Nothing But the Truth (20 page)

“Come in.” Brett held the door open and followed Ryan’s eyes as they honed in on the couch. She observed the crackle of conflict as Ryan and Paulson sized each other up, and felt strangely embarrassed that Ryan had found another woman on her couch.

Ryan strode across the room and shoved her hand at the last person she had expected to see sitting in Brett’s apartment. Her anger was only slightly minimized by the discomfort Paulson obviously experienced at seeing Ryan. Or maybe she was just embarrassed to be holding an almost empty bottle of wine. Paulson set the bottle on the coffee table and took Ryan’s offered hand. Ryan held it, squeezing hard enough and long enough to send a message.

It didn’t work. Paulson remained seated. Ryan decided to be more direct. “I think Detective Harwell could use your help.”

“He’s fine.”

“He’s very capable, but I want the forensics on Edwards’s computers started right away, and I want the phone record subpoenas on my desk later tonight. If you leave now, the two of you working together should be able to accomplish that.” Her authoritative tone left no room for argument. The computers would need to be transported to their local IT expert, and Ryan had already told Harwell she didn’t want to wait till morning to start the process. She could draft the subpoenas herself, but she wanted to talk to Brett alone, so ordering Paulson to take care of it would solve her immediate issues of both time and convenience.

Paulson stood and made her way to the door, ignoring Ryan. Ryan wasn’t fooled. She wasn’t Paulson’s boss, but any cop in the county was smart enough to know Ryan had the ear of District Attorney Duncan. A call of reprimand from Duncan down the chain could inflict permanent damage. “Brett, thanks for your hospitality. I hope you get some rest and feel better soon.”

Ryan’s ears perked at the intimate tone.
Since when did Ms. Logan become Brett?
She waited till she was sure Paulson had made her way down the front walk before she focused on Brett. She looked like hell. Ryan guessed she needed more sleep than her lopsided hair indicated she had gotten. Did she share a bottle of wine with Paulson before or after her nap? Had they napped together? Ryan forced her face into an expression that didn’t reflect the frustration she felt at finding Paulson cozied up on Brett’s couch. Then she faced her.

Brett had dispensed with hostess formalities. She reclined on the sofa, a glass of wine in her hand. She spoke first. “I don’t think I’ve had this many visitors since I moved in. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Frankly, I don’t know why Paulson was here, but I came by to let you know a few things about the investigation.”

“Oh, so you didn’t come by to see how I was doing?”

Ryan shuffled. Brett’s voice was lilting, but held a tinge of hurt. Ryan did care how Brett was holding up, but she was doing her best to maintain a level of professionalism. What she really wanted was to drain the last of the bottle of wine Paulson had been cradling, and take the place she had vacated on Brett’s sofa. She was twitching with need. Tonight was the first night she had failed to keep an appointment she made with the service. She needed the relief, but on her way home to change into more appropriate clothes, her instincts told her to take a detour. A single phone call netted Brett’s address.

Now, sitting in Brett’s apartment, she wondered if she had made the right decision. Brett was clearly out of it, and who could blame her? They had both had a crazy day, though their experiences were vastly different. Where Brett felt betrayed, Ryan was vindicated. Where Brett looked foolish, Ryan looked wise. But the upshot was the blurring of lines between them. Brett, whether she realized it or not, was now a potential witness for the state, which placed her solidly in Ryan’s camp. They were no longer adversaries. At least not for the moment. Ryan decided to take advantage.

“Have you eaten?”

“What?”

“You look beat. You’ll feel better if you eat.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Change into something comfortable. I’ll wait.”

Brett’s tone changed from petulant to indignant. “Excuse me? I’m not accustomed to being ordered around in my own house, Ms. Foster.”

Ryan smiled to soften the atmosphere. “Sorry. Look, I didn’t mean to order you around. I just thought you could use something to eat and frankly, I could use the company. You’d be doing me a favor.”

“I am starving.” Brett gave Ryan a once over. “Are you wearing that?” Ryan shrugged and nodded.
That
was a tightly tailored charcoal gray wool suit, black silk shirt, and heels. Her suit looked fresh from the cleaners and her pantyhose were still intact, whereas Brett’s lay in the heap across the room. Ryan’s hair was still tidily tucked into a French braid and her mascara wasn’t smeared with sleep. Brett could only imagine how she looked, and she had no desire to appear in public with Ms. Perfect. “Where did you plan on taking me?”

Ryan hadn’t thought that far ahead. She fished her memory for the place Brett had suggested the night of the fundraiser. “How about Five Sixty?” Brett’s only response was wild laughter.

“You’ve got to be kidding me?” Brett stood and smoothed out the wrinkles in her skirt. “I’d love to go to Five Sixty. When I look good. I’m way past that tonight. Take off your jacket.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me. It’s my turn to bark out some orders. You’re way overdressed for where I want to go.”

Ryan wasn’t sure why, but she complied. “Okay, now what?”

“Your hair.”

“My hair?”

“Braid be gone. Now.” Brett couldn’t help it; she reached over and fingered Ryan’s perfectly coiffed hair. Ryan’s slight flinch didn’t go unnoticed. Brett quickly drew back. “I’m going to throw on some jeans. There’s a brush on the bathroom counter. Help yourself. I’ll be ready in five.”

*

“These are delicious. Don’t make me eat them alone.”

Ryan watched Brett’s eager consumption of the largest cheeseburger she had ever seen. She’d heard of Snuffer’s, Brett’s restaurant choice, but this was her first time to experience the institution first hand. Despite Brett’s insistence that she try one of the famous half-pound burgers, she ordered a salad in deference to her shape and the late hour. But Brett wasn’t going to take no for an answer when it came to the appetizer she ordered. Ryan reached across the table and tentatively poked her fork at the mound of cheese pouring over the sides of the basket of French fries.

Brett held out her hand. “Give me your plate.” Ryan handed Brett her plate and watched as she thrust her fork into the globby mess. She added jalapeños, bacon bits, and ranch dressing to the heaping plate and shoved it back to Ryan. No salad would offset the effect of this cholesterol nightmare. Her plan to ignore the full plate was thwarted by Brett’s stare. Ryan took as small a bite as she could and placed it in her mouth. It was heaven. She reached for another bite, vowing to put in an extra few miles on the treadmill, even though she knew it was futile.

“Were you at Edwards’s house when they did the search?”

“Yes.”

“What did you find?”

Ryan hesitated. She and Brett were no longer on opposite sides, but she probably shouldn’t be sharing information about an ongoing investigation with a potential witness. She reached for her beer—Brett had insisted it was a beer kind of a joint—and took a deep draught while she thought about her reply.
What the hell?
She was excited about what they had found. She probably should’ve been having this celebratory drink with Jeff, but she had been too focused on her other plans to think to ask him to join her for a drink after they had executed the search warrant, and besides, she didn’t think fraternizing with one of her employees was a good idea. Of course those “other plans” had fallen by the wayside once Ryan thought about Brett. Ryan ignored the nagging internal voice that warned having a drink with Brett might be a mistake as well.

“We found enough to nail this case shut, and he’ll be preparing his defense from a jail cell for the duration.” She could tell by Brett’s raised eyebrows that she wanted to know more. She wanted to tell her. She wanted to tell her that they had found draft after draft of the “script” Kenneth Phillips had read during the first moments of the debrief. They had found a fake DEA badge, and she was certain his phone records and e-mails would show direct communication with Brett and her office about representing Kenneth Phillips. “Let’s just say we found definitive evidence he communicated with Kenneth about what Kenneth had to say to us today, and I expect we’ll find more in the next few days from the evidence we seized.”

“What are your plans for Kenneth?”

“I’ll grant him immunity and he’ll testify at Edwards’s trial.”

“He’ll need an attorney to walk him through the immunity agreement.”

“Uh, I thought you were his attorney.”

“I think I might have a conflict now.”

“Not if he has immunity.”

“I assume you’re talking about use immunity?” Brett referred to an agreement where the prosecution agreed not to use his testimony against him, which was more common than transactional immunity, which would mean he couldn’t be prosecuted at all, no matter where the evidence against him came from. At Ryan’s nod, she continued. “What if he gets on the stand and says something different?”

“We can deal with it then. I think he trusts you. The last thing we need is to have to involve another attorney at this stage.”

“You mean the last thing Kenneth needs, don’t you?”

“Sure, that’s what I meant.”

Brett wasn’t entirely sure that was the case, but she decided to write Ryan’s exuberance off to the excitement of experiencing such a huge break in her case. She decided to change the subject. “Did Kenneth get home okay?” Paulson had volunteered to drive him home since he’d taken a cab to the courthouse that morning.

 “Sure. I’m sure Paulson got him settled in. Speaking of Paulson, how do you know her?”

“I met her for the first time this morning.” Brett sensed more behind Ryan’s question, but she decided to let Ryan get to it in her own time.

“She seemed kind of chummy at your place.”

 “Yes, she did.”

“And you like that?”

Brett cocked her head. What was Ryan trying to get at? She had a sense, but wasn’t sure whether or not to follow her instincts. Ryan’s questions had all the signs of a curious, perhaps even jealous, admirer, but Brett held back on any such conclusions. She was definitely attracted to Ryan, but didn’t harbor any hope the attraction was mutual. Word on the street was Ryan was an ice-cold celibate bitch. Brett was no longer buying the ice-cold bitch part, but celibate? Maybe. It didn’t seem as if relationships of any kind were in Ryan’s repertoire.

Fuck it.
Brett decided she was done dancing around the question. “Are you asking me if I like Detective Paulson?”

Ryan flushed deep red and shoved a forkful of cheese fries in her mouth. Avoidance. Definitely a sign, but Brett was sick and tired of vague signs. She wanted definitive answers. “Are you asking me if I’m a lesbian?”

Ryan met her eyes straight on. She swallowed and cleared her throat. Arms folded, she leaned in, and sotto voice replied, “I know you’re a lesbian.”

Brett faked a shocked expression. Clutching her chest, she returned the whisper. “Oh my god! My secret’s been exposed!”

Ryan’s blush grew deeper. “Are you making fun of me?”

“Me? Making fun of you? Hey, it’s my personal life that’s at issue here.”

“But it’s not like you keep it a secret.”

“No. I don’t.” Brett looked closely at Ryan, who seemed to blanch under the scrutiny. There was something more to this conversation. Some undercurrent she wasn’t quite getting. She wanted to examine her instincts, but decided to wait. Right now, all she really wanted was to act on them. For the first time since they’d left the apartment, Brett took in Ryan’s less than buttoned-up appearance. Her hair, still kinked from the tight braid that restrained it during the day, kicked around her face in stubborn waves. Brett wanted to touch the wayward tendrils, not to tame them, but to relish their happy freedom. She glanced up at Ryan’s face and fixed her with a steady look that said she wasn’t finished taking in the full picture. Ryan flushed again, and the look was positively captivating. The wave of red extended down her exposed neckline. Brett lost all interest in her meal, hungering only to touch the glowing skin at the base of Ryan’s throat, sure it would be soft, hot, and firm. As captivated as she was, Brett was still conscious of where they were, who Ryan was. She didn’t touch. Not with her hands anyway. “You are gorgeous. Do you know that?”

Brett wasn’t sure what reaction she expected from Ryan. Shock, revulsion, a face slap maybe. No, Ryan’s position as a candidate dictated there would be no public humiliation, even if initiated by the other party. Ryan remained calm, poised. “I think I should take you home.” Her stoic reaction belied any possibility her response was a double entrendre. Brett merely nodded in response.

The drive was short and miserable. Ryan silently cursed the late hour. She could still show up at the party, but the likelihood anyone of choice would be waiting for a third tier late arrival was dim at best. She had no desire to place herself in a position of rejecting whoever might be left, if anyone was. She was always careful to arrive in time to enjoy the variety of choices available at the exclusive events. A late arrival would be insult enough. If she showed up now, she couldn’t add another insult by declining the hospitality of whatever man or woman might be waiting to service her needs. Such a slight to the host could result in a restriction of future privileges. Ryan didn’t let her mind consider the possibility that not showing up at all might constitute an even greater slight.