Objection Overruled

by O'Hanlon, J. K.

  The information in the folder was dated within the last few years. Nothing indicated a link between Marshfield and the Ashe empire. Robert Ashe, the reigning patriarch of the company, was in his seventies. A blue-blooded Baltimorean, the elder Ashe had graduated from the University of Pennsylvania’s Wharton School of Business. Except for a stint in New York with Merrill Lynch early in his career, the patriarch had lived his entire life at his family’s palatial horse farm in Baltimore County.

  The elder Ashe’s son, Robert Ashe, Jr., ostensibly worked at the company. He lived a lavish lifestyle commensurate with the paycheck he drew. He had been charming, egotistical, spoiled, and very clever in his deposition. Unlike his father and most of the other men in the family, he had not attended the Wharton School. Instead, he’d matriculated from Towson University, near the family’s estate.

  Matriculated—that was Ashe’s word. When she had asked him where he attended college, he had said he matriculated from Towson. Could he have “attended” college someplace else? Was that his link to Marshfield?

  Jackie squeezed her eyes tight, thinking back to Ashe’s deposition. Although she didn’t have a photographic memory, Jackie often could “see” words where they appeared on a page. Like a computer scanning through documents, her mind flipped pages as she searched for the place where they had discussed education. She was almost certain he had said nothing about another college. She hadn’t asked either.

  Jackie opened her eyes to jot down a note to follow up on Ashe’s education. Brandon stood across the table from her. She hadn’t heard him come in. To avoid looking, or worse, staring at him, she focused on the vase on the credenza behind him.

  “What is going on, Jackie? Or should I call you Ms. North? Or would Mata Hari suffice?” He leaned over the table toward her with his hands flattened against the table’s mirrored surface.

  Jackie stood up and pushed back her chair to put some distance between them. “We shouldn’t be talking.”

  Brandon pounded his fist on the table. “That’s where you’re wrong. We should be talking. But not like this. I thought we actually enjoyed each other’s company.”

  Jackie looked down at the table, silent.

  Brandon pushed off from the table and turned to look away from her and out the window. He ran his fingers through his hair and laced them together behind his head.

  He turned to face her again. “I wasn’t exactly surprised when you didn’t call right away. I got it that you were busy with your life. Or, I don’t know, maybe you had another guy. Then you show up here, claws sharpened and fangs bared. I saw that folder you have. My photo’s in it. How long have you known? Didn’t that night mean anything to you? Because it did for me, in case you were wondering.”

  “Brandon, I—” Jackie didn’t know where to begin. She reached out instinctively toward him at the exact moment Gary Stone walked into the room.

  Stone cocked his head and sneered. “Am I interrupting something?”

  Chapter Six

  Brandon stiffened. The hair on the back of his neck prickled, but he gave Stone an easy smile. “Nothing at all. Just telling Ms. North that I was looking forward to this afternoon’s line of questioning.”

  The scene in front of him had not settled as he’d hoped. Energy flowed between the two attorneys like a glacier running into a lava flow. Both emanated a steady, controlled rage. Stone’s was cold and biting. Jackie’s sizzling heat threatened to engulf the room and set its occupants aflame. Where the two met, a thick haze of emotion clouded the space.

  A week ago, that passionate heat had been directed toward him. His cock stirred. After her heat touched him that night, he’d become like one of those wretched creatures he’d seen at Pompeii. His life, as he knew it, stopped suddenly and unexpectedly.

  She lacked an ulterior motive, unlike most of the women he knew who seemed to always want something from him. Her inconsistent mix of intensity and silliness refreshed him. Her aggressiveness challenged him. Yet underneath that tough exterior, a naive tenderness and frank honesty peeked out.

  He hadn’t looked at a single woman since then. His fantasies always returned to Jackie when he was alone in bed at night. No one had ever affected him this way.

  And now she was out to discredit him.

  He appreciated the fact that her job obliged her to cross-examine him. Her professional competency was alluring. But his debt to Ashe forced him to make her look unconvincing. Jackie wouldn’t yield easily. Even if his ego survived her attack, losing jeopardized his reputation in the financial community and threatened the onslaught of Ashe’s wrath.

  Unconvincing wouldn’t be enough. Neither would relent until the other was proven utterly untrustworthy. How could he do that to the one person he thought he might be able to trust?

  Brandon looked at Stone and narrowed his eyes. Why did Stone warrant her passion? Brandon coughed to startle them out of their psychic grappling. “I’m ready when you are.”

  “Yes, we’re all anxious to be finished here. Shall we begin?” Jackie raised her eyebrows at Stone, who lowered his eyes with a slight nod of his head.

  The court reporter switched on the video recorder. Its blinking red light was the only eye focused on Brandon. Stone’s and Jackie’s gazes remained fixed on the papers in front of them.

  The questions resumed in a mechanical way. Stone had provided him with a copy of the previous expert’s deposition, so he was familiar with the line of inquiry. Textbook stuff, her questions addressed standards for investment practices and financial advisors’ fiduciary duties.

  Victory or defeat wouldn’t be achieved through the raw data. Smart but not creative, the previous expert lacked persuasion. Brandon survived on his persuasive skills. Charm a client. Charm a woman. Charm a jury. A wave of confidence swept through him.

  Even though Jackie had been thorough and aggressive, he’d held his own. He smiled. He could hold his own against Jackie North on the witness stand and in bed. God, was she incredible in bed. The thought of how she wrapped her long legs around his waist to pull him into her harder caused his cock to swell.

  “Mr. Marshfield?” Jackie’s voice sliced through the silence.

  “Yes?” He set his gaze upon her face, daring her to look at him.

  “Would you like me to repeat the question?” Her continued avoidance of his gaze gave him hope. Maybe she did care.

  “If you would, please,” he warmly requested.

  “How long have you known Robert Ashe, Jr.?” For the first time since he’d confronted her after lunch, she met his gaze.

  Brandon did the quick math in his head. “Eleven years.”

  “Where did you meet him?”

  “In college, at UVA. We were fraternity brothers until he transferred to Towson in his junior year.” Brandon’s stomach churned. He’d spent the last nine years trying to forget that he’d once called Ashe his “brother.”

  “How would you describe your relationship with him?” Her chin was tucked, and she stared at him under hooded eyes.

  Brandon looked away and then directly at her. “How would I describe my relationship with him? How would you describe your relationship with me?”

  Her eyes widened.

  Brandon said, “What I mean is the answer to your question is subjective.”

  “Have you or have you not remained friends with Robert Ashe?”

  “I don’t have a relationship with Ashe,” Brandon barked at her and then ran his fingers through his hair.

  “Let’s move on.” Jackie shuffled her papers. “If you would please turn your attention to exhibit twenty-three, which is the audit report of Marling Loomis accounting firm, performed as a part of the investigation of Ashe by the Securities and Exchange Commission five years ago.”

  Brandon let out a breath. She was off his dark connection to Ashe but onto the scent of the case. Now the fun would begin.

  Jackie attacked swiftly. “The auditors failed to issue a clean report of the Tufton Fund run by Ashe. The rep
ort states that no opinion as to the financial statements could be made because of lack of documentation. Isn’t it odd that for a fund the size of the Tufton Fund there would not be financial documentation?”

  He knew the facts and parried with ease. “First, the Tufton Fund was an entirely different type of fund than that which the Kovels invested in. Second, the SEC failed to find any wrongdoing on the part of the Fund, its managers, or Ashe except for a minor issue regarding registration of securities.”

  Pleased, he did his best to tamp down a victorious smile.

  She took his bait, shooting rapid-fire questions relating to securities regulations and trading practices, far afield from the minefield of fraud.

  Their minds danced around each other with the same ease their bodies had at El Matador. She had let him lead her supple body. Yet, when he least expected it, she had exerted her strength to push back on his lead, to challenge him to take her where he wanted to go.

  “Mr. Marshfield, with the volume of trades Ashe allegedly made on behalf of his clients, was it feasible to execute all of those trades on the Chicago Board of Options Exchange?” She leaned into him, her lips barely parted, and her tongue glided over the bottom of her top teeth.

  Any hesitation would give her reason to pursue. He casually responded, “That’s not the only exchange in the US. Many of the trades were done offshore. All of that is confirmed in the Boyers Report.”

  She paused, set down her pen, and flipped her legal pad closed. She studied him intensely.

  What was she looking for? In this case? In life? Why did it matter so much to him?

  “Is something wrong, Mr. Marshfield?” She smiled at him. She must have gotten what she wanted. “I have no further questions.” With a swift move, she tucked her papers in her briefcase to signal she had dismissed him.

  She rose and turned, every move efficient. As she left the conference room, Jackie shot him a closed-lipped smile. She coolly addressed Stone. “Gary, I don’t believe you produced the Boyers Report that Mr. Marshfield mentioned. Surely it was an oversight with the reams of paper you had to produce. Someone of your experience, your stature in the legal community, certainly wouldn’t purposefully deceive the court. I expect that on my desk by eight a.m. tomorrow morning.”

  She took a step and then turned back again. “Oh, and if no one has any objections, once I get the Boyers Report, would Mr. Marshfield be so kind as to go through those details with me at my office? I’d also like him to review the Kovels’ and other plaintiffs’ records. Of course, you’re invited too, Gary, if you’re not too busy with another landmark case you’re supervising.”

  She strode away, not waiting for a response from Brandon or Stone.

  Stone turned to Brandon. “Follow me.”

  He led Brandon down a hallway lined with modern watercolors of seascapes to a large corner office. Stone slammed the door behind him and spun around to face Brandon. His eyes were bulging and sweat shined on his forehead. “What the hell is the Boyers Report?”

  “The Boyers Report was referred to by the other expert, just not by name, and only in passing,” Brandon explained slowly and quietly.

  “Jesus Christ.” Stone slammed his hand against the wall. “Why am I just hearing about this? What kind of game does Ashe think he’s playing?”

  “Look, settle down. There’s nothing in that report that hurts the case. In fact, the way I see it, those figures show the flow of funds, which actually supports Ashe’s claims that the investments were legit.”

  “Are you sure about that?” Stone glared at him.

  “Damned sure.”

  “I hope you are, because more than this case depends upon how well you’ll convince a jury.” Stone walked to the window, where he rested his hands on the sill and stared out to the Inner Harbor view.

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  Stone looked back over his shoulder. His face was gray and worn, like an old sail beyond repair. Fear flitted in his eyes. “I thought you knew Ashe.”

  Chapter Seven

  Jackie didn’t know whether to be relieved to be out of the same room as Brandon or saddened. During that one night together, everything clicked. They understood each other. Physically, Greek gods found their match in Brandon’s body. Even better, he didn’t just have a great physique, he knew how to use it to pleasure her. Intellectually, he was a total stud. She loved that in a guy. His demonstration today in the deposition only turned her on more. Emotionally…being with Brandon had been the closest she’d come to letting herself go completely. Now, the smooth rhythm they’d enjoyed had turned into a jerky, grinding tension.

  The elevator ride from the twenty-eighth floor to the lobby was uninterrupted but moved at a turtle’s pace. Once in the lobby, her heels click-clacked hollowly on the marble floor as she strode purposefully toward the main doors.

  Stan, the building’s security guard, still trim and fit in his perfectly pressed uniform, sat perched at his station working a Times crossword, in ink surely. He glared at her. She knew that fierce drill-sergeant grimace. “Hey, North,” the old buzzard bellowed. “Get over here. Got something special for you.”

  Stan pulled a white wax paper bag from under his desk and slid it across the granite surface.

  “I hope that’s what I think it is.” Jackie’s mouth watered.

  Stan’s eyes twinkled back at her as she opened the bag. The aroma swallowed her before she pulled out the perfectly crisp apple fritter. Almost every Friday morning for seven years, she and Stan had enjoyed an apple fritter and a cup of coffee while they debated the latest sports trade or game.

  “I love you, Stan.”

  The thin glaze melted where her fingertips touched the pastry. She held it delicately, like a precious work of art. Well, it was a work of art, after all.

  Stan chuckled. “I love a woman who can appreciate a good fried roll.”

  The sweet apple aroma calmed her nerves and took her back to slower, simpler days when she had read the Sunday comics and ate doughnuts. More expensive than the plain cake doughnuts, a fritter had been a special treat. It still was. The dough was light and airy on the inside with a crisp outside. No greasy residue hung to these beauties.

  “Mmmmmm, that’s just what I needed. How did you know?”

  “Oh, I talked to Marilyn when she dropped off your lunch. I was in late today—doctor’s appointment. I must have missed you when you came in this morning.”

  “Doctor’s appointment? Is everything okay?” Stan had always been the operational definition of health. He had never gone to the doctor, as far as Jackie knew.

  Stan hesitated. “Just fine, honey. So, are you kicking ass and taking names like I told you?”

  “Stan. Something’s wrong. What it is? Tell me.” She looked him over, searching for clues. He appeared thinner than usual. Were his cheeks slightly sunken? His hands trembled. It had been too long since she’d paid him a visit. Busy with her own troubles, she’d forgotten about Stan, but he hadn’t forgotten her.

  Stan took her hands in his. “Cancer, kiddo. Kidneys.”

  “Oh, Stan.” Tears welled in Jackie’s eyes. Her throat tightened. She gripped his hands tight and choked back tears.

  “Christ, don’t cry,” Stan barked. “You’re a boss lady now. Act like it.”

  She hugged him. Despite her attempt to hold back emotions, she dabbed surreptitiously at her eyes to wipe away the signs of her failed attempt at stoicism. Stan did the same.

  “Look, sweetheart, I’ve had a good life. A great life. I’ve got some time left, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to sit around and cry. So you better not either.” He wiped away a tear from her cheek with his thumb. “Now run along. And remember, I’m still available for undercover work, honey.”

  The apple fritter turned into a lump in Jackie’s stomach on the walk back to her office. Why hadn’t she stopped by to see Stan more often in the last year? His wife had died five years ago, and they had never been able to have kids. She swore
she wouldn’t let Stan die alone. Next week she’d bring him doughnuts and discuss how she could help. Sometimes, tossing around the “lawyer” label came in handy, especially with the medical community. God knew it had helped get her mom into a respectable facility.

  Mom.

  Jackie’s regular weekend visit had completely evaporated from her to-do list last week. She kicked herself but let a tiny sigh of relief escape. Seeing her mother exhausted her. Right now, Jackie didn’t have much left to give, and since her childhood, the only dynamic Jackie knew with her mom was to give, give, give. What would it be like to be taken care of?

  Jackie squashed that desire before it could take root. She couldn’t afford that weakness. Couldn’t again face the loneliness that sprang from being left helpless.

  Emptiness surged in her heart. Would she be like Stan? Single and without kids? Would she face the rest of her life alone?

  A naked, laughing vision of Brandon Marshfield popped into her mind. His playful laugh kept ringing in her ears. No, she had to stop. He was the other side. The enemy. She wanted to trust him, but he worked for Ashe, a man she was convinced had bilked her elderly clients of their entire savings. And Brandon knew something too. He’d held back in his testimony.

  Her cell phone vibrated in her pocket and interrupted her slide into anger.

  “Jackie North,” she snapped.

  “It’s Brandon.”

  A tingle danced up and down her spine. What about his voice did that to her? “How did you get my number?”

  His laugh sounded close and warm even over the phone. “It’s on your business card, which you gave me at the start of the deposition.”

  She should probably hang up, but her guard had already slipped. She couldn’t bring herself to hit End on her phone. “We really shouldn’t be talking like this.”

  “Ms. North, how do you know I’m not calling about arranging a time to go over your documents? Are you jumping to conclusions that I might have an ulterior motive?”