Not Quite Juliet: A Club Imperial Novel (Silver Soul Book 1) (9 page)

Then he saw me.

––––––––

H
e tripped.

As soon as he saw me, his shoe slipped on the marble tile, and he kicked the back of his own foot. He tripped into the same corner Denbigh had slipped into just a few minutes before and managed to catch himself, and wound up staring at me.

“Miss Kirkbride,” the judge said, “could you have janitorial come in and check the floor there. That’s two of our guests who have slipped at the same spot.”

I bit my lip to keep from laughing. “Yes, ma’am.”

Nick looked up and grinned at me wickedly. I cringed. Game over, he had my last name now too. I mentally stomped my foot.

“Doctor, please take the stand,” MacPhearson said.

“Yes ma’am, sorry.” I could hear the smirk in his voice.

I could see him in the witness box from where I was. I averted my eyes, or I was going to burst out laughing. Instead, I turned to the computer terminal on the desk and tapped into the internet. I brought up a search engine and typed in the full name I had for the lead singer of Silver Soul.

He came right up once I got to the Thrumon Labs site. His whole resume was right there for me, as well as a mini bio.

I couldn’t stop staring at the website. This guy was friggin’ brilliant. A double PhD in chemistry?! The fan girl shut up for once in her life and stared with me, amazed at this man. It was suddenly no mystery why this man, and his bandmates, refused further contracts with big producers. He loved his music, but he was
good
at what he did every day.

I closed the website, suddenly feeling like I’d intruded on some private part of his life I wasn’t meant to see. I felt guilty for having dug that up on him, and then immediately started to wonder what someone so brilliant would want with me.

Aside from that hot sex last night, that was.

I tuned back into what was going on. I was supposed to be paying attention to the proceedings; I still had a law degree to complete. Denbigh was questioning Nick’s chemical analysis in a friendly way, and Nick was doing his best to explain what he had done to the jury.

Did anyone else on that jury know he was also Nick D?

He was animated, talking about the tests he ran and why they were accurate and the best tests to use. He spoke with absolute confidence and clarity and he could easily explain a complicated concept to everyone in the room. It was so utterly clear he adored playing with the Bunsen burners and Erlenmyer flasks in his lab. Even more than he loved holding a microphone and singing a song he’d written.

If I hadn’t already been smitten with him before, I would have been now. But it was worse for me now; I wanted more of him. I wanted to sit down and have dinner and talk to him. I wanted to watch him explain the world around me.

Shit. He was fucking hot. On so many levels.

It took Denbigh nearly an hour and a half to get all the technical information and follow up explanations out of him. I glanced at the judge, and saw she was stuck in rapt attention to what he was saying as well; she was tapping her finger on her cheek as she listened.

“So. The cyanide was sourced where?” Denbigh asked.

“Apple seeds,” Nick answered.

“Now, I’m curious. How many apples seeds would you need to distill, I’m sorry, extract enough cyanide to kill a person?”

“Well, apple seeds average around point six milligrams of hydrogen cyanide per gram of dry seed. Since the lethal dose of hydrogen cyanide is estimated to be around fifty milligrams, you’d need around eighty five grams of dry seeds.”

“And in layman’s terms?”

“A lot. Half a cup, possibly more depending on the type of apples.”

“How many seeds does the average apple have?”

Nick cleared his throat. “May I consult my notes? I had a feeling this would come up.” MacPhearson nodded and he pulled a notebook out of his pocket. “I did some research on just this question, and the answer is a little long. So bear with me; you’ll have to learn some apple biology.” He flipped through the notebook, and all I could think of was Darryl Hanna in
Kill Bill
. “The most common apple varietals, that is common types, will typically have five carpals, or seed pockets. Each of these seed pockets has the ability to host two seeds. This is a rare occurrence, as most apples are not hardy or healthy to handle the production of ten seeds, biologically speaking.” He looked up. “I don’t want anyone to think that it’s bad to eat apples.” He looked back at the notebook. “So depending on the environment and the climate, seed production is usually then determined by the pollination. Most apple biologists, and yes there is such a thing, agree that a seed must be well-formed and present the potential for germination to be considered a seed. Most common varietals will have between four and eight seeds with three to six of those being well-formed and able to achieve germination, the absolute average of all apples being five seeds, one per carpal.”

Denbigh was looking at me and rolled his eyes as he said, “Thank you, Doctor Dovadsky. So your answer is that it’s about five seeds per fruit.”

“That’s correct.”

“Do we have an estimate of how many seeds will achieve the correct level of toxicity?”

“Well, again, I did some research and five fresh pips are about one-quarter teaspoon.”

“Pip?” Denbigh looked confused.

“Ah, sorry. Seeds are the layman’s term. Most biologists will call them pips.”

“So five seeds per teaspoon?”

“Five seeds per
quarter
teaspoon,” Nick corrected him. He skimmed down the notebook. “So that would four hundred eighty seeds or approximately ninety-six apples. But there is a loss of volume because our original estimate of half a cup is based on dry seeds.”

Denbigh looked at him. “Continue.”

“Apple seeds will lose approximately half their mass when dried, so the amount would easily double, ranging more towards two and half times that number. Close to twelve hundred seeds, or two hundred forty apples. And do please keep in mind these are approximate numbers. It could well be more.”

“And you’re sure this was apple cyanide?”

“Very unique signature, yes.”

I looked at the defense table and could see Hagberg and his associates staring at their defendant—the anger on his face was blinding. Hagberg looked at the clock and it said it was nearly eleven-thirty. “Your honor, may we have an early recess for lunch?”

MacPhearson also looked at the clock. “We’ll take an early and extended.” She looked at me and I could tell she knew what was about to happen. Those lawyers were about to dress this defendant down like he’d never been before. “Reconvene at one-thirty pm.” She banged the gavel and stood, everyone leaping to their feet as she walked out. She motioned for me to follow her.

I looked over at Nick standing in the witness box and gave him an apologetic shrug, trailing quickly after my new boss.

I dove into the room behind her and closed the door. She had already unzipped the robe. “Sit, Morgan.” I obeyed. She looked at me. “What do you think is about to happen out there?”

The very hot witness was going to disappear out the doors and I was going to miss an opportunity to spend two very wonderful hours with him. I sighed. Eyes on the prize, Morg. You want to be a judge, the judge is trying to help. “Mister Hagberg’s team is going to take the defendant to the waiting room and rip him a new one.”

“Why?”

“The defendant’s case rested on his claim that the poisoning was accidental. How accidental are the seeds from two hundred forty plus apples? Dried at that.” I paused. “And what the hell did he feed the victim that they didn’t taste the nasty ass apple seed paste?”

“Paste?”

I paused, and shrugged. “My parents had an apple orchard among many other tracks of land. My brother used to freak his friends out eating the seeds. But as long as you don’t bite them, don’t crack them open in anyway, the seed coating protects you from the cyanide and it passes right through.”

“So your opinion is?”

“That the defendant lied to them.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “I’m impressed. You didn’t say he was guilty.”

I smiled. “He chose a trial by jury, it’s not my place to call that. If I were a judge, in a jury trial, it’s merely my job to make sure the law is upheld and procedure is followed. I abide by the decision of the jury.”

She nodded. “I knew I did well picking you.” She looked me up and down once, sitting there. “All right, go to lunch. You’re clearly itching to meet someone.”

I stood quickly. “Thank you ma’am.”

“Just be back at quarter after one?”

“Not a problem,” I nodded. I backed out of the door again and slipped down the side of the bench to the desk. I opened the center drawer and found the keys for my desk. This was kind of cool; I could lock the desk now.

“So nice to see you again, Miss Kirkbride,” came the sexy voice from behind me.

I turned and found Nick leaning against the judge’s bench with his arms folded and a smirk on his face. He looked absolutely juicy in the suit. I stood up straight. “Good morning, Doctor Dovadsky.”

“Game’s up?”

“I won.” I swung the purse over my shoulder.

“Oh? How do you figure that?”

“I read your bio.” I pointed to the computer.

He grimaced. “Damn it. I forgot about that stupid thing.” He stood up from his lean, pulling his jacket straight, and I wanted to lick my lips. “May I take you to lunch, Miss Kirkbride?”

“I’d be delighted, doctor.” I took the arm he offered and we headed out of the room. “And how are you planning on dazzling me for lunch, may I ask?”

“Well, we have well over an hour and a half. Could I dazzle you with a Primanti? Before we get busy?” He balked, and his eyes bugged out. “I meant they. They get busy.”

I laughed. “Both would interest me.”

Nick quirked an eyebrow at me. “Both?”

I shrugged nonchalantly. “We do have a long lunch.” This was so out of character for me. I didn’t act like this anymore. Was working at Imperial finally starting to wear off on me? I let out a quick breath. “But not long enough to get to my place and back. So let’s just stick with the sandwich.”

He walked with me, and we set a good pace. It wasn’t far, but if we didn’t get there quickly, we’d be out of luck on a place to sit. He took my hand at the bottom of the stairs of the building—and it felt nice.

“You really read that stupid bio?”

“You really play classical piano?” I looked over at him.

“Ugh, yes,” he said. “My parents had me in lessons at three years old. They made me take them right up until I was eighteen. They wouldn’t let me quit.”

“So, you’re good then?”

“What does being good do if you hate every note?”

“You don’t like playing piano?” I would’ve killed to be able to play a note.

“Not at all.” He shook his head. “I like to sing. I love to sing. Doesn’t matter what. The instant I turned eighteen I quit and went to find voice lessons.”

“You sing?”

Oh, that was smooth.

He laughed. “Yes, actually, I do. Perhaps you’ve heard of the band?”

“Yeah, yeah, mock the fangirl.”

He poked my arm. “Yes. I sing. I had a vocal coach for eight years. I sang with the choirs in Rutgers; they wanted me to give up chemistry and concentrate on singing. But I’m terribly curious about science and I knew I would be much happier if I could play with chemicals I could blow up. Singing requiem masses only gets you so far in life.”

“You don’t have a coach anymore?”

“Nope.” He sighed. It was a very resigned sigh. “The day we signed with the record company, he quit. He said I was wasting my talent and time on... the band.”

“So, hang on. The day you signed a record deal, the very thing that proved you could sing, he quit?” Nick nodded sadly. “That... doesn’t make sense.”

“He wanted me to sing classical. Opera. I’m good, but I’d never make the big stages. I would always be in a small company, barely making it. I have my chemistry and I don’t regret signing with the band. I don’t regret anything with the band.”

“Except Dave,” I said.

“Except Dave,” he agreed with a laugh.

We strolled into the store and ordered. He ordered a pastrami and cheese and I had to get the knockwurst. He looked at me crooked when I ordered it.

“What?” I asked giving him the side-eye.

“Never would have pegged you for a knockwurst girl.”

“This is the only place I’ve found one I like outside of Wisconsin.”

He stopped. “You’re not from Pittsburgh?”

“Is this a problem? I’m legal. Wanna see my papers?”

He laughed. “You’re really a cheesehead?”

“Born and bred and got the fuck out.”

He nodded and ‘hmmed’ at me. “Not a lover of the Badger State?”

“Not a lover of the people who live near Edgar, Wisconsin. Not a topic I care to waste my lunch discussing.” I could feel my anger rising already; I really didn’t need it right now, not when I had just finally been offered a real full time job. Assholes. I pushed the thought out of my head. I pulled out my debit card to pay for my lunch and he grabbed it back. “Nope. My treat.”

“No, you treated for...whatever the hell that was last night.”

“My treat.”

I stared at him. “You are not going to pay for every meal we have together.”

“I plan on it.” He crooked his head and smiled and handed my card back to me and motioned to the clerk to charge him for both.

I swallowed hard. I had to stop my anger from boiling up. At least this time I recognized the anger didn’t have a thing to do with him and everything to do with the assholes back in Edgar, Wisconsin. It wasn’t Nick’s fault; he had no idea how upset I could get over mentioning them, thinking about them, remembering they even drew breath in the same atmosphere I did.