Man with the Muscle (13 page)

“No!” Rupert wheezed.

She ignored him and tossed it onto the desk, snapping out the orders the doctors had trained her to do. “We need to stretch him out on the floor. Mrs. Puente, get the bottle of aspirin and a blanket. Clarice, call 9-1-1.”

“Already done.” Alex's voice was right behind her. He and Trip blew past her and lifted her father from his chair, nudging aside Clarice, who was still trying to unhook buttons. Audrey didn't have time to consider the implications of having the platinum blonde spending the night with her father. Alex thrust the phone into her hand. “I told Dispatch the address, you give them the details.”

Whatever had happened between them upstairs, thank God, had been thrust aside to concentrate on her father. Alex and Trip were working like a smooth-running machine, asking her father questions and checking his pulse. Grateful for the help, Audrey turned her attention to the 9-1-1 dispatcher on the phone. “Rupert Kline. Yes, he wears a pacemaker. Dr. Trecha is his specialist.”

Rosie Puente huddled against the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, clasping her hands together in prayer. Tears filled her eyes. “I didn't mean to do this. I served him his egg whites and soy bacon and toast, and brought him his paper, just like I do every other morning of the week. And then he grabbed his chest. I didn't mean—”

“Get the aspirin, Rosie. You didn't do anything wrong.” Audrey squeezed Mrs. Puente's hands and gave her a slight shake. There was no blame here, she
just needed action. “Go.” She turned her attention back to the dispatcher on the phone. “We're getting him an aspirin now.”

Three more officers, including the sergeant who'd driven the pickup away from the courthouse yesterday, appeared. The oldest man of the group—clearly the one in charge—with dark salt-and-pepper hair, spoke in hushed tones. A tall blond man introduced himself to Clarice as Holden Kincaid and drew the older woman out of the room. Sergeant Delgado jogged out of the room after them, making a call on his own cell phone.

She completed her call to the 9-1-1 operator and knelt at her father's side next to Alex. She smoothed his silvery red hair away from the perspiration dotting his forehead. “It'll be okay, Daddy. The ambulance is on its way.”

“It's just a palpitation, missy.” He tapped his chest.

“That's what the hardware's for. I'll be all right.”

Sergeant Delgado came back in with a portable oxygen tank and mask. He handed it off to Trip. “We need to get this on you, sir.”

“Just breathe, Daddy.” Audrey handed the phone back to Alex, and didn't try to pretend she wasn't grateful for the quick squeeze of her fingers before he slipped the cell into his pocket.

She watched him press those same fingers to her father's thigh, checking his femoral pulse. The germ of a memory, the seed of something crucial to the Smith case she'd overlooked whispered through her mind. She murmured the thought out loud. “He was shot in the leg.”

“Red?”

“Calvin Chambers was shot in the chest
and
the leg.
I think I just figured out how to win the trial. Since Plan A didn't work, and Plan B is… Never mind.” She shook off the idea and focused on the most important issue at hand. “How is he?”

“We've just got basic medic training, but I don't think it's a full-on heart attack. Something must have given him a shock.”

“He's still going to the hospital,” Audrey insisted.

“I know, Red. I want a professional to check him out, too.” Alex looked back down to her father. “Mr. Kline, can you tell me when this started?”

Rupert seemed to be breathing a little easier with the oxygen mask over his mouth and nose, but he was still alarmingly pale. “Reading that paper.” He raised up slightly and grabbed hold of Alex's sleeve. “Don't let them hurt her. You keep her safe.”

“Shh. Relax, sir.” He eased her father back to the floor. “I'm not going anywhere.”

Audrey smoothed her father's hair again and bent down to kiss his forehead, hiding her fear behind a smile. “Hang in there. Don't worry about me—I'm all grown up, remember?”

Rosie Puente huffed into the study, and they covered Rupert with a blanket and helped him swallow one of the aspirins. Within a matter of minutes, the real EMTs were at the house, rolling out her protesting father on a gurney, and assuring her that his heart rate was returning to normal and that the doctor would meet them at the hospital to conduct a thorough check of the patient.

Clarice had a hold of her father's hand and was hurrying alongside the gurney. “I'm so sorry, Rupert. Do you want to reschedule?”

When the EMTs paused at the front door, Audrey
glared Clarice away from her father and took his hand instead.

Clarice puffed up, her expression changing from concern to self-defense. “He invited me to breakfast.”

Her father's fingers tightened around hers and he pulled the oxygen mask away from his face to give her a wry smile. “You're the one who encouraged me to start dating.”

That she had. She'd even suggested Clarice as a candidate. So her campaign to prove to her father that she was a mature adult had just taken a serious setback. Was it because she subconsciously suspected Clarice Darnell was a gold digger? She herself had worked with her on several occasions, and had observed nothing but professional results. Or had she just seen another woman taking her place at her father's side and succumbed to a stab of jealousy? Emotions, right. She glanced over at Alex at the foot of the gurney then quickly turned away from his knowing gaze to replace the mask over Rupert's nose and mouth. “I'm sorry, Clarice.” She straightened and faced the buxom woman. “You're welcome to join us at the hospital.”

“No.” Rupert snatched her hand again. “You have court this morning, and I know you just had a brainstorm that would do the Kline name proud. This trip to the hospital is just a precaution. You can come see me afterward.”

“I'll call Judge Shanks. He'll understand an emergency and will grant me the delay.”

“Absolutely not.” Rupert Kline's killer-in-the-courtroom glare hardened his expression for a moment.

“You have a job to do. You're my daughter. If this is what you want, you go get them.”

“Daddy—”

“I'm trying to do the right thing here, missy.” Fatigue and love softened his face with a paternal smile. “They brought this battle to our home, not once, but twice now. And as much as I want to protect you…” He took the deepest breath he had in the last twenty minutes.

“Maybe it's time I handed over the reins and let you do your own fighting. If I was trying this case, I'd do everything in my power to make sure Smith and his thugs didn't win.”

He believed in her. As much as he wanted to pamper and protect her, the great Rupert Kline believed she could win this case. Humbled and inspired and deeply grateful for his confidence in her, Audrey leaned down to kiss his cheek. “I'll get him, Daddy.”

He winked at her before angling his gaze at Alex. “I'm counting on you, too, son. You watch her back.”

“We need to go, ma'am,” the EMT interjected.

Audrey nodded and stepped away. “Do you mind staying with him until I can get there, Clarice?”

“I'll take good care of him, hon.”

“I love you, Daddy.”

They were already wheeling him out the door. “Love you, too.”

Once the ambulance pulled away, with an off-duty police escort, Alex shut and bolted the door. “What did Rupert mean, the battle has been here twice?”

Audrey marched into her father's office where Mrs. Puente had started to clear the tray from his desk. She thanked the cook and sent her off to the kitchen to take a break. Then Audrey went to her father's chair and picked up the newspaper. She frowned. “This isn't the
Journal.
Where did this scandal rag come from?”

She opened it to the second-page photo of her and Alex sprawled on the sidewalk in the middle of the debris field from the exploded trash can. There was tomato on her collar and a bloody mark on her cheek. Her knees nearly buckled. Her father had seen this?

Even more disturbing than the
Attack on A.D.A.
headline was the message drawn across the photo in black magic marker.
He can't save you from the inevitable, bitch!
Audrey felt the same sense of violation and fear as she'd felt yesterday at the park. But she curled her toes inside her pumps and stood tall as she handed the paper across the desk. “This isn't the first threat I've received.”

Alex read the words and swore at the noose drawn around her neck. “This is Steve Lassen's work. Damn opportunist.”

“The picture and article are his, at least. That doesn't mean he added the message.”

Alex set down the paper and pushed it away as though the sight of it made him physically ill. “And you've gotten other crap like this? That might explain what Pike and his dog found outside.”

A chill crept down her spine. “What's that?”

“A set of footprints in the slushy leaves out in your front yard forest, along with a handful of small branches that have been sliced off with some kind of knife.”

“The groundskeeper wouldn't trim the trees until all the leaves are gone.”

“And he wouldn't hack at it with a knife. Somebody's been here, watching you. Somebody who didn't want to be seen.” He unlocked the holster on his belt and pulled out his gun. With a series of precise movements, he dumped the magazine, slammed it into place again,
checked the sights and returned it to the back of his belt as if he was expecting a gunfight.
Not ill. Pissed off. Maybe too angry to feel.
Alex needed to
do.
“The D.A. wants me here. Your father wants me here. What about you?”

She met those unblinking dark eyes across the desk. She was ready to take action, too. “Have one of your buddies call the crime lab. See if they can get knife marks off those branches. Hopefully, the storm hasn't degraded the footprints too much. Dust this paper for prints. Make sure they take Clarice's.”

“To eliminate her as a suspect?”

Maybe. She didn't see how her father's new girlfriend could possibly have a connection to Demetrius Smith, but Audrey was about facts, not taking chances. “This is a morning edition. Somebody had to bring it in here after you cleared the house last night.”

“The Bad Boys could have cornered the paperboy and forced him to deliver it for them. They could have…waylaid him and made the delivery themselves.” Forced? Waylaid? Was he speaking from experience? “Sergeant Delgado has already called the lab. Do you know the kid's name?”

Audrey's stomach turned at the idea of another innocent being harmed by the Broadway Bad Boys in their effort to get to her. “Mrs. Puente does.”

“I'll have Sarge talk to her and get the info.” Alex propped his hands at his waist and rephrased his question. “What do you want
me
to do?”

“Take me to the courthouse.”

“Mac Taylor is the day shift commander of the KCPD crime lab, with twenty years of experience in the field. I think he knows what he's talking about.” Audrey paced in front of the judge's bench, pointing to the man on the witness stand.

“Objection overruled. I don't think we need to debate the experience of this witness, Mr. Shipley, so sit down.” Judge Shanks paused to take a sip of what had to be room-temp coffee by now. He might look tired, but there was no mistaking the pinpoint reprimand in his eyes.

“But watch the sarcasm, Miss Kline.”

Audrey thanked him with a deferential nod and turned her attention back to the forensic scientist with a scarred face, a blind eye and glasses, who'd remained completely cool and unflustered by Cade Shipley's groundless attack on his skills and the way he ran his office. “Mr. Taylor, back to my previous question. You found no trace of GPR—gun powder residue—on the clothes the defendant, Mr. Smith, was wearing when he was arrested.”

“None.”

She ignored Cade Shipley's snicker. Did he really think she was foolish enough to pursue this line of
questioning if she thought it would prove his client's innocence? “But you said the jacket he was wearing had no bullet hole in it.”

Mac Taylor leaned forward to speak directly into the microphone. “Correct. The jacket had his blood on it. Part of the zipper had been broken and ripped out, as though it had gotten caught on something, or he'd gotten frustrated with it when he was putting it on.”

“Relevance, your honor?” Shipley protested. “It's after four o'clock and I'm interested in eating dinner sometime tonight.”

Audrey bit down on what she thought Shipley could do with his dinner if he kept on interrupting her. She thought it a wiser move to smile at Judge Shanks. “I have a point to make, Your Honor, I promise.”

“Then get to it.”

She returned to the witness. “So there was no bullet hole in the jacket Demetrius Smith was wearing, yet Mr. Smith's medical records clearly show that he'd been shot in the arm. What conclusion did your lab reach, based on that evidence?”

“That Smith wasn't wearing that jacket when he was shot.”

“Now Captain Cutler of the responding SWAT team on the scene has already testified that they stormed the house within a minute of hearing Mr. Smith yelling that he'd been shot and wanted to surrender.” She looked out into the gallery watching the trial, reminding the jury of the tall, salt-and-pepper-haired man in his black KCPD SWAT uniform who'd been on the stand earlier. Her gaze skimmed over Alex, sitting beside him. It shouldn't give her that little rush of confidence that he was out there supporting her, protecting her. But those dark eyes
watching her did make her think that she could do this. She brought her gaze back to Mac Taylor's sighted eye. “Your lab also processed a jacket worn by another suspect at the scene, Tyrell Sampson. Would you tell the court what you found on Mr. Sampson's jacket?”

Mac nodded. “A bullet hole in the right sleeve. Blood. GPR on the right cuff. And traces of gun oil with minute metal filings that match the gun registered to Demetrius Smith.”

“The gun that killed Calvin Chambers?”

“Yes.”

“Had Mr. Sampson been shot?”

“Not according to the police report.”

From the corner of her eye, Audrey saw Demetrius lean over and whisper something to his attorney. Seconds later, Cade Shipley was on his feet again. “Your Honor, if you recall, in that same police report, the interview with Tyrell Sampson stated that he was already in the system as the victim of a gunshot wound. An accident with a friend who was cleaning his gun, I believe.”

Judge Shanks scratched at his curly black beard and sighed into his hand. “So noted. Miss Kline? Your point?”

Audrey cleared her throat to keep from smiling.
Keep going, Shipley. Help me win this case.

She wrapped her fingers around the railing in front of the witness box and asked a simple question. “Was the blood on Tyrell Sampson's jacket his?”

“No. It was Demetrius Smith's.”

Audrey let the grumbling through the courtroom gallery subside before she spoke again. “So is it feasible to assume that Demetrius Smith changed jackets with
Mr. Sampson in the minute between him being shot and being handcuffed by SWAT?”

“A quick-change artist could do it, yes.”

Cade Shipley quickly objected. “Your Honor. Speculation.”

“Withdrawn.” Audrey quickly responded before looking up at Judge Shanks. “I have no further questions for this witness, Your Honor.”

“Thank you, Mr. Taylor. You're dismissed.”

Audrey returned to her seat, stealing a sly look at the jury as she walked by. She could see by their reactions that she'd successfully put the possibility into their minds that Demetrius had indeed shot and killed Calvin Chambers, and then switched the jacket that held the incriminating evidence as soon as he realized he was going to be captured.

It wasn't a fact she could win a case on. But if she could find one Broadway Bad Boy who'd been on the scene to say he'd seen Demetrius switch jackets, then she didn't need to put the gun in his hand. The forensic evidence would put it there for her.

“All rise.”

Audrey checked her watch as the courtroom was dismissed. If the fates were with her, she could wrap up a conviction in a matter of days rather than dragging this out over the holidays or settling for reduced charges against Smith. Alex had put in a call to his uncle Josh, one of the detectives working the Chambers shooting, and he and his partner were rounding up Tyrell Sampson for her to reinterview before the end of the day. Maybe she couldn't get him to state that he saw Demetrius fire the kill shot, but she might be able to get him to say something about changing clothes—unless he wanted
to say the jacket with all the evidence was his, and take the rap for killing Calvin Chambers himself.

She tucked her notes into her attaché bag and looped it over her shoulder.

If the fates were…

When she turned to leave the prosecution table, Demetrius Smith was looking right at her. Staring at her. No, damning her. Yes, he was in handcuffs. Yes, he was listening to whatever Shipley was saying to him. But this silent conversation was all about him and her.

You scared yet, bitch?

Audrey couldn't seem to catch her breath. Her hand fisted around the strap of her bag. She couldn't seem to look away from the vile promise in his eyes, either.

And then she heard, “Turn around, Smith.”

Her breath rushed out in a gasp of relief as Alex pushed through the gate and inserted himself between Audrey and the defense table. She hadn't noticed it when she'd seen him earlier, but he must be back on the clock because at some time during the day, he'd changed into his SWAT uniform—long-sleeved black shirt over a turtleneck, black pants tucked into black army-grade boots, his sidearm strapped to his muscular thigh. Even from this view, he looked as imposing and official as the night she'd first met him.

Demetrius licked his lips and smiled. “I'm just enjoying the scenery, officer. There aren't any pretty girls where I'm at right now.”

Tension sparked off every corded muscle. “Shipley, corral your client, or I will.”

Shipley said something that displeased his client, but the courtroom officers were already pulling Demetrius away from the table. Alex stood fast, blocking
Audrey between the table and the railing until Demetrius had been removed and Shipley was packing up his briefcase.

Only then did he turn. “You okay?”

His hand came up, but quickly dropped to his side. She couldn't tell whether it was the protocol taboo of keeping his hands off the A.D.A. in court, or their prickly argument this morning about giving her time to think through her feelings that made him limit his concern to the dark expression in his eyes.

Audrey nodded, wondering at her own wistful response to the fact that he
hadn't
touched her. She tilted her chin and pretended her nerves weren't still rattling. “I must be making pretty good progress on my case for him to think he has to scare me back into my place like that.”

“Do you think it'd cost me my badge if I punched him out for leering at you that way?”

Screw protocol. She reached over and grazed her fingers against his. He needed to take a step back from his gangbanger instincts, and she needed…she just needed to touch him. She needed that inexplicable anchor she felt whenever she connected with him in some way. It was just a simple brushing of fingertips, down low between them where only someone who was looking for the forbidden contact might see. But it was enough to regroup and feel grounded again. “Take the advice of an attorney, Alex. I'm okay. Just walk me to my car. I want to get to the police station and talk to Demetrius's friend Tyrell.”

“Uncle Mac set the stage for you to wrap up this trial, didn't he?”

“Are you related to every cop at KCPD?”

“About half of them, it seems.” With a nod to Trip, who quickly exited the back of the room, Alex pushed open the gate for her and followed her out of the near-empty courtroom. “He'll pick us up at the side entrance so you don't have to run the gauntlet of reporters today.”

“I have to say something to them.”

“No, you don't. Do you know how hard it is to spot a threat in a crowd like that?”

“They'll hound me all evening if I don't at least give them a statement.”

He stopped her at the elevator and indicated to others that they go on so that she and Alex could ride down in a car alone. “Fine. Make a statement. But no questions. I'll alert Trip.”

By the time she hit the chilly sunshine on the sidewalk in front of the courthouse, Audrey wished she'd taken Alex up on his offer to sneak her out the side entrance.
Gauntlet
was right. When she exited the glass doors, enough lights flashed to temporarily blind her. The assault of questions was equally unnerving. She barely got a look at the bundled-up onlookers and protest signs across the street in the park when the cameras and reporters swarmed around her. The salt that had been put down to melt the sleet and snow crunched beneath her boots as she took an instinctive step of retreat.

She bumped into Alex's hand at her back and was reminded she wasn't facing this alone. Raising her chin to a level of authority and control she didn't quite feel, she quieted them long enough to make her statement.

“The prosecution's case against Demetrius Smith is proceeding according to the strategy the district attorney's office has mapped out. We have strong
circumstantial evidence and a timeline of events that shows—”

“But you can't get any witnesses to testify against him, can you?” someone shouted.

“Do you think Trace Vaughn's murder silenced any hope of getting someone to come forward?”

She felt Alex shift behind her. “Just a statement, Red.”

Audrey cleared her throat and continued. “We have more expert testimony scheduled for tomorrow, including a representative from the drug enforcement task force to detail Mr. Smith's criminal record.”

“He's going to get away with killing that little boy, isn't he?” She turned to the other side to face the new accusation. “Cade Shipley says you can't prove murder.”

“Mr. Shipley is welcome to say whatever he wants. Of course, he's going to come out in support of his client.”

She recognized Steve Lassen pushing his way to the front of the crowd and braced herself before he ever spoke. “He's got you running scared, doesn't he, Miss Kline?”

Alex's arm tightened around her waist, pulling her forward. “We're done here.”

You scared yet?

Audrey planted her feet and faced Lassen's chubby red nose. “I didn't appreciate your article in the paper this morning, Mr. Lassen. It'd be nice if you'd stick to the facts instead of sensationalizing a tragic event.”

He had the audacity to smile. “Which tragic event would that be? That kid's murder—?”

“That ‘kid' is Calvin Chambers.”

“—yesterday's bombing? Or your father's heart attack this morning?”

“How did you…? How dare you!” Every blood cell in Audrey's body swelled with fury. “My personal life doesn't have a damn thing to do with your story.”

“Audrey.” Alex strong-armed his way through the crowd, dragging Audrey along with him, forcing her into a trot to keep up. “He's baiting you. Now isn't the time to let those emotions go.”

But Steve Lassen and a barrage of questions dogged their every step out to the street.

“Is Rupert Kline still alive?”

“What hospital is he in?”

“Any time now, Trip,” Alex muttered, pulling Audrey into his arms and spinning her away from the crowd.

“Have you received any more threats from Demetrius Smith's crew?” Lassen prodded.

“Don't answer that.”

Audrey twisted against Alex's grip. How did Lassen know these details? Did he really think his tabloid tactics were going to get him a regular assignment back at a legitimate newspaper? Or was he privy to inside information?

“Do you think you're going to live to see the end of this trial?”

Audrey felt the unwanted hand on her arm, urging her to turn. She saw Lassen's camera flash to capture her open-mouthed shock.

“Get your hands off her!”

In a matter of milliseconds, Lassen's grip on her arm popped open and Alex was shoving the bastard's face down to the pavement. Tires screeched to a halt on the pavement behind her and Alex raised his fist.

“Alex!”

A woman screamed. Cameras flashed.

“Taylor!” Trip called out.

Audrey yanked on Alex's shirt. But he'd already frozen at the sharp command.

“You—cuff this guy.” Trip Jones ran up beside them, ordering the reporters back, summoning the uniformed officers nearby. He closed his big hands over Audrey's shoulders and pulled her back. “Into the truck, ma'am. Let's go, Taylor.”