Smash Cut (10 page)
Authors: Sandra Brown
Tags: #Legal, #Suspense, #Fiction, #General, #Georgia, #Thrillers, #Rich people, #Atlanta (Ga.), #Trials (Murder), #Legal stories, #Rich People - Georgia
Marlene harrumphed. Hes pretty to look at, but his manners could use some improvement. He didnt even have the courtesy to say good-bye.
Hes a spoiled brat. Derek watched Creighton shoot his cuffs as he waited for the elevator. Have you deposited Doug Wheelers check?
Not yet.
Good. Were sending it back.
She looked at him with surprise. Really? Why? Because his kid is a brat?
Derek slid his hands into his pants pockets and stared thoughtfully at Creighton as he stepped aboard the elevator. Because What weve got here is failure to communicate.
Hes a spoiled brat. Derek watched Creighton shoot his cuffs as he waited for the elevator. Have you deposited Doug Wheelers check?
Not yet.
Good. Were sending it back.
She looked at him with surprise. Really? Why? Because his kid is a brat?
Derek slid his hands into his pants pockets and stared thoughtfully at Creighton as he stepped aboard the elevator. Because What weve got here is failure to communicate.
CHAPTER
10
C
REIGHTON WAS GOOD AND PISSED AT DEREK MITCHELL, which was all the more reason not to let the F. Lee Bailey wannabe spoil his plans for the evening. He had talked himself into a buoyant mood by the time he entered the trendy club that evening. Christys was a noisy, happening place, thronged with the after-dinner crowd not quite ready to call it a night.
The drinks were outrageously overpriced, and for the most part pastel. The club didnt attract drinkers who liked their beer from a bottle and their liquor neat. Instead it drew crowds of people wanting to impress and to be impressed.
The men were Atlantas up-and-coming, and the women beautiful enough never to have to buy their own drinks. It was a well-dressed, well-heeled assemblage devoted to the pursuit of wealth, power, and the perfect tan. As Creighton walked in, he did so knowing that he possessed what they all strove for.
As he wended his way to the bar, he drew the attention of several women who telegraphed their availability. He looked them over and considered the prospects of each. But he passed them by. Tonight, he was in search of someone in particular. He would know her when he saw her.
Standing at the bar, he ordered a club soda and lime. The music pulsed. Conversation was frequently punctuated by shrieks of laugh ter. On any other night, the carnival midway atmosphere would have annoyed him, but tonight he could tolerate it, perhaps even enjoy it. Derek Mitchell notwithstanding.
Who did that smooth-talking asshole think he was, refusing him as a client? He had too many other clients? He was too busy?
Please
. He was nothing but a glorified ambulance chaser.
From the law office Creighton had gone to the country club for a hard tennis match with his coach, then went home and ordered in Thai for dinner. He ate off a tray while watching the DVD his mother had replaced after ruining his first copy. Her opinion of the movie was spot-onit was awful. An inane vehicle for an equally inane starlet with a butterfly tattooed on her ass. Of the two, the butterfly was the one with talent.
Hed got only halfway through before switching it for an old Brian De Palma thriller in which the girl in peril gets drilled. Literally. With an electric drill. Very bloody and a little heavy on the deflowering symbolism, but the scene had respectable impact that had earned it a cult following all over the world. Two thumbs up for grisliness.
Then hed showered and dressed to go out. So here he was, wearing his new Brioni suit, looking good, and with studied nonchalance, waiting for his leading lady of the evening to make her appearance.
It didnt take long. He was only halfway through his club soda when he noticed her at the far end of the bar, where she was trying to snag the attention of one of the busy bartenders.
She was slight in build and had straight blond hair, not unlike the whore who had gone down on him last night. Her hair shimmered in the subdued lighting as she shook her head in exasperation when a bartender failed to notice her and took someone elses order instead.
Creighton willed her to look in his direction. He liked the idea of her seeking him out before he approached her. As though she was responding to a summons, her gaze trailed down until she spied Creighton, leaning negligently and elegantly against the bar, staring at her as though he was captivated by a vision.
Little did she know that it was the other way around.
He raised his glass and arched one eyebrow in silent query. She hesitated, then nodded. Deliberately, slowly, never breaking eye con tact, he made his way toward her. When he reached her, he said nothing at first, letting his eyes do the talking for him. He looked into her face as though visually eating it up. Women loved that.
Then he leaned toward her to make himself heard. Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world, she walks into mine.
She blinked several times, looking apprehensive and confused. Excuse me?
Not a Bogie fan. Too bad. What would you like?
Apple martini?
She put a question mark at the end of it, as though fearful that he might have wanted her to order something else. From this he instantly drew two conclusions. One, she was playing out of her league. And, two, she knew it. Excellent.
As the bartender whizzed past, Creighton loudly snapped his fingers. An apple martini for the lady.
Got it, the bartender shouted over his shoulder as he hustled off.
Creighton then turned his full attention back to her.
So thats how its done. She snapped her fingers.
Thats one way.
It wouldnt work with me. I dont have that air of authority that you do.
He looked her over from head to foot, then, with the perfect amount of insolence, drawled, You dont need it.
She blushed prettily and modestly. She was wearing a slim black skirt, the kind of basic article that would come with a business suit from a moderately priced store where young professional women on a budget would shop.
She probably had removed the matching jacket when she got off work. The red satin tank top underneath had been discreet enough for the office but looked foxier now worn sans jacket and bra, no doubt taken off in the ladies room and stuffed into her knockoff designer bag.
Office worker by day, by night she morphed into a hunter on the prowl for Prince Charming. She probably scrimped on lunch in order to finance the accoutrements with which to bait her traphair tints, makeup, stiletto heels, costume jewelry. In Creightons opin ion, what she did was practice an acceptable form of prostitution. But, fortunately for him, she was looking as though the man of her dreams had just stepped into her snare. Beneath the tacky blouse, her little nipples were tight with excitement.
Whats your name? he asked.
Ariel.
Ariel. Beautiful.
Thank you.
Leaning closer, he whispered, The name, too.
She blushed. Whats your name?
He told her, and she laughed. I never heard that name before.
Family name. You can cut it short and call me Tony.
Hello, Tony, she said cheekily.
Her drink was delivered. He passed it to her, and she took a sip. Is it all right? he asked.
Delicious, thanks.
Youre welcome.
Arent you ordering anything?
He raised the glass hed carried over with him.
Vodka and tonic?
Club soda.
You dont drink?
No.
Never?
He shook his head.
Religious reasons?
He flashed a wide grin. Hardly.
Then how come?
I dont like suppressants.
Looking up at him through her eyelashes, she asked, What about stimulants?
I dont need them.
The verbal foreplay was almost too easy. Before he grew entirely bored, he asked her where she worked.
Even after shed chatted about it for five minutes, he still didnt know precisely what she did at a company that sounded positively depressing. He tuned her out while he took in the details of her ap pearance. Upon closer inspection, he noticed a slight overbite, but it was fetching in its way. Her nose and cheekbones were sprinkled with freckles, which she tried to cover with powder. Her eyes were a nice shade of brown. Sherry-colored.
She drained her glass, and he signaled for another. She asked, What about you, Tony? Where do you work?
He laughed softly and leaned into her, letting his thigh brush against hers. Nowhere.
No, seriously.
I dont work anywhere.
She took in his clothes, his wristwatch. You seem to be doing all right.
In truth, Im filthy rich. Along with the ungodly family name comes an ungodly amount of family money. I consider it a fair swap.
She giggled. But when he didnt join her laughter, and she realized that he was stating a fact, her jaw dropped. Seriously?
Seriously again. Okay, so she was no genius. Even better.
The second martini arrived. She appraised him over the rim of the glass as she sipped from it.
He smiled. Like me better now that you know Im rich?
I liked you before.
He could tell she was plotting her strategy. Her curiosity was running rampant, but she wasnt going to let it get the better of her, so she moved the conversation away from his financial status as though it was of no importance.
Since you dont work, what do you do?
I play a lot of tennis, but movies are my passion. Films, directors, writers, actors.
Oh, God. I love all that stuff, too!
You do?
I think
Us Weekly
covers the red carpet events best. But I like
People
, too, especially when they do their best and worst Oscar gowns issue. Whats your favorite movie? Mines
Sex and the City
or maybe
Bride Wars.
Good God.
Seriously?
It took her fifteen minutes to finish the second martini, during which she engaged him in meaningless dialogue while becoming more familiar physically. Her method was well practiced but detectable. She touched his hand each time she made a point. She spoke softly, forcing him to move nearer in order to hear her, until they were so close that one of those pert nipples periodically grazed his biceps.
It was time to move events along.
Another?
She shook back her hair, exposing her neck and chest. Better not. Tomorrow is a workday. Playfully she nudged his leg with her knee. For most of us.
Thats too bad. I was about to ask if youd like to go somewhere else. Someplace where we dont have to shout to be heard.
Her eyes flickered with uncertainty. Hmm, I
No?
Well
No need to explain. He touched her arm with understanding. You dont know me.
Her eyes skittered away, then came back. Where? I mean, where would you want to go?
You say. I dont care. I just want to prolong the evening. He clasped her hand. Look, we can go in separate cars. Ill take my Porsche and you
You have a Porsche?
Which I promise to take you for a ride in sometime soon. Just not tonight. Locking gazes, he said, I dont want you to be afraid, although I completely understand why you would be. You hear things on the news.
Its not that so much. Its Im a little jumpy because theres this guy. He calls my house a lot. Sorta creeps me out.
Does he say obscene things?
No. Just holds on until I hang up.
The police can trace those calls, find out who it is.
Oh, I know who it is, she said quickly. Its a guy I used to know. He caused some trouble. She made a motion with her hand, trying to belittle the importance of the trouble. Hes history.
Leaning in and squeezing her hand tighter, he snarled, Want me to beat him up for you?
She laughed. No. Hes not worth the bother, believe me.
Well, youre right to be cautious. He dropped her hand. Dont worry about it. Well do it another time. If you come here often, were sure to bump into one another again. He turned to signal the waiter for his tab.
She took the bait as hed known she would. Quickly she laid her hand on his arm as though afraid he would vanish and her chance would be lost forever. Theres a café near my house. Its a greasy spoon, but its open late. We could meet there for one cup of coffee.
He graced her with his best smile. Sounds perfect.
I need to go to the ladies room first.
Ill be right here.
Now that shed made up her mind, she was eager and anxious to please. She squirmed through the crowd, making her way toward the restrooms. Just before disappearing into the hallway where they were located, she turned back and gave him a little wave.
Raising his chin in acknowledgment, he smothered a chuckle. She couldnt believe her good fortune. She was probably pinching herself, cautioning herself not to blow it, critically checking her reflection in the mirror and making adjustments, using breath spray.
Five minutes passed, and she still wasnt back.
To help pass the time, he faced the bar so he could gaze at his reflection in the tinted mirror behind it. The suit was a knockout. The time on the tennis court that afternoon had added a glow to his complexion and highlighted the blond streaks in his hair. No wonder her nipples had been so reactive.
He gave himself a complacent smile.
Which collapsed the instant he spotted Julie Rutledge.
There were several yards of bar between them, and numerous people, but her eyes were fixed on his in the mirror. Having caught him admiring his reflection, she smirked and turned away, heading for the exit.
Fuck!
He turned from the bar, rudely pushed aside a yuppie, an anorexic girl, and a couple who were so into each other they were practically mating. He was mindful of nothing but Julie, who was making her way through the crowd more nimbly than he.
She was handing the parking valet her claim ticket when Creighton caught up to her. Excuse us, he said to the valet. Wrapping his hand around her arm, he pulled her aside and backed her into the ivy-covered exterior wall.
His manhandling made her spitting mad. Let go of me.
He did, but in a voice kept under control, he said, Go ahead, Julie, make a scene. Yell for the police, why dont you? When they get here I can tell them that youre stalking me.
Dont bully me, Creighton. You dont want the police hearing what I have to tell them about you.
Which is?
How much you hated Paul.
Sorry to disappoint you, but they already know. I told them myself.
I know you were behind his murder.
He laughed. You have a real flair for fiction. Have you ever considered writing scripts? Was it that fertile imagination of yours that held my dear uncle so in thrall? Or was it the way you tongued his balls?
Seething, she held his stare as she slowly backed away from him. Paul wasnt fooled.
Fooled?
He knew your true character.
Is that right?
And so do I.
I hate to dispute you, Julie, when youre showing such admirable spunk. But in the words of Jeremy Irons as Claus von Bülow in
Reversal of Fortune
, You have
no
idea.
REIGHTON WAS GOOD AND PISSED AT DEREK MITCHELL, which was all the more reason not to let the F. Lee Bailey wannabe spoil his plans for the evening. He had talked himself into a buoyant mood by the time he entered the trendy club that evening. Christys was a noisy, happening place, thronged with the after-dinner crowd not quite ready to call it a night.
The drinks were outrageously overpriced, and for the most part pastel. The club didnt attract drinkers who liked their beer from a bottle and their liquor neat. Instead it drew crowds of people wanting to impress and to be impressed.
The men were Atlantas up-and-coming, and the women beautiful enough never to have to buy their own drinks. It was a well-dressed, well-heeled assemblage devoted to the pursuit of wealth, power, and the perfect tan. As Creighton walked in, he did so knowing that he possessed what they all strove for.
As he wended his way to the bar, he drew the attention of several women who telegraphed their availability. He looked them over and considered the prospects of each. But he passed them by. Tonight, he was in search of someone in particular. He would know her when he saw her.
Standing at the bar, he ordered a club soda and lime. The music pulsed. Conversation was frequently punctuated by shrieks of laugh ter. On any other night, the carnival midway atmosphere would have annoyed him, but tonight he could tolerate it, perhaps even enjoy it. Derek Mitchell notwithstanding.
Who did that smooth-talking asshole think he was, refusing him as a client? He had too many other clients? He was too busy?
Please
. He was nothing but a glorified ambulance chaser.
From the law office Creighton had gone to the country club for a hard tennis match with his coach, then went home and ordered in Thai for dinner. He ate off a tray while watching the DVD his mother had replaced after ruining his first copy. Her opinion of the movie was spot-onit was awful. An inane vehicle for an equally inane starlet with a butterfly tattooed on her ass. Of the two, the butterfly was the one with talent.
Hed got only halfway through before switching it for an old Brian De Palma thriller in which the girl in peril gets drilled. Literally. With an electric drill. Very bloody and a little heavy on the deflowering symbolism, but the scene had respectable impact that had earned it a cult following all over the world. Two thumbs up for grisliness.
Then hed showered and dressed to go out. So here he was, wearing his new Brioni suit, looking good, and with studied nonchalance, waiting for his leading lady of the evening to make her appearance.
It didnt take long. He was only halfway through his club soda when he noticed her at the far end of the bar, where she was trying to snag the attention of one of the busy bartenders.
She was slight in build and had straight blond hair, not unlike the whore who had gone down on him last night. Her hair shimmered in the subdued lighting as she shook her head in exasperation when a bartender failed to notice her and took someone elses order instead.
Creighton willed her to look in his direction. He liked the idea of her seeking him out before he approached her. As though she was responding to a summons, her gaze trailed down until she spied Creighton, leaning negligently and elegantly against the bar, staring at her as though he was captivated by a vision.
Little did she know that it was the other way around.
He raised his glass and arched one eyebrow in silent query. She hesitated, then nodded. Deliberately, slowly, never breaking eye con tact, he made his way toward her. When he reached her, he said nothing at first, letting his eyes do the talking for him. He looked into her face as though visually eating it up. Women loved that.
Then he leaned toward her to make himself heard. Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world, she walks into mine.
She blinked several times, looking apprehensive and confused. Excuse me?
Not a Bogie fan. Too bad. What would you like?
Apple martini?
She put a question mark at the end of it, as though fearful that he might have wanted her to order something else. From this he instantly drew two conclusions. One, she was playing out of her league. And, two, she knew it. Excellent.
As the bartender whizzed past, Creighton loudly snapped his fingers. An apple martini for the lady.
Got it, the bartender shouted over his shoulder as he hustled off.
Creighton then turned his full attention back to her.
So thats how its done. She snapped her fingers.
Thats one way.
It wouldnt work with me. I dont have that air of authority that you do.
He looked her over from head to foot, then, with the perfect amount of insolence, drawled, You dont need it.
She blushed prettily and modestly. She was wearing a slim black skirt, the kind of basic article that would come with a business suit from a moderately priced store where young professional women on a budget would shop.
She probably had removed the matching jacket when she got off work. The red satin tank top underneath had been discreet enough for the office but looked foxier now worn sans jacket and bra, no doubt taken off in the ladies room and stuffed into her knockoff designer bag.
Office worker by day, by night she morphed into a hunter on the prowl for Prince Charming. She probably scrimped on lunch in order to finance the accoutrements with which to bait her traphair tints, makeup, stiletto heels, costume jewelry. In Creightons opin ion, what she did was practice an acceptable form of prostitution. But, fortunately for him, she was looking as though the man of her dreams had just stepped into her snare. Beneath the tacky blouse, her little nipples were tight with excitement.
Whats your name? he asked.
Ariel.
Ariel. Beautiful.
Thank you.
Leaning closer, he whispered, The name, too.
She blushed. Whats your name?
He told her, and she laughed. I never heard that name before.
Family name. You can cut it short and call me Tony.
Hello, Tony, she said cheekily.
Her drink was delivered. He passed it to her, and she took a sip. Is it all right? he asked.
Delicious, thanks.
Youre welcome.
Arent you ordering anything?
He raised the glass hed carried over with him.
Vodka and tonic?
Club soda.
You dont drink?
No.
Never?
He shook his head.
Religious reasons?
He flashed a wide grin. Hardly.
Then how come?
I dont like suppressants.
Looking up at him through her eyelashes, she asked, What about stimulants?
I dont need them.
The verbal foreplay was almost too easy. Before he grew entirely bored, he asked her where she worked.
Even after shed chatted about it for five minutes, he still didnt know precisely what she did at a company that sounded positively depressing. He tuned her out while he took in the details of her ap pearance. Upon closer inspection, he noticed a slight overbite, but it was fetching in its way. Her nose and cheekbones were sprinkled with freckles, which she tried to cover with powder. Her eyes were a nice shade of brown. Sherry-colored.
She drained her glass, and he signaled for another. She asked, What about you, Tony? Where do you work?
He laughed softly and leaned into her, letting his thigh brush against hers. Nowhere.
No, seriously.
I dont work anywhere.
She took in his clothes, his wristwatch. You seem to be doing all right.
In truth, Im filthy rich. Along with the ungodly family name comes an ungodly amount of family money. I consider it a fair swap.
She giggled. But when he didnt join her laughter, and she realized that he was stating a fact, her jaw dropped. Seriously?
Seriously again. Okay, so she was no genius. Even better.
The second martini arrived. She appraised him over the rim of the glass as she sipped from it.
He smiled. Like me better now that you know Im rich?
I liked you before.
He could tell she was plotting her strategy. Her curiosity was running rampant, but she wasnt going to let it get the better of her, so she moved the conversation away from his financial status as though it was of no importance.
Since you dont work, what do you do?
I play a lot of tennis, but movies are my passion. Films, directors, writers, actors.
Oh, God. I love all that stuff, too!
You do?
I think
Us Weekly
covers the red carpet events best. But I like
People
, too, especially when they do their best and worst Oscar gowns issue. Whats your favorite movie? Mines
Sex and the City
or maybe
Bride Wars.
Good God.
Seriously?
It took her fifteen minutes to finish the second martini, during which she engaged him in meaningless dialogue while becoming more familiar physically. Her method was well practiced but detectable. She touched his hand each time she made a point. She spoke softly, forcing him to move nearer in order to hear her, until they were so close that one of those pert nipples periodically grazed his biceps.
It was time to move events along.
Another?
She shook back her hair, exposing her neck and chest. Better not. Tomorrow is a workday. Playfully she nudged his leg with her knee. For most of us.
Thats too bad. I was about to ask if youd like to go somewhere else. Someplace where we dont have to shout to be heard.
Her eyes flickered with uncertainty. Hmm, I
No?
Well
No need to explain. He touched her arm with understanding. You dont know me.
Her eyes skittered away, then came back. Where? I mean, where would you want to go?
You say. I dont care. I just want to prolong the evening. He clasped her hand. Look, we can go in separate cars. Ill take my Porsche and you
You have a Porsche?
Which I promise to take you for a ride in sometime soon. Just not tonight. Locking gazes, he said, I dont want you to be afraid, although I completely understand why you would be. You hear things on the news.
Its not that so much. Its Im a little jumpy because theres this guy. He calls my house a lot. Sorta creeps me out.
Does he say obscene things?
No. Just holds on until I hang up.
The police can trace those calls, find out who it is.
Oh, I know who it is, she said quickly. Its a guy I used to know. He caused some trouble. She made a motion with her hand, trying to belittle the importance of the trouble. Hes history.
Leaning in and squeezing her hand tighter, he snarled, Want me to beat him up for you?
She laughed. No. Hes not worth the bother, believe me.
Well, youre right to be cautious. He dropped her hand. Dont worry about it. Well do it another time. If you come here often, were sure to bump into one another again. He turned to signal the waiter for his tab.
She took the bait as hed known she would. Quickly she laid her hand on his arm as though afraid he would vanish and her chance would be lost forever. Theres a café near my house. Its a greasy spoon, but its open late. We could meet there for one cup of coffee.
He graced her with his best smile. Sounds perfect.
I need to go to the ladies room first.
Ill be right here.
Now that shed made up her mind, she was eager and anxious to please. She squirmed through the crowd, making her way toward the restrooms. Just before disappearing into the hallway where they were located, she turned back and gave him a little wave.
Raising his chin in acknowledgment, he smothered a chuckle. She couldnt believe her good fortune. She was probably pinching herself, cautioning herself not to blow it, critically checking her reflection in the mirror and making adjustments, using breath spray.
Five minutes passed, and she still wasnt back.
To help pass the time, he faced the bar so he could gaze at his reflection in the tinted mirror behind it. The suit was a knockout. The time on the tennis court that afternoon had added a glow to his complexion and highlighted the blond streaks in his hair. No wonder her nipples had been so reactive.
He gave himself a complacent smile.
Which collapsed the instant he spotted Julie Rutledge.
There were several yards of bar between them, and numerous people, but her eyes were fixed on his in the mirror. Having caught him admiring his reflection, she smirked and turned away, heading for the exit.
Fuck!
He turned from the bar, rudely pushed aside a yuppie, an anorexic girl, and a couple who were so into each other they were practically mating. He was mindful of nothing but Julie, who was making her way through the crowd more nimbly than he.
She was handing the parking valet her claim ticket when Creighton caught up to her. Excuse us, he said to the valet. Wrapping his hand around her arm, he pulled her aside and backed her into the ivy-covered exterior wall.
His manhandling made her spitting mad. Let go of me.
He did, but in a voice kept under control, he said, Go ahead, Julie, make a scene. Yell for the police, why dont you? When they get here I can tell them that youre stalking me.
Dont bully me, Creighton. You dont want the police hearing what I have to tell them about you.
Which is?
How much you hated Paul.
Sorry to disappoint you, but they already know. I told them myself.
I know you were behind his murder.
He laughed. You have a real flair for fiction. Have you ever considered writing scripts? Was it that fertile imagination of yours that held my dear uncle so in thrall? Or was it the way you tongued his balls?
Seething, she held his stare as she slowly backed away from him. Paul wasnt fooled.
Fooled?
He knew your true character.
Is that right?
And so do I.
I hate to dispute you, Julie, when youre showing such admirable spunk. But in the words of Jeremy Irons as Claus von Bülow in
Reversal of Fortune
, You have
no
idea.
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