Star Witness (10 page)

“Let’s get back to the question at hand. Isn’t it true that you’re
not
certain about the names you heard? That you’re merely desperate to find someone to blame for your grandfather’s death?”

“That is
not
true. And of course I’m—” She stopped. Her breath caught in a sob. The tears she’d been trying to hold back stung her eyes. She blinked fiercely. She would not cry!

“Okay, okay,” Harte said gently. He sat back. “Don’t worry about not being absolutely sure about Stamps and Guillame. As long as you’re positive about Yeoman.”

She sniffed. “But I am sure—like ninety-nine percent. About Stamps and Guillame, I mean. I’m definitely a hundred percent about Yeoman. That guy said his name twice, or maybe three times.”

“Okay. That’s good. When you’re certain, be sure the jury knows you’re certain. Now, go on. You said you heard violent noises.”

She nodded. “They must have been hitting him. I heard him fall, and one of them said, ‘Do you understand Mr. Yeoman’s message?’ But Granddad didn’t answer. Then I heard them say, ‘We better get out of here. The granddaughter will be home soon. And I think he’s hurt—bad.’” Her breath caught again and her hand flew up to cover her mouth.

“It was so awful,” she mumbled from behind her hand.

“Come back over here and sit down,” Harte said. “Want some coffee?”

She shook her head. “No. I’m fine. I just can’t help thinking of Granddad. They
murdered
him. He must have been so scared in those last minutes—” She stopped and tried to suppress the little sobs that kept quivering in her throat. “And I wasn’t able to help him. By the time I got to his study, the men were gone.”

“They didn’t pass you as they left?”

She shook her head. “The study has French doors that lead to the outside. That’s how they got in and how they left.”

He studied her for a few seconds, then turned his attention to his water glass, tracing a finger down the side. He spoke without looking up. “You know, my grandfather was murdered too.”

Dani was surprised. He didn’t seem like the type to share his personal life casually. Certainly not with a witness—or a rival.

She nodded. “I’d heard that. He was killed by one of his employees?” She looked at him, expectant, but apprehensive. Was he about to try to give her encouragement by relating some anecdote about bravery in the face of tragedy? Or how Con’s wife testified, head held high, even though she was heartbroken?

“He was murdered by his personal assistant, Armand Broussard.”

“I’ve heard that name,” she said. She waited for a few seconds, but he didn’t explain why he’d brought up his grandfather. “What are you saying?”

He shrugged. “Just that we have something in common.” He grimaced, then tilted his head. “I never got the chance to know him because someone murdered him. He died the year I was born,” he said quietly.

“The year you were born?” Dani said. “I’m sorry. It’s awful that you never got to know him.”

Harte met her gaze, and his dark eyes, which normally caught the light like brown bottle glass, were soft and sincere. “What you’ve been through is worse. You had your grandfather with you for your whole life. I can’t even imagine how much you must miss him.”

One of the tears that kept gathering in Dani’s eyes slipped down her cheek. To her surprise, Harte reached over and stopped it with a finger. She barely felt his touch, but somehow, it acted like a current of electricity, sizzling through her, creating heat in every inch of her. She stared into his eyes, wondering what he would do if she leaned over and kissed him. Then wondering what she would do if he kissed her back.

For a split second, their eyes held; then Harte blinked and cleared his throat. “So, do you think you’re ready for Jury Drury?”

Dani moistened her lips. “I’m sure I’m not,” she said with a tiny, ironic smile.

“You just do what the oath says you should.
Tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.
I’ll object to everything I can think of if he tries to bully you.”

“He’s going to rip me to shreds, isn’t he?”

“I don’t think so,” Harte said. “I hope not.”

She pushed her fingers through her hair and took a long breath. “I’m going to end up looking like an idiot and a liar to the judge and jury.”

“No, you’re not. You’ll come across as earnest and sincere and heartbroken. Between us, we’ll make sure the jury sees your honesty and integrity. I know you don’t think so, but I’m a good prosecutor.”

She studied him. “Oh, I know you’re a good pros—”

Just then the wind picked up, flinging rain like gravel tapping against the big picture window in the living room.

Dani jumped. She drew up her shoulders and braced for more. Sure enough, lightning flashed as a sharp crack rent the air. She swallowed a shriek and vaulted up out of her chair.

“Hey,” Harte said, rising. “It’s okay.”

“The storm’s right on top of us. Do you think it’s a tornado?” she asked tightly.

“Hopefully not. I’m thinking it will blow over soon. It should be moving north.”

Dani nodded as she rubbed her arms. “I hope so.”

He smiled that crooked smile. “Trust me,” he said. “So, I’d like to keep going if you’re up to it.”

“I’m fine. Let me just get some water. The jambalaya made me thirsty.”

“Yeah,” he said, following her as she stepped over to the sink. “Me too.”

As Dani reached for the tap, a huge burst of bright white light blinded her, a deafening explosion split the air and everything went black.

She screamed and flung herself toward Harte. Caught off guard, he stumbled backward when her weight hit him. “Dani—?” he started.

Her almost silent whimper cut him off. Her hands clutched at the front of his shirt. Instinctively he folded his arms around her. Her body trembled violently.

He breathed deeply and nearly groaned at the sweet melon scent of her hair. That delicious fragrance combined with the pressure of her body so tight against him ripped away at his normally rock-solid self-control. The soft firmness of her breasts, the slight bump of her hip bones, the feel of her warm breath on his neck, were as tantalizing as he’d known they’d be. He squeezed his eyes closed. He could learn to love the feel of her body pressed against his. He pulled her closer.

After a moment he turned his head and looked out the kitchen window. He couldn’t see a thing. Not a pale porch bulb of a neighbor’s house. Not a streetlight. Nothing.

“The lightning must have blown transformers all over the area,” he muttered. “There are no lights as far as I can see.”

She nodded and more of the sweet scent of melon tickled his nose. He clenched his jaw as his body reacted. Damn it, he was on the edge of some very dangerous territory.

A vision of them together in bed taunted him. He struggled to banish it.

The only reason she threw herself into his arms was that she was terrified by the lightning and the darkness. She was seeking safety. If she had the slightest notion of his unprofessional thoughts, she’d be away from him like a shot and any trust he’d managed to build with her would be gone.

“Hey,” he said, peering intently at her. He could barely make out her features in the darkness. “It’s just a storm, that’s all. You live in south Louisiana. It’s not like you haven’t been in a storm before, right?”

She stiffened and pushed away. “Right,” she said shakily, then cleared her throat. “Sure. I’m fine. I’ve got a flashlight on my key ring. It’s in my purse in the bedroom—”

“Hang on. I’m sure there are candles around here somewhere,” he said. “Check the kitchen drawers.” He turned and reached out for a drawer handle, found one and pulled, then searched inside. “Ow!” he exclaimed. “Be careful. I just pricked my finger on a knife.”

“Is it bad?” she asked, sounding more like her old self.

“Nah.” He stuck his fingertip in his mouth for a second, then continued searching. His hand closed around the distinctive shape of a lighter and next to it, the waxy tapered length of a candle. “Here we go,” he said as he pulled them out.

He thumbed the lighter and lit the candle. The flickering light gleamed eerily as it reflected in her wide eyes. Her mouth was set in a tight line.

“Here,” he said. “Take this. I’m sure there are more. I’ll see if I can find something to hold them.”

She held out her hand, her eyes glued to the flame.

Outside the thunder rumbled loudly and lightning flashed, lighting up the windows for a split second. She flinched and scrunched her shoulders. She was definitely afraid of storms. He felt a different emotion take hold of him. An urge to shelter her, protect her, hold on to her and reassure her that everything was going to be all right. It surprised him that he felt so protective toward her. She was one of the strongest, most determined women he’d ever met.

He touched her sleeve and felt her stiffen. “Storms really bother you, don’t they?” he said gently.

She tried for a casual shrug, but her shoulders moved jerkily. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. Tell me why storms scare you.”

She sniffed in frustration. “Why storms scare me. Well, my father died in a tornado when I was seven. Maybe that’s why.”

“That’s an awful thing for a little girl to go through.”

She shrugged and the candlelight outlined her sad face in shadows. “I had this image of the tornado as a big whirling monster that ate everything in its path. When it storms like this, I can’t wipe that image out of my mind.”

Thunder rumbled again and she hugged herself.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered. “I’m right here.”

Her gaze snapped to his, and her chin lifted. “I said I’m fine.”

He considered what he’d been thinking about her seconds before and amended it. She was one of the strongest, most determined and most
stubborn
women he’d ever met.

He shrugged and turned his attention back to the drawer, looking for more candles. He found a few that had been burned down at least halfway. Those would be easier to set up. He lit one and began dripping wax on a saucer he took from the drain board.

“I have to get my purse,” Dani said.

Harte nodded, still busy with the candle. He got it stuck to a saucer with wax, then started on a second one. “Now we’ve got several candles,” he called. “This should last us until they get the power back on—”

A crash drowned out his words. His head snapped toward the window. Was that glass breaking? Or just the noise of the thunder?

“Harte!” Dani’s panicked voice came from across the room.

“Dani?” he asked. He stuck a stubby candle and the lighter in his pocket as he hurried toward her.

“What was that—?”

He saw her and halted. Something wasn’t right. The way her body was lit—the way shadows were flickering, almost dancing, as if tossed around by a fire.

A split second later, he knew what was wrong, but that was a split second too late. Dani had figured it out too. She was screaming and pointing behind him. He turned, already certain of what he would see.

In the middle of the hardwood floor, in front of the big picture window, surrounded by broken glass that glinted red and yellow and orange, was a bottle belching flames from its mouth. Flames that licked at the curtains and crawled across the floor.

Chapter Eight

As Harte watched the flames spread, another bottle sailed through the window and bounced and rolled. The first one was a Molotov cocktail. This one was a smoke bomb.

Yeoman’s men. It had to be. Had they followed him from the courthouse through all the traffic? He should have been watching, should have been aware that he could be followed. His Jeep wasn’t exactly the standard for the courthouse parking lot. They must have been waiting outside for the right moment.

He lunged toward Dani, grabbing the candle out of her hand and blowing it out. “They’re trying to burn us out,” he said. “I’m calling 911.” He snatched his phone from his pocket, but he still had no service. He thumbed the three numbers anyway, but the phone just made a pinging noise and went back to the default screen. He dove toward the landline phone.

“How’d they find us?” Dani croaked.

“Get into your room. We’ll go through the windows. My car’s parked on that side.” He grabbed the phone to dial 911, but the line was dead. The smoke from the bomb was filling the air as he ran toward the bedroom behind Dani. He’d break the tall windows and make a run for his car.

He hoped whoever was out there didn’t have the house surrounded. The only thing that might save them was the darkness and the cover of the driving rain. Right now, though, lightning streaked the sky directly over their heads.

Just as he made it through the bedroom door, the biggest flash lit up the sky. It outlined two dark figures in the yard, moving toward the house. Dani was standing in front of her dresser, picking up something. He grabbed her by the hand. “There’s someone out there. We’ve got to head for the kitchen.”

She pulled away. “I need my purse!” she cried.

“It’ll just get in your way!” he countered, but she grabbed it. As soon as she grasped the handle, he jerked her back out into the living room.

“Come on!” he croaked, coughing with every breath. The Molotov cocktail had burned itself out, but clouds of smoke still rose from the smoke bomb. Beside him, Dani was coughing and choking too.

He knew their only chance now was through the kitchen. He’d inspected the bed-and-breakfast thoroughly before he’d booked it. The manager had gladly turned the keys over to him and left to visit his grandkids in Baton Rouge. On the key ring was the master key to the house and another, smaller key. It went to a storeroom off the kitchen that opened onto an alley.

The manager had passed right by the door, but Harte had insisted on checking it out. The storeroom was small and dark, filled with cleaning supplies and boxes. It had an identical door on the other side of the room that led outside. On the outside, the door was finished just like the rest of the house. At a glance, it was impossible to tell it was a door.

All of that slid through his mind in the three long seconds it took for them to cross the living room. By the time they reached the small door, both of them were coughing constantly.