by Mallory Kane
Harte felt Dani’s gaze on him and tried to ignore it. He agreed with Michele that she shouldn’t leave her post.
“Harte—” Dani started.
“Okay, okay.” He didn’t like it, but he supposed he could be flexible. After all, he was planning to be here for another couple of hours anyhow. Besides, he wasn’t happy with the lack of cell service.
“I tell you what,” he said. “As lead prosecutor on this case, I’m relieving you for one hour to go pick up a squad car. I’d like to have one here in case we have a problem. Even if we lose electricity, we’ll have the police radio and a means of transportation that won’t get stopped.”
Michele looked blankly at him for an instant. “I’m not sure I understand—”
“Detective, you should pick up a squad car. If you swing by your house on the way, I don’t think it would be out of line.”
Michele’s face lightened as his meaning sank in.
“I’ll be here for a couple of hours. But don’t delay. Try to beat the storm.”
“I will,” Michele said. She grabbed her car keys and headed toward the door. “Back in less than forty-five,” she called over her shoulder.
“That was really nice of you,” Dani said, sending him a smile.
“Yeah. Shocking, isn’t it?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Not out loud.”
Dani propped a hand on her hip. “I’m beginning to think that this is not going to be a fun evening.”
“Depends on your definition of fun,” he said, gesturing toward the bag with Mama Pinto’s on the front. “I rode all the way back here with the smell of the best jambalaya in the world filling my car. I’m going to eat. All I can say is it better be worth the trip.”
“Oh, right,” Dani exclaimed. She took the bag from him and peeked inside, inhaling deeply. “Mmm. That’s Mama’s jambalaya all right. Thank you,” she said.
He angled his head. “Your wish is my command,” he said solemnly.
“And I thought chivalry was dead,” she murmured.
“I occasionally slay dragons too,” he shot back as he picked up his briefcase and set it on the kitchen table. “We’ll get started with the prep after we eat.”
“After we eat?” she echoed, clutching the bag tightly.
Harte saw the twinkle in her eyes. First time he’d seen one there. It made them appear amber. He liked it. He wanted to see it again. “Hey, I got two orders, even though one looks like enough to feed a family of four.”
Before he’d finished, she’d dug into the bag and pulled out the two cardboard containers. She shoved one toward him and opened the other, then dug into the bag again and tossed him one of the two plastic forks she found.
He picked up the fork, but he wasn’t as interested in his jambalaya as he was in watching her. She opened the carton and dug into the mound of rice and shrimp and sausage. She shoved a forkful into her mouth and closed her eyes as she chewed.
“Best thing I ever ate,” she mumbled, closing her eyes. “Mmm.”
Harte swallowed hard. The look on her face made his mouth water, but not for food. A spear of pure lust shot through him. He was hungry for her. Grimacing, he forced down a few mouthfuls of jambalaya, then pointed at the bottle. “Want some wine?”
She looked up. “Will you help me drink it?” she asked.
He shook his head with a wry smile. “No. I’m working.” Not to mention that he needed to keep his head clear around her.
“Well, I guess if you’re working, so am I.” She looked longingly at the Chardonnay, then turned her attention back to the food. Fifteen minutes later, Dani moaned and leaned back in her chair, stretching her arms over her head and arching her back. “Oh, I ate too much. Now I’m sleepy.”
He tried to look away. He really did. But the red shirt had fallen away and her perfect breasts strained against the thin cotton of the white tank top she wore underneath, outlining her nipples clearly. He didn’t think he’d ever met another woman who was so unconsciously sexy. And that was part of what turned him on. She had no idea how just looking at her affected him.
Shifting subtly, trying to tamp down his physical reaction, he reminded himself that she was his witness, and therefore his responsibility. He had vowed, to her and to himself, to keep her safe.
She caught his gaze and quickly adjusted her shirt so that it covered the revealing tank top, but her eyes stayed glued to his and something glinted behind them. Was it interest? Maybe even desire?
He busied himself with closing the cartons and putting them in the refrigerator. “Want a glass of water?” he asked.
“Sure, thanks.”
He filled two glasses and held one out to her.
As she reached for it, a crack of thunder split the quiet. She jumped, nearly turning the glass over.
Chapter Seven
Harte caught Dani’s glass just in time to keep it from turning over. “Hey,” he said. “It’s okay. It was just thunder.”
“I know,” she snapped. “It startled me, that’s all.”
He studied her closely as she took a deep swallow of water. Her hands were trembling. She really was afraid of storms.
“Are you going to be able to concentrate?” he said.
“Of course,” she replied, her voice sounding slightly defensive. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“If the storm passes directly over us, it could get nasty. We might lose power.”
“I’m fine.”
“Okay. That’s good, because we’ve got a lot to cover.”
“A lot to cover? I thought you said my testimony wouldn’t take long.”
“It won’t. Not your direct. But with Jury Drury sitting first chair on the defense side, there’s no telling how long he’ll try to drag out the cross-examination. He’s a master at rattling witnesses. He’ll be on everything you say like a vulture on roadkill. Make you doubt what you heard with your own ears. I want to try to give you some defense against that.”
Dani groaned. “As you pointed out yesterday, I’ve questioned and cross-examined my share of witnesses. I know what to expect.”
“I know. But this time you’re the one testifying. Keep in mind that your goal is to put away the scumbag who caused your grandfather’s death.”
“I’m not likely to forget that,” she muttered.
Harte grabbed his briefcase and pulled out the Canto file. During the three months since Akers assigned the case to him, he’d familiarized himself with the specifics, including the autopsy report, Dani’s witness statement and the transcripts of all the interrogations of suspects. Plus, he’d had the dubious pleasure of reading and responding to the mountains of motions filed by Drury.
But during all that time, he’d only talked to Dani twice. He remembered his dad telling him something his grandfather had said. “Criminal law’s nothing like television. It’s ninety-nine percent paperwork and one percent court drama. So if you’re in it for the limelight, find yourself another career.” Lucky for Harte, he didn’t mind the paperwork.
“Okay. You pretty much know what to expect. So let’s start with you telling me what happened. Start from the beginning, as if I’ve never heard it before. You’ve never testified on the stand, right?”
Dani nodded. “That’s right.”
“Keep in mind that facing a jury as a witness is very different from facing them as an attorney.”
Dani bristled at Harte’s tone. Now that he was talking about the trial and her testimony, he’d switched to his imperious prosecutor’s voice. She didn’t like it. It made her feel as if she were back in the courtroom, facing off against him.
Her immediate instinct was to shoot a cutting response at him, but it was beginning to dawn on her how hard it was going to be to sit in that witness box and talk about her granddad’s murder in front of a judge, a jury and the man responsible for his death. So she bit her tongue and nodded again.
His brows twitched, but he didn’t comment. Had he expected a retort? “Okay,” he said. “Go
ahead.”
For a second, she wasn’t sure how to begin. “I’ve thought about that night so many times you’d think I wouldn’t have any trouble describing what happened.” She rubbed her temple.
“Why don’t you start with what you were doing that day?”
“Okay.” She nodded. “That was the day of the City Hall Awards Banquet.”
“That’s right,” Harte commented with a grimace. “The annual rent-a-tux rent-a-crowd.”
“Exactly,” she said with a smile that lightened her expression and put a twinkle in her eyes. “I was going, of course. I’d even bought a new dress. But I caught a stomach bug. I ended up throwing up all day. Granddad brought me some crackers and ginger ale—” She had to swallow hard before she could continue.
“So I’d finally gotten to sl-sleep—” Her breath hitched. “Oh, this is awful.” Her fingers massaged her temple. “Let me start over.”
“No,” Harte said. “You’re doing great.”
She shot him a skeptical look. “Anyway, I woke up hearing voices.” She shifted in her chair. “They were yelling. I heard one of them say, ‘You’ll do it or you’ll regret it,’ and Granddad yelled back, ‘You sons of bitches can go to hell.’ That was just like him. He didn’t suffer fools gladly.”
Harte nodded and smiled back at her. For some reason his smile made her feel better.
“I was groggy and weak, so at first I didn’t pay much attention. I figured it was one of his friends and they were arguing about politics. That wasn’t unusual. He had guests several evenings a week. I used to scold him about not getting enough sleep.” She sighed. “If I’d gotten up then—” Her heart ached with a hollow, sharp pain.
“Hey, don’t go there. Just stick with the facts. Stay on point. You’re fine.” He laid his hand on top of hers where it rested on the table and squeezed it.
She looked down, surprised at the gesture. It didn’t bother her. Just the opposite, in fact. His large, warm hand felt so good, so comforting, over hers. She longed to turn her hand over and clutch his. She wanted, needed, comfort so badly. But she’d already discovered that she was much too vulnerable to his good looks. She pulled away.
“Watch out,” she said. “The jury might think you’re fraternizing with your witness.” She aimed for a smile and a light tone. When his gaze snapped to hers, she realized she’d failed. She’d meant it as a joke, but now, her gaze caught by his, she felt something flare between them. Something hot and intimate. Much more intimate than the touch of a hand or a glance should be.
A flash of lightning and its accompanying clap of thunder made her jump, and that quickly, the spell was broken.
Harte withdrew his hand with a quick smile. “You’re right,” he said. “I’ll have to watch it.”
A chill slid through her—was it from the thunder or the absence of his warm hand on hers? She shivered and glanced up at the kitchen clock. “I wonder if Michele’s made it home. The storm is getting worse.”
A second flash and rumble proved her right.
“I’m sure she’s fine,” Harte said. “She’ll be back soon.”
Another time, Dani might resent Harte’s carefully patient tone, as if he were trying to calm a screaming child. But right now he was her only port in the storm—literally. And he was being quite nice.
He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and checked it. He shook his head.
“Still no service?” she asked. In the distance, a high-pitched wail signaled that emergency vehicles were responding to calls.
“Not even one bar. When I was trying to talk to the D.A., I had two bars and it still kept dropping the connection. I hope the storm hasn’t knocked out any towers.” He sighed and pocketed the phone. “So. Your grandfather and whoever was in his study were yelling.”
She cleared her throat. “Then I heard noises—grunts and crashes, like furniture being knocked over or things being thrown. I didn’t know at the time, but now I know they were hitting him. When I think of those awful sounds, I—” She stopped. She had to swallow a couple of times to get rid of the lump in her throat. “There was one guy. He was louder than the others, sounded like he was in charge. He’s the one who started naming names.”
“What names did you hear?”
Dani looked at Harte blankly for a moment. Her head was filled with the awful, sickening sounds she’d heard that night. The dull thud of fists hitting flesh. The crash of a body falling against a table or the floor. Sounds that would always haunt her dreams.
“Dani?” Harte said. “What names did you hear?”
“Yeoman, Senator Stamps and Paul Guillame. All that’s in my statement.”
“I know. But remember, I asked you to tell me about the night as if I’d never heard it before.”
She sighed. “I heard ‘Mr. Yeoman sent us,’ and—”
“Okay, hold on a second,” Harte interrupted. “One of the men said, ‘Yeoman sent us’?”
“He said, ‘Mr. Yeoman sent us.’”
“You’re absolutely sure? It couldn’t have been ‘Mr. Yeoman said’ or ‘Mr. Yeoman should’?”
Irritation burned in her stomach. “You know it’s not either of those. He said, ‘Mr. Yeoman sent us.’”
Harte studied her for a moment. “Okay. Don’t forget that I’m asking you these questions for the jury. What else did they say?”
“I couldn’t understand everything. The next thing I could make out was something about Senator Stamps, and—” She stopped. Just like that night, the exact words the men had said eluded her.
“Can you tell me specifically what they said when they mentioned Stamps’s name?” Harte prodded.
“They didn’t mention Stamps’s name. They yelled it.”
“Okay,” he said with exaggerated patience.
She closed her eyes and forced herself back there. Creeping quietly across the hardwood floor toward Granddad’s study, her stomach queasily protesting, listening to the awful sounds and trying to remember where her cell phone was so she could call 911. “It was like ‘Senator Stamps warned or armed or aimed.’ I was groggy from nausea medication and terrified, because I couldn’t figure out what was happening.”
Harte’s mouth thinned. “That brings up a good point. Where were you that night while all this was going on?”
“I was trying to get to the telephone in the living room.”
“And where was your grandfather?”
“In his study, on the other side of the house.”
“That distance has been measured. From the door of your bedroom to the door of Freeman Canto’s study is sixty-two feet. Are you telling me that you could hear and understand what the men were saying?”
She bristled. “Ye-e-es.” She drew out the word sarcastically.
“Dani, you’re supposed to be answering as if you were on the witness stand. You’re the prosecution’s main witness. As an attorney you know better than to get defensive. Remember that it’s your job to give the judge and jury an accurate recounting of the events that led up to your grandfather’s death.”
The control she was holding on to with such desperation cracked and her eyes filled with tears. “This is a lot harder than I thought it would be. I’m talking about hearing men beating my grandfather to death while I was three rooms away.”
Harte’s gaze seemed to soften. “It’ll be even harder when you’re on the witness stand,” he said gently. “How many phones are there in the house?”
“Besides the one in the living room, there’s one in Granddad’s study. Then there’s my cell phone, which was in my purse on the hall table, and Granddad’s, which I believe was in his pocket.” She pushed her chair back from the table and began pacing. Her path took her toward the front room where the rain was pounding the picture window. “And you don’t have to remind me that it will be harder. I know that.”
Harte continued with his questioning. “Now, if you were frightened, sick and medicated, how can you possibly be sure the name you heard was Stamps?”
“I know what I heard. He didn’t just say Stamps, he said Senator Stamps. And I heard the name Paul Guillame too and he’s Stamps’s political adviser.”
“Again, Ms. Canto, you’ve admitted that you were medicated. In fact, you really can’t testify to what the men said, can you? They could have said William or DeYoung or a dozen other names, right? It might not have been a name at all. It could have been anything.”
Dani spoke clearly and calmly. “I was there, and I know what I heard. I can’t tell you exactly what they said about Senator Stamps or Paul Guillame, but I am absolutely certain those names were spoken that night, along with the name Mr. Yeoman.” She glanced at him sidelong. “And don’t think for a minute that I don’t know who Paul Guillame is.”
“Objection. Irrelevant.”
“No, it’s not. Tell me, counselor, is it going to impact me that my attorney is related to one of the people whose name came up while my grandfather was being beaten to death?”
Harte’s mouth thinned. “The D.A. has considered that and is not concerned. We’re marginally related at best. He’s like a third cousin.”
“So Akers asked you about it.”
“I’m your attorney. Don’t even suggest that I don’t have your best interests at heart. But please, by all means get all this hostility out before you actually go on the stand. And don’t forget that it’s not going to be me badgering you about what you heard. I’ll let you tell the jury what happened in your own words. It’s going to be Drury who’ll be hitting you with the tough questions. He’s a snake. Don’t let him upset you. Think about what you tell your own witnesses. They lose credibility if they let the opposing attorney get to them.”
Dani tried to compose herself. Everything Harte said was true. But the renewed pain of her grandfather’s violent death, combined with the storm outside and the fact that she had to rely on Harte Delancey, her courtroom nemesis, was about to undo her. “I apologize,” she muttered.
“Let’s get back to the question at hand. Isn’t it true that you’re not certain about the names you heard? That you’re merely desperate to find someone to blame for your grandfather’s death?”