Читать книгу Man with the Muscle - Julie Miller - Страница 8

One Month Later

The strains of chamber music muted as Audrey closed the kitchen door behind her. The din of eager, friendly voices from all the polite conversations she’d endured tonight still seemed to echo in her ears, leaving her nearly deaf in the empty room as she breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s what I needed.”

After allowing herself a moment to savor the quiet, she kicked off her strappy Gucci heels and curled her aching toes against the cool tile, wishing she could shed the fitted gown with the stays that poked into her ribs, as well. But since hostess nudity wasn’t the kind of buzz she wanted to generate with this holiday fundraising event, she settled for padding across the kitchen and opening the fridge in search of some caffeine. “Great.” She scoped the shelves up and down. “Just great.”

Not one diet cola to be found. Coffee? She closed the refrigerator and turned to the empty coffeemaker on the counter.

Out of luck. The only caffeine in the house was on the serving tables the caterers had set up, and she wasn’t going back to the party any sooner than she had to. The whole point of sneaking off to the kitchen was to find ten minutes of silence where she could nurse her headache and maybe think a bit more about how she wanted to open her statement to the jury when Demetrius Smith’s trial started in the morning.

She already had her arguments lined up. Her evidence was all in order, the witness list approved. Her boss, District Attorney Dwight Powers, had signed off on her strategy for putting away the reputed gang leader. Smith claimed he’d been an innocent bystander as the ten-year-old boy had been shot and killed in his backyard, thinking he could plead out to lesser charges. But Audrey intended to nail him to the wall for a list of crimes ranging from drug-dealing and witness intimidation to Calvin Chambers’s murder.

As it did every time she read or thought about the ten-year-old’s death, Audrey’s memories went back to the night of Gretchen’s murder—to the much more personal understanding she now had about violence and innocent lives so cruelly and callously taken. Inevitably, her thoughts of that night ended up at a shadowed hedgerow, where a dark-eyed, opinionated, compassionate cop had given her a few moments of respite from her grief.

You get Smith.

Alex Taylor had angered her, touched her heart, held her hand and handed down an edict. Right. No pressure.

Apparently, the support of KCPD, as well as career success and personal independence, hinged on winning this trial.

No pressure whatsoever.

No wonder her head ached.

It was Audrey’s first big case as a prosecutor. Her chance to prove she was smart enough, gutsy enough and tough enough to win a case without the backing of her father’s firm. Rupert Kline expected her to fail and was waiting to pick up the pieces with a hug and a told-you-so. He expected her to come to her senses and accept the lucrative partnership he’d offered in his firm. All his money and influence hadn’t been able to save her mother from the cancer that had ravaged her body and ultimately silenced her beautiful spirit. So, by damn, he wasn’t going to let anything happen to his little girl.

Even if all that love was smothering her.

So in the kindest, most reassuring way she knew how, Audrey was fighting to be her own woman, to create her own success story—to build her own life that included her father, but wasn’t dominated by him. Her mind was more focused, her goals clearer now, than they’d ever been. She didn’t need Daddy’s money to get the job done. She didn’t need his name to give her clout.

She didn’t need lectures from some doubting Thomas of a cop, either. She could do this.

She had to do this.

Beyond getting a ruthless criminal off the streets, she needed to succeed in order to prove that, at twenty-seven, with a degree from Smith and a juris doctor from the University of Missouri, she was no longer Daddy’s little girl. She was more than the pretty princess in the gilded Kline cage.

So why had she agreed to help her father host this fundraiser for a scholarship to honor Gretchen’s memory on the night before the trial began?

Proof that she was her own woman, indeed.

Audrey pulled out a glass and filled it with water from the tap, hating that vulnerable place in her heart. “Why can’t I say no to you, Daddy?”

Probably because the arts and friendship were worthy causes. Probably because she was as fiercely protective of her father as he was of her. Audrey had moved back home those last few months when her mother had been ill—to take care of Rupert as much as her mother. Despite the tragedy, Audrey had finally understood what it felt like to be needed. Her. Not her family’s money, not her father’s name. Her parents had needed their daughter to be there, to love them, to be strong when they couldn’t be.

Just like he needed her tonight. But she really should be practicing her opening statement.

Taking a long drink of water, Audrey pulled out a stool from the counter and sat. Using the center island and the two ovens as her imaginary audience, she began. “Your Honor, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I’m here today to prove that every citizen of Kansas City deserves justice. Every citizen deserves to feel safe, walking his own streets …” She groaned and shook her head. “Too pompous.” She tunneled her fingers beneath the tendrils of hair loosely pinned at her nape and massaged the back of her neck. “No child should live in fear of walking home from school … What’s this?”

Lowering her glass, Audrey picked up the sealed envelope lying on top of the basket of pledge cards on the counter. Recognizing the neat handwriting on the front, she smiled. “Charlotte.”

Feeling as if she’d just gotten a hug, Audrey slit open the flap and pulled out a note card that was as smart and unassuming as the woman who’d sent it. Charlotte

Mayweather was another classmate who’d gone to the same private high school she, Gretchen and Harper Pierce had attended. Audrey tried to remember the last time she’d seen Charlotte—certainly not at Gretchen’s funeral. And she hadn’t been included on the guest list tonight because Audrey had known she wouldn’t be able to come.

Still, as Audrey read the note, she wasn’t surprised to see that Charlotte had enclosed a check for the scholarship fund. Somehow, Charlotte had known that they were honoring an old friend tonight. Although she’d never been the social butterfly Gretchen was, Charlotte had always been adamant about supporting the causes—and people—she cared about.

I wish I could be there

the note began.

Like you, Gretchen made a point to come visit me from time to time. She could always make me smile. Here’s a token of my affection for her, and how much I miss her. Thanks for doing this for her, Aud.

Good luck with the trial. I’ll be following you in the papers.

Charlotte

Good luck? Audrey sighed with a bit of melancholy as she tucked the note and check inside the envelope and dropped it back into the basket. Was there anyone in Kansas City who wasn’t watching how she handled the Smith case?

And how many of them expected her to fail?

The swish of the kitchen door sweeping across the threshold gave her a split-second notice to paste a smile on her face before company joined her. “There you are.”

Audrey turned to the distinguished man with the silvering, receding auburn hair and smiled. “Daddy.”

“I wondered where you’d gotten off to.” He picked up her sandals and carried them over to the counter where she sat. He pressed a kiss to her temple and dropped the shoes into her lap. “No fair skipping out if I can’t. Our guests are starting to leave. Will you see them off at the door while I chat up another ten grand from the Bishops?”