Star Witness

by Mallory Kane

  Holding the glass high, she said, “To you, Granddad. The bastards who killed you will rot in prison if I have anything to say about it.” She took a long swallow and shuddered.

  Grabbing the bottle, Dani walked to her bedroom, kicked off her high heels and frowned at the long scrape that marred the red leather of the right shoe. “Great,” she sighed, and flopped onto the bed.

  Outside, she heard a faraway rumbling of thunder. She shivered. She didn’t like storms. They scared her. Her dad had died in a tornado when she was only seven. Until that awful night last year when her granddad was murdered, storms had been the only thing that scared her.

  That night, she’d learned that home did not always represent safety, that faceless monsters could murder a man without conscience and that as strong and capable as she’d always thought she was, she’d been helpless to save her granddad. But at least Ernest Yeoman, the man who she was convinced was behind her granddad’s murder, would soon be brought to trial.

  According to Harte Delancey, the prosecutor who’d been assigned to her case, the D.A. was practically salivating at the chance to get his hands on the suspected drug smuggler. Yeoman had long been suspected of using his import business to smuggle contraband and drugs into the country through the Port of New Orleans. He was also rumored to have friends in the legislature. Some rumors had even suggested that Freeman Canto was one of those friends.

  Dani felt the determination that had sustained her since the night her grandfather had died rise inside her, pushing away the fear. She was not going to let Yeoman or anyone else frighten her away, no matter how serious the threats. Nobody would smear her granddad’s name if she had anything to say about it.

  She held her glass up in a salute. “I’m fighting for you, Granddad,” she whispered, her throat tightening. Just as she brought the glass to her lips, something made her stop dead still.

  What had she heard? Footsteps maybe, in front of the house? Or had the rain that had been threatening all day finally gotten here? Holding her breath, she listened. There it was again. That was not rain. It was footsteps.

  She didn’t move a muscle. The rhythm and the muffled crunch ruled out the raccoons that toppled her garbage can at least once a week. Raccoons didn’t make that much noise. This varmint was human. Her pulse skittered as the footsteps crunched on the gravel driveway.

  It could be one of the police officers or the crime scene unit, taking more pictures before the rain got too bad. But that was doubtful. Detective Mahoney would have called her, knowing how shaken she was.

  Whoever was out there wasn’t sneaking, but he wasn’t tromping either. She listened as he rounded the house and came up onto the back stoop.

  Dani tensed, but to her surprise, everything went quiet. She set her wineglass down and prepared to get up, angry at herself for her apprehension. She was not going to let Ernest Yeoman make her feel unsafe inside her own home.

  Finally, a staccato rapping echoed through the house. Although she half expected the knock, she still jumped. She slipped off the bed and tiptoed down the hall to the front foyer. She worried her lip between her front teeth as she eased the gun out of her purse. Drawing courage from the heft of the weapon in her hand, she stepped into the kitchen, gun at the ready.

  The silhouette of a man was outlined on the window shade of the back door. The dark figure’s shape didn’t look ominous, but it didn’t have the reassuring outline of a police officer’s uniform and hat either. Nor was he wearing the cap and jacket of a crime scene tech.

  She eased closer until she was about ten feet from the door. Raising the gun, she thumbed off the safety. Just as the silhouetted man lifted a hand to knock again, she snapped, “Who is it?”

  The hand stopped in midair.

  “Get away from my door!” she yelled in a loud, commanding voice. “Now!”

  “Dani, it’s Harte. Just checking on you.”

  Her pulse slowed as relief coursed through her. It was Harte Delancey. Great. She rolled her eyes. Thanks, Mahoney. She should have known he’d call the prosecutor who’d been assigned Yeoman’s case three months ago. “Go away. I’m fine,” she said irritably. “Go study your briefs or something.”

  The shadow shifted and she saw his head shake. “Yeah, ha-ha. I never heard that one before.” He spread his hands, palms out. “Come on, Dani. Open up. I’m not armed.”

  She shook her head in exasperation. “Well, I am,” she retorted. “Now go away. I’m not dressed.”

  “Sure you are,” he said. “I can see your outline through the glass.”

  Muttering some unladylike words, Dani slid the bolt and unlocked the back door. As she turned the knob, she braced herself for the sight of him. As much as he irritated her, she couldn’t deny that he was easy on the eyes, which made her very uneasy all over.

  But when she swung the door wide, she was stunned. The Harte Delancey she was used to seeing was slickly handsome, from his perfect dark hair and expensive suit to his blindingly polished shoes.

  But this was no slick prosecutor who stood in front of her now. His hair was tousled and flopped over his forehead. He was wearing a T-shirt and jeans. Dani did a double take.

  The T-shirt was a worn and much-washed New Orleans Jazz Festival shirt from several years ago. The fabric stretched across his chest and shoulders and draped loosely over faded, very nicely fitting jeans.

  She swallowed. Suits did not do Harte Delancey justice.

  Harte cleared his throat and Dani realized she was staring at his—jeans. Her gaze snapped to his, her face burning with embarrassment. And there in his expression was the polished prosecutor she was used to seeing. His dark eyes were filled with mischief, and a familiar, knowing smile curved his lips.

  She glared at him. “What are you doing here?” she asked, letting her gaze sweep downward and back up.

  He pushed his fingers through his hair, dislodging droplets of rain. “Can I come in?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Oh, sure. Why not? After you went to all the trouble to sneak around my house.”

  “Sneaking? I wasn’t sneaking. I couldn’t very well come to the front door like civilized folks.” He assessed her. “Are you all right?”

  She shrugged. “I’m fine.”

  “You don’t look fine. Are you hurt?”

  She shook her head, suddenly feeling a lump growing at the back of her throat. Swallowing hard, she straightened. “I was just—thinking about my granddad.”

  Harte’s brow furrowed and his snapping dark eyes softened. He started to speak, but Dani cut him off.

  “I guess Mahoney told you what happened.”

  “Where did you get that gun?” he asked. “You shouldn’t—”

  He stopped when she lifted her chin. Then she realized she was still holding the weapon. She clicked on the safety and set it down on the counter. “I have a license,” she said defensively.

  He visibly relaxed. “Seriously, Dani. Did the EMTs check you out? Make sure you didn’t break something?”

  “I didn’t break anything. The driver broke my porch.” She had to suppress the urge to press her palm against her tightening chest. She just wanted to go to bed and pull the covers over her head. “What’s the matter, Mr. Prosecutor? Afraid you’re going to lose your star witness? I can guarantee you I will be there to testify. These accidents are nothing more than an inconvenience.”

  He shook his head, and his smile faded. “I’m positive I won’t lose my witness.” He pulled a folded piece of paper from the back pocket of his jeans and held it up between two long, sturdy fingers.

  Her stomach sank to her toes. “Oh no. No, no, no,” she said, shaking her head. “You didn’t,” she grated through clenched teeth. “Come on, Harte. Tell me that’s not—” She reached for it, but he held it over his head. If she’d had on her four-inch platform heels, she might have been able to snag it, but she was barefoot, and therefore at least six inches shorter than he.

  “It’s an order of protection—” he starte
d.

  “No!” she broke in. “You are not sticking me in some airless bedbug-ridden hovel for weeks.”

  “It won’t be weeks, and hopefully it won’t be bedbug-ridden or airless.” There was a definite tone of amusement in his voice. “In fact, you ought to love it. It’s a bed-and-breakfast in a Victorian house in the Lower Garden District.”

  Dani crossed her arms. “I won’t go. The public defender’s office is shorthanded as it is. I have cases and trial dates.”

  “Your cases are more important to you than your safety?” he shot back. “Than your life?”

  She blinked. “My life?” she echoed. “I object. Assuming facts not in evidence.”

  He shook his head. “Mahoney told me about the car, and I saw what’s left of your porch steps. If that vehicle had hit you, you’d be nothing more than a smudge on the sidewalk.”

  Chapter Two

  “Ouch!” Dani said, cringing at Harte’s words. “A smudge. Great. Thanks for that image.”

  “Come on, Dani. Another public defender can be appointed to take your cases until this trial is over. You are in danger and no, I’m not just worried about my case. I’m worried about you.”

  Dani sniffed. “Better watch out. Con Delancey will haunt you for consorting with the enemy.”

  He shot her an exasperated glance. “Our grandparents’ feud is ancient history. And it was probably just for show anyhow.”

  “I can believe Con Delancey was posturing, but my grandfather always fought for what he believed in. That’s why he was—” She swallowed. Why were her emotions so near the surface tonight? Even as the question flitted through her mind, she knew the answer was obvious. Because she’d almost been run down by a car.

  Harte held up his hands, palms out. “I’m not suggesting anything different. I just need you to trust me, or I won’t be able to keep you safe.”

  Trust him? She knew him. He would do anything to win, just like his grandfather. He’d proven that three years ago. Luckily for her, right now her safety meshed with his ambition. She sighed in exasperation and defeat. “When am I to be incarcerated?”

  “Tomorrow morning. I tried to get you in tonight, but they’re full. They’re letting us have the run of the place for the next two weeks.”

  “Two weeks?” Two weeks sounded like forever. Then the significance of the time frame hit her. “Wait a minute. The trial date’s been set?”

  “Oh, I didn’t tell you. It was moved forward. It starts Tuesday.”

  “Tuesday?” Dani said, shocked. “You mean as in Thursday—” She held up a finger. “Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Monday, Tuesday?” she continued, counting each day off on a finger. “But we aren’t ready.”

  “I know. Tell me about it. Don’t worry. We’ll prep all weekend. Anyhow, the B-and-B has agreed that we can extend your stay for as long as the trial goes on. They’re happy with the weekly rate we offered them.”

  “Weekly rate? As long as the trial goes on?” she cried. “No. This is not going to work. I’m going to see the judge and get that order vacated.”

  Harte gave her that smile again, the one that looked more like a smirk and made her so angry. “You can try, but ever since I passed the bar, I’m Judge Rossi’s favorite nephew.”

  She had to fight to keep her jaw from dropping. Of course he had an uncle who was a judge. Of course he went to him for the order of protection. “So that’s how you managed to get a judge’s signature this time of night. Must be nice to have relatives who will skirt the law for you any time you please.”

  His smile faded. “I didn’t skirt the law. I merely called a judge I know rather than picking one from the phone book. You’d have done the same, Madame Public Defender.”

  “Fine,” she said grudgingly. “You said it was a bed-and-breakfast? I guess that won’t be too awful. Give me the address. I’ll head over there tomorrow.”

  “It’s on Religious Street, between Race and Orange. But as of—” he glanced at the piece of paper he held “—nine forty-three p.m. today, I’m responsible for you. So I’ll pick you up.”

  “Okay, okay. Fine.” She held up her hands in surrender. “Anyone ever tell you you’re a bully?”

  “Nope. Never.” He cocked his hip to slide the packet back into his pocket.

  Dani couldn’t help sneaking a glimpse at the back side of the snug jeans before she stepped around him to open the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  He reached over her shoulder to push the door closed, which put him way too close. She caught a faint whiff of something fresh and citrusy as she glanced up at him. She was going to have to get some higher heels. Not being eye-to-eye with him made her feel small.

  “Hold it,” he said. “Not so fast. I want to ask you some questions about what happened tonight.”

  “I told the police everything. Go read their report.”

  “Tell me just exactly what you were doing when the car tried to run you down.”

  Dani clenched her teeth. She’d seen that determined glint in his eye before—when they’d faced each other across the courtroom. He’d badger her until he got answers. With a defeated shake of her head, she walked over to the kitchen table and sat. “I’m really tired, so could we make it quick?”

  “I’ve got no problem with that.”

  She rested her clasped hands on the table and stared at them. “I was late leaving the office. It was probably six-thirty, so by the time I got home it must have been around seven.”

  He nodded without speaking.

  “I pulled into the driveway, parked and...” She paused. “I walked around to the front of the house to get the mail. The car just popped up out of nowhere. I heard the engine rev, but I didn’t pay any attention to it until the sound kept getting louder and louder.”

  “Where were you when you realized the car was coming at you?”

  “About ten feet or so from the mailbox.” She wasn’t happy about having to relive those moments. She’d been through them already, she’d had to answer questions about them twice for the police and now Harte was asking the same questions. She pushed her fingers through her hair. “Every single bit of this is in my statement,” she groused.

  “You’d already gotten the mail?”

  “No. I was walking toward the box.”

  “So you realized it was coming at you...”

  She nodded. “And I just ran. I don’t even remember jumping up onto the porch.”

  “Sounds like it’s a good thing you did.”

  She rubbed her wrist. “I do remember the landing. Did you look at the damage?” she asked.

  “A little bit. I couldn’t tell a whole lot in the dark, but the front steps are basically splinters now.” He looked at her. “Why? You haven’t?”

  She shook her head. “No. As soon as they were finished questioning me, I came inside, took a hot shower and tried to relax. Then I heard you sneaking around.”

  He opened his mouth as if to deny again that he’d been sneaking, then apparently changed his mind. “Did you see him?”

  “See who? Oh, the driver?” She shook her head. “I barely got a glimpse of the car. The first thing I knew after I started running was that I was on the porch and my wrist and my left hip hurt. And my elbows and knees stung.” She lifted her arm.

  Harte frowned at the angry red scrape just under her elbow.

  “I sat up and tried to catch the license, but the car was nearly out of sight and I couldn’t make it out.”

  “Can you describe the car?” Harte asked.

  “It was dark, maybe black.”

  “And the shape? The size?”

  Dani closed her eyes. “It looked really big, but that might be because it was racing toward me.”

  “An SUV?”

  She shook her head. “No. It was a—” She gestured. “A regular car. You know, a sedan.”

  “Have you ever met Ernest Yeoman?”

  Dani shook her head.

  “Myron Stamps? Paul Guillame?”

 
; “Come on, Harte. I’ve answered these questions a dozen times. For the police, for the other assistant district attorney and now I’ve got to answer them for you? I’m tired.”

  “Humor me,” he said. “I want you to answer as if you’re answering on the stand.”

  Dani sighed. “I know Senator Stamps. He used to come over here a lot to talk to Granddad. They’d argue into the night. I’d make coffee for them.”

  “What did they argue about?” he asked.

  “You know all this,” she groused. “The docks. The Port of New Orleans. Granddad fought for raising tariffs and taxes. He was convinced that lowering tariffs would allow more smuggling through the Port of New Orleans.”

  “And Stamps argued against that?”

  She nodded. “Sure. He was on Con Delancey’s side.”

  “Lower the tariffs to boost revenue and create more jobs,” Harte said.

  “Not to mention creating more crime-smuggling contraband and drugs.”

  Harte frowned, looking thoughtful. “I’ve never understood that argument. Smuggling by definition is bypassing normal import channels.”

  “You’re not that naive, are you? They smuggle the contraband and drugs in with the legally imported items. Sometimes inside them. Higher tariffs cut into their profits, and enforcing the higher tariffs means more port authority officers around.”

  Harte nodded. “I know the reasoning. So back to Stamps. You’re saying he and your granddad butted heads on the issue of tariffs, even though your granddad’s position had never changed? I wonder why.”

  “Granddad didn’t like Stamps, but he was too polite to refuse to see him. He always said—” Dani stopped. As an attorney, she hated speculation and hearsay. Harte would probably light into her if she started relating her granddad’s opinion of Stamps.

  “What?” he asked.

  She gave a little shake of her head and made a dismissive gesture.

  “Dani, tell me. Anything might be important.”

  “Even if defense council would cut me off in a heartbeat for hearsay?”

  His eyes softened in amusement. “Tell me and let me decide.”