Deceived (12 page)

“Yes. I’m here. What a tragedy. Lisa Smithfield. Such a beautiful, smart young woman.”

“She was researching spy scenarios in the World War II era, in particular the Morrissey treason case.”

“I’m aware of that.” He was silent for a few seconds. “If you don’t mind me asking, why are you interested in Lisa’s research?”

The heat was stifling. Taylor started to think that her midday walk wasn’t such a great idea. “Well, you know I’m wrapping up my work at the D.A.’s office, right?”

“Yes.”

“I covered a police interview yesterday for her case. Her research led her to the current-day Morrissey family,” she paused, “and she had contact with Brandon Morrissey, which led the police to ask him questions.”

“Now that is interesting. Is Morrissey a suspect?”

Taylor thought back to Joe’s statement to her last night.
Brandon didn’t do this, Taylor.
The lack of evidence supported Joe’s assessment, and, after being with Brandon yesterday evening, her intuition also told her that Brandon had no part in the murder. “No. He’s not a suspect. I was wondering, though, if her research could have been a factor in her death.”

Taylor stopped at a red pedestrian light. Lloyd asked, “Is that an angle that the police are pursuing?”

“I can’t speak for the police. I also no longer speak for the D.A.’s office. I’m just wondering. Lisa met with you, didn’t she?”

“Of course. As recently as a couple of weeks ago. I
am
an expert in the area. Some would say
the
expert in the area.”

“Well, did her research reveal anything new?”

Taylor received the green light, and walked across Poydras Street. “No,” Lloyd said. “Based upon the questions that she asked me, I don’t think that Lisa was anywhere close to breaking new ground.”

“Is there another professor in the history department I should speak with regarding the status of her research?”

“No one would be able to give you a better idea than me. She was really in the preliminary phase. She wasn’t scheduled to make a report until the fall. When we last spoke, it was only in general terms. As a matter of fact, I was encouraging Lisa to focus on other areas of interest.”

Taylor stopped walking. “Really? Why?”

He chuckled. “Well, she wasn’t covering new territory. I wrote it all before, Taylor. The facts about Morrissey’s treasonous activities are exactly as I wrote them, which is how the jury found them. Lisa was not going to uncover anything new. No matter how hard she tried. Now,” he paused, giving Taylor a moment to dwell on how pompous he sounded. “I have arrived at my destination. I don’t think that you should be troubling yourself with thoughts of murder. The police really need to get a handle on the crime in this city, and that’s the hard reality of it.” He paused. “On a lighter note, your father and I talked this morning, and you are slated to address the audience at Sunday night’s gala. Nothing too serious. Only a few casual remarks on behalf of the HBW families, from,” he paused, “the prettiest member.” Taylor flinched. Her father and his friends would never, ever stop patronizing her. No matter what she accomplished. Lloyd continued, “It will be an easy delivery. I’ll help you with the remarks, if you’d like. I don’t know if your father mentioned it to you?”

She shut her eyes in exasperation. Her father had left a message for her while she was at the police station, but she hadn’t returned his call. “No. He didn’t.”

“I’ll help you with a draft, so that we can tie in your remarks with the subject matter of the new wing.” Of course he’d help her, she thought. God forbid they’d trust her to get even a light-toned speech correct. “Why don’t we sit down tomorrow morning, after you’re through with the board meeting?”

She managed a curt, somewhat polite, “Sure.” Her phone rang before she dropped it back into her purse. Brandon’s voice was smooth and deep. “Good morning, Taylor.”

“It’s afternoon,” she corrected him before she could conceal her irritation, then said, “Sorry. Didn’t mean to snap.”

“No worries,” he said. “I talked to Marvin. I’m leaving a status conference in civil court, which puts me about a block from your office. Are you there?”

“No,” she said, “I’m on Magazine, six blocks from the World War II museum.”

“Want company?”

***

Brandon’s car glided to a halt at the nearest crosswalk. Taylor slipped into the passenger seat and eyed Brandon’s crisp white dress shirt, navy-blue pants, and red silk tie. His dark hair was neatly combed in a nod to the professional decorum of court. He was on the phone, talking to an associate about a discovery plan. As the air conditioner blew chilled air in her direction, she caught the subtle aroma of earthy cologne, without a hint of baby powder. She savored the scent, as the car’s audio system picked up the associate’s matter-of-fact questions. Brandon held up one finger. “Sorry,” he mouthed, “one minute more.”

He answered the associate’s questions and asked a few of his own. Something in the way he held his lips, as he thought through the questions, prompted memories of their late night kiss. With the touch of his lips, her entire body had sizzled. She’d fallen asleep thinking about the kiss and had awakened wanting another one. Her reaction confirmed her belief that she had to
just do it
.

When she was seventeen years old and had promised herself that she’d be a virgin until marriage, she hadn’t thought through how long it might take her to find someone to marry. She certainly hadn’t anticipated how it would feel to be twenty-seven years old with no marriage prospects in sight. As she, Andi, and Collette had figured out, now that she was out of law school, and had time on her hands, Taylor’s virginity was officially messing with her head. She needed to be done with it before she could have a normal life, one where she didn’t hope that every man was the right one. Andi had advised her to find a hot guy, have sex, and move on.

Just do it and move on.

Brandon could be a
just-do-it-and-move-on
candidate for her, because, from yesterday’s interrogation, Taylor knew that he treated sex as a casual pastime. From talking to Sandra Gaines, she knew he didn’t do relationships. There was no danger of her confusing the having-sex part with something more serious, because, even if she wanted something serious, Brandon wasn’t a candidate for a relationship. Her father would have a fit if she ever dated Brandon. His words as the Morrissey Minute aired one evening were unforgettable.
That bloodline should have been eradicated when his grandfather was convicted.

If last night’s kiss was any indication, Brandon knew what to do if she wanted to
just do it.
He broke the phone connection as her stomach twisted with the possibilities. She fastened her seat belt and tried hard to stop thinking about sex. His eyes lost some of their deep-from-within seriousness as he glanced at her ivory linen skirt, matching short-sleeved, bolero jacket, and high-heeled sandals. He did a visual trace of the lines of her jacket, which showed a small amount of collar-bone and a pearl choker. When his gaze rested on her hair, which she had styled in a French twist, Taylor lifted a hand to press stray hairs into place.

“Don’t bother. It’s perfect,” he paused, then looked again at her eyes. “Take off your sunglasses.”

“Why?”

“I can’t see your eyes,” he said, “so I can’t tell what you’re thinking. Your body language doesn’t reveal it. Your eyes do.”

She shook her head without touching her sunglasses. “A woman’s got to have some mystery.”

He gave her that face-transforming smile, the one that she’d caught a glimpse of the night before, the smile that took her breath away. With a lightning-fast movement he reached, pulled off her sunglasses, folded them, and handed them to her. “You have plenty enough.”

She laughed as she slipped the sunglasses into their case. “What Brandon Morrissey wants, he gets?”

His smile disappeared. Something close to weariness flashed through his eyes. “Not all the time.”

She held his gaze, remembered Sandra’s comments about the accident that had claimed his wife’s life, and realized that she had said something that was stupidly glib. He might not talk about the loss, and she guessed that he worked hard to conceal his feelings about it, but at this moment his pain was palpable. If it wasn’t his wife’s death that caused the pain, she knew that Lisa’s death was weighing on him, as well as his brother’s death. “Sorry. I know the answer to that is no.”

The rawness left his eyes. He re-armored himself with a serious gaze, then broke eye contact as he pulled his car on to the street. “Where are you headed?’’

“The World War II Museum.”

He glanced at her. “Really?”

“I was trying to avoid last-day lunches with coworkers. I figured that I’d go see what Lisa saw when she was there. Anyway, after the phone call that I had with Lloyd, I’m not hungry.” She told him what Lloyd had said, then added, “He was dismissive of Lisa’s efforts. I’m used to my father and his friends patronizing me. I thought, though, that as a professor, Lloyd would have treated a graduate student with a little more respect and not like a pompous old man who had written all that needed to be written on the subject.”

“If Lisa had uncovered something new,” Brandon said, “it would mean that the esteemed professor missed something all those years ago when he wrote the book on the years leading up to World War II. Wouldn’t it?”

Taylor hadn’t thought of that, but Brandon was right. “Yes, it would.”

“And given his close relationship with your family,” Brandon said, “you did say that he is a close family friend, right?”

“Yes.”

“Lloyd would not only have professional embarrassment; he’d lose credibility, and my gut tells me that he should lose a little. To come clean, I’m biased. I have a seven-year-old’s memories of his name, a general dislike of Lloyd Landrum, based on my father’s rants.”

“Well, Lloyd basically told me not to worry my pretty little head on such serious subjects as murder.”

He glanced at her and frowned. “Please tell me that you’re kidding.”

“Well, he didn’t use those words, but he told me not to worry in the same breath that he asked me to be eye-candy with a mouth at Sunday’s gala to celebrate the opening of the new wing of the museum. I’m giving a speech. Not a serious one, God forbid. A nice one. I’m tagged for it not because I’m articulate, or smart. I’m doing it because,” Taylor drew a deep breath, trying to keep her frustration in check, “as Lloyd says, I’m the prettiest member of the family. I aced law school. My father wanted me to be a business major and get my MBA, though, so anything I did in law school was a waste in his eyes. Does anyone even care that I worked night and day to be number one? Number one out of one hundred and thirty-five very bright people.”

Brandon stopped at a traffic light and gave her his full attention. She should stop her rant, she knew, but Brandon was giving her a sympathetic ear, and it felt good to unload.

“I’m not giving the speech because I’m more than capable of addressing this crowd of important people. I’m giving the speech because,” she said, “according to Lloyd, I’m pretty, and I’m sure my father thinks the exact same thing. Lloyd said that he’ll help me with my remarks. Evidently, I’m not smart enough to compose the words myself.”

The light turned green, and he directed his attention to driving. “Don’t be bothered by the fact that people are patronizing you. Part of it is the image that you project.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

He shrugged. “You don’t look brilliant. You’re too damn gorgeous and too put together, in a stylish way. You look like you care more about the latest fashion than anything serious.”

A slow simmer of anger burned a flush into her cheeks. The truth underlying his words made the day from hell worse. When he stopped at another traffic light, he glanced at her.

“Don’t get mad. Use it to your advantage. Look so good that you dazzle them, then kick them in the balls when they’re not looking. I don’t know how many juries you’ve been before, but I’d bet money that your track record is going to be a winning one. Men won’t focus on anything in the courtroom but you, which is a nightmare for opposing counsel. As long as you keep that rich girl prissiness in check…”

“Gee,” she interrupted, “thanks a bunch.”

“Hey. I’m only being honest. But, once they look into your eyes,” he said, pausing as he held her gaze, then slowing his words, “even women jurors will love you. They’ll want to wear what you’re wearing, or fix their hair like yours. It’s close,” he narrowed his eyes, studying her, “but I don’t think they’ll be jealous, because when you do speak, you do it with such conviction, it even makes me pause. Your eyes are so real. They’re a compelling reflection of all of your thoughts. You’d persuade them all, women and men, to do whatever you wanted them to do. I’d hire you for my firm in a flat second,” he gave her a smile, “but I don’t think you’ll be applying for a job.”

“Wow,” she said, momentarily at a loss as to how to respond to his honest assessment. “Thank you. I guess.”

“So why do you want to avoid last day lunches with co-workers?”

‘‘I think others believe I’m leaving to start a dream life, but I know I’m actually leaving my dream life. Given how down I am about leaving,” she paused, “the thought of polite, lunchtime chatter makes me ill. I’m not close enough with any of them to tell them the reality of how I feel about leaving this job. It’s hard to explain without sounding pathetic.”