Legal Trouble (Texas Hearts Book 1)

Chapter 14

“Emma!”Desperate to get to her, Noah darted around his desk. He needed to hold her, to kiss her, to assure her that what she might have overheard wasn’t true, but Hill and one of the uniformed officers tackled him. His office carpet didn’t feel as plush against his cheek as it did underfoot.

“Mr. Whitlow,” Hill said, “this will get you nothing but additional charges of assaulting an officer.”

“I wasn’t going after you,” Noah spat back. “You’re the one who assaulted me.”

“Something I’ll certainly attest to,” Ethan said.

Noah appreciated his cousin’s support, but if Hill and her posse didn’t release him, Noah wouldn’t hesitate to add assaulting an officer to his sheet, so long as he could get to Emma and explain the truth. That was all that mattered right now.

Hill and the officer dragged Noah to his feet as Emma stepped toward him. Her eyes had iced over. The arctic had nothing on her frigid expression. No one save for his uncle had ever looked at him with so much hatred, and it crushed him.

“Emma, please—”

“Don’t say another word to me.” Her words were as glacial as her eyes. “Especially in front of the police. You have the right to remain silent, Mr. Whitlow, and I suggest you use it.”

She could have picked up the letter opener from his desk and stabbed him in the heart, and he doubted it would have hurt as much.

Emma turned to Detective Hill. “I was told you had a search warrant for my client. Let me see it.”

Hill practically gaped. “After what he did to you, you’re still going to defend him?”

“I’m the head of Whitlow Group’s legal team. While still in that capacity, I will execute those duties to the fullest extent of my abilities. My code of ethics allows nothing but my best, no matter the situation.”

Still in that capacity? No, damn it. Noah needed to fix this.

He leaned close to Emma and whispered, “Please, I just need a moment to—”

“Do not speak to me.” Her words were clipped, and she spared him little more than a glance before turning back to Hill and holding out her hand. “The warrant, Detective.”

Emma took the document. A few moments later, she shook her head.

“I will shred this in court. Given the nature and scope of Whitlow Group’s business, your warrant is far too broad. Any judge with two brain cells would agree. If you proceed with this, anything you might find here will become inadmissible in court. I will see to it.”

“I’ll take the chance, Ms. Morgan.” Hill fisted her hands on her hips. “This isn’t my first search warrant.”

“Okay. Your funeral.” Emma pulled her cell from her pocket, and after punching a few buttons, held the device face up so that everyone could read the name on the display: Judge Sandra Hanson.

“Emma Morgan,” the female voice on the line announced. “I thought I told you to lose my number.”

“I know, Your Honor, but you know me.”

“Yes, I do.” The judge laughed, the sound throaty and crackly, as if the vocal cords had had years of use. “What can I do for you, Counselor?”

“You mean besides leave your adorable husband so that I can finally have him all to myself?”

“Hands off, Counselor. George is all mine.”

“Can’t blame a girl for trying.”

“When that girl is you, yes, I can.”

“Fair enough.” A smile played on Emma’s lips, but it wasn’t the easy, carefree one she’d had this morning; this was much too forced. “I’m sorry to bother you at home, Your Honor, but I was hoping for some advice.”

“Shoot.”

“Some detectives in the Houston Police Department are trying to serve my client a search warrant that is far too broad in its scope.”

“How so?” The judge’s voice sharpened, the earlier banter gone, and everyone in the room stopped to listen.

Emma spoke of the company’s size, about the different branches, about the vast number of employees, and of differing jobs those employees did. She talked about the need for confidentiality in individual projects and how the warrant was trying to allow police access to all Whitlow Group files—not just Noah’s.

“Per usual, your thoughts are spot on,” the judge said. “The warrant clearly oversteps. If your case landed in my court, I’d toss it in a heartbeat.”

“Thank you, Your Honor. Please give George my love.”

“I absolutely will not.” The judge’s laughter filtered through the room again. “Get your own husband, Counselor.”

After a quick goodbye, Emma hung up and looked at Hill. “But by all means, go ahead with your warrant as is. It’ll help my client out in the long run.”

Hill mumbled a colorful line of obscenities. “Fine, you win this round.” Hill signaled the two uniformed officers to cease and desist. “But your client is still coming with us for assaulting a police officer.”

Emma chuckled, one of those mocking, not-an-actual laugh sounds that did not attempt to hide its contempt. “He was not attacking you. He clearly said my name and came toward me. You attacked him. As far as I see it, that’s police brutality.”

“You’re stretching, Morgan.”

Emma grinned, but only challenge shone in the expression. “I guess we’ll just have to see what a judge says.”

Just hold it together a little longer.

Emma repeated the encouragement ad nauseam. When she got home, she could fall apart—except she didn’t have a home anymore. She and Noah were supposed to—

No.

No.

Focus on the task at hand and nothing more, she chided. Anything else and she would fall apart, and she refused to give Noah the satisfaction of seeing her break.

She thought calling her old law professor about the warrant had been a stroke of genius. Sandra Hanson no longer sat on a bench; she’d retired several years back. She and her husband lived on a beach in Florida. George had been a law professor, too, and after Emma graduated, they’d always kept in touch.

Before leaving Whitlow Tower, she’d contacted Junior and told him, in the broadest strokes, what had happened. She hadn’t had the heart to tell them what Noah had done. She liked Esme and Junior both too much for that, especially Esme. Noah could explain what he’d done.

Emma palmed the necklace she still wore. She should probably give it back to Esme. It seemed tacky to keep it, but Emma already loved it. She’d talk to Esme and figure it out. Emma, however, had no desire to speak to Noah ever again. She’d been very adamant about him not speaking in the presence of Hill, Tanaka, or any police personnel. That had been for his protection but also for her peace of mind. Her code of ethics might prevent her from just tossing Noah to the wolves—even if that was what he deserved—but she also had no desire to listen to anything he had to say.

Tanaka had shown her and Noah into the same interview room as before and left them there. That had been about twenty minutes ago. They were out there, though, watching and hoping Noah would say something incriminating. The red light on the corner camera confirmed that. Attorney-client privilege and expectations of privacy were always hanky in police stations and jails, so it was best to err on the side of caution and assume you were continuously being monitored.

Noah didn’t seem to comprehend his precarious position, though, as he kept trying to explain his actions—as if they had an explanation.

“Emma, please, listen to me,” Noah whispered yet again, voice impossibly soft. “I didn’t—”

“Anything you say or do will be held against you in a court of law. What part of that do you not understand?”

“I don’t care about what Hill or Tanaka or the courts think, only what you think. Emma, Corazón, I didn’t do any of the things they’re saying.”

Desperation tinged his voice and, if she wasn’t imagining things, just a little torment lurked there, too. And damn it, she turned to him, to the face that had captivated her and had her sliding willingly under love’s control.

“None of what happened between us was a lie,” he said imploringly. “You have to know that.”

It was just what a liar would say, but it was also what an innocent man would say. Then why did it feel as if it should be a lie?

Men like him didn’t fall for ordinary women like her. Hadn’t she already told herself that, warned herself of that multiple times? And yet, even now, knowing what he’d done, she wanted to touch his gorgeous face, touch her lips to his. She wasn’t sure what that said about her, but she couldn’t let her gut or her heart persuade her in this. She needed to use her mind, and she couldn’t do that until she had all the facts.

“They say they have evidence,” she whispered.

“It’s fake, whatever they have. I did not betray you. For the love of God, I didn’t seduce you either. You seduced me. From the moment I saw you, I was yours.”

It echoed what he’d said the night before. But could she trust him?

“They say they have evidence.” It was the only defense she had, and she needed to stick with it. If he was genuinely innocent—and that was a big if—the truth would, as the saying went, set him free.

Hill and Tanaka chose that moment to enter. They both had file folders tucked under their arms. Emma wondered how much of the paper in those folders was bogus. Some of it would undoubtedly be legit, but the vast majority, she guessed, would be for show, something meant to be intimidating. She’d seen the ploy used many times.

“Mr. Whitlow,” Tanaka said to Noah before turning to Emma and adding, “Counselor.”

Emma nodded. “Before we start, I just want to let you know that I’ve instructed my client not to answer any of your questions.”

“So noted,” said Tanaka.

Hill hung back in the corner of the room, arms crossed, one leg bent, her foot flat against the wall. Her stance was about as casual as a black-tie dinner.

Tanaka opened his folder, removed the top page, and held it out so that Noah and Emma could read it. “This is a signed statement from Franklin Bishop. In it, he claims your client called him after they released him on his contempt of court charge and stated that he was tired of the constant lawsuits and that it would be in everyone’s best interest to settle. Bishop further states your client told him he’d leave a settlement offer in a manila envelope on your front porch.”

“So,” Emma said, but she didn’t like where this was going. “Bishop claims my client contacted him. My client says he didn’t. What do you have in the way of actual proof to corroborate Bishop’s claim?”

Tanaka produced another piece of paper and held it out. “This is a copy of Bishop’s phone records. There’s an incoming call when he said he received one.”

“Well then, color me convinced, Detective.” Emma scanned the sheet of paper and then placed it back down. “All this proves is that Bishop received a call. Still waiting for the part that proves my client called him.”

“The call originated from inside Whitlow Group’s Houston office.”

“Yes, I noticed that. I also noticed that the number you highlighted is not any of Mr. Whitlow’s office numbers, as he has several. All you’ve got here is that someone inside Whitlow Group’s office complex made the call. Do you know how many people work in Whitlow Group’s Houston complex, Detective? Close to a thousand. And don’t get me started with the number of visitors who go in and out of Whitlow Tower daily. Have you pinpointed the exact phone where the call was supposedly placed?”

Her voice was even, but everything inside her shook. If they had traced the call to an exact phone, would one of the security feeds catch someone making the call? The attorney and the woman hoped so. They also hoped that that person wasn’t Noah.

Hill finally spoke. “Not yet, but we will. We’re getting a revised search warrant as we speak. Soon, we’ll know the exact place the call was made and who made it.”

Emma nodded and then leaned into Noah, close enough to feel the heat of his breath on her neck. “Tell me the truth,” she whispered so low that only Noah could hear her. “Did you make that call?”

“No. I was running late that day and rushing to get home and get ready for our date.”

She tried not to let memories of that night derail her train of thought. “And why were you running late?”

“I was discussing the fundraising idea with Ethan. We argued. You can ask him.”

The same Ethan who’d been in Noah’s office when the detectives had arrived?

“What time did you leave the office?” she asked.

“I think it was around five-thirty.”

Emma turned to Tanaka. “What time did my client supposedly make this call?”

“According to phone records, at five thirty-two.”

“Interesting,” Emma said, adding an inflection to her tone to make Tanaka and Hill wonder if she was onto some major flaw in their theory. Secretly, she was terrified they were right.

Hill joined them and placed a piece of paper on the table. “This is a signed confession from Archer Doyle. Do you remember him, Mr. Whitlow?”

Emma instructed Noah to remain silent. “Who is Archer Doyle?” Emma asked when no one offered any further details.

“The man your client paid to throw those gas bombs through your windows,” answered Hill. “Doyle also says he was at a certain birthday party at the Whitlow residence many years ago when a certain young woman made quite the scene.”

Under the table, Noah grabbed Emma’s leg like a drowning man to a life raft. She didn’t shake him off, didn’t seize his hand in return, either. He was scared and clinging to her? If he’d done everything they’d said, wouldn’t he be doing the opposite right now and trying to get farther away from her? Or did the name have Noah so rattled that he’d cling to anyone?

Then again, the guilty were scared when they were about to be busted.

“What does a party many years ago have to do with someone burning down my house?” Emma asked.

Hill never took her eyes off Noah, her voice brimming with disgust. “Doyle claimed your client tricked a poor young woman into thinking she was his date for the evening.”

“Stop it,” Noah said, desperation saturating the syllables. “Stop it!”

“Why should I? You didn’t.” Hill’s voice was as deadly as a Category Five hurricane barreling toward land, and Emma had an overwhelming need to board up her emotional windows and evacuate the area. “Did you think it would be funny to convince the ordinary girl from the ordinary family that you wanted her to be your date to your grandmother’s birthday party? She was, after all, only allowed into your upper-class prep school because she was on scholarship. She was so beneath you, so you thought you’d just have a little fun at her expense?”

“Stop.” Noah shot from his seat and turned his back on the table. “Stop. Stop.”

“You broke her heart!” Hill shouted. “And just how devastated was the girl when she found out what you did? Did she just run home and hide, lie low until she turned eighteen?”

“Don’t.” Noah clasped his head with both hands as if something was clawing to get out.

Emma finally found her voice, although she wasn’t sure if the woman or the attorney stepped in. “That’s enough, Detective. I need a moment alone to confer with my client, and I want that damn camera off. If that red light stays on after you leave, I’ll file a lawsuit big enough to end both your careers. By the time I’m finished with you, you’ll be so radioactive no police force would dare hire you again.”

“Fine. We’ll give you a minute to confer with your piece of shit client.” Hill gathered their papers as Tanaka pushed to his feet. “Although, I’m being far kinder to him than he was to Amanda Jennings.” Hill placed a paper-clipped stack of papers on the table. “If you’re interested, here are photocopies of Amanda’s diary. Her father gave it to us. Well, actually, her sister did. Her parents are both dead now, and the sister never signed the non-disclosure agreement your family forced her dad to sign. She was thrilled to give the diary to us. You should read the last couple of entries, Counselor, and then tell me if they don’t sound eerily familiar to what your client did to you. Amanda wrote the last entry the day before the party where your client stomped on her heart and humiliated her. Your client may not have slit that girl’s wrists, but he’s sure as hell the reason she’s dead.”

Emma pressed a palm to her heart. Noah, what did you do?

She remained where she was until she and Noah were alone and the red light on the camera went white. Only then did she pick up the journal pages and lower back into her chair. The front cover was an hombre of blues and purples in pretty pastels, printed in full color for maximum emotional manipulation no doubt. A mermaid tail started at the top right corner and “swished” to the bottom left. The tail had the same blending of colors, only darker. Silver outlines gave the fin and scales a distinct look.

Emma turned the pages over. The back was a mirror image of the front, and Emma prayed that her relationship with Noah wouldn’t mirror whatever she was about to read.

She opened to the first page. Amanda Jennings had a bulldog who slept with her every night and would curl up next to her when she journaled. The dog’s name was Veronica Mars, and girl and dog liked to go on adventures and figure things out. She liked mysteries, but mostly, she liked anything that got her out of the house and away from her father when he started drinking.

Emma wiped at a tear and kept reading. Amanda’s mother had died when she was nine. She wrote a lot about losing her mom. She also wrote a lot about how her father had grown increasingly mean as he fell deeper into what Emma concluded was depression. As a result, Amanda had taken on more and more responsibilities at home, and from the tone of her writing, she was getting increasingly overwhelmed. Her schoolwork was suffering, and she’d had to take a part-time job so that she could make sure she and her sister could eat. One of the part-time jobs was as an English tutor, which is where she met and fell madly in love for the first time.

On page after page, she gushed about Noah Whitlow III, his gorgeous home, and his lovely mother. Emma could relate. She, too, had been swept away in the current the Whitlows generated, but when she reached the last entry, her heart broke.

“Noah asked me to go to his grandmother’s birthday party with him. Me! I can barely believe it. Noah Whitlow! I’m going to see if I can find a pretty sundress on sale, something that won’t drag the ground if we go to the stables and pet the horses. He loves his horses. One day, maybe he’ll take me to the creek he loves. He told me it’s his favorite spot in the entire world, and I hope to share it with him one day. I think I love him. Maybe at the party, I’ll finally find the courage to tell him.”

The horses, the creek, the overwhelming sense of not being enough. Emma was Amanda all grown up—only Amanda had never gotten to grow up.

Emma steppedto Noah’s side. “It’s true,” she asked, “isn’t it? What the detectives said. No, wait, don’t answer that. I may not mean anything to you, but I’m still your attorney. Not another word, do you hear me?”

Noah didn’t speak, didn’t turn to her. He couldn’t bear to face her. Hell, he wasn’t sure he could even speak. Her nearness was too painful. He was a dying weed, and she was the sun. His guilt and shame were as unbearable now as they had been the day Papá told him of Amanda’s suicide. Papá had done his best to assuage a young Noah’s guilt and mitigate the blame, but Amanda’s death had been his fault, just like Hill had said.

He needed to be alone, needed to lick his wounds. Everything was too raw, too exposed. His head was a kaleidoscope of dark emotions—the most prominent, as always, was guilt. As a teen, it had sent him spiraling into a depression he’d nearly been unable to escape. The alcohol and the drugs, none of it had deadened the pain. Only time, counseling, and the unwavering loyalty and love of his parents had done that.

“Was anything between us real, Noah? Anything at all?” Her voice was so soft that he scarcely heard it. He wanted to tell her the truth, that she was the only true source of joy in his life, but he didn’t deserve joy. Or happiness. And it was time he came to terms with that, so he said the one thing that would punish him for the rest of his life.

“No,” he lied. “None of it was real, Emma. Just go.” Before I break down completely.

If she responded, he couldn’t hear it over the screaming in his head and the interview door slamming. Guilt carved his heart into a million tiny slices, but he’d done the right thing. He didn’t deserve happiness, and Emma deserved so much better than him.

Leaning his head against the cold cinderblock wall, he closed his eyes. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when a hand pressed against his shoulder blade, and Papá’s familiar aftershave tickled his nostrils.

“I’m here,” Papá whispered.

Without a word, Noah turned into his father’s embrace and, like he had when he was sixteen, wept in his father’s arms.