Sugar Free (22 page)

“What's wrong with Mommy?” she asks, her own face starting to crumble at the thought of something terrible having happened.

“Nothing,” I say quickly as I squat down in front of Ally. “Just your mommy and Uncle Beck being silly, sentimental fools.”

I can tell that doesn't quite answer her question, so I go for redirection instead.

“Hey,” I say as if I'm struck with sudden brilliance as I pull my phone out of my pocket. “Let's do a selfie with me, you, Mommy, and the polar bears.”

“Okay,” she says, her lips peeling into a grin. I look at her full set of little teeth and realize I won't see the cuteness of when she loses those front ones. A strong stab of misery and regret hits me deep, but I shuffle my brood over in front of the rail that looks over the enclosure. I squat down again and pull Ally in between my legs, turn her around to face away from me. Then Caroline squats down beside me, throwing her arm over my shoulder, and for a moment almost throwing me off balance. My legs tighten and I stay in place, looping an arm around Ally's waist to hold her tight. With my other arm extended out holding my iPhone, I position it until I see all three faces looking back at me. Ally with her big smile, Caroline with lost eyes, and me looking like a man who's getting ready to lose some of the most precious items in his life.

I make myself put a smile on my face, because this is definitely one I'm going to print. I just hope Ally will remember this day as a happy one when she no longer has me around.

I snap a few pictures and we all stand up. “What do you want to see next?”

“Can we have another ice cream?” Ally asks, and she knows I won't deny her.

“Of course you can,” I tell her, and Caroline pulls the map out of her back pocket to find the nearest concession stand to us.

My phone starts ringing in my hand. I had it on vibrate and it startles me a moment, and when I look at the screen, my heart gives a jolt to see
Dennis Flaherty
on the screen.

“I'll be just a moment,” I tell Caroline as I step away.

“Hey, man,” I say into the phone as soon as I connect.

“I am so sorry I'm just now calling,” he says, and I wince because the line is filled with static. “We've been offshore for two days and I didn't even have my phone on me. Now what the fuck is going on? I've got a few voice mails from the police wanting me to call them.”

“Long story short,” I say as I lower my voice and walk away until I find a relatively quiet spot near an overflowing garbage can. “JT lured Sela to his house. Went after her. She stabbed him and he's dead. The district attorney isn't buying self-defense, and both of us have been charged with murder. They're calling you to verify my alibi at lunch that day.”

More static but no mistaking when he says, “What. In. The. Ever-loving. Fuck?”

“We need to run, Dennis, and it needs to be fast. I'll make it worth your while,” I tell him desperately.

“Just hold on a second—” he says in an effort to slow me down.

“I don't have a second. It has to be fast.”

“Beck, I'm going to help you,” he says reassuringly. More static. “Let me get online, get up to speed on what's going on, and I'll get on the next flight out of here. I'll call you with my arrival details.”

“I don't see any other options,” I tell him, so he knows this isn't a whim.

“Just hang tight,” he says, the phone crackling even more. “I'm on my way.”

It's Friday, late afternoon. The courthouse is all but deserted, lending an almost eerie feeling to this meeting. Because there's no hustle and bustle of attorneys, court personnel, jurors, and accused, the silence of the building doesn't make this meeting seem real.

Doesn't seem legitimate.

And yet I hope.

There are five of us in here right now, sitting around a battered-looking conference room table that sits two doors down from ADA Hammond's office. I saw the nameplate on her door when we were ushered back here by a secretary.

Beck and I sit side by side on one side, our hands clenched under the table. We both dressed up, on the advice of our attorneys, and he looks beyond handsome in a dark charcoal suit with a summer-sky-blue tie with little fleurs-de-lis in yellow. I wore a simple black A-line skirt and a rayon long-sleeve blouse that had a slight cowl neck that exposed the barely visible bruises on my neck. Even though it had been eleven days, there was still some yellowing to my skin, and if the reminder that I was attacked that night by JT helps, then I was going to use it.

My attorney, Kerry, sits to my left, and Doug took the chair on the end, since he's going to be leading this discussion on behalf of our group. To Beck's right sits an attorney I just met early this morning. His name is Roger Nichols and he's from New York, and you only need to look at his expensive suit and four-hundred-dollar haircut to figure he's a big-city boy.

I pull my hand from Beck's, because it's sweating, and wipe it on my skirt. He grabs it back, locks his fingers around me tightly, and gives me a squeeze.

Doug appears to be casually comfortable, his bow tie spiffily tied. Kerry is vibrating with energy. I can feel it coming off of her. And the New York member of our crowd is busily working over his smartphone, his fingers flying as he no doubt bills out several hundred bucks an hour for whatever work he's doing. You know damn well by looking at him that the man is working and probably doesn't know the meaning of the words
rest and relaxation
.

The door to the conference room opens up and ADA Hammond walks in. She glances around the room with an irritated air and sits just to the right of Doug and opposite Kerry. She's got two manila files in her hands, which she smacks down on the table, causing me to jump slightly. My hands start sweating even more.

“It's a little bit late in the week to be calling a meeting on this case, isn't it Mr. Shriver?” she asks dryly as she pins Doug with a superior look. Like she's the one holding all the cards.

“It couldn't be avoided,” he says smoothly. “With Miss Halstead's prelim set for next Tuesday and Monday being a holiday, we felt we needed to have this meeting today.”

Her lips tip up and she has a “knowing” look in her eyes. She strokes a finger on the files in front of her—clearly one for me and one for Beck—and gives Doug a contemplative look before she says, “Mr. Shriver, I'm not sure I really want to entertain a plea offer from you or Miss Suttenson. The evidence is mounting. In fact, we got in some more DNA results just yesterday that places the defendants in Mr. Townsend's house.”

My heart is pounding as I take in her smug look and her condescending tone. She holds all the power here and we are doing nothing more than making a play to take it from her. My entire world depends on this working, and that's a lot of stress to bear right now.

If it doesn't work, however, Beck and I are prepared to run. This weekend, as a matter of fact. Dennis assured us he could get us out of the country quickly and with good documents.

“Miss Hammond,” Doug says gently. “We are not here to discuss a plea deal for either of the defendants.”

“You're not?” Her eyes widen with surprise.

“No,” he says matter-of-factly. “In fact, we're here to discuss you dropping charges against Miss Halstead and Mr. North.”

It's an indication of the level of her ego when Hammond's head falls backward and her mouth opens to let out a deep laugh of delight. Her eyes are shining with amusement as she tilts her head back into position, carefully sweeping her gaze over all the occupants of the room. She doesn't even hesitate when she looks at Mr. Nichols, who I note has been steadily texting or emailing or whatever the hell he's doing on his smartphone while this conversation is being played out.

“Mr. Shriver,” Hammond says as the smile slides off her face and her eyes glow with an iciness I've never seen before. “I will never drop these charges. I have sufficient evidence to make my case and I'm sorry, but your clients are just going to have to suffer the consequences of their rash acts.”

“I think you might feel differently after you've seen something,” he tells her calmly, refusing to get flustered by her bullish ways.

“And what could that possibly be?” she asks sarcastically.

Doug nods down the table toward Roger Nichols, who doesn't even look up from his phone. He takes a few more seconds, his thumbs flying over the screen, and I hear Hammond make a sound of irritation in her throat. Finally, he taps the screen one final time and says, “There. That's taken care of.”

Then his head lifts up and he pins Hammond with a challenging stare. “Miss Hammond. My name is Roger Nichols. I practice criminal law in New York—”

In a move that's beyond rude, Hammond turns to Doug and gives an amused chuckle. “Doug, tell me you didn't bring in some big gun all the way from New York to help out your case. You're more than adequate to represent Mr. North.”

No one could take that statement from her as a compliment, as the derision in her voice conveys a distinct lack of respect for Beck's attorney.

Nichols answers instead. “I am indeed a big gun all the way from New York, Miss Hammond, but I'm not representing Mr. North or Miss Halstead.”

“Then why are you in this room?” she snaps.

Nichols opens the laptop that has been sitting in front of him completely ignored until this moment. He punches a few of the keys and turns it to face Hammond as he says, “Because we have evidence that proves Miss Halstead acted in self-defense and Mr. North was not there when it happened.”

And yup…that's a strangled noise she makes now, followed by a scoffing cough. “You can't expect me to believe—”

“Miss Hammond,” Nichols interrupts with a feral flash in his eyes. “I strongly suggest you be quiet and watch this before you embarrass yourself further.”

Seven hours earlier…

There's a knock on the door and Beck gets up from where he sits next to me at the dining room table to answer it. Kerry's on the other side, looking flustered. “Sorry I'm late, traffic was a bitch.”

“No worries,” I say from my seat as she walks in and looks around at the people assembled. She nods at Doug, who's sipping on coffee, but looks curiously at Dennis, who is sitting beside me.

Beck makes introductions.

“Kerry, this is Dennis Flaherty. He's an investigator who works for me. And that man over there”—pauses and points to Roger Nichols, who is standing in the living room texting on his phone—“is Dennis' attorney from New York.”

He looks up from his phone, walks into the dining area, and extends a hand to Kerry. “Roger Nichols.”

She shakes it as she asks Beck, “So what's going on? What's so urgent you asked us all here?”

Beck moves and pulls out a chair for Kerry, then comes to stand behind me. Neither Beck nor I have any clue why we're all here. We just did what Dennis asked, which was to gather our attorneys.

That's done and Dennis, interestingly enough, brought his own attorney in from New York. When we're all seated around the table, Dennis pulls his iPad out from his briefcase sitting on the couch and turns to us. “When Beck originally hired me to work for him, it was to investigate JT and see if the identifications of Sela's other attackers could be made. As part of my service, I set up surveillance on Mr. Townsend, which included tapping into his home security system. I was trying to see if he had any contact with the other attackers or use any of his conversations to find out more about them.”

A jolt of surprise stiffens my spine and I tilt my head up and to the side to look at Beck standing behind me. His eyes are filled with shock and confusion as they return my stare.

Dennis taps on the screen of the iPad and a black-and-white video starts to play. At first, I can't place what I'm looking at, but then I understand. It's the inside of JT's den taken from the southwest corner of the room. The couch and back wall of windows runs across the top of the screen, and the desk where we had our scuffle sits at the bottom right.

And holy shit, that's JT walking in from the left with me following.

I gasp as I realize what I'm looking at.

The actual events of that night.

I'm even more stunned when I hear JT say like a ghost from the past, “Want something to drink?”

My head snaps toward Dennis and he gives me a casual smile. “I was able to tap into video
and
audio. He had a state-of-the-art system set up but it wasn't activated. He wasn't paying any company to monitor his house. It was ridiculously easy to hijack the feed, which we routed straight to my office server.”

We all watch in silence, but there's no mistaking the increasing buzz of energy as the video continues. Kerry gasps when I pull my gun on JT.

Doug cringes when JT walks up to me, lets the barrel push into his chest, and says, “I dare you to fucking do it, Sela.”

And Beck's hands come to wrap around me from behind as he mutters, “Jesus fuck” when JT's hands wrap around my throat and he screams, “You goddamn filthy cunt!”

Beck curses again when JT admits to raping Caroline and Kerry mutters, “Unbelievable.”

We all watch as JT tries to kill me and then I pull out a miracle of all miracles…the letter opener. I have to close my eyes as my arm swings and makes contact. I don't open them again until I hear his body hit the carpet with a
thump.

Dennis taps a button on the screen and stops the video, and we all stare back at him in stunned silence. You'd think he'd be gloating right now. You'd think we'd all be screaming and dancing in victory.

But as stunned as I am by Dennis having this, I have no clue how this can help.

“Well, someone say something,” Dennis says lightly to the group.

“Is that enough to get Sela and me off the hook?” Beck asks to no one in particular as he straightens up from behind me but keeps his hands on my shoulders.

“It definitely proves self-defense,” Kerry says confidently. “No jury will convict her after watching that.”

“And it proves Beck wasn't there,” Doug says with wonder in his voice that he's watching evidence that completely exonerates his client. But then his tone turns somber. “But the video would have to be authenticated.”

“What do you mean?” Beck asks. “There's no doubt that's JT and Sela on that video. It's crystal clear.”

Doug shakes his head. “Doesn't matter. Before it could come into evidence, it would have to be authenticated by the person responsible for the video.”

All heads turn toward Dennis. He nods to Roger. “That's why I asked my attorney here. He's already seen this, and obviously there are certain repercussions for me.”

Roger nods. “Invasion of privacy, which is a criminal offense. It carries up to six months in jail and a thousand-dollar fine.”

“Then we can't use it,” I say as my heart sinks. “No way we're putting Dennis out there like that.”

“Well, Roger and I came up with an idea,” Dennis says, and I can't help the hope that swells up in my chest again. Beck's fingers dig into my shoulders. “We take this to the DA and let her watch it. See if she'll do the moral thing and accept it. If she doesn't, we then threaten her with a leak to the press. Worst-case scenario, I'll testify and authenticate it. I'm not too worried about criminal charges against me anyway, but I'd rather avoid the possibility first by trying out this idea.”