Guilty (14 page)

It was time to dial the confrontational tone down a couple of degrees.

"Look, Mario, I want to help you, for old time's sake and all that, but I've been on the job only a couple of months. It's not like I can just tell them to let you go and they'll do it. I still need my boss to sign off on everything I do, and if I'm going to go to him and tell him I want to bargain the charges against you down, I'm going to have to give him a reason. You're going to have to give me something I can use." His lips compressed. For the first time, he looked uncertain. "I'm not giving you shit."

She shrugged as if to say, "Your call," then pressed the round gray button on the wall that summoned the deputy. Mario's eyes widened in surprise.

"What the hell are you doing?" "Leaving. I've got to get back to work." "What about getting me out of here?" "Like I said, I need your help to do that." "Kat..." Alarm and anger mixed in his tone. "And by the way, just so you're aware, calling me that, or anything except Ms. White, is a mistake. Let on that you know me in any way, shape, form, or fashion other than as a lawyer, and you're screwed, because if any whiff of the fact that we have a previous acquaintance gets out, I'll be yanked from your case. And that won't work for what you've got in mind."

The door opened. As the deputy stepped into the room, Kate smiled at Mario through the glass.

"I'll be in touch," she said, and hung up the phone.

There was no way he could possibly know her knees were shaking.

His mouth moved, and she was pretty sure the words coming out of it were mostly curses. His eyes shot bullets at her through the glass. But then the deputy was beside him, sliding a hand around his arm, glancing at her, saying something to Mario, and Mario had to hang up.

She didn't look at him again, but instead busied herself with restoring her legal pad and pen to her briefcase as he stood up and was led from the room.

Left alone, she stood up herself. It was no surprise at all to discover that her legs were as wobbly as rubber bands. Her heart pounded; her stomach churned.

She felt like a worm on a hook, wriggling madly as it fought to avoid a hungry trout.

But she'd bought herself some time. Exactly what good that would do she didn't know. But it was something.

By the time she was back inside the ornate stone building at the corner of Juniper and Penn that was home to the DA's office, she was almost calm again. Her nerves were still jittery, but her breathing was normal, her heart had calmed down, and her legs once again felt like they could support her weight. It was a little after two-thirty, late to be returning from lunch, so there was no one she knew in the crowd waiting for the elevator. Instead, a motley collection of people—a raggedy old man who looked (and smelled) like he'd spent the morning with a bottle, a college-age girl in blue jeans, two fiftyish guys in suits, a well-dressed older couple discussing something in whispers— crowded in around her. Punching the button for the ninth floor, she stared into the shiny brass panel facing her and concentrated on relaxing her face.

The only word that came to mind to describe her expression was grim.

The Major Trials Unit occupied all of the ninth floor, and it was bustling, Kate saw as the elevator door opened. A chattering group of what looked like high school students was being given the grand tour by John Frost of the Public Relations Office. A loudly wailing old woman—Kate assumed she was either a victim or a witness—in red polyester slacks and a brown poncho was being hustled into the nearby ladies' room by another, much younger woman in a suit whom Kate knew to be an ADA, although she could not immediately recall her name. An administrative assistant, Nancy somebody, emerged from the break room beside the restroom with a steaming cup of coffee in her hand and hurried down the hall, blond and lithe in a long-sleeved blue T-shirt and flowy skirt, sloshing coffee into a saucer as she went. The smell of it wafted through the air. Kate waved at Cindy Hartnett, the twenty-five-year-old receptionist whose semicircular desk faced the elevators, as she stepped off and the elevator doors rumbled closed behind her. The voluptuous brunette waved back as she reached to answer her ringing phone. Ron Ott, a fellow ADA in the Major Trials Unit, was leaning against Cindy's desk, probably trying to get her to go out with him as nearly all the single males in the building did. He glanced over his shoulder as Cindy waved, saw Kate, and waved, too. Behind Cindy, a large room full of cubicles was home to the paralegals, who did much of the grunt work on the cases. Several were on their feet, standing and chatting, looking over the shoulders of seated individuals whom Kate could not see, or walking around with files or cell phones in their hands. The walls separating their desks were only six feet high, so the row of windows overlooking the street bathed the room, and the reception area Kate was walking through, in shafts of sunlight thick with dancing dust motes. A long, pale green hall with dark wood doors opening off it ran to the left and right of Cindy's desk. Kate headed right, toward her own office, waving to a few of her colleagues whose doors were open. Bryan's door was closed, she saw as she passed it. She had talked to him on the phone last night when he'd called to check on her, but she hadn't seen him all day. Which suited her just fine. As far as she was concerned, the fewer people who wanted to discuss yesterday's events, the better.

I have to get my act together about this.

"Oh my God." Mona shot to her feet as Kate hurried past her administrative assistant's office, which was right next door to hers. "Where have you been?"

Kate had hoped to reach her own office and safety without eagle-eyed Mona spotting her. With that hope shot to hell, and with Mona hurtling toward her like a heat-seeking missile, Kate stopped and turned to face her. Aware that her grip on her briefcase was tightening into viselike territory, she forced a smile.

"What's up?" she asked, guiltily aware that it wasn't an answer. Nervous flutters in her stomach made her tone more abrupt than the smile might suggest, but she couldn't help it. Clearly something was afoot, though, for Mona to spring up after her like that.

Mona didn't appear to notice anything amiss. With her short, flaming-red hair framing an animated face dominated by big brown eyes and wide, scarlet-painted lips, and her pin-thin body clad in a burnt-orange turtleneck and gold plaid skirt, brown opaque hose, and heels, she resembled nothing so much as a living finger of flame.

"You're not going to believe this." Mona stopped, steepling her hands with their long, scarlet-painted nails beneath her chin. Several rings glinted on her fingers. "
The View
called."

"What?"

Mona nodded eagerly. "They want you to be a guest on the show. They're calling you the heroine of courtroom 207! They want to fly you out there and everything."

For a moment Kate was rendered speechless. She stood rooted to the spot with growing horror. For her part, Mona practically vibrated with excitement. Appalled blue eyes connected with thrilled brown ones for a pregnant instant. Then Kate broke eye contact, shaking her head.

"No."

Trying to ignore the fact that her pulse had just made like a race car when the driver stomps the gas and jumps from zero to sixty in a couple of seconds, Kate turned and continued walking toward her office.

"What do you mean 'no'?" Mona screeched. Mona definitely wasn't the shy, retiring type. She was vocal and opinionated, and one of the firmest of her opinions was that Kate needed to be taken under her wing. "Do you realize what a chance this is for you? You'll be famous."

"I don't want to be famous." Kate was getting almost used to the feeling of her heart pumping furiously in her chest. But that didn't mean she had to like it.

"But-but..." Mona sputtered. "Think what it could mean for your career. You'd get noticed! Maybe you could even use it to get a TV gig, like Greta Van Susteren or somebody."

"I don't want a TV gig." Just the thought of appearing on national television under the circumstances gave her the willies. The whole 'heroine of courtroom 207' thing was a terrible lie that she just wanted to move as far away from as fast as she could. It was already all over the news. The thought of compounding that lie by appearing live and in person on national TV to repeat it filled her with fear. To say nothing of the fact that such exposure would give Mario even more ammunition, and might even flush out additional rats from her past.

"But, Kate ..." Mona was right behind her as Kate turned on her heel and resumed the march toward her office. Kate was looking straight ahead at the gilt-framed portrait of the governor that adorned the far end of the hall, but she didn't have to see Mona to know that she was wringing her hands.

"No buts," Kate said, reaching her door and turning the knob. She looked back at Mona as she pushed the door open. "I don't want to be on
The View,
or any other television show, thank you very much."

"You can't just..." Mona protested. Whatever else she said after that was lost as Kate stepped inside her office to find a man already in there, standing in front of her desk, turning to look at her as she entered.

The black-haired cop who'd been her lifeline in courtroom 207, to be precise.

C h a p t e r 11

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING in here?"

Kate was so shocked that her tone was a whole lot sharper than it would have been if she'd had even a few seconds' warning to prepare. A cop—even this cop, especially this cop, with whom she discovered she felt a weird kind of connection, like the courtroom thing had linked them in some mysterious way—waiting in her office right on the heels of where she had just been and what she had just been doing was as unnerving as a skeleton popping out unexpectedly from behind her desk. No, make that
more
unnerving. Mona practically bumped into her before stopping dead behind her. Even as Kate breathed in the faint but unmistakable scent of cigarette smoke that always hung around Mona, she could feel her administrative assistant peering over her shoulder.

"Umm, that's the other thing I meant to tell you," Mona said in her ear, sounding sheepish. "There's a couple of cops waiting in your office."

"Thanks for the heads up." Kate's voice was dry.
A couple of cops ...

She spotted the second one as he stepped out from behind the first. Stylishly dressed in a dark blue pinstriped suit with a pale blue shirt and a yellow tie, he was about five-ten, stocky, with close-cropped sandy hair, a ruddy complexion, and a blunt-featured, good-humored face. Stubby-lashed eyes the color of his suit moved over her appraisingly. The cop from the courtroom smiled at her—he really was as good-looking as she remembered, tall, dark, and lean, with a hard, angular face, heavy-lidded coffee-brown eyes, and a slow smile—and held out his hand.

"Thought I'd stop by to see how you're doing," he said as she took his hand and gave it the brisk, businesslike pump that lawyers give people. Gratitude for his efforts to save her life yesterday was swamped by an uprush of extreme wariness: What did he want? His hand was big and warm and firm, and she dropped it like it was hot while vivid images of him scooping her up in his arms after her knees gave way and carrying her out of the courtroom yelling for an EMT danced in her head. He was broad-shouldered but didn't look overly muscular in his loose-fitting tan jacket, limp-looking white shirt, red tie, and nondescript navy slacks. Still, she knew from personal experience that he was strong. Slim as she was, she was no feather, and he had lifted her with ease. "I'm Tom Braga, by the way. Detective, Homicide Division." His eyes touched the small Band-Aid on her cheek, then slid quickly over her. "I'm glad to see you've recovered so fast."
Gulp.

Her heart was beating a mile a minute, and not because he was cute. Probably because he was a cop—a homicide detective, yet— and she felt like a criminal. Like he
knew
she was a criminal. Like he could somehow tell that what he believed had happened in the secure corridor yesterday was a lie.

Which he couldn't. No possible way.

Could he ?

Get a grip, Kate. As far as he knows, you 're the victim here, remember!'

Forcing a smile to her lips, she sucked in air through her nose so he wouldn't notice, hoping the deep breath would prove calming.

It didn't.

"This is Detective Howard Fischback, also from Homicide," Braga added, gesturing at the other man. The second cop stepped forward with his hand out. His was fleshier, with stubbier fingers. He smiled at her, and she noted the white gleam of his teeth and the deep dimples on either side of his mouth. His suit was immaculate, and his shirt and tie looked new. This guy might not be as classically handsome as his partner, but clearly he worked it.

"Kate White." She pumped his hand and let it drop. "Pleased to meet ya." His smile was broad and genial. His eyes were warm on her face.

Okay, he was definitely trying to charm her.
Fat chance.
She glanced at her watch—time, two-fifty-five—desperately searching for an excuse to shoo them away. She was due in court? No, the courts were closed. An urgent appointment? Mona would know it was a lie.

"And I'm her administrative assistant, Mona Morrison." Obviously operating under the assumption that Kate had forgotten all about her—which she had—Mona stepped forward with her hand out. Both men shook it briskly, and Fischback flashed her that dimpled smile, but it was Braga who she made big eyes at.
Of course.
Mona made no bones about being perpetually on the hunt, and Braga was nothing if not sexy.

"I've seen you around the building for years, so it's nice to finally meet you," Mona gushed, her gaze targeting Braga like a laser.

"You've worked here for years?" Braga's eyes slid toward Kate. He had thick, straight black brows, and they lifted slightly in surprise.

She shook her head.

"Oh, I've only been with Kate since she came to work here in June. Before that I was in the RO unit."