Authors: Dianne Venetta
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.” Sam dropped to her chair, careful not to disturb the neat stacks of paper she had arranged on her desk in the form of a triangle. She was visual and these piles represented the three litigants in her current case. Details she needed to keep close for the conference call she was about to make. When the lies took wing, she intended to swat them like flies, pulling facts and figures from the sheets at her fingertips.
Sam pulled a business card from the top pile and handed it to Maria. “Get these guys on the phone for me, will you? They’re expecting my call.”
“You got it.”
“Beep in when you’re ready.”
“Yes Ma’am.”
As Maria exited the office, Sam began formulating her plan of attack—at present, aimed at securing her settlement. Soon enough, she’d target Raul’s sudden generosity
and
his chosen benefactor. Taking her place among the elite group of women perched high atop their male-dominated fields was the crown of her achievements and she wasn’t about to jeopardize it. Not for anything or anyone.
Sam stilled.
Wait a minute
. Maybe Raul’s suggestion for including Vic on the Perry case was a test. She looked up from her notes. Her mind slashed through the possibilities. Perhaps he wanted her to do more than consult him on strategy. Maybe Raul wanted to see how she handled the role of mentor to a junior associate. Speculation mounted as pressure built inside her. Senior partners carried out the task every day, right? Makes sense they’d want to see how she’d do before they granted full partnership.
Her breathing paused. Sam squeezed her eyes shut.
Shit
.
Did she screw up?
Chapter Two
“I told you!” the elderly woman cried from the stand. “I set up no such meeting between the two of them!”
Victor Marin leaned over the partition. “That’s not what your phone log says. It says you made several calls to the Senator in the weeks leading up to the transfer of funds and several the day of.
Two
of them were to his cell phone.”
“It was fundraising!” Delicate cheeks flushed bright red within a frame of perfectly-coiffed silver hair. Like a trapped animal, her frightened gaze sought the judge, counsel, anyone who could help rescue her from the jaws of interrogation.
Samantha Rawlings’ focus shot to the jury, taking satisfaction in how deeply engaged they were in the process. Each and every one of them sat riveted upon Vic’s every move. Throughout the entire proceedings, it seemed they couldn’t get enough of him.
She savored a private smile. It was an allure she understood all too well. Pushing six-four, he had a striking presence. Not only his size, it was also his eyes. Almost black, yet lit by sparks of fire. Factor in his short-cropped hair, sharp-featured nose, and the chiseled edge of his jaw line and Vic reminded her of a bird.
A falcon
. Yes, she thought, pressing the tip of her sleek silver pen into the yellow note pad spread open before her. If he were an animal, he would be a bird of prey. Struck by the assessment, Sam felt an odd alliance with the jury. One couldn’t help being drawn to him. Wary, but mesmerized. Another smile pulled at her.
Definitely
mesmerized.
Vic hovered closer to the witness and scowled. “You’re lying.”
Petite within the confines of the witness stand, Morgan’s secretary recoiled, but Vic wasn’t buying her lamb-on-the-butcher-block routine. “Covering for Morgan can send you to jail,” he said. “For years.”
The gavel slammed the room into silence.
“Enough!” Judge Chavez flashed an angry look to the twelve men and women seated to his left, a gust of speculation blowing across the packed courtroom.
Vic murmured, “It’s a favor he wouldn’t return.”
“The jury will disregard the defense’s last state-ments,” Chavez said to the jury, then swung his wrath toward Vic. “Not another word, counselor.”
Sam was on her feet. “Your Honor, may I approach the bench?”
A muffled wave of whispers rippled through the gallery behind them, packed full today because this case had been feeding the front pages for weeks. Hijacking an employee pension fund was bad enough, but a senator?
Vic cast a glance toward her in an appeal for support, but her glare told him to back off. She had seniority here and he’d better respect it.
Judge Chavez approved her request with a nod of his head, but just over his reading glasses, his cold gaze burned a path straight for Vic.
Sam strode over to the elevated perch that towered over the federal courtroom, Vic close on her heels. Chavez’s black eyes were popping mad, his lips set in a hard line. Even the brown of his skin seemed to redden with fury.
Damn
, she mused. Vic did have an effect, didn’t he?
Opposing counsel joined them.
“Your Honor,” Sam controlled her tone as she eased into her appeal. “First let me apologize for my associate’s
egregious
violation of your courtroom. I assure you it won’t happen again.”
Chavez cupped a hand over the microphone and leaned forward. “You’re damn right it won’t.”
“Your Honor,” Vic interjected. “The witness is holding back.”
“Another word from you,” Chavez growled, “and I’ll have your butt hauled out of my courtroom by force.” Then he addressed Sam. “He’s finished here. I want him out.”
The air in the courtroom grew thick with speculation, curiosity clinging to her backside.
But she wasn’t bothered. She had been here before and enjoyed the pressure. It meant people were paying attention. Sam grew somber and leaned in. “I understand, Your Honor. I’ll take it from here.” She paused, tempering the charge of the battle coursing between them. “But if I may be so forward as to ask your permission that he stay on as an observer?”
Vic opened his mouth to reply, but Sam clamped a hand on his forearm.
Chavez balked. “
What
?”
“He’s a good attorney, your Honor, just a bit overzealous at times.”
“Overzealous is an understatement, Sam.” His gaze hardened behind the black rim of his glasses. “Even a first-year law student knows not to harass the witness.”
Sam lifted her shoulders in an attempt at forgiveness. “He got carried away?”
“You’re much too generous on his behalf.” Judge Chavez allowed a small smile for her benefit, then cut back to Vic. “As for you. You, young man, are severely lacking in good judgment. Harassing an old woman on the stand not only injures the dignity of my courtroom, but it breeds contempt for our entire system of justice.”
One of the attorneys next to them chuckled under his breath. Which had to grate on him, Sam thought. But to Vic’s credit, he remained immobile. And in control, she noted, with another rush of satisfaction. The man
is
good.
“Don’t play guessing games on my time. You have questions,” Chavez belabored, “you ask them. Can’t get a witness to answer? Get smarter.”
Vic bristled, but pasted a smile on his face. “Yes sir.”
“Very well,” Chavez said. With his look of distaste securely intact, he held Vic in his scope for several seconds more before returning to Sam. “Maybe he can learn something from watching a seasoned professional such as yourself.”
Sam smiled, warm and personal. “I appreciate it, Your Honor. And I promise, you won’t hear another word from him today.”
“Let’s hope not.” The judge sat back, spitting out a round of nasty condescension, “Or he will find himself a guest of the state hotel.”
With that, the group of attorneys returned to their respective tables while murmurs fluttered back to life in the room behind them.
“Sam—”
“Your Honor,” she started, plowing right over Vic’s quiet plea. “If it pleases the court, I have no further questions for this witness.”
“
Sam
,” Vic whispered harshly. “You can’t let her walk!”
But she ignored him.
Judge Chavez spoke to the witness. “You may be excused.”
Like a timid kitten, the secretary fled the chair in the witness box. Refusing eye contact with Sam and Vic, she clutched a shiny black purse to her chest and hurried up the aisle to a set of double-doors leading out into the hallway.
In her case, the hallway to freedom.
The judge gave two rapid smacks of his gavel. “One hour recess for lunch.” He pushed himself up from his seat. “
If
I can rally my appetite that is,” he grumbled aloud.
Everyone rose as the judge exited through a side door, the jurors followed, filing out through another.
“What the hell was that about?” demanded their client as he jumped up from his seat. “You trying to mangle this case more than it already is?”
But Sam didn’t flinch. “Nothing more than courtroom antics.” She gathered her files and began to shove them into her briefcase. Behind her, the commotion of mass exodus began as reporters raced to file their stories, others more eager to report the lurid gossip.
“What the hell were you doing?” he railed into Vic. “I told you she wouldn’t break.”
“She’s been the executive secretary at Morgan-Baxter for twenty years,” Sam cut in. “We had to try.”
“Try,
hell
—you fumbled the goddamn cross-examination!”
Vic stepped forward to defend himself, but the man’s finger landed in his face. “If you screwed this case I’ll have your ass in a canister, you hear me?”
Something inside him clicked.
Around him, people were shuffling about, stacking papers, making phone calls, the bedlam of a courtroom as it emptied, but Vic held steady.
Then there was Sam, staring at him. He could feel her scrutiny. Hovering like a helicopter over a hostage scene, she was waiting for him to lose his temper and tear into the client.
“I’ve got a lot of money invested in this suit and if you’ve blown it...” The man’s neck vein seemed about to burst through his skin, his anger palpable. “You’re done. You hear me?
Done
.”
Sam lifted a hand to cease the man’s tirade. “Enough. Morgan-Baxter knows nothing about where we’re headed. When the trial resumes, we go in for the kill. I’m calling Dave Brenner to the stand, first thing.”
The corporate bag of wind deflated. “Dave?”
“Dave,” she repeated the name. “He’s the key to the whole case and I intend to rip him open when we return. Once I fill my belly.” She winked. “Snake meat tends to curdle on an empty stomach.” Stuffing the last of the folders into her case, Sam slung the long leather strap over her shoulder. Looking to the men, she asked, “Anyone care to join me?”
“I’ve got phone calls to make,” her client replied, then plowed into the sea of bodies making their exit.
Sam turned to Vic. “How about you?”
“Fine.”
# # #
Sam’s choice of restaurants was located just around the corner from the courthouse. On a humid day the walk was unbearable, but this morning it wasn’t too bad, thanks to the breeze whisking in off Biscayne Bay. It tamed the vicious heat rising from the sidewalks, but did nothing to alleviate the sweat climbing up the back of his neck. Vic sighed. But this was Miami, the tropical moisture something you tolerated.
Suit coat folded over his arm, Vic opened the door to Finkle’s Deli and Sam waltzed inside ahead of him. Baskets overloaded with fresh-baked bread lined the top of the display case, the rich aroma of coffee and grilled meat saturated the air.
Sam paused. “Save room for the Key Lime Fantasy Fest.”
“No thanks. Not a fan of sweets.”
“Me neither, but that baby is pure fantasy when it comes to desserts.”
“Whatever.”
“What’ll it be?” asked a heavyset man behind the counter.
“Reuben,” Sam responded.
“Make it two.”
“You’s got it.”
Hearing the tough attitude, northeast accent reminded Vic of Philly. So much, that eyes closed, he could have sworn he walked indoors from any street corner back home ready to order up one of the city’s finest.
Sam plucked a plastic tray from the stack and reached for a glass. “Water?”
“Fine,” he replied, returning his attention to the counter. Too bad he wasn’t hungry. After his courtroom fiasco, food was the last thing on Vic’s mind.
At the soda fountain Sam filled two glasses, placed them on her tray then pushed it along metal rails, stopping before a young cashier. Vic followed behind and yanked the wallet from his back pocket and flipped it open. “How much?”
Sam eyed the twenty in his hand. “Don’t worry. I got it.”
“Take it.” He shoved the money toward her.
About to refuse, she accepted the money with a shrug. “Have it your way.”
The cash register clanged to life, the girl changed the bill and Vic pushed the remainder into his wallet and back into his pocket. He trailed Sam to a table and pulled out a wooden chair. When she hesitated, he fired a warning flare not to refuse the gesture. She sat. He tossed his suit jacket onto the back of the other chair while Sam did likewise with hers. Dropping to his seat, Vic ripped the paper from his straw.
Sam leaned back into her chair. “Can’t say I remem-ber the last time I saw this place so clean.”
Vic loosened his tie with a yank. “Tends to happen when you’re the first one here.”
“Good point.” Running a hand through her near shoulder-length waves of auburn, she fluffed them off her neck, airing the skin beneath with the blast of air-conditioning blowing from the ceiling vent. Wearing no red today, the feminine shade of yellow softened her strong features, enhancing the female in her.
“Chavez was in some kind of hurry, wasn’t he?”
Vic pinned her with a glare. “Are you enjoying this?”
Sam zapped him with a feisty smile. “Who, me?”
“Yes, you.”
She gave a few quick tugs to her silk blouse. “Why Victor Marin, I am not so callous a woman that I derive pleasure from the pain of a fellow human being.”
“No sale.”
“You doubt my word?”
“I suspect your motives.”
“Is it my fault you got carried away with your witness?”