by Lisa Childs
“Why can’t you accept that you’re representing a guilty man?” she asked.
“Because I’m not,” he stubbornly insisted.
“Are you going to claim you’ve never represented a guilty client?” she asked.
A muscle twitched along his cheek. “No.”
“Why?” she asked. “Why do you want to help the guilty elude justice?” That was something she would never be able to get over—the reason they could never really be together.
“You’re a hypocrite.” He called her on it. “You claim you’re all about justice.”
She tensed. “I am.”
“Then how can you forget that everyone is entitled to a fair trial?”
His accusation rankled, making her angry, and when Hillary got angry, she argued. Hell, she argued all the time. She knew it.
“I thought maybe you became a defense lawyer because you thought your parents didn’t get a fair trial,” she admitted. “But then I realized that you don’t represent people like your parents. You only represent rich people.”
“That’s not the case,” he said. “I represented the guard’s grandson.”
“Which benefited you as much as him,” she pointed out.
He ignored her. “And even if I did only represent rich people, why would that be an issue? Are you like Judge Harrison? Automatically prejudiced against the rich because you’re jealous they have more than you do?”
She laughed.
“That’s it, huh? You don’t think rich people deserve justice, too?”
“I have nothing against rich people,” she assured him. “In fact, the person I love the most in the whole world is much richer than Byron Mueller.”
He tensed, and then he snorted. “Dopey Dwight? I doubt that.”
“I don’t love Dwight,” she said.
“Who do you love?” he asked.
“My father.” And with that, she swooped her briefcase off his desk, snapped it shut and stalked out of his office. It was clear that with as much as they had in common, their differences were too great to overcome.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
STONE’S HEAD REELED with all the new information in it. Byron’s kid had been sleeping with his wife. And Hillary Bellows was the daughter of one of the richest men in New York City—hell, in the world. But she didn’t use his name. She used her dead mother’s maiden name instead.
She hadn’t told him all of that; he’d found it out on his own. Once she told him that the man she loved the most was wealthier than Mueller.
The man she loved the most...
He felt again that lurch of his stomach, as it had roiled with that emotion he hated. Jealousy.
He’d been so jealous until she’d admitted that man was her father. Then he had been confused.
But Hillary must have changed her name because she didn’t want any preferential treatment. Or maybe bias.
Like the bias she was showing Byron. She refused to accept what the new evidence proved. His innocence.
Stone slapped a copy of the photo on the table in front of Byron. “You’ve seen this before,” he said. “You hired the private investigator who took it.”
After Hillary had stormed out of his office with her copy, Stone had done a little more research. He’d delved into his client’s bank records again and had found the payments to the private investigator.
Byron grimaced as he glanced at it. Then he pushed it back across the table with a trembling hand. “Get it out of here!”
They were at the jail again—in the visiting room used for defendants to meet with their lawyers. Stone hated these rooms. But there was something he hated even more—when people kept stuff from him, like Hillary had kept her real identity from him and like Byron had kept the truth.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Stone asked his client.
He wanted to ask Hillary the same thing, but she’d stormed off too quickly after her revelation to give him the chance.
“It has nothing to do with anything,” Byron insisted.
“Your son and wife were sleeping together,” Stone said bluntly. “It has everything to do with you, especially when you’re on trial for her murder.”
The billionaire shook his head.
“So there’s only one reason why you wouldn’t have told me,” Stone said.
And he should have realized it sooner. If not for Hillary distracting him, he probably would have.
“You’re protecting him,” Stone continued. “That’s why you bought that alibi. It wasn’t really for you. It was for your son. His friend claimed that both of you were with him.”
Stone had been the one who’d pointed out to Byron that grand juries and regular juries discounted family members alibiing each other. That was why they’d needed his friend to swear he’d been with them both. At the time, Stone had thought the friend was telling the truth, though—until Hillary had produced those bank statements.
Just like she’d produced the photo.
Who the hell was this mole that he or she kept getting ahold of documents like this? Someone close to Stone? Someone at the office?
He didn’t have time to worry about that now. He had to make sure his client didn’t go to prison for something he hadn’t done.
“My son doesn’t need protecting,” Byron said. “He didn’t do anything wrong. She’s the one who seduced him, who tricked him. He wouldn’t have betrayed me if she hadn’t manipulated him into it.”
“I wasn’t talking about his sleeping with her,” Stone said. He didn’t care about that. Adultery was Ronan’s concern, not his. Ronan was the divorce lawyer. Stone was the one who represented criminals. That was what Hillary thought. But even she would have to eventually admit that his client was innocent. “He killed your wife.”
Byron tensed. And Stone knew it was the truth. He saw the pain all over his client’s face, the guilt and regret and horror. He suspected Byron might have even been an eyewitness to the murder.
“We need to talk to the ADA,” he said.
Now she would have to accept that he was right. His client was innocent.
And he wasn’t sure why it was so important that she knew. Was it so that she would drop the charges against Byron? Or was it so she would see Stone wasn’t the bad guy she’d thought he was?
He cared about justice as much as she did. Maybe more. Because he didn’t just want to win; he wanted to make sure the right person paid for the crime.
* * *
Stone must have shown the photo to his client and let him know that she had it, too.
Byron Mueller knew it was all over now. He was certain to be convicted once she submitted the evidence. What did he want? Murder two?
That was the conviction she was certain to get with no negotiating with him and his high-priced lawyer. And knowing Stone, he probably wanted something less.
Manslaughter.
She snorted. That wasn’t going to happen. No matter how good he was in bed.
This wasn’t about sex. This was about justice.
Bethany deserved it. She’d died way too young.
The jail guard stepped back and opened the door for Hillary. With a nod of appreciation, she stepped over the threshold into the small visitation room. She visited the jail a lot. But given his clientele, Stone did as well.
Did it bother him when he did? Did it remind him of visiting his parents? Or hadn’t he ever visited them? Since he’d run away from them, maybe not.
Unlike his client, who was seated at a table, Stone was standing and pacing the small confines of the room like a feral cat who’d been caged. And she knew this wasn’t where he wanted to be, which was probably how he’d felt as a kid.
She felt a twinge of regret over his childhood. It had sucked. But instead of turning to a life of crime, he’d...
Chosen to help cr
iminals.
Really, what was the difference?
She couldn’t see it. And because she couldn’t see it, she couldn’t see a future for them. Not that she wanted a future with him—or with anyone else. Hell, nobody knew whether or not they had a future.
Her mother had found that out, way too young.
She drew her attention from Stone, took the chair across from Byron Mueller and focused on him. He didn’t look like the brash billionaire who was used to either buying or bullying to get whatever he wanted. But maybe he’d realized that he couldn’t buy his freedom.
“So why did you want to see me?” she asked, but she directed the question at Byron—not his attorney. She didn’t want to talk to Stone after the way they’d left things, after he’d accused her of being unfair.
He didn’t know her at all. Even Miguel had said she was fair.
“No offense, Ms. Bellows,” Mueller said. “But I didn’t want to see you.”
She had to glance at Stone now. He’d stopped pacing to stand beside Byron’s chair. “So why am I here? I thought your client had an admission to make.”
“You know what the admission is,” Stone said. “That his wife was having an affair with his son.”
“Yes...” She furrowed her brow with confusion. “I am well aware of that, and I know your client is, too. The private investigator he hired is the one who took that photograph.” The PI hadn’t sent it to her, though, and he claimed he didn’t know how it had gotten out. His client—Mueller—had told him to destroy it.
She figured someone had hacked his computer. He’d taken the photo with a digital camera and downloaded it. He probably hadn’t deleted it from everything.
Mueller glanced nervously at his lawyer. He must have been surprised she knew so much.
Stone didn’t look surprised. He would have known that she would do her research before submitting the photo as evidence in court.
“The private investigator is going to testify that you came unglued when he showed you that photo,” she continued.
Mueller’s face flushed.
“You’ll have to get it admitted as evidence first,” Stone said.
“I will.”
“You already rested your case,” he reminded her.
She chuckled. “But I can submit that photo as a rebuttal to your client’s claim that he didn’t know his wife was having an affair.”
“My client hasn’t testified on his own behalf,” Stone said. “And he won’t have to now.”
“No, he won’t have to testify,” she agreed. “But he will have to give up the details of his crime in his allocution when he accepts the plea I offer him.”
Stone snorted now. “Fuck your plea. He hasn’t committed any crime, and you know it. How can you not drop the charges?”
“How can you be so delusional?” she demanded. But then, she’d been delusional like that when she used to fantasize about him. Sure, some of those things had happened. They’d had sex. But they had no future. “That photo goes to your client’s motive. He’s guilty!”
“Tell her,” Stone prodded Mueller, nudging one of the older man’s stooped shoulders. The guy looked like he’d aged a lot in jail and that he hadn’t been eating well, if at all. The orange jumpsuit hung on a frame that had once been pudgy. “Tell her that your son did it.”
She let her mouth drop open in shock as she looked from the attorney to the client. She addressed Stone first. “I knew you were desperate to win this case. But you’re going to make the man throw his own son under the bus?”
Then she turned toward Mueller. “And you’re going to do it? You’re going to point the finger of blame at your own son? What? Out of revenge?”
“You’re wrong,” Mueller said, “about me. I’m not going to blame my son. You’re right about my lawyer. He will do anything to win. He now has a two-million-dollar bonus riding on the jury deciding I’m not guilty.”
She sucked in a breath.
And Mueller added, “He would do anything to win this trial.”
Even her? Was that the only reason he’d had sex with her? He’d hoped to distract her enough that she would lose the case. Or had he hoped she would fall in love with him and just drop the charges like he’d requested?
Yes, she was right. Stone didn’t know her at all.
And he never would.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
ANGER COURSED THROUGH Stone, and he didn’t know who he was angrier at: his client for refusing to speak the truth or Hillary for refusing to listen. Even if Byron had talked, Stone doubted she would have believed anything he said about the murder.
The only thing she had listened to and believed was the two-million-dollar bonus Stone would receive for a not-guilty verdict. That that was the only reason Stone was so determined to win.
The minute Byron had told her that, she’d jumped up from the chair and pounded on the door for the guard to let her out. Before she’d stepped out, she’d turned back to him—and the look she’d given him.
Stone shivered at the iciness of her blue eyes. He hadn’t thought she—with all her passion—could ever look that cold. Did she think the only reason he’d kissed her and had had sex with her was to get that not-guilty verdict?
Damn it!
And damn Byron Mueller for not telling the truth. He’d refused to talk to Stone, too, and had had the guard bring him back to his cell. Apparently, he’d rather rot behind bars than implicate his son.
Stone could understand wanting to protect your kid. But when that kid was a killer...
He shivered, but maybe it was just because the November wind whipped through his clothes as he hurried down the street from the Tombs. Hillary must have gone down into the subway, because he didn’t catch a glimpse of her. So he hurried to his car and drove straight to her apartment.
He suspected she’d gone there instead of her office. But when he rang her bell, he could detect no movement inside. He heard something behind him, a soft gasp as she turned the corner from the elevators and saw him.
With his driving, he’d beaten her home. Of course, it looked, from the bag that she was carrying, like she’d stopped to pick up dinner.
“Candy bars?” he asked her, his pulse quickening as he remembered how the chocolate tasted on her lips, in her mouth.
“What are you doing here?” she asked. “Harassing me?”
The wind and the drive had cooled his anger—until now. Now it whipped through him even more sharply than the wind. But instead of chilling him, it made him hot. “Did I ever do anything that you didn’t want me...” He stepped closer and, lowering his head and his voice, whispered in her ear, “...to do to you...”
She shivered. “I’m not upset about what you—we—did,” she said.
He was glad that she’d owned her part in their after-hours adventures.
“I’m upset about why you did it.”
“I had no reason,” he said. No ulterior motives. He hadn’t had a thought in his head except desire that first time he’d kissed her.
“You had two million reasons why,” she said.
“It was only one until recently,” he said.
She swung her hand toward his face. He would have let it connect if he’d had it coming. But he’d done nothing wrong. So he caught her wrist and jerked her against him.
Her eyes widened; he hoped it wasn’t out of fear for how he’d reacted but because she felt his reaction to her closeness. Because even as furious as he was with her, he still wanted her.
He always wanted her.
He rubbed his erection against her belly. “This is why,” he said. “Because I want you.”
“You want me to drop the charges against your client,” she said. And instead of melting into him, like she usually did, her body was stiff and tense.
“Yes, I do,” he admitted. “But
I’m not using sex to manipulate you into doing that.”
“Then why after years of never noticing me did you suddenly kiss me?” she asked. And she was the one backing him up against the wall now, like she sometimes got in the face of a hostile witness to get them to crack.
Stone just grinned. “Why the hell do you think I never noticed you? I’ve lusted after you for years, Hillary Bellows. I just had self-control until we were finally alone together.” That had been his downfall.
She was his downfall.
Her blue eyes narrowed and she studied him through her lashes.
So he turned the tables on her. “What about you? Why are you having sex with me?” he asked. “Was it just so you could distract me so much with thoughts of being with you, of being inside you?” He groaned as he thought of it, of how damn wonderful it felt moving inside her.
And a little moan slipped through her lips. She’d been holding her keys in her hand, along with her bag of food; they jingled as she turned toward her door with them and suddenly jammed them into the lock.
He knew she wanted to feel it, too—what he felt every time they were together. The passion. The heat.
The rightness.
“If that was your plan,” he said, as he lowered his head to brush his lips across the nape of her neck, “it worked. You’ve distracted the hell out of me!”
The locks clicked, and she pushed open the door. He waited—uncertain what to expect. Had he gotten through to her? Or was she still as icily furious as she’d been at the Tombs?
When she turned back toward him, her eyes weren’t cold. They were dark, dilated with desire. She reached out, but instead of slapping him, like she had earlier, she grabbed his tie and tugged him into the apartment with her.
The door slammed behind Stone. He wasn’t certain if she’d kicked it or he had. He covered her hand on his tie and asked, “Are you going to use this to strangle me?”
“I should,” she told him.
“Why?” he asked.
“You know why. You never told me about that bon—”
He covered her lips with his fingers. “No. Why did you kiss me back that first time I kissed you?”