by Cecy Robson
I didn’t know I had a speech impediment until I was told that I did. But it wasn’t until I recorded my voice one day and played it back that I realized how different I spoke from the hearing world.
The experience was startling, and made me self-conscious. It took my dad reminding me that even though I speak differently, it doesn’t make what I say less important.
I wanted to believe him, and in a way I still struggle. Sometimes, it’s really hard. Whenever I meet someone new it’s like I have to prove there’s more to me than just my voice.
With a sigh, I throw my purse stuffed with smutty books over my shoulder and shut my office door behind me.
“Going to court, Melissa?”
I turn around smiling as Detective Valencia Hernandez hurries down the hall. Her willowy frame and lovely face suggests she’s more model than investigator. But most models can’t throw a perp twice her size to the ground.
“Hi, Valencia,” I say when she reaches me. “I need to take care of some things courtside, but then I’ll be back. Is there something pressing you need?”
She smacks my arm with the file she’s holding. “Of course I need something. Don’t I always need something from you, girl?”
I laugh, because yes, she always does. “How can I help you?”
“It’s about Betty Clemson. She can’t afford counseling and is pretty damn traumatized from the armed robbery she witnessed.”
I try to place the name. “Is that the case where the owner was shot at point blank range?”
“In the face? So his brains splattered the display case behind him? Yup. That’s the one.”
That poor man, and poor Betty, too. “Ask Debbie to call her. She can fill out a services form over the phone for her. I’ll review it, fax it through to the state, and ask them to put a rush on it.”
“Thanks, Melissa.” She cocks her head. “You okay? You seem a little bummed.”
“I’m fine. Just busy.”
She gives me her all-knowing once-over. “Girl, all you do is work. Come out with us to happy hour tonight. You look like you could use a drink and a little fun.”
“I can’t tonight,” I tell her. “I’m meeting with Declan after hours to discuss a case we’re working on.”
“Oh, I see,” she says, laughing.
My smile fades. “It’s not like that.”
“Uh, huh.” She gives me another smack with her folder and walks away.
I groan. Sometimes it really sucks working with investigators. They’re trained to pick up on subtle changes in a person’s demeanor. In a room with Detectives Hernandez, Melo―anyone of the law enforcement staff, I don’t think I’d stand a chance. They’d see right through the confidence I try maintain and unearth every insecurity threatening to tear through me.
I hurry out the side door and down the stairwell, wishing my encounter with Declan hadn’t affected me like it had. He walked away without another glance back. I know he felt rushed, and if it involved the search and seizure, it was urgent, just as I know I shouldn’t care. We both have work to do. But even knowing as much doesn’t make the snub an easier pill to swallow. Not with Stephanie so close to his heels, and especially not with how easily she dismissed me.
My shoulder length hair sweeps behind me as I walk along the bridge connecting our building to the courthouse. With my badge firmly in place, the sheriff’s officers wave me through and past the line of people waiting to clear the metal detector.
I’m supposed to observe one of the newly appointed A.D.A.s, Kirk Stevenson. He’s clerked in our office for over a year now, waiting for the opportunity to prove himself. Since Declan is considering him for SACU, I’m hoping Kirk can measure up.
With a deep breath I proceed to Judge Bronson’s courtroom, increasing the speed in my stride. There are a cluster of people piled outside the double doors leading in. They speak in low murmurs, but the collection of voices is loud enough to overwhelm my hearing. I hurry forward when I catch sight of the judge’s clerk walking back to chambers. “Steve,” I call out.
I’m not sure he hears me until he turns around. “Oh, hey, Melissa,” I watch him mouth, doing my best to tune out the extra noise. “What are you up to?”
“I’m here to observe Kirk Stevenson . . . What’s wrong?” I ask when he makes a face.
He hooks my elbow and guides me down the small hall that leads to the chambers. “Look, Melissa. I’m only telling you this because my clerk assignment ends in another week.” He waits as one of the deputies hurries past him before continuing. “Rumor has it Kirk just accepted a position with a firm downtown. He’s biding his time here and making connections until he starts his new job.”
Awesome. So much for him. I glance around, hoping I didn’t waste my time by coming. “Are there any other A.D.A.s around?”
“A few.” He sighs. “Including the woman who broke my heart.”
I follow his stare to the corner where Tess O’Brien is standing. Oh, yes, I’d heard a few of the clerks had it bad for her.
Tess is lovely, tall and thin, except where her baby bump is showing. She doesn’t notice me, too busy flipping through the file as she speaks to a defense attorney and his client. Just a few feet behind her waits her husband Curran. He’s dressed in his Philly cop uniform, watching his wife and her interaction closely.
Considering opposing council is looming over Tess and rolling his eyes as she speaks, Curran seems surprisingly calm. “Thanks, Steve,” I say, walking toward them.
I frown the closer I draw. The defense attorney is being blatantly disrespectful, and the client isn’t that much better. But honestly what shocks me is how unaffected Curran appears. That’s his pregnant wife, and for all he jokes, he’s known for his tough-as-steel persona. I don’t understand why he’s not stepping in to throttle this jerk.
I inch closer, not wanting to leave her so vulnerable. I can’t hear Tess well, but I can read her lips. “This is what you’re going to do,” she says. “Plead guilty to the possession and intoxication charges, and I’ll drop the misconduct and indecent exposure.”
Defense council huffs. “You can’t be serious. He’s a first time offender.”
“I’m not doing that,” the defendant snaps. He scowls at his attorney. “You said I wouldn’t have to do any of that.”
“You don’t,” his attorney tells him.
I stop beside Curran. He keeps his attention on Tess, but nudges me with his elbow. “Watch this,” he says.
She straightens to her full height, adjusting her tiny glasses. “That’s true. You don’t have to plead guilty. We can set up a hearing and try this case today.” She motions around. “You see all these people, all these fine and proud Philadelphians? I’m sure they’re dying to hear how you got blasted out of your mind, ran across Liberty Park naked, and peed on their sacred bell—no, that you peed on American history and the very embodiment of freedom.” She veers on the attorney. “You’re ready, aren’t you counselor? Because I am. In fact, I’ve already prepared my witnesses, including the two priests who saw your client strip off his clothes and sprint across the lawn. They’re on standby and ready to go.”
“I need a week,” the defense attorney counters.
“To prepare for a case that’s been sitting on your desk for over a month?” Tess addresses the defendant. “How much are you paying him, never mind,” she adds quickly. “Just know it’s more than I make, that I received this case yesterday, and that I’m ready to try this case now. Oh, and keep in mind that not only did you basically pay him to stand here and do nothing, but that he’ll be asking you for more money to try the case. Steve?” she calls out.
“Yes, Assistant District Attorney O’Brien?” Steve answers, grinning.
“Could you squeeze us in this afternoon for a quick trial?” Her eyes narrow at the defense attorney. “I assure you it won’t take long.”
“No problem, Tess,” he replies.
My head whips back to Tess’s group so I don’t miss a word. The a
ttorney starts to open his mouth, but Tess cuts him off. “Unless your client is ready to plead to the charges I recommended, I have nothing more to say to you. See you this afternoon.”
She starts to leave, her pace slowing when she sees us standing there. “Hi, Melissa,” she says, before turning to Curran. “What are you doing here, cop?”
“Watching you get me hot.”
Her face flushes pink only to redden further when he puts his arms around her waist and pulls her close. “Curran, I’m at work,” she reminds him.
“What?” he asks. “It’s not like I grabbed your ass like last time.”
She shakes her head, prying his hands loose when they start to wander south.
I laugh. I can’t help it. It’s not that I don’t agree with Tess, that this is a public place and he needs to behave. But Curran is just so cute around her.
When I was first introduced to Curran, I was immediately attracted to his ruggedness and personality. Throw in the fact that he’s fluent in ASL and he totally had me. I was in heaven for two solid minutes, until Tess stepped forward and I realized there was something between them. But that’s how my life has always been, the supposed perfect man standing mere feet away from me only for another woman to swoop in and claim him.
“What are you doing here, Melissa?” she asks, turning back to me.
“I’m here to observe Kirk’s case,” I answer.
Curran stays close, keeping his arm around her. I realize his show of affection is intentional, making it clear to both the court staff and anyone passing that they’re a couple.
Tess wasn’t intimidated by opposing counsel, but her position in the office isn’t without its dangers. Defendants often lash out, the witnesses aren’t that much better, toss in their families and friends and it’s recipe for blow ups that could end in blood. It’s the reason the county employs the amount of sheriff officers they do.
Curran nods to a few officers positioned close by. They return his nod in a show of solidarity and in a silent vow to watch out for Tess in his absence.
“You’re here to see Kirk?” Tess repeats. At my nod, her attention shoots to Courtroom 13. “He’s been in there a while, odd considering it’s a cut and dry case.”
“He’s probably showing off in front of his new boss,” I tell them. “I just learned he accepted a position downtown.”
“You’re kidding,” Curran says. “Dumbass was sworn in following Declan’s recommendation.”
“I don’t think he’s told anyone yet,” I add.
Curran huffs. “Of course he hasn’t. The asshole is trying to milk this position for all it’s worth.”
“Pretty much,” I agree.
The defense attorney Tess was speaking with approaches her slowly, and significantly more respectfully when he catches sight of Curran.
“My client will agree to your terms,” he says, muttering so low, I barely make out what he says.
Tess barely blinks. “Fine. I’ll tell the judge’s clerk.” She presses her free hand against Curran’s chest. “I’ll be back in a moment.”
He watches her walk away. This time, it’s my turn to nudge him. “I like that wife of yours.”
A slow smile spreads across his face. “I do, too,” he admits. “She’s perfect.”
I agree. Perfect for Curran and my unit.
CHAPTER 6
Melissa
“Perfect”. That’s how Curran described Tess. It’s not true, of course, despite that she’s amazing. Like the rest of us, she’s human and likely flawed in a way that makes her more endearing. But Curran meant it because he loves her, reinforcing my wish to one day be “perfect” for someone, too.
“How are the spring rolls?” Declan asks.
The sleeves of his dress shirt are rolled to just below his elbows and his tie is dangling on the hook beside his jacket. He’s leaning so far back against his chair and appears so relaxed, I bet he’d have his feet propped up on his desk if I weren’t here and if we weren’t using it to eat our takeout.
I swallow and raise my tiny foil container. “Really good. Would you like one?”
I’m looking at him, but not really looking at him, seeing how I still can’t. He’s been gracious, but I haven’t forgotten the naughty book incident, just like I’m sure he hasn’t either.
He polishes off the Pad Thai and stretches across the desk, using his chopsticks to reach for a roll. “Thanks. So . . . Morris Miller, tell me about the victim. What’s going on with her?”
“Tricia is a tough one,” I admit. “She was in and out of foster care―”
“Tricia Helmsley was in foster care?” he asks.
I don’t blame him for being surprised given her success. She’s head of marketing at a prestigious firm and has accomplished a great deal. But like many who’ve been part of the foster care system, she didn’t escape unscathed.
In fact, she’s pretty screwed up.
“She was,” I answer slowly.
Declan doesn’t miss my cautious tone. He raises his thick brows. “This is why you wanted to meet with me, isn’t it? There’s more to her than meets the eye.”
“That’s one way to put it,” I agree.
“She seems so normal. I should have known a somewhat stable victim was too good to be true.” He looks at me. “Should I have another roll before we delve into her dirty little secrets?”
I think about what I have to tell him and place the entire container directly in front of him. “Christ,” he says, reaching for it.
“Now, I’m only telling you what I am because it pertains to her case and it’s highly probable the defense council will try to use it against her.”
“I’m listening,” he says when I hesitate.
“Tricia is a submissive at Club Hurt.” For a moment, he simply freezes. “A sexual submissive,” I explain.
“I understood you the first time,” he says. He tosses the container on the desk and leans back in his chair, covering his eyes until every swear word I know spews from his lips. He drops his hand away. “You’re serious?” When I nod he adds, “You think she might have mentioned this sooner?”
“It’s a lifestyle she doesn’t want her coworkers and clients to know about, but considering Morris Miller has one of the best defense attorneys in the state, with a reputation for hiring private P.I.s to dig up dirt on lead witnesses . . .” I wrinkle my nose. “I just thought you should know.”
“It’s going to be harder to prove Miller raped her,” Declan mutters.
I’m not sure if he means for me to hear him or if he’s simply talking to himself, either way I struggle to catch his words. Regardless, I need to assure he’s on Tricia’s side. “But he did rape her,” I say. “You believe her, don’t you?”
“It’s not that I don’t believe her, Mel. But if this comes up―which it will, given defense council’s pit bull approach to winning cases―it’ll give the jury the wrong impression of Tricia. They’ll ignore her accomplishments and the professional standing before them, branding her a slut who asked for it, especially if the defense spins it as consensual BSMD or whatever the fuck the acronyms are.”
“BDSM,” I clarify. “Bondage, domination, sadism, and masochism.”
He raises his brows. “You seem to know a lot about this kind of thing.”
This time, my smile comes a little easier. “And you don’t seem to know enough.”
He lifts one of the rolls. “Care to educate me?” he asks, a playful grin spreading across his face. “I mean, given my role here at SACU, I should know all the ins and outs, don’t you think?”
He pops the roll in his mouth with his chopstick. His smirk is in place, positive he’ll stir another blush out of me. Not this time, big boy.
I lean against the desk and fold my arms in front of me, my stare wistful, longing, or at least that’s what I’m going for. “The pain inflicted when bound is not meant to harm or punish, Declan. It’s meant to stimulate and free.”
Declan stops chewing, hon
ing in on my face. My hand drifts to my hair to play with the ends, before I lower it slowly and avert my chin as if embarrassed. “The pliable whip teases a woman’s most intimate parts, enticing them to tense and strain.” My gaze grows distant as if I’m remembering. “At first it’s like a cool breeze you’re not expecting. But in each lash there’s a promise.”
He swallows hard. “A promise?”
I bite down on my bottom lip. “Yeah,” I whisper.
My fingertips trail along the exposed skin above my breasts. “With each lash the intensity surges, creating a light sting.” I shudder. “It burns sometimes, creating a heat that reaches deep.”
“How . . . deep?”
With dreamy eyes I meet his face, holding his focus like our lives depend on it. “As far as you allow it, until you’re screaming with need, your body begging for that release. But it’s not domination, Declan.”
“It’s not?” he asks, his voice low.
“No,” I say, my voice more a purr. “It’s freedom. Freedom to dig into a primal need women are forced to suppress.” I lean forward, forcing myself not to react when he responds in turn, erasing the distance until only inches remain. “We’re told to be good girls, to keep our legs closed and our fantasies to ourselves. We’re taught sex is wrong, and only meant to reproduce. It’s not supposed to feel good―”
“No?” he asks.
He’s breathing hard. I am, too. “No, it’s supposed to serve a purpose. Except there’s more to sex, than making babies, isn’t there?” I challenge in a breathy tone. “It can feel sweet, delicious, but only once that woman in need opens herself and―”
“Hey, Declan!”
“What?” he snaps, whipping in the direction of the door. He catches himself a little too late, when Stephanie gapes back at him. He clears his throat. “My apologies, Stephanie. Melissa and I were discussing an important case.”
“Oh, sorry,” she says, not bothering to glance my way.
Wow. It’ not like I’m even in the same room. Her attention is fixated on Declan. “I wanted to know if you needed anything,” she says, her smile lifting. “Before I left.”