Courting Death

by Carol Stephenson

  Courting Death

  By Carol Stephenson

  After watching a murderer walk free on a technicality, Nicole Sterling left the state attorney’s office to start a criminal law practice. She lets her partners handle the assault and murder files while she specializes in white-collar crime. With her own mother’s life slowly slipping away before her eyes, Nicole has had about all she can take of death.

  But when a client is accused of killing her own baby, Nicole is drawn in to the case. Also looking for answers is Detective Sam Bowie, a man as infuriating as he is sexy. Sparks fly between them, but the last thing Nicole has room in her life for is a romantic entanglement.

  Their investigation reveals that Nicole’s client could be just one of many innocent victims of a horrific conspiracy. Now, she must put her own life on the line to uncover the truth—and risk her heart—if she’s to have a future with Sam.

  55,000 words

  May 2011

  Dear Reader,

  I’ve always loved May, because it heralds the beginning of one of my favorite seasons—beach season! I’m fortunate to live close to the Atlantic Ocean, so every year in May, I start dreaming about the sound of waves on the sand, dolphins swimming off the coast, and me, lying in a comfortable beach chair, with a frosty beverage in one hand and my eReader in the other. Part of the fun is, of course, planning what I’m going to load onto the eReader for my beach adventures.

  This month of Carina Press releases has provided me with plenty of reading material for my upcoming beach days—not that I’ll be able to wait that long to read them (I do get sneak peek copies in advance, after all). So, with everything from fantasy, to mystery, to contemporary, historical and paranormal romance, it doesn’t matter what I’m in the mood for, Carina Press has something to help me while away the time until I can make my beach dreams a reality.

  I’m especially happy to introduce new novelists Maureen Miller, and her romantic suspense, Endless Night, and Diane Dooley with Blue Galaxy, a science fiction romance that’s out of this world (sorry, I couldn’t resist going for the corny joke). Of course, we also have several return authors as well, with sequels you want to be sure not to miss, including Tangled Past by Leah Braemel, South of Salem from Janni Nell, Portrait of Seduction by Carrie Lofty, Maria Zannini’s Apocalypse Rising and Three Wishes from Jenny Schwartz.

  These books are only a sampling of the tremendous lineup we have for May, so I hope you’ll be sure to take a look at all of the releases, as well as taking advantage of the weekly sales offered on the Carina Press website. And whatever you choose to read, may it help take you one step closer to your own summer getaway!

  We love to hear from readers, and you can email us your thoughts, comments and questions to generalinquiries@carinapress.com. You can also interact with Carina Press staff and authors on our blog, Twitter stream and Facebook fan page.

  Happy reading!

  ~Angela James

  Executive Editor, Carina Press

  www.carinapress.com

  www.twitter.com/carinapress

  www.facebook.com/carinapress

  Dedication

  To Linda Conrad for all your words of wisdom about this business and support over the years. You rock.

  Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  “That’s my final offer.” State prosecutor Connie Sanchez slapped shut the cover of her case file. “One year and a five thousand dollar fine.”

  “Come on, Connie,” I protested. I knew better than to use my opponent’s full name, Conchetta, which she hated. At the moment I needed her cooperation.

  “My client may be a screwed-up teenager, but you haven’t proven any malicious intent. A thousand dollar fine and no jail time.”

  “Sorry, Nicole. No can do.” Connie shrugged. “Your client chose the wrong gravestone to deface. The family members want his ass fried or they’ll go straight to the media. I can see the headlines.” She held up her hands, fingers splayed. “White kid gets away with spray-painting a black girl’s grave.”

  “Chalk, not paint.” I gritted my teeth. Although we’d been friendly during my years as a state prosecutor, the friendship hadn’t survived my conversion to the “dark side,” as she loved to say. If she only knew… Switching to defense wasn’t all that difficult with conscience’s fangs snapping at your heels.

  “Trust me.” Connie dropped her hands. “It will be paint by the time the reporters get through with the story.”

  True enough, I reflected as I collected my briefcase and purse. If a story had enough sympathy play, the dry facts could easily get lost in the hue and cry. I glanced at my watch.

  Damn. Without a deal, I wouldn’t be out of here until late. That meant I couldn’t stop by the house before my evening appointment, and this was the day the caretaker had to leave early. The all too familiar sensation of tension filled my chest like a balloon, pressing against my lungs until I could hardly breathe.

  Stop it, I told myself, fighting to take a normal breath. Now’s not the time to hyperventilate. It wasn’t as if Mom had started wandering off and getting lost like the doctor warned about. She’d be fine by herself for a few hours. Still, a burning sensation flared in my lower chest. I thumbed a tablet from the antacid roll I kept in my jacket pocket.

  The door of the small conference room opened and Bailiff Doug Scott poked his head in. “Ms. Sterling, Ms. Sanchez. The judge is ready to resume the proceedings.”

  “Oh, thank you, Doug.” Despite the dark circles under her eyes, Connie’s eyes flashed with sudden fire. She practically tripped over herself to follow the bailiff out.

  Not that I blamed her. The buff deputy was easy on the eyes and a spark to any woman’s libido. His being single didn’t hurt the fantasy factor either. There was always a moment of reverential silence whenever he strolled by a group of female lawyers in the courthouse hallways.

  As I allowed the bailiff and enamored prosecutor to get ahead, I pulled out my cell phone and called my law firm partner Kate Rochelle.

  “Kate? It’s Nicole. I need a favor.”

  “Of course,” she responded in a cultured tone instilled by her Palm Beach upbringing. “The hearing not going well?”

  “The state’s presented its case, but the prosecutor won’t offer any deal that doesn’t include jail time.”

  “Tough break. Your client may have to testify after all.”

  “Looks that way. I have that funeral service tonight at seven. I might not be able to swing home, could you—”

  “Stop in and check on your mother? Not a problem.”

  Relief swept through me. Sometimes I wondered at what quirk of fortune had blessed me with friends like my partners. “Thanks, Kate.”

  “Go kick some butt.”

  I laughed as I switched off the phone. Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the courtroom door and walked to the table where my client, Trevor Jordan, sat guarded by the bailiff. I nodded to Doug, who withdrew only a slight distance.

  After sitting down, I leaned over and said in a low voice, “Sorry, Trevor. The state wants jail time. The best deal they’ll offer is a year and a five thousand dollar fine. I might be able to
reduce the fine in exchange for an agreement to do the time.”

  God help me. Deep inside, that cowardly part of me wanted him to take the deal. I glanced at the podium stationed in front of the bench and swiped my cold, sweaty palms along my thighs.

  Trevor’s lower lip quivered before he swallowed. Five-ten with a stocky build, he wore his blond hair one-quarter inch longer than military. Given his father, Tommy, sat glowering at the rear of the room, his own short hair bristling with indignation, I knew Trevor’s quarter-inch represented a visible mark of rebellion.

  “If I put you on the stand, the whole truth may come out. Once I open up the issue of motive, the prosecutor will jump all over herself to cross-examine you.”

  The boy studied his clasped hands on top of the table. “I understand.”

  “Do you?” I placed my hand over his.

  His troubled blue eyes met mine. “Screwed if I do. Screwed if I don’t.”

  My lips twitched. “That sounds about right.”

  “Then call me as a witness.”

  “All rise,” the bailiff called out as Judge Kay Fanning entered. Once seated, the judge glanced at me. “Is the defense ready?”

  As this was a preliminary hearing, there was no jury. I was playing my cards for the judge only. “Yes, Your Honor. The defense calls Trevor Jordan.”

  My breathing quickened as I approached the podium. This isn’t the Archer case. There’s no tainted evidence to screw things up. My hand trembled when I placed my notepad on the stand. Best not to risk my former routine of standing beside the podium in a show of confidence. I gripped the sides of the lectern.

  After my client had been sworn in, I began my direct. “Please tell the court your name.”

  He turned toward the judge. “I’m Trevor Jordan.”

  Nice move. Exactly like I’d told him. “Where were you on the afternoon of October 20th?”

  “I was at the Powell Memorial Gardens.”

  “Why were you there?” Careful.

  “I wanted to make a rubbing of Felicia’s gravestone.”

  “Felicia Williams?”

  His gaze darted toward his father. “Yes.”

  “Was anyone else in the area?”

  “No. I looked but didn’t find any caretaker.”

  “Why did you need to find a caretaker?”

  “An internet article about rubbings recommended that you get permission first.”

  “What happened after you didn’t find a caretaker?”

  “I placed tracing paper over the stone and began to rub chalk over it.”

  “Did you intend to deface the grave?” Intent was critical in a charge of malicious defacement of a grave.

  Trevor’s face flushed with indignation. “No. The tracing paper wasn’t supposed to leave a mark. I only wanted a keepsake. I…” He snapped his mouth shut.

  Out of nowhere I developed lightheadedness and a smothering sensation as if there were no oxygen in the room. I couldn’t hear for the ringing in my ears and the pounding of my heart. I tried to speak but couldn’t. It was as if my body had a foot on both the gas and brake pedals.

  “Ms. Sterling. Are you all right?” The sharp edge of the judge’s voice pierced my paralysis. “Is there a question?”

  I glanced down but couldn’t bring my notes into focus. Where was I? Something about why Trevor had done the etching.

  Desperate to regain control, I blurted, “Mr. Jordan, why of all the thousand of gravestones in Powell Memorial Gardens did you want a rubbing of Felicia Williams’s marker?”

  Confusion flashed across Trevor’s face and he cast a nervous glance at his father.

  “No, wait.” Why had I asked that question? I’d opened the motivation gate. “I withdraw—”

  “Because I loved her.”

  His admission was like a bombshell in the courtroom. Stunned silence was followed by screaming and shouting from both Felicia’s parents and Trevor’s father.

  “Order.” Judge Fanning hammered her gavel. “Order in the court.”

  Trevor’s father surged off his seat and stormed down the aisle toward the bench. “Tell them that’s a lie.” He shook his fist. “Take it back now before I beat the truth out of you.”

  Even as I moved to place myself between Trevor and his father, Bailiff Scott charged the man. With ease he grabbed and twisted Tommy Jordan’s arm behind his back. Red-faced, Jordan turned his attention toward me. “You bitch. You warped my son. I’ll kill you for this.”

  “Bailiff, remove him from the room,” Judge Fanning ordered.

  “Yes, Your Honor.” Although the father bucked and dragged his heels, the bailiff quickly removed him. If the shouting in the hall was any indication, Jordan wasn’t quieting down.

  I rather hoped the father would continue to resist so the bailiff would arrest him.

  Judge Fanning rapped her gavel again to get everyone’s attention. “Ms. Sterling. I assume you’re done wreaking havoc.”

  My face burned. “I’ve finished my direct.” I grabbed the notepad but kept my head high as I returned to the defense table. I would not break again. I could get through this mess.

  “Does the state wish to cross examine?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.” Connie rushed to podium. “Mr. Jordan, you want this court to believe you were in love with Felicia Williams?”

  “We did love each other,” Trevor protested. “We were going to get married as soon as we graduated.”

  “Mr. Jordan, Ms. Williams was…” The prosecutor’s voice trailed off as she looked at the judge and her café au lait skin.

  Fascinated, I leaned back and folded my arms. Thank God the state had assumed the hot seat. If Connie asked about the interracial aspect of the relationship, would she be playing to or against the judge’s sympathy?

  Connie apparently decided not to go down that rocky road for what was amounting to, at most, a misdemeanor case. “I have no further questions, Your Honor.”

  “Oh really?” Amusement glinted in Judge Fanning’s dark brown eyes. “Well, I have some questions for Mr. Jordan.” The judge turned toward the witness box.

  “Mr. Jordan, what the state—in its infinite wisdom—decided not to point out is that you’re white and Ms. Williams was African-American.”

  “Yes.” Trevor swallowed.

  “I take it the parents on both sides wouldn’t have approved of your dating.”

  “My dad would have tarred me within an inch of my life,” he admitted.

  Understanding flickered across the judge’s face. “Yes, I imagine he would. And what about Felicia’s parents?”

  My client shot a guilty look toward where the Williamses sat frozen in disbelief.

  “Felicia didn’t want them to know.” A muscle flexed along Trevor’s jaw. Then it was as if an emotional dam burst free inside him. “After she was killed in that car accident, I couldn’t go to her funeral even though it broke my heart. I couldn’t talk to no one.”

  He lifted a hand and wiped away the tears now running down his face. “But I wanted, no, needed to say good-bye to her. It didn’t seem right that I couldn’t even mourn her in public.”

  Bitterness grew in his voice. “I knew I could never visit her grave on a regular basis, so I went online and figured out how to make a tracing. After I got the materials, I waited until I knew my dad would be out of the house. I bought a rose and took a bus to the cemetery. After placing the rose on her grave and saying a few words, I made the tracing.”

  Suddenly, the storm spent itself and he dropped his head. “Now I don’t have the tracing. The police took even that away from me.”

  The judge picked up a photograph the state had placed into evidence. For the first time during the proceeding, my tension eased. In glorious color the photo showed one red bud rose lying atop the marker, a poignant symbol of young love. For a long moment the judge studied the image before setting it aside.

  “Ms. Sanchez. Doesn’t the state have better things to do than prosecuting this case?”
>
  Connie started to rise.

  “Don’t bother answering that question. I’m dismissing the charge on the basis the state has failed to make a showing of malicious intent. Mr. Jordan’s tracing is to be returned to him.”

  I approached Trevor, who remained seated, looking down with his shoulders slumped. “Are you okay?”

  He lifted his tear-stained face. “What’s going to happen to me now?”

  “You’re free to go. The charges are dismissed.” No thanks to me.

  The courtroom door opened and Bailiff Scott walked back in. I extended my arms as if my wrists were handcuffed and he nodded. I bit my lip. When I’d been a prosecutor, my role concluded with the verdict. Facing me was a scared teenager whose only parent was now under arrest. Should I do something? Or simply shake hands and escape? I cleared my throat.

  “Do you have any family members who can help you?”

  Trevor shrugged. “My uncle…but he’s like Dad. You don’t need to worry. I’ll call my grandmother on my mother’s side. She said I could come live with her until graduation. I’ve already signed up with a recruiter to join the Army. Thought it was the best chance I had to get some education and training.”

  I looked at the half teenager, half man and smiled. “Then all I can do now is to wish you the best of luck.”

  I shook his hand, wished him well and watched him walk away, a solitary figure. The way I figured it, he’d been alone a good portion of his life. Maybe now he could catch a break.

  I’d certainly caught one. And if I were lucky the memory of today’s panic attack would fade. After all, I already lived every day of my life with the nightmares of a case gone wrong.

  Chapter Two

  I tapped the procrastinator’s rap on the steering wheel and stared at the discreet entrance to the Depp Funeral Home. Two meager lights in the front parking lot barely cast a yellow glow against the winter night. Glumly, I studied my pale reflection in the driver’s side window.