by John Foxjohn
Hughes ignored her jab and straightened his Armani. “I wanted to tell you that everyone knows what’s going on. I know you’re going to ask me to assist you, but before you do, don’t. I won’t be your flunky. They should’ve assigned me to this. They will, too—when you fall on your face. You’re way out of your league.”
Stunned at his arrogance, Kayla couldn’t speak. By the time she found her voice, he rose and marched out, closing the door behind him. He left her with words she wanted to say, should say, but she didn’t act fast enough. Deep down, she knew she would have taken his debasing words, anyway. He was right. She was out of her league, and if he wanted to deal with Loren Estes, she would gladly turn that woman over to him.
Sarah Jane eased back in. “Cameron Satterwhite’s the lead investigator and he said he’d be in his office in about an hour.”
Kayla nodded. “Would you see if Marvin Bank is busy? If he isn’t, I’d like to speak with him.”
Sarah Jane frowned. “You’d like to speak with him now?”
Kayla looked up and said, “Yes, please.” She wished her father still lived, could give her some advice on this one, but she knew what he would say. “What are your alternatives?” That was what he always said. But her alternatives were bleak.
Marvin Bank interrupted her thoughts and closed the door when she asked him to have a seat. Quiet and inconspicuous, his appearance contrasted with most of the attorneys in the firm. Great with paperwork and research, a good legal mind, and good at reading people, but he didn’t handle himself well in the courtroom. The partners had stopped assigning him as lead council except for mundane cases.
He stared at the floor, but spoke first. “I know why you wanted to see me and I’ll help you any way I can.” He looked up. “John Shearson would be good to assist you. Also, Lance Murphy.”
Kayla steepled her fingers. “Did you think I asked you in here for a recommendation on whom to assist me?”
He tilted his head and used a finger to lift his sagging glasses. “You didn’t?”
Kayla rose and glided around the desk, sat on the corner, and smoothed her skirt. “No, I didn’t. I asked you in here because I’d like you to assist me.”
His eyes widened and he pointed at himself. “Me?” He said it like that was the most foreign thing he could think of. “You want me to assist you? Why?”
“You and I can work together without our egos getting in the way, and I respect your judgment. If this goes to trial—I don’t know yet what the police have or if there will be charges filed—I’ll need your help on jury selection.”
“Uh, sure. Where do you want me to start?”
“I’m going to the police department to speak to the lead investigator. See what you can find on Michele McCrery.”
* * * *
When someone shook his shoulder, Darren’s eyes popped open. The co-pilot stood over him, frowning. “We’ve landed and Mr. Estes’ limo is waiting for you.”
He couldn’t believe he’d slept through the landing. He rubbed his eyes and rose. It wouldn’t be in his best interest to keep Estes waiting. He didn’t like the pompous ass, but he did like his money, and at this point in his life, he didn’t have a choice. The co-pilot spun away and strode toward the exit without a backward glance.
Humid heat blasted Darren as he trooped down the plane’s carpeted stairs. He removed his coat, flopped it over his arm, and trudged to the waiting car. The decked-out driver, who held the door open, let his gaze travel over Darren’s clothes with a disapproving scowl, but never said a word.
Darren could care less what the driver—or Estes, for that matter—thought of his clothes. He did what Estes commanded—arrived in five hours. It ate deep in his marrow that he had regressed so far as to let people like Estes order him around—be at their beck and whim.
When his cell phone rang, he checked the caller ID and his heart sank. He closed his eyes for a moment before answering the call. “How are you, Bub?”
“I’m okay, Dad. Where are you?”
He remembered his son’s baseball game and his heart sank lower. “Actually, I’m in Houston. Just arrived on a case.”
The voice on the other end, barely audible, asked, “You won’t make it tomorrow, will you?”
Although Kevin didn’t say “again,” Darren knew from the words that he meant it, stabbing at his conscience even more. His son’s tone emphasized that he had not only failed as a man, but as a father, too.
When they hung up, he stared at the phone for a long time with Kevin’s last words ringing in his head. “At least James will be there.”
His son didn’t purposely throw his stepfather’s involvement in the boy’s life in his face, but his words accomplished the goal regardless. Darren had to fight the jealousy that eroded his insides because he couldn’t give his son what the stepfather did in material possessions or emotional support. He loved Kevin with all his heart and wanted things to be different.
Could he find a flight back to Chicago and his son—make it back in time for the baseball game? He knew he could, but at the same time, couldn’t. He was a slave to Estes and his money. He told himself he’d make it up to Kevin, but he also reminded himself of all the other times he’d said the same thing.
He put his cell phone back in his pocket when the limo pulled into a private parking garage in downtown Houston. Darren didn’t even know where he was.
The driver hustled around, flinging open the door. “Mr. Estes and his party are waiting in the main conference room on the fifth floor. Sir, I would suggest you not keep them waiting.”
He heard the threat in this statement but didn’t know why. Hadn’t he dropped every damn thing and rushed here dressed like a vagabond?
He bit back a retort. It wasn’t the driver’s fault. The man was a slave, the same as he was.
* * * *
Kayla knocked on Cameron Satterwhite’s office door. When she entered, he sat behind his desk looking at photos. He glanced up, put the photos in an envelope and indicated for her to have a seat.
Large and rawboned, ruggedly handsome, Satterwhite exuded confidence. Most people considered him the best investigator on HPD and that was the reason they assigned him difficult or high profile cases. They’d met the first time five years ago when he’d investigated her ex-husband’s suicide. She knew from that experience and what she’d heard since then that he did a thorough job of investigating.
He leaned forward in his chair. “I assume you’ll represent Loren Estes.”
His tone surprised her. Their conversations had always had mutual respect and professional demeanor, but now, he seemed almost hostile.
“Yes, if there’s anything to represent, I’ll handle it. Have you spoken with Ms. Estes yet?”
“Nope. She lawyered up the moment we tried.”
Kayla took a deep breath. At least Loren did that right, but something wasn’t. “I hope we can keep it that way. I don’t want her talking to anyone unless I am present. Please respect that.”
He smirked. “Oh, we will, but I think she’ll get her chance.”
“Surely, you don’t suspect Ms. Estes of this murder?”
He slid open a drawer and propped his feet on it. “Obviously you don’t know her. I’m going to be straight with you on this one. You’re talking to the wrong person. You should be talking to the D.A.”
Her eyes widened. “You think you have enough to file charges and get a true bill from the grand jury?”
Satterwhite let his smile speak for him. Loren Estes was many things and most weren’t good, but would she murder someone? If it was in her own best interests, and everything to that woman revolved around her interests, yes she would. Kayla had no doubts about that. “Would you mind telling me what evidence you have?”
Sometimes that ploy worked, but Satterwhite was too experienced to fall for it.
His eyes blazed with a hostility she didn’t understand. “You need to talk to the D.A.’s office, and I’d suggest you go straight to th
e top.”
As she left his office, conversations stopped, and suppressed aggression surged through the room of detectives. Cops weren’t fond of defense attorneys, but she had never encountered them when they wouldn’t speak, and had no idea where the antagonism came from. It almost seemed like her client had murdered a cop, but she knew that wasn’t true.
When she plodded out of the building, she glanced at her watch. Her talk with Satterwhite had gotten her nowhere. She had time to talk to the D.A., and she wanted to know something when she met with the Esteses.
Ten minutes later, she advised Howard Proctor’s secretary she’d like to speak with him. She slumped in a chair when the secretary told her it would be a few minutes.
As she waited, she wondered if Proctor would handle this one himself if it went to trial. With Proctor, it all depended on how good a case the D.A.’s office thought they had. Rumors flew around the courthouse about the district attorney. She wasn’t the type to believe rumors, but had found that in many cases, these rumors proved to be true.
The women in the courthouse called Proctor a male slut behind his back, and Mr. P to his face, but it had nothing to do with the initial of his last name. He had hit on her, validating these rumors.
Another rumor said that he intended to run for Texas attorney general on a law and order platform. He would tout the fact that he had never lost a case. Kayla knew that this was a true statement. She’d faced him once in court—her last case, and he beat her badly. She also knew he only handled the ones he believed he could win. If his office had a weak case, he’d assign one of the assistants to prosecute it.
“Kayla, dear, please come in.” She looked up to see Proctor bearing down on her—hand outstretched and his political smile plastered on his boyish, handsome face.
She stood and shook his hand, forcing a smile. He kept his hand on hers about fifteen seconds longer than normal. Her skin crawled and it took all her willpower not to shudder. Kayla caught the secretary’s loathing expression out of the corner of her eye.
She followed him into his office. Tall, broad shouldered, handsome, immaculate dresser, and as smooth as fine wine, his appearance also lent to the political factor.
He sat, leaned back, and folded his arms. “I suppose you are here about the McCrery case.”
She sat back and tried to give him an unconcerned impression. “Yes, I understand that my client, Loren Estes, is one of the main suspects.”
A smile flicked at the corner of his mouth. “Your client is our only suspect.”
“Do you plan to prosecute this yourself if it goes to trial?”
He leaned forward with a condescending smirk. “You can bet all you have that I will prosecute this one.”
Coldness formed in the pit of Kayla’s stomach. She had no doubt now that she needed to prepare for trial. She tried to maintain her composure. “Would you mind if I had a look at the autopsy report and a list of the evidence?”
He rose, and the way he did so told her their meeting was over. “All in good time. Until I file charges, I am not obligated to disclose, and I won’t in this case.”
When she got in her car, she sat for several long minutes. She couldn’t stand Proctor, his womanizing, arrogance, or anything about him. But she had to give the snake his props, he was a damn good attorney, and this one he needed badly. It would propel him to Austin if he won.
Her big question: what would playing in a cesspool with Loren Estes do to her?
THREE
Darren Duval followed his escort down a lavish hall to a conference room at the end. When he entered, three people occupied it. He recognized Estes and his assistant, Thomas Pinkerton. A woman he didn’t know caught his attention, and made him uncomfortable as her gaze traveled up and down his frame in a hungry inspection.
Petite, classic, perfect features, and clothes that accented a body that would turn any man’s head—she glided across the room and encircled his arm with both of hers. Heat from her body invaded his as she pressed close. Her perfume, light, enticing, stirred him.
She looked up at him. “Daddy told me you dropped everything to rush here and help us. We will do something about your clothes.”
Daddy. So, she was the man’s daughter. Awkward with her nearness, he turned his attention to a frowning Estes. The father signaled Pinkerton. He marched forward and thrust a thick envelope toward Darren.
He had to reach with the opposite arm because the daughter still clung to him.
“Loren! Let him go. We need to get down to business.” The command from Estes didn’t surprise Darren. What did surprise him, the daughter didn’t hop at the command—nor did she let go. She guided him to a sofa seat, let go, and patted the seat next to her.
This and Estes’ frown put him in a quandary. He wanted to sit away from her because her father didn’t like it, and her nearness made it difficult to concentrate. What the hell. He sat beside her, but not close. He almost groaned when she scooted closer.
Estes’s eyes narrowed. “Duval, the police are investigating my daughter for murder. I wanted you here to help the defense attorney.” He indicated the envelope Darren still held. “I gave you a ten-thousand-dollar clothes advance. If that isn’t enough, let Mr. Pinkerton know. In addition to that, I have approved a living advance of fifty thousand dollars for the time you’re here. As usual, give Mr. Pinkerton the receipts or an itemized list. If you need more, you will get it. I am prepared to pay you ten thousand a week.” He pointed at Darren’s face. “I expect results.”
Darren nodded. Of course, Estes expected results. The amount he would pay didn’t surprise Darren. He’d dropped everything because of the money. He couldn’t get over the fact that the daughter, under suspicion of murder, acted as if she was getting ready for her senior prom. She was either innocent, or so protected she didn’t believe anything or anyone could touch her.
He took a breath and rose, leaning against the wall. He needed a moment to word his response with care and rid himself of the alluring perfume and nearness of Estes’ daughter. “Actually, sir, I always get results.”
* * * *
Kayla arrived at her office thirty minutes before her scheduled meeting with Loren Estes and her father. She found Marvin waiting. She needed to tell him about her relationship with Loren Estes. He needed to know and she should have told him before asking him to assist her, to give him a chance to back out, but she didn’t have time at the moment.
Indicating the folder he clutched, she asked, “What’d you find out?”
He pushed up his glasses and opened the folder. “Michelle McCrery was a pseudonym she wrote under. Her real name was Patricia Faraway. She was the wife of homicide lieutenant Douglass Faraway.”
Kayla now understood the hostility in the police department. They were investigating Loren Estes for murdering the wife of a cop. That would be worse than killing a cop. She massaged her temples. Without opening her eyes, she asked, “Anything else?”
Marvin hesitated for a long moment. “Yesterday, a New York publishing company filed a civil suit against Loren Estes.”
Her head jerked up. “Really? Why?”
“They’re alleging that Loren Estes plagiarized Michelle McCrery’s work.”
Kayla didn’t say anything for a long time. Quiet seemed to swirl in the office as she leaned her head back. She needed more information. She would call Jimmy when she had a chance. He would know all about this. She straightened. “I wondered why the police went straight to Loren Estes. They usually look at family first.”
Marvin pushed his glasses up. “The proverbial smoking gun or motive, if you will.”
She glanced at her watch. “We need to get up to the meeting.”
“You want me to go with you?” Marvin sounded surprised.
Kayla stood, straightened her clothes and forced a smile. “Of course. You need to know what’s going on.”
With a queasy stomach, Kayla hesitated at the door. She had never hated a person in her life—Loren Estes was t
he exception. Kayla didn’t see how she could defend her. She wondered if she should march to the sixth floor and resign.
She intended to do just that when Marvin spoke. “Kayla, are you ready?”
After they moved down the hall to the conference room, she closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, Marvin gave her a strange look. Her head hurt and she had trouble speaking for a moment. She couldn’t quit. Her father wouldn’t have and she couldn’t either. She nodded and knocked, and when the door opened, she indicated for Marvin to enter.
When they entered the room, a man she didn’t know leaned against the wall. He straightened, his shirt stretched taut over his chest. He had broad shoulders, and black hair curled on his forehead.
Their gazes met and held. Her breath caught as he tilted his head. Although handsome in a tough way, his eyes and long eyelashes captured her attention. A smile flirted at the corner of his mouth.
Something stirred deep inside her. More than just his looks and powerful build, the way he stood seemed to exude confidence.
Her mind snapped back to the present. She had reached an age where men with sexy bodies shouldn’t affect her this way. Besides, she hadn’t entered this room to have her head turned away from her job.
When she forced her gaze away from his alluring eyes, she found Loren Estes.
* * * *
Darren glanced at the two people who entered—the first, a short, bookish male with thick glasses, wearing a suit that didn’t fit him well. A slim woman, taller than most, followed the male. She stood straight, chin up, dressed in a white blouse, black knee length skirt, and black shoes.
She appeared graceful and moved like a conditioned athlete. When she met his gaze, his stomach fluttered.
She didn’t have the looks or body of Estes’ daughter, but with her expressive gray eyes under thick, chestnut brows, she was without a doubt one of the sexiest women he’d ever seen.
He liked her direct gaze, the way her full lips parted, but more than that, the way she carried herself—proud, intelligent, and competent.