A Raging Dawn (11 page)

Rossi leaned against the doorway and let Ryder answer. “She brought the photos of the victim,” he said, wondering at the sudden change in her. She’d been fine during the walk over, but now sweat beaded above her lip, and her pulse throbbed in her neck.

Damn, he never should have brought her. He should have sent her home to rest after everything she’d been through today. Not that she’d let him do anything to help her. Stubborn, stubborn woman. It was agony standing by, doing nothing.

He pulled out a chair for Rossi, and she sank into it, nodding her thanks. He resisted the urge to hover, and settled for taking the seat beside her. She’d bust his balls if he ever treated her as anything less than an equal.

“Typical of a power-reassurance rapist, he doesn’t like being around strong women,” Ryder continued, paraphrasing what Rossi had told him last week when they prepped her testimony during his convalescence. “Way she made him so nervous in court, Rossi’s the best person to get him to talk.”

Manny grunted his assent. “Okay, if Kravitz doesn’t object.”

The door banged open, and a tall, curvaceous blonde bounded in. “Object?” Gena Kravitz said, heaving a bulging briefcase onto the table. “Of course I object. I object to the trampling of my client’s rights, the police brutality, and this perversion of justice that has brought us here today!”

She moved so fast that the air around her danced, as if the molecules were unable to keep up with her energy. Her laughter sliced through the room as she plopped herself into a chair. “Now that my objections are on record, what the hell are we talking about?”

“We have your client dead to rights, and you know it.” Manny leaned forward on knuckled fists. Ryder remained quiet, watching the two lawyers wrangle like junkyard dogs. A sly smile played over his face as he sat back, waiting to pounce. He glanced at Rossi. Her color had returned to almost normal, and she also watched the exchange with interest.

Kravitz met Manny head-on. “I find it difficult to believe an attorney as good as Jacob Voorsanger had a simple slip of the tongue. Besides, your victimless prosecution of the rape charges is bullshit. Can’t believe Judge Shaw even allowed it to go this far.”

“Who cares about the rape? Shaw’s now my star witness when I charge your client with felony assault and attempted murder. Not to mention every juror, and don’t forget, the entire incident was taped. I’d like to see you find reasonable doubt in that, Kravitz.”

Kravitz stopped moving for a moment, her hair bouncing against her shoulders, her face crinkling with a smile as if at a private joke. Then she chuckled. “It’d be fun to try, wouldn’t it?” She spun to face Manny. “Okay, what do you want?”

Ryder saw his opening and tossed Tymara’s photos along the table. They skidded to a stop in front of Kravitz. “The monsters responsible for this.”

Kravitz barely flicked a glance at the photos, her expression never wavering. “In exchange for?”

“We drop the rape charges,” Manny said, finally settling into a chair. Kravitz waited a beat, then also took a seat.

“If he fully cooperates and testifies against the others,” Rossi added, her words tight with fury. She had no patience for the games lawyers played, Ryder knew. Not with her victim caught in the middle.

Kravitz was silent, her lips pursed.

“You really don’t want to haul Judge Shaw onto the witness stand and cross-examine her,” Manny reminded her. “You’d be slitting your wrists any time you walked into her courtroom ever again.”

“Of course, I need to put the interests of my client first,” Kravitz allowed, meaning exactly the opposite.

Rossi slammed her palm down on the table in front of Kravitz, the move so sudden the noise cracked the air like a gunshot. Both Kravitz and Manny jumped. Ryder smiled. Leave it to Rossi to cut through the lawyer BS.

“Now that we’ve protected your ass as well as your rapist client,” Rossi said, “give us the names of the men responsible for this.”

“I’ve heard of you, Dr. Rossi,” Kravitz said after a long moment of consideration. “You decimated one of my former associates during the Watson case.”

“I remember. He kept me on the stand for over an hour, trying to get me to agree to an alternative theory as to how a twelve-year-old’s stepfather’s sperm came to be found on a vaginal swab during her rape exam. Trying to imply she’d somehow artificially inseminated herself and that the stepfather wasn’t involved. That he hadn’t raped her weekly for the previous four years before she found the courage to speak out.”

Rossi leaned forward, inserting herself into Kravitz’s space, making it impossible for Kravitz to look anywhere but at her face. “We won. We got justice for that little girl, just like we will for Tymara Nelson.”

“If I remember correctly, after he was convicted, the stepfather blew his brains out rather than face prison.” Kravitz gazed at Rossi with another condescending look. “There’s a thin line between justice and vengeance. You’re taking this case much too personally.”

“I take all my cases personally.”

“But justice isn’t personal. That’s why it’s blind.” She shook her head. “No wonder you burned out at such a young age. Only thirty-four and taking early retirement from the ER? Makes one think there’s more going on. Some kind of personal crisis, Doctor? Interfering with your work, impairing your judgment?”

Rossi kept her expression neutral, ignoring Kravitz’s implied accusation. “Nice try, counselor. But my decision to take a sabbatical has no reflection on the fact your client is guilty. I have no problems at all changing my travel plans to ensure I’ll be present to testify again if Mr. Cruz decides to retry him.”

“A sabbatical? Is that what they’re calling it these days?” Kravitz’s stare was heavy, weighted with challenge and skepticism.

Rossi glared at the attorney. Beside her, Manny shifted in his seat. His ears were red, but other than that, he had his usual cocky game face on. But his gaze was riveted on Kravitz in a way that was intensely personal and more than a little possessive.

Oh shit. Kravitz and Manny? Ryder had heard rumors. A relationship between an assistant district attorney and defense attorney pretty much blew all the rules out of the water.

Kravitz dismissed Rossi with a one-shoulder shrug that sent her mass of curls rippling. Her gaze cut to Manny. “My client warns that he may not be aware of the identities of all involved in this unfortunate incident.”

“No. He needs to give us names,” Rossi insisted.

Kravitz deigned to glance her way. “He’ll give you everything he is able to give. What you do with it is none of our concern.”

It was obvious Rossi didn’t like the sound of that. Neither did Ryder. Too much wiggle room. He leaned forward, his hand slipping onto her thigh, under the table, hidden. The tension that had knotted her muscles eased at his touch.

“What’s it going to cost?” Manny asked. He seemed to be enjoying himself. Was it because he had a slam-dunk conviction to add to his scorecard or because of the attorney he was negotiating with?

“You tell me.”

“He pleads guilty on all charges,” Manny said.

“And registers as a sex offender,” Ryder put in.

Manny nodded. “If his information pans out, we’ll take time served.”

Kravitz pursed her lips, the weight of her stare on Manny. Manny shifted in his seat, looking away first. Sensing her victory, Kravitz pushed her chair back and stood, looking down on them all. “He’ll tell you everything he can, plead guilty to the assault with time served. You drop the rest. Period. None of this ‘if the information pans out’ bullshit. If your investigators were able to put a decent case together to start with, we wouldn’t be in this mess. I’m not trusting my client’s freedom to their talent,” she knifed a glare at Ryder, “or lack thereof.”

“No,” Rossi protested. “What about Tymara?”

Manny didn’t even glance in her direction. “Done,” he said, getting to his feet. “Let’s finalize this.”

Ryder watched them leave, noticing the way Manny brushed against Kravitz’s side as they went through the door.
Well, hell.

“Did he seriously just give Littleton a walk?” Rossi’s voice rose with indignation. “Just to save his conviction rate and please his girlfriend?”

So she’d seen it as well. He gave the door a pitying look. “Blondie there is going to use and abuse and grind poor Manny into the dirt with her stilettos.”

“And with him, our case.”

“Which do you want? Littleton in jail on assault charges or the men who killed Tymara?”

“I want them all.” Her gaze was fierce. Her fists bunched on the tabletop as if ready to battle her way through the guards and concrete walls and locked doors to get to Littleton herself.

Then he noticed the tremor that quivered her hand, and it took all his strength not to gather her into his arms and carry her far away from this building filled with treacherous snakes on both sides of the law. He still refused to believe—no matter how much crepe Louise hung as she discussed the disease, but never the patient—that some microscopic, twisted strand of protein could be the end to a woman as strong and passionate and alive as Rossi.

She turned to face him, her expression earnest. “Isn’t that what we’re here for? Isn’t that why we do this job? To nail bastards like Littleton?”

He placed his hand over hers and squeezed. The tremor fought, refusing to surrender to his touch. As stubborn as the woman. “Some of us. Yes.”

How could he not try to give her everything she deserved? Ryder looked up, past Rossi, to the bright overhead lights, convincing himself that the tight burning behind his eyes came from their glare. He blinked hard. How could he not fight as hard for her as he had his squad back in Afghanistan? He’d brought them home alive. There was no way in hell he wouldn’t do the same for Rossi.

No matter what it took.

MANNY RETURNED, A
scowl on his face. “There’s a small snag,” he said, glaring at me. “Seems Littleton refuses to talk to us until he talks to you first.”

I jerked my head up. “Me? Why’s he want to talk to me?”

After what Ryder said about how Littleton acted during my testimony, I understood why Manny might want me to talk to him, but why would Littleton ask for me? What had changed in the short time since we’d faced off in the courtroom? Maybe something Gena had told him about me?

“Fuck what Littleton wants.” Ryder stood, the abrupt movement fluttering the photos across the tabletop. “Let him rot here, face a new trial and new charges.”

“A new trial isn’t going to help. I polled the jurors. They were leaning toward acquittal,” Manny said. “Without Tymara’s testimony, they just weren’t buying it.”

“Without Littleton, we can’t get the others,” I said. “Besides, that’s why you brought me. I make him nervous. Maybe he’ll say something he’ll regret.”

Ryder slouched in the corner, shoulders hunched, staring at me from behind Manny’s back. He gave me a wary nod, not granting me permission, more like accepting that someone had to do the dirty work. I could tell he wished he’d be the one going in to meet Littleton.

“I’ll do it,” I told Manny.

We had to wait while the jailers fetched Littleton and brought him to the interview room. Manny spent the time coaching me. “Remember, privilege doesn’t apply, and we’ll be listening through the video monitor, so anything you can get him to say—”

“I know.” I gathered my photos, my fingers pausing over the last, a head shot, filled with Tymara’s dark, pleading eyes.

Ryder turned away from his position at the monitor, where he’d been watching the jailers secure Littleton, now in prison orange and shackles, to the table. There was no way Littleton would be able to touch me, physically at least. “Don’t let him play mind games with you.”

“I won’t.” The door opened, and a guard beckoned. Gena Kravitz pushed in as I left, planting herself in front of the observation monitor, hands on her hips, obviously not too pleased with her client or his unorthodox demands.

Taking a deep breath outside the door to the room where Littleton waited, I shoved my nervousness aside. This was what I’d wanted, a chance to nail the men who’d killed Tymara. I pulled the vision of her brutalized body front and center in my mind, using it to fuel my adrenaline. I was walking a knife’s edge—stay too calm and Littleton would grow bored, say nothing of value; reveal too much emotion and he’d slake his blood thirst with it rather than give us what we needed to find his partners.

I strode into the room and sat across the table from Littleton. Before he could speak, I snapped the photos of Tymara onto the table like a high-stakes poker player dealing aces.

“Thought you might want to take this opportunity to explain to me exactly how Tymara received these injuries and who inflicted them.” Good, my voice was steady and clear.