached for her calendar and rose, as well. The deputies began to escort Delgado from the room, and she headed for Paquin’s table. As the prisoner shuffled down the center aisle, she heard a scuffle and jerked around to see Madison step in front of Connally, who looked on the verge of lunging for the defendant. Her gaze stabbed at Delgado and caught his offensive grin. In spite of herself, she felt revulsion snake down her spine. She’d prosecuted some reprehensible characters, but this one was in a class by himself. With his deepset eyes, prominent bones and bald head, his skeletal face never failed to give her a chill.
She waited until she saw the rigidity seep from Connally’s limbs before she turned back toward Paquin. The smile the defense attorney gave her was avuncular, his tone smug. “A.J. You’ve come to discuss a plea bargain, I assume.”
Rather than give him the reaction he was clearly expecting, she merely raised her brows. “Hardly. I am, however, going to be ready to press charges for perjury.” She smiled blandly. “If the situation calls for it.”
Paquin’s gaze frosted. “I don’t like your insinuations.”
“I can’t say I care for the recent implications in this case, either,” she responded, deliberately misunderstanding him. “But if you think this fairy tale you’ve spun for the judge’s benefit is going to convince the state to reduce the charges, you’re deranged.”
He threw his head back and chortled. His aides swept their belongings from the table and piled them in briefcases before moving away. When he looked at her again, there was real mirth in his eyes. “I can always count on you to entertain me, A.J. Just don’t let that fighting spirit of yours blind you to the inevitable.”
She cocked her head. “Inevitable? I look forward to dismantling your witnesses in court. If I were you, I’d worry about how it’s going to reflect on you, onc
e I prove their testimony was manufactured.”
Any vestiges of humor had long since fled his face. “I welcome you to try. Don’t be surprised, though, when I find even more people willing to come forward and attest to the same thing.” He bared his teeth. “I’m afraid my client and Ms. Patterson really weren’t very discreet.”
She shook her head slowly. “I’ve seen you take some pretty huge risks in the courtroom, Joel, but I’ve never known you to commit professional suicide. You must have a lot hanging on this one. More than I imagined.”
He flipped the lid of his briefcase closed, snapped it shut. The small click sounded louder than normal in the almost empty courtroom. “If you knew me even half as well as you think you do, you’d know that I always play to win. Be very careful, A.J. After I destroy you in court, Beardmore is going to kick your career down to the basement. I look forward to that day.” He picked up his briefcase, prepared to leave. “The day you come crawling to my firm.”
He walked away, and she let him go. Song could always call his office and set up the dates the judge mentioned. She’d already spent as much time as she could stomach in Paquin’s company. Dealing with the man invariably left her with a strong desire to wash her hands.
Crossing to her table, she gathered up her briefcase and notes. The room had cleared, save for Mark, the detectives, Meghan and, of course, Dare McKay. It was easier somehow to avoid looking at him. To avoid thinking about him. So she turned her gaze to Meghan and gave her an apologetic smile. “This whole afternoon has been trying for you, I’m sure.”
The other woman couldn’t quite hide a shudder. “I’m not certain what I was expecting, but it wasn’t the sordid scenario Paquin came up with.” Her hand didn’t move from Connally’s arm, as if with her touch alone she could keep them both composed.
“We knew he had something up his sleeve when he insisted on going through with the prelim,” Mark said. “A.J. just wasn’t able to predict what direction he’d take.”
“He wants the charges reduced so his client can skate,” she said flatly. “That isn’t going to happen.” She looked at Connally and his partner. “Now that we’ve got dates and times from these so-called defense witnesses, we’ll proceed by shooting holes in their stories. Start with Stillwell. See if she’s able to contradict Delgado’s absence on any of those…” She broke off, seeing the look shared between Dare and the detectives. “What?”
“I just told the detectives…” Dare’s somber gaze met hers. “I can’t find a trace of Honey Stillwell. Her apartment’s empty and she hasn’t shown up for work for two days.”
“She skipped town?”
“Hopefully.” Dare’s flat tone gave none of his thoughts away.
She gave a mental shrug. “If we decide we need her, she can be found again.”
“Maybe.” Gabe didn’t sound hopeful.
Turning toward him, she said, “Maybe?”
“The man we obtained the information from last time…” Gabe’s eyes cut to the reporter. “The same guy who then sold the information to McKay, isn’t going to be of any more help in this case.”
“He won’t be helping anyone,” Dare put in, his eyes flinty. “He was found in a Dumpster this morning with three bullets in him. If Honey Stillwell is very lucky, she left town before suffering the same fate.”
“You’re sure you can counter this story of Paquin’s?”
It was the third time Beardmore had asked that particular question, and A.J.’s answer was no less emphatic for being repeated. “I’m certain of it.” She leaned back in her chair and resisted the urge to slip off her shoes, rub her arches.
“This development took us by complete surprise,” Mark put in, with just the right amount of concern in his voice. “A.J. thought Paquin might be up to something, but wasn’t able to predict exactly what he’d pull. There’s no telling how many more of these phony witnesses he’ll line up. We’re going to be kept running in circles trying to chase down the validity of all those stories. In the meantime Paquin is taking the next three months to get prepared.”
A.J. considered the clock surreptitiously. It was long past dinnertime, and she hadn’t eaten since she’d devoured a day-old doughnut at her desk that morning. She wanted to get to St. Anne’s before it got much later, but Beardmore was exhibiting a strange need for reassurance.
“Connally and Madison will be looking into the backgrounds of the three he had in court today,” she said. “I’m sure they’ll turn up something. And I’m not wasting my time trying to discredit an endless list of so-called witnesses he throws at us. I’m going to discredit his entire argument. I’ve instructed Meghan to make a schedule of her activities for the last couple of months. Paquin claimed she left her nephew at home in the apartment late at night to go out and meet Delgado. Meghan is certain we can find people in her building who will help us prove otherwise.”
“I hope it will be as simple as A.J. is making it out to be.” There was just a shade of doubt in Mark’s tone.
She turned her head, sent him a little smile. “Why don’t you concentrate on interviewing those witnesses from her building, Mark?” The suggestion effectively quieted him.
Dennis smoothed a well-manicured hand over his hair. “Well, I have faith in the two of you. Couldn’t be more confident.” He gave them his polished smile. “But I don’t think I have to remind you how important this case is to this office and, I don’t mind saying, to me.
“I’ve had some very influential people in the city question me about my political aspirations. Very wealthy people.” Somehow he managed to look pleased and modest at the same time, a credit to his acting abilities. “In complete confidence, I’ll tell you that I’m seriously considering a run for Cook County state attorney.”
“Congratulations, sir.” A.J. and Mark responded in unison, although A.J.’s voice was noticeably less enthusiastic. Rumors of the man’s plans had circulated through the offices for weeks. And since the current state attorney had been a desk commando and had never tried a felony case, a big win on this case would provide credibility to Beardmore’s candidacy.
Beardmore paced her office like an orator. “I don’t need to tell you what a case of this magnitude could do for this office, A.J.” He stopped, gave her troubled look from beneath his beetled brows. “Or, what my political opponent could do with a defeat.”
His meaning was as clear as if he’d etched it in glass. “Believe me, sir, I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure we win a conviction.”
He stared at her a moment longer, then nodded. “I want you to pull out all the stops, because we know that Paquin will. We’ll have to be prepared to step outside our normal parameters, fight fire with fire.” Then, having apparently used up his quota of clichés, Beardmore left her office, trailed closely by Mark.
She took a deep breath, rubbed her forehead. Paquin, the snake, had called it correctly. Her career hinged on the outcome of this case. A loss might not only spell the end of Beardmore’s political ambitions, but relegate her to pleading second-rate cases any first-year law student could handle.
Sitting in the office, staring blinding at the wall, she thought about Beardmore’s words. He’d been right about one thing. She was going to have to fight fire with fire. Her stomach jangled with nerves as she contemplated her choices. She just hoped she didn’t scorch herself in the process.
Chapter 7
Since she’d mentally rehearsed the scene in the car on the way over, A.J. was able to suppress all but a sliver of unease as she knocked at Dare’s door. But when it swung open to reveal a broad, naked chest, tapering down to a flat stomach left bare above unbuttoned jeans, all her persuasive words and polished speeches slid abruptly down her throat.
Dare leaned his shoulder against the doorjamb. “Wrong time of year to be selling Girl Scout cookies.”
She was aware she was staring dumbly, but found it difficult to switch mental gears. “I…ah…if I’m interrupting something I could come back. Or call
.” Once the idea was formed, it began to seem extremely sensible. She took a few steps back. “I’ll call. Or you can. When you’re not busy. Later.”
He raised a brow. “You’re here. Might as well say your piece.”
The tidy little speech she’d planned seemed suddenly ridiculous. “If you have company, it would be best to talk tomorrow.” During the course of the statement she inched away, shortening the distance to the elevator.
A natural curiosity came in handy in Dare’s line of work. But at times like now, it was the bane of his existence. He cocked his head, considered her. He couldn’t imagine what would have Addison Jacobs voluntarily seeking him out, and after hours, to boot. And he damned himself for wondering. Given their last few run-ins, any guy with an ounce of sense would be making tracks in the opposite direction. He liked to believe he had more than his share of intelligence.
Which didn’t explain why he stepped aside, opened the door wider. “C’mon in.”
He noted her hesitation before she complied, the way she made sure to keep a safe distance between them, and he shut the door behind her with more force than necessary. She’d stepped no further inside than his foyer, and was looking everywhere but at him.
“Oh, you were working?”
He didn’t follow her gaze to the glow of the computer screen on the desk in the kitchen. “Yeah. I was getting a column ready to turn in.” He folded his arms across his chest, intrigued despite himself. There was something else on Addie’s mind, and it was becoming increasingly apparent that whatever it was, she wasn’t at all comfortable with it.
She looked at him finally and drew a breath. “Since you heard Paquin today, I think you have a pretty good understanding of what I’m up against. He’s going to keep throwing these phony witnesses at us to keep us busy checking them out, and prevent the investigation from focusing solely on Delgado.”
