by Kelly Irvin
If he didn’t, she would. He could take that to the proverbial bank.
“Starting with a trip downtown.” He opened the darkroom door. “After you.”
5
Time for his game face. Aaron eased the camera out from under the Expedition’s hatch. He kept his back to Melanie. The woman wasn’t a reporter for nothing. She had the instincts of a bloodhound, which made his job as a photographer much easier. He preferred working with a reporter who had more than a TV smile to offer. The downside, however, involved her legendary curiosity and insatiable appetite for information, even if it was personal stuff that was none of her business. Or anyone’s business.
He slipped the rain cover from the camera, turned to shake it out, and showered the reporter with raindrops. Squealing like a toddler who didn’t want to take a bath, Melanie danced back on heels that added three inches to her five-foot-eight, skinny frame. “Hey, this is a four-hundred-dollar Brooks Brothers suit and it has to be dry-cleaned. You did that on purpose.”
She was her grandpa’s trust-fund baby. Most reporters couldn’t spend that kind of dough on clothes even if they wanted to. Which they did. He turned back to the SUV. “Did not.”
“You got it bad, A-Plus.”
A-Plus. A nickname that had dogged him ever since the news director had let it slip at a newsroom meeting that Aaron had a perfect grade-point average at UT. For all the good it had done him. Grades didn’t mean squat in the world of TV news photography. “Don’t call me that and shut up.”
“Does Nina know?”
“Know what?”
“You have to follow the story, no matter how it turns out.”
“She was a photojournalist. She knows. She would do the same if our roles were reversed.”
Melanie studied her notebook as if she could find a Pulitzer Prize–winning story there. “I’m just saying. Even if your girlfriend did it.”
“She’s not my girlfriend and there’s no way she killed anyone.”
Melanie took another step back in the wake of his irritation. Lou Briggs and a couple of other reporters clustered near the wrought-iron gate turned their way, their faces curious. “This is what I’m talking about, dude. If you’re involved—girlfriend or not—you can’t be objective. Let Claire assign me another photog. Sit this one out.”
“In your dreams. I’m fine.”
“Yeah, I can see that.” Melanie’s dry tone matched her wry expression. “You’re about to self-combust.”
He dug his cell phone from his jeans pocket. No response to his texts. If she needed his help—wanted his help—she’d say so. He jerked his tripod from the SUV and leaned it against the bumper.
Nina was alone in there. With cops who would stop at nothing to solve a high-profile homicide and catapult themselves up another step in the chain of command using the width of Nina’s shoulders.
He was already involved. He called information. He didn’t have Rick Zavala’s home phone number. Maybe someone would answer at the law firm offices.
“McClure!”
No need. He disconnected and turned to face Rick, who strode toward them, umbrella in one hand and a tall Starbucks cup in the other. “It’s about time you showed up. For an alleged friend, you sure took your time. Where have you been?”
Rick tucked the unopened umbrella under one arm and scrubbed at a five-o’clock shadow allowed to run past midnight. His bloodshot eyes gave him a distinctly hungover look. That wouldn’t keep the women from fawning all over him. He was a walking tall, dark, and handsome cliché with high-powered lawyer firm money adding to his charisma or charm or whatever it was called. Slime might be another possibility.
“I turned off my phone to get a couple of hours of shut-eye. I just checked my messages. What do you know?”
“The judge is dead, and they’ve got Nina in there. She’s by herself. Her mother’s—”
“Out of town, I know. I talk to Nina too. Every day. Sometimes two or three times a day.”
“You don’t seem broken up about it. I thought Judge Fischer was your buddy.”
An expression Aaron couldn’t identify skittered across the other man’s face. His shoulders hunched. “Judge Fischer was a good guy. He assisted my mama and me. He didn’t deserve this.” He wrinkled his perfect nose. “But I’m all about the living. And that means Nina.”
Where had Zavala been when Nina needed his help? “You must get in there and represent her.”
“You covering the story? That’ll go over big-time with Nina.”
It didn’t make Aaron happy either. At least Nina understood that reporting was more than a job. It carried with it a responsibility to objectively report the news to viewers.
Even when it might be damaging to a loved one.
Zavala wouldn’t understand that. “Why aren’t you in there helping her?”
“I can’t date her and be her attorney, idiot.” Rick took a cautious sip from his coffee and smacked his lips as he surveyed the crowded street and empty front yard. He looked like a tourist viewing an attraction he only had half an interest in. “Besides, I’m a civil litigator. She’ll need someone with criminal trial experience.”
“You think she’s a suspect?”
“She was in the house, dufus, and she’s family. They always consider family first.”
“Name calling isn’t necessary.” Melanie stepped forward. She squeezed Aaron’s shoulder with slim fingers that ended with shiny red fingernails long enough to impale a person. Her touch reminded him he needed this job, and getting arrested for assault while on a story would not sit well with the boss. “Your firm can’t do anything for her?”
Zavala planted his feet in a wide stance and leaned toward her feathered, highlighted-blonde-from-a-box hairdo. “Nice scent. As usual.”
“You always did like Christian Dior.” Smiling, Melanie inclined her head and Zavala planted a kiss on her cheek, old-world style. “Did Nina leave you any messages telling you what’s going on? How she’s doing?”
“Are you asking for your story or because you’re pals with Nina?” Zavala’s gaze slid up and down Melanie’s figure. It lingered at her well-endowed chest. “You guys never worked together, did you?”
“I saw her at a few stories when she worked at the newspaper. We had lunch.” Melanie turned up the wattage on her smile. “Mostly, I’m just curious.”
“You know what curiosity did to the cat, right?” Even Zavala, who was accustomed to women crawling all over him, seemed dazed by the power of that orthodontically corrected perfect smile. The way she stepped into his personal space suggested she’d been there before. “We tried cases in front of Judge Fischer. I don’t see how we can represent his daughter in a criminal case.”
Aaron banged his fist against the Expedition. “Surely there’s something you can do, since you’re a bigwig attorney and all.”
“As a matter of fact, I did. I called one of the partners. He has connections all over town. He’ll make some calls. I want to hear her story first.”
“Hear her story? Her story?” Adrenaline blew through Aaron. Nobody could believe Nina would do something like this. No one who really knew her. “Are you insinuating—?”
“Chill, dude.” Rick edged closer. His body language said something completely different. “You may be working with Nina, but she’s my girl. I’ve been taking care of her since she moved into this neighborhood. I’ll find her proper representation.”
“She’s not your girl.” Of that Aaron was certain. He held on to that fact as Nina’s and his relationship developed in an intricate choreography of several steps forward and back over time.
Zavala frowned, his dark eyes burning a hole in Aaron’s forehead. “What did she tell you about me?”
Enough to know she considered herself single. Also enough for Aaron to understand that Rick Zavala had been there for her when she was a little kid plopped down in a new house in a new town with relatives who were virtual strangers. Zavala’s mom had brought him with her wh
en she cleaned the Fischer house. A scared kid with no friends and no social skills had connected with a kid from the housing projects. She could understand Rick’s neighborhood. King William District, she couldn’t.
Rick understood her need to stash food in her room in case she needed it later. He understood why she didn’t trust a guy who drove a fancy car and lived in a big house. He spoke her language. She was too nice to blow him off now. He’d been a friend when she most needed one. That was worth a lot. Now she needed him even more.
Aaron took a breath. “If you can’t be her lawyer, go be her friend. Get in there before they chew her up and spit her out.”
Zavala’s slow grin made Aaron want to rip his face off. “I know her better than you do. She can hold her own.”
Aaron had known Nina since their days in the UT Radio, TV, Film program. She’d been polite but distant for their entire junior year. Gradually, by simply doing the work and not asking anything more of her, he’d been able to move from project partner to friend. To have pizza from the box in her dorm room or splurge on root beer floats after a project had been finished. To see a Fellini retrospective when they needed to get away from the work. By not calling it a date, he’d managed to walk a careful, thin line that allowed him to be a part of her life.
The most beautiful, talented, self-effacing, private woman he’d ever met. Long, straight, blonde hair, pale-blue eyes, peaches-and-cream complexion, not quite too tall for a burly guy like him. Nothing stood out about her looks until she smiled. That smile did him in.
“Just get in there and help her.”
Zavala held his coffee cup out in one hand, umbrella in the other, and took a short bow. “You’re smarter than I gave you credit for. Step back and watch the master at work.”
Aaron grabbed his tripod and jerked the legs apart. “Just don’t mess up. She’s depending on you.”
“Better me than you.” Rick threaded his way through the throng of reporters, shaking hands and kissing the cheeks of female reporters who gushed as if they’d just met the next president of the United States. On the porch he exchanged greetings with the uniformed officer now posted at the door, then handed him a card. The officer disappeared into the interior and returned a few minutes later to escort Rick inside.
“He does love himself, doesn’t he?” Melanie’s gaze was glued to Rick’s backside. “But then, what’s not to love?”
“Did you two have something going on in the past?”
She grinned. “Nothing worth talking about.”
“Seriously. The man is sleazy. And he claims to be Nina’s boyfriend.”
Melanie shrugged. “You really think a guy like Rick hangs around waiting for her crumbs? He’s working every angle. I was his media angle. He used me. I used him.”
She tapped her notebook on Aaron’s shoulder as if to draw his attention away from the door Zavala could pass through, but he couldn’t. “He’s always been one of the judge’s biggest fans. His law firm loves Judge Fischer. I mean like champagne and chocolates kind of love.”
“Every judge has supporters and detractors.”
“So why did Fischer run on a hard-as-nails, crime-doesn’t-pay-in-my-court platform and then cozy up with the biggest law firm in town known for representing fat-cat clients trying to get around the law in order to make more money?”
“Seriously? You’re saying Nina’s dad was dirty? He only heard civil cases, dealing with people suing each other over business deals, divorces, land disputes, and liability stuff. How dirty can you get?”
“I’m not saying anybody is dirty. Let’s try being investigative journalists for a second instead of lovesick puppies. Let’s start with a worst-case scenario. After all, somebody was angry enough to murder the guy. Sometimes those business deals and liability suits involved millions of dollars. People have everything to gain and everything to lose financially. It doesn’t make great video, but civil court can make a judge plenty of enemies.”
Melanie had a good point. Several good points. Nina would want the person who did this brought to justice. If the police were focused on her, they might never find the person who really killed Geoffrey Fischer. “Maybe we should do some digging. Ask some questions. For the story, you know.”
She grinned and patted his shoulder like an animal lover rewarding her dog. “For the story, of course. I’m the reporter. I dig. You stick to photography. Time to get to work, Camera Boy.”
He had a college degree same as Melanie did. He wasn’t just the guy with a camera on his shoulder. If he had to clear Nina of this crime himself, he would.
And maybe God would see fit to let him have the love of his life as well.
* * *
Nina trudged down the stairs. Putting one foot in front of the other seemed to get harder and harder. Detective King and a crime scene investigator met her in the foyer. She handed her clothes to the woman, who slipped them into a large brown sack and wrote on the outside. Her smile barely creased her face as she turned and walked away.
Nina smoothed her crisp white blouse with damp palms. What did a person wear to the police station? Did one consider this a formal occasion? If Dad were here, he’ d say something silly like, “Put your best foot forward, Nina. You’re a Fischer. Chin up.”
Nina lifted her chin. “What now?”
“Now, we take a ride—”
“We got company.” Manny Cavazos strode into the room. For a second his tall frame blocked her view. Then Rick sauntered past him.
“Rick!” She slid past King and darted across the room. “You’re here.” She wrapped her arms around his lean waist, leaning into his familiar scent of Polo. A friendly face. It seemed as if it had been years.
Rick’s arms slid around her in a quick, hard hug, then fell away. “Are you doing all right?”
“I’m fine.” She backed away, suddenly embarrassed at the display of affection. A display of weakness in front of King. “You got my messages?”
“I did. Sorry it took so long. I turned off the phone when I hit the sack.” He turned to King and held out his hand. “I’m—”
“Rick Zavala. I know.” King made quick work of the pleasantries. He turned to his partner—temporary partner. “Anything good?”
“A few maybes. I—”
“Meet you downtown. We’ll compare notes there.”
“I—”
“One of the units will give you a ride. You can start working on subpoenas for phone and financial records. Whatever we’ll need from his court cases. Can you handle that?”
“I can handle that.” Cavazos’s face reddened under his dark skin. His glance traveled to Nina and Rick. “Fine. I’ll have an interview room ready for Ms. Fischer.”
An interview room? Nina opened her mouth, but Cavazos whirled and stomped away, anger in the tense set of his shoulders.
King turned to Rick. “Are you representing Miss Fischer?”
“No—”
“You’re not?” Nina took another step back. “I thought—”
“Hang on, hang on.” Rick squeezed her bare arm, his fingers warm and strong. In his crisp white shirt and silky gray suit, he was the only man she knew who could pull himself together that well after a night of hard partying and a couple hours of sleep. His dark hair was carefully coiffed with just the right amount of product. The man always made her feel half put together. “We’re civil. We don’t do criminal. You know that.”
“I know.” She did know but somehow she’d thought he would help. “But you understand how all this works. You could walk me through it.”
He let go of her arm and turned to King. Rick’s dimpled face was carefully arranged in what Nina liked to call his shyster mode. Cocky smile, lifted eyebrows, you-know-you-like-me jasper eyes. “Is she under arrest?”
“She’s a person of interest.” King cocked his head toward the door. “She needs to come downtown with me to make her statement.”
“I’ve been talking to Detective King since the crack of dawn—”
/>
Rick held up the hand that sported his Harvard law school class ring. “It’s part of the drill, honey. It’s important to be cooperative. After all, you have nothing to hide, right?”
He did not just call her honey in front of King. “I have nothing to hide.” She crossed her arms around her middle. “Can you drive me to the station? I mean, that’s okay, right? I don’t have to ride with him, do I?”
“I don’t bite, I promise.” King cracked a semi-smile, but his eyes remained hard and watchful. “If Mr. Zavala wants to take you down, that’s fine. He’s an attorney.”
Rick shook his head, his dark eyes cool despite the attempt at a genial smile in return. “Sorry, sweetie. It’s best if we aren’t seen together before this gets ironed out. I mean, I have to be careful about people drawing the wrong conclusion. They see me. They’ll see Coggins, Gonzalez, and Pope. We tried cases in front of your dad. We don’t want people to misunderstand. We’ll have an attorney meet you at the station. Have you talked to your mother?”
Always worried about image. She bit back a nasty retort and concentrated on the question. “Her agent is arranging for her to borrow one of her New York friends’ Lear jet.”
“Then I’ll pick her up at the airport.”
“You’ll pick up Grace?”
“You don’t want her to take a taxi, do you?”
“Her agent makes all the arrangements. Why would you—?”
“Your mother just lost her husband. Don’t you want someone there to meet her and bring her home?”
Of course she did, but knowing Mom’s agent, she would be arriving home in a black chauffeured limousine. Conrad went for romantic cliché in a big way. Nina always suspected he had a bit of a crush on his most famous client. “I left Trevor a message. It would be better if it were a family member—”
“I’m almost family, aren’t I?” Rick sounded hurt. “Besides Trevor is terrible in a crisis.”
Rick had never had much patience for Trevor, who lived in an academic world filled with deep questions of universal importance that kept him awake late at night. Fortunately, Trevor didn’t have much use for Rick either, and he was happy to let him take the role of being groomed by Geoffrey Fischer for big things in the world of truth, justice, and the American way. “Trevor does fine if you give him half a—”