Merciless (14 page)

“Ms. Carlson. It is indeed a pleasure,” Micah said.

She refused to acknowledge any fear now. “I understand we are going to represent you with regard to a charitable foundation.”

He held her hand an extra beat, and then released it. “You are. And before Ms. Wellington arrives I wanted us to have a moment to talk about the connection between our families.”

“I promise you I will give you the very best representation. I do not hold you responsible for the actions of your family.”

He nodded. “I appreciate that. But let’s face it, those connections were dark and rather brutal.”

“Eva has told me you have been nothing but kind to her. That is enough for me.”

“I appreciate that.”

He had an easy charm about him that had her relaxing. “Let us move forward, Mr. Cross, so that our professional relationship thrives.”

“You are an open-minded woman.”

Charlotte appeared in the doorway. She’d swept her red hair up into a chignon and applied a discreet but effective amount of makeup to a porcelain complexion. She’d chosen a hunter-green suit and an off-white silk blouse. Both accentuated her figure but not so much that she bent any professional standards. Charlotte understood where the “line” was and could dance right on it without crossing it.

“Mr. Cross,” Charlotte said. “I am so glad you could join us. It was so kind of you to come to our offices. We’d have been glad to meet you at yours.”

Cross stared at her, a gleam of appreciation in his eyes. “It was important to see your offices for myself. A person’s space tells me so much about them.”

Charlotte arched a brow. “And what do our humble offices tell you about us?”

“That you are going to do an excellent job for me. I have chosen wisely.”

* * *

Angie had to hustle to make it to the courthouse by eleven. Her meeting with Cross had gone longer than she’d expected. However, the meeting, which could have been an awkward mess, had been oddly relaxed. Cross gave off an easy vibe that had her dismissing initial concerns about him. She’d worked hard not to be like her father, and it seemed Cross had done the same.

Hauling her overstuffed briefcase, she dashed up the front steps, her high heels clicking on the brick steps as she hurried through the front door. A quick pass through the metal detector and she was hustling toward the domestic court. The hallways were crowded today, full of lawyers in dark suits, and clients in all manner of dress from ragged jeans to their Sunday best.

Angie hoped it would be the latter for her and Lulu today. It would be nice to see her legal training help out the “little guy” for once.

She searched the hallways hoping that Lulu would be waiting for her in the lobby. Her initial sweep did not reveal Lulu’s blond spiky hair. Annoyance took root, and on reflex she checked her watch. Two minutes past eleven. Lulu could be running a little late, just as she had been.

Too much nervous energy raced through Angie, making it impossible for her just to sit and wait. Her fingers tightened around her briefcase, and her toe tapped the marble floor. Minutes passed as her gaze swept the hallway again.

This time she searched more closely, remembering she’d told Lulu to change her hair. But a second and third search did not reveal the young woman. Angie called Lulu’s cell number and was annoyed when it went
straight to voice mail. She left a curt message and snapped the phone closed.

Angie checked her watch at eleven-fifteen and again at eleven-thirty. Their hearing was scheduled for twelve, and their critical prep time was vanishing. Another call to Lulu’s phone landed her again in voice mail.

“Damn it,” she muttered.

Angie moved through the crowds to the elevator, hoping now that Lulu had somehow gotten mixed up and had gone to the courtroom on the second floor. As she rode the elevator up, her blood pressure rose. “This should not be so complicated. This should be easy.”

But people like Lulu often made simple events complicated. They missed appointments, took drugs knowing a court-ordered test was imminent, or shouted out the wrong statement to the judge.

Angie pressed a trembling hand to her forehead, willing the impending headache away. When the doors dinged open she stepped out into a less-crowded hallway and searched for her wayward client. Again, no Lulu.

This time Angie took a seat outside the domestic courtroom so that she could glance through the files. At least she could be familiar with the case.

However, the case file did not give her much hope. Lulu had been arrested for drug possession not once as she’d said but three times since the birth of her son. She’d also been picked up for solicitation six months ago, and she’d missed two visitations with her son.

Angie called Eva, but the call went to voice mail. She was about to curse the recording but remembered Eva had advanced calculus and wouldn’t be out of class until after two. “Why do I do this to myself?”

Angie sighed and let her head tip back against the cold wall. Even if Lulu waltzed in here right now,
looking like a saint, the facts in the file would be hard to overcome.

She checked her watch. Five minutes to twelve. Anger knotted her stomach, and she would dearly have loved just to get up and walk out of here.

And she would have if Eva hadn’t asked this favor of her. Instead she dashed down the stairs hoping that Lulu had arrived. She hadn’t.

Angie had to sprint back up the stairs to reach the courtroom by twelve sharp. Breathless, she moved into the courtroom and took her place on the plaintiff’s side. To her right she glanced at an older-looking woman who shared Lulu’s sharp features and expressive eyes. The woman had to be Lulu’s mother. Instead of staring ahead, the woman searched the room, her eyes expectant, not angry.

“The next case on the docket is Sweet versus Sweet.” The bailiff’s voice cut through the courtroom.

Lulu’s mother rose, as did a young man in a dark suit who sat beside her.

The judge peered over his glasses, glaring down at the mother. Immediately, his gaze swept the room in search of Lulu. “Where is the plaintiff?” He glanced at his paperwork. “Lulu Sweet.”

Angie stood.

The judge was going to chew her ass out for her client’s absence. She’d been chewed out before and had developed a thick skin. But it irritated her that she was now defending a woman who had duped her.

“Does Ms. Sweet have representation?”

Angie rose. “Angie Carlson here, sir, representing Ms. Sweet.”

Judge Odom cocked a bushy brow. “This isn’t your usual turf is it, Ms. Carlson?”

“No, Your Honor.” Her voice was clear and strong. “But I am the counsel for Ms. Sweet.”

He shrugged. “So where is your client, Ms. Carlson?”

“She has not yet arrived at the courthouse.”

“She’s a no-show?”

Angie’s gaze remained on the judge. The last thing she wanted to do was show him any ounce of disrespect. “So far, she has not arrived.”

The other attorney cleared his throat. “We all knew this was a critical hearing, Your Honor. The fact that Ms. Sweet is late speaks volumes about her commitment to her son. I move that you award full custody to my client.”

Angie straightened. “Your Honor, I move for a continuance so that I can find out what has befallen my client. She understood the importance of this court date and was anxious to be present.”

“And yet she is not here,” the other counselor said. “She has a history of drug use and arrest.”

“We haven’t proved either is behind today’s absence,” Angie countered. She shared the counselor’s fears, but she couldn’t let her own concerns sway the fact that she was here to argue for Lulu. Later, when she got her hands on the girl, she’d sort out this mess, but for now she was about damage control.

“Do you know where your client is, Ms. Carlson?” Judge Odom said.

“I’m sure if you just give her a little more time.” Angie hoped for a miracle now.
Come on, Lulu, drag your butt through those doors and give the judge a valid explanation.

But no Lulu appeared, and the seconds ticked as Angie stared at the judge.

“Where is your client, Ms. Carlson?” Impatience nipped at the words.

“I don’t know.”

“When did you last speak with her?”

“Yesterday. She was quite anxious to be here.”

The judge sighed. “The road to hell is paved with good intentions.” He glanced at the other attorney. “You have Ms. Sweet’s mother here today.”

“Right at my side, Your Honor.”

“And she is willing to take the child?”

“Yes, sir. She is most anxious to give the child a stable home.”

Angie glanced at the woman, and this time really looked at her. Her frame was fragile, and her shoulders stooped. She was older than Angie would have expected— perhaps in her mid-sixties, suggesting that Lulu had been a late-in-life baby. Mrs. Sweet’s skin was pale, and her bony hands were riddled with blue veins. She hardly looked strong enough to lift the baby, let alone raise him. Eva had hinted that she was sick.

“Mrs. Sweet, are you willing to take the minor child, David?” the judge asked.

“Yes, sir.” Her voice held a surprising strength and clearness that Angie had to admire. The woman might not have wanted this curveball life had tossed her, but she was doing her best to handle it.

The judge glanced again at Angie. “Give me something, Ms. Carlson.”

She’d have talked her way through this if it was a corporate client. She possessed dozens of tricks up her sleeve to drag out a hearing. But this wasn’t a merger or an acquisition. It was a child. And the mother had missed her chance to parent him. “I can’t.”

He nodded. “Let the record show that Ms. Lulu Sweet
did not appear in court and that I award custody to Mrs. Vivian Sweet.” He pounded his gavel on the bench. “Next case.”

Angie turned and left the courtroom, her stomach churning with anger. What an utter waste of time and energy.

She’d just reached the elevator when she heard her name. Mrs. Sweet moved toward her. Her attorney remained by the courtroom door, watching but not approaching.

“Ms. Carlson, may I have a moment of your time?” Vivian Sweet’s voice had lost the power and now sounded weak and defeated.

“Mrs. Sweet.”

“Thank you for trying to help my Lulu.”

Angie had expected an attack, not thanks. She nodded stiffly, not sure what to say.

“Lulu wants to straighten out, and I really hoped this last go-around she would. The last few weeks have felt so hopeful. I hoped she’d win today.”

“That seems surprising.”

“I don’t want to be in this battle with my daughter. I want her to get her act together and raise David. But though there have been glimmers of success, even weeks of it, a baby needs more. He needs his mother all the time, not just when she feels like being a mother.”

Angie leaned toward the woman. “Yesterday she seemed very determined to be here. I believed her.”

“And she believed herself. She wants to do it right, but every time she gets close she stumbles.”

Genuine regret coated the words. “I’m sorry.”

Mrs. Sweet raised her chin as if pity was the last thing she wanted. “If you see Lulu, tell her that I love her. And that David is doing fine.”

“Are you doing fine?” It was an inappropriate question, and one Mrs. Sweet shouldn’t have answered.

Her eyes darkened with worry before she seemed to brush it aside. “I’m fine. I have to be for David.”

“Mrs. Sweet.” The other attorney was clearly unhappy that his client had chosen to talk to opposing counsel.

Mrs. Sweet glanced toward him and smiled. “I’llberight there.” She looked at Angie one last time. “Thank you.”

The woman vanished into the crowd, leaving Angie angry with her client and her sister for putting her in such a situation. She punched the down button, and when the elevator didn’t instantly open, she pressed it several more times as if the machine would sense her frustration and hurry.

“So, it’s Angie Carlson.” The smooth voice had her spine stiffening so sharply that she thought it might snap. Connor Donovan.

“Mr. Donovan, what rock did you crawl out from?”

Thursday, October 6, 12:30
P.M.

Donovan moved beside Angie, so close she could feel the heat of his shoulder as it nearly brushed hers. “
Mr. Donovan?
Angie, after all we shared … call me Connor.”

When she’d discovered he’d used her so badly, she’d tried to brush the rejection off and tell herself it didn’t matter. But the wound he’d inflicted had been slow to heal. And there were still days when she feared she’d never really open up to a man again.

“I could call you asshole. Dickhead? How do they sound?” She met his gaze as if leveling the barrel of a shotgun.

His stare didn’t waver. “You have a right to be pissed. I get that. I was a dick.”

“So we can agree on something.”

His grin waned. “Look, Angie, I saw you here today, and I wanted to come over and apologize. I’ve had a chance to rethink a lot of things in the last year, and what I did to you, well, was wrong.”

She’d done things she regretted, and those regrets were part of the reason she was here today. But she suspected Donovan didn’t care about right and wrong. “Beat it.”

“Ah, come on, Angie. Can’t we get a drink?”

The elevator dinged, but a quick glance told her it was stuck on the floor above, forcing her to stand and wait with him. She considered the steps but refused to run from this jerk. “Go away, Donovan. Find another rock to crawl under.”

His easy veneer melted, and something harder and colder appeared. “You can’t cry foul. You are a user just like me. You do what you need to do to win. I’m no different.”

She cleared her throat. “This is not the time or the place.”

“It’s as good as any.”

“Drop dead.”

His eyes narrowed. “You’ve been perched on your self-made pedestal for so long you’ve forgotten you are a muckraker just like me. Let’s face it, sweetie—your talent for nasty is as honed as mine.”

Color rose in her cheeks. “Do you have a point to make, Mr. Donovan? I’ve got work to do.”

“Don’t we all.”

The elevator doors dinged open. To her dismay it was packed. The doors closed.

“Why are you here?” she asked. “Don’t you have something more entertaining to do like pulling the wings off of flies?”

“I’m here about your client.”

“I don’t talk about my clients.”

He leaned toward her. His aftershave reached out to her … it was the same brand. Armani. When he’d first
touched her, she’d savored the scent like an aphrodisiac. Now it made her sick. “Not even the dead ones?”

A bitter taste settled in her mouth. “Ah, you are here to use me again.”

“I came to ask questions.”

“Wrapped in sweet apologies.”

“So?”

“No comment.”

“You have no idea who would want to kill such a lovely young woman?”

She glanced at the elevator buttons above the door. It held on the floor above for what seemed like forever. Forget it. She pushed past Donovan with as much force as she could muster and headed down the hallway through the crowds toward the stairs. She’d just reached the door to the stairwell when long fingers wrapped around her arm.

“Don’t walk away from me.” The anger in Donovan’s voice had her readying for a fight as she turned.

“Get your hands off me.” She tried to jerk free, but he held firm.

“Not until you tell me about Sierra Day. What do you know about her?”

Again, she tried to wrench free. “Let me go or I will scream so loud that every deputy in this building will come running. And then you can explain why you were roughing up an officer of the court.” She drew in a breath, fully intending to scream.

He dropped his hand but didn’t move away. He whitewashed his anger with a grin. “Ah, come on for old time’s sake. Tell me what you got on Sierra?”

“Prick.”

The brutally delivered words hit their mark, and the normally iron-skinned Donovan flinched. “Bitch.”

The lame comeback made her laugh. “If that is the best you’ve got then I am not impressed.”

He leaned toward her and said in a voice only she could hear, “The only reason I fucked you was because you were so goddammed pathetic. Like throwing a bone to a starving dog.”

The words pierced the shell she so carefully nurtured and sliced into her heart. Emotion welled up so fast and furious in her throat that it left her breathless.

“There a problem here?” The deep male voice cut through the tension.

Angie glanced over to see Detective Kier. She had never been happier to see the man.

Kier wore a blue sport coat, red tie, and white shirt that could have used an iron. Clean-shaven with his hair neatly combed, he could have passed for civilized if not for the menacing expression on his face.

As much as she didn’t want help from Kier, getting rid of Donovan ranked higher on the priority list. “Donovan doesn’t understand that no means no.”

Donovan muttered something under his breath and stepped back. Though he stood a little taller than the detective, Kier, with his muscular build, looked as if he could make quick work of any challenge that Donovan offered.

“I was just asking her a few questions about Sierra Day.”

Kier rested his hand on his hip, letting his gun peek out from the folds of his jacket. “From what I heard she declined to answer.”

Donovan masked any outward annoyance with a shrug. “I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t push her for an answer.”

Kier grinned. “And I wouldn’t be doing mine if I didn’t tell you to back off.” His gaze never wavered
from Donovan. “Frankly, nothing would give me greater pleasure than to arrest you.”

“On what charge?”

The moment’s diversion gave Angie the time she needed to recover her breath and footing. “Harassment. Battery. Unlawful detention. I’m sure if you gave me a few more minutes I could come up with more charges.”

Donovan glared at her. “That would never stick.”

“Maybe. Maybe, not. But I could create a hell of a legal mess.”

Donovan’s lips flattened. “We’ll catch up later, Angie.”

“I don’t think so.”

He winked at her. “Count on it.”

She tightened her hand on her briefcase handle. “Then count on charges being filed against you.”

“We’ll see.” The reporter darted down the staircase.

For several heartbeats she stood rigid, unmoving, waiting for Donovan to return. Then, certain he’d truly left, she faced Kier. Now he was looking at her with a gaze not so consumed with fury but worry.

Her cheeks flushed. “If you say one comforting word to me, Detective, I’ll sock you.”

His throaty chuckle caught her off guard. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Besides, what would be the point? I’ve heard vampires can’t be hurt. No heart.”

Without missing a beat she said, “With no blood to pump through our veins, a heart is just extra baggage.”

Whatever concern had been in Kier’s gaze thankfully vanished. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He could have just turned and vanished into the crowd, but he lingered a beat.

It was enough time for her to drop her guard for just an instant and say, “Thanks. Donovan was more persistent than I’d imagined.”

“Give me a reason, Carlson, and I’ll haul him to jail.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “Why, Detective, that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“I mean it.” There was no hint of humor now. He would arrest Donovan if she gave the word. “He’s a real creep, and I’d love nothing better than to bring him down a peg.”

The banter felt right and good. Her world came back into balance. “I can take care of myself. But thanks.”

“An extra hand never killed anyone.”

“Like my dad used to say, if it doesn’t kill you it makes you stronger. I’m still standing, so I guess I can thank Donovan for making me stronger.”

“Stronger or more cautious?”

“Both.” She didn’t want to talk about herself. “Any news on the Sierra Day case?”

He shoved hands into his pockets and rattled the change. “No. A lot of people would have liked to have killed her, but they all have alibis.”

Her mind clicked into defense-attorney mode. “Alibis are easy.”

“Finding this mystery boyfriend is not.”

“He’s out there. Somewhere.”

He hesitated as if struggling for words. “By the way, thanks for the tip.”

“Sure.”

Angie turned, and as she moved away she noted she and Kier had been quite civil to each other. She suspected she’d just witnessed a minor miracle.

Malcolm watched Angie Carlson walk away. She moved slowly, shoulders back as if she were queen of the world. He’d never seen her guard down until he’d seen
her with Donovan. For just a second, when Donovan had been venting nastiness, Malcolm had glimpsed pain behind the ice. Whatever Donovan had fired her way had struck a nerve.

To her credit, Angie had rebounded and rallied. He believed if he’d not arrived when he did, she’d have landed a punch or two of her own. Frankly, nothing would have given Malcolm greater satisfaction than to see the counselor hit Donovan.

During last year’s investigation into the Sorority House Murders and Donovan’s near-death experience, Angie’s relationship with the reporter had come to light. Instead of hedging or trying to hide a very embarrassing episode in her life, she’d been honest and straightforward when questioned by Garrison. She’d plainly admitted that Donovan, who’d only been after information on Eva Rayburn, had made a fool out of her when he’d coaxed her into his bed and tried to elicit information.

Carlson could have lied about the whole episode. But she hadn’t. She’d put protecting her sister above her own feelings.

In fact, as he thought back, he couldn’t point to one time when she’d lied to him. She’d grilled him in court, mocked him to his face, and directly denied him information, but she’d never lied.

Cops called her The Barracuda for a reason. Not only could she take care of herself, but also when she latched on to a witness she didn’t let go until she tasted blood.

But she’d never pretended to be otherwise. She was who she was.

So, why should this matter? And why had he had the urge to protect her when Donovan had had her cornered?

Malcolm blew out a breath as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Because I’m a goddammed idiot.”

* * *

Donovan had never considered it wise to give in to hate. It was a pointless, vain emotion that often blinded the unwise to opportunity. But as he watched Angie leave the courthouse his hate for her would not be denied.

He released the reins and let the emotion free. He let his imagination go to its darkest places and pictured himself destroying her, word by word.

After all he’d been through last year—the trauma, the surgery, and the rehab—he had every right to every bit of success he could grab. She had no right to deny him.

She’d stood in front of him like a righteous Puritan today, but the heart of a hot little whore beat under that silk suit. She’d liked all the nasty things he’d done to her. Hell, she’d loved it all. She simply didn’t want the world to know that she was a freak.

A client of hers had been murdered, and he intended to play that detail to the hilt. He’d drag her sweet ass through every bit of mud he could find.