Shattered Virtue (8 page)

“He probably wants to talk about that research assignment he handed you.”

“You’re probably right.”

Except she isn’t. When I arrive at Steele’s office, he has someone he wants me to meet. Charlie White. An ex-detective from the Metropolitan Police Department, now an investigator Steele uses for criminal law work.

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. White,” I say, taking a seat on Steele’s couch.

“Please. Call me Charlie.” He’s in his fifties, grizzled hair, chocolate-brown skin. Kind smile. He pulls out a spiral notebook and a pen. Guess he’s old-school. “Tell me the details of your parents’ deaths.”

“Very well.” I clasp my hands on my lap. “They were killed April 8, 2002.”

“Where?”

“In our home. My mother—”

Steele interrupts. “I told him about that, Madrigal. No need to go over it again.”

“Did they charge anyone, Ms. Berkeley?”

“Yes. Two handymen. They’d been doing work around the house. My mom was throwing a party and needed some things done—painting, sprucing up, that kind of thing.”

“Do you recall their names?”

They’re permanently etched in my memory. “Bill Johnson and Michael Haynes. They’d been working for North Dominion Handymen for maybe a month when my mother hired them. Both had records. The company was supposed to bond their employees, but it was their busy season, and they never got around to submitting their names to the bond company. So their references were never checked.”

“Were you home the night it happened?”

“No. A friend was having a birthday party. It was my first party with boys. I remember being very excited.”

“Were adults present at the party?” Steele asks.

“Of course. Her parents. No alcohol, no drugs, nothing the slightest bit out of line.” Except one boy had managed to kiss me. On the cheek. How strange. I’d blocked that out until now. “My friend invited three of her best friends to sleep over. We talked late into the night. It was the last happy thought I had in a while. The next morning, my grandfather showed up at the door. He’d aged ten years overnight. When he told me what happened, I fainted. For the next few days, I barely ate or slept, couldn’t deal with the funeral, with any of it. I insisted on seeing my mother, so they opened the casket. She’d been beaten so badly, I hardly recognized her. After the funeral, I escaped into my own world. Our family doctor recommended a program where I could stay until I healed. I didn’t leave there for an entire year. And the worst part was they kept Madison from me.”

“Who’s Madison?” Charlie asks.

“My sister. She was four at the time. I think Gramps was afraid to let her see me like that. I was almost catatonic.”

“How old is she now?”

“Sixteen. Just finished her junior year in high school. Wants to be a reporter.” A note of pride creeps into my voice, even though she’s a pain in the patootie most of the time.

“Was she in the house when it happened?”

“Yes. She slept through it all.”

“How can that be?”

“Our rooms were on the top floor on the other side.”

“Was anyone else in the house?”

“No. My father gave the night off to the staff, which consisted of our nanny, the butler, the cook, and the maids.”

“Why?”

“He did that every once in a while when he wanted private time with my mother. Madison and I usually spent those nights at my grandfather’s.”

“But this night your sister remained in the house.”

“Yes. Gramps had scheduled a business trip, so Maddy stayed.”

“Did it happen often, the private time?”

“About once a month or so. They loved each other, Mr. White.”

“Charlie.”

“Charlie. The day after their private time, I’d catch their secret glances. Whatever they did, they enjoyed it very much.”

“Were the two handymen charged with the crime?”

“Yes.” I rattle off the same story I told Steele.

“So they got off because their Miranda rights were violated?”

I toss back my head. “I know what you’re going to say, Charlie. They can’t be tried again. But what happened that night has haunted me for years.”

The nice, friendly investigator morphs into an eagle-eyed detective as his gaze drills into me. “Ms. Berkeley, I’ve worked many murders, both as a cop and a PI. Things aren’t always what they appear to be. Are you ready for that?”

For a second, I hesitate. “I need to know the truth no matter how much it hurts.”

After another scrutiny, Charlie nods and closes his notebook. “Thank you, Ms. Berkeley. I know that was hard for you. I have enough for now.”

“When can I expect something?” I ask.

“In about a week.”

I debate telling him about Madison discovering the newspaper photos, but decide against it. I did promise I wouldn’t tell anyone. And Charlie has his own resources, after all.

Rising, I say, “Thank you, Charlie. I really appreciate you doing this. I’ll be glad to pay an advance for your expenses.”

“No need, Miss. He’s got it covered.” He thumbs toward Steele.

I dart a glance at Steele. Paying for the investigation into my parents’ murders is not his responsibility. “I thank you, but no.”

Ignoring me, Trenton stands up. “Good-bye, Charlie, and thanks,” he says, whisking the investigator out the door.

“Sure thing.”

I wait until he closes the door before I object. “You can’t pay for this. It’s my investigation.”

Thrusting his hands into his pockets, he glances at the floor for a couple of heartbeats. When his gaze finds me again, he says, “It will be expensive. Several thousand dollars’ worth.”

“That much?” Gramps has always kept me on a tight leash. My school expenses were paid by him—tuition, books, dorm fees in college, and my half of the house rental I shared with a friend at law school. Other than that, he regularly deposits an allowance into my checking account. It’s not much, a couple hundred a month. Everything else gets charged to an American Express card he gave me.

“Yes.”

I twist my mouth. “I don’t suppose he’d take a rain check.”

Steele laughs. “No. With Charlie, money talks, everything else walks.”

“I have money in a trust,” I say hopefully.

“You have access to the money?”

“Not until I turn twenty-five.”

“Who manages it?”

“Gramps and one other person.”

“Then you can’t get your hands on it without them knowing about it. When will you turn twenty-five?”

“September.”

He advances right into my personal space and cups my chin. “Let me pay Charlie’s expenses for now. Out of my pocket, not the firm’s. You can reimburse me when you gain control of the money in your trust.”

“I shouldn’t allow you to do that,” I say, even though I know there’s no other way.

“Yes, you can. Call it a loan. Pay me interest if you wish.”

“Fine. I’m not happy with it. But fine.”

“Now, about that research assignment.” He takes a seat behind his desk and goes over the task he handed me. I answer his questions as best I can, all the time worried about how deep I’m getting in with him. I not only had sex with him, but I’m allowing him to pay for the investigation into my parents’ murders. But if I want to get to the truth, what choice do I have?

CHAPTER 13

Trenton

Needing to keep up the charade that my only interest in Madrigal is as an intern, I’d asked her last week to research an obscure point of law. The work will keep her busy for the next month and stop Joss Stanton from poking into my dealings with her—like she did with the Raleigh expense account. I’d discovered her subterfuge when I noted charges for two rooms on my credit card. After calling the motel, I found out she’d asked the manager to do just that. So she knows Madrigal and I shared a room. She never asked me about it, but she probably discussed it with Madrigal. As close as she is to Holden, she probably warned Madrigal about me.

But Madrigal obviously didn’t reveal we slept together. If she had, I’d have been kicked out of the firm this last week. Holden might let some things slide, like a partner imbibing too much on the job, but my sleeping with his granddaughter would not be one of them.

So why do I burn to do it all over again? She’s toxic to my career, to whatever sense of honor I still possess. And yet I can’t stop thinking about her sweetness, her heat, and the most glorious night of sex I’ve ever had. I’ve never fucked a woman like Madrigal. One who trembled in my arms as she whispered that one word.

Please.

If she intended for me to stop, that wasn’t happening, not after I’d inhaled her exquisite scent, tasted the intoxicating flavor of her skin. And definitely not after I’d buried my cock balls deep in her heat. Christ. I’d been a right bastard that night, taking advantage of her fear, fucking her for my own pleasure, and barely ensuring she got hers in return. Best thing I can do is stay away from her. For the night. For the rest of the summer. Except—

I can’t.

I take the elevator up to the fourth floor, which houses the law firm’s library, where she’s busy researching that esoteric point of law I assigned her, and find her hunched over a law text typing notes into her laptop.

“Still at it?” I ask.

Her head jerks up. She looks around, but there is no one else in the library. We’re quite alone. “Mr. Steele.”

Doesn’t seem right for her to address me by my last name, not after what we shared. But it’s best this way. All the summer law clerks refer to their bosses by their surname as a sign of respect. For her to start calling me Trenton would raise suspicion. And that’s something I can’t have. For her sake. For mine.

“Hungry?” I ask.

She blinks. “A little.”

“I ordered a pizza. Should be here any second. Care to join me?” Just as I say this my cell rings. It’s the delivery guy from Vinnie’s Pizzeria around the corner.

After arranging to meet him downstairs, I wave the phone at her. “Food’s here. Why don’t you wrap up things and head to my office.”

She glances once more around the empty library. “Are you sure that’s wise?” she asks sotto voce.

No. I’m not sure at all. But I could care less about the wisdom of the thing. “It’s just pizza, Madrigal.”

On the way back from the lobby, I stop at the floor kitchen and grab plates, napkins, and a couple of water bottles from the refrigerator. When I arrive at my office, she’s seated across my desk, waiting for me.

“I usually eat there.” I point to the sitting area on the far side of my space where a couple of chairs, a coffee table, and a couch are located.

“Oh.” She scoots over and parks herself in one of the chairs.

Sliding the pizza box in front of her, I say, “Hope you like anchovies.”

Her face is a study in horror. “Not really.”

“Good. Neither do I.” I grin at her. She’d looked so serious, I couldn’t help but try to lighten her mood. “It’s just cheese and pepperoni.”

Her smile lights up her face. “You like to tease.”

The memory of her delectable body beneath me floods my mind. “I like to do a lot of things.”

Predictably, she blushes. She’d tasted so sweet. It’s wrong for me to want her this much. I only fuck experienced women who know the score. And she’s definitely not that. She was made for soft kisses, dancing in the moonlight, and two dozen roses on her birthday. Not for raw, pounding sex with a cold good-bye at the end.

“How’s your research going?” I ask.

She bites into a slice of the thick, gooey pizza while silently studying me. “Do you really want to know?”

The question surprises me. It’s an inquiry she should expect from her boss, which technically I am. “Yes.”

She takes her time chewing and wipes a bit of cheese from her lip before she answers. “You assigned it to keep me busy.”

True. “That wasn’t the only reason. I really desire your opinion.”

She shrugs. “Illegal consent is pretty basic stuff.”

“But the facts of the case I handed you are not. The so-called victim is arguing she did not give consent to sex because she was too intoxicated. She’s right. But in this case, the alleged perpetrator was drunk as well. Can it be argued that he did not have the requisite intent to rape this woman since he was mentally incapacitated by alcohol?”

“You can argue that. But you’d be wrong. If he voluntarily drank enough alcohol to get drunk and then had sex without the woman’s consent, it would be illegal.”

“What if he wasn’t drinking alcohol and someone slipped him something? And what if the roles are reversed? The woman raped the man. What then?”

“The law is very murky on those issues. Why did you assign this question to me?”

“Because I want you to become familiar with all the issues surrounding illegal consent. It will surely be used to defend individuals when you work as a prosecutor. The more cases you read and research, the better prepared you will be when you prosecute an individual charged with rape.”

As I speak, her eyes widen with surprise, and she clutches her hands on her lap. “I thought you’d done it for an entirely different reason.”

“No, Ms. Berkeley. My only goal in handing you that assignment was to prepare you for your professional career.”

“Thank you.” We’ve polished off the pizza, and all that’s left is the empty box and paper plates. She stands, gathers the remains. “I’ll take these to the kitchen.”

“Fine.” While waiting for her return, I plan my next move. She’s had a long day, so the least I can do is offer her a ride home. Well, aren’t I the Good Samaritan? Having reached that momentous decision, I gather the documents I need to take with me—a brief we’re filing on appeal, an article a colleague has asked me to review—and stuff them into my briefcase.

By the time she returns, I’m ready to head out.

“Well, thank you for dinner. I better be going,” she says.

I’m not ready to let her go. I’m not finished with her yet. “How are you getting home?” I stuff my hands into my pockets hoping the question comes across as a casual inquiry.

“Taxi.”

Perfect opening. “The firm’s sedan service will take a while to send a car.” I wave my hand at my briefcase. “I’m ready to head out. I’ll drive you.”

“Your place is in Crystal City just over the 14th Street Bridge. Mine’s in Loudoun County an hour away.”

Interesting. “How do you know where I live?”

“I—I looked it up.” When she tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, the memory of me wrapping my hand around her dark curls while I fucked her drifts into my mind.

“Did you?” My voice has gone husky. What is it about her that makes me hard? Getting involved with her is reckless. And I’m not a reckless man. I calculate my actions and possible consequences and act only when I’m sure of a safe outcome. Fucking Holden’s granddaughter is beyond dangerous. He might look the other way at my dalliances, but not when it involves his pride and joy. But my cock’s not listening. All it wants is to sink into her. “Why?”

“I wanted to know where you lived.”

“Planning a visit?” I flash her a smile.

“No. I—”

Her cheeks turn a gorgeous shade of pink. She’s lovely, truly lovely. “That’s not what I meant,” she chokes out.

“Methinks the lady doth protest too much.”

“I’m tired. It’s been a long day. I better go.”

I’m standing closer to the door. With no conscious thought, I reach out and shut it.

“I need to leave,” she whispers.

“Not just yet.” In one move, I pull her to me, tunnel my hand through her hair, and tilt her head to just how I want it. Hungry for the taste of her, I devour her mouth. She struggles for barely a second before she surrenders. Our tongues tangle, our lips suckle each other’s. My hand goes to the zipper of her skirt.

She pushes back. “No. We can’t.”

We stare at each other, both of us breathing hard, wanting the same thing.

“We can’t,” she says again. “Not here.”

Damn it. She’s right. “Very well. I’ll drive you home.”

“But.”

I lay a finger over her lips. “No but.”

Her mouth curls in disapproval, but then one single word comes out. “Fine.” It’s followed by, “But we can’t leave at the same time.”

I clench my jaw. So she doesn’t want us to be seen together. Very well. “Go back to your office and grab your things. Take the elevator to the lobby and walk down the east staircase to parking level C. I’ll be waiting at the bottom of the stairwell for you.” A dark spot where no one will see what I have planned for her.