Chapter 3 #2
He wondered how many people would be shocked to know that most of them were legitimate business owners who paid their taxes.
Sitting back down, he fished the card from the pocket of his jeans and stared at it.
Kara Saunders, ADA. There were several phone numbers, including her personal digits.
He could call, ask if she made it home safely.
Dismissing the idea as soon as it took root, he took a sip of his drink.
He was out of his fricking mind if he followed through with it.
The woman was not his type, nor his responsibility.
He had done his good deed by seeing to her vehicle — that was it, over and done with.
She was the kind of woman he was trying to get away from.
He would be a bloody fool to deliberately put himself into her pathway.
He was just lonely and a little horny. He hadn’t been with a woman since— he broke off, refusing to delve into that particularly nasty memory.
His ill-fated relationship with Libby Beaumont was over and done with, a thing of the past. And it had taught him a valuable lesson — stay away from the women of his society, they were bloody poison and shallow.
She had tried to change him, tried to get him to be who he wasn’t, and had gone to great lengths to make it happen.
Tossing back the drink, he surged to his feet. He would get rid of the card and forget the encounter with the very beautiful Kara Saunders.
*****
Cursing himself for his lack of control, Zane studied the case and knew damn well that he was going to the courthouse.
He had gone ahead and read up on the case she was prosecuting.
He had also delved into who she was as an ADA.
Twenty-eight — Christ, she had looked younger than that.
‘A shooting star,’ one reporter had described her as.
‘Steady and calm, excellent at her job.’ Her success rate was also impressive.
Her mother was a defense attorney; her father had been a military man.
He had used the company’s resources to dig in deep and felt just a touch of guilt.
The case she was now prosecuting was an emotional one. The mother of a two-year-old, who had left the child stuck inside her vehicle and gone shopping for over two hours. In the middle of August — in a fricking sweltering heatwave. Her lawyer was going with emotionally disturbed.
Zane snorted in disgust as he rose to start pacing.
Some people should not procreate. He did not care about the state of a person’s mind when it came to something like that.
All he could think about was how much that poor kid had suffered before dying a slow and painful death.
The mother deserved the full extent of the law but would probably get away with a bloody slap on the wrist, a stint in some mental institution. That was why he hated the system.
The law was not always balanced.
Dragging his fingers through his hair, he turned towards the window to stare out at the approaching day.
Colors of rose and gold streaked the pale blue sky, indicating that it was going to be another warm day.
Fall was slowly rolling in — he could see the changes on the leaves of the trees surrounding him.
Shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans, he rocked back on his heels.
He had things to take care of. A trip to the legal clinic in the downtown area and a look at the neighborhood his father was interested in.
He had studied the file thoroughly and was grudgingly interested.
It would be good for the area and lots of young people would end up benefiting.
But he was hesitating about giving his opinions, because he knew that as soon as that happened, he would be roped into the project.
Which would mean committing himself to something long-term.
And fulfilling his family’s wildest dreams about him settling.
Now, here he was, hooked on a woman he had met for approximately half an hour a day ago.
And he knew without a doubt that whatever he told himself last night and the night before, he was heading to that bloody courthouse to see her.
*****
Kara could feel the case slipping away from her. She had spent hours doing her research and the investigators had turned up dozens of instances where the mother had expressed her reluctance to keep the child — all because the father had dumped her for another woman.
It should have been cut and dried — the trial should have been over a long time ago, but the court-appointed attorney had been replaced by a hotshot lawyer who had decided to take on the case pro bono.
Alfred Livingston, with his pristine suit and wavy salt and pepper hair, had put up obstacle after obstacle.
She knew why he was doing it. He was about to run for office and was wallowing in the sudden publicity.
It sickened her, as she had told Abigail.
A child — an innocent baby was dead, almost burned alive by the terrifying heat — alone for two hours in a locked car in a temperature of over a hundred degrees, and all the man could focus on was getting his name and picture in the papers and being on the evening news. It was getting to her.
His opening statement had been poetry, making Kara wonder if he had practiced for hours in front of his mirror.
He was posturing, performing for the jurors, and he was getting through to them.
His fake smiles, his habit of leaning forward in that intimate manner as if he were friends with the men and women sitting in the jurors’ section, disgusted her.
“Counselor? Do you have anything to add?” Judge Holbrook was a decent enough woman and had been sitting on the bench for over thirty years, but Kara wondered if she had been the right choice for this particular trial.
The woman was not a mother and had been married three times.
Kara was starting to think that she should have pushed for someone else.
“I would like to call the defendant for questioning.”
Alfred sprang up to voice his objections. “Your honor, this is bordering on harassment now. Counselor has already questioned my client twice. I don’t know what she hopes to accomplish with a third time.”
“Your objection is duly noted,” the judge told him dryly. “Have a seat, Mr. Livingston.” She turned to Kara. “Ms. Saunders, is there something new you’d like to add to the line of questioning?”
“Yes, your honor. If you’d allow me?”
“Go ahead.” The judge waved a hand. “But I’d advise you to tread carefully.”
“Always, your honor.” Her smile was angelic, even though her insides were boiling. As she turned to watch the defendant walking towards the box, she caught sight of the familiar face at the back and went still in shock.
Catching her eye, Zane inclined his head slightly, a mocking smile playing around his lips.
Tearing her eyes away from him, Kara had to take several breaths to steady herself.
What was he doing here? In her courtroom?
She had done her research and realized why he’d looked so familiar.
Zane Stanhope — multibillionaire bad boy, as the various society rags had dubbed him.
From a family of famous lawyers — a man who had deliberately chosen his own path.
Taking another breath, she turned to the defendant, who had been duly sworn in and was seated demurely with her hands clasped — looking like a Sunday school teacher in her pastel pink long-sleeved blouse with a large bow at her throat and a pale pink skirt that fell below her knees.
Her ash blonde hair was scraped back in a ruthless bun at the nape of her neck. She was not wearing makeup.
Her skin was pale and dewy, large blue eyes guileless. No doubt, the entire demeanor and outfit were orchestrated by her lawyer. Designed in a way to sway the jurors’ opinions into believing that she was as innocent as a newborn baby.
Tamping down the frustration, she approached the bench and leaned against it, a friendly smile on her lips.
She had dressed carefully for court this morning.
The pearl gray suit was fairly new, the jacket buttoned up to her throat as usual.
She wasn’t wearing much makeup, as usual, just a coating of strawberry-flavored lip gloss and nothing else.
Ignoring the acute awareness of the man seated in the back row, she set about doing her job.
“Ms. Blake,” her smile widened slightly, as she tried to put the woman at ease, “earlier in the week, you stated that you loved your son. Am I right?”
“Of course.” The woman’s eyes darted to the members of the jury, a demure smile on her lips. “I loved my Joey. I spent ten hours in that delivery room, giving birth to him, and it was magical.”
Forcing her smile to stay in place, she aimed her eyes at the woman.
“Yet, you told a friend—” Walking over to her desk, she retrieved her notes and just happened to glance at the back of the room.
His eyes connected with hers and had her nerves jangling.
For the space of several seconds, she froze and had no idea what she was about.
“Counselor? We’re still waiting here.”
The judge’s voice snapped her out of her trance.
Gritting her teeth, she turned and walked back to the bench.
“I apologize, your honor.” She glanced at her notes even though she knew them word for word.
“You told a friend that you were tired of the screaming and lack of sleep and wished that Joey had died before he was born. Were those your words?”
Before the defendant could answer, her lawyer sprang up.
“Objection! Hearsay. Your honor, counselor is harassing my client.”
“I’m merely trying to establish a pattern, your honor. Ms. Blake here would have us believe that she was a mother who loved her son, when all the while she was resentful of his very existence.”
“Objection overruled. Continue.”