Hard Case (Hard as Nails #2) (7 page)

I sit up and swing my legs off the bed as I shake my head.

Last night had been purely physical, and purely opportunistic. Slate had made that clear when he’d explained he didn’t want anything but sex from me.

I can’t believe I allowed it to happen. I can’t believe I instigated it.

But part of me knows if given the chance, I’d probably do it again.

I push myself off the bed and trudge into the bathroom to wash the guilt and shame away with a hot shower.

* * *

I get out of the shower feeling refreshed, and I pull clean clothes out of the wreckage of my luggage on the floor. I stand in the glass doorway to my balcony as I get dressed. I go with jeans and a tank top. Slate has seen me mostly naked, so there is no need to hide myself from him, but I need to be ready to go in case there is anything we have to do for my case.

On my way down the stairs, I vow to keep things professional between us. We were horny. We fucked. End of story.

From now on, I am his client, and he is my lawyer.

Nothing more.

I hear voices from the TV in one of the rooms off to the side, filling the open space of the living room. The sound reverberates to the point where any details are lost. I follow the sound into the TV room, which is carpeted, unlike the majority of the downstairs.

Slate sits in a small leather recliner in front of the large flat screen TV. He’s wearing a dark blue button-up shirt with gray slacks. His black undershirt peeks out of his open collar as I walk past him to the small black leather couch along the wall.

He reaches for the remote control to turn off the TV as the picture of me from my school’s website comes up.

“No,” I tell him. “I want to see it.”

Without changing his expression, he lets the TV stay on, but he doesn’t put the remote down.

“Local kindergarten teacher, Rose Carter, is suspected of murdering her husband about a week ago. Our sources tell us she is currently out on bail and under the radar. Attempts to reach her for comment on this story have turned up nothing. No one knows where she is, and if anyone does, no one is talking. Her defense attorney, local hotshot lawyer Slate Rawlings, has also neglected to return our calls,” the news reporter says.

“That’s my house,” I say as the newscast switches to a shot of my ransacked split-level dream home.

“Police are also investigating vandalism at Ms. Carter’s home, where someone broke in, completely trashed the inside, and, according a police report filed by Mr. Rawlings, even shot at him and Ms. Carter when they stopped by to gather her things. It was in this home behind me where it is believed Ms. Carter fired two shots at close range into her husband’s chest. Josh Carter was pronounced dead at the scene.”

The report doesn’t stop there. The shot changes again, this time to the principal’s office at the school where I worked. Mr. Davenport, the principal, stands in the hallway in his faded tan-gold suit and tie. He looks like the reporter stopped him for a quick sound bite while he was on the way to do something else.

“We are saddened by the news we’re hearing about Ms. Carter. She was an outstanding member of our faculty, and we fully believe she was acting in self-defense when she shot her husband. The whole reason she walked away from her position here was because her husband was stalking her. We will be following the case as it unfolds and giving her our full support,” Mr. Davenport tells the reporter.

“So, you’d let her return here? Even before she’s acquitted? A suspected murderer. Around kindergarten children.”

My principal throws on the tone all teachers have that puts the listener in their place and leaves no room for questions. “Regardless of what you’re trying to suggest, Rose Carter is not a danger. However, as I said, she stepped down from her position here. I have no idea whether she’ll wish to return. If she does, the school board will be making a decision. Now, if that is all, I’ve got a school to run, and I’m missing one of my best teachers.”

The reporter turns to the camera as Mr. Davenport walks away, and Slate cuts the TV off. “That’s all I can take,” he says.

“That wasn’t so bad,” I tell him. “It was a lot nicer than what I expected to see on the news.”

“The reporter was behaving. Once he gets his teeth into any information, he’ll eat you alive and have the whole city thinking you did it in cold blood because of some drug connection you and your husband shared,” Slate explains, getting up from the chair and walking out of the room with a disgusted look on his face.

I follow him into the kitchen. I wonder how much of his reaction is genuinely based on the news report we watched and how much is based on what happened between us last night. I suppose now isn’t the best time to ask.

He fixes me a simple breakfast of eggs and toast, but even simple made by Slate is somehow classy. As we eat, I study him more closely. He looks tired. I want to say something about last night, but I don’t know what. Part of me wants us to put it behind us so we can get down to work. Part of me wants to jump in and sleep with him again.

I opt for getting down to business.

“So, Slate. How does this work?”

“How does what work?”

My stomach turns into a ball of ice. He probably thinks I’m talking about
us
and not my case.

“This,” I repeat myself. “My case, I mean.”

“Oh, that.” He
had been
thinking I meant us. “I had my people digging up information on your husband and now I have a pile of paperwork to go through. When I’m done, you and I need to sit down to go over things.”

“Why not do that now?”

“It’s better to wait until I’ve reviewed everything. That way, I’ll know what questions to ask.”

“Oh. Right.”

“I know your anxious, but there’s no rush. Your first court date isn’t for a month, and that’s if everyone is ready to go by then.”

Slate talks about it like it’s nothing, and I have to remember this is the world I’m in now. My world of parent-teacher conferences, lesson plans, and staff meetings is gone. I’m in a world full of shady characters now, and the rules are very different here.

“I’m sorry. This isn’t normal for me,” I tell him.

“I understand. I’ll take care of you, and I’ll take care of your case. You’ll be fine.”

He keeps saying that, and he sound like he means it, but I can’t shake the feeling he’s hiding something from me. “Realistically, Slate, what am I looking at?”

“Rose, a lot of people who find themselves in similar situations have a lot of the same questions you do the first time—”

“The first time, huh? Is there always a second time?”

“For criminals,” he answers. “Not always for people like you who find themselves in a bad situation,” he explains. “As I was saying, I know you have a lot of questions, but please let me go over what I need to before we talk everything out. In the meantime, take advantage of my humble abode to relax and take a break. You’ve earned it.”

“I’m not used to relaxing in luxury. I’m used to working. I miss working.”

“I can see why. Your boss seemed to genuinely respect you.”

I smile. “Mr. Davenport is a great guy. He really cares about the teachers and the students at our school.”

“You don’t just miss working, do you? You miss them.”

“My colleagues and students? Yeah, I miss them, especially my students. I guess they’ll be the closest I’ll get to having kids of my own.”

“Why do you say that?”

Why indeed. I hadn’t meant to say it. It had just popped out of my mouth. But now that I’d gone down that road…

I shrug. “I’m done with men. I mean, for anything other than…you know.”

I blush furiously, but he merely nods. “Go on.”

“Well, who the hell is going to want to date or marry the crazy lady who shot her husband? And why in the hell would I ever trust anyone again when the man I thought would never hurt me was ready to kill me?”

“Don’t count yourself out because of what someone else did. He made his choices, and now you don’t have to live with them anymore.”

“No, but I have to live with
my
choice. My choice to pull the trigger.”

“In self-defense.”

I shrug again. “Self-defense or not, he wasn’t right in the head. Either that, or he was on something. He wasn’t the Josh I knew. But I killed Josh all the same.”

He lifts my chin so I’m forced to look at him. His eyes are dark, his expression intense. “You did what you had to do to survive, Rose. And I’m so glad you did. No matter what you think now, you’re not a woman meant to live alone. You’ll find a good man one day. One who’ll make you happy and give you children.”

I smile wryly. “You sound so confident, Slate, you almost make me believe it. You really must be one hell of a lawyer.”

He smiles back at me. “I’m indeed the best, Rose. And I’m going to prove it to you.”

Chapter Nine

Rose

For the rest of the day, I find myself trying to occupy my time while Slate works in his downstairs study. He’s working from home because he doesn’t want to leave me unprotected.

I’m grateful for that.

But I’m also bored out of my mind.

I spend the day wandering the house and exploring the many rooms he has, which seems like a lot more than he should realistically have in this house.

Separate from his study, there is a library filled wall to wall with books. The shelves reach from the floor to the ceiling. There are a good many law books in there, as is to be expected, but he has a lot of other books, too. There are a lot of history books, and a lot of fiction. I haven’t looked at everything in there yet. I hope to have the chance to eventually look over every title he owns.

I take a walk outside, sip wine by the pool, watch TV, read, and try to find distractions to keep my thoughts from drifting back to my husband, our separation, and the night I shot him.

Slate’s property is lined by a stucco wall that matches his home. There is an automatic gate at the front of the property, and the wall stretches completely around the house, creating a distinct perimeter around the property and contributing to the illusion of safety he has so tirelessly tried to create for me here.

When I arrived yesterday, the house was a little overwhelming. It felt like too much for any one person to take in, but already I’ve grown accustomed to the space and the variety of rooms he has set up. He has enough to keep anyone occupied, and I wonder how many people he has brought to the house. I wonder if I’m the only client he’s housed during their trial. I get the feeling I’m not the first person he’s had to put up while handling their case or while helping them get back on their feet.

Then, I also catch myself wondering if I’m the only woman among those clients.

It’s bad enough my mind wanders daily back to my husband and how much this house reminds me of him. He would have loved it. This is the kind of house he’d wanted to purchase when we were married but we’d never been able to afford it.

What’s worse is I’m picturing myself as just one of many women who’s been in this house.

In Slate’s bed.

* * *

Slate

I’ve spent the day poring over public records on Rose and her husband. I have copies of police reports I’m sure she knows nothing about. It’s all complaints and reports on her husband’s behavior over the last year or so. It paints a very thorough picture for me of what he’d fallen into.

I also have copies of her legal separation paperwork and the restraining order she took out on him. These papers will help me present her as the victim in all of this. My goal is to get her off with as little hassle from the court as possible. I want to see her walk out of the courtroom a free woman and go back to work as a teacher.

I firmly believe, after everything I’ve found, she really has no idea of what her husband was up to behind her back. Should I present her with the information I have when we sit down to talk? Part of me wants to keep it from her, so in a few weeks she can walk into the courtroom completely ignorant of what he was up to. That way she’ll also have the benefit of plausible deniability. At the same time, I don’t want her to have to deal with the shock of learning his story in front of everyone.

I decide I’m going to just see how it all pans out before then. If his secret life comes up, I will have to let her know. If not, I may neglect to mention anything I’ve learned.

He has quite a list of offenses to his name. All minor, of course, but the progression shows a man caught in a downward spiral of alcohol abuse and other poor decisions that destroyed his life. Honestly, I think Rose did him a favor. Unfortunately, he died with a debt on his head, a debt King and his associates want repaid, and I worry they’ll try to collect on that debt through Rose whether she knows anything about them or not.

Josh Carter was a gambling man. He gambled away his life’s savings and the majority of his and his wife’s income over the last year. She probably doesn’t realize it, but he left her behind on their mortgage. Their house is in danger of foreclosure. Instead of backing out and paying off what he owed, he kept gambling away more and more, essentially on credit, digging himself in deeper and deeper.