Legal Passion

by Lisa Childs

  She didn’t want his job, though. She wasn’t even certain she wanted the judgeship now. Stone might have been right that she was already too judgmental.

  Not that she was, though.

  Byron Mueller had to be guilty. A jury of his peers had convicted him. She’d had all the evidence.

  But why did she suddenly feel as if she’d missed something? Then she realized what she missed:

  Stone.

  He was the person with whom she wanted to celebrate her victory. But that wasn’t possible when they were always on opposite sides. She was smart to have ended this thing—whatever it was—with him.

  Sure, she’d fallen for him. But she’d get over it. Just like she’d gotten over the death of her mother and not seeing much of her father.

  She stared at the cell phone she’d left sitting on her desk. A few law school friends had texted congratulations to her. Dwight hadn’t. She didn’t know if he was mad about the Stone thing or if he’d taken her advice and was trying complicated.

  Would it work for him? It might. He didn’t have the history Hillary did. She knew it wouldn’t work for her. No. It was better that it had ended now with Stone before she’d gotten attached or something.

  Not that she’d ever really been attached to anyone or anything.

  But when knuckles rapped on her door, her heart jumped and warmed with hope. Was it Stone?

  “Come in!” she called out, and she winced at the eagerness in her voice.

  Maybe he hadn’t been as upset about losing as he’d looked. Maybe he’d realized that she was right, that his client was guilty.

  When the door slowly opened, it wasn’t Stone standing there. She immediately recognized the young man from the photo the private investigator had taken and from court. He hadn’t taken the stand in his father’s defense. While his friend had testified that the two of them had been with him at the time of the murder, the kid hadn’t corroborated that testimony. She’d thought at the time that it was because the friend had perjured himself for the big payout Byron Mueller had given him.

  Now she had a niggling feeling in her stomach that made her feel even sicker than she’d already been feeling.

  It wasn’t unusual for a defendant’s family to seek her out after a verdict and request leniency. Or for her to somehow revert the verdict. Maybe that was why Kenneth Mueller was here. Maybe Stone had even sent him.

  But usually he was more direct than that. Since she was, too, she asked, “Why are you here, Mr. Mueller?”

  “Why are you?” he asked, and there was belligerence in his voice that made her nervous. She had a panic button under her desk, one that would alert security if she thought she was in danger.

  Why hadn’t she used it that first night that Stone had come to her office? It would have saved her a lot of heartache. Because her heart was aching now.

  “I thought you’d be out celebrating your big victory over billionaires and Stone Michaelsen,” he sniped at her as he dropped onto one of the chairs in front of her desk.

  “Looks like you’ve been celebrating enough for both of us,” she mused as she noted his red eyes. Had he been drinking or using?

  She’d known so many kids in boarding school who had turned to drugs and alcohol, like those substances could replace the love and attention their busy parents denied them.

  He rubbed at his eyes, and she realized he hadn’t been partying. He’d been crying. He shook his head, as if too choked up to speak.

  “Guess you have billions of reasons to celebrate,” she mused, but she was just pushing now—to see how he would react. How long would it take security to get up here if she had to push the panic button? She was more concerned with getting the truth than she was with her safety, though. So she continued, “With your father in prison, all of his money will be yours now.”

  “No!” he shouted. “I told her I wouldn’t do it. And I won’t do it now.”

  “What?” she asked.

  “I won’t kill my father.”

  New York State didn’t have the death penalty. But she refrained from pointing that out to young Mueller.

  “Who asked you to kill your father?”

  “Bethany,” he said. “That’s the only reason she was sleeping with me. She was trying to turn me against my dad.” He sniffled. And she realized that even though he was twentysomething, maturity-wise he was much younger. Bethany must have realized, and exploited, that lack of maturity.

  “She got that gun out,” he said. “She’d stolen the keys from him somehow. But she was careful to use gloves. She made me put on some, too, before she handed the gun to me. She wanted me to use it to kill my dad, to make it look like a suicide.”

  “Suicide?”

  “Because he knew about us, people would think he was so devastated that he took his own life,” Kenneth explained. “But that wasn’t the truth. He was going to throw her out on the street. So she wanted me to kill him. She said that it was the only way we could be together and have all his money.”

  He sniffled again. “That was all she wanted. The money. Not my dad. Not me...” His voice cracked with sobs. “And she thought that I would do it...that I would kill him. And instead I turned the gun on her, and I just pulled the trigger...” He stared down at his hand as if he could see the gun in it yet, and he looked as shocked as he must have been then.

  He shuddered.

  And Hillary found herself shuddering in sympathy. She couldn’t imagine what it must have felt like for him to take a life. But she felt as if she had nearly taken one herself for getting that guilty verdict for an innocent man. With the sentence he was bound to have received, Byron Mueller would have died in prison.

  “I didn’t know I was going to do it,” Kenneth murmured. “But she kept pushing and pushing for me to do it. And, in that moment, it felt like it was her or my dad.”

  She found herself reaching across her desk to pat the back of his shaking hand.

  He looked up at her again and tears overflowed his eyes. “I—I couldn’t kill my dad,” he said. “He’s been so good to me—my whole life. He’s given me everything I ever wanted. And he even helped out all my friends...” His voice cracked again. “He’s such a good guy...and I already betrayed him with her.”

  He turned his hand over and clasped hers, squeezing. “Please, don’t let him do this for me. Don’t let him go to prison for something I did.”

  “Why didn’t you come forward earlier?” she asked.

  “Because he was sure his lawyer could get him off.”

  That was why he’d offered Stone the two-million-dollar bonus. Not for himself but for his son.

  Byron Mueller’s only crime was being a doting father. Regret squeezed her heart even more tightly than Kenneth was squeezing her hand.

  “But Stone Michaelsen wasn’t as good as my dad thought he was,” Kenneth bitterly remarked. “He couldn’t even get an innocent man off.”

  “Your father wouldn’t help him,” she said. “He refused to tell Stone everything.” But he’d figured it out anyway. He’d been right the whole time.

  “Is it too late?” Kenneth asked. “Is there any way for me to fix this—to finally take responsibility?”

  “You just did,” she assured him. “We’ll figure this out. First, you need to get a lawyer. And I’ll book you on the charge of voluntary manslaughter.” She already knew that if Stone was representing him, that was the charge he’d get for his client. And given the circumstances, it was probably the right one.

  “Can you call Stone Michaelsen?” he asked. “That’s who my father will have represent me. And when can we get my dad out of jail?”

  “You’ll have to allocute to the crime,” she said, “and the judge will have to accept your plea before your father will be released.”

  “He can’t get out now?” he asked, and he sounded like a child aga
in. His father had probably never made him wait for anything, so he had no idea how due process worked. Or how life worked...

  She understood why his father had chosen to go to prison for him. Kenneth Mueller wouldn’t make it there. He wasn’t mature or strong enough.

  And his father loved him.

  “He’ll be fine.”

  But instead of reassuring him, her words had him sobbing harder again. She needed to book the kid. She glanced at the time on her phone. It was probably too late to get him in front of a judge for a bail hearing, anyway. He would have to spend the night at the Tombs. But he needed to have his lawyer present to officially take down the statement he’d just given her.

  She reached for her cell phone and pressed in the contact for Stone. But it wasn’t his deep voice that answered her call. She couldn’t be sure who it was, though, for all the background noise. But she suspected it was one of his partners.

  “I need to speak to Stone,” she said.

  “What? You want to gloat?” the man asked her. “You going to rub your victory in his face?”

  “No. But I need to see him,” she said.

  The man snorted derisively. “Well, he’s a little busy right now. We’re all at the Meet Market.”

  And she heard the tinkle of a woman’s laugh in the background. And Stone’s deep voice murmuring something in reply. And her heart broke.

  She felt like laying her head on her arms and crying like Kenneth Mueller was. But she was stronger and more mature than that. She’d had to be.

  “Well, when he’s done partying, tell him Kenneth Mueller is in my office confessing to the murder for which his father was just convicted.”

  “What?”

  “Tell Stone he was right,” she said, even though the words panged her nearly as much as hearing him making another woman laugh, like he’d always made her laugh.

  “Hillary, wait—”

  She said nothing more, just clicked off that call to make another. To the detective who’d handled—or actually mishandled—the homicide investigation. Unlike Stone, he was going to come right to her office.

  Stone was busy—hooking up with another female. He hadn’t really wanted her at all.

  He’d just wanted to win.

  Well, he had his win now.

  She hoped it felt as hollow for him as it had for her.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  STONE HAD A killer headache and a killer client. He’d had too much to drink the night before. Muriel and Bette had joined him and the guys at the bar. They’d felt sorry for him, not because of his loss in court but because of his loss in love. So they’d bought him a few rounds of shots.

  Usually Stone could handle his liquor. But he hadn’t had anything to eat that day or probably the day before. He was too sick over the trial, but mostly over Hillary.

  It wasn’t love, though. He’d scoffed at the idea of that, but everyone around him—even Trev—had exchanged knowing looks, like they’d all thought he was kidding himself.

  Sure, Hillary excited him more than any other woman ever had. She made him better in court and in bed. She challenged him as no one ever had. She matched him.

  If only she could love him.

  But she didn’t respect him. And they couldn’t build a relationship if they didn’t have mutual respect. He respected her. According to Trev, who had answered his phone the night before, she’d admitted she was wrong—about Byron.

  What about him?

  He stared across the desk at her, and he couldn’t help but think of the things that they’d done on that desk.

  The things he wanted to do to her even now. Suddenly his tie felt too tight and so did his pants. How could she get to him so effortlessly?

  Maybe Kenneth Mueller shouldn’t have asked for him to represent him. He’d failed his father because of Hillary—because she’d distracted him so much that he hadn’t been able to exonerate an innocent man.

  Until now...

  But Kenneth had done that when he’d gone to Hillary with his confession the night before. Since Stone hadn’t been available, the kid had waived his right to have a lawyer and had written down his statement anyway.

  But Stone could get that tossed out—if he wanted to. Since Kenneth had let his dad spend months in jail already for his crime, he wasn’t sure he even wanted to represent the kid at all, though.

  “Do you need some coffee, Mr. Michaelsen?” she asked. “You probably need some caffeine to wake up after your late night at the bar.”

  All he needed was her. The thought stunned him. But it was true. He needed her. He’d never been as happy as he had been these past couple of weeks. While the trial had been nearly debilitating in its intensity, the passion and humor with her had balanced out all that—had made him feel things he’d never felt before.

  Love.

  Damn it, Bette and Muriel had been right. He was in love with the opposing counsel.

  “Are you okay, man?” Kenneth whispered at him.

  Stone nodded. “Yes.” He focused on the young man; it was safer than looking at Hillary.

  Even with dark circles beneath her blue eyes, she was so damn beautiful. Kenneth’s eyes were red and puffy as if he’d spent the entire night crying.

  Hillary obviously hadn’t. But then, like dopey Dwight had said, she wasn’t the girlie kind, so it wasn’t like she’d spent the night eating ice cream and weeping over a lost love. Well, first she would have had to love him to do that. And she wouldn’t have pushed him away like she had if she’d had any deep feelings for him.

  He forced himself to turn back toward her and ask, “What are you offering?” He wanted her heart, but he knew she wasn’t going to offer him that. Hell, she wasn’t going to offer him anything.

  Only his new client.

  “Voluntary manslaughter, first degree, minimum sentence at a minimum-security prison.”

  He let a gasp slip out.

  “What?” Kenneth asked. “Is that bad?”

  Stone shook his head. “It’s fair.” Hell, it was more than fair.

  “You’re—you’re not going to negotiate?” Kenneth asked.

  He shook his head. “The faster you agree and allocute, the faster your father will get out. And it is a good deal.” He swallowed his pride and admitted, “A very good deal.”

  Kenneth nodded and turned back toward her. “Thank you, Ms. Bellows. Thank you!”

  She offered him a smile, even though she’d denied Stone one. “We’ll get your father out as soon as we can.”

  “Thank you!” Kenneth said again. He looked like an excited puppy about to piss all over himself he was so eager to please her.

  Stone knew the feeling. He wanted to please Hillary, too. He wanted to drive her out of her mind with pleasure, like she’d always driven him.

  But even more important than that, he just wanted to be with her—to tease her and laugh with her. And hold her...

  God, he was the girlie one.

  He rose from his chair when Kenneth stood. The judge had agreed to release him on bond as long as he wore a tether. It was strapped to his ankle. The kid glanced down at it. “Can I just leave?” he asked.

  “You have to go straight home,” Stone reminded him.

  “Can I go see my father first?”

  Hillary nodded. “I’ll make a call and let the monitoring company know.”

  Kenneth showered his gratitude on her again before leaving her office. She’d already picked up the phone to call the monitoring company when Stone started to head out. She obviously didn’t want to talk to him.

  But then she called out, “Wait.”

  And he tensed. Was she talking to him, though, or to whomever she’d called?

  He turned back.

  And she added, “Please.”

  He knew how proud she was and how
much that must have cost her. Was it possible that she cared about him, too? That she loved him?

  * * *

  Hillary held her breath, waiting to see if Stone stopped or just walked out the door. He’d been right, and she’d refused to listen. She, who always talked about fairness, had not been fair.

  Someone spoke in her ear, and she remembered that she was on the phone. She updated them on Kenneth Mueller’s status, then hung up the phone. And when she did, she found Stone sitting in front of her desk again.

  He had stayed.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “For what?” she asked.

  “For the offer.”

  “It was the right thing to do,” she said. “You might even be able to get the sentence reduced. She was urging him to kill his father.”

  Stone flinched. “What a bitch.”

  “Yeah.” Sometimes the victim wasn’t always very sympathetic, like the case of the late Mrs. Rapier. Maybe justice wasn’t always as black-and-white as Hillary had thought it was. “I was, too,” she said.

  “What?”

  “I was a bitch,” she said.

  “You were just doing your job,” Stone said.

  She smiled. “You’re defending me to me,” she said. “You can’t help yourself, huh?” Maybe it wasn’t just what he did, but who he was.

  “But even my partners admitted that Byron looked guilty as hell,” Stone said. “I was the only one convinced he was innocent. And I shouldn’t have gotten mad that you couldn’t see what I saw.”

  “You saw the truth,” she said. “In Byron and in me.”

  He tensed. “I was wrong to say you only cared about winning.”

  She smiled again. “Sometimes I do.” But her smile slid away as she laid her heart bare for him. “But what I was talking about was when you said that I can’t trust anyone to stick around.”

  “Oh, Hill...” His handsome face contorted with sympathy. “I was way over the line when I said that. I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

  “You were right,” she said. “I don’t let myself get attached, because I don’t expect anyone to stick around.”