Lawyers In Love: In His Own Defense (14 page)

“Oh, yeah.” He caught a nipple between his teeth and swirled his tongue over and around the incredibly sensitive nub. Shards of pleasure traveled through her body, burst in hot, delicious bubbles in both breasts…her belly…deep inside her. Most of all they set off tiny explosions between her legs.

Explosions Tony magnified a hundred times when he stroked her there through her panties, then slid the silk aside. He inserted his fingers between her outer lips and circled her swollen clit.

“You’re wet. And hot.”

And embarrassed. Especially when she felt more juices flow, soaking his hand as he stroked her there. “I’m sorry,” she muttered, her words muffled against his chest—and the pale gray shirt that suddenly was in her way.

“Don’t be. I love it. I’m just as ready for you as it seems you are for me. Get those panties off,” he said, moving to undo his pants, free his erection, and roll on a condom in a flurry of desperate motion. “Now come here and ride me. I’ll make you feel real good.”

Straddling his lap, the tip of his penis nestled at the opening of her vagina, Kristine wanted…she wanted him inside her, filling her, and now he was. Filling her, stretching her, scalding her insides with an intense heat while he cupped her breasts, suckled first one and then the other. When he lifted her, she wanted to protest until he lowered her on his shaft again and again, deeper each time until his sac bounced against her rear passage.

He felt so good. This felt so right. She loved listening to the ragged cadence of his breathing, feeling the hard muscles in his shoulders bunch beneath her fingers as though it took extraordinary effort for him to hold on to some shred of control. Smelling the blend of their colognes and the unique heady scent of sex made her hungry to taste him. And tasting the slightly salty sweat along his sandpapery jaw sent her seeking more…his velvety soft earlobe, the exposed flesh of his muscular neck.

All the delicious sensations bombarded her, building pressure deep in her belly. Pressure that spread and burst in a wild array of new feelings. Delicious feelings. “Oh, yesss,” she hissed when he slammed her down one last time and held her there, his jerking, spurting release triggering another climax that left her drained…yet supremely satisfied.

Long after Tony had left, Kristine managed to come down from the cloud of pleasure he’d led her to when they made love. For a long time, she lay in the dark and pondered the point of a closing argument he’d tried out on her—the allegation that truth came not only in black and white, but in shades of gray.

That thought kept her up until the early morning hours.

* * * * *

Nine o’clock came too early after a night of sex and self-examination. Still a little sleepy, Kristine took her place at the prosecution table and pulled out the file for the State of Florida versus Kenny Rich. When public defender Tom Fernandez arrived, they exchanged friendly banter for a few minutes.

“We should be out of here soon,” she commented. “Our case is first on the docket.”

Tom shrugged. “Don’t count on it. I’m not going to waive the preliminary hearing.”

“Why?” Since judges invariably bound over defendants for trial, most defense lawyers, especially ones from the public defender’s office, waived the preliminaries.

“My client wants me to let him present exculpatory evidence.”

Kristine let out a sigh. “There goes my morning.”

“Yeah. My thought, too. But Kenny insists.” Tom shrugged, as if it didn’t matter to him, one way or the other.

They approached the bench, where Tom explained his client’s wishes. Since neither the judge nor Kristine objected to the unusual request, the hearing proceeded.

Briefly, Kristine enumerated the state’s evidence: an informant’s tip, the subsequent issuance of a search warrant, and the discovery of over a half-pound of marijuana bagged for street sale in the defendant’s apartment. For good measure, she noted for the record that the state had evidence the defendant was a regular user of the drug.

Then the defendant was sworn in. As were most defendants charged with small-time drug-related felonies, Kenny Rich was young. Twenty-two, according to the information on his arrest record. The county-jail orange jumpsuit he wore made his pale skin look sallow. Kristine felt a twinge of pity when she saw his hands shaking.

She thought of the prisoner Tony was representing on appeal and the violence he’d endured at the hands of his fellow prisoners. Was Kenny any better equipped than Ezra to stave off attacks from older, more seasoned criminals?

Kristine reminded herself the reason she was here was to see justice served for crime victims, not worry about whether defendants could take care of themselves in the county lockup or later in state prison facilities.

“I was framed.”

She’d heard that a hundred times, but from Kenny the protest rang true. He ran a finger through strawberry-blond hair that needed a trim, but his gaze held steady.

When he insisted the drugs had been planted, Kristine had to steel herself not to believe. As it was, she found herself digging through the file, re-reading the police report with an eye to locating discrepancies. Nothing.

None of the cops’ evidence seemed forced. Kristine detected no gaping holes or conflicting statements. She had nothing to justify her feelings but a gut instinct that Kenny Rich was telling the truth. If he was, then she was aiding the court in committing a travesty of justice.

She did it successfully, too, because the judge found that probable cause existed and bound Kenny over for trial the following week. When the deputies escorted him from the courtroom, Kristine suppressed a shudder.

The rest of the day as she prepared briefs and searched for precedents for an arson trial Andi would be trying the next week, Kristine kept seeing Kenny’s earnest expression, his trembling hands, and the stark fear in his eyes as the deputies had led him away.

That image haunted Kristine throughout the day, until finally she shut off her computer. Only vaguely sure of her destination, she headed for the courthouse and slipped into the back of Courtroom A, where Andi and Tony were about to present closing arguments in a high-profile case involving white-collar crime.

Tony went first. He needed no sartorial props to make the jurors sit up and take notice. Impressive in the conservative gray suit, pale blue shirt, and striped tie Kristine thought of as the courtroom uniform of all high-priced defenders, he radiated confidence along with barely leashed male power.

Kristine knew how carefully he’d prepared his close, but he was speaking to the twelve jurors now as though the words rolled effortlessly off his tongue. He gave the impression he was talking to twelve good friends, explaining rules of evidence in words they could easily understand.

She watched the jurors’ faces, saw them consider what Tony said and warm to him one by one. By the time he finished, what had seemed a hostile group intent on convicting his client when he’d stood and begun his magic had morphed into a thoughtful, contemplative assembly of citizens apparently willing to consider that the man might be innocent despite compelling evidence to the contrary.

Then it was Andi’s turn. From the jaunty way she wore a bright red scarf that should have clashed with her coppery hair to the confident way she addressed the jury, Kristine had no doubt her supervisor loved the fight. Andi was good. Very good. Not as good as Tony, but close.

Both Tony and Andi were exceptional trial lawyers. Kristine looked back, considered her own limited experience in court and the mixed results she’d gotten. What was it, she wondered, that gave Andi and Tony their edge? Made them stand out in a sea of attorneys?

Suddenly it came to her. They loved the fight.

Just as suddenly Kristine realized that she didn’t. She was happier preparing briefs and pleadings than she was trying to sway juries. But she couldn’t turn her back on the vow she’d made. Couldn’t let Helen’s death go unpunished.

What would she do with her life if she gave up the fight?

Confused, Kristine left while the judge gave the jury their instructions. Her knees suddenly weak, she sank onto one of the wooden benches outside the courtroom and closed her eyes.

“Krissy?”

She looked up at Tony, let his smile chase the chill from her heart. Here was the perfect person to help her sort through her jumbled feelings. “You know, Counselor, you’re good,” she said, returning his smile.

He reached down and stroked her cheek. “Yeah. I am. So is Andi. I’ve got the feeling we’re not going to get a verdict tonight. Want to go to Bennie’s and have a bite to eat while the jury does its thing?”

“That sounds good. What did you do with the rest of the team you had hovering around the defense table?” she asked after glancing around the anteroom.

“I got rid of them so I could spend some time with my woman. Are you ready to brave the clouds of smoke to get a beer and a bowl of stew?”

Chapter Thirteen

Dark, smoky, and reminiscent of a movie set for an old-time gangster meeting place, Bennie’s Place did a brisk business with Tampa’s lawyers and cops. A prime location less than a block from the county courthouse and its annex, where criminal trials were held, contributed greatly to its success with local lawyers and politicos.

His hand at her back, Tony led Kristine toward an empty booth in the back, surprised at the possessive feelings that welled up in him when someone shot her an admiring glance. Every now and then they had to pause and return greetings from colleagues, which irritated Tony further because he wanted Krissy to himself.

Once they were seated, he laid his cellular phone on the scarred tabletop and motioned for a waiter.

“Tony, what makes you love it so?”

“Love what, honey?”

She brushed soft fingers over the back of his hand. “The fight. Matching wits against an opponent across a courtroom, when somebody else’s life is at stake.”

“Because I want to win. Fighting the system validates everything I’ve done, all the scraping and clawing I had to do to get as far up the ladder as I have so far.”

He met her gaze, sensed she expected something more than the answer he’d been giving since he started making a name for himself in Florida courtrooms eight years earlier.

“Most of all, I love the fight because I don’t want to see anybody punished for who they are, not what they allegedly did.”

“You don’t believe, deep down, that most of the people you defend are guilty, do you?”

“As you told me once, sweetheart, ‘asked and answered.’”

The question he generally responded to without hesitation bothered him, coming as it had from her. Krissy was sleeping with him. She ought to trust him.

The waiter finally arrived, and Tony gratefully turned his attention to the menu. After he had placed their orders, he tried to make amends for having snapped at her.

“Sorry, Krissy. It’s been a long day.”

She looked at him, then focused her gaze on the bundled silverware the waiter had set before her. “How do you know if a defendant’s telling the truth?”

“Instinct.”

“Could we talk about a prisoner I handled the preliminary hearing for today?” She glanced around, as though to be certain no one had overheard. “He gave me mixed messages.”

“I’m not sure I can help you, but I’ll be glad to listen. Unless, that is, someone in my firm is set to defend him or her.”

“Him. And no. Tom Fernandez from the public defender’s office is representing him.”

“What’s this defendant charged with?”

“Felony possession with intent to distribute marijuana. About ten ounces, neatly packaged in nickel bags. He claims the marijuana must have been planted in his apartment, and that he knew nothing about it until the police came to his door with a search warrant.”

“Were his prints on the bags?” Tony asked, his mind suddenly flooded with questions he would have asked had he been this defendant’s lawyer.

“No.”

“Where were the bags found?”

Kristine set down her water glass. “The officers found them in the defendant’s bathroom, suspended inside the toilet tank in a heavy plastic bag.”

“I’ve heard crazier places to hide stuff.” He paused, then asked her what had been given as grounds for issuing the search warrant.

“An informant’s tip.”

Tony figured that if he were running the defense, he could have the prisoner back on the street in a matter of days, if not hours, from the time his trial began—whether or not he was, in fact, guilty as sin. He didn’t, however, consider it prudent to say so. “Is your defendant a user?”

“He said not, but we have witnesses who’ll swear he is.”

Tony looked at Kristine and wished he could wipe away the troubled expression that clouded her eyes. “What’s bothering you about the case, honey?”

“I don’t know. It was just, when Tom was questioning him, I got this deep-down feeling that the man was telling the truth when he swore he hadn’t hidden that pot in his apartment.”

“Even though the evidence indicates he’s lying?”

She nodded. “I have to prosecute him, though. And try my best to get a conviction.”

“Honey, getting the man convicted is your job. If he’s innocent, you have to believe his own lawyer will get him acquitted.”