Let Darkness Come

by Angela Hunt

  Beside him, Jeffrey rolled his eyes in bored acquiescence. “You don’t have to worry.” He flicked a piece of lint from the shoulder of his tuxedo, then stepped around to grip Erin’s free hand. “I’m sure we’ll look like the perfect couple.”

  “Yes,” Erin added, her voice oddly flat. “We have to knock them dead.”

  A shiver spreads over Antonio as the memory edges his teeth. Had her words been a warning he’d been too blind to see?

  Chapter Thirteen

  Joseph Franklin looks up from the open book on his desk when Briley raps on his door. “Miss Lester! How’d it go with Erin Tomassi?”

  “Fine…but Mrs. Tomassi was pretty shaken up when we couldn’t meet bail. She’s dreading the idea of spending Christmas in jail.” Briley steps into the office and wanders to the empty space between the guest chair and the doorway. She’s been invited to sit before Franklin’s desk exactly three times, and she’s not likely to extend her record today.

  “What was the bail amount?”

  “A million even.”

  Franklin taps the tips of his fingers together. “She couldn’t handle a hundred grand?”

  “No, sir. The estate’s been frozen, so she can’t access the joint accounts. I thought her father-in-law might want to help her out—”

  “I wouldn’t count on any help from Antonio. He called us to represent her, but we may not hear from him again. If the state’s attorney assembles a solid case, Antonio isn’t likely to continue supporting the woman who murdered his son.”

  Briley swallows hard. “I—I didn’t know he’d had a change of heart. Anyway, Mrs. Tomassi insists she’s innocent. I compiled my notes into a case file if you want to take a look.”

  She holds her breath, waiting for him to say he’s assigning the case to one of the partners. If he gives the case to John Morton, she might plead for a spot on the team, even accepting third chair. She won’t have much experience to offer, but she could learn a lot while watching a master defend a capital case….

  Franklin stares mindlessly at the file folder in her grip, then he lifts his hand in an abrupt wave. “The case is yours, Lester. Give it your best shot.”

  Briley blinks. “You mean…I’m on the team. Who’s first chair?”

  “You are.”

  “But I’m not qualified.”

  “You’re an excellent attorney, you’ll provide high-quality legal representation, and you have to start somewhere.”

  “But my schedule is crammed. The average attorney working on a death penalty case invests nearly nineteen hundred hours before proceeding to trial—”

  “We’ll clear your other cases.” Franklin smiles a grim little grin and returns his gaze to his book. “Keep me informed as to your progress.”

  Briley back-steps toward the door as a tremor of mingled fear and anticipation rattles her bones. He really means to assign her to this case?

  “Mr. Franklin?” She halts, her voice wavering in the spacious room. “You do realize I’ve never handled a murder trial?”

  Franklin has the audacity—or the confidence—to grin at her again. “I’m not worried about you. Female defendant, female lawyer, both about the same age…It’s a good fit. So get busy.”

  “But—” She hesitates, remembering the strobic play of flashing cameras at the senator’s fundraiser. The Tomassis are political royalty in Chicago, and the sight of their princess in handcuffs and shackles will draw the paparazzi like Paris Hilton at the Los Angeles county jail. Briley is willing to tackle a death penalty case, but this one will include so many distractions….

  “Listen,” Franklin says, a muscle flicking at his jaw, “do you remember when you interviewed for this firm?”

  She stares, caught off guard by the unexpected warmth in his voice. Why is he suddenly waxing nostalgic?

  “I remember—” he points toward the conference table at the side of his cavernous office “—you sitting over there and telling the partners you only had one hero growing up…your father. Do you remember saying you wanted to be like him?”

  Still mystified by his motive, she nods.

  “I’ve never forgotten that interview. You set quite a challenging example when you told us your father sacrificed his life on a mission to help someone else. That’s why we’re here, Briley. That’s why we defend our clients. Because we want to make sure every individual who needs a defender gets one.” He folds his hands over his book. “Now—do you really want me to give the Tomassi case to Jim Myers?”

  Ah…he’s baiting her with guilt. Testing her fighting spirit. And he’s bluffing, because Myers has even less courtroom experience than she does.

  But she can rise to the challenge. With a good support team behind her, she ought to be able to see it through. She is, after all, her father’s daughter, and she meant every word she said in that interview.

  Briley lifts her chin. “I think I can handle this case.”

  “Then get busy. And close the door on your way out, will you?”

  Briley grips the file, shuts the door, and strides toward the elevator. Her pulse pounds with the knowledge that finally, after three years in this firm, Joe Franklin has noticed her mostly successful record of defending car thieves and child abusers, school bullies and drug users. Maybe he took special note of her only celebrity case, in which she successfully defended a rap star against charges of sexual assault. The client’s raunchy video had soured her stomach, but the alleged victim recanted under cross-examination, forcing the judge to dismiss the complaint and free her client.

  That afternoon, she’d felt like Ben Matlock’s heir apparent.

  Maybe she has finally begun to climb the ladder of success. And if it takes the uncomplaining representation of Erin Tomassi to move Briley’s office from the second floor to the third, then the partners of Franklin, Watson, Smyth & Morton are about to see the formation of a spectacular defense.

  Briley’s blood is still swimming in adrenaline when she returns to her desk, but her enthusiasm flickers once she sinks into her chair and gazes at the files stacked pell-mell on her bookshelves. If Joseph Franklin intends to trust her with a high-profile capital case, it can’t be because he’s been impressed with her record of defending teenage joyriders and drunk-driving businessmen. So why has he assigned her to this trial?

  She swivels toward the window and stares at a bland apartment building as her brain arrives at one inescapable conclusion: Her weepy client was right. No defense attorney in her right mind would want this case, because no one will believe Erin Tomassi didn’t kill her husband. But lawyers aren’t allowed to give up, and associates aren’t supposed to complain.

  Franklin must not believe the case can be won, so he’s allowing Briley to go through the motions of presenting an adequate defense for a political princess. If she makes a mistake, he’ll simply assign a more experienced lawyer for the appeal, citing Briley’s errors as justification for a new trial. Those errors, if they’re flagrant, might be enough to earn her walking papers. By the end of this case, she might be defeated and unemployed. And unpopular.

  She reaches for the telephone and punches in Timothy’s number. He answers on the second ring. “Hello?”

  “Remember the Tomassi murder?”

  “Of course.”

  “Guess who’s defending the widow.”

  She hears his quick intake of breath. “No kidding. You got the case?”

  “I shouldn’t have. No managing partner in his right mind would hand the case to a neophyte, but Franklin gave it to me. That can only mean one thing.”

  “You’re the best woman for the job?”

  “Erin Tomassi is guilty and the state’s attorney has an airtight case. I haven’t seen the police report, but I’m betting Franklin is right.”

  “You don’t know that, Bri. Unless the woman confessed—”

  “She says she’s innocent. But so does everyone else at the jail.”

  “Come on, now.” A smile slips into his voice. “Don’t assu
me the worst before you even start to work. Give the woman the benefit of the doubt, and give yourself a break. Maybe she’s telling the truth.”

  Briley remains silent, wishing she could believe him. Trouble is, Timothy isn’t an attorney. He’s a sneakers-wearing Boy Scout with an irresistible grin and an undying belief that some trace of goodness lies in everyone, including his clients. And she’d give up chocolate for a year if he’d forget about his addicts and take a job selling shoes.

  “You still there?” he asks.

  “Yes.”

  “Then find out what happened to Jeffrey Tomassi and do your best to defend his wife. Because the alternative is unthinkable.”

  “I’ll do everything I can…but it’d take a miracle to get Erin Tomassi acquitted.”

  Briley closes her eyes as a memory floats up, a vision of a couple waltzing, swirling through a ballroom in perfect unison. They were smiling at each other, and Jeffrey’s arm gripped Erin so tightly…Did something go wrong in their marriage? Something horrible enough to drive one of them to a desperate act?

  “This case is going to be huge,” she says. “I’ll need to hire an investigator and rope in some help around here. Capital cases require a defense team.”

  “I’m sure the firm will give you whatever you need. They’re supportive, aren’t they?”

  “So far.” She swallows hard, reluctant to admit what she needs to say next. “I’ll be working a lot. I’ll try not to let this case take over my life, but I might have to work a few nights and weekends.”

  Timothy laughs. “Babe, don’t feel like you have to explain yourself to me. Take all the time you need to do your job.”

  “But I might not be available when you have time off. Unless Dax is able to stand on his own—”

  “He’s not,” Timothy interrupts. “He’s doing better, but the boy still gets jumpy when he’s around others who are using.”

  “I thought you were keeping him away from those people.”

  “I try, but he’s in show business, you know? I’d keep him away from booze altogether if I could, but when he goes to parties, every girl who comes up has a drink in her hand.”

  “Oh.” Briley stares at the ceiling, her mind filling with images of parties where dozens of beautiful girls drape themselves over any man in Dax Lightner’s reflected glow.

  “Hey.” Timothy’s voice softens. “Don’t you worry about a thing.”

  “I’m not worried.”

  “You are. I can hear it in your voice.”

  “Okay.” She smiles into the phone. “Maybe I’m a little worried. About you, and about this trial.”

  “You don’t need to fret, kiddo. Jump in with both feet and abandon yourself to the cause. Make your boss and Erin Tomassi grateful that you were bold enough to take the case.”

  Smiling, she drops her head onto her hand. Timothy has a tendency to turn conversations into pep talks, but he always makes her feel better.

  “Stand back and prepare to be amazed,” she says. “I’m going to do my best.”

  Briley hadn’t wanted to go to the fundraiser, but Timothy had insisted. “It’ll be fun,” he’d said, his eyes sparkling, “and I want to wear my tux. I want to impress you.”

  So on the second of December she left work early, slipped into a sleeveless gown she’d bought on sale years before, and pulled out a pair of chandelier earrings. She found herself wishing for hair long enough to twist into a glamorous chignon, but the practical chin-length cut that went so well with a suit would have to work with formal wear, too.

  Just after dark, a black limo pulled up outside her town house and Timothy stepped out to greet her. Flashing cameras and exclamations from excited onlookers punctuated their arrival at the Conrad, one of Chicago’s most luxurious hotels. Briley and Timothy slipped away from the crowd and checked their coats. After entering the ballroom, they found their table, number sixty-seven, located in a quiet corner.

  Throughout dinner, she and Timothy made small talk with the other guests: the police commissioner and his wife, the owners of a local drug store chain, a reporter and photographer from the Chicago Tribune. Briley enjoyed talking to the reporter until the woman revealed that she was covering the event for the Style section. “I’m here to check out the senator’s wife,” she said, twisting in her seat as she scanned the front of the room. “They think she’s going to be quite the trendsetter in D.C.”

  “I hadn’t heard that,” Briley answered, but the woman had stopped paying attention.

  Waiters in white jackets whisked the empty dessert plates away as a local politico welcomed the guests and made a series of optimistic predictions about Jeffrey Tomassi’s future in politics. While the crowd cheered and clapped, Briley found herself searching the head table for a woman who might be a suitable candidate for national trendsetter.

  Only one possibility, really. The matron seated at Jeff Tomassi’s left appeared too old to be his wife, but the woman at his right fit the job description. Young enough to inspire women of all ages, she glowed with a rare combination of beauty and approachability. The blonde smiled throughout the long introduction and was one of the first to stand and applaud when Tomassi rose to take the lectern.

  During Jeffrey Tomassi’s speech, Briley propped her chin on her hand and studied the aspiring candidate. Tomassi repeated all the promises parroted by most politicians, but he was strikingly handsome and tall, at least six-two. Maybe as tall as Timothy.

  As the candidate promised brighter days and lower crime rates for Illinois, Briley leaned toward Tim and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Did you know that eighteen American presidents were over six feet tall?”

  Tim returned her grin. “And the reason for this comment is?”

  “Even Eleanor Roosevelt was six feet tall. Tomassi is tall, too, don’t you think?”

  “Shouldn’t short men run for office?”

  “Ask Napoleon.” She nudged his shoulder. “How tall are you?”

  Tim straightened his spine. “Tall enough to score tickets to this shindig. But maybe not tall enough to run for office.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I don’t think I could handle many more of these dinners.”

  They fell silent as a string ensemble began to play. A murmur of approval rose from the crowd as Jeffrey Tomassi extended his hand to the lovely woman at his side. She stepped out from behind the head table and joined him in the cleared space reserved for a dance floor. And while the strings played Eric Clapton’s “Wonderful Tonight,” Jeffrey and Erin Tomassi floated over the floor in each other’s arms.

  Briley fell silent as she studied the dancers moving in the spotlight. How did some women always manage to look so perfect? How, for instance, did Erin Tomassi achieve her unique hair color? Anything that pours from a bottle tends to result in a uniform shade, but Erin Tomassi’s hair was a mixture of gold and blond and variant shades in between. It spilled like a waterfall over her shoulders, gleaming and swaying like living silk….

  Briley shifted her gaze to the couple’s faces—his resolute and handsome, hers soft and graceful. Erin’s mouth moved as she said something to her husband. Though Briley couldn’t see his answering expression, she did observe his hand flexing over his bride’s spine, drawing her closer in the dance.

  Chapter Fourteen

  While the strings played and her husband hummed in her ear, Erin tried to maintain the stiff smile affixed to her face. “You’re holding me too closely.” She uttered the words in a voice designed to reach him alone. “Jeffrey, please.”

  “Relax.” He smiled and spun her again, eliciting another burst of applause from the delighted crowd. “They like it when you’re relaxed.”

  “I am relaxed. I’m smiling.”

  “Not like you were when Dax Lightner looked at you. So step it up, darling, and turn on the charm. Everyone wants to see how you’ll handle the pressure as a U.S. congressman’s wife.”

  She turned her face, not willing to look at him, and felt his palm press again
st her bare back. In a moment, his grip on her hand would crush the bones in her fingers—

  She sighed in relief when the music finally faded. Jeffrey released her and stepped back, bowing to the audience and, with a mocking attempt at gallantry, to her. She waved through a veil of tears and turned to go back to her seat. Only in moments like this, when she hid her face from the crowd, could she relax, but soon she’d be on display again, expected to sit and smile and clap and make sparkling conversation with strangers who felt they owned her somehow, so they had every right to pry and pat and soothe her as if she were a china doll to pass around….

  Someone must have handed Jeffrey a microphone; she could hear his voice booming out more promises he would keep if elected to national office. National health care! Respect for the environment! A college education for all!

  Good grief, he sounded as if he were already running for president. That goal lay at least ten years away, but he and his family had laid careful plans, bridling their ambition until they could sweep into the Oval Office and commandeer space for the entire family in the West Wing.

  Unable to bear the sound of Jeffrey’s voice another minute, Erin stepped behind the head table and slipped through a gap in the velvet curtain that served as a backdrop. An open door beckoned beyond the empty space, and she ran toward it, not caring what anyone might think about her sudden departure.

  On the other side of the door lay a deserted hallway. Safely out of sight, she leaned against the wall and breathed deep to steady her pounding pulse. She had tried her best to please tonight; she had taken extra pains with her hair and makeup, she had chatted gaily with the older man seated on the other side of the lectern. But still Jeffrey had found fault. Naturally, he would. Her efforts were never good enough.