Читать книгу The Burden of Desire - Natalie Charles - Страница 10

Chapter 1

Sally Dawson sat in her car and waited for disaster. A meteor, perhaps, or a freak bolt of lightning that would knock out power to the city. Whatever happened, it would have to be significant enough to distract her boss from the morning meeting he’d called with her. In her experience, morning meetings with Jack Reynolds were never called to convey good news.

She smoothed a light gloss across her lips, puckered at her reflection in the rearview mirror and took a deep, calming breath. Her father had a term for what she was about to experience: a Day, with a capital D, to indicate the gravity. How tragic that she’d been too upset about this meeting to notice her surroundings until this moment. The sky was the radiant, cloudless blue that seemed unique to early autumn, and the air was clean. She heaved a sigh. The butterflies still flittered against her stomach, but she was already running late. Time to face the Day.

She tapped her hip against the door of the sporty blue BMW to shut it, balancing the tray of coffees in one hand and her briefcase in the other. A few members of the defense counsel bar were gathered along the steps to the courthouse, eyeing her and whispering to themselves. Sally was well aware of the rumors that preceded her. She was a spoiled trust-fund baby, petulant and dramatic. She could be brash and short-tempered. Headstrong. Stubborn. She worked for fun and didn’t take it seriously.

Sally had heard it all before, and she’d stopped caring a long time ago. The gossip was as unfair as it was immutable. Besides, people could say what they wanted about her bank account or her temper. She was equally aware of her reputation for being an impeccably dressed fashion symbol, and there was some comfort in that. There was also some comfort in winning difficult cases and rising to the top of her department. In her experience, nothing shut up the naysayers like a show of competence.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” she said with a knowing smile as she passed the gossipers. Her quirks had never bothered her. She liked who she was just fine.

The click of Sally’s heels up the marble steps resounded like a battle march as she walked into the courthouse. She’d labored for too long over her wardrobe that morning, carefully considering each fabric for optimal effect, but some decisions could not be rushed. She’d finally settled on a gray Valentino dress with a plunging neckline, black Louboutin pumps and a Ferragamo handbag. Every perfect stitch of her clothing bolstered her confidence, the kind of confidence that comes with polish and excellent tailoring. She was unstoppable, a one-woman lawyering machine. These were her fatigues, and this was war.

Well, maybe not exactly war. A business meeting first thing in the morning didn’t feel too far off from it, though. Jack Reynolds hadn’t said much in his email, only that he’d seen her time sheets, and he was concerned about the long nights she’d been pulling while preparing for the Kruger murder trial. It’s time that we discuss getting some help for you, he’d written. Someone who can sit second chair.

She would set Jack straight easily enough. She did not need a partner on the Kruger case. She’d managed to get along without one for this long, and jury selection was only days away. To bring on another attorney, catch him or her up to speed— Was Jack out to sabotage her performance? To throw a wrench in her perfectly oiled machine? No, she couldn’t have that. Sally flew solo; she didn’t need someone else cluttering up her cockpit, and the sooner her supervisor accepted this fact, the easier her life would be.

She frowned at her watch. It wouldn’t help her cause that she was ten minutes late as a result of the wardrobe dilemma. She supposed she could blame the shoes, which forced her to calculate each and every step lest she tumble and break something. Black leather peep-toe pumps with an ankle strap weren’t practical in Connecticut’s autumn, but since when was fashion about pragmatism? She could concede the three-inch heels were high, but they were also beautiful.

Sally glanced down at her feet and changed her mind. The shoes were divine. She would concede nothing. If she was lucky, Jack was running late, too.

She balanced the coffee tray and pressed her hip against the heavy metal door that led to the state’s attorney’s office. “Morning, Delia.” She beamed as she swept up to Reception and planted a coffee on the desk. “This is for your troubles. I’ll no doubt add to them today.”

“Bless you.” Delia swiped a finger across her temple to tuck a stray hair behind one ear. Sally had purchased hair dye for her once during a lunch break. Shade #47, glossy chestnut. “Jack’s waiting for you in his office.”

He wasn’t late. Shoot. Sally beamed a smile that she didn’t exactly feel. “Great, thanks!”

She continued down the hall, taking a breath when she saw that Jack’s door was open. Sally always came prepared, and today was no different. She had a plan. She would pretend to listen to his concerns, but she’d already decided that to the extent Jack was feeling worried about her workload, she was feeling equally resistant to working with another attorney. This was why she’d spent last night preparing a compelling speech that would culminate when she peered out the window, turned her face to receive the best of the morning light and declared in a tone that conveyed both struggle with and acceptance of her circumstances, “The thing is, Jack, I just don’t play well with others.”

As a backup plan, she’d brought him a coffee. Another deep breath. This would work.

She rapped gently on the door, before entering and saying brightly, “Sorry I’m late. You wanted to see me?”

But that’s as far as she got. Jack had a guest. So much for blaming her shoes. So much for finding her best light in that lousy excuse for a window, and dramatizing memorized confessions. The skin on her arms prickled. She suddenly didn’t care if Jack Reynolds chewed her out publicly and called her a lousy attorney on the record. She didn’t care if her beautiful, expensive new shoes spontaneously combusted. All she cared about was the man talking to Jack. The man she’d once lived to hate.

Ben McNamara. The devil himself.

“Hey, Sally.” Jack beamed as he gestured to the man. “I’m glad you’re here. I wanted to introduce you two.”

Ben gave her a cocky smile that showed the top row of his perfectly straight white teeth. “Hello, Sally.”

He extended his hand, but she couldn’t tear her gaze from his blue eyes. Those familiar cobalt-blue eyes behind those thin silver frames. Even now the anger bubbled in her gut. Just what did he think he was doing here? Here, on her territory. She made a point of looking at his hand before setting the coffee tray on Jack’s desk and folding both her arms across her chest. Ben withdrew his hand and brought it down to his side. “Suit yourself,” he said.

Jack looked back and forth between them. “You know each other already?”

“Oh, we’ve met.” The tone of her voice was blistering. “Hello, Ben. It’s been a long time.” And yet somehow not quite long enough.

He was smiling at her as if they were old friends, which they were not. She’d like to pretend that they didn’t know each other at all. They had no history worth revisiting, just a series of progressively bad choices. Graduating from law school with someone didn’t make you friends. She hadn’t so much as thought of Ben in years now. And he had to show up now of all days, just as she was preparing for trial. He had to dampen her trial buzz. Damn him.

“We went to Columbia together,” Ben explained to Jack. “I remember Sally. She was second in our class.”

Ben arched his eyebrow at her, and Sally’s cheeks burned with rage. She’d been second, and in some false display of humility, Ben had neglected to mention that he’d been first. “Oh, Ben. No one cares about law school rankings,” she said through a tight smile.

“I couldn’t agree more, Sal,” he said easily, giving her a little wink. “Nothing’s more important than experience.”

No doubt he believed his experience, whatever it was, trumped hers. He was still smug and unbearable. Good to know that some things really never changed. Bastard.

He looked...all right, she supposed. Healthy. That was good, that fate didn’t smite him with some awful disease, like leprosy or rabies. It wasn’t as if she wished rabies on him. Now, maybe she could’ve gotten behind a good case of poison ivy—one that kept him up for a night or two. That would only be karma. But rabies? Too far. So it was good that he wasn’t foaming at the mouth and that he looked normal. Passably attractive.

She rubbed at her suddenly pounding temple. Maybe “passably attractive” was an understatement. He looked hot, as if he’d just wandered off a billboard advertising that dark gray designer suit he was wearing. She could admire his bone structure, the sharp angles on his jaw complimenting an aquiline nose. His olive skin had darkened over an apparently leisurely summer, bringing attention to his deep blue eyes. He looked clean and showered and still raging with whatever pheromones he exuded that made women weak-kneed around him.

Other women, not her. His pheromones repelled her. Just the sight of him spiked her blood pressure and made her want to do rash things, like throw something hard through something glass to distract him long enough so that she could run away. And now he was watching her, waiting for some kind of response.

Just...damn him.

* * *

Sally Dawson, in the flesh, after all these years. Ben wouldn’t expect her to be happy to see him. Still, he would have hoped that time would mitigate some of the animosity. He ran his gaze along Sally’s slender frame. The years had been kind to her, at least. Her blond hair fell to her shoulders before curling loosely like question marks at the ends. She was glaring at him, all trench coat, bare legs and high heels. It entered his mind that she could very well be naked under that coat. His collar tightened.

She was still beautiful, but then Sally had never lacked the financial means to achieve beauty. He’d always had some trouble explaining her to other people. It was as if the high school drama queen had one day become bored with sunbathing and decided to use part of her ample trust fund to go to law school. He had to give her credit for sticking with the profession for this long.

“I didn’t realize you two knew each other,” said Jack. He clapped Ben on the shoulder. “Then you’ll be happy to know that Ben is joining our team.”

Her eyes widened. “No.” She looked at him as if he’d just kicked a puppy. “I thought you were working in Manhattan?”

“I left Pitney Stern years ago. Since then I’ve served as a Marine Corps judge advocate.” His back straightened. Being counsel to the marines carried with it the pride of being in top physical condition. All marines were battle ready.

“He completed tours in Iraq and Afghanistan,” Jack added.

“But now you’re here. Why?”

Charming, the way her eyes narrowed to little slits as if she were deciding whether she should slip off one of those stilettos and stab him in the neck.

“Because we need him,” Jack interjected. “We’ve been looking to hire someone for a while, and we’re lucky to have him.”

“Hmm.” She sealed her mouth into a tight line. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. Jack, when you’re ready to have that meeting you emailed me about, I’ll be in my office.”

“This is the meeting, Sally,” he replied.

That caught her attention. She blinked her wide brown eyes. “You called a meeting to introduce me to Ben?”

Jack arched an eyebrow. “Have a seat.”

She eyed Ben suspiciously again and waited for him to sit before taking the chair beside him.

“You’ve been pulling fourteen-hour days. Working weekends,” their boss continued. “You could’ve come to me sooner. You need some help.”

“It wasn’t a problem. It’s not a problem,” she corrected. “I’m preparing for a big trial. One that I’m perfectly capable of handling on my own.” She sent a pointed glare in Ben’s direction out of the corner of her eye. Cute.

“It’s not an insult to you.” Jack relocated a stack of files on his desk so he could lean forward to address her. “You know it’s policy that we have two attorneys on large cases. You’re so capable that I neglected to pay enough attention to the fact that you were going it alone for so long.”

Her jaw tightened, and she gripped the seat of the chair. “So what’s this mean?”

“I’ve asked Ben to help you out. Sit second chair. I figured you could get him acclimated to the office.”

“Show me the ropes. You know, where to find the pens, how to make the coffee.” He gave her what he’d hoped was a disarming smile, but she returned it with a glare.

“I like to do things my way, Jack,” she said slowly. “I don’t...play well with others.”

He shook his head. “It’s not negotiable, I’m afraid. The Kruger case is too large, and there’s too much media attention. I regret not giving you more resources sooner.”

Ben cocked his head toward her. “I look forward to working with you, Sally. We’ll make a great team.”

She gritted her teeth and said to Jack, “Are we finished? I have a busy day.”

“We’re finished. Thanks for your time.”

“Super.” She rose from her seat. Then she lifted the tray of coffees, twisted one free and set it before Jack, and proceeded to the door without another word.

As the sound of her angry footsteps receded down the hall, Ben was surprised to hear Jack chuckle under his breath. “What’s the joke?”

“Oh.” He waved his hand and leaned back in his chair. “Sally. You already know her, so I don’t have to tell you that she wears her heart on her sleeve.” He popped the top of the coffee she’d left for him and looked inside before taking a sip of the steaming beverage.

So that’s what that was: wearing her heart on her sleeve. Here Ben had thought she was acting bratty and rude. “Has she been working here for long?”

“Since the day she passed the bar.” The older man leaned back in his chair and opened the blinds behind his desk to allow some sunlight into the dark quarters. “Sweet girl and a hell of a lawyer. But when she gets upset about something... I don’t have to tell you,” he repeated, and dropped back into his seat.

“No. You don’t.”

Ben was all too familiar with Sally’s dramatic tendencies. In law school, she’d had near nervous breakdowns as a matter of routine before finals. She’d show up to the library in ratty jeans and an old sweatshirt, her hair unbrushed, looking as if she hadn’t slept in days. She would draw concern from their classmates with her dramatics and endless questions, and then she’d go on to earn one of the highest grades in the class. She’d routinely squandered the time and energy of those around her. He’d found it tedious.

Jack’s chair squeaked as he shifted forward again. “Anyway, don’t worry about her. You two will be working together on the Kruger case whether she likes it or not. There’s always a slew of work to be done during trial, and Sally doesn’t need to be a hero.”

“No, sir.”

“Funny. She sure got upset about you.” Jack’s bushy eyebrows rose mischievously. “Is there some history I should know about?”

Ben started. There was a history, all right, but not one their boss needed to know. Definitely not. “Like I said, we went to Columbia together. Same first year classes.” He coughed to politely signal a change in subject. “You mentioned that you had some other cases for me already.”

“I’ve got a stack of them. We had a retirement last month and everyone’s been helping out, but as far as I’m concerned they’re yours.” His new boss slid a piece of paper with several columns across the desk. “Here’s a table of the case names and file numbers and the attorneys you should speak with about the status.”

“Great.”

“I’m expecting big things from you, Ben. First in your class at Columbia, followed by an impressive military record. We’re lucky to have you here. Anything you need, you just let me know.”

“I appreciate that, sir.” He waved the list of cases and rose. “I’ll get started on these right away.”

Ben walked along the narrow hall, taking in the gray speckled carpet worn thin down the center, and the white walls marked with odd scuffs and smears of grime. He stopped in front of his office, which was located directly across from a cluster of gray cubicles, empty except for boxes of documents piled on and around the desks. The area hummed with the sounds of distant conversations and electrical appliances, but his was the only warm body in sight. Welcome to the neighborhood, he thought ruefully.

He stared into the hole of a room and wondered whether his office was a converted utility closet. That would explain the size. At least the window was large. He tugged at the strings of the dusty blinds, which rose with a squeal. The window may be large, but it looked out onto the back end of a bar. Working late nights meant he would likely have a front row seat to drunken brawls, which meant he’d be seeing familiar faces at bail hearings. That didn’t seem like a perk.

He dropped his leather briefcase near his desk with a thud. The wooden top was marred by thin grooves, he noted with a frown. A large blotter and calendar would cover up those scratches and dents, and at some point he might even forget about them. He looked around again, absorbing the fact that the walls needed a fresh coat of paint and the office chairs looked as if they needed fumigation. It was a place to work, that was all. He needed this start.

He may have grown up nearby, but Ben couldn’t say that he’d ever expected to land in a town like Bedford Hills. Returning to the area in which he’d started signified failure to him. Now that his mother’s health was declining, though, he needed to be close to her. He pressed his fingers between two slats of the dusty blinds.

He could admit there was something appealing about the quiet of the area. Nightlife consisted of a few downtown restaurants and bars, most of which closed by midnight. The old town had remnants of its farming roots, and aside from some of the downtown core and scattered subdivisions, properties in Bedford Hills were large and houses far apart. He could leave work and slip away into silence and solitude. He’d been raised a few towns away, but no one here knew him. He planned to keep it that way.

Except for Sally. She’d known him once, the old Ben, before he’d gotten his life together. He’d heard that she was working as a prosecutor, but he hadn’t realized she was stationed here. That made sense. If he remembered correctly, her family lived in the area, too.

He glanced around again. The office was claustrophobic, the view dingy. The desk was probably older than he was. Back when he was working on Wall Street, he’d had only the best of everything, and now he didn’t even have an administrative assistant. What had he been thinking, coming here? He’d never get used to this place.

He didn’t plan to stay for long.

* * *

She released her breath when she entered the threshold to her office. Her sanctuary. Sally loved everything about the space, from the onyx vase she’d set on the table in the corner and filled with fresh flowers each Monday, to the framed watercolors depicting the seasons in Bedford Hills and painted by a local artist, to the lavender cashmere pashmina scarf that she draped on the back of her chair in case the ventilation went berserk, as it often did. Her space was warm and filled with the things she loved.

A shiver darted down her spine. She was feeling angry, and that wasn’t healthy. Her palm floated unconsciously to her abdomen, resting protectively over the spot where the baby was growing. She’d read that morning that it was the size of a poppy seed. Just a little ball of cells, really, and she couldn’t help but already feel the need to protect it from everything hurtful in the world. She’d been eating healthy and thinking positive thoughts, because positive thoughts bring positive results. At least that’s what the Life Coach podcast taught. She’d been listening to the series during her commute for a few weeks now. Today’s message had been about making peace with failure. As if they’d known I would walk into work and see failure eyeing me smugly.

“Sally.”

She groaned and spun to see Ben standing in the doorway. All the beauty and positive thinking in the world couldn’t stop her blood pressure from spiking at that moment. She didn’t bother to force a smile. “Can I help you?”

She observed his gaze sweeping across her office, her space, her things. He was appraising her. She studied him, trying to get a sense of his ruling, but his face remained inscrutable and he didn’t comment. “I just wanted to tell you that there are no hard feelings.”

The statement turned painfully in her chest. This guy had some nerve. She removed her trench coat with methodical deliberation and draped it across one of the chairs at the little conference table she’d set up in the corner. “I’m not sure what you’re referring to.”

He wasn’t rattled. Cool Ben had the gall to never appear rattled. “Don’t play coy. It doesn’t work with me. We’re colleagues now. I’m suggesting that we try to be civil, even if we can’t stand the sight of each other.”

She gripped her herbal tea, white knuckled. At another time, she might have calmly removed the cover and hurled the beverage at his glaringly white shirt and dull blue tie. But not today, because today she was above that. “It seems like you’re under the impression I spend time thinking about you. Would it make you feel better to know that even if I tried, I couldn’t muster enough interest to hate the sight of you?”

“You’re funny, you know that?”

He stepped into her office and walked toward her purposefully, his gaze locked on hers, the beginning of a smile curving his lips. She watched him, alarm sounding across her body, her muscles frozen. He reached her desk and pressed his large hands down, leaning forward until he intruded upon her space, caused her to lean away. “We both know you care. At least enough to hate me as much as you do.”

He reached forward with one hand and pretended to pick a piece of lint off her Valentino dress. Then he faked considering it before pretending to flick it away. Sally’s blood pounded in her ears. He was close enough that she could smell mint on his breath. Too close. She grabbed a stack of files from her desk and stomped toward the filing cabinet. “Don’t play games with me. You know the feeling’s mutual,” she growled.

“That I hate you?” He righted himself with a slight shrug. “I wouldn’t say that. I’ve always thought you were...interesting.” He lifted one of her business cards from the holder on her desk, turning it between his fingers before tucking it into his pocket. “This murder trial you have, for example. Jack told me about it. A homicide without a body? That’s risky.”

“Is it? I would think it would be riskier to allow a man to get away with murdering his wife just because he’d found a way to conceal her body.”

Ben arched one of his eyebrows rakishly. “Maybe. But do you get beyond a reasonable doubt?”

He leaned one shoulder against the wall and watched her. As he stood there, he folded his arms across his broad chest, silently reminding Sally that he’d never wanted for dates. Women in their law class had draped themselves across him, baking him cookies and inviting him to join their study groups. It was pitiful, and he’d lapped up the attention shamelessly. Ben used women. That’s who he was. Once, before finals, she’d walked into a quiet study room in the library and caught him with a topless girl straddling his lap, his hand snaking up her skirt. He’d had the nerve to smile at Sally over the woman’s bare shoulder as if to say, You wish.

Well, she didn’t wish. She had self-respect. Ben had never been formally attached to anyone. He used women and dumped them. She may have thought she loved him long ago, but he’d been very clear that he wasn’t interested in any kind of long-term, monogamous relationship. She’d been fooled, but that was a distant and ugly memory. Ten years distant.

She slammed the filing cabinet shut. He may be hot, but he wasn’t that hot, really. At least, she’d never understood the appeal. He had mahogany hair, slightly tousled, that he wore at a conservative length. He was tall, but not taller than six feet. He was clean-shaven, probably still tattoo-free, and just...generic. His only striking feature was his pair of deep blue eyes shrouded by long black lashes and strong eyebrows. Sally could admit that his eyes were beautiful. Even his glasses could be kind of hot on a different guy. But everything else about Ben was ho-hum. A playboy who liked to have one-night stands? Yawn. She preferred a man with a real edge and some substance that went beyond whatever was in his pants. A man who could make her laugh and think before he rocked her world. And since her broken engagement, she preferred no man at all.

“If you’ll excuse me, I have some work to do.” She headed toward the door.

“As do I. And I believe we’re heading to the same place. Remember, we’re partners now.” He stepped aside and waved her through. “After you.”

She rolled her eyes at his pompous formality as she brushed past, accidentally sweeping her shoulder against his chest. “Narrow doorway,” she mumbled.

Her attention was gripped by the sight of seven of her colleagues huddled in front of a television set up in a vacant cubicle in the center of the office. They watched her as she approached.

“Sally, you may want to see this,” Greg said, nodding his head toward the screen.

She squinted to make out the sight of the gray marble steps of town hall. A lectern was erected in the middle of a swarm of buzzing reporters in subdued jackets. “A press conference? What’s going on?”

“Your guy Marlow called it.”

That would be Dennis Marlow, the defense attorney who represented Mitch Kruger in the murder trial. He was a ripe pain in the rear.

“He called a press conference? On the Kruger case? And he didn’t even have the courtesy to tell me about it?” As soon as the words escaped, she reconsidered her simmering fury. Marlow had fallen far short of courteous during the pretrial phase, so what was one more professional breach?

She was aware of Ben creeping up to stand behind her. He had all the space in the world, and he had to stand right there, where she could sense him, practically feel the heat as it rose from his body. She couldn’t resist glancing quickly over her shoulder. Yep, there he was, old jerk face, making a conscious decision to invade her personal space and suck up all her air. She’d been much too polite earlier. She’d have to change that.

Her attention returned to the television as Marlow entered the screen from the right and stood behind the lectern, in a red tie and a black blazer that looked brand-new. “That tie looks expensive,” she murmured, mostly to herself. Marlow didn’t wear expensive ties.

“Must be an important press conference,” Ben replied close to her ear. “Fancy tie, lots of cameras.”

She didn’t have the opportunity to respond before Marlow began to speak.

“I’m Attorney Dennis Marlow, and I represent Mitchell Kruger. My client is accused of murdering his wife almost a year ago. Mr. Kruger has maintained his innocence from day one, and his story has never changed. Namely, that Mrs. Kruger walked out after a heated argument and never returned. We have maintained sincere efforts to locate Mrs. Kruger, but to no avail. Her body was never recovered, and the state’s evidence against my client has always been circumstantial.”

Sally bristled at this bit of theatrics. Most evidence in any case was circumstantial—it wasn’t as if criminal acts were routinely captured on video. Marlow knew better, but lines like “circumstantial evidence” often played well to juries.

The attorney continued. “We have cooperated with the investigation without conceding Mr. Kruger’s involvement in his wife’s disappearance. He was not involved. He, too, was a victim.”

Sally glanced across the crowd of colleagues and caught her friend Tessa’s eye. Tessa made a gesture as if she was about to vomit. Sally shook her head. Mr. Kruger was a victim now? Marlow was really pushing it.

“I’m pleased to announce that now, on the eve of Mr. Kruger’s trial, we are about to clear his good name once and for all.” Marlow looked up from his notes and gestured to the right of the screen. “My client couldn’t have killed his wife, because she’s with us here today.”

Sally’s blood rushed to her feet, and a chill settled in its place as a figure crossed the screen to the lectern. She’d looked at hundreds of pictures of Mitch Kruger’s wife over the course of this investigation and in preparation for trial, imagining the terror the poor woman must have felt in her last moments. Sally knew Mrs. Kruger. The shape of her face. The shade of her white-blond hair. Her slender build.

Through private interviews with her closest friends and family, Sally knew even more than that. She knew that Mrs. Kruger liked country music, line dancing and beer. That she didn’t care for gardening, but kept small potted plants that she tended with love. That she loved her shar-pei, Pookie, and would never, ever have willingly left him with Mitch. Sally knew that Mrs. Kruger was dead.

But then the woman smiled shyly at the camera and said, “Hello. I’m Ronnie Kruger.”

And stupid Ben had the nerve to whisper, “Sally, I think there’s a problem with your case.”