Nothing But the Truth (27 page)

“I’m not here to judge you.”

Ann’s guarded expression told Brett she wasn’t convinced.

“I need to know everything if I’m going to help you.”

“They brought people in to meet us. Important, rich, pretty people. These people were supposed to be well connected in the fashion and film industries. We were supposed to make them feel welcome, let them get to know us. ‘Network for future opportunities’ is what they said.”

“And?”

“We networked. They asked for hospitality. We gave them all the hospitality they could handle. Several of us were allowed to stay at the townhouse and we were expected to entertain whenever they brought guests over.” Ann’s tone was bitter, and Brett didn’t need to ask for clarification. She could only imagine the sexual favors these naïve model wannabes had to perform to further their careers. As Ann described the encounters, Brett’s anger grew. All the “models” were dressed in white to signal to the party guests their availability, if not willingness, to provide private entertainment. Ann recognized a few of the guests from local publications and she soon realized that the invitations included many local dignitaries and even a state senator.

Parties were also held in various other locations around the area, always in private homes. Ann never saw money change hands, but she and the others were paid well for their services. Payments laced with many strings. Silence, loyalty, servitude.

“Why did you stay?” The moment the words left her lips, Brett wished she hadn’t asked the question since Ann probably didn’t have a logical answer. Ann surprised her.

“I didn’t have a choice.” Her words were strong and clear, and for the first time, Ann faced Brett and stared directly into her eyes. Brett read every signal, including powerful desire to survive. Ann Rawlings had stayed because she feared for her life. Certainly that was the reason she hadn’t hired her own lawyer or confided in Brett the first time they met.

“Tell me about this other girl.” Brett glanced at her notes. “Heather. Tell me how you met her.”

“I barely knew her. She came to the house the day before I was arrested. She was just another model. I had no idea she was only sixteen, but I don’t know what I would have done if I had known. Probably nothing. She was just like me. Looking for work. We had plenty to share.”

“What happened the night you were arrested?”

“One of the guests from a previous party came by the house earlier in the day. I don’t know his name. We didn’t use names with guests. He said he wanted to arrange a more intimate gathering. He pointed out Heather and asked me to arrange for her, myself, and one other girl to be available for a few select guests that evening. He offered triple what we usually made and paid half up front. Compared to our usual arrangements, lots of guests, okay money, this seemed like a perfect situation.”

Brett decided to venture her first probing question. “Who usually arranged the parties?”

“We call him Al, but I doubt that’s his real name. He’s the one who I met when I responded to the ad for a model. He introduced me to several other people, men and women, but I don’t remember their names. Then, when I started attending the parties, I learned to stop using names altogether. I can barely remember the names of the others who lived at the townhome. It was easier to adjust to the rules if we obeyed them even when we didn’t have to.”

Brett nudged her back into the story. “So you were present for this more intimate party. What happened?”

“Most of the others were at another location for the evening. Three guests showed up at the house with the one who had paid us the money. He said one of them was only there to watch. Heather, Ginger, and I were just beginning to pair off with them when the cops busted in and arrested us.”

“What about the guests?”

“I don’t know. The cops took us to jail in a van, but only us three.”

“Do you know any of the guests at the private party?”

“Except for the one who made the arrangements, I had never seen them before.”

“Men or women?”

“Both.”

“Would you recognize them if you saw them again?”

“Absolutely.”

Brett signaled to Jake who had been watching the exchange between them in silence. She had asked him to find a photo of Leonard Duncan to show Ann. She was dying to know if one of the mystery guests had been the powerful man himself. She forced herself to wait for the answer as Jake pulled a brochure from his suit pocket and handed it to Ann. “Take a look at the picture on the back cover. Do you recognize that man?” Jake asked.

Ann held the brochure in both hands as she studied the photo. From where she was sitting, Brett could see the front cover and registered irony when she realized the document Ann was holding was a brochure detailing the accomplishments of Ryan Foster. Leonard’s enthusiastic endorsement must be located, along with his photo, on the back cover.

Ann finally spoke. “Yes. He was there that night. He was going to a room with Heather when the cops broke in.” She glanced back at the brochure. “He’s the DA?”

Brett nodded. She could tell Ann knew how that truth complicated matters. Brett made a mental note to ask Jake to check for arrests of johns at the same location that night. She knew he wouldn’t find any. It was likely the “guests” were safely whisked away while the expendable models/prostitutes took the fall.

Jake’s discovery that Leonard was a part owner in the house, along with the fact he had attended at least one sex party there was mind-blowing. Brett didn’t have a clue how the pieces of the puzzle fit together, but at least she had pieces to work with instead of a blank slate. She needed some time to process, on her own, without her client’s worries clouding her ability to think.

“Ann, thanks for opening up. I’m going to check on some things and I’ll be in touch. Jake probably has a few more questions for you. Tell him everything.” Brett stood to exit the holdover and she held out a hand. Ann seemed to mistake Brett’s offer of a handshake for a request to return the brochure and shoved the paper toward Brett, flipping it over in the process. Brett noted Ryan’s gorgeous campaign photo centered on the cover and wondered if Ryan had a clue about her mentor’s involvement in a prostitution ring.
Doubtful.

“Who is that? Does she work for the DA?”

Brett looked up. Ann was pointing at Ryan’s photo. She opened her mouth to answer, but a twisting pain gripped her belly. Ann’s expression was a mixture of recognition, fear, and resignation. Brett stalled the inevitable with a question. “Do you know her?”

“I’ve seen her.”

“At the townhouse?” Brett asked hesitantly. She knew once she started down this line of questioning, she would have to go all the way.

“No.”

Brett sighed with relief, but before she could ask a follow-up question, Ann added, “Not at the townhouse, but at the other parties. She’s a VIP guest.”

Ryan had abandoned the office hours before. She knew Brett was still at the courthouse. She’d seen her Prius still parked in the garage early in the afternoon. She didn’t know if Brett was still meeting with Jeff and the detectives, but since her desire to find out was so strong, she decided to distance herself to lessen the temptation to interrupt. She spent an hour at the gym and then headed home to work without distractions.

The workout helped drain some of her pent up energy, but her focus was fractured and had been ever since Saturday. Since Julia, Ryan hadn’t shared any truly personal information about herself with another human being. For years, she stuffed her feelings, longings, and regrets deep inside. Sharing even a little bit with Brett had created an unstoppable force. She tried to squeeze the cap back on, but the prospect of a true connection with another person caused her emotions to expand. She could no longer fit her emotions back into a sense of order. Ryan made resolutions in order to buy back her ability to focus.
When this case is over, I will…
She wasn’t ready to fill in the blank, but she knew that whatever action she took when this case was over, it would involve Brett. She had to wait just a bit longer to explore the intense attraction. She would need the added time anyway to figure out how to work around the obstacles.

For now, she sat at her dining room table, files spread across the table. Kenneth and Brett would be Jeff’s witnesses, but she would put on the expert testimony designed to tie Edwards to the scheme to divert attention from his guilt. She spent several hours culling through the appropriate phone and e-mail records and drafting a chart to illustrate the connections to the jury. For most lawyers, the work would be tedious and boring, but Ryan recognized the beauty of having evidence in black and white, displayed on a big screen, for the jury to review over and over again. Charts admitted into evidence would go back to the jury room and would be more powerful persuaders during deliberations than the faded memories of witness testimony.

She became so engrossed in her work the loud chime of the doorbell startled her. She lived in a neighborly area but didn’t cultivate the kind of relationships that welcomed uninvited guests to her door. Solicitors were rare. She was tempted not to answer, but she had gathered the mail about thirty minutes before. If the person at the door was a neighbor who had seen her and knew she was home, she didn’t want to risk offending him or her. The cursed campaign meant she had to consider such things.

The last person she expected to see when she cracked her door was Brett Logan. She recovered quickly from her surprise and smiled broadly. “Hi. I was just thinking about you. Did you finish with Jeff?” Ryan was so glad to see Brett she forgot to care how much she hated unexpected guests, or guests at all. “Come in.”

“I don’t think so.”

Ryan stepped back and looked into Brett’s eyes, registering anger mixed with something else.
Loathing?
Ryan was confused.

Brett had left the holdover and gone directly to Jeff’s office looking for Ryan. When he said she was working from home, Brett left the courthouse, got into her car, and drove directly to Ryan’s house. Now that she was here, standing on Ryan’s porch, she didn’t have a clue what to say or why she had bothered to make the trip. She didn’t want to enter, but she didn’t want to throttle Ryan on her doorstep, which is what she was likely to do if she stood there much longer with anger surging inside her. Ryan stood in front of her, seemingly oblivious to her mental machinations. She was dressed more casually than Brett had ever seen her, in denim cut-offs and a Harvard hoodie. Brett wouldn’t have thought Ryan would have owned anything so casual. She was barefoot. Her hair was loose and slightly wild. She wore only a touch of makeup. Brett didn’t recognize this woman.
How ironic.

“On second thought, I will come in.”

Ryan didn’t say a word. She pulled the door back to allow Brett entrance, glancing up and down the street before shutting it tight. When she turned around Brett was fuming.

“Who do you think you are?”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s a simple question. Either you’re a person who obeys the law and prosecutes those who don’t, or you are a hypocrite.” Brett could tell Ryan had no idea what she was talking about. She didn’t care. She may not have agreed with Ryan’s black and white view of the world, but at least she could respect her for having convictions and standing by them. Now that she knew Ryan was a preferred customer in an exclusive prostitution enterprise, her respect was shattered along with all the intimate feelings she had for her. If Ryan’s sexual escapades weren’t enough, Brett now knew Ryan was duplicitous as well. Ryan’s words reverberated.
“I’ll run this through the grand jury myself. It’s time we stopped prostitution at the source.”

“Brett, I don’t understand what you’re—“ Ryan’s words were cut short by the hard press of Brett’s lips against hers. Brett’s tongue fought for entrance and claimed Ryan with firm, forceful strokes. Brett’s car keys hit the floor with a sharp crack, and suddenly her hands were all over Ryan’s body, roughly tearing at her clothes. Within seconds, Ryan felt her shorts drop to the ground and Brett’s fingers dug at her naked flesh. She groaned instinctively at the insistent touch, even as she sensed Brett’s true goal had nothing to do with pleasure. She longed to surrender to the ecstasy, but she couldn’t until she was certain Brett was motivated by something other than the desire to control. Arching away, Ryan reached for Brett’s chin and slid her hand along her cheekbone. She looked at Brett’s forehead, creased with anger, and shuddered. “Look at me.”

Brett’s eyes opened and gazed at her, questioning.

“Why are you doing this? You clearly don’t want to.”

“Interesting how that works, isn’t it?” Brett’s voice dripped sarcasm.

“What?” Ryan knew she was missing signals, but she couldn’t wrap her head around Brett’s actions.

“Next time you’re having sex with someone, think about whether they chose to be with you or whether they just don’t feel like they have any other choice.”

Ryan’s mind spun. One minute Brett was passionate, the next she was full of disdain. Ryan didn’t know what Brett expected, but she desperately wanted to. “Brett, I don’t understand what you’re trying to say. If we could just sit down and talk.”

Brett bent for her car keys and strode to the door. “You want to talk? No thanks. I heard your last sad story and bought every line. That won’t happen again. When you’re ready to talk about Ann Rawlings let me know. Until then, stay the hell away from me.”