Reluctant Wife

by Carla Cassidy

  Yes, Tyler had the look of a bad boy, but he had the personality of a proper, staid old man, complete with an expression of disapproving disdain that had the capacity to enrage her.

  She got up and poured herself another cup of coffee, then checked her watch. Another fifteen minutes or so and she would leave to meet Dominic. She hoped he agreed to take her on as counsel. She desperately wanted his case, needed this case to prove to everyone, including herself, that she could do something good, something worthwhile.

  She didn’t care what Tyler said. She felt as if fate had stepped in and handed her this opportunity to do something positive. And for once in her life, she intended not to blow it.

  “I’d like to go with you to meet Dominic,” Tyler said as he refolded the paper.

  She looked at him in surprise. “Why? I thought you didn’t want anything to do with the case.”

  “I don’t,” he admitted. “But if you insist on going through with representing him, then as the only other partner in the firm, I should know exactly what’s going on.”

  Samantha shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

  “Besides,” he continued, “I’ve worked too hard gaining a reputation of legal competence. I don’t want you making stupid mistakes that might result in a mistrial or anything that will reflect poorly on the firm.”

  Samantha’s back stiffened at his words. He was so pompous. “My stupid mistakes are behind me, and I wouldn’t take this case unless I felt that I was more than competent.”

  He smiled coolly. “The stakes are mighty high if you’re wrong.”

  “Yeah, but if I’m right, I might topple you off your throne of greatness,” she retorted.

  He laughed, and the deep, unexpected melodic sound of it sent a shiver up Samantha’s spine. He sobered then, a telling, disapproving wrinkle creasing his forehead. “Just remember, your goal is to defend Dominic, not seize my throne.”

  “I’m well aware of the ultimate goal,” she replied. She finished her coffee and stood. “I’ll see you at the jail, partner.”

  Moments later as she drove to the jailhouse located in the center of the small town of Wilford, she tried to decide how Tyler Sinclair managed to get under her skin so easily. It had always been that way. For as long as she could remember he’d been able to stir her up seemingly without much effort on his part.

  It didn’t help that he’d been witness to everything she’d ever done in the name of youthful rebellion. He’d been there the night her father had caught her climbing the trellis to her bedroom after curfew. He’d been present when she’d returned—kicked out and disgraced—from college.

  And of course, he’d been the one to pull her out of that seedy bar, where she’d bellied up and drunk too much, then found herself in a threatening situation. Her face burned as she remembered her attempted seduction of him as he’d driven her home.

  Grief tore through her as she thought of her father and the fact that he would never know she’d finally grown up, that her foolish, self-destructive behavior was behind her. He would never know how she’d struggled on her own to get through college and law school, working menial jobs to support herself in an effort to make him proud.

  She knew deep in her heart that her need to take on Dominic’s case was an attempt to prove to herself and her late father, once and for all, that she was smart, and good, and worthy of the Dark name.

  She emptied her mind of all thoughts as she pulled into the parking area behind the Wilford Police Department. Time to focus on the task at hand and put aside any personal emotional baggage she might carry from her past.

  The Wilford Police Department was housed in a two-story building erected in 1927. The structure showed its age in the crumbling bricks and weathered window frames, and in the musty, ancient scent that greeted Samantha when she walked in the front door.

  She knew the ground floor handled actual police business and the second floor housed the county prosecutor’s office. She wondered vaguely who the prosecutor was now and if she would go head-to-head with him or one of the underlings. She had a feeling the head honcho himself would be prosecuting this particular high-profile case.

  In the basement of the building were the county jail cells. She’d just started down the stairway when Tyler caught up with her.

  “Sort of like entering the dungeon of the damned, don’t you think?” she said.

  “Wilford could definitely use an updated jail,” he agreed. “Unfortunately, the taxpayers keep voting no to funding for such a project.”

  When they reached the bottom of the stairs, a uniformed guard stopped them and asked for identification and the purpose of their visit. He then led them to a small room used for meetings between inmates and counsel.

  The room contained nothing more than a folding table and several chairs. Samantha set her briefcase on the table and sat down. Tyler leaned against the wall, his arms crossed in front of him.

  “Aren’t you going to sit down?” she asked him.

  He shook his head. “I don’t want Dominic to think in any way I’m going to be a part of his defense.”

  “Then you shouldn’t have come.”

  He smiled thinly. “I’m protecting what’s mine.”

  “Half yours,” she reminded him.

  At that moment the door opened and Dominic was led inside by two guards, shackles and all. His dark eyes flared in surprise as he looked first at Samantha, then at Tyler. He didn’t say a word until the guards had unchained him and left the room.

  Samantha tried to hide her dismay at his appearance. When she’d last seen him, he’d been so strong, so vital looking. Now his face reflected a jailhouse pallor, and he appeared to have lost weight.

  “When did you get back into town?” he asked Samantha.

  “Yesterday.” She gestured to the chair across from her.

  “Thank God,” he breathed as he sank down at the table, his gaze lingering on Tyler. “Dad said he was trying to get Mr. Sinclair to take my case, but I didn’t think there was a chance in hell he’d be interested.”

  “Mr. Sinclair isn’t here to take your case. He’s merely here as an interested representative of Justice Inc.,” Samantha explained.

  Dominic frowned at her words. “Then what exactly are you both doing here?”

  “I’m here to offer you my representation,” Samantha explained. “Pro bono.”

  Tyler swallowed his gasp of surprise. He’d had no idea she intended to represent Dominic at the expense of the firm.

  Dominic stared at her for a long moment. “You’re a lawyer?”

  “I’m a damn good lawyer,” she replied. She carefully kept her gaze averted from Tyler, afraid she would see doubt or amusement in his eyes. “I’d like to be your lawyer.”

  Dominic’s eyes played over her, searching her features as if seeking answers of some kind. He finally nodded. “All right. I guess you can’t be any worse than if I randomly picked a name out of the phone book.”

  Samantha tried to smile at that, then withdrew a pad and pen from her briefcase. “Now, tell me exactly what happened the night of Abigail Monroe’s murder.” She frowned, slightly distracted by Tyler’s sexy scent as he joined them at the table.

  She wished he hadn’t come. Something about him made her self-conscious, ill at ease. If he corrected her about anything in front of Dominic, she had a feeling she would be joining Dominic in a cell. She would kill Tyler if he corrected her, kill him for undermining not only her confidence in herself, but Dominic’s confidence in her, as well. With effort, she forced her attention away from her handsome partner and onto her new client.

  It took Dominic only minutes to explain that before Abigail’s marriage to the wealthy older banker, Morgan Monroe, she and Dominic had had a relationship. Abigail had married Monroe on a whim, preferring the life-style the wealthy banker could provide to the life Dominic could offer her. However, she’d made it clear she hoped the relationship with Dominic would continue. Dominic had declined, having no interest in an adu
lterous liaison with no future.

  According to Dominic, he’d seen very little of Abigail during the two months of her marriage; then on the evening of the murder, she’d called him, sounding jubilant. She’d begged him to come over, insisting she needed to talk to him. Reluctantly he’d agreed.

  As Dominic spoke, Samantha took copious notes, carefully keeping her expression blank.

  When he got to Abigail’s, she had greeted him with excitement. “She was manic,” Dominic explained. “She poured champagne and said we were celebrating, but refused to tell me anything more until we’d each had several glasses of the bubbly.”

  Dominic raked a hand through his thick, dark hair, his features taut with tension. “I’ve never had champagne hit me like that. After two glasses I got a little woozy.”

  “Go on,” Samantha urged, seeing in his eyes how difficult this was for him. Although Tyler didn’t say a word, he leaned forward, as if knowing that whatever Dominic had to relate next would be the crux of the crime.

  “She finally told me the marriage had been a mistake, but she’d come up with something that would allow her to leave Monroe with a very healthy divorce settlement. We had more champagne, then this is where things get fuzzy.”

  Samantha noticed that Dominic’s hands shook and he clasped them together on top of the table to still their trembling. He closed his eyes and when he finally looked at her again, dark torture radiated from him. “She wanted to make love. She started to undress, but I stopped her. We fought. She stomped into the bedroom and I followed her. She started to undress again and we struggled. We fell onto the bed, and that’s all I remember.”

  He expelled a deep breath, then continued. “When I came to, I was on the bed. Abigail was next to me, naked...and dead, strangled with a scarf. Before I had time to figure out exactly what had happened, two officers broke into the room and placed me under arrest for her murder.”

  Samantha frowned. “How did the officers get there? What made them show up at that time?”

  Dominic shrugged. “I heard that somebody made a phone call, said that Abigail was screaming and it sounded like she was in danger.”

  Samantha frowned again and made several notes to herself on the legal pad. They spoke for a few more minutes, Samantha asking questions, then listening intently to his replies and jotting down notes.

  “I didn’t kill her, Samantha. Somebody is setting me up to take this fall. I swear, I didn’t do it. I couldn’t have. I loved her.”

  “I know, and I’m going to work as hard as I can to prove that to a jury.” Samantha covered his hands with one of hers. “We’re going to get you out of this mess,” she said firmly.

  Dominic shook his head. “You’re a lot more optimistic than I am. I’m a cop. I know how bad the evidence looks against me.”

  “Just do me a favor—don’t talk to anyone about any of the circumstances of this case,” Samantha advised. She stood and threw her pen and pad into her briefcase, then snapped it closed. “The only person you talk to is me. I’ll be back to see you in a day or two and we’ll talk more, outline our defense strategy.”

  Samantha walked over to the heavy steel door and motioned to the guard outside that they were finished. Dominic stood as guards came in to take him back to his cell. As Samantha watched Dominic being led away, she wondered if she’d bitten off more than she could chew. Again.

  Despite his reservations, Tyler had to admit he was impressed by Samantha’s skill. She’d asked the questions a good defense lawyer would ask, and she hadn’t appeared rattled by the incriminating answers.

  As they walked back up the stairs, Tyler pondered why her very competence somehow irritated him. Was it because she displayed so naturally the qualities he’d had to work long and hard to possess?

  Or was it because her skirt had been too damned short, exposing a sinful length of shapely leg? There should be a law against legs like hers.

  As he followed behind her, he noted the sexy sway of her hips beneath the short skirt. There should be a law against the way she walked, as well.

  “Do you have to go right to the office or do you have a few minutes for a cup of coffee?” she asked as they reached the door leading outside. “I’ve got a few things to go over with you.”

  He didn’t want to meet her for coffee, was sorry he’d come here in the first place. “It will have to be a quick cup,” he surprised himself by saying.

  She nodded. “Is that little café still on the corner of Oak and Main?”

  “Yes, the Corner Café.”

  “I’ll meet you there.” She whirled on her heels.

  As she walked toward her car, the autumn breeze flirted with the hem of her skirt, causing it to lift to a higher level of danger. Tyler’s ire rose accordingly.

  I should have just gone straight to the office this morning, he told himself as he got into his car and headed for the nearby café. Only one day back in town and already Samantha was turning his world upside down.

  After her father’s death he’d been shocked when he learned the contents of Jamison’s will—that Jamison had split the firm between Tyler and his eldest, rebellious daughter. Tyler had felt betrayed by the man he’d considered his surrogate father, the man who had made it clear for years that one day Justice Inc. would belong to Tyler.

  In the last two years of his life, Jamison had done little of the actual work at the firm. He’d depended on Tyler to carry the workload while he enjoyed a semi-retirement of sorts. Tyler hadn’t minded. He’d considered he was investing in his future—a future he now shared with Samantha.

  He pulled into a parking space in front of the Corner Café. Damn Jamison for splitting the firm. And damn the man for binding Tyler to his daughter.

  Tyler had one single ray of hope. If Samantha proved true to her past, she would either do something outrageous and run away again, or she would tire of the work and emotional drain of the job and quit.

  The moment he walked into the café, despite the crowded interior, he spied her immediately. It was as if he had a built-in homing device where she was concerned. Again his irritation rose irrationally.

  He worked his way through the crowd, mostly senior citizens who received free coffee every Tuesday morning at the café. Somehow, either through luck or sweet talk, Samantha had managed to get one of the coveted high-backed booths near the fire exit. There were only three such booths, the high backs providing a sort of privacy from the rest of the patrons.

  “I ordered coffee for us both,” she said as he slid in across from her. “Cream for you, right?”

  “Right,” he replied, surprised that she would remember such a little thing as how he drank his coffee. “So, what did you want to talk to me about?”

  “What investigative company do we use?” she asked.

  Tyler smiled. Obviously she expected this to be easy. “We don’t have an investigative company we use.”

  A tiny wrinkle marred her forehead as she frowned. “I don’t understand. Surely you use somebody to do legwork—a private investigator of some sort?”

  “Most of the cases we handle don’t require a lot of legwork, and what little is required, I do myself.” He smiled at her deepening frown. “I warned you, Samantha, that we usually don’t take cases like Dominic’s. For the most part, our load is civil cases that don’t demand a lot of investigation.”

  The conversation ceased momentarily as the waitress appeared to serve their coffee. “Can I get you anything else?” she asked brightly and they both shook their heads.

  “But I know Father used somebody several years ago. I remember meeting him in the office one afternoon,” Samantha continued, the moment the waitress had departed.

  “You probably met Wylie Brooks. A burly bald man?”

  “Yes, that’s him.”

  “Wylie spends most of his days fishing. He retired about six months ago.” Tyler leaned forward. “Samantha, you aren’t going to find anyone from around here to help you with this. Morgan Monroe is not only re
spected in this town, he’s powerful. Morgan Investments services half the mortgages in Wilford.”

  “Well, he doesn’t service mine. Everything Father owned was paid off free and clear, and one of the first things I want to know is exactly what kind of alibi Mr. Morgan Monroe has for the night of the murder. You know the husband is often the most likely suspect.”

  “Airtight,” Tyler replied. “At the time of the murder, Morgan was seventy miles away giving a speech at an investment-opportunity banquet. He’s got a hundred witnesses to his presence there.”

  Tyler leaned against the back of the booth. He could almost feel sorry for her, with the helpless frustration that created the fetching wrinkle in the center of her brow. But he had warned her.

  “I don’t understand. When you represented that young woman on the stalking case several months ago, you didn’t use an investigator?” she asked.

  Surprise whipped through him. He grinned lazily. “You managed to follow my career from out of town?”

  “Don’t flatter yourself,” she snapped, her cheeks flushing a becoming pink. “I told you before, I had a subscription to the Wilford paper. I just happen to have read an article about that particular case.” She eyed him critically. “What’s the difference between it and Dominic’s?”

  Tyler took a sip of his coffee, then grinned at her once again. “Samantha, there’s a big difference between a murder case and a stalking one.”

  “Yeah, Dominic could get the electric chair, while the stalker was only looking at a couple of years in prison.” She tilted her head, her gaze still curious.

  “The stalking case didn’t end up with anyone dead. It was fairly cut-and-dried, of little interest to anyone other than the people involved.”

  “But it was a criminal case,” Samantha pressed. “Father never did criminal cases. How did you get him to let Justice Inc. get involved?”

  Tyler hesitated. “To tell the truth, I didn’t tell him I’d taken it on until it was too late for me to pull out.”