Hard Case (Hard as Nails #2) (14 page)

I have to face it. Slate Rawlings is a good man.

I click NEXT at the bottom of the screen, taking me to the next page of results. The first few links are repeats of some of the headlines from the previous page, but about half way down, I start getting into the dirt.

“Criminal Defense Attorney’s Success Due to Mob Connection.”

“Slate Rawlings: Still an Outlaw.”

“Smoke and Mirrors: Rawlings and Ethics.”

“Local Attorney Keeps Criminals on the Street.”

“Rawlings’ Mob Money.”

“Mob Law, Slate Rawlings.”

“We Deserve a Clean Slate.”

The headlines on the second page seem to confirm what I suspect. I’m not the only person suspicious of Slate’s connections with the criminal underworld.

I grab a glass of wine from Slate’s kitchen and start digging through the headlines. I start with the first dirty headline on the page, the one alleging his success is due to his mob connections, and keep reading from there. My only conclusion is many people are upset, and understandably so, because Slate is a damn good, nearly unflappable lawyer who has been hired to represent people suspected of pretty heinous offenses. He is nearly undefeated.

Many articles infer that Slate’s connection with his clients goes beyond legal representation. They suggest he’s been involved in criminal activities himself.

“He’s a defense attorney, for crying out loud,” I shout at my computer screen, at the lifeless text filling the page in front of me. “Of course he’s going to defend people accused of crimes. That’s the definition of what he does.”

So far, the only dirt I’ve found has been dirt on his critics. There are people who think he shouldn’t be allowed to practice law because he defends too many allegedly “known” criminals. His track record has been investigated on several occasions. He can’t represent someone without being accused of being an accomplice in whatever crime was allegedly committed.

So far, there is nothing damning in any of the articles I’ve found. I guess that should be comforting. He’s good enough to get criticized for being too good. That’s definitely the guy I want in my corner when I go to trial.

I don’t know why people can’t accept that he’s good at what he does. Everyone wants a good defense attorney when it’s time to go to trial, but as soon as the other guy gets a good lawyer, he must be shady. He must win because he’s up to no good. It’s certainly not because he really is that good. In Slate’s case, it seems to be because he is good.

I’m sorry I doubted him, but I’m glad I looked him up to get some reassurance I’m in good hands with him.

I close the search window and shut my computer down. I leave it on the dining room table plugged in. When I walk into the living room, I notice it’s getting dark, and Slate’s still in his office. I grab a sandwich to eat for a light dinner.

The lights outside have come on, so I take my last glass of wine outside and wait for him on the patio. I watch the light dance off the water of his pool, and I realize I have yet to put on a swimsuit and dive in. I make a mental note to get him to take me shopping for one soon.

I finish my wine, and he still hasn’t shown up, so I bring my laptop into the living room and turn on his TV. I scroll through the menus until I find the digital movie library he has connected to it. He was right; he has a ton of movies digitally linked to his TV. I scroll through and find
Gatsby
, the latest adaptation of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s book,
The Great Gatsby
. I get up and cut off all the inside lights. Then, I pull down the blinds in the TV room.

In an effort to stay awake until Slate is done working, I start the movie. I want to be able to talk to him about my case. I know he’s working on it at the office, and after everything I’ve read, I’m curious to see what he’s got.

* * *

Slate

When I’m done working for the day, I see the distinct glow of the TV in the back sitting room. I can’t wait to see Rose again, and dread grows in my stomach as I remember King’s threats. It’s not like Rose to cut off all the lights and fall asleep watching a movie. Normally, she just goes to bed. I proceed slowly to the back room, my hand on the gun at my side, ready to pull it out if I need to. I peek around the corner, ready to see whatever’s waiting for me.

Rose is sitting in the middle of the couch with her legs folded underneath her, watching
Gatsby
. She turns and waves at me.

I walk up to her and sit on the couch beside her.

“I’ve missed you,” she says.

“I missed you, too,” I reply, amazed at how easily I can say it. This woman has changed me. She’s broken through my outer wall and burrowed her way inside me in less than a week, and the crazy thing, I feel more like myself with her there than I have in a long, long time. “Are you okay?”

She picks up the remote control and stops the movie.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I wanted to talk to you.”

I cock an eyebrow and glance at her laptop. “You been doing research?”

“You have no idea,” Rose says. “I have so many questions now. Have you had any luck finding out who was after Josh?”

“It’s possible his alcoholism inspired a certain level of paranoia, but after having someone shoot at us at your house, I think it’s safe to say he had a particular someone in mind when he tried to tell you someone was after him. I just can’t crack their identity.”

“What good would it do to track down who it was?” she asks.

“I can drag them into it and turn the attention away from you. I can also let you be the one to give out their name. It’ll give you a bargaining tool so you can get a deal on the table if you can promise them a name or some other detail leading authorities to the men who were after your husband. They obviously contributed to what happened by putting a strain on your husband’s state of mind, so I really want to find out who they are.”

“Wow. I haven’t thought about it that way,” she admits.

“That’s why I’m here,” I say. “But Rose, according to the reports I’ve studied, you stayed with Josh for quite a long time, putting up with what had to be erratic behavior. What happened that made you file for a separation?”

I’m hoping her husband hadn’t hurt her. Because if he had, I’d be tempted to dig up his body and shoot it several more times.

She must see my emotions on my face, because she looks away.

“Rose, tell me.”

“It wasn’t too bad. But he did hit me.”

My body tenses as I imagine a man, any man, striking this beautiful woman. Memories from my past flash through my mind, memories of my father hitting my mother, and I find my fists clenching. It’s lucky for Josh Carter that he’s already dead, because I’m of a mind to make him suffer right about now.

She shrugs. “I’d been willing to stick by him up to that point, or at least I was trying. But I’m nobody’s punching bag. I called the police and had him taken away.”

“I’m glad. But he obviously didn’t stay away because you had to get a restraining order.” I’m not having the discussion as her lawyer. I’m having it because I suddenly realized she probably needs to talk about it. She needs to talk to someone who cares about
her
, not just the outcome of a legal case. Hell, I don’t even know if she has anyone else to talk to besides me. I don’t think she does. At least not family. But she hasn’t talked about any friends, and I’m suddenly curious about that. She must have tons of them.

“He kept calling after I filed for the separation, and he refused to stay gone from the house like he was supposed to. Plus, with all of his talk about how someone was coming after me, I used that as evidence of threats or threatening behavior to get the restraining order filed. That way, if he tried to contact me or come by, he’d be arrested.”

“But, when he did come by, you didn’t call the cops until after, right?” I ask.

“Right. He broke into the house with a gun. What the hell was I supposed to do?”

“And you went out to get a gun because you felt threatened. Is that right?”

“Right. It’s why I quit my job. Why I dropped all my friendships. I didn’t want anyone getting hurt because of me.”

I nod, realizing I should have made the connection myself. Rose would never want to sacrifice someone else’s safety. I wish the police or her friends or someone had been able to see how much she needed protection and hadn’t left her to fend for herself. I understand the limitation of the system, but it kills me to know I almost lost the chance to meet her and didn’t even know it at the time. If she hadn’t pulled the trigger, we wouldn’t be sitting here right now. Had he fired and killed her, I wouldn’t know what I’d be missing.

A wave of emotion rushes over me. “I think we’re done for the night, sweet Rose. I need to go to bed. Are you coming?”

“Sure,” she says. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I lie to her. I don’t know how to admit to her what I’m feeling right now. I would rather hold her in bed and know she’s really here with me. I don’t want to talk about it. “Come to bed,” I say as I get up and walk upstairs. A few moments later, I hear her following.

It’s my job now to keep her safe and make sure she remains free. I can’t let her down like the last guy did.

Chapter Sixteen

Rose

I catch up to Slate as he ascends the stairs. I take hold of his hand, letting him lead me to his bedroom. His fingers gently grip mine, squeezing ever so slightly to let me know he appreciates the contact.

When we reach his bed, he doesn’t say anything. He just pulls me to him and takes my face in both hands and kisses me. I unbutton his shirt, pull the tails from his waistband, then push it over his shoulders and down to the floor. God, the sight of his naked, muscular chest makes my knees go week. Unable to resist touching him, I slide my hands down the toned muscles in his arms.

He kisses me again and again, our lips meeting slowly, tenderly even as he undresses me, leaving me standing in front of him in just my black lace bra and panties. His hands slide over my shoulders, his touch gentle and sweet. He hooks his fingers under my bra straps and pushes them off, letting them dangle from my arms.

His lips meet my skin, planting such soft, loving kisses on my shoulders while he unhooks the clasp on the front of my bra and releases my breasts into his hands. At his touch, my breath suddenly grows deeper, more measured.

There is no rush. His touch is relaxed. He is being gentle, but the sensation he inspires is intense.

His kisses move slowly over my body as he sinks down onto his knees in front of me, his lips moving down over my breasts and to my stomach. For a brief moment, I feel self-conscious in front of him. I’ve been exposed to him before, but as his hands move to my back and slide down to my waist, I feel vulnerable, not just naked.

He’s touching more than my flesh this time, and he’s doing it deliberately. I can tell his movements are deliberate, meant to steal my breath and make my heart swell with emotion.

Slate kisses me through the thin layer of lace separating his lips from the delicate skin between my legs. My body trembles when his fingers wrap themselves around the waist of my panties and he pulls them down slowly. At his encouragement, I step out of them and climb onto the bed.

He stands over me and finishes undressing. My body aches and I’m so wet for him it’s embarrassing. He opens his belt and his pants, and for an instant, I imagine him climbing on top of me with his clothes still on, pulling himself out of his boxers and taking me on his bed in a single, quick, furious moment of passion.

But he doesn’t do that. He slides his pants and shorts down, exposing himself briefly before he takes himself in hand and gives his cock a couple of good, slow strokes. I moan, and he smiles, then climbs onto the bed, his body overshadowing mine.

I pull my legs up and spread my knees to accept him. The head of his cock brushes against my core as he glides over me. He plants his hands firmly into the sheets on either side of my body. I feel pinned in place underneath him, and it’s as if my body is a piece of property and he just staked his claim.

I rock my hips, sliding my pussy across the tip of his manhood, teasing both of us with the folds of skin in my slit. I place my hands lightly on his sides, then touch him more urgently when he doesn’t move. I guide him up, sliding him into me.

My flesh parts and accepts him as his length passes through my entrance.

We stare at one another as he takes me with long, measured strokes. Each time he fills me, I suck my breath in through my teeth. Then, as he glides out of me, I moan.

“Is that good, baby?” he asks, his voice as gentle as his strokes.

I nod, biting my lip as he continues to slide himself into me.

“That’s good. I want you to feel good. I’m here to take care of you.” He brushes my hair back from my face and slides his hand down behind my head, leaning down closer.

His firm chest brushes against my nipples, sending sharp jolts of pleasure through me, combining with the pressure his girth is putting on my walls. My muscles twitch around him, clenching and releasing as he enters and pulls back. Before too long, he’s not quite as slow. Not quite as gentle. He pumps faster, and I rock my hips against his thrusts, crying out each time he brushes against my clitoris.