“One of the best.” Luke scrubbed his hand over Jorden’s head. “Where is she now?”
Jorden pointed to the library. “No one’s allowed in to bother her,” he whispered conspiratorially. He’d already made that mistake twice. The first time, she’d been nice. Second time, she nearly threw a book. “Gets real mad if you interrupt her while she’s thinking.”
“I might have a way around that.”
Jorden weighed the odds, but gave the sheriff the thumbs up anyway. Man to man. “Just remember to duck,” he warned as he ran out the front door.
Luke took the advice and stealthily entered the library from the study. He found Kell sprawled across the library floor, papers strewn around her. From his vantage point, the pages were spread haphazardly, but she appeared to have a system of order. Books not taken from Eliza’s shelves were stacked three deep. Tabs and highlighters of every color imaginable speckled the rug beneath her.
Brief white shorts framed legs he’d dreamed about last night. She held one bent at the knee, sandal dangling from her toes. Wires trailed from earphones, and he heard violins playing a raucous symphony. Obviously intended as a deterrent for chatter, he surmised.
In silence, he turned the lock at the study and made his way to the other entrance, footfalls making no sound. Locking the second door, he approached in a crouch. Judging his angle, he dove, grabbed her and flipped them both in a smooth roll.
“Are you crazy?” Kell demanded as she fell against his chest, shock, amusement, and arousal rippling through her.
“No, I’m hungry.” Rolling her free of the scattered pages, he fastened his mouth to hers. Need pummeled him, weakened him. He explored her mouth slowly, wringing a ragged moan from the lithe, curved form beneath him. She pressed against him, and he wanted to ravage. So he forced himself to savor.
Her lips fused to his, and she sank under his kiss. When it changed, when the heat mellowed and touch softened, she sighed. Here was pleasure and belonging and friendship. She floated with him, content to crest gently as he sat up, draping her across his lap.
“I missed you.” Luke stroked at the length of hair that had escaped and snaked along her cheek.
“Me too.” She allowed herself to brush her mouth across his, once, then a second, longer foray. Finally drawing back, she explained, “I wish I could have stayed last night, but Eliza is nervous, very anxious. I didn’t want to leave her here alone.”
“I understand.”’ He twined the dark silk strands around his finger. “But we’ll have to do something about it. Maybe a work-release program. Making love under the trees was glorious, but I may have to arrest myself if we do it again.”
“What do you suggest?” Kell captured his earlobe, traced the whorls with the tip of her tongue. When his breathing stuttered, she turned her attention to his throat. “I don’t think Mrs. F intended the library for such uses.”
In retaliation, he cupped her breast through the tank top, drew his thumb slowly across the hardened tip. “I can be very discreet.” He felt her tremble in reaction and captured her mouth, eager for one last taste. Reluctantly, he released her, setting her on the rug beside him. “I actually came with news. I got distracted last night.”
Kell surfaced and brought her knees in to rest her chin. “Your interview with Doc? How did it go?”
“Pretty good until Graves showed up.” Luke scooted away, requiring the distance. “He wasn’t there that night.”
“You’re sure?”
“Almost.” He described the interview. “I had Tony in the other room. He denies ever receiving a call from Doc. In his version of the story, after Clay attacked Nina, he and Doc had a fight about Doc’s association. Doc told Tony to mind his own business, and they parted company a little after seven.”
“Was Doc involved in the murder?”
“He’s a bully, but he doesn’t have the stones for murder. Yet.” Luke recalled his tough-cop routine with satisfaction. “If Graves hadn’t burst into the room, I’d have had the entire story.”
Kell frowned. “How did Graves know you’d brought him in?”
The same thought had occurred to Luke. “I’ve got a leak in my office. The same person who tipped off Graves about the autopsy must have called.”
“Do you know who it is?”
“I have my suspicions, but I’ll worry about one problem at a time.” He stood, and reached down to help her to her feet. “Are you ready for tomorrow?”
Kell started to fob him off with a cocky remark, as she would anyone else who asked. Yet, once more, he was different. “I haven’t been this concerned about a probable cause hearing since my very first one.”
“What happened then?”
“It was a purse-snatching case. A teenage girl with three priors. She liked designer bags.” Kell smiled at the memory. “Last one she grabbed was a Coach.” At his blank look, she explained, “Retail price of twelve-hundred dollars.”
“For a purse.”
“For a Coach handbag. Anyway, the sticker made the theft a felony. She was seventeen, but with her other convictions, she was looking a prison time.” Kell wandered over to her research, stared at the highlighted pages with their streaks of yellow and green. “She got caught running into a lingerie store and the bag flew into the display. I got the cop to admit that he didn’t actually see her with the purse in her hand, and the victim never got a good look. D.A. decided not to prosecute.”
“Nice job. But I’d have gotten the arrest to stick.”
“Not against me. I’m very good.”
Luke slipped his arms around her waist. “I know. So does Eliza.”
“She trusts me. After everything I did to her, she still trusts me.”
“You have that effect on people, Kell.” He tipped her eyes up to his. “I love you.”
Kell froze, unnerved by the declaration. She tried to cover. “Are you sure? The fall alone should have killed you,” she quipped shakily.
“I do love you, Kell.” He raised a hand to caress her cheek. “I love how smart you are. How loyal and tenacious.”
Heart pounding in her ears, she responded blandly, “I sound like a cocker spaniel.”
“Don’t joke. Not about this.” Luke brought his other hand up to frame her face. Love, powerful and tender, moved through him. It had to be here. Now. “I admire you. The woman you’ve made of the girl who grew up here, thrown away by those who should have protected you. I understand why you defend your clients. To you, it’s not about right or wrong. It really is about defense—standing for those who might be harmed by a system that doesn’t always get it right.”
She drew a shallow breath, willing her heart to quiet. “What do you want from me?”
“I want you to love me too. To trust me.”
“To tell you about the warehouse,” she guessed.
“Yes.” He felt her stiffen. “No, not because I have to hear the story to help Eliza. Or to help me close a case. I want, no, I need you to want to tell me. To trust that I can keep your confidences. For you and your friends.”
“And if I can’t? If I can’t take that risk, even for you.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s not my story to tell.” Owing him honesty, she added softly, “And if you knew all of me, you wouldn’t feel the same.”
“Kell.”
She broke away, stepped back. “You won’t. You couldn’t.”
“I know you’re not a murderer, Kell. As sure as I know myself, I know that about you.” Taking a step toward her, he let himself plead. “Trust me. Please.”
Sorrow cascaded through her, shaking and rending. “I can’t do that, Luke. I’m sorry.” Then, for the second time in her life, she fled.
In the guest room, she hastily dialed the number, before she faltered. David answered curtly, “Jameson Trent. David Trent speaking.”
“It’s Kell.”
David bolted up, and rushed to close his door. He didn’t need the associates to overhear this conversatio
n. “The prodigal daughter returns.”
“Not quite. I’m still down in Hallden.”
“I know. You’ve got prelims tomorrow.” Anticipating her question, he replied, “The Atlanta stations have been picking up the feed. CTN did a piece this morning. Your little pro bono case is the talk of the nation. Matron accused of vicious murder, defended by orphan done good.”
Kell hadn’t watched the broadcasts. “I hadn’t noticed.”
“Perhaps you should stop canoodling with the handsome sheriff, if the gossip columns are to be believed.”
“Luke is in the Atlanta papers?”
“Full column on his heroic acts in Chicago. You two make great coverage. They’ve got a picture of you from the Brodie trial and a grainy one of Calder. Rugged jawline, looks excellent in black and white.”
Bemused, Kell sank onto the bed. Luke would go ballistic when he found out. Eager to talk about anything but him, she asked quickly, “How goes the Marley case?”
David paused before responding. “The good senator called this morning. Despite her earlier decision to take her case elsewhere, your good deeds have convinced her that you’ll do wonders for her image. She’s offered to add fifty percent to the retainer, if you’ll take the lead.”
“One point five million?”
“Retainer. And she’s agreed to bill out at our top rate, which, coincidentally, is now seven hundred and fifty dollars an hour.”
“David, that’s extortion.”
“That’s business.” Abandoning pride, he cajoled, “So, will you come back?”
“I thought you’d dissolved our partnership.”
“Hyperbole. I learned it from watching you.” He braced for rejection, ready to offer more. “Kell, come on. We’ve been together forever. Forgive and forget, and I’ll add no more lewd comments to the pot.”
She stared at the closed door, where Luke had likely already stormed off. He wouldn’t be back. The pain of loss was a steady throb, the sharp bite a reminder of what she did well and what she didn’t.
“Let me take care of this tomorrow, and I’ll be in the office on Wednesday.”
CHAPTER 29
Caleb Matthews approached the witness with a single sheet of paper. The navy suit, cut along the same dramatic, lean lines as its wearer, hung perfectly. Kell could only be grateful that Judge Mary Majors was an audience of one and purportedly happily married. Behind her, in the filled gallery, murmurs about the handsome D.A. drifted up to Kell. Had she faced a jury of Eliza’s peers, the piercing golden eyes that met hers briefly would have guaranteed him at least one juror on swoon alone.
Tracy Hoover, the medical examiner from Macon, relaxed in the witness chair, a veteran of preliminary hearings. She greeted him warmly, not immune to the effect of those eyes.
“Dr. Hoover, is this the pathology report submitted by your office to the Hallden Sheriff’s Department?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Please read what is indicated as cause of death.”
Dr. Hoover placed half-glasses on her nose. “Exsanguination. Mr. Griffin bled to death.”
“Did you determine the cause of the exsanguination?”
“His femoral artery had been severed.” She looked at the judge. “Someone sliced his left leg open and left him to bleed out.”
“In your diagnosis, did you draw any conclusions about source of the wound?”
“From the marks on the skin and damage to the femur, I determined that the source was a knife. Blade about eight inches long. Ceramic construction.”
“Ceramic?” He leaned closer, curiosity wreathing question. Even though this was only a hearing, the uniqueness of the blade was essential to connecting the defendant to the wound. “How do you know?”
“Carbon steel knives, the kind most of us have, are virtually unbreakable. They dull and tarnish, but they don’t break. Ceramic, on the other hand, keeps its edge longer and doesn’t absorb the human oils that corrode steel. The downside, however, is that a ceramic tip will snap off if it strikes a hard object with sufficient force.”
“Did you find evidence of that in the deceased?”
“Yes. During an internal examination of the body, we located a ceramic fragment that we traced to a specific brand of knife sold primarily to chefs. The manufacturer is a Japanese company that specializes in this particular knife construction.”
“Thank you, doctor. Only a couple of additional questions. Did you conduct a tox screen on the victim?”
“He registered a blood alcohol level of point-O-2, below the legal limit. We also found traces of cocaine in his system, but he hadn’t ingested the substance in a number of weeks.”
“And did you establish a time of death?”
“Based on lividity and taking into account the state of decomposition, I estimated the time of death to be between midnight and four A.M. on the night in question.”
Caleb nodded. “No more questions, Your Honor.”
“Ms. Jameson.”
Kell approached the M.E. empty-handed. She had several questions, many of which she already knew the answers to. “Dr. Hoover, did your autopsy reveal the height or weight of Mr. Griffin’s attacker?”
“No. Due to the angle of the wound, the perpetrator could have been as tall as six five or as short as five two.”
“What about Mr. Griffin?”
“He was,” she referred to the report still in her hands, “five ten, one hundred and ninety pounds.”
“And did the victim show any signs of a struggle? Any defensive wounds on his hands or body?”
“None.”
“Is this common? That a man would sit quietly and allow himself to be brutally attacked without taking any steps to defend himself? Especially if he outweighed his attacker by nearly fifty pounds?”
“Objection.” Caleb rose, ready for the question. “Calls for speculation.”
“Objection sustained,” the judge ruled, but her gaze lingered on Eliza’s diminutive frame, as Kell intended.
Satisfied she’d made her point, she released the witness.
“Mr. Matthews.”
“I call Sheriff Luke Calder.”
From the second row, Luke rose and approached the stand. As he passed Kell, he didn’t turn. Kell, unaware she’d expected any reaction, felt the deliberate snub pierce a heart she imagined numbed.
Greeting the bailiff, Luke took the oath and then his seat.
Caleb approached. “Sheriff Calder, you were the chief examiner at the scene, were you not?”
“Yes.”
“Did you examine the body on site?”
“Yes.”
Caleb winced internally at the monosyllabic responses. He spared a quick look at the judge, who also noted Luke’s recalcitrance. He asked, “What did you observe?”
“The victim had already come out of rigor by the time we received the summons from his neighbor. When I arrived, my chief deputy had secured the scene and was taking photos. I examined the body and noted that the likely cause of death was the hole in his thigh.”
“Did you secure a murder weapon?”
“No. A review of the apartment revealed a single knife, which did not appear sharp enough to inflict the wound.”
“Did you send it for testing?”
“I did not. Given the condition of the butter knife, I saw no reason for analysis. Both my chief deputy and I determined on-site that it was not the weapon.”
“At a later time, after receiving the autopsy, did you revise your opinion about the knife in the victim’s apartment?”
“No. The autopsy indicated that the knife in the victim’s apartment did not match the wound.”
“Did your investigation reveal anything more about the knife?” Caleb looked at Eliza and Kell, leading Luke’s gaze. “Any unique characteristics?”
But Luke had been a witness a hundred times and he knew the trick. His flat eyes remained focused on Caleb. “I interviewed persons of interest who had reason to own the knives described.
However, I did not locate the murder weapon.”
“Did you interview the defendant?”
“No. Before I could do so, Chief of Police Michael Graves obtained a search warrant for her home. He confiscated a cutlery set from her kitchen, but I have not been privy to any determination about the knives taken.”
“Did you also have occasion to interview a Mr. Harold Francis Reed, also known as Doc?”
“I did.”
“What did you learn?”
Luke located Doc slunk low against a bench in the rear of the courtroom and sneered lightly. “From Harold? Not much that I found useful or compelling.”
Caleb refused to smile. Sternly, he asked, “Was a statement taken?”
“Not by me.”
“By whom, then?”
“By Chief Graves.” Luke indicated the chief with a jut of his chin. “Graves has taken all witness statements associated with this case that I am aware of.”
“Thank you.”
Kell rose slowly, her stomach listing, heart lodged in her throat. “Sheriff Calder.”
“Counselor.” The look he gave her bore no trace of the affectionate lover, the irritated partner. Wintry and remote, he stared through her.
She rushed through her questions, as much to avoid any question that could incriminate Eliza as to move out of his line of sight. Finishing up, she asked, “Have you reached an opinion about my client’s role in this matter?”
“Objection!” Caleb sprang from his seat. “Calls for a conclusion.”
“Indeed it does,” Kell argued. “Sheriff Calder has been essential to this case from its start. By the prosecutor’s own testimony, he has been made privy to the autopsy and the witness statements. Certainly, he can render an opinion based on his observations and seventeen-year history as an officer.”
Judge Majors frowned thoughtfully. “Objection overruled, unless the prosecution has other grounds for objecting.”
Kell blanched, her eyes drawn helplessly to Luke. The cold remained, and he watched her with the passion of a stranger. No one intercepting his glance would have imagined that two nights ago, they’d been wrapped in each other’s arms.
Graves heaved over the rail and whispered frantically to the prosecutor. Wisps of conversation rose in the courtroom. Harlot. Bias. Blackmail. In the crowd, the whispers were echoed as the story of the sheriff and the defense attorney repeated through the throng.
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