ASHER (The Beckett Boys, Book Three)

by Olivia Chase

  So far, neither he nor Worthington had even acknowledged my presence.

  “Oh,” Worthington said finally when he saw me standing there. “Charlotte. Good. You’re here.”

  Noah still didn’t look at me.

  “Yes, I’m here,” I said. I held up the fresh notebook I’d grabbed from my stash on the way out the door. “I’m ready to work.”

  “Good,” Professor Worthington said. He pulled a manila file folder out of his bag and handed it to me. “This is some preliminary information about the case. It’s very bare bones, and in the coming days I’m going to need you to start fleshing it out. I would appreciate your discretion in this matter, Charlotte. You’ll be working directly under me, and so you’ll be bound under the same rules of attorney/client confidentiality as I am.”

  “Of course,” I said.

  “Why the hell are they making us wait?” Noah raged.

  “Noah,” Worthington said. “I’m sure they’ll be –”

  Just then, the receptionist slid back the partition and poked her head out. “Detective Rake will see you now,” she said, her eyes never leaving Noah. “You can head back. It’s through the double doors, third door on the left.”

  “It’s about damn time,” Noah said.

  He pushed through the doors, Worthington hot on his heels.

  I took a deep breath and followed them.

  They put us in an interrogation room. It was just like the kind of room you’d see on TV, only slightly nicer. There was an oak desk in the middle, with a couple of chairs in front of it, and one behind it. There was a futon against the wall, folded up into couch position, the mattress covered with an eggplant-colored cushion cover.

  Noah and Professor Worthington took the two chairs in front of the desk, and I figured the other chair, the one behind the desk, was for Detective Rake. So I sat down on the futon.

  The detective hadn’t come in it yet, so I pulled out the folder Professor Worthington had given me and began reading up on the case. Noah was furiously typing away on his phone. He wasn’t complaining anymore, apparently deciding to take his energy and channel it into something productive.

  The first page in the folder was a black and white photo of a smiling girl. She was about my age, with gorgeous straight black hair and a perfect smile. She had a bit of an exotic thing going on, her eyes done up in a smoky liner. She was pushing her hair back with one hand and she was looking down, like someone had caught her mid-laugh. It was a picture that was supposed to look candid, but the lighting and the backdrop made it obviously a headshot.

  She must have been a model or an actress.

  I flipped to the next document and almost gasped. It was the same girl, only this picture was a close up of her neck. And she was obviously dead. There were red and purple marks on her skin, some of them so dark they were almost black. You could see the outline of a hand on her throat. Someone had strangled her to death.

  I took in a deep shaky breath. I needed to be professional – I couldn’t have Professor Worthington noticing me having a reaction to what probably was just some run-of-the-mill autopsy photos.

  I went to flip to the next page, but before I could, the door opened and a police officer walked in. Detective Rake.

  He surveyed the room and then spoke.

  “Hello, everyone,” he said. “Noah, I presume?” He held his hand out to Noah, who shook it reluctantly.

  “Colin Worthington,” Professor Worthington said. “Counsel for Mr. Cutler. And this is my assistant, Charlotte Holloway.”

  The detective gave me a friendly nod.

  “How long is this going to take?” Noah demanded.

  “It shouldn’t take long.” Detective Rake was speaking in a jovial manner, seemingly not phased by Noah’s bad attitude. He took a sip from the paper Starbucks cup he was holding. “Would you like some coffee?” he asked. “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to settle for what we have here at the station. I can’t stand the stuff myself, but then, I’m a bit of a coffee snob.” He held up his cup as if to confirm it.

  His tone was pleasant, but it was a subtle dig. He was drinking the good stuff, and if any of us wanted anything, we’d have to settle for the shitty police station coffee.

  I shifted on the futon, wondering how Noah was going to react.

  But he didn’t reply, just glanced at the detective and then back down at his phone, continuing to type whatever work or email he’d been working on before.

  “No, thank you,” Professor Worthington said.

  Detective Rake turned to me. “Would you like anything, Charlotte?” he asked.

  I opened my mouth to say no, but then I remembered earlier, in Noah’s kitchen, him telling me that all serious lawyers drank coffee, that I needed to drink the good stuff only, black, with no sugar because that would ruin it.

  Fuck him, I thought. What an ass, ignoring me like this after what we did this morning

  “I’d love some,” I said.

  “Excellent,” Detective Rake said. His blue eyes sparkled. He was young for a detective, or at least, he looked young – I could see a tiny bit of salt and pepper starting at his temples, but his skin was fresh and unlined, his eyes bright. Something about his face was a little bit impish, like maybe he enjoyed messing with people. “How do you take it?”

  “Just a little cream and a lot of sugar,” I said. “The more sugar the better.”

  “Just like me.” He winked and then disappeared back through the door to get more coffee.

  Noah finally glanced at me, and I thought I saw anger flash on his face for a moment. But then he went blank again, his gaze returning to his phone.

  “Here you go,” Detective Rake said, returning with a paper cup full of coffee.

  “Thanks.” I took a big sip, trying not to gag. I didn’t know much about coffee, but even I could tell this was a watered down version of the real thing, and it was so sweet I could practically feel my teeth rotting. “Perfect,” I said.

  “Can we get going?” Noah asked, shoving his phone back into his coat pocket. “I have somewhere to be.”

  “Of course, Mr. Cutler,” Detective Rake said. He sat down behind the desk and pulled out a legal pad and a ballpoint pen. “You are aware that this interview is being taped, both by video and audio, and that any statements you make here may be used against you in a court of law?”

  “Yes,” Noah said, sounding unconcerned.

  “Thank you, Mr. Cutler.” Detective Rake pushed a photo across the table toward Noah. It was an exact copy of the one that was in my folder, the headshot of the smiling girl. “Do you know this woman?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what is her name, for the record?”

  “Dani DeClair.”

  “And how did you know the victim?”

  “We were friends,” Noah said.

  “Friends?” Detective Rake pressed.

  “Yes.”

  I realized I was supposed to be taking notes, for what, I had no clue – since the meeting was being taped, both by video and audio, we could probably just get copies of those if we needed to. But I did as I was told, just in case.

  “Did you have a sexual relationship with Ms. DeClair?”

  “Yes,” Noah replied. He sounded bored, like the fact that he’d had a sexual relationship with a girl who’d been murdered was of no consequence.

  “But you just said you were friends.”

  “Friends can have sex, Detective,” Noah said, his tone hard.

  I felt my cheeks heating up and I concentrated hard on my legal pad.

  “What kind of sex did you and Ms. DeClair have?” Detective Rake asked. He leaned back in his chair, casually crossing one leg over the other, like he was used to questioning wealthy businessmen about their involvement with the victim of a murder.

  “The kind I always have,” Noah said, smirking. “Good.”

  Professor Worthington sighed. “Listen, my client has been more than cooperative, coming down here on a Saturday to answ
er questions about a crime he hasn’t even been charged with. And if you’ve come here to drill him about his sexual history, well, that’s ridiculous.”

  “On the contrary, Professor Worthington. This case has everything do with Noah’s sexual history.”

  It did? My heart skipped a beat.

  Detective Rake picked a file folder up off his desk and opened it, his eyes scanning down the document on the front page. “Do you know a club called Force?” he asked.

  Noah’s eyes immediately darkened. “Yes,” he said.

  “Would you say you’ve been there regularly?”

  “Don’t answer that,” Worthington instructed quickly.

  Noah opened his mouth, like he wanted to say something, but then he stopped himself.

  “Isn’t it true you met Ms. DeClair at Force?” Detective Rake pressed.

  Noah stayed quiet, his hands balled into fists at his side.

  I’d stopped taking notes now, completely rapt by what was happening. What was this club, Force? I’d never heard of it, but it sounded dark and creepy, the kind of place where shady deals got made.

  I remembered all the rumors that had circulated about Noah, the things Cora and other people at my law school would say about him. How he had ties to the mob, how he would break rules to win a case, how he was ruthless in the courtroom, eviscerating witnesses and going head-to-head with judges. Had he been engaging in shady dealings at Force? And what would that have to do with his sexual history?

  “My client has an alibi for the night Ms. DeClair was killed,” Worthington said. “I’d also like to remind you that he hasn’t been charge with any crime, and that he’s been cooperating with police to his fullest capabilities.”

  “Right,” Detective Rake said, raising his eyebrow just a tiny bit, making it clear he thought that if this was Noah’s idea of cooperating fully, then they were going to have a problem. “And I’d like to remind you and your client that we’re still determining the timeline of Ms. DeClair’s death, and that his alibi still needs to be verified.” Detective Rake then reached back into his folder and slid another photo across the table.

  “Do you recognize this woman, Mr. Cutler?”

  I couldn’t see the picture, because it was angled away from me.

  But I saw Noah glance at it, and then his whole face changed. It went from annoyed and angry to stony with a simmering rage building beneath the surface.

  “Put that away,” he said, his voice controlled and even.

  “Weren’t you engaged to this woman, Mr. Cutler?”

  “All right, that’s enough,” Worthington said. “We didn’t come down here to be treated like –”

  “And isn’t it true, Mr. Cutler, that your ex-fiancé, Nora Hogan, was killed in the exact same manner as Ms. DeClair?”

  “We’re leaving,” Worthington said, standing up.

  Noah sat there, stony faced.

  I took in a deep breath and held it, wondering what the hell was about to happen. I didn’t have to wait long.

  Noah stood up and then leaned over the desk until he was right in the detective’s face. “Do not ever say her name again,” he snarled. “If you do, I will end you.”

  His face was red, his hands gripping the edge of the desk forcefully.

  “Come on,” Worthington said, grabbing Noah’s arm and trying to pull him back. “Noah, come on.”

  Noah shrugged him off, wrenching himself out of the professor’s grasp. “I will end you,” he repeated.

  “Noah,” Worthington said. “Come on.”

  Noah stood there for another moment, then turned and headed for the door. As he went, he reached his arm out and angrily pushed a can of pencils off the detective’s desk.

  I hurried out after Noah and Worthington, even though apparently neither one of them even remembered I was there.

  Noah stormed ahead, back through the double doors before barreling through the lobby and back out onto the street.

  “What the fuck was that?” Worthington seethed once we were out of the police station.

  “That was a fucking ambush,” Noah said. He was putting his gloves back on. “I’m not talking to them again. They can go fuck themselves. They think I killed Dani DeClair? Yeah, well, prove it.”

  “No, I mean, what the fuck were you doing?” Worthington demanded. “They have you on tape threatening a police office. Do you know how that makes you look? Not to mention if there’s ever a grand jury hearing, they’ll – ”

  “I told you,” Noah said calmly, “I don’t give a fuck what they do. And if you can’t accept that, well, then, maybe I should find a lawyer who can.” He started walking toward the street, where he climbed into the backseat of his waiting limo.

  Besides the slight look of disapproval he’d given me when I asked Detective Rake for some coffee, he hadn’t acknowledged my presence at all.

  “Jesus,” Professor Worthington swore under his breath. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He lit one up and exhaled slowly. He glanced over at me, seemingly remembering for the first time that I was there.

  “You smoke?” he asked, holding out the pack and offering me one.

  I shook my head no.

  He took another long drag and I just stood there, not sure what I was supposed to say. This definitely wasn’t the way I imagined my first foray into the real world of law going – me having slept with a potential suspect, finding out that a couple of other women he’d slept with had ended up murdered.

  My phone started ringing, and I fumbled through my bag until I found it.

  It was a number I didn’t recognize.

  “Charlotte Holloway,” I said, deciding to try and sound professional in front of Professor Worthington.

  “Hi, Charlotte Holloway.” The voice was smooth as silk, and instantly recognizable. “This is Noah Cutler.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Hi, Noah.”

  Worthington looked up with interest.

  “I’d like to discuss what just happened in there,” he said. “Would you be available for a meeting?”

  “Where are you?”

  “Sitting in my limo. Watching you.”

  I bit my lip, considering.

  “You look cute when you bite your lip like that.”

  “Let me ask Professor Worthington,” I said. I covered the phone with my hand, why, I had no idea, since there was no reason to – Noah could hear everything anyway, and besides, he was watching us.

  “Noah wants to have a meeting,” I said.

  “Of course,” Worthington said. “When? Where?”

  “Just you,” Noah rasped into the phone.

  “What?”

  “Just. You. Not Worthington.”

  I paused, my heart hammering in my chest. “He, um… he wants it to be with just me.” My face burned, as I realized how that sounded. Noah was making it perfectly clear that he wanted time alone with me, doing everything but coming out and saying that it had to do with something of a personal nature. Why else would he want to have a meeting with a law student?

  “Go,” Professor Worthington said, seemingly unfazed. “Whatever he wants, go.”

  “When?” I asked into the phone.

  “Now.”

  “Where?”

  “Come to my limo, Charlotte.”

  The line went dead.

  “He wants me to go to his limo,” I said. “He wants to read over the notes I took.”

  Professor Worthington nodded. “Sure,” he said. “Do whatever he wants.” I wasn’t sure if it was my imagination, but I thought I heard an implication in his tone, like maybe he was telling me to do whatever it took, in whatever way.

  I nodded and slid my phone back into my bag.

  When I got to the limo, I opened the door and slid inside.

  Noah was sitting in the seat across from me.

  “Hello,” he said conversationally, as if he hadn’t just been ignoring me for the past hour.

  “Hi,” I said as I settled in.
The limo started moving, and I frowned. “Where are we going?”

  “Nowhere.” He moved over, sitting next to me, then put his hand on my leg. He edged the bottom of my skirt up until it was above my knee. “You have to stop wearing these tight little skirts,” he said. “The way your ass looks in them drives me crazy.”

  I looked at him and blinked. “You’re kidding me, right?”

  “No, I’m not kidding you, Charlotte. Your ass is sexy as hell.” He pulled me toward him, and his lips were on my neck, tracing a line down my collarbone. His hand slid up my skirt and cupped my ass. He squeezed. “Every part of you is gorgeous.” His hand moved up my side and squeezed my breast. “That asshole in there was staring at your tits. Outfits that show your body like this should only be for me.”

  “I’m wearing a skirt and a V-neck sweater,” I said, summoning my resolve and pushing him off me. “That’s hardly a sexy outfit. And you lost the right to tell me what to wear when you told me to get out of your apartment this morning.”

  “I told you I had a meeting.”

  “Yeah, but you were mean about it. And you barely even looked at me when we were in the police station.”

  He seemed annoyed by this. “I’m moody, Charlotte. That’s something you’re going to have to deal with. And when we’re in a professional situation, I can’t make it obvious that I was just fucking you an hour earlier.”

  “No, but you could at least say hello.”

  “Hello,” he breathed, moving back over to me. His breath tickled my ear, sending a wave of heat radiating between my legs. He reached down and pulled my sweater off in one smooth motion. “Jesus,” he said when he saw the pink-and-black lace push-up bra I was wearing underneath. He pulled the cups down and lowered his head to my nipples, sucking on them right there in the back of the limo.

  I tried to resist, but it was impossible. His mouth on me felt so good, so right. I couldn’t take it. I knew he was dangerous, but I didn’t care. The things he was doing to me were too hard to fight against, too overwhelming.

  He unzipped his pants and pulled his cock out. It was thick and perfect, rock hard and standing at attention. He grabbed my hand and put it on his dick, and I stroked it while he sucked my tits. Then his mouth was on mine, kissing me, his tongue exploring mine.