Indecent Encounter: The Silverhaus Affair (39 page)

“
I
have news for you
.” I looked up at the sound of my new boss coming from the doorway of my office.

While I wasn’t a senior partner anymore, I had a big office, and once I did make it, I expected to move from this office to a corner one.

Charles Sheldon stood in the doorway, smoothing down his burgundy tie in a gesture I'd already come to recognize. “Do you mind?” he asked, gesturing to the door.

“Of course not.” Giving him an easy grin, I added, “After all, you are the boss.”

“For now.” His eyebrow quirked, reminding me of the response I’d given him when I agreed to take the job his firm had offered me.

I’d been a senior partner at my old firm back in Chicago, well on my way to convincing them to make me a named partner. I hadn't been overly enthusiastic about the demotion to junior partner here, but the promise of practicing for one of the most prestigious defense firms in the country had been one hell of a lure.

I’d agreed to take the job, and then told them I planned to be a senior partner in a year. Sheldon had been the man to make the final call. He’d laughed, but he hired me.

“What can I help you with, Sheldon?”

“Got a case for you.” He hitched up his pants and sat down in the chair across from me. “It seems like it’s right up your alley. Regular clients of ours – well, I should amend that. Client. Anyway. We’re on retainer. We just got a phone call. The man who retained us is now dead. You’ll be defending his wife.”

Holding up my hand, I cut him off before he could say anything else, “Don't give me any more information. Just tell me where she is and how I can contact her.”

“She's at home.” He gave me the address and rose. “And you might want to hurry. You might get there before the cops do.”

For a split second, I gaped at him. Was he kidding me? He'd sat there, all casual, while our client was facing the possibility of having to talk to the cops without us. I didn't know what the circumstances were, but any woman whose husband just died shouldn't have to worry about saying something incriminating, even if it was something petty.

I jumped to my feet and grabbed my briefcase. As I hurried past Sheldon, he gave me a small smile, as if he'd done all of that on purpose. It was too bad, I thought as I stepped outside. I'd actually liked the guy. Now, not so much.

Then I pushed the thoughts aside. I had a job to do, a client to defend.

The address, thankfully, was close.

Sheldon, Simon and Sharpe chose to operate out of a converted house not too far from Central Park and the over-priced, and overdone, glamour of the Trump International Hotel. They weren't the biggest defense firm in the city, but they had one of the best reputations.

My client, one Leayna Mance, lived in a house just a couple blocks away. If I hadn't wanted to seem unprofessional, I would've walked rather than grabbing a cab, but something told me that this wasn't about some parking ticket or even a home invasion.

Now, standing at the door, I pounded on it after my polite knock didn't garner any response. The place was quiet, and that worried me. There weren’t any police cars, no uniforms hanging around.

And still, no one answered the door.

If my gut hadn't been telling me something was off, I would've wondered if maybe this was some strange joke they played on the new guy.

I knocked again, pounding hard enough for it to make my hand hurt. “Ms. Mance? It’s Arik Porter, from Sheldon, Simon and Sharpe.” I paused and then added, “Charles Sheldon sent me. I understand you’ve got a problem.”

I had a bad feeling that the problem was going to be a dead body. I'd stopped Sheldon from telling me too much because I didn't want to form an opinion before I met with my client, but I couldn't stop hearing his comment about Mrs. Mance's husband being dead.

From behind the door, I heard a slight noise. The door unlocked and through a crack, I saw a woman’s face. She peered at me and through that narrow slit, I could see that she held a phone clutched to her chest. “I called the cops.”

“Good. That’s good. Why don’t you let me in, Ms. Mance? They’ll be here soon–”

Sirens sliced through the air and she jerked.

“Mrs. Mance, may I come in? I'm your attorney, ma'am. I think it's a good idea I come in before the police get here.”

She hesitated, then nodded as she opened the door. I went inside, and even before I crossed the threshold, I smelled it.

Death.

The metallic, sickly sweet smell of blood. Something else underneath it. Something that made it clear that, here, blood meant death.

I breathed slowly and tried not to focus on the smell. I had a clearly freaked out client. “It would appear you have a problem, ma'am,” I said calmly.

She started to cry as she nodded. “My husband’s dead.”

T
he next few
hours were a rush of cops, questions and tears.

Leayna hadn’t made the wisest decision in calling a lawyer first, not as far as the cops were concerned. And the fact that I'd gotten there before them just added to their annoyance.

I already knew the district attorney would find plenty of ways to spin that in a bad way if this went to trial, and it wasn’t a far stretch to see things getting to a jury, even though I believed she was innocent.

Maybe her tears had gotten to me, or maybe it was easier to con me than I thought, but as Leayna sat there holding my hands and repeating the same statement over and over again, I believed her.

I didn’t do it. I know it looks bad, but I didn’t.

I hadn’t asked her if she did it. Each defense attorney has their own way of handling client guilt, but personally, I didn't want to know. Even the guilty were entitled to a defense, but it was easier to move forward with the knowledge in my gut that the woman sitting next to me hadn’t killed her husband. Plus, it kept me from knowingly supporting perjury if I had to put her under oath.

It had been cleverly arranged to make it look like she was guilty, but in my gut, when she said
I didn’t do this...
my instinct was to believe her. And I'd spent most of my life trusting my gut.

“What am I going to do, Arik?” she whispered, her voice raw and broken.

Her grass green eyes were red rimmed and swollen, not the sort of thing one would've expected from a trophy wife decades younger than her late husband. She sniffed, then blew her nose on the handkerchief I’d given her when we left for the police station.

She'd been officially arrested, though I would do my best to get that thrown out since they'd made the arrest without any clear evidence. They hadn't found her standing over the body, and there'd been no time to process any real forensics. Someone had gotten a little overzealous.

Leayna sent a furtive glance toward the door to the interrogation room. “Am I...do I have to stay in prison or do they let me out on bail or what?”

“There will be a hearing to determine whether or not you get out on bail. Then we'll look over every piece of evidence...” I trailed off. She wasn’t fully taking this in.

She’d heard the words
whether or not
. “I might not get out on bail?” Her voice cracked and I wished I’d worded that differently. “But I didn't do anything!”

“Leayna,” I said firmly, trying to ground her. She was slipping away, lost in a maze of fear and confusion. Squeezing her hands, I said her name again.

She patted down her short hair. It was a warm hazelnut color that I was pretty sure wasn't natural. She looked at me, her lashes sweeping down before slowly lifting back up.

“I won’t get out on bail,” she said, her lips stiff.

“We don’t know that–”

There was a knock at the door, but before I had a chance to say anything, it swung open. Immediately, I stood up, a hand on Leayna’s shoulder, placing my body partially between her and the door. She might've been close to my age, but I felt strangely protective of her.

“Excuse us, we’re...” Shit. “Hello, Bethany.”

Assistant district attorney Bethany McDermott stood in the doorway, her lips pursed as she looked from Leayna to me. “Oh, I’m sorry, Arik. I thought you were ready for me. Hello, Mrs. Mance.” She glanced to her watch and then back at me with a lifted eyebrow. “Should I give you a few more minutes?”

“I’m not sure a few minutes will be enough.”

“It’s going to have to.” She started to tap her foot. “We’ll be seeing the judge shortly for a bail hearing. I thought you might want to confer for a few minutes before that happens.”

“Bail hearing?”

Leayna flinched at the abrupt sound of my voice. I mentally kicked myself. Out of all the ADAs in the city, I had to get the only one I'd already met.

And loathed.

I gestured to the door. “Let’s step outside.”

“I do have other cases, Arik.” She gave Leayna a look of mock sympathy. “Not everybody has a high priced defense attorney who can hang around all day. I need to prepare for an appearance before the judge shortly, and then several other things need my attention.”

I wanted to roll my eyes at the obvious theatrics. “Fine. Now, outside for a few minutes.”

She followed, so I counted that as a win. I closed the door behind me and took an extra few steps.

“What is this about the bail hearing? She was only processed thirty minutes ago. We’ve barely had time to talk.”

“Bail hearing is at two.” Bethany gave me a wide-eyed smile before reaching up to smooth down my tie. “Really, Arik. You should be more up on what is going on with your client.”

“I’m trying to figure out why nobody bothered to tell me about my client’s bail hearing.” I brushed her hand aside and resisted the impulse to rub my hand on my pant leg.

“Well, I’m sure they tried to contact you.” She gave me a sweet smile that I knew only went skin deep. “Now that we’ve settled that, shall we go back inside? I’m sure your client is just beside herself with...grief.”

My mouth flattened into a line. “She is. She’s also scared and confused.”

“With the prospect of life behind bars, she
should
be scared.” Bethany shrugged, absolutely no sympathy in her expression or voice.

“She didn’t kill him,” I snapped.

“Save it for court.” Bethany rolled her eyes and took a step to go around me.

I barred her way. “You don’t talk to my client without me being present.” I scowled down at her. “I’m not in the room so you’re not going in there.”

“Then get in there.” She scowled back, any pretense of politeness gone. “Or I’ll make it clear you’re getting in the way of me doing my job, and that won't do anybody any good. She’s in enough trouble as it is, Porter. Your best bet is to get her to plead out. Either we talk now or you can make an appointment with my office, and we’ll talk when I’ve got time in a few days.”

“I don’t much care for having you trying to steamroll me,” I said softly. “I’m not one of your puppets, Bethany.”

She gave me a little smirk. “Whatever do you mean by that, Arik?”

I didn’t bother to respond. Turning around, I opened the door and shoved inside. Bethany followed me, but I ignored her, keeping my focus on Leayna. She was sitting in the chair, arms wrapped around herself and rocking as if she ached deep inside.

Her eyes, big and scared, met mine.

I went back to the seat I’d been using and took her hand. “Good news. We’ll be having the bail hearing soon.”

“That’s good news?”

“Once you post bail–”

“We’re going to ask that bail be denied,” Bethany interrupted as she gave Leayna a smile that brimmed with mock sympathy. “Standard procedure in murder cases.”

Leayna flinched and I almost wanted to put my arm around her.

“You don't have any proof,” I said.

“I’m simply pointing out–”

I stood up and cut around the table, moving out into the hall again. Bethany was too much a bulldog with her cases to chance having this fucked up by her staying in the room alone with my client, so she followed, as I’d expected her to.

Once she did, I closed the door again, resisting the urge to slam it. Once it was shut, I pivoted on Bethany, eyes narrowed and voice cold. “Don’t pull that shit again. I’m not some idealistic public defender fresh out of law school. I’ve been arguing cases almost as long as you, and I’m better.”

Her eyes glittered bright and hot. I'd seen this side of her before, and it hadn't been pleasant then either. She opened her mouth.

I cut her off before she could speak. “I’ve had less than thirty minutes to discuss things with my client and she's been in shock the entire time, which means she isn't yet capable of assisting in her own defense. So, unless you want me to bring this up to a judge, you're going to back the hell off and do things the right way.”

She sauntered closer, reaching up to stroke her fingers down my jawline. I jerked my head back out of her reach.

“You know, when we first met, I'd really hoped we could be...friendly,” Bethany murmured.

I shook my head. “No offense, I’d rather be friendly with a snake.”

She laughed, but it wasn't a nice sound. “Better prepare your client, and yourself. It doesn’t look good for either of you.”

I was starting to regret coming to New York after all.

“
I
nteresting
.” Bethany looked at me after I finished and gave a slow, thoughtful nod. Her eyes were hard to read.

My new boss might've looked like the meaner, harder version of Lawyer Barbie, but she had one hell of a game face. After a moment, she shifted her attention to the file I’d given her and tapped it with a French manicured nail.

“You present a good argument.”

That sounded suspiciously like a compliment. I didn’t say it out loud, though. I simply inclined my head and said, “Thank you.”

She made a noncommittal sound under her breath and flipped through a few pages. “It wouldn’t have convinced a jury, of course. But it’s still a good argument.” Now she did look back at me and gave me a patronizing smile. “I think you’ll get there, Dena. It just takes a bit of time to make the switch from divorce and family law to criminal law.”

Without waiting for a response from me, she looked at Pierce and began to fire a barrage of questions at him.

I tried not to let any reaction show, returning to the chair a few feet away from the one where Pierce normally sat, sinking down into it. I wished I could've just walked out since it was clear that she wasn't going to treat me like she treated Pierce, but I wouldn’t stoop to being petty. I was an adult.

No matter how much it sucked.

“Impressive.” Bethany drew the word out long and slow and I continued to study the window so I didn’t have to see the pompous prick preening.

Her phone buzzed on her desk and she picked it up, effectively letting us know that the rest of the discussion was over. That was fine with me.

Rising, I gathered up the information I’d brought in for my presentation, and began stuffing everything into my briefcase.

I was almost out the door when she called after Pierce and told him to wait a few more minutes. Obviously, he did so, relaxing back in the chair as I ducked outside, quick as I could. I was ready to get out of there.

It was finally Friday.

As I was making my way out along with the rest of the people who were done for the day, I heard snatches of conversations and greetings. Plans being made. People laughing.

Loneliness settled along with a knot of edginess that grew with every step I took.

It’s finally Friday...

I hit the doors and decided I needed to go out.

C
lub Privé wasn’t
high on my list of places to go tonight.

I was feeling a little too rough to have the watchful eye of my best friend’s husband on me. Not to mention the best friend herself. As much as I adored Carrie and Gavin, they’d taken it upon themselves to look out for me every time I came in, and I didn’t need that. I could look out for myself.

What I needed was...

I sighed. What I needed was something I was beginning to think I could never have.

So I went to Leather and Laces. It wasn’t quite as upscale as Club Privé, but they played excellent music and looked out for their guests as well as Gavin did. I knew the guys who handled the doors too, and when they saw me approaching, they automatically waved me in, much to the disgust of the people waiting in line. I ignored them. Once upon a time, I’d been the one waiting in line. It was my turn to move ahead now.

The dark silver mini dress I wore stopped a few inches below my butt and I’d paired it with boots that came up a few inches over my knees, leaving only a couple inches of thigh bare in between.

I’d chosen a pair of platform boots for tonight since I didn’t know if I’d be staying here or going somewhere else, and I wasn’t overly thrilled at the idea of walking a lot in heels. The platform boots were a lot more comfortable and solid, and they still gave me three more inches. That might not have sounded like a lot, but to someone who barely hit five feet, any extra height was nice.

Inside the club, low lights pulsed in time to the music, and I breathed in the familiar scents that came with any sort of place like this. Sweat, perfume, soap. Sex. Here, there was also just a hint of leather since at least half the crowd was wearing it.

I let the rush of energy wash over me as I moved deeper inside and looked around. I hadn’t been to L&L in a few months, and while there were some familiar faces, more were unfamiliar. I wondered how many of the patrons had left for Club Privé when it'd reopened its doors.

Somebody bumped into me, and a hand followed to steady my hip. When the hand didn’t immediately fall away, I shifted my gaze over and stared levelly at a short – at least relatively speaking – rail-thin man who wore a leather vest and equally tight pants to match. I continued to stare until his hand fell away and then I continued my trek toward the dance floor.

One of the men caught my eye and a slow smile spread across his face even as his gaze dropped so that he was looking at me through his lashes.

I smiled back. Leather and Laces had private rooms in the back as well. They weren't as nice as the ones Gavin and Carrie had, but they were far better than some sleazy hotel.

I held out my hand and he came to me, his head bowed. He was average height, which meant I didn't have to strain to whisper in his ear.

“I'm Dena.”

“Edward.”

“Do you want to come with me?”

A shudder ran through him, and while that answered my question, I waited for him to nod before I turned and started for the back. He trailed after me, his fingers still twisted tightly in mine.

S
weat still dewed
my flesh as I pushed my skirt back down and adjusted my underwear. I hadn’t been able to climax, though not due to lack of trying on Edward's part.

I'd gotten him worked up first, trying to lose myself in his trust, in controlling his pleasure, but it hadn't worked. Well, it hadn't worked for me. He'd been practically shaking with need when I'd made him stretch out on the bed. I'd ridden his face, my desperation growing as his tongue and lips weren't able to get me off. When I'd finally rolled on the condom and lowered myself onto him, I'd resigned myself to leaving without being satisfied. I'd focused all of my attention then on making sure Edward found his release.

He moaned from beneath me, his eyes half-rolled back in his head. When I rose, he started to lift his hand. I caught it, squeezed, hoping he'd take the hint and not say anything. He smiled as he rolled onto his side. I brushed some of his dark hair back from his face, using the touch to make sure he was okay. Some subs needed extra aftercare, but we hadn't done anything particularly intense so I was thinking he'd be fine. When he nodded at me, I squeezed his hand again.

“I’ll take care of the room. Thank you.” I leaned down and kissed his cheek, leaving before he could ask me what was wrong.

I couldn’t tell him that I was miserable because nothing made me happy lately. It wasn’t his fault. I was pretty certain I’d given him what he needed, but it hadn’t done anything for me, and it wasn’t fair to him to make him think that any of this was his fault. Plenty of subs got pleasure from the actual submission and knowing it was arousing to their partner. Edward was one of those.

But I didn’t want anybody submitting to me right now.

I was tired of being in the driver’s seat. I just wanted an hour where I didn't have to think, didn't have to be in control. An hour where I could completely rely on someone else to take care of me.

When I stepped out of the hall, I was tempted to head for the door, go home and find my vibrator. If I closed my eyes and imagined really hard, I could make myself believe for a few minutes at least that somebody could give me what I needed.

Instead, I went to the dance floor.

I had to burn out this energy, and it looked like dancing was my only option. I threw myself into the music with sheer, reckless abandon, grateful to at least be able to shed the straight-laced image I wore most of the time.

A couple of hard-bodied, younger wannabes were there and they quickly surrounded me, keeping just enough space free that I didn't feel claustrophobic or threatened. I’d never be interested in joining any of them in a room, but for dancing? They looked like they could be a welcome distraction. When one of them came up behind me and lightly rested his hands on my hips, I let him.

If this was the only outlet I had, I was going to make the most of it.