Nothing But the Truth (3 page)

*

No sooner had Brett drifted off to dreamland, than her infernal BlackBerry skittered across her nightstand. Brett shook herself awake and focused her sleepy eyes on the display. She didn’t recognize the number. She was ready to hit the ignore button when she remembered the e-mail from earlier in the day. She punched the talk button. “Brett Logan speaking.”

“I e-mailed you.”

“Ah, I thought this might be you. What can I do for you?” Brett reached into the nightstand for one of the stack of small notepads she kept ready to record middle of the night thoughts and calls such as this.

“My son is in trouble. He needs a lawyer.” The voice was gruff.

“Well, you called the right place. What’s your name?”

“Do I have to tell you?”

“It would help if I had something to call you. How did you get my name?” Tony was forever on her to ask how her clients found her so he could keep track for marketing purposes, but Brett’s question was posed purely out of curiosity.

“Friends. I don’t want them to know about my son’s trouble.”

“Okay. What kind of trouble is he in?” Brett waited for what was sure to be a tale of a juvenile prank gone awry.

“He murdered someone and he wants to confess.”

I must be crazy for wanting to run this office.
Ryan reached into her desk drawer and felt for the bottle she kept hidden behind a sheaf of papers. County employees were not allowed to have alcohol in the building, but for years the district attorney kept his personal office stocked with a full bar complete with heavy crystal glasses. Ryan reasoned her pint-sized bottle of Scotch and paper cups were a warm-up to when she took over his position.

She would need a bigger bottle if she had more days like this one. Jeff, a prosecutor she respected, had no doubt told everyone who would listen about her power grab this morning. She could tell by the many whispered conversations that died off as she approached that her reputation as a power-hungry bitch was intact. She had no idea how she was going to be an effective leader if everyone in the office resented her. Ryan drank deeply from her paper tumbler and, as the amber liquid burned a path through her stress, she resolved to have a long talk with her boss about the method behind his plan to bring her to power.

Ryan turned to the boxes piled beside her desk and combed through the evidence in the Edwards case. No wonder Jeff was angry. He had put together a rock solid case. All she had to do was show up and win. She was relieved she wouldn’t have to start from scratch, especially since she was too keyed up this night to focus on the documents in front of her. Agitation twitched through her and she recognized the source. She would need more than Scotch to take the edge off. Ryan leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes.

With the concerns of her job blocked out, she could focus on what could really relax her. An image of a tall brunette came to mind. Brett Logan. Ryan had seen her in the halls of the courthouse many times, but she hadn’t connected the striking woman with the reputation of Ms. Logan. Too often, young prosecutors under her command came to Ryan wanting permission to kick a case because Brett had announced ready for trial and they knew their case was a dog. Ryan usually sent them packing. Bluffing should be a required class in law school. Obviously, Brett had the skill, but many young prosecutors were too scared of wrecking their stats to take a chance on a crappy case. Ryan found it interesting to learn the woman whose body she admired had a mind to match. She focused again on the image of Brett Logan, standing in the well of the courtroom. The image looked so real, Ryan felt as if she could reach right out and grab Brett’s tight, round ass. Ryan knew what would take the edge off
.
She reached for the phone and dialed a number from memory.

She waited impatiently through the rings, breathing only after her call was finally answered. The voice at the other end of the phone confirmed the code word she offered and affirmed her hope that the cure she sought was available this evening. Ryan repeated the address she was given before hanging up the phone. She didn’t recognize the location. She committed it to memory by repeating it silently to herself. She didn’t write it down, look it up online, or plug it into the GPS in her car. Those were the rules, and she obeyed in both letter and spirit.

Ryan stopped by her North Dallas home to change clothes. Not for the first time, she wished she lived closer to the courthouse, but the constituents in North Dallas were the ones most likely to get her elected, so she purchased a modest house in the bland area of the city in order to appear to be one of them. Once she arrived at her house, she took her time selecting a suitable outfit, shedding her tight braid and sharp-lined suit as she moved through her wardrobe. Ryan tugged on a pair of designer jeans and slipped into spiked, black leather sling-backs. A snug charcoal blouse with a plunging neckline, deep burgundy lipstick, and hairspray to enhance the wave of her now free hair completed her transformation. She surveyed her image in the mirror and allowed herself a wry smile. She looked nothing like the woman pictured on her official badge.

Back in her car, Ryan pulled a map out of her glove compartment and ran her fingers along the streets, tracing her intended path. Her proclivity for following the rules mixed with the intoxicating danger of her destination to create an intense feeling of arousal. She resisted the urge to speed. She would not draw attention to herself. Not yet.

The valet was a hulking creature dressed in tight black clothes designed to make him blend into the night. He confirmed she knew the code and watched while she stowed her purse under the front seat before he drove her car to an undisclosed location. Ryan knew if anything went wrong inside, neither she nor anyone else would ever see her car again. She walked up the sidewalk, ignoring the front door, instead veering toward the side of the house. At the side entrance, she paused before raising her hand to give the requisite knock. No matter how many times she attended these events, she always experienced a twisted knot in her belly, tied with apprehension and anticipation.

As she moved slowly through the main living room, Ryan paused only to lift a flute of champagne from a passing tray. She had no trouble assessing the rest of the evening’s fare while on the move. She savored a sip of the dry, piercing potion. She would have only one glass. More would be risky, and, despite her presence in this place, she was averse to risk.

Every party, no matter where it took place, was the same. Ryan always recognized at least half the guests. She took comfort in the fact there were no smiles of recognition, no snippets of conversation alluding to past connections. At these gatherings, everyone in the room was a stranger with nothing to link them here or in the real world.

The house was large with many floors, vaulted ceilings, and well-appointed furnishings. This residence was obviously owned by someone with means, as were all the venues used for these gatherings. Ryan knew a few clicks on her computer when she returned home would reveal the identity of the evening’s host, but she also knew she wouldn’t expend the minimal effort required. Anonymity was the price of admission as well as the benefit to be bought. Besides, she was better off not knowing.

She waited, and while she did, she couldn’t help but take in the details of her surroundings. She noted hallways on the main floor leading to doors already closed. A glance up the expansive staircase confirmed available space on the second floor. She had arrived later than usual, but both company and the space to enjoy it were still on hand. Determined to take advantage, she found a vantage place and waited. She was used to exercising her preferences. It had been difficult for her to learn to be chosen. She suffered the lesson in control and struggled to embrace the waiting.

The man who approached her was young and handsome. His crisp white shirt signaled his role. It was open to his waist to reveal taut musculature that rippled as he moved toward her. Piercing blue eyes drilled desire in her direction, and Ryan shot glances around the room to escape the captivation of his steady gaze. As he drew closer, she noticed their host for the evening give the beautiful young man an almost imperceptible shake of his head. The approaching Adonis altered his path and took the arm of another woman as if she had been his original aim. After a gently whispered exchange, the two glided up the staircase into one of the rooms above. Ryan waited below.

The scent was her first clue she was under consideration. Hints of spice and earthy musk trailed behind the subtle movements of the hands gently caressing her from behind. Ryan resisted the desire to turn. Over time, she had learned not to submit to her persistent urge to see, instead allowing her other senses to have their fill. She gave in to feeling, letting her skin become her sight. Her tingling skin saw beauty and surrendered to it.

“Come upstairs with me.”

Ryan nodded at the declaration, delivered in a sultry tone, and led her escort to the second floor. The hallway at the top of the staircase was long. Too long. Ryan tried to savor the wait, resisting the urge to glance over her shoulder. Rules were usually her comfort, but in this moment, she wanted to break them before she was broken. Searing heat from the hand on her arm burned deep. She clung to the warmth as if it were her only solace. She knew nothing about the stranger behind her except her touch was electric, the thick strands of her hair trailed down Ryan’s shoulder and melted against her skin, and her heady scent made Ryan swoon. A door, slightly ajar, beckoned and Ryan pushed her way through as if her life depended on what waited within.

As she turned to face the woman who had chosen her, she felt the grip on her arm tighten and twist. Breathy words, warm and low, skimmed her ear. “Is this what you want?” A finger pointed to the far side of the room, and Ryan willed herself to focus. The room was occupied. The open door was an inviting signal, welcoming those who would choose to venture in. Standing just across the threshold, Ryan’s first conscious thought was to leave. Arousal kept her in place.

The nude women on the chaise paused only briefly to acknowledge the arrival of Ryan and her companion before they returned to each other’s pleasure. Their splendid bodies arched with each caress. The long, lithe form of the caramel-haired beauty slid along her companion, pinning her as she moved toward her center. Her blonde captive bucked against her restraint, but her resistance carried only enough force to enflame their passion. So consuming was the tableau, Ryan felt she would either melt or turn to stone if she didn’t turn away. She placed one hand on the doorknob and started to back up, but the iron grasp of her attendant held her in place. Again the husky voice. “Are you sure you want to leave?”

Ryan had no words for what she wanted. In her world, to speak the desires she felt could be her destruction. She would not risk her invincibility with words this night, but she would obtain the satisfaction she sought. With a flip of her wrist, she shook off the tight grip on her arm and grasped the now idle hand. She slid her own fingers along the length of the hand and released a slow, aching breath at the simple satisfaction of the light touch. As the soft hand slipped against her own, she drew its inquisitive stroke lower. The travel of its light caress blended with the delicious pressure of generous breasts heaving against her back. Ryan’s sharp intake of breath signaled her pleasure. She urged the luscious fingers in. Ryan divided her powers of concentration between the rising tide between her legs and the cresting waves of pleasure sounding from the women on the chaise lounge across the room. As the ache of her arousal reached its apex, her concentration dimmed, and hours of waiting for blissful liberation folded neatly into seconds of release.

Brett rearranged the items on her desk for the tenth time. She had to stuff most of her working files in the surrounding credenzas, but she had finally made progress on her messy workspace. She knew as soon as this meeting was over, she would drag her bulging files back out and spread them around the desktop. Tony hated her methods. He didn’t even deign to call them methods. He had another name for the way she managed the filing system he struggled to maintain, something along the lines of pigpen. But Brett was one of those people who had to see things in order to be organized. If she put files in a drawer for an extended period of time, she would forget them in favor of the work that was directly in her line of sight. A messy desk was a sacrifice she was willing to make.

On most occasions, she would meet a new client in her conference room, but this case was different. Rarely did she ever get a call from someone who wanted to confess to a murder, and the intimacy of her office seemed a more appropriate setting.
You haven’t actually spoken to the alleged murderer. Should I bother using the word alleged if the person who actually did the deed says he is guilty?
In a few minutes, she would figure that out, since Kenneth Phillips’s parents would be in her office to discuss her representation. During the short conversation the evening before with Kenneth’s dad, Brett told him it was imperative that he hire counsel for Kenneth before he could do any of the crazy things his parents said he threatened to do, like drive himself to the police station or jail, and confess. She tried to get him to put Kenneth on the phone, but she had not been successful in speaking to the young man directly.

“How old is your son?”

Hesitation. “He’s in his early twenties.”

“I’d like to speak with him.”