Objection Overruled (8 page)

“How would you describe your relationship with him?” Her chin was tucked, and she stared at him under hooded eyes.

Brandon looked away and then directly at her. “How would I describe my relationship with him? How would you describe your relationship with me?”

Her eyes widened.

Brandon said, “What I mean is the answer to your question is subjective.”

“Have you or have you not remained friends with Robert Ashe?”

“I don’t have a relationship with Ashe,” Brandon barked at her and then ran his fingers through his hair.

“Let’s move on.” Jackie shuffled her papers. “If you would please turn your attention to exhibit twenty-three, which is the audit report of Marling Loomis accounting firm, performed as a part of the investigation of Ashe by the Securities and Exchange Commission five years ago.”

Brandon let out a breath. She was off his dark connection to Ashe but onto the scent of the case. Now the fun would begin.

Jackie attacked swiftly. “The auditors failed to issue a clean report of the Tufton Fund run by Ashe. The report states that no opinion as to the financial statements could be made because of lack of documentation. Isn’t it odd that for a fund the size of the Tufton Fund there would not be financial documentation?”

He knew the facts and parried with ease. “First, the Tufton Fund was an entirely different type of fund than that which the Kovels invested in. Second, the SEC failed to find any wrongdoing on the part of the Fund, its managers, or Ashe except for a minor issue regarding registration of securities.”

Pleased, he did his best to tamp down a victorious smile.

She took his bait, shooting rapid-fire questions relating to securities regulations and trading practices, far afield from the minefield of fraud.

Their minds danced around each other with the same ease their bodies had at El Matador. She had let him lead her supple body. Yet, when he least expected it, she had exerted her strength to push back on his lead, to challenge him to take her where he wanted to go.

“Mr. Marshfield, with the volume of trades Ashe allegedly made on behalf of his clients, was it feasible to execute all of those trades on the Chicago Board of Options Exchange?” She leaned into him, her lips barely parted, and her tongue glided over the bottom of her top teeth.

Any hesitation would give her reason to pursue. He casually responded, “That’s not the only exchange in the US. Many of the trades were done offshore. All of that is confirmed in the Boyers Report.”

She paused, set down her pen, and flipped her legal pad closed. She studied him intensely.

What was she looking for? In this case? In life? Why did it matter so much to him?

“Is something wrong, Mr. Marshfield?” She smiled at him. She must have gotten what she wanted. “I have no further questions.” With a swift move, she tucked her papers in her briefcase to signal she had dismissed him.

She rose and turned, every move efficient. As she left the conference room, Jackie shot him a closed-lipped smile. She coolly addressed Stone. “Gary, I don’t believe you produced the Boyers Report that Mr. Marshfield mentioned. Surely it was an oversight with the reams of paper you had to produce. Someone of your experience, your stature in the legal community, certainly wouldn’t purposefully deceive the court. I expect that on my desk by eight a.m. tomorrow morning.”

She took a step and then turned back again. “Oh, and if no one has any objections, once I get the Boyers Report, would Mr. Marshfield be so kind as to go through those details with me at my office? I’d also like him to review the Kovels’ and other plaintiffs’ records. Of course, you’re invited too, Gary, if you’re not too busy with another landmark case you’re supervising.”

She strode away, not waiting for a response from Brandon or Stone.

Stone turned to Brandon. “Follow me.”

He led Brandon down a hallway lined with modern watercolors of seascapes to a large corner office. Stone slammed the door behind him and spun around to face Brandon. His eyes were bulging and sweat shined on his forehead. “What the hell is the Boyers Report?”

“The Boyers Report was referred to by the other expert, just not by name, and only in passing,” Brandon explained slowly and quietly.

“Jesus Christ.” Stone slammed his hand against the wall. “Why am I just hearing about this? What kind of game does Ashe think he’s playing?”

“Look, settle down. There’s nothing in that report that hurts the case. In fact, the way I see it, those figures show the flow of funds, which actually supports Ashe’s claims that the investments were legit.”

“Are you sure about that?” Stone glared at him.

“Damned sure.”

“I hope you are, because more than this case depends upon how well you’ll convince a jury.” Stone walked to the window, where he rested his hands on the sill and stared out to the Inner Harbor view.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Stone looked back over his shoulder. His face was gray and worn, like an old sail beyond repair. Fear flitted in his eyes. “I thought you knew Ashe.”

Chapter Seven

Jackie didn’t know whether to be relieved to be out of the same room as Brandon or saddened. During that one night together, everything clicked. They understood each other. Physically, Greek gods found their match in Brandon’s body. Even better, he didn’t just have a great physique, he knew how to use it to pleasure her. Intellectually, he was a total stud. She loved that in a guy. His demonstration today in the deposition only turned her on more. Emotionally…being with Brandon had been the closest she’d come to letting herself go completely. Now, the smooth rhythm they’d enjoyed had turned into a jerky, grinding tension.

The elevator ride from the twenty-eighth floor to the lobby was uninterrupted but moved at a turtle’s pace. Once in the lobby, her heels click-clacked hollowly on the marble floor as she strode purposefully toward the main doors.

Stan, the building’s security guard, still trim and fit in his perfectly pressed uniform, sat perched at his station working a
Times
crossword, in ink surely. He glared at her. She knew that fierce drill-sergeant grimace. “Hey, North,” the old buzzard bellowed. “Get over here. Got something special for you.”

Stan pulled a white wax paper bag from under his desk and slid it across the granite surface.

“I hope that’s what I think it is.” Jackie’s mouth watered.

Stan’s eyes twinkled back at her as she opened the bag. The aroma swallowed her before she pulled out the perfectly crisp apple fritter. Almost every Friday morning for seven years, she and Stan had enjoyed an apple fritter and a cup of coffee while they debated the latest sports trade or game.

“I love you, Stan.”

The thin glaze melted where her fingertips touched the pastry. She held it delicately, like a precious work of art. Well, it
was
a work of art, after all.

Stan chuckled. “I love a woman who can appreciate a good fried roll.”

The sweet apple aroma calmed her nerves and took her back to slower, simpler days when she had read the Sunday comics and ate doughnuts. More expensive than the plain cake doughnuts, a fritter had been a special treat. It still was. The dough was light and airy on the inside with a crisp outside. No greasy residue hung to these beauties.

“Mmmmmm, that’s just what I needed. How did you know?”

“Oh, I talked to Marilyn when she dropped off your lunch. I was in late today—doctor’s appointment. I must have missed you when you came in this morning.”

“Doctor’s appointment? Is everything okay?” Stan had always been the operational definition of health. He had never gone to the doctor, as far as Jackie knew.

Stan hesitated. “Just fine, honey. So, are you kicking ass and taking names like I told you?”

“Stan. Something’s wrong. What it is? Tell me.” She looked him over, searching for clues. He appeared thinner than usual. Were his cheeks slightly sunken? His hands trembled. It had been too long since she’d paid him a visit. Busy with her own troubles, she’d forgotten about Stan, but he hadn’t forgotten her.

Stan took her hands in his. “Cancer, kiddo. Kidneys.”

“Oh, Stan.” Tears welled in Jackie’s eyes. Her throat tightened. She gripped his hands tight and choked back tears.

“Christ, don’t cry,” Stan barked. “You’re a boss lady now. Act like it.”

She hugged him. Despite her attempt to hold back emotions, she dabbed surreptitiously at her eyes to wipe away the signs of her failed attempt at stoicism. Stan did the same.

“Look, sweetheart, I’ve had a good life. A great life. I’ve got some time left, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to sit around and cry. So you better not either.” He wiped away a tear from her cheek with his thumb. “Now run along. And remember, I’m still available for undercover work, honey.”

The apple fritter turned into a lump in Jackie’s stomach on the walk back to her office. Why hadn’t she stopped by to see Stan more often in the last year? His wife had died five years ago, and they had never been able to have kids. She swore she wouldn’t let Stan die alone. Next week she’d bring him doughnuts and discuss how she could help. Sometimes, tossing around the “lawyer” label came in handy, especially with the medical community. God knew it had helped get her mom into a respectable facility.

Mom.

Jackie’s regular weekend visit had completely evaporated from her to-do list last week. She kicked herself but let a tiny sigh of relief escape. Seeing her mother exhausted her. Right now, Jackie didn’t have much left to give, and since her childhood, the only dynamic Jackie knew with her mom was to give, give, give. What would it be like to be taken care of?

Jackie squashed that desire before it could take root. She couldn’t afford that weakness. Couldn’t again face the loneliness that sprang from being left helpless.

Emptiness surged in her heart. Would she be like Stan? Single and without kids? Would she face the rest of her life alone?

A naked, laughing vision of Brandon Marshfield popped into her mind. His playful laugh kept ringing in her ears. No, she had to stop. He was the other side. The enemy. She wanted to trust him, but he worked for Ashe, a man she was convinced had bilked her elderly clients of their entire savings. And Brandon knew something too. He’d held back in his testimony.

Her cell phone vibrated in her pocket and interrupted her slide into anger.

“Jackie North,” she snapped.

“It’s Brandon.”

A tingle danced up and down her spine. What about his voice did that to her? “How did you get my number?”

His laugh sounded close and warm even over the phone. “It’s on your business card, which you gave me at the start of the deposition.”

She should probably hang up, but her guard had already slipped. She couldn’t bring herself to hit End on her phone. “We really shouldn’t be talking like this.”

“Ms. North, how do you know I’m not calling about arranging a time to go over your documents? Are you jumping to conclusions that I might have an ulterior motive?”

She rolled her eyes and smiled, secretly thrilled to hear his voice. “Touché. When do you want to meet?”

“Is now a good time?”

Over her cell phone, Jackie heard eagerness in his voice. She bit her lip. She’d planned to research her duties to the court relating to the fact she knew him. How would she handle being alone with him? “Now?”

“I’d rather spend the rest of the day with you on my sailboat making you my famous plum-glazed lamb chops, washing them down with a bottle of Shiraz, and then talking until our voices are raw or the sun comes up. And perhaps we’d find some time for something a little more physically challenging. As a consolation prize, though, I’ll settle for a pizza with you in your office reviewing documents.”

She frowned, trying to remember the rules taught in her law school ethics class about contact with an opposing party’s expert witness. The community of expert witnesses in the financial area was surprisingly small, tight-knit, and cordial. Having handled her share of cases involving securities violations, Jackie knew most of the hired guns in that field.

Experts commonly testified for a plaintiff in one case and a defendant in another. When a case finished, the attorneys and experts often met at the bar around the corner from the courthouse for a drink. After all, the experts’ duty or loyalty belonged to the court, even though one side paid their fees.

Unfortunately, she’d never heard of any rules regarding having sex with the opposing side’s expert. She wasn’t having sex with him now, however. She also knew that whatever it was she had with Brandon was more than just sex.

“Yo, lady, watch it,” a cab driver shouted at her when she stepped into traffic on Light Street. Someone grabbed her upper arm and pulled her back onto the sidewalk.

She swung her briefcase in an arc across her body and back into the person holding her.

“Hey, easy there.” Brandon deflected her bag’s blow.

“Brandon, what are you doing lurking back there?” Jackie pulled her cell phone from her ear and crossed her arms over her chest as if to hide from him her pounding heart. “Are you stalking me?”

He took a step back and raised his hands in mock admission of defeat, his phone still in one hand. He tilted his head impishly to the side. “You caught me. I surrender.”

Jackie couldn’t stop her stare. She just kept looking at him. His angular jaw, smooth at the beginning of the day, showed a slight stubble in a mosaic of reds, browns, and blonds. He remained impossibly cool looking in his suit even in the late-afternoon’s baking sun and suffocating humidity. The familiar electric shock in her spine traveled south, and wetness built between her legs. Her body had divorced itself from her mind, it seemed.

She shook her head in resignation. “Come on. At least you can walk next to me and not lurk in my shadow. My office is about a half mile away. Let me leave Gary a message that we’re meeting. I don’t want to be accused of doing anything behind his back.”

As they walked, Jackie placed a call to Fenton & Stone and spoke with the associate, Kevin. Gary was unavailable. What a surprise. As she’d suspected, and hoped, Kevin declined her offer to sit in on Brandon’s review of documents. Even though babysitting an expert was an easy way to rack up billable hours, he explained his calendar was full. She’d bet anything he was anxious to get home to his wife and kids. Trial prep must be taking its toll on him too.