Why (Stalker Series Book 2)

by Megan Mitcham

  “After one hundred eight days of testimony, many questions remain to be answered. First and foremost in my mind, though, is why prosecutor Genevieve Holst was allowed to defend her employer and friend, Perry Carter Jr. Legally, the conflict of interest in this pairing is off the charts.”

  “Motherfucking, cock-sucking bitch,” Gen growled.

  “I’ll buy the network.” Larkin nodded, looking around the table. “Who has time to run it?”

  The group of friends, her truest and best, looked from one to the other. None of them had time to finish their drinks these days, much less run another business. Marlis and Larkin each had their own multimillion-dollar endeavors respectively while Libby was trying her damnedest to make her mark at the Bureau. She’d been tirelessly chasing the same small arms hoarder for more than a year. And Gen, well, she was in the midst of her own hell.

  Trashy Trish, as the other girls in their law classes often called her, blathered on about the case, but the first jab pierced too deep for her to care about anything else.

  Truly, why had Gen agreed to take the job, and why hadn’t the judge called her off the case? She and Perry had worked together for years, and they had a friendship outside the office. Family barbecues and after-hours drinks with the partners had been a monthly occurrence. Technically, they broke no rules because it wasn’t like she was part of the jury. But had she been objective enough to perform to the best of her ability? Trish certainly wasn’t worried about that angle, but it kept Gen up at least once a week.

  “Hey, you okay?” Marlis grabbed her hand.

  Gen held tight. She needed the support. She also needed another drink. “May I?” She pointed at Mar’s mug.

  “Of course. You know I don’t even like the stuff.” Mar winked and shoved the glass toward her. Before it made its way to her mouth, Trish’s sardonic tone cut through the girl’s chitchat.

  “My final issue with this lengthy trial is the evidence. The scene was clean, wiped down, leaving no trace that the family ever stepped foot into that room except for the perfectly placed DNA of an Edger Sanchez. The DNA of a man Perry Carter defended and got off on two counts of rape in two thousand sixteen. DNA Perry Carter had access to days before the murders.”

  “She’s not a practicing attorney.” Libby flipped off the screen. “What does she know?”

  “She knows enough to punch holes in my case.” Gen drained the rest of Mar’s beer.

  “Trashy Trish has been doing it since day one. You haven’t let her get to you yet.” Libby raised her glass, nodded, and then finished off the liquid.

  “She’s not really trashy. I was way trashier.” Gen let a smirk take over her face to camouflage her worry.

  “Forgive me, but isn’t it trashy to steal your best friend’s report and pass it off as your own?” The smack of Libby’s mug on the table punctuated her point.

  “True.” Gen had almost failed the class because of Trish’s little stunt.

  “How do you keep the faith after reports like that?” Mar asked.

  The sincerity in her friend’s voice wiggled something long hidden under the fortress that was her bosom. She drew a deep breath and did what she did best. “Multiple orgasms.”

  Whooping laughter warmed the temperature of the table ten degrees. Only it didn’t last long enough.

  “Gen?” Libby eyed Larkin’s beer but didn’t grab it.

  “Lib,” she sang.

  “I hate to bring down the party, but you know, it’s always the husband.” Libby bit her lip and then shrugged. “Every murderino knows that.”

  “It is always the husband,” Gen agreed. “Until it’s not.”

  “Why would Sanchez clean up everything except his DNA?” Libby grabbed the air and shook it as though it would reveal the answer.

  “Because … it’s always the husband.” Gen winked. “Sanchez is scary, not dumb. Rape. Aggregated assault. Extortion. The FBI knows his father is Amigo Ruez Sanchez, the head of one of Mexico’s up-and-coming cartels, and they know he’s laying the groundwork for his father in the States.”

  “Why isn’t he locked up already?” Larkin asked.

  “Because he’s smart, and he had a good attorney.” Gen lifted a finger. “But there are two things. One, Sanchez didn’t get off scot-free. He was assigned hours of group therapy and community service.”

  “Excuse me? He got community service and therapy for rape?” Marlis’s eyes were as big as two moons.

  “He pled to simple assault. It sucks, but it happens every day,” Gen said.

  “What’s the second thing?” Larkin asked.

  “Oh, Edger Sanchez is now in Manhattan Detention Complex awaiting trial.”

  “What?” Libby gasped.

  “Yep.” Genevieve couldn’t contain her grin. “He stabbed a woman in the middle of a public park in broad daylight, and Perry refused to defend him on that charge because there was indisputable video evidence.”

  “I don’t understand how Perry could do that.” Marlis’s nose crinkled. “I know everyone deserves a fair trial and all that, but I don’t see how he could defend a guy like Sanchez. A guy who has a record of terrible crimes.”

  “He’s never been convicted. To Perry, no conviction meant no crime.” Gen looked at the men who’d fallen back into the pace of the baseball game and the rest of the crowd engrossed in their own conversations and games who’d never noticed the interrupting report. Her gaze returned to her friends.

  “I know Perry isn’t a saint. It’s like Trashy Trish said, I was friends with Perry, and I was friends with Pamela. I saw them through the trials of a new practice and infertility and the triumphs of success, both business and personal. I loved their children, and you all know I don’t like kids.” She couldn’t fight the smile that drew her cheeks. Nor could she fend off the sorrow that clouded those memories. “I know how much Perry loved his family. I know how much of himself he gave them. He shifted his schedule and hired more help to make himself available for them. Above all, I know there is no way he could have hurt them, much less do to them what was done that night.”

  Two

  The rapid fire of camera shutters overwhelmed the questions hurled like grenades from every direction. Shoulders bumped her back, threatening to throw her off the thin heels of her pumps. Elbows grazed her arms. One jabbed sharp, jarring her ribs and jerking a gasp from her lungs. She’d been on high-profile cases before, but nothing compared to this madness. Everywhere she looked, faces pressed toward hers. Rage bubbled beneath the surface of her perfectly composed façade.

  Vultures.

  “How can you defend a monster?” someone in the throng shouted, proving her point.

  At least she didn’t need to worry about the sunshine baking her shoulders on the walk from the car to the courthouse lobby. Outstretched arms, video cameras, mini recorders, microphones, and a hundred jockeying bodies created a musty shade grove. She adjusted the suit jacket draped across her hand and briefcase and made certain not to hurry her steps. Sweat, even in the unseasonably warm spell of late autumn, didn’t lend itself to innocence.

  “You pursue the death penalty in cases you prosecute. Have your feelings on the death penalty changed now that your friend’s life is on the line?” The question came from over her shoulder.

  Genevieve tuned out the shouts, kept her head high, and aimed for the freedom of the steps. A cameraman stumbled on his backward tread, teetering for a beat before a fellow tradesman grabbed the back of his shirt and righted him. It wasn’t an act of kindness but self-preservation at its finest. If one tumbled, they all collapsed like jittery little dominos.

  What a shame.

  Despite her better judgment, she picked up her pace. She needed some oxygen before her fuming rage combusted. Barricades and metal handrails funneled foot traffic into a narrow swath unwelcome to reporters without a special pass, and those scavengers were already seated in the courtroom with their pencils at the ready.

  Genevieve stepped on a toe or two befo
re she reached the steps. Freedom met her in the form of fresh air and searing sunshine. It struck the back of her ultra-white legs and the top of her shoulders with a ferocity matched only by her desire to get inside the courtroom and hear the verdict read aloud.

  Innocent. Innocent. Innocent.

  It opposed her usual wishes by 180 degrees. It went against everything she’d lived and worked for over the past two and a half decades. It was a once-in-a-lifetime event, and it was almost over.

  She swallowed and shoved through the doors of the Thurgood Marshall United States Courthouse. It was a bit like coming home. She hadn’t spent her childhood here, but her profession had grown up in walls like these. Echoes of the past hugged her in a warm embrace, stretching out arms from every direction. Intricately patterned marble covered the floors. Vaulted and etched archways adorned with bold murals hung overhead, perennial reminders of how far they’d come. The sheer number of proceedings that had taken place inside this historical location boggled the mind. It offered Genevieve a peace she’d never felt in any other place.

  Justice was served inside these walls. And justice separated humanity from the animal world. Justice was life.

  “How does it feel, counselor?”

  Genevieve couldn’t see the owner of the voice, but she recognized the deep baritone. In the past six months, it’d become heavily laced with sarcastically mocking undertones. More so with each lobbed insult and veiled threat. She slapped on a sultry smile, begged her body to cooperate, and turned.

  Damn her, but her breath caught.

  Detective Owen Graham strode from a dimly lit catacomb. There were so many darkened hallways in this massive expanse of concrete. Were it not for the open pack of peanuts he shook into his thick palm and the extra pack hanging from his pocket, she’d think him a vengeful wraith on a mission to steal her soul. Though wraiths didn’t possess the faces of angels. Seriously, the thing was too perfectly formed.

  “Winning?” Gen cocked her head to the side. “It feels great.”

  He stopped several feet away. His thick brows narrowed, turning his fiery blue eyes into quick shooting lasers. “You haven’t won yet.”

  He popped a handful of nuts into his mouth. The pronounced muscles in his jaw went to work, drawing attention to the carved structure of his neck. Gen followed the line to the pointed collar of his gray button-up. For the first time ever, she’d caught him less than camera ready. The buttons on his sleeves were unfastened, and the wide cuffs flipped up. Under the smooth fabric, a hint of deep color marked the taut skin covering his forearms. She’d never expected the always-on-his-game, always-on-duty detective with an angel’s face to sport ink. Then again, knowing they existed made his haircut make sense. The buzzed on the sides, long on the top, and slicked back do didn’t match his all-business persona either.

  Most people could be marked from twenty paces. Wall Street asshole. Yuppie. Detective asshole. Jock asshole. Lawyer asshole. It seemed there was more to Detective Graham than he let on.

  “Sure, I have.” She winked. “They’ve deliberated for five days. A quick turnaround and Perry would’ve been facing a lifetime of appeals. Now, I’m just waiting to pop my cork.” Gen let the innuendo hang in the humid air that snuck in from the entryway and condensed between them.

  He strangled the top of his open peanut bag and straightened. His stature in a slight slouch dwarfed her, so at his full height and breadth, forget about level playing fields. She banked the urge to stomp his toe with the stiletto of her pump and bring him down to her level.

  “How does it feel to trade your high and mighty morals?” He licked his lips, seemingly satisfied with himself.

  Maybe she’d rethink the stiletto to toe decision. The things she could do with lips like those. A low and sultry laugh rumbled up Gen’s throat. “My morals have always been questionable, and my record squeaky clean.” She lifted her arms. Damn, her briefcase was heavy. “Search me, officer.”

  “Detective.” His voice was even, unaffected. “And I have.”

  “What a shame. I don’t remember it.” Genevieve let her hands fall to her sides.

  Detective Graham gulped the distance between them and leaned his head down from the great mountain that was his shoulders. Lord, the handles those things would make. A nice anchor for a wild ride. Heat radiated through her chest and swirled low.

  “You think you can throw me off the scent of a murderer with your provocative mouth and cheap bedroom banter?”

  What she could do with her provocative mouth. Several scenes took turns playing through her indecent mind. Of all the men she’d come into contact with since the beginning of this trial, for the love of God, why was this the one her body responded to?

  Gen bit her lower lip and leaned in, leaving only a scant inch between them. “I know I can.” She let her gaze drop to the bulge in the front of his slacks. “But, officer, I don’t need to. The evidence exonerates my client.”

  “Detective.” When he growled, his perfectly aligned white teeth gnashed together. “The evidence was placed. Perry defended Edger Sanchez two years ago and got him off.”

  “Are you upset because no one is getting you off, detective?” Gen tilted her head.

  Graham’s nostrils flared. “Perry had access to Edger Sanchez’s DNA, and Sanchez had no motive for an attack. Perry got him off.”

  This man was persistent. He had been on the stand, adding things to cross examination that she hadn’t prepared for. Things that made her client look bad. Gen was nothing if not more dogged. She drew a deep breath and blasted him.

  “Sanchez couldn’t pay his bill. Perry put the collectors on his tail, and he foreclosed on his house. His family ended up in shelters on good nights and on the streets on the bad while Perry and his family lived in a house so big they didn’t use half of it.”

  His head shook before she finished. “Bull. If you know anything about crime scenes, and from your record of prosecuting pieces of shit for eight years, I’d bet my pathetic salary you do, you know it’s too clean. Too perfect.”

  Did the man never look in the mirror? Things that were too perfect existed, and they wreaked havoc on those around them.

  Genevieve abandoned the innuendos and games and went with the only thing she had left. The truth. “I know Perry didn’t murder his family in cold blood. I know he couldn't have looked into his son’s eyes and carved out his heart while it still beat inside his chest.”

  “Which is why he cut them out.”

  Imagining that poor child and the hellish horror he endured rose the tide on her barricaded emotions. The only solace she’d found was that the boy’s eyes had been removed post-mortem. She didn’t blink. No way would she give Graham the satisfaction.

  He straightened and stepped back. “Huh.” The plastic wrapper crinkled in his hand. He tipped the package and poured another heap into his palm.

  She shifted her briefcase and jacket into her other hand and glared at him. “Huh, what?”

  “You really believe he’s innocent.” His head shook, but it didn't stop him from tossing back the handful of nuts. There weren’t many left in the package.

  “Because he is. Attorneys make enemies all the time.”

  “Do you have enemies, counselor?”

  “If you want to make a list, I hope you have unlimited storage on your phone.” She grinned.

  He grinned right back. “And how many of those enemies actually seek retribution?”

  She’d walked right into that one.

  The doors to the courtroom opened behind them. “Genevieve!” She recognized the panicked voice of her assistant. “They’re starting!”

  “I’m on my way.” Gen waved a staying hand to the frantic woman and then turned back to Graham. “A very dangerous few, detective. A very dangerous few.”

  Three

  “Another bottle, please, Jeff. We’re celebrating.” Larkin beamed at the server.

  “Larkin.” Genevieve kicked her friend’s leg under the table, drawi
ng her gaze from the smiling man in a stiff white coat and obnoxiously large black bow tie. “No, it’s too expensive,” she mouthed.

  “Congratulations, Miss Ashford.” He bowed.

  “Oh, it’s not for me.” Larkin’s neatly manicured finger hinged in Gen’s direction. “It’s my treat for my fabulous friend. She won a hard-fought victory today.”

  “In that case, miss, congratulations to you.” He bowed once more and flourished a hand as though she was royalty.

  In truth, she felt it. With the weight of the trial off her shoulders, they rose a good three inches. Breaths filled the cobwebbed corners of her lungs. Food regained its taste just in time for the most exquisite food Larkin’s money could buy. Gen made good money. Plenty enough for Daniel’s Tavern a few blocks down, sure, but not for Daniel’s—spoken with a French accent and costing more than her rent and clothing budget for the month.

  “Thank you.” Genevieve nodded at the man, and then he left. Her gaze traveled to each of her friends in turn around the table. “Thank you for putting up with me during this process. I know I’ve missed so many events and so much time with you, but I’ll make up for it. I promise.”

  “Gen.” Marlis grabbed her hand. “We’re just happy it’s behind us.” Her smile grew. “And that you won. It’s pretty awesome to have a famous kickass attorney on our side.”

  “Always,” Gen assured her.

  A phone chirped at their table. Larkin froze, and Marlis’s eyes bugged out of her head. Gen choked on a laugh because after years of telling them that they didn’t belong in swanky, slightly snobby places like this, no matter how heartbreakingly delicious each artfully designed bite was, they didn’t listen. Libby’s hand slapped across the O her beautiful lips formed, giving herself away.

  “They’re supposed to be off,” Marlis whisper-screamed across the small table.

  “You rushed me inside.” Libby jabbed a finger back in Mar’s direction.

  Gen scanned the surrounding area. Since it was Wednesday, there weren’t as many people as there would’ve been on a Thursday or Friday evening. The ones who gathered around the fine white linen and fresh flowers seemed more interested in their own conversations than in the interruption of the girls. “For goodness' sake, it’s not like we’re in a courtroom or a church—”