Shattered Trust (Shattered #2) (10 page)

Chapter 15

Trenton

The Friday night dinner at my Crystal City apartment is everything I hoped it would be. I’d reviewed my wine collection and popped open several bottles of red and white. With the Pentagon City Costco so close, I’d also stopped there and picked up a few of my favorites as well as some new artisan beers. Rather than cook, which I’d have been more than happy to do, I’d chosen to have Pietro’s, my favorite Italian restaurant, cater the meal. I’d also hired some of his staff to serve and handle the kitchen duties.

I’d talked Madrigal into attending the dinner. Having her here means a lot to me, as does the presence of my hopefully future employees and partners. Marcus Waverly is in attendance, and so are Rob Dwelling, Rayne Adams, Susan Bush, and the paralegal, Monica Watkins.

“Thank you for coming,” I say once we’re all enjoying Pietro’s delicious cuisine.

“Thank you for inviting us,” Marcus says.

Over the course of the meal, we hash out plans for the law firm. I assure each and every one of them that he or she will have a chance to shine.

“You will have health insurance, including dental?” Monica asks.

“Of course.” I have no idea how I’ll manage it, but you can’t run a law firm without basic benefits. “As well as a 401(k) plan.”

“So what’s the focus of the firm, Trenton?” Rob asks.

“Criminal law. At least to start. Once the firm grows, we’ll probably open additional areas of practice, such as trusts and estates and taxes.”

“God knows there are enough prospective clients in this town.”

A wave of laughter travels around the room.

After we toast our new venture, someone asks, “So what should we name the firm?”

“Trenton Steele and Associates, of course,” Madrigal says. So far she’s been quiet, but on this issue she’s very sure.

A chorus of agreements circles the room.

“Makes sense.”

“Absolutely.”

“Of course.”

Whether it’s from the excitement of our new venture or their trust in me, a flush rises in my cheeks. And then again, maybe it’s just the wine. “Thank you for your vote of confidence. I’ll try my hardest to make sure we all succeed.”

“You’d better,” Marcus says with a laugh in his voice. He doesn’t appear too worried.

Attaching my name to the new law firm does make sense. After all, I’m well known about town as the criminal law attorney who can get you out of trouble. Later on we can rethink the firm name as more of them make partners. Their attendance and interest in my new venture is more than I hoped for. Everyone’s excited about the opportunity to be part of it.

“So what about clients?” someone asks.

“I’ve gotten calls,” Marcus says.

“So have I,” Rob echoes.

Marcus laughs and turns to me. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about, Trenton. Clients are being fed the party line—that you left against everyone’s wishes because you wanted to start your own firm. More than a few of them are concerned about their cases. Those who contacted me are very interested in finding out where you’ve gone. As soon as word gets out you’ve opened your doors, I’m pretty sure they’ll camp on your doorstep, begging you to represent them.”

“Let’s hope,” I say, raising my glass.

After everyone toasts to our clients, Marcus says, “You’ll need to set up a communications network.”

“I’ll have a phone line installed as soon as I can and hire a receptionist as well. I know someone who can set up computers and such.”

“I can help you with staffing, Mr. Steele,” Monica, the paralegal, pipes up. “I used to work in Human Resources.”

“Perfect. If you want that job, it’s yours.”

“I can do both until you get everything sorted out. But you’d be better off hiring an administrator. I really prefer the paralegal work.”

“Whatever she can’t handle, I’ll be glad to pitch in too,” Rayne Adams, one of the supersmart associates, offers. She used to work in Dick Slayton’s group, but bored out of her mind with the lack of work, she’d asked to transfer to the criminal law practice, which she’d taken to like a duck to water. Her help had been invaluable in the hockey player’s case. She’d been the one to wheedle out of the so-called victim the admission that she was more interested in fleecing the eighteen-year-old phenom hockey player than in having him be found guilty of rape. Once we’d figured out her motives, we’d looked into her past and discovered she’d done the same thing before. In Canada. When we brought it to the attention of the prosecutor, he’d dropped the case, and our eighteen-year-old hockey player was absolved of any wrongdoing.

“Thank you, Rayne. I’ll take you up on the offer.” I need all the help I can get.

Before everyone departs, I promise to draw up an agreement for all the lawyers to sign, and we set up August 3 as our launch date. If the space in the Crystal City office I plan to lease is not available, we can work out of my condo. It’s big enough to handle everyone who’s coming on board.

Later, when we’re finally alone, Madrigal and I sit in the living room, sipping wine.

“You’re happy,” she says.

“Yes, I am.” A rare emotion. I haven’t had many opportunities to be truly happy in my life. My law school graduation, the phone call from Holden Gardiner offering me a position at his law firm, and every damn minute I’ve been with Madrigal. All I have to do is breathe the same air she does, and I’m in heaven. “You make me happy.”

She laughs. “It’s not just me. It’s what happened here today. Your own law firm. You’ve been wanting this for a while.”

“I have.”

“So what should we do to celebrate?”

“Oh, I can think of a thing or two.”

Rising to my feet, I hold out my hand to her. She takes it, and I kiss her fingers before leading her to the bedroom, where I waste no time in helping her out of her clothes.

I strip her down to her underwear, which consists of a peekaboo lacy bra and a thong. “What’s this?” My voice gravels as I insinuate a finger under her bra strap.

“I went shopping on Wednesday, remember?”

“With Madison. Don’t tell me you picked these out in front of her?”

“No. She found a friend at the mall. They went off to one of those infernal stores teenagers frequent. I told her I’d meet up with her later for lunch.”

“And using that excuse, you bought this.”

“Yes.”

“It matches your eyes.”

“That’s why I bought it.”

Her curves have always called to me. With the reverence duly due her lace peekaboo bra, I suckle her nipple right through the bra, run a knuckle down the satin of her skin. She’s lovely, and young, and what she wants with me is anyone’s guess. But I don’t intend to ask her that question. Not ever.

She throws her head back and moans. I test her readiness through the satin of her panties. She’s wet and about to get wetter. I tease one finger beneath the fabric and stroke her clit. She pants little puffs of air. “It’s been too long.”

“We fucked last Sunday.”

Her eyes flash. “Like I said, too long.”

I pick her up and lay her on the bed. Knowing what she likes, I slide the panties off her and toss them aside. Gripping her thighs, I open her and bend down to lick my way to her mons. Her pussy is dripping wet and smells like heaven itself. “You want me.”

“Yes.” When my tongue licks a path to her clit and I nip her, she curls her hand in my hair and yanks. “In me, Steele.”

“All in good time, sweetheart.”

I insert two fingers into her heat while suckling her pearl. Hips pumping, she writhes on the bed. “Now, Steele.”

She’s had enough teasing and, frankly, so have I. I need to be inside her, feel her heat clenched around me. I toss my jacket aside, my tie, my shirt, the rest of my clothes. I slide open the drawer, ready to roll on a condom.

“Do we really need that?”

“Yes, we do.”

“I’m on the pill.”

I’m not about to take chances. She’s twenty-four and about to embark on her law career. She doesn’t need the complications a child would bring. And the last thing I want is a kid. “Better safe than sorry,” I say.

She makes a face. “I’d rather have you bare against me with nothing in the way.”

Tempting, but I’m not negotiating this. I finish rolling the condom over my cock and kiss my way down to her mons again. When she’s writhing on the bed once more, I plunge into her. She screams. A moment later she comes, and so do I. We rest together, finding our peace with each other. But for how long?

Chapter 16

Madrigal

“Hello,
querida
. How are you holding up?” Cristina Sanchez, my best friend from law school, asks.

I’d asked her to drop by, hoping to get her take on my parents’ murder case. We’d gone through three years of law school together, lived in the same house, taken many of the same classes. By a sheer stroke of luck, we’d ended up interning in DC for the summer. She at the Department of Justice, and me at my grandfather’s law firm. He’d insisted I learn the defense side of the law before I started my job as a prosecutor at the Arlington County Commonwealth’s Attorney’s office, which is how I’d ended up under Steele’s tutelage. From him, I’d learned much more than the law.

“Fine. All things considered.” I give her a rundown of Madison’s situation, Mitch being charged with murder, and the status of my parents’ case.

“You have your hands full, that’s for sure. Still taking the Virginia bar exam?”

“In less than two weeks. I’m boning up every chance I get.”

Without warning, the shadow of Hunter Stone looms over us. “Ms. Berkeley. Your sister’s gone riding. I just wanted to let you know.”

“Thank you, Hunter. This is my friend, Cristina Sanchez.”

He nods at her. “How do you do?”

“Uh. Fine.” His appearance has apparently struck Cristina deaf and dumb. As soon as he walks away, she whispers, “Who’s that gorgeous bastard?”

“He’s the head of Stone Security, our new security company.”

“That’s your bodyguard? Holy Chihuahua.”

I smile. She’s always reacted strongly to good-looking men. And I have to admit Hunter is drop-dead gorgeous. “One of them. We ended up with four. Round-the-clock protection.”

“Wow.” She glances over her shoulder at our retreating bodyguard. “Nice ass.”

I laugh. “What about your boy toy from the Senate?”

She makes a face. “Oh, we’re still together. He’s very nice. Loves vanilla sex.”

“And you like a little Rocky Road now and then.”

“Yeah, with nuts on the bottom. So why did you ask me here?”

“To get your take on things.” We’d taken Criminal Law I and II at Yale, and Cristina had gotten the highest grade in both classes. She can analyze cases like nobody’s business and understands the intricacies of criminal jurisprudence better than anyone I know. Except for Steele, that is.

With her behind me, I stroll into our newly created evidence room and hand her a binder outlining the facts of the case. The board clearly delineates the timeline of all the known events. Charlie managed to get his hands on photos of all the players, from the two men who broke into the house to my parents to the house staff. We’ve pieced together what happened, what I remembered from my mother’s diary, and what I recall from before that day.

After I introduce her to Charlie, who’s studying the detective’s file and scribbling away, Cristina taps the binder. “Can I make notes?”

“Yes. That’s your copy.”

It takes her an hour to review the narrative. While she reads, I jot down a couple of things I want to ask her.

Once finished, she sits back, rubs the space between her eyes. “Are you sure those two burglars didn’t do it?”

“About ninety-nine percent. Neither had ever committed anything but robberies or been involved in anything violent before they broke into our house. The one that’s still alive doesn’t appear to have the smarts God gave him. Of course, he’s a stoner, so his brain could have been fried from too many drugs. But I don’t believe they killed my parents.”

“Why do you think that?” she asks.

“The one I talked to liked my mother. He liked the fact that she served him food and attended to them. I don’t think he had it in him to kill her, especially as horribly as . . .” I catch my breath and will away the images.

“What happened to the house you lived in? Was it sold?”

“No. My grandfather kept it, maybe for sentimental reasons. Or maybe he had another motive.”

“Have you gone there?”

“No. Not since”—I wave my hand at the board—“the murders occurred. Aside from the fact my grandfather would have never approved, I couldn’t make myself return.”

“It won’t be easy for you to visit your old home, but you know you’ll need to do so, don’t you?” Kindness shines from her eyes, as well as a bit of tough love.

“Yes, I do. And I will. Soon.”

Rather than push me on the subject, she flips to a page in the binder. “The summary states that Madison saw your grandfather burying something in the backyard.”

“That’s right. She was only four at the time, though.”

She tosses her head. “An unreliable witness at best.”

A knock on the door interrupts us. “Come in.”

My sister pokes in her head, her face bright with curiosity. “Hi.”

Talk about the devil. “Back from your ride already?” I ask.

“Yeah. It’s too hot out there,” she says, stepping into the room. “Marigold was having a hard time with the heat. So I came back. After I hosed her down, I took a shower myself.”

A braid of gold hangs down her back. Her T-shirt and jeans are crisp and neat. I’m glad she took the time to clean up before dropping in on us. Sometimes she brings the eau de stable with her. “You remember Cristina?”

“Yeah, hi.” She waves at her. Even though she’s been on a regular course of her meds for only a few days, she’s calmer, less volatile. Still a bit restless, though.

“What are you guys doing?” she asks. Like she doesn’t know.

“Cristina’s helping me go over the evidence. Fresh set of eyes and all that.”

“I can be a fresh set of eyes.” Her eagerness tugs at my heart. She wants to help, but I’m afraid of what it might do to her. I couldn’t eat for a day after looking at those photos.

“I don’t know about that, Maddy.”

“I can handle it, Mad. I saw those pictures, remember?”

Cristina’s gaze swivels back to me. “What pictures?”

“Madison discovered photos from the crime scene at the
Washington Courier
morgue the week she interned there.”

“Why aren’t they up here?” Cristina points at the big whiteboard, which outlines every known fact of the case.

Recalling the bloody images, I shudder. “Too gruesome.”

“I can take a look at them to see if I can spot some clues. If you don’t mind, that is.” Even though I will not allow Maddy to lay eyes on those pictures again, Cristina is another matter entirely. And she’s right. She might see something in those images that I can’t. But it’s already six, and going over all of the evidence we’ve collected as well as the photos will take some time.

“It’s kind of late to start that now. Can you stay until tomorrow?”

Her head bobs up and down. “I can stay the whole weekend. Scott’s in Minnesota with his senator. They’re getting ready to launch an initiative, and they want to drum up as much support as they can in her home state. Won’t be back until Monday night.”

I’m thrilled to hear that. Cristina’s got a wicked sense of humor, so having her around will be fun. Something Maddy and I sorely need. “Great. I’ll have one of the maids prepare a room for you.”

After I work out the details, I head off to my bedroom, where I’ve kept the photos that Madison “borrowed” from the
Washington Courier
when she interned there. After Gramps’s death she never resumed her internship and so didn’t have the chance to put the photos back where they belong. Frankly, I don’t want her to do so now. If she were caught, God only knows the kind of trouble she’d be in. Given she was asked to look for something else in the newspaper files during the one week she worked there, even someone without brains could figure out that she was the one who took the photos. So we’ll have to find a way to return them. In the meantime, Cristina’s right. We’ll need to examine them to get a clearer picture of what happened that night.

Unlocking the file cabinet where I keep important papers, I retrieve the photos, head back downstairs, and hand them to Cristina.

While Cristina studies the images, Madison’s busy inspecting the evidence board, which runs the gamut from the timeline to photos of our parents while they were alive, to accounts of the evidence she contributed the night of the murders, and to the interviews with the staff the morning my parents were found. After the maid who discovered them screamed down the house, everyone had come running—the other maid; Helga, our cook; Hans, our gardener and general jack-of-all-trades; and, of course, Olivia.

Madison turns back to me. “Sally discovered Mom and Dad?” Sally had been only eighteen at the time. To say the discovery had traumatized her and she’d needed to be calmed down is an understatement. She’d quit that day and never returned, which was just as well, since our household transferred to Gramps’s mansion, complete with cook, handyman, Olivia, and us. The other maid, whose name I can’t remember, had quit as well.

“Yes. You don’t remember that?”

She scrunches her brow. “No. I remember Olivia waking me and telling me I had to stay in my room. I played with my dolls until Gramps came and took me away. I recall hearing a lot of people in the house, coming and going, someone sobbing.”

“What did Olivia tell you?”

“That I was going to spend some time with Gramps. I wanted to say good-bye to Mom, but she wouldn’t let me. On the way out, as I walked by our parents’ bedroom door, the smell wasn’t right. You remember how Mom always smelled of honeysuckle?”

“Yes, it was her favorite cologne.”

“It didn’t smell like that. It smelled strange. Like copper.”

Blood. She’d smelled the blood. I shudder while mentally thanking Olivia for rushing my four-year-old sister out of the house. At least she hadn’t been traumatized by the sight of that blood-drenched room.

Cristina’s eyes mist at Madison’s tale. She clears her throat. “Where’s Trenton?”

“Setting up his new office in Crystal City. The Realtor is showing him some properties.”

Her head comes up. “You’re not helping him?”

“He wants to surprise me, so he won’t let me see it until it’s all done. He should be back by dinnertime.”

“When’s that?”

“Seven.”

Time passes while everyone resumes their activities—Charlie continues with his inspection of the detective’s file and Madison scrutinizes the board. At one point she grabs a legal pad and a pen, pulls up a chair, and starts making notes.

After a while, Cristina asks, “Does Mr. Stone come and go or is he a permanent fixture?” It’s a casual question, but she doesn’t fool me for a minute. She’s interested in Hunter Stone.

“He comes and goes. Today he’s got the evening shift from four until midnight. He’ll be back tomorrow as well.”

“Will he join us for dinner?”

“No. He eats in the kitchen with the staff.”

“Darn.”