Right now, I don’t give a damn what Steele thinks. “I will. Please bill me, not him, and let me know how much he’s already paid you. I’ll need to reimburse him.”
“I thought you might want to know, so I prepared a summary.” He digs into his briefcase and comes up with a folder. Inside is a detailed list of his time and expenses.
“Thank you, Charlie. I’ll go get those photos. In the meantime, enjoy the tea and biscuits.”
His eyes light up. They say food’s the way to a man’s heart. I have a feeling Helga’s flaky biscuits are the way to his.
When I return with the photos, he says, “We’ll need to set up an evidence board where we can create a timeline and jot down any pertinent information about the case.”
“Where exactly can we find one?”
“Any office supply store should have them. Oh, and you’ll need pushpins, loose-leaf paper, and markers as well.”
After I write down everything he needs, I go on the hunt for Hans and ask him to buy the items from the Staples store in Leesburg.
On my return to the room, I discover he’s polished off the biscuits. I clamp down on my lips to keep a smile from breaking out. “Okay, that’s taken care of. While we wait for Hans to return, would you care for lunch? I believe Helga prepared barbecue chicken, potato salad, and some cantaloupe sherbet for dessert.”
Before I finish my recitation, he stands and eagerly follows me into the dining room. As soon as we’re seated at the table, Ms. Doesn’t-miss-a-meal-if-she-can-help-it shows up. Madison asks him a million questions about his experiences as a detective. By the end of the meal, the seasoned investigator and the budding reporter have struck up an odd friendship.
Charlie and I return to the evidence room to find Hans putting the boards together. “I bought three,” he says.
“Good.”
Charlie and I spend the rest of the afternoon taking apart Detective Collins’s file. An hour into it, we’ve drawn a pretty tight timeline as to the sequence of events. The break-in, when 911 was called, when the police arrived, plus the approximate times of my parents’ deaths. Detective Collins even went so far as to draw a map of everything in the room where my parents were found. We can get most of that information from the photos as well, but unfortunately some of the details are fuzzy.
“So my father was found shot in the stomach at the foot of the bed?” I fight to control my emotions, but even so, my voice trembles.
“Going by the blood that pooled beneath him, that’s a logical conclusion.”
“But my mother.” I struggle against rising nausea. “My mother did not die there.” She’d been found lying on the bed, sightless eyes staring up, a mass of wounds on her back, her stomach, her legs. Clearly, she’d been whipped.
“No. There’s no blood beneath her body. Given the extensive damage she suffered, there should have been, especially when her throat was slit.”
“Excuse me.” I take off running toward the closest bathroom and barely make it in time to spew my lunch. Barbecue and a murder investigation clearly do not mix. I head to my bedroom where I brush my teeth, gargle, and lie down for a couple of minutes until my stomach’s settled. And then I head back down to the evidence room.
“How are you feeling?” Charlie asks. His soft brown eyes glow with kindness.
I force out a laugh. “I’ve had better days.”
“Why don’t we stop for now and take this up again over the weekend?”
“That might be a good idea.” I don’t think I can continue today, not the way I feel. “Thank you, Charlie. I really appreciate everything you’re doing. See you Saturday?”
He nods. “What time?”
“Let’s say ten o’clock.”
“I’ll be here,” he says, standing up.
“I’ll have some of Helga’s biscuits waiting for you.”
His smile tells me he approves.
When Steele arrives home a half hour later, I want to ask him why he withheld the file from me, but in my current condition I’m simply not up to an argument.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
My pale complexion must have given me away. “Tummy trouble.”
“Oh?”
“I think my period’s coming.” It’s a few days off, but close enough for me to make that claim.
“Oh!” I expect him to change the subject, but he surprises me. “Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?”
“A massage would be good.”
He points to the stairs. “Lead the way.”
After stripping, I hand him the massage oil I use on my legs. “Um, lavender-rose. Is this where your scent comes from?”
“Yes. I have several products with that fragrance.”
He folds his jacket over a chair and rolls up his shirtsleeves. The dark hair on his forearms gets my motor running. But before I spend too much time admiring him, he has me lie down on a towel, and his hands work their magic. The knots in my back disappear as he kneads my flesh.
“Where did you learn to do this?” I ask in a state of bliss.
“In college.”
“You sure were a busy boy in college, getting piercings and tats and learning how to massage.”
“The tattoo parlor where my friend worked? There was a massage parlor next door. I struck up a friendship with the owner. She taught me.”
“She?” Jealousy rears its ugly head, and I sit up. I can only imagine on whom he practiced.
He pushes me back on the bed so he can continue his task. Ignoring my obvious state of mind, he kneads the heck out of my right leg, and soon I’m in nirvana again.
“Sela was my first investor,” he says.
I turn my head to the side and look at him. “Investor?”
“I majored in business. With Mitch’s help, I spent the first two years in college learning about trading. Once I had the basics, I dipped my toes in the stock market. But with little money to play with, I couldn’t make much headway. I talked about it one night while Sela and I were—”
“Doing it.”
“Yes. Well. When Sela found out, she asked me to invest her savings. Within six months, I’d doubled that sum. So I started a small fund. Friends asked me to invest their extra beer money and then cashed out for spring break trips. As word spread, more serious money started pouring in. By the time I graduated, I was a millionaire several times over.”
“Whoa!” I sit up again. “How come I didn’t know that?”
“I don’t spread it around.”
“So why are you still working as an attorney?”
“Because I like what I do. I like making a difference in people’s lives.”
A knock sounds on the door. “Mad? Dinner’s on the table.” Madison. God forbid anything interferes with a meal. I have no idea where she puts it all.
“Okay, we’ll be right there,” I yell.
“Hurry. It’s chicken-fried steak and mashed potatoes night.”
I groan. “No wonder I can’t lose any weight.”
“I like your curves.” He curls his hand around a breast, squeezes, and I melt.
But there’s no time for that. I jump out of bed, head for my closet, and pick out a fresh dress to wear. And with the tension rubbed out of me, I head down with Steele to the dining room.
Chapter 15
Trenton
The Friday night dinner at my Crystal City apartment is everything I hoped it would be. I’d reviewed my wine collection and popped open several bottles of red and white. With the Pentagon City Costco so close, I’d also stopped there and picked up a few of my favorites as well as some new artisan beers. Rather than cook, which I’d have been more than happy to do, I’d chosen to have Pietro’s, my favorite Italian restaurant, cater the meal. I’d also hired some of his staff to serve and handle the kitchen duties.
I’d talked Madrigal into attending the dinner. Having her here means a lot to me, as does the presence of my hopefully future employees and partners. Marcus Waverly is in at
tendance, and so are Rob Dwelling, Rayne Adams, Susan Bush, and the paralegal, Monica Watkins.
“Thank you for coming,” I say once we’re all enjoying Pietro’s delicious cuisine.
“Thank you for inviting us,” Marcus says.
Over the course of the meal, we hash out plans for the law firm. I assure each and every one of them that he or she will have a chance to shine.
“You will have health insurance, including dental?” Monica asks.
“Of course.” I have no idea how I’ll manage it, but you can’t run a law firm without basic benefits. “As well as a 401(k) plan.”
“So what’s the focus of the firm, Trenton?” Rob asks.
“Criminal law. At least to start. Once the firm grows, we’ll probably open additional areas of practice, such as trusts and estates and taxes.”
“God knows there are enough prospective clients in this town.”
A wave of laughter travels around the room.
After we toast our new venture, someone asks, “So what should we name the firm?”
“Trenton Steele and Associates, of course,” Madrigal says. So far she’s been quiet, but on this issue she’s very sure.
A chorus of agreements circles the room.
“Makes sense.”
“Absolutely.”
“Of course.”
Whether it’s from the excitement of our new venture or their trust in me, a flush rises in my cheeks. And then again, maybe it’s just the wine. “Thank you for your vote of confidence. I’ll try my hardest to make sure we all succeed.”
“You’d better,” Marcus says with a laugh in his voice. He doesn’t appear too worried.
Attaching my name to the new law firm does make sense. After all, I’m well known about town as the criminal law attorney who can get you out of trouble. Later on we can rethink the firm name as more of them make partners. Their attendance and interest in my new venture is more than I hoped for. Everyone’s excited about the opportunity to be part of it.
“So what about clients?” someone asks.
“I’ve gotten calls,” Marcus says.
“So have I,” Rob echoes.
Marcus laughs and turns to me. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about, Trenton. Clients are being fed the party line—that you left against everyone’s wishes because you wanted to start your own firm. More than a few of them are concerned about their cases. Those who contacted me are very interested in finding out where you’ve gone. As soon as word gets out you’ve opened your doors, I’m pretty sure they’ll camp on your doorstep, begging you to represent them.”
“Let’s hope,” I say, raising my glass.
After everyone toasts to our clients, Marcus says, “You’ll need to set up a communications network.”
“I’ll have a phone line installed as soon as I can and hire a receptionist as well. I know someone who can set up computers and such.”
“I can help you with staffing, Mr. Steele,” Monica, the paralegal, pipes up. “I used to work in Human Resources.”
“Perfect. If you want that job, it’s yours.”
“I can do both until you get everything sorted out. But you’d be better off hiring an administrator. I really prefer the paralegal work.”
“Whatever she can’t handle, I’ll be glad to pitch in too,” Rayne Adams, one of the supersmart associates, offers. She used to work in Dick Slayton’s group, but bored out of her mind with the lack of work, she’d asked to transfer to the criminal law practice, which she’d taken to like a duck to water. Her help had been invaluable in the hockey player’s case. She’d been the one to wheedle out of the so-called victim the admission that she was more interested in fleecing the eighteen-year-old phenom hockey player than in having him be found guilty of rape. Once we’d figured out her motives, we’d looked into her past and discovered she’d done the same thing before. In Canada. When we brought it to the attention of the prosecutor, he’d dropped the case, and our eighteen-year-old hockey player was absolved of any wrongdoing.
“Thank you, Rayne. I’ll take you up on the offer.” I need all the help I can get.
Before everyone departs, I promise to draw up an agreement for all the lawyers to sign, and we set up August 3 as our launch date. If the space in the Crystal City office I plan to lease is not available, we can work out of my condo. It’s big enough to handle everyone who’s coming on board.
Later, when we’re finally alone, Madrigal and I sit in the living room, sipping wine.
“You’re happy,” she says.
“Yes, I am.” A rare emotion. I haven’t had many opportunities to be truly happy in my life. My law school graduation, the phone call from Holden Gardiner offering me a position at his law firm, and every damn minute I’ve been with Madrigal. All I have to do is breathe the same air she does, and I’m in heaven. “You make me happy.”
She laughs. “It’s not just me. It’s what happened here today. Your own law firm. You’ve been wanting this for a while.”
“I have.”
“So what should we do to celebrate?”
“Oh, I can think of a thing or two.”
Rising to my feet, I hold out my hand to her. She takes it, and I kiss her fingers before leading her to the bedroom, where I waste no time in helping her out of her clothes.
I strip her down to her underwear, which consists of a peekaboo lacy bra and a thong. “What’s this?” My voice gravels as I insinuate a finger under her bra strap.
“I went shopping on Wednesday, remember?”
“With Madison. Don’t tell me you picked these out in front of her?”
“No. She found a friend at the mall. They went off to one of those infernal stores teenagers frequent. I told her I’d meet up with her later for lunch.”
“And using that excuse, you bought this.”
“Yes.”
“It matches your eyes.”
“That’s why I bought it.”
Her curves have always called to me. With the reverence duly due her lace peekaboo bra, I suckle her nipple right through the bra, run a knuckle down the satin of her skin. She’s lovely, and young, and what she wants with me is anyone’s guess. But I don’t intend to ask her that question. Not ever.
She throws her head back and moans. I test her readiness through the satin of her panties. She’s wet and about to get wetter. I tease one finger beneath the fabric and stroke her clit. She pants little puffs of air. “It’s been too long.”
“We fucked last Sunday.”
Her eyes flash. “Like I said, too long.”
I pick her up and lay her on the bed. Knowing what she likes, I slide the panties off her and toss them aside. Gripping her thighs, I open her and bend down to lick my way to her mons. Her pussy is dripping wet and smells like heaven itself. “You want me.”
“Yes.” When my tongue licks a path to her clit and I nip her, she curls her hand in my hair and yanks. “In me, Steele.”
“All in good time, sweetheart.”
I insert two fingers into her heat while suckling her pearl. Hips pumping, she writhes on the bed. “Now, Steele.”
She’s had enough teasing and, frankly, so have I. I need to be inside her, feel her heat clenched around me. I toss my jacket aside, my tie, my shirt, the rest of my clothes. I slide open the drawer, ready to roll on a condom.
“Do we really need that?”
“Yes, we do.”
“I’m on the pill.”
I’m not about to take chances. She’s twenty-four and about to embark on her law career. She doesn’t need the complications a child would bring. And the last thing I want is a kid. “Better safe than sorry,” I say.
She makes a face. “I’d rather have you bare against me with nothing in the way.”
Tempting, but I’m not negotiating this. I finish rolling the condom over my cock and kiss my way down to her mons again. When she’s writhing on the bed once more, I plunge into her. She screams. A moment later she comes, and so do I. We rest
together, finding our peace with each other. But for how long?
Chapter 16
Madrigal
“Hello, querida. How are you holding up?” Cristina Sanchez, my best friend from law school, asks.
I’d asked her to drop by, hoping to get her take on my parents’ murder case. We’d gone through three years of law school together, lived in the same house, taken many of the same classes. By a sheer stroke of luck, we’d ended up interning in DC for the summer. She at the Department of Justice, and me at my grandfather’s law firm. He’d insisted I learn the defense side of the law before I started my job as a prosecutor at the Arlington County Commonwealth’s Attorney’s office, which is how I’d ended up under Steele’s tutelage. From him, I’d learned much more than the law.
“Fine. All things considered.” I give her a rundown of Madison’s situation, Mitch being charged with murder, and the status of my parents’ case.
“You have your hands full, that’s for sure. Still taking the Virginia bar exam?”
“In less than two weeks. I’m boning up every chance I get.”
Without warning, the shadow of Hunter Stone looms over us. “Ms. Berkeley. Your sister’s gone riding. I just wanted to let you know.”
“Thank you, Hunter. This is my friend, Cristina Sanchez.”
He nods at her. “How do you do?”
“Uh. Fine.” His appearance has apparently struck Cristina deaf and dumb. As soon as he walks away, she whispers, “Who’s that gorgeous bastard?”
“He’s the head of Stone Security, our new security company.”
“That’s your bodyguard? Holy Chihuahua.”
I smile. She’s always reacted strongly to good-looking men. And I have to admit Hunter is drop-dead gorgeous. “One of them. We ended up with four. Round-the-clock protection.”
“Wow.” She glances over her shoulder at our retreating bodyguard. “Nice ass.”
I laugh. “What about your boy toy from the Senate?”
She makes a face. “Oh, we’re still together. He’s very nice. Loves vanilla sex.”
“And you like a little Rocky Road now and then.”
“Yeah, with nuts on the bottom. So why did you ask me here?”
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