“Sasha—” he began.
“A PFA is a piece of paper. It can’t stop bullets. Or fists.” Or hammers.
Kathryn’s face morphed from hopeful to terrified.
Sasha softened. “I’m sorry to be so blunt, Kathryn. But, if you aren’t going to report Nick’s attack to the police, you really need to do something more to protect yourself. I can help you find a women’s shelter.”
“A shelter? No. I just want to go back to my dorm. I’m sure Nick feels terrible,” she said.
Sasha switched gears. “How’d you end up behind the dumpster if Nick attacked you at your car?”
“Uh, after he left, I lay there for a while. I think I passed out. I woke up to the cat licking my face. And I thought maybe if I could make it to the door, I could get help, but I couldn’t get there. I had to rest, but I was afraid he’d come back. So I crammed myself in the corner behind the dumpster to hide. Then you guys came along.”
“So you do have some self-preservation instinct,” Sasha commented.
Realization bloomed in Kathryn’s eyes.
Connelly paused at the front door and buttoned his coat.
Sasha and Connelly both watched her think. Dozens of decisions that she was far too young to have to be making played out on her face.
“I … I want to go back home—to my parents’ place. Back to Chicago.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
When Connelly returned, Sasha put a finger to her lips and pointed up toward the loft, where Kathryn was sound asleep in the fetal position in the center of Sasha’s bed. The kitten jumped off Sasha’s lap and ran over to inspect the bags that Connelly set on the floor while he eased the door closed and quietly engaged the locks.
The cat rose on its hind legs and stuck its head inside a bag that held several small tins of food. Connelly laughed and his eyes crinkled.
He scooped the kitten up in one hand and the bag in the other and met her in the kitchen. She poured them each a glass of Chianti, while Connelly scooped the cat food into a small metal dish that he took from the bag.
The cat began to purr and squeak before the dish reached the floor. It ate rapidly, taking great gulping bites. Connelly filled a second metal dish with water from the tap and placed it beside the food.
“She’s sleeping?”
“Dead to the world. She went upstairs to use the bathroom after we called her parents. She never came back down, so I went up to make sure she was okay. She was out cold, curled up in the middle of the bed.” She handed him his glass of wine.
Sasha sipped her wine and watched the cat, who had devoured the food and was now lapping at the water.
Connelly checked on his lasagna.
“How’d the call with her parents go?” he asked over his shoulder.
“As well as could be expected. They’re horrified—who wouldn’t be? Her mom seemed to be equally upset by the idea that Kathryn was dating a forty-year-old man as she was by the fact that he beat her to a pulp. But her dad jumped in and told her she should take the rest of the semester off and come home right away. They’ve already booked her a flight for tomorrow morning. Her parents will come out next weekend to pack up her things and drive her car back to Illinois.”
He closed the oven and turned back to her. “I forgot about her car.”
“I called Jake’s. Jake was there. He said she can leave the car in the lot until her parents come up. I also asked him to have the girls keep an eye out for Nick and to call me if he turns up.”
“Call you? Shouldn’t he call the police?”
She shrugged and sipped her wine.
Connelly waited.
“Yes, he probably should, but to what end? I took another run at Kathryn while you were gone—she doesn’t want to press charges, and she wouldn’t be around to testify anyway. The police can’t do anything.”
He crossed the kitchen and stood directly in front of her. “And neither can you.”
His eyes were serious.
She stretched onto her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck.
“Don’t worry. Remember my resolution? No more danger, no more drama.”
He considered this, examining her face closely. Finally, he relented. He pressed her back against the counter and took her chin in his hand.
“Good. I don’t want to lose you,” he whispered.
She kissed him, hard.
“You won’t. I have no intention of going anywhere near Nick Costopolous.”
The oven timer beeped. Connelly ignored it and ran his hand along her neck and down her arm, sending a shiver up her spine.
The constant beeping was going to wake Kathryn, she realized.
“Your lasagna’s going to burn.”
“Let it.”
He covered her mouth with his, but the noise and the knowledge that Kathryn was sleeping right above them distracted her. She gave him a gentle two-handed shove.
“Come on. Let’s eat.”
CHAPTER 5
February 14
Sasha woke, stiff and cold, on the living room floor next to Connelly. The comforter from her bed was twisted around Connelly’s legs, and the cat was curled up at her feet, purring in its sleep.
She stretched, and her back protested.
“What time is it?” Connelly mumbled.
“Not sure. Probably close to six.”
She rose and arched her back, trying to loosen the muscles. Then she lowered herself back to the floor and went through the motions of the cobra pose. Connelly leaned against the couch and watched with an amused grin as she moved from one yoga pose to the next, ending in a backbend.
Then he leaned over and tickled her ribcage. Her side spasmed, and she laughed involuntarily. She rolled out of the backbend and straddled him.
“What are you—twelve?” she asked.
He just smiled up at her in answer.
She leaned forward, brushing her hair against his chest and pressed her lips on his neck. Footsteps sounded on the stairs leading from the loft. She leapt off him, landing in a heap on the floor. He laughed.
Kathryn’s bruised face peered at them from the entrance to the kitchen.
She pushed a tangle of hair away from her face and said, “What are you guys doing?” her voice was dull with sleep and—Sasha thought—hoarse from crying.
“Good morning,” she said, using Connelly’s shoulder for leverage, as she pushed herself to her feet. “We were doing yoga.”
From the floor, Connelly snorted.
Sasha joined Kathryn in the kitchen.
“How’d you sleep?” she asked as she reached past the younger woman to pull three mugs down from the cabinet.
“Okay, I guess. I’m sorry I fell asleep in your bed.” Kathryn wore a sheepish expression.
“Don’t worry about it. I’m sure you were exhausted. You must be starving, though. What can I get you?”
Sasha poured three cups of coffee and passed one to Kathryn, who gripped it with both hands and stared down at her feet.
“Kathryn? Your flight isn’t until eleven. You have plenty of time for breakfast.”
She didn’t answer but kept her head down, refusing to meet Sasha’s eyes.
Sasha turned to Connelly, unsure of how to handle a noncommunicative, twenty-year-old college student. She knew how to cajole her nieces and nephews, but she doubted peek-a-boo would work on Kathryn.
He walked into the kitchen, trailed by the kitten, crouched in front of Kathryn, and took her hands in his.
“Are you okay?”
Even Kathryn couldn’t ignore Connelly when his angular face was filled with such raw concern and his strong hands were enveloping hers. It probably helped, Sasha thought, that all the girls at Jake’s had crushes on him.
Her cheeks flushed pink under the bruises, and she said, “I’m fine. I just think … maybe I overreacted last night. It was just a silly fight.”
“Have you looked in the mirror, Kathryn?” Connelly asked in a gentle voice.
Her gaze r
eturned to the floor.
“He didn’t mean to hurt me so bad. He was just worried because he hadn’t heard from me. And he got, like, crazed with jealousy.”
Sasha bit down on her lower lip to keep from shouting at the girl and let Connelly handle it. She busied herself with feeding the hungry cat, who was rubbing its head against her ankle with vigor.
“No matter how romantic you may think that is, you aren’t in a healthy relationship,” he told her.
“You don’t understand, you don’t know Nick—”
Sasha turned and slammed her coffee mug down on the counter, scaring the cat, who scurried out of the room with all four legs going different directions.
“No, Kathryn, you don’t know Nick. But I do. I want you to look at me and listen carefully to what I’m about to say.”
She waited until Kathryn dragged her eyes up to meet her gaze, then she leaned forward and said in a slow, measured voice, “If you don’t get away from Nick now, while you have the chance, he’ll kill you. He will kill you. And Leo and I aren’t going to let that happen. You’re taking a shower, you’re getting dressed, and you’re getting on that plane if I have to drag you on by your hair. Do you understand me?”
Kathryn shot her a sullen look and turned on her heel. She stomped up the stairs.
A moment later Sasha’s bathroom door slammed shut. Sasha picked up her coffee and willed her hands to stop trembling.
The water pipes creaked to life overhead, and the shower started.
She exhaled.
Connelly was watching her.
“What?”
“He killed his wife—didn’t he?”
She kept her face as blank as she could and said, “I can’t answer that question, Connelly. It wouldn’t matter whether I said ‘yes’ or ‘no’—it would be a violation of my obligations under the Rules of Professional Conduct.”
His gray eyes flashed. “He did.”
“I can’t answer that.”
“But, Moravian—or Vickers—whatever his name was, he killed Clarissa. He’s in prison.”
Sasha walked over to the couch and curled her feet under her. Connelly followed.
“Talk to me, Sasha.”
It was a relief to have this conversation; she just had to have it carefully, choosing her words with precision.
“He’s in prison because he pled guilty to killing Ellen Mortenson. He admitted that. He admitted that he was going to kill Martine Landry when he was apprehended. And he admitted that he intended to kill Clarissa. But he always maintained that he couldn’t go through with it once he learned she was pregnant. He says she was alive when he left her.”
Connelly sat down next to her with a thoughtful expression. She could almost see him sifting through the information.
She waited while he mused.
“Costopolous was arrested when the police saw that his hammer was missing from his tool set.”
“That’s right. He told us the real killer must have stolen it. And I believe that did happen.”
Connelly nodded and continued slowly, “But, as it turns out, the hammer from his tool set wasn’t used to kill Clarissa.”
“Right again. His hammer was a Craftsman Professional. Clarissa was killed with a DeWalt,” she said in a neutral tone.
“So. Vickers/Moravian stole Nick’s hammer, planning to kill Clarissa with it. Nick replaced it with a DeWalt and he killed her?”
“It does seem farfetched,” Sasha said.
“But he had motive and opportunity. And if he had a hammer—means.”
Sasha shrugged.
“Talk to me,” Connelly said.
She shook her head. “I really can’t. Believe me. I can’t.”
They looked at each other for a long moment, and she watched as frustration warred with acceptance on his face.
She was bound by ethical obligations that he neither understood nor appreciated. In fact, she knew many of her legal responsibilities and commitments to her clients didn’t sit right with Connelly. But she thought—hoped—they’d reached a point in their relationship where he’d support her anyway. She realized she was holding her breath.
Finally, he sighed. “Okay.”
It was just one word, but it allowed her to exhale.
“Just, please, will you take Kathryn to the airport and make sure she gets on that plane? She obviously hates me right now. She’s still at least a little bit smitten with you.”
“Smitten?” he repeated.
She watched him suppress a smile.
“Smitten. A smitten kitten,” she said, leaning in and nuzzling his neck.
She felt his body yield to her at once, inviting her to draw closer.
Upstairs, the water shut off.
Sasha jumped to her feet.
Connelly groaned and stood as well. He gave Sasha a long, hungry look.
“We need to get this smitten kitten on her way. You’re driving me crazy,” he said in a husky voice. He trailed a finger along her arm.
She shivered. She knew the feeling.
“Tonight,” she said as she focused on keeping her knees from buckling.
CHAPTER 6
Sasha raised her head at the soft rapping on her office door.
“Come in.”
Naya pushed the door inward and poked her head through the opening. “You have time to talk to your favorite legal assistant?”
“Only legal assistant,” Sasha reminded her and pointed toward her guest chair.
Naya flashed her a smile. “Actually, I thought I’d go with you to Whole Foods, so you can get your shopping done for your big surprise.”
Sasha checked the time.
“It’s only ten thirty.”
“So? Jake’ll let you keep your stuff in the fridge until the end of the day. Besides, you wait too long, you’ll be frantically fighting off some other crazy lady for the last wheel of brie or some crap.”
“Okay, if you want to tag along. I’d love the company.”
She saved the motion to compel she’d been drafting and checked her phone to confirm her detailed ingredient list was on it.
Grocery stores inspired a confused dread in Sasha. She usually ended up wandering around with no clear goal in mind, then she would get frustrated, throw an assortment of unrelated items into her basket, and check out. Only to find when she returned home that she had nothing that she could turn into a meal.
Not this time. She’d mapped out this meal with the precision of an engineer or an architect. Ingredients listed and cross-referenced with the grocery store layout; recipes ready; a timeline for prepping each course. She’d handled trials with less preparation.
She shrugged into her coat and followed Naya across the hall to her office.
“You up for some P & T gossip?” Naya asked over her shoulder.
P & T—Prescott and Talbott—was Pittsburgh’s most prestigious law firm and their former employer. After Sasha had left to start her own practice, she’d spent months wooing Naya, who was both a friend and the undisputed best legal assistant at the firm.
Naya had come to work for Sasha six months’ earlier but managed to remain as plugged into the firm’s unofficial information network as ever. Sasha, in contrast, tried to keep her contacts with the firm to a minimum. It was hard to believe she’d worked there for eight very long years; the entire experience seemed so removed from her daily existence of running her own small business.
“Sure. As long as no one’s dead.”
Naya pulled on her coat and turned to arch a brow at the caveat, but Sasha was serious. Her former colleagues seemed to manage to get themselves murdered at an alarming rate.
“Nobody died,” Naya said, running her fingers through her short-cropped hair.
Once Naya had left the firm and there were no old white men to rankle, she’d traded her dreadlocks for a more conventional Jada Pinkett-Smith style. It suited her and highlighted her large eyes and high cheekbones.
But Sasha had noticed that, when Naya
was nervous or anxious, she combed her hands through her short hair, tugging on the ends.
Uh-oh, Sasha thought, bracing herself for bad news.
“Then spill it,” she said.
They started down the stairs to the first floor.
“Okay. At the firm’s holiday party, Will Volmer announced a new development program for non-attorneys. They’re calling it the P&T Advancement Program.”
“Catchy.”
Another eyebrow raise from Naya—presumably for the interruption. “Anyway, he set up a scholarship. They’re going to send one legal assistant to law school every year.”
“Full ride?” Sasha asked, doubting that was the case.
Will was the most upstanding, decent partner at the firm, and she wasn’t surprised that he would want to nurture the talents of all his employees, but law school was expensive. Even though Will had cleaned house after being appointed the chair of the firm in the wake of a scandal months earlier, she couldn’t imagine that his partners were eager to drop roughly one hundred thousand dollars on a three-year education that would also deprive them of a talented legal assistant.
“Full ride,” Naya confirmed.
“Wow. What’s the catch?”
They stepped out of the building and fell into the stream of foot traffic flowing down the sidewalk. A florist’s delivery truck idled in the loading zone. Sasha spotted piles of red roses through the window. A woman scooted past them, her head down, as she thumbed at her phone.
“The catch is the legal assistant has to apply to and be accepted into Duquesne’s night division and agree to continue to work full-time for the first year. From what I hear, most people aren’t up for that,” Naya said.
“No, I suppose not. That’s a huge time commitment. It would take someone with an amazing—almost superhuman—work ethic to want to do such a thing.”
She glanced at Naya and grinned. It didn’t take a Supreme Court Justice to connect these dots.
Naya stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and turned to face her.
She exhaled and said, “Mac, he’s offered me the spot. If I take the LSAT and get into Duquesne, there’s a job at Prescott and a scholarship waiting for me.”
Lovers and Madmen(Sasha McCandless 4.5) Page 3