Star Witness (8 page)

Her brows drew down. “Vulnerable state? You make me sound like a Jane Austen character. Trust me. I am not prone to fainting on couches.”

He couldn’t suppress a smile. “No, I’m sure you’re not. Now, about the windows. I want you to pay attention to the things you hear and see while you’re here.
Nothing
that frightens or startles you is silly. Tell the officers. It’s their job to check out anything that looks, sounds or even smells suspicious. I don’t care if you call them a hundred times about cats fighting.”

She gave a small laugh. “I promise, despite the surroundings, I’m really not a hypersensitive Victorian maiden.”

“You’re doing fine,” he said, patting her hand.

Immediately, her expression hardened and she drew her hand away. “Don’t patronize me, Mr. Prosecutor.” She gulped a large sip of coffee and picked up the cinnamon roll with her fingers. “So, are we ready to prep?” she asked, then bit into the gooey roll, leaving a bigger dollop of icing on her lip this time.

Harte’s insides ached at the sight of her tongue slipping out to catch the sugary frosting. She was fascinating. Haughty as a runway model one second, stuffing her face like a college kid the next. He looked at a point somewhere behind her head and forced himself to ignore her unconscious sensuality. He swallowed. “We’ll start this evening. Unfortunately, you don’t have a lot of evidence to testify about. Not that your testimony is not important. Just the opposite. I believe we might have a chance to put Ernest Yeoman behind bars for the first time ever. I merely mean that your testimony probably won’t take that long. Still, I want to make sure you’re comfortable enough with what you’re going to say that you come across as earnest and likeable.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” she retorted. “You know, every bit of what I told you and the police is the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.” She stuck her chin out defiantly, although since she was still chewing, it made her seem like a stubborn kid.

“Hey,” he said. “I’m not questioning your honesty, but you know as well as I do that if a witness is nervous or too emotional, it doesn’t matter if she’s telling the truth. What matters is the jury’s perception of her. And I want the jurors to see you as the grieving granddaughter who is bravely holding it together, even though her heart is broken.”

“Wow. Queue the violins,” Dani said sarcastically. “Think you can pull that off?”

Harte grimaced at her tone. “I’m not implying that you’re not. I know how much you loved your grandfather,” he said. “All I’m trying to do is—”

“Right. Save it for your closing arguments.” She got up and took her dishes to the sink and turned on the water.

He sat there staring at her back. He prided himself on doing a good job of easing the pain of grieving loved ones, but somehow, he’d managed to screw this up. She sounded contemptuous, just as she’d been back when they’d faced each other across the courtroom as opponents. But he’d heard a catch in her voice.

He wished...hell, he didn’t know what he wished. Maybe that she’d trust him to keep her safe and get her through the trial.

He looked at his watch. “I’m due in court soon. I’d better go.” He stood and picked up his mug, preparing to take it to the sink, but she whirled and snatched it out of his hand.

“I’ll do that.”

He pressed his lips together. “Okay. I’ll see you this evening.”

“What time?” she asked, then shook her head. “Oh, right,” she said sarcastically, “it doesn’t matter. I’ll be here.”

“It depends on when the judge in my case recesses for the day. I hope it’ll be by six at the latest. Want me to bring you something for dinner?”

She eyed him narrowly. “I’ve been craving jambalaya. And the best jambalaya in the world is Mama Pinto’s.”

“Where is that?”

“You’ve never had Mama Pinto’s jambalaya? Oh, your mouth is going to thank you! It is seriously the best in the world.”

“And it’s—?”

“Oh, just off Tremé. It’s only about three miles from here.”

“Tremé? Seriously? You want me to navigate through the area where they’re filming the TV series during rush hour? It’ll take me an hour to get from the courthouse to there and from there to here. And that’s if Hollywood South is done filming. If they’re still on-site, it’ll be longer. I tell you what. There’s a café that makes killer jambalaya about three blocks from here on Tchoupitoulas,” he said hopefully.

“Okay, never mind,” she said, her voice dripping with disappointment.

She didn’t fool him. He knew what she was doing. She was baiting him. But that was okay. He’d virtually imprisoned her. She had a right to a little revenge.

“I’ll go to Mama Pinto’s. I can’t guarantee what time I’ll be back, though.”

“Get me some wine too, please. A good Chardonnay. I’ll leave the brand to you.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he retorted, and touched his forehead in a mock salute. “I’ll see you tonight.”

* * *

I
T TOOK
H
ARTE
more than an hour to drive to Mama Pinto’s, pick up two orders of jambalaya and get back to the B & B. By the time he pulled into the parking lot, the sky was dark with low black clouds. It looked as if any minute they would burst open and dump torrents of rain on the entire New Orleans area. As he reached for an umbrella from under his passenger seat, his cell phone rang.

“Delancey.”

“Harte, where y’at? It’s Dawson.”

“Hey,” he said to his cousin. “Just got to the B-and-B with a delivery of jambalaya for my witness.”

Dawson laughed. “Lucas told me you’ve got a tiger by the tail with Canto’s granddaughter.”

“She’s a little stubborn, but I’ve got it under control.”
You wish,
he told himself. “Got something for me?”

“Could be. My C.I. looked up a guy he knows who used to run errands for Yeoman.”

“Errands?” His brain immediately took the single word and raced through the possibilities—loan collector, drug dealer, hush money.

“My C.I. armed himself with a newspaper that had an article about your upcoming trial and used it to start a conversation about Yeoman with the errand boy at a bar. He kept buying the guy beers and finally he opened up. He ended up telling my C.I. that the biggest part of his job was delivering envelopes and packages to an aide who worked for several legislators.”

Harte’s pulse went through the roof.
This could be it!
If he could connect Yeoman to Stamps and bring them both down, a small percentage of the corruption in New Orleans would be cleaned up, and Dani could feel safe in her own home. Not to mention that the win could catapult his career. “Well?” he said.

“Well what?” Dawson responded. Harte could hear the amusement in his voice.

“Come on, Daw. Did he say who the legislators were—and what was in the packages?”

“Nope. He didn’t. But my C.I. gave me the errand boy’s name. Well,
gave
isn’t quite the right word.”

“I’ll pay you back. Just let me have it. This could be huge.”

“I tell you what. Sounds like you’re pretty busy with your witness, so while you’re babysitting her, I’ll have a talk with the guy and see what he’s willing to spill and how much it will cost.”

“Thanks, Dawson. But remember, anything you find out has got to be able to be confirmed. I can’t use unverified information. I definitely owe you one.”

“You definitely do.” His cousin hung up.

It had started to rain while they were talking. Harte grabbed his umbrella and hurried inside.

What he saw when he entered surprised him. Dani and Michele were sitting at the kitchen table, mugs of coffee in their hands, laughing. They looked up in unison. Dani’s smile faded and Michele set her mug down and stood.

“Hi,” Harte said, amazed at how effectively he’d doused their good time just by walking in. “Don’t stop on my account.” He set the food and wine on the kitchen counter and took off his damp coat and tie. “Where’s Field?”

“Today is his wedding anniversary. He left early and I’m covering.”

Harte frowned. “He didn’t tell me that.”

“It’s not a big deal, sir. One of us will be here twenty-four-seven.”

Harte wasn’t sure he liked not knowing exactly who would be here at any given time. He nodded reluctantly.

“I was just about to do my walk-around,” Michele said.

“Take your slicker or an umbrella,” Harte advised.

Dani and Michele both looked toward the front window.

“Wow,” Dani said. “It got dark out. The weatherman said it was going to rain, but this looks ominous.”

“Yep,” Harte agreed. “I just heard on the news that there’s a tornado watch and a severe thunderstorm watch for the entire area. They’re warning about hail and funnel clouds.”

Michele grimaced and looked at her watch. “Mom was going to take the kids to a school play at seven. I need to call and tell her not to go out.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” Harte commented, just as a low rumble sounded in the distance.

Michele took out her phone and looked at the display. “I don’t have any service.” She stepped over to the window. “Still none. That’s odd. My cell service is usually excellent.”

“Try the landline,” Dani said, pointing to a table by the sofa.

Michele stepped over to the phone and dialed. She stood there a moment, then pressed the disconnect button, listened, then dialed again. Finally, she set the receiver on its cradle with more force than was necessary.

“That phone doesn’t work?” Dani asked.

“It works, but all I’m getting is that fast beep, you know?”

“It means all the circuits are busy,” Harte said. “Try mine.”

“Thanks,” Michele said. She took his phone and walked back over to the window.

Dani turned toward her bedroom. “I’ll check mine too.” She ducked into her room and then came out again. “How long is this storm supposed to last?”

“They couldn’t say. They seemed worried that it might stall over the gulf because of a low front. If it does—”

Dani blew out a frustrated breath.

“What’s wrong?” Harte asked.

“Nothing,” she said shortly. “I just don’t like storms.”

Harte heard Michele talking. “Mom? Hello? Mom!” She listened for a few seconds, then handed his cell phone back to him. “Thanks, but you’re not getting any service either.”

“My phone’s showing no bars too,” Dani said, watching the display as she moved toward the window, then across to the kitchen area. She stuck it into her pocket.

“Your mom wouldn’t take the kids out into a bad storm, would she?” she asked Michele.

“No, but it might not be bad over there yet, and I doubt she’s been listening to the weather. She likes to play games with them, rather than just sit and watch TV.” She looked at her phone one more time. “She heard me at first, because I heard her say
Michele?
She’s going to be worried now.”

“Harte, don’t you think it would be okay if Michele ran by to check on her kids while you’re here?” She turned to Michele. “How far away do you live?”

“Ten to fifteen minutes, but no. This is my assignment. I’m not supposed to leave my post until I’m relieved.”

Harte felt Dani’s gaze on him and tried to ignore it. He agreed with Michele that she shouldn’t leave her post.

“Harte—” Dani started.

“Okay, okay.” He didn’t like it, but he supposed he could be flexible. After all, he was planning to be here for another couple of hours anyhow. Besides, he wasn’t happy with the lack of cell service.

“I tell you what,” he said. “As lead prosecutor on this case, I’m relieving you for one hour to go pick up a squad car. I’d like to have one here in case we have a problem. Even if we lose electricity, we’ll have the police radio and a means of transportation that won’t get stopped.”

Michele looked blankly at him for an instant. “I’m not sure I understand—”

“Detective, you should pick up a squad car. If you swing by your house on the way, I don’t think it would be out of line.”

Michele’s face lightened as his meaning sank in.

“I’ll be here for a couple of hours. But don’t delay. Try to beat the storm.”

“I will,” Michele said. She grabbed her car keys and headed toward the door. “Back in less than forty-five,” she called over her shoulder.

“That was really nice of you,” Dani said, sending him a smile.

“Yeah. Shocking, isn’t it?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Not out loud.”

Dani propped a hand on her hip. “I’m beginning to think that this is not going to be a fun evening.”

“Depends on your definition of
fun,
” he said, gesturing toward the bag with Mama Pinto’s on the front. “I rode all the way back here with the smell of the
best jambalaya in the world
filling my car. I’m going to eat. All I can say is it better be worth the trip.”

“Oh, right,” Dani exclaimed. She took the bag from him and peeked inside, inhaling deeply. “Mmm. That’s Mama’s jambalaya all right. Thank you,” she said.

He angled his head. “Your wish is my command,” he said solemnly.

“And I thought chivalry was dead,” she murmured.

“I occasionally slay dragons too,” he shot back as he picked up his briefcase and set it on the kitchen table. “We’ll get started with the prep after we eat.”

“After
we
eat?” she echoed, clutching the bag tightly.

Harte saw the twinkle in her eyes. First time he’d seen one there. It made them appear amber. He liked it. He wanted to see it again. “Hey, I got two orders, even though one looks like enough to feed a family of four.”

Before he’d finished, she’d dug into the bag and pulled out the two cardboard containers. She shoved one toward him and opened the other, then dug into the bag again and tossed him one of the two plastic forks she found.

He picked up the fork, but he wasn’t as interested in his jambalaya as he was in watching her. She opened the carton and dug into the mound of rice and shrimp and sausage. She shoved a forkful into her mouth and closed her eyes as she chewed.

“Best thing I ever ate,” she mumbled, closing her eyes. “Mmm.”

Harte swallowed hard. The look on her face made his mouth water, but not for food. A spear of pure lust shot through him. He was hungry for her. Grimacing, he forced down a few mouthfuls of jambalaya, then pointed at the bottle. “Want some wine?”