by Mary Burton
The avuncular comment had her shrugging. “Tell that to the workload. When it eases up, I will, too.”
“The work is always gonna be there, Ms. Wellington. Always.”
As much as she’d earned a bit more fun, she’d never resented the work or viewed it as a bad thing. Work meant money, and money meant freedom. And if she didn’t have time to spend her money, then so be it. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
The good humor of the moment quickly passed as she moved through the throng of people toward the elevators. She had a half hour before court, which was time enough to talk to Levi, who’d requested another meeting.
She found the prosecutor in the conference room. He sat at the head of the table, his head bent over an open case file. He made quick, abrupt notes with his left hand. A line furrowed his brow.
“Levi,” she said. “You wanted to meet before court.”
He glanced up, and smoothing his hand down his red tie, he rose and pulled out a chair for her. “Glad you could meet me.”
The soft scent of his aftershave wafted around him. As always, he was impeccably dressed in hand-tailored suits that drew attention to his lean waist. She’d heard he was a bit of a gym rat, but seeing as she’d never set foot in a gym, their paths weren’t likely ever to cross.
She leaned back in her chair, noting the way the hard back dug into her spine. “What do you have?”
“Involuntary manslaughter. She serves four years.”
Charlotte was shocked by such a generous deal. “My client doesn’t want any deals.”
“This is a great deal and can end this now.”
“It is over. The jury is back.”
“Take the deal, and we both win.”
“My client loses four years of her life.” Levi was a tough nut, and for him to cave was surprising. “She’s made it clear. No deal.”
He knitted his fingers and leaned forward. “Charlotte, I’m not trying to be a hard ass. I feel for this woman. I don’t want to see her suffer any more than you do.”
“You sure tried to put her away.”
“That’s my job. And believe me, I did not enjoy it.”
It was a good deal. “Let me place a call to the bailiff.” She dialed and within minutes was on the phone with Samantha. As she suspected, the woman turned it down.
Charlotte turned off her phone. “She says no.”
“You both could regret this.”
“I don’t think so. See you in court.” The butterflies churning her stomach had her glancing at her watch as she moved down the hallway. She had fifteen minutes to show time.
Show time.
Funny she could think of court like show time. That was the term her mother had used as she’d left for her carnival shows.
“Mom, you look tired.”
Mom finished underlining her right eye. “Really? I’m feeling great, kiddo.”
“Can’t you take a night off ? We can watch a movie and eat popcorn. We’ve not done that in a long time.”
“Kiddo, Momma can’t say no to work because work is what keeps us together.”
“One night won’t make a difference.”
“One night leads to two nights, and then before you know it, you’re out of a job. I’ll work until the day I die.”
Until the day I die.
She’d suffered her stroke two weeks later.
Charlotte pushed through the double doors of the courtroom and moved to the defense table. The next few minutes moved along on a steady predictable course. The bailiff arrived. Deputies escorted in Samantha White, who took her seat by Charlotte. Levi took his seat. The courtroom filled, the jury took their seats, and the judge arrived.
Judge Winston Lawless struck his gavel against his bench and announced court proceedings to begin. Black robes broadened the appearance of his shoulders and accentuated dark hair combed back from stern features. In his late forties, he’d earned a reputation as a hard-ass.
Charlotte’s back was to the courtroom door, but without turning, she knew the instant Rokov arrived. She couldn’t say how she knew, only that the energy in the room had changed. It felt more charged, almost as if it buzzed with force.
Charlotte kept her expression neutral, and she did not dare turn and look to confirm his arrival. But the muscles in her body tensed, and she kept aligning her pencil with her yellow legal pad.
“Will the defendant rise?”
Charlotte and Samantha rose. Samantha dared a glance back, searching for her mother, who had returned from the beach but had not come to the courthouse for the verdict. Carefully, she smoothed the wrinkles from her prison jumpsuit.
Charlotte took her hand and squeezed it.
“Members of the jury,” the judge said. “Have you reached a verdict?”
A short man with graying hair and a red tie stood. “We have, Your Honor.” The foreman handed a slip of paper to the bailiff.
The judge received the paper and read it. He frowned, nodded. “What is your verdict?”
“On the count of arson, we the jury find the defendant. . . not guilty.”
Charlotte and Samantha both remained rigid.
“And on the count of first-degree murder?” Judge Lawson said.
“We find the defendant innocent.”
As a frowning Judge Lawless read his final instructions, a whimper escaped across Samantha’s lips, and she leaned forward and buried her face in her hands. She started to weep. Charlotte tipped her head back, savoring the rush of this victory, and then wrapped her arm around her client.
“Thank you so much.” Samantha looked up at her with red watery eyes. “Thank you so much.”
Charlotte smiled, knowing she often came across as cold and unfeeling. “You are very welcome.”
“You’ve saved my life.”
Charlotte smiled. “I’m glad to have helped.”
She watched the bailiff lead Samantha away and then hurried out of the courtroom quickly. She paused briefly to talk to reporters and then hurried toward the exit.
She had just cleared the courthouse steps when she heard her name. “Wellington. I want a word with you.”
The masculine voice was rich with anger. Irritated by the rude delay more than fearful, Charlotte turned and faced the man. “Can I help you?”
Tall and thin, he wore khakis, a white shirt, and work boots. He’d slicked back his dark hair and sharply parted it on the right side.
“You can tell me why you helped that witch get free.” He closed the gap between them until he stood only inches from her.
This close, Charlotte could smell the hint of gasoline and motor oil on the man’s flannel shirt and jeans. “Do I know you?”
“I’m Lonnie White. Samantha killed my brother.”
And then she could see the resemblance. She didn’t focus much of her research on Lonnie because reports indicated he’d been living in Atlanta for the last several years. What facts she’d gathered ticked back: auto repairman, married, military service with a general discharge. Lonnie and his brother hadn’t been close. “I didn’t notice you in the courtroom during the trial.”
“I’m here now.” He weighed at least a hundred pounds more, and he was a good six inches taller. “Hell of a show you put on in there. Made Samantha look like a fucking saint.”
Ah, profanity, the language of scholars. “I’ve got better things to do than have this conversation, Mr. White.” She turned to cut around him toward the street corner, but he blocked her path.
Clenched fists hovered at his side. “She killed him because she wanted the insurance money. She looks sweet and nice, but she is evil.”
“The jury did not agree. Now, get out of my way, Mr. White.”
A muscle in his jaw clenched. “Not until you’ve heard me out, bitch.”
Her grip tightened on her briefcase. She glanced around at the crowds of people milling in front of the courthouse. “I’ve heard all I want to hear. Get out of my way.” Each word was clipped and direct.
He shook his head.
“Bitch, you made my brother look like a monster in that courtroom. He was a good decent man who worked hard and who loved his wife and kids.”
Anger egged on by impatience blurred her judgment. “He was a monster, Mr. White. He was having an affair with a woman at his office and wanted to marry her. But instead of asking for a divorce, he sealed every window in his house and then set it on fire. His plan was to burn the house down with his wife and children inside. Samantha hit him with that golf club because he stood between her and the only remaining exit out the house. Yeah, I’d say he was a hell of a great guy.”
“Whore. Bitch.”
“Get out of my way, now.”
His fists clenched tighter as he raised them. “I read about you. Too bad that guy didn’t kill you a couple of years ago. Scum like you and Samantha don’t deserve to live.”
The pure venom dripping from the words had her retrenching. Charlotte’s temper had skewed her judgment, and she’d miscalculated the danger. She took a step back but bumped into a solid wall of muscle. Strong hands settled on her shoulders and immediately moved her out of Lonnie’s reach. She didn’t have to turn to know who had her back. Rokov’s scent gave him away.
“Is there a problem here?” Rokov said.
Lonnie’s face paled with more fury. “Someone needs to teach this woman a lesson. Samantha White is not a fucking saint. She’s evil.”
Rokov’s dark sunglasses made it impossible to see his eyes, but his braced stance and hand on his hip next to his gun holster telegraphed menace. “Are you threatening Ms. Wellington?”
Lonnie’s eyes narrowed. “I ain’t making threats.”
“Then what are you doing? Looks like threats to me.”
Lonnie’s sudden grin revealed several missing teeth. “I ain’t like Samantha. I ain’t a curse on the world.”
“Then what are you doing here?”
“Hearing the verdict.”
Charlotte stepped around Rokov. “I was doing my job. Read your bill of rights, Lonnie. We all are entitled to a defense.”
“Not whores like Samantha.” The veins in Lonnie’s neck bulged. “She deserves to be burned at the stake.”
“I’m telling you to back off and find a spot to cool down.” Rokov shifted his stance in front of Charlotte. “One more word out of you and I’ll arrest you.”
“On what charge?” he challenged.
“I’ll find one,” Rokov said.
“And when he’s done making his list of offenses, I’ll add a few of my own,” she said.
Lonnie shifted his gaze to Charlotte. “Sure, Ms. Wellington. Sure. I’ll back down.” He even managed a gap-toothed grin. “I’m just blowing smoke.”
“Be very sure about that,” Rokov said. “Or I swear, I’ll be the first to haul your ass to jail.”
“Yeah, whatever.” Lonnie waved his hand, turned on his heel, and hurried down the steps. He soon vanished around a corner.
“Thanks,” Charlotte said. “I didn’t diffuse his temper so well. I should have known better.”
His glasses tossed back her reflection. “You’re good at stirring the pot.”
“It’s why I get paid the big bucks.”
“You didn’t get paid this go-around.”
“Old habits die hard.”
The danger had passed, the adrenaline had dwindled, and suddenly she felt shaky. She didn’t quite trust her legs to work and hesitated, hoping a small delay would help her gain equilibrium. “Thanks again.”
“You all right?” His gaze all but burned through the sunglasses.
“Me? Sure. I think the guy just caught me by surprise, and I’m not so fond of surprises.”
“You’re headed to your office?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll walk with you.”
“You don’t have to do that.” She felt helpless and silly. “I can handle a two-block walk.”
“I can use the exercise. I’ve been sitting too much lately.” He nodded as if to say, Get going.
With a begrudging acceptance, she began walking. He kept his strides measured, setting a more balanced pace. She wasn’t a fan of small talk but meatier topics had become explosive: Sooner, the carnival, the Young investigation, and God help her, the sex they’d had just six days ago.
Refusing to stoop to the weather or favorite movies, she chose the lesser of the evils. “How goes your investigation into the Young case? I’ve been keeping up with it through the papers.”
“It’s slow. We’re still looking at her car and the man who got into it before she vanished.”
“You’d think with all the cameras and people in this area that someone would have seen something.”
“Yeah. But I’m starting to think our killer had his entire agenda well planned.”
“Even the best killers leave clues.”
“So I’ve heard.”
They reached an intersection and he took her elbow in hand. Three cars passed. When the road was clear, they crossed the street. Taking her elbow was a protective, unnecessary, and kind gesture she appreciated.
“The organized killers often leave clues so small they are almost invisible,” she said.
“If that’s true, then this guy is very, very organized.”
She’d never heard the faintest hint of self-doubt from Rokov. And even now it wasn’t so much that she heard the doubt ... she simply felt the doubt. If she sat in Madame Divine’s chair now, she’d have said he had a strong aura, and he was destined for great things. “You’ll find the killer, detective. You’re a clever one.”
He grinned. “Was that a compliment, counselor?”
“I give credit where credit is due.”
He slid his hand into his pocket. “Let’s hope I am that clever. This guy needs to be found.”
Again she sensed the fear that another victim would die before he could find his killer. But to ask a question so personal meant opening a door she did not wish to open. And so they walked in silence.
When they reached her office, she faced him. “Here I am. Home sweet home.”
He glanced at the three-story brick town house with its wrought-iron front rail, stone planter filled with red geraniums, and dark lacquer front door sporting the pineapple head doorknocker. “Fancy digs, counselor.”
“Don’t be fooled by the old world charm. The HVAC is in need of an overhaul, and I’ve got a couple of basement pipes that like to freeze in the winter.” What had prompted this candor?
He tested the railing’s sturdiness with a sound shake. “It still had to cost you a fortune.”
“I’ll let you in on a secret.” It was a small, safe secret. “I got the place in a bankruptcy sale a couple of years ago. I redid the first floor, electric, and plumbing, but the upper floors are a disaster. I wouldn’t dare show them to you.”
Humor and interest sparked in his gaze. “So Wellington and James is a facade?”
No truer words had been spoken. “One day I’ll have the place finished.”
“You could probably flip the building and make a good bit of money.”
“A second mortgage financed the renovation. Seemed like a good move until the bottom dropped out of the real estate market and landed me upside down in the mortgage. I can’t sell, but as long as I keep working, I’ll be fine. The market will catch back up.” And it would, just as the work would increase.
He glanced around to make sure no one was listening and then leaned toward her. “Why not just dip into the trust fund to finance the renovations?”
That made her laugh. “No trust fund, detective. It’s just me with a big stick holding off the wolves.”
“Alone.”
“It’s the way it’s always been.”
“Doesn’t have to be.”
She ignored the subtext. “It’s less complicated that way.”
“No tangles.”
Tangles. The word of warning she’d used before they’d made love the last time.
“Right.”
“Being
alone doesn’t bother you?”
Lately it did. Too many nights she’d lain awake wishing she could roll over into his strong embrace. But the cards didn’t bode well for The Master at Bending Rules and The Boy Scout. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.”
He pulled off his glasses, revealing a direct clear gaze. “I’d like to see you again.”
“I would dearly love a few hours alone with you.” Her voice was barely a whisper, and she was careful not to lean toward him, fearful someone would notice. “But I’m going to have to take a rain check. I barely have time to sleep.”
He curled and uncurled his fingers as if resisting the urge to touch her. “When?”
“Soon.”
“Very soon.” Not a question but a statement.
“I can’t make promises.”
With an impatient jab, he shoved his glasses in his breast pocket. “Charlotte, stop worrying and just let this unfold.”
“Into what?”
He took her hand in his and rubbed his thumb against her palm. “Isn’t that the fun of it, not knowing?”
“I like being in control.”
“So I’ve noticed.”
Memories of her most brazen bedroom moves warmed her face.
Smiling, he gave her hand a gentle squeeze and then released it. “We’ll work on that.”
“Mighty confident, detective.”
“I try.” He glanced around as if scanning the streets for trouble. “Be careful. Lonnie doesn’t strike me as a quitter.”
She straightened, remembering they were in public. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Rokov turned and strode down the street, leaving her to wonder why she was so afraid of the man.
On Mondays, Dr. Maya Jones went running at the local high school track, raced home to shower and change. Then she grabbed a coffee and bagel at Just Java, where she caught up with friends. By three she’d be at the school teaching class.
She was so predictable, as her on-again/off-again lover had once said. But she found comfort in structure and routine and had long ago decided to do what she pleased. She glanced at her sports watch as she strolled into the coffee shop.
The scent of coffee mingled with freshly baked pastries flavored with cinnamon. Warm and inviting, this place always made her happy. Mothers brought their children here. Writers read from their latest works. Business was conducted.