Chapter 65
Iwalk into the conference room where Debbie is standing at the window. She turns and her lips part as if she expected some fifty-something man with a pot belly and a weak attitude. I shut the door and walk to the table, pressing my fingers to the desk. “What do you want?” I ask, sizing her up. She’s pretty, brunette, and all belly.
“What I deserve,” she says. “What my baby deserves. To be taken care of.”
“How many men have you fucked in the past nine months?”
“It’s his baby,” she snarls, leaning on the table to face off with me.
My lips twitch. She’s easily agitated. That works for me. “How many men have you fucked in the past two years?”
“Why? You want to join the list?” she challenges.
“There’s a list,” I say. “Interesting.”
“He’s the father!” she shouts at me, her cheeks flushing.
“How many times did you fuck Reese Summer?”
“Many.”
“When and where?” I ask.
“My place,” she says. “Often.”
“There are security cameras in your building. I checked. So you’ll be able to prove that. Make a call and get the videos.”
“I have no rights to that footage.”
“Offer the landlord a few perks and I’m sure you can work it out.”
“You’re such a prick.”
My lips twitch. “I love it when you talk dirty, sweetheart. It tells me all about you. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.” I head for the door.
“Come back here, asshole!”
I exit the office and leave her there to simmer and panic. She doesn’t have control. She won’t ever have control. I do. I have control. I will end this for my sister.
Court is delayed, and we aren’t told why. We just wait and wait and I start to worry the threats from Debbie escalated in some way, perhaps by way of an accomplice, and Reese had to delay the return. Thirty minutes into the wait, my phone buzzes with a text and I discretely check it to read a message from Reese: The judge is the delay. We don’t know why. I didn’t want you to think it was something else.
I’m touched and relieved that he’s thought of me, but I don’t want to feed his need to worry about me either which is why I refrain from asking what he knows about Reid and Debbie. He’d tell me if he knew anything. Thank you for telling me. That’s weird with the judge, I type instead. Is he with the prosecutor?
I’m told no, Reese replies. I’ll let you know if I get an update on anything.
I show the messages to Gabe and his brow furrows. “Maybe he has a woman in his chamber,” he jokes.
I scowl. “Did you really just say that?”
He nudges me. “Laugh, little sis.”
I laugh. “Okay. There. Happy?”
Finally, Reese and his team enter the courtroom and my nerves about what was happening before he entered, linger on the personal. Did Debbie do something else?
“He’ll be fine,” Gabe says, from beside me, as Reese settles at his table in the courtroom. “He’s a pro and he knows you’re safe. He’ll step into his zone.”
“I know,” I say, but Gabe and I both know there’s no way Reese isn’t affected by Debbie’s threats. He’s human. I look at Gabe and lower my voice. “Thank you. I need you and you’re here.”
He squeezes it. “From now on, Cat.”
I believe him when there was a time not that long ago I would not have. I still hurt over the way he and Reid treated me when I decided to go my own way, outside of the family business, but showing Gabe the letter mom left me, changed him. Maybe it changed Reid more than I realized, too.
The judge enters the courtroom and we all stand which has me wishing I was sitting. This baby wants me hanging over a toilet and I really can’t wait to get my meds. We sit and the judge wastes no time getting us started. The prosecutor takes the floor and I grab my notebook and a pen. He calls the medical examiner, a fifty-something, heavy-set man with gray hair and glasses, to the stand. The questions are basic but avoid all the damning topics. I write down what I expect Reese to ask and Gabe grabs the pad and reads my list.
He smiles and winks at me as if telling me how on target I am. I shouldn’t need his approval but he’s my older brother and for so long he and Reid were driven by my father’s anger at my independence and they didn’t even read my books. I hit the New York Times bestseller list for my first true crime novel, and if they had known, they didn’t act like it. It hurt. It stills does.
Reese stands up and walks to the stand, confidence radiating off of him. The prosecutor left holes that a lesser attorney would potentially miss. Reese will nail them all. “Mr. Monts,” he says. “How tall do the forensics indicate the shooter to be?”
I check off one of the items on my list.
“That’s inconclusive,” Mr. Monts states. “The shooter was eye level with the victim who was sitting at the time of the bullet’s impact.”
“In other words, the shooter was sitting in front of the victim who was sitting on the couch in his den?”
“That’s my conclusion, yes,” Mr. Monts agrees.
“Objection,” the prosecutor shouts. “Leading the witness.”
Reese looks at the prosecutor and laughs, “I’ll rephrase.” He looks at Mr. Monts. “Were you made aware of the location of the body when it was found?”
“Yes.”
“Where was the body found, Mr. Monts?”
“On the couch in the den of his home,” he replies.
“And you know this how?” Reese asks.
“I was at the crime scene,” he supplies.
“You were at the crime scene. Forgive me for asking the obvious, but did you see the body?”
“Yes,” Mr. Monts states. “I did an extensive inspection.”
“Was there any indication of the sex of the shooter?” Reese asks.
I check off another one of my points.
“Nothing discernible.”
“I see,” Reese says. “And why is that?”
“Because the shooter was at eye level when they fired.”
“And you know this how?” Reese asks.
“The projection, entry and exit points of the bullet, as well as blood splatter.”
“Under what situation can you suggest the sex and height of a shooter?” Reese asks.
“That goes back to blood splatter, entry and exit points, and to that end, even the size of the weapon in a female’s versus male’s hand can impact entry point.”
“And with this weapon and the location of entry,” Reese says, “is there anything that indicates the shooter was male or female?”
“There was not.”
Reese continues to question him for another half hour before taking his seat. The prosecutor stands. “Mr. Monts, is there anything in your findings that rules out Dana Warren as the shooter?”
“There is not.”
Gabe reaches for my pen and writes, “Weak.”
And of course, I know he means the prosecutor. I take the pen and write, “The entire case is weak. The DA has a history of charging just to charge.”
Gabe nods as if he’s well aware of the problem. Of course he is. Reid has just finished suing the DA, and winning, over charging the wrong person, among a variety of other sins. A case that I’m writing a book about with Lori, and plan to release as soon as I know the DA can’t lash out at Reese, which means after the DA leaves office.
The rest of the morning continues on with Reese ruling the courtroom, but if Dana sees this as good news, and it is, she doesn’t show it. She’s thrumming her fingers on the table often and even thumping her foot. I write this down to ensure I warn Reese that it’s happening. Right about that time, Reese leans in toward Dana, and whispers to her, and her foot stops moving. I scratch out the note. He knew. He saw. Of course, he did. It makes her look uneasy in ways that she certainly has a right, but could also be read as a sign she’s guilty.
Finally, it’s lunchtime and the courtroom is adjourned. Reese turns and seeks me out, the look in his eyes warning me to be careful. The fact that this is where his head is now, tells me somehow, he’s performed like a master when he never really let go of his fears for my safety. I nod and he turns to follow his team out of the room. Once we’re at the door of the courtroom, Savage meets us.
“Any news from Reid on Debbie?” I ask.
“Nothing,” Savage says. “But I need you to come with me, Cat.” He looks at Gabe. “Alone. Reese wants to see her alone.”
“I’m going to the office to see what I can find out about Debbie anyway,” Gabe says, turning to me. “I’ll call you the minute I know what’s happening but I suspect Reid is behind closed doors with Debbie.” He pulls me to him and whispers, “Be safe. I’ll call you later.” He kisses my temple and leaves. He kissed my temple. I’m in the twilight zone.
Savage clears his throat. “Ready?”
“Yes. I’m ready.” We start walking and I grab my phone from my purse, quickly punching the auto-dial for Reid. When he doesn’t answer I dial his secretary.
“Hey, Cat,” Connie says and without me asking she adds, “He’s in the conference room with Debbie. He keeps leaving her in there and then going back.”
I puff out a breath. “He’s told you nothing?
“No, but he’s working some strategy. And his strategies work.”
“Okay. Thanks. If you hear anything—”
“I’ll call.” We disconnect, and I realize that we’ve walked to the side exit door. “I thought I was staying here and eating with Reese?”
“He’s asked me to escort you to another location.”
“The park,” I say.
He glances over at me. “Yes. The park.”
That Reese wants to meet out in the open seems like good news and I quicken my pace, hoping that I’m about to arrive at the park and find out that our problems with Debbie are over. We take the walk briskly and the minute I see Reese standing at the food trucks, I rush toward him and into his arms. He grabs me and drags me out of the walkway, behind the truck. “What’s happened?” I ask.
He answers by tangling fingers in my hair and kissing me, leaving me just as desperate for more of the kiss as I am the answer to my question.