Indefensible (22 page)

Tuesday, 8:59 a.m.

N
o matter how expensive the suit, it could not compensate for the crassness of a beaten face. There was not a single colleague in Randall's acquaintance who had shown up to work sporting the evidence of a fistfight. At least, not since university days. And those were long gone, left behind as Randall faithfully trod the road to prestige, wealth, power. Brawling was not part of that package.

And certainly being assaulted with deadly intent by one's own son was not part of it, either. Randall shot his cuffs and stepped out of the elevator into the MB lobby. He nodded to the new receptionist. She tried her best to hide her reaction to his face, but she was young. He smiled, letting her know he was not offended, and strode toward the boardroom, his eye drawn to the visual installation on the far wall. It had the power to both soothe him and stir him at the same time.

He looked away. His emotions were too close to the surface. Too raw. Like his face. He could not allow
himself to be thin-skinned, not when he entered the dragons' cave.

Nina rose from her seat at the foot of the table when he strode in. “Randall.” She nodded, her face somber as befitted the circumstances. “Thank you for joining us.” Again, her choice of words was brilliant, he thought. Deliberately designed to keep him on the outside of this exclusive enclave.

He closed the door. His gaze traveled around the table, stopping for a full second on each partner's face. Some gazed back with sympathy, others looked down at the table, and a pitiful few glanced, tellingly, at Nina Woods. His lip curled.

The chair at the head of the table was empty. So Nina hadn't quite dared to take that over. Not yet.

He strolled over to the chair and sat down, clasping his hands loosely in front of him.

“How are you, Randall?” This question came from across the table. Tony Maybourne, one of the more senior partners of the firm, gazed at him through his wire-framed glasses. Tony and he had taken their clients golfing on many occasions. An intellectual, somewhat shy man, Tony was lousy at golf, but Randall had always enjoyed his dry sense of humor.

Randall shrugged. “As you can see, it has been a difficult weekend.”

The partners began to murmur their condolences. Randall felt his body grow hot. This was not what he came in for; he knew it, they knew it.

He fixed his gaze on Nina Woods. Her face was composed in an expression of horrified sympathy, but he sensed that her gaze took in the muted circus with the
air of a bored ringmaster, biding her time for the tiger to be let out of its cage.

“Shall we begin?” he asked.

Her eyes met his. They reminded him of blood diamonds, so pale, so hard. “We called you in today to conduct a partners' vote.”

Silence fell over the boardroom.

He raised a brow. “Regarding?”

“Appointing an acting managing partner who will take over your duties until you are able to resume them.”

“I feel completely capable of continuing as managing partner.”

“I have had great difficulty reaching you,” Nina said, glancing around the table. “McGrath Barrett needs a managing partner who is accessible at all times. And due to your unfortunate circumstances, you are not.”

He felt his jaw go rigid. “By ‘unfortunate circumstances,' are you referring to the murder of my ex-wife?”

Nina Woods stared at him. Challenging him.

Tony Maybourne gave him a placating look. “Randall, the partners feel that you cannot carry on your role as managing partner when your personal situation is consuming so much of your time. We just want you to be able to devote your attention to your family…” His voice trailed off.

Randall nodded, unwilling to skewer his old friend. He believed Tony wasn't trying to screw him. Nina, on the other hand, was clearly in this for a power grab.

In the silence that fell around the table, Nina added, “McGrath Barrett is still in a delicate stage of recovery.”
Due to your mismanagement,
her eyes said. “The firm cannot afford to have its leader mired in personal legal problems.”

Randall's brows rose. “Which legal problems are those, Nina?”

“The murder investigation of your ex-wife.”

Tony gave Nina a disgusted look. Several partners shifted. Randall both admired Nina and reviled her at the same time. How she could be so coldly assured as she spoke of his personal horror was impressive.

“Why, exactly, do you think the murder investigation constitutes a legal problem for me?”

Nina's face tightened. “Because you're one of the suspects, are you not, Randall?”

“Why would you think that?”

“I understand you spoke with Bill Anthony.”

Randall bit down on his teeth. Hard.
The shit.
So much for solicitor-client privilege.

Suspicion edged his partners' faces. Thanks to the local gossip rag, everyone knew that Randall had been involved in a humiliating divorce. Thanks to this Sunday's edition of the
Post,
everyone knew that he'd argued with Elise the night she died.

He rubbed his jaw. And saw Tony Maybourne eye his hands, his gaze fixed on the garish bruises that swelled Randall's knuckles.

Tony is wondering if I did it.

Randall's face flushed. “I'm not privy to the police investigation, Nina. I can, however, assure you that if I am charged with a crime, I would step down as managing partner to fully focus on clearing my name.”

“I'm calling the vote right now, Randall.”

Randall looked around the table at his partners. “Is this what you want?”

“Randall, it's not that we want to replace you,” Tony said. His eyes beseeched Randall. “We just want someone to take over the management of the firm until you are able to return. Nina is correct—the firm is just getting back on its feet. We can't afford another setback.”

He knew Tony was right. He knew that. So why was he fighting this?

Because it's the last thing you've got, Barrett.

He pushed away from the table. “No need to vote. I'll step aside.” He strode to the door, then paused. “Who, may I ask, will be filling my shoes during my absence?”

Nina smiled. “I'll be taking over.”

On a permanent basis, if you can convince my partners, right, Nina?

Did they have any idea what they had just unleashed on themselves?

“You reap what you sow,” he muttered, giving Nina one last look.

Just as he was closing the door behind him, he heard one of the partners murmur, “So do you, Randall.”

 

Lucy's phone rang. The ringtone, which had been funny and quirky when she downloaded it before her trip, jangled in her ear. “Hello.”

“Lucy.”

His voice was not unexpected after what Grandma Penny had told her. What surprised her was how welcome his call was. A huge, shuddering sob escaped from
her chest. She pressed the cell phone against her cheek and burrowed deeper into her bed. “Dr. Jamie?”

“Hello, Lucy.” His normally light, crisp voice was heavy. “Your grandmother called me. Asked me if I could talk with you.” He cleared his throat. “I know your mother would want me to make sure you're all right.”

“It's been awful,” Lucy whispered. She shook her head, staring at the ceiling.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

No. Yes.
There was something about Dr. Jamie that just made her want to confide in him. “It was so horrible…” Words burst from her throat, fleeing from the battering ram of memories: Nick, running down the stairs. Her mother, lying on the ground in a glimmering pool of blood.

The look of hatred in her brother's eyes.

The phone, ringing endlessly in her ear as she tried calling her father.

He hadn't come. Not until the early hours of the next morning. And then, as he pulled her into his arms, murmuring his apologies, all she could smell was the whiskey in his skin. He'd been drunk while her mother had died.

He'd tried to make it up to her.

But she didn't think he ever could.

A sob built in the back of her throat, escaping in a weird, embarrassing hiccup.

“Lucy.” Dr. Jamie's voice was quiet but steady. “It's all right.”

Lucy had wanted her father to say it was all right. She'd needed him to say those words after…after… Instead, Nick had attacked him. And accused him
of something so horrible she didn't want to think about it.

She missed her mother so badly. It was like a big hole where her chest had been. She wanted to bury her face in her father's shoulder, share her grief with her big brother, silently cry in Charlie's fur.

Instead, Charlie was fighting for her life. And if she survived, the vet said she'd be given to another family. One that didn't hurt her.

Her brother had transformed into a violent, scary monster that she didn't know existed. Had he always been like that and she'd never known? He'd been her best friend. Had she missed something? Could she have stopped him from turning on their family? Pain at his abandonment stabbed her.

And her father. She curled tighter into a ball. Her brother said her father was a murderer. That he had brutally taken the life of the person she loved with all her heart.

She had no one left. Except her grandparents. But it wasn't the same. They were trying. But it wasn't the same.

Tears trickled down her cheeks. “Nicky tried to kill my father,” she whispered.

There was a silence. “Why?”

“He says my father killed my mother.” She couldn't believe she was saying those words. Three days ago it wasn't something she could ever have imagined. Then, she was looking forward to riding camp, getting her own mare, hoping she'd clear the second jump. She'd been thinking about that jump all winter. Determined that this was the year she'd do it.

And hoping that her father would forgive her brother. And that her mother would feel better.

There'd been a lot of hope in her heart.

“Where's your father now?”

“He's at a hotel.”

“And your brother?”

“He's here. At my grandmother's.” But not here. Not anymore. He was just a scary pale shell of the boy she'd grown up with. A sob built in her throat. She gulped hard. She never usually ever cried. But the tears just kept coming. Like the sea pounding on the rocks. Wave after wave.

“Do you feel scared of him?”

Yes. No.
She didn't want to feel scared of him.

He was her big brother.

Her protector.

He tried to kill her father with a baseball bat.

“I don't know,” she whispered. The tightness in her throat eased a tiny bit. Dr. Jamie was the only person right now who demanded nothing from her. He had a way of listening that calmed her down. She remembered that feeling of peace she had after she'd visited Dr. Jamie's office in Toronto. She had been too embarrassed to tell her friends she was going, but her mother really wanted her to go. She told her that Dr. Jamie thought she might be able to help them understand what was going on with Nick. At first, she resisted. She didn't want to go behind her brother's back. But when her mother told her how worried she was about Nick—and about how he stole from Dad's bank account—she agreed. She was worried about him, too.

When she and her mother walked into Dr. Jamie's
office—which was on the main floor of an old brick house—she immediately relaxed. Sun poured in through the windows. His office was like a big den, lined with books. A collection of wooden monkeys perched on a shelf. Warm, soft sofas with bright pillows in African batik clustered around a coffee table. A zebra-skin rug lay on the floor. The space was cheerful, yet calm and peaceful. Not like her house, when every night Mummy and Nick would argue about his homework.

Her mother had seemed different in his office. More open, less anxious. And Dr. Jamie had let Herbert, his big marmalade cat, sit with them. Then they talked about her family.

“How is your brother?” Dr. Jamie asked her now.

A big sigh escaped her. Grief had taken over her body and she couldn't control it anymore. “He's really mad. He's changed.” She thought of Nick's defiant eyes. He'd shut her out. He'd abandoned her. She pressed Oscar, her threadbare stuffed giraffe, harder against her chest. “It's really awful, Dr. Jamie,” she whispered. “I miss my mother so much.” Tears ran down her cheeks.

“I know, Lucy, I know.” His voice was so soothing. She felt as if he'd wrapped her up in a warm blanket and hugged her. She wished her father would do that, but she couldn't let it happen now. Not when Nicky attacked him and accused him of things she couldn't let her mind think about and now he was in a hotel.

Did he really kill her mother?

Fear gripped her from the inside out. She pulled the quilt tighter around her. She didn't want to talk anymore. “I'm tired, Dr. Jamie.”

“Of course. You rest. And remember, you can call me whenever you need to talk.”

He hung up. Lucy closed her eyes. His voice had drowned out the ocean, but now the sound drummed in her ears again. Cold and unrelenting.

Tuesday, 9:25 a.m.

You made your bed, Kate Lange. And at the rate you're going, it's going to stay empty for a long, long time.

Curtis Carey had barely looked at her since he walked into the discovery. He settled in his client with a lumbar support and a cup of coffee, opened his file and locked his gaze on Dr. Mercer.

Here's my cue for the comics, Kate thought. But she wasn't going to engage in petty tactics. Although if she'd had a newspaper, she would have been tempted to bury her face behind it so Curtis could not see the flush in her cheeks.

“Dr. Mercer, tell me why your opinion was solicited for this file,” Curtis began without preamble.

It only took ten minutes for Kate to figure out Curtis' strategy. He was systematically burying Dr. Mercer's opinion under insinuations of bias.

It was exactly what she would have done.

The sad thing was that there wasn't much she could do to deflect the dirt. Dr. Mercer was a hired gun. He
had to wear it and believe that his opinion was unbiased enough to be considered reasonable by the judge.

Which, based on what Kate had seen, it wasn't. But that was a battle to be fought on another day.

The questions continued for hours. Kate drank four cups of coffee and tried to keep a calm facade. Curtis was doing a thorough job of poking holes at every recommendation by Dr. Mercer that was unfavorable to his client's claim.

Finally, Curtis closed his file folder and said, “I have no further questions at this time.” He stood, stretching his back. Mike Naugler raised himself from his chair, gingerly, glaring at Dr. Mercer.

“Where's the men's room?” Mike Naugler asked.

“Just down the hall,” Kate said, holding the door open for him.

Dr. Mercer packed up his briefcase but pulled out his laptop. “Can I use the boardroom for a bit? I've got some work to catch up on.”

“Sure.” Kate grabbed her stuff and hurried to the door, glad to be away from this man who had said nothing this morning to change her opinion of him. Curtis followed her.

She strode into the foyer. Curtis caught up to her. “He's a quack, Kate. You guys don't have a hope in hell. I'm not going to let Great Life snowball Mike.”

Good
was what she wanted to say. “I'll send the transcripts as soon as they are ready.”

Mike Naugler headed toward them.

Curtis turned his back so that their conversation was private. “Kate, I'm sorry about what happened.”
He stood only inches from her, so close that the memory of his bare skin on hers flared in her blood.

Her face turned hot. As did a few other parts. “I should be the one to apologize. I was shocked by Randall's news.”

His eyes had softened, no longer a steely gray. “So was I.” He hesitated. “How's he doing?”

She wouldn't reveal what she knew, no matter how much she liked Curtis. “Under the circumstances, he's holding up remarkably well.”

He glanced around him, then said quickly, “Are you still interested in going for a run sometime?”

Kate shifted back on her heels. “I don't know if that's wise.” She jerked her head in the direction of his client, who walked haltingly in their direction. Although it wasn't the client that was the obstacle in the relationship. It wasn't even Randall.

It was her.

Curtis' eyes searched hers. What he found must have mollified him, for he said, “Why don't we revisit this when the case is over.”

She took in his warmth, his interest in her, his willingness to forgive her brusqueness the other morning. Why was she even hesitating? She should give him a chance. Especially since he was willing to give her another one. She certainly didn't feel she deserved it.

She smiled. “I can live with that.”

His dimple flashed. “Do you want to talk about a settlement now? Or over dinner?”