State's Evidence: A Beverly Mendoza Legal Thriller (20 page)

Beverly laughed. “Let’s hope not too wild.”
It was good to see Jaime happy again. She hoped it was a sign that
he was starting to accept life for what it was and make the most of
it.

She checked the rear view mirror. It seemed
as if the same car had been trailing them from the restaurant. Was
it her imagination working overtime again? Or was it the assistant
district attorney in her sensing danger like a deer?

When Beverly looked again, the car was gone,
replaced by another. She breathed a sigh of relief.
Guess my
mind was playing tricks on me
.
Get a grip, girl!

“Do you think you’ll marry Grant someday?”
Jaime inquired out of the blue, snapping Beverly from her
reverie.

She elevated a brow, surprised to hear him
ask since he was just coming to terms with her dating Grant.
Where did that come from?

“We’re a long ways from going down that
road,” she prefaced. Grant and I really like each other, but we
haven’t really talked about the future. Right now, we’re just
taking things one day at a time.”

Still, the mere subject of marriage got
Beverly to thinking. She certainly wasn’t opposed to marrying again
if both parties loved each other and wanted to commit to a lifetime
together. But the idea of such a commitment as a single Mom and
thriving attorney scared her. Then there was the reality that Grant
had not even told her he loved her, much less indicated he had any
desire to tie the knot again himself. So did that mean they both
had cold feet? Or that they simply weren’t ready to go down that
road yet in their relationship?

“Do you think he’d make a good father?” asked
Jaime.

“Yes, I think so,” answered Beverly, as
though being tested before Jaime gave his blessing for such a
possibility. As it was, Grant did seem like good father material,
even without direct experience. She supposed that some things came
natural.
You either had what it took or your didn’t.

“Not like my real father,” fumed Jaime as if
he could read her mind. “Why’d he have to be such a jerk?”

Beverly eyed her son sadly. “If I knew the
answer to that question, I never would have gotten involved with
him in the first place.”

“I wish you hadn’t.” Jaime stared out the
window and Beverly could tell that he was crying.

She touched his face lovingly. “I’m very glad
I did, Jaime. He gave me the one thing that made it all worthwhile.
You.”

Jaime slowly faced her and said emotionally,
“I love you, Mom.”

“I love you, too!” Beverly blinked back
tears.

* * *

That night after Jaime had gone to bed, the
phone rang. Beverly answered it in bed, where she had been looking
over notes on the Santiago case.

It was Grant. “Hi, gorgeous. Didn’t wake you
up, did I?”

“No.” Beverly felt a twinge of excitement
hearing his voice for the first time in several days. With his move
to the judge’s chambers, Grant had apparently been too busy to call
or come by. In all fairness, she had also been inundated with
work.

“Just wanted to hear a friendly voice,” he
said.

“Oh, is that all?” she joked.

“Well, also a sexy voice.” His intonation was
low pitched and intimate.

“Then you probably called the
wrong
number,” Beverly laughed. She had never considered her voice
particularly sexy. It was too soft spoken.

Grant chuckled warmly. “I don’t think so.
Fact is, I’ve missed you like hell, Bev.”

“You have a funny way of showing it.” Her
body was becoming moist all over.

“My apologies. Making this transition has
been a hell of a lot more difficult than I imagined. There are
procedures and initiation that have taken up every available
moment.”

Beverly realized she was being selfish in
wanting to monopolize his time and seeing if he truly was the
marrying and father type. After all, Judge Nunez now had a higher
authority to answer to—his court.

“You’re forgiven.” Beverly’s cadence was one
of understanding and happiness in knowing Grant really did care
about her.

“How’s the Santiago case coming along?” Grant
inquired.

She filled him in on the mundane details.
“His attorney knows Santiago’s in a no win situation,” she said
confidently.

“I heard you really grilled Maxine Crawford.”
Grant took a deep breath.

“Oh, really?” Beverly adjusted on the antique
brass bed. It sounded like he took it personally. “And where did
you get your information, Mr. Nunez?”

“I have my sources.” He chuckled
uneasily.

Which could have been anyone from the D.A.
himself on down the line, she realized. But what difference did it
make? He was not part of the enemy camp.

So why do I suddenly feel like he is?

“Well, if you must know, I didn’t exactly
grill Maxine. She’s not a hostile witness and we’re on the same
page in our desire to win a conviction in this case. I trust that
meets with your approval, Your Honor?”

“Hey, I’m not trying to tell you how to do
your job, baby,” Grant said tonelessly. “But you don’t want your
chief witness to turn hostile by digging too much into her and the
judge’s personal lives.”

“I didn’t realize I was doing that much
digging.” She sat up, annoyed at him. Had he been talking to Walter
McIntosh? “I haven’t treated Maxine Crawford any differently than I
have any other witness-victims.”

Have I?

Had she unwittingly been too intrusive in
Maxine’s life and victimization? Beverly wondered. Was the pressure
of winning this case starting to get to her? Even to the point of
imagining earlier today that she had actually seen a Rafael
Santiago clone?

“Why your great interest, Grant?” Beverly
asked boldly, sensing something here that she couldn’t quite put a
finger on. “I thought you had given up your job as Deputy District
Attorney?”

“I have,” he said, sounding ill at ease. “No
interest really, other than not wanting to see you blow this
case.”

She crossed her legs suspiciously. “Who says
I will?”

“No one.”

Obviously he had brought it up for some
reason. Maybe he’d care to share his thoughts.

“What is it you’re not telling me,
Grant?”

“Nothing,” he claimed.

“I think it’s
something
,” she
countered. “Whatever’s going on, I’d like to know. Please...” She
assumed he hadn’t been sworn to secrecy by whomever. Or maybe she
shouldn’t assume anything?

Grant took a deep breath. “All right, but you
never heard this from me,” he instructed. “Dean Sullivan, whose
friendship with Judge Crawford goes way back, doesn’t want any
pressure put on Maxine Crawford to answer questions that are better
left unanswered.”

“Such as?”

“Such as any that do not pertain
directly
to this case.”

“I see.” Beverly was not so sure she really
did. She was being told indirectly to back off harsh questioning of
her own star witness. Why? For fear that it might somehow expose
Judge Crawford’s soiled laundry? Maxine’s? Or someone else’s.
Perhaps Dean Sullivan had something to hide.

“Now don’t get all bent out of shape over
this, Beverly,” said Grant, seemingly intent on smoothing over the
waters. “There are no dark figures conspiring against you or
working to conceal evidence. If you stick to the job at hand in
going after Rafael Santiago—the man we all want to see go down for
the judge’s murder—you’ll be just fine—”

What if she did dig deeper than the job at
hand? Would she be replaced in the trial? Or fired from the D.A.’s
office?

Do I really want to test the waters by
stepping on the wrong toes here?

“I think I understand,” she acquiesced. Get a
conviction of Santiago and forget about the Crawfords’ private
affairs.

Beverly decided that she gained nothing from
pursuing this over and beyond what was necessary to win her case.
Except maybe trouble that she did not need.

“I’ve missed touching your body,” Grant cooed
desirously, adeptly changing the subject.

Did he? Or was this his way of diverting her
attention?

Don’t be silly.
Why shouldn’t he miss
her body? She missed his hard body to the point that thinking about
Grant made Beverly quake with longing.

“Just how much have you missed it?” she
challenged him.

“Enough to almost be able taste you.” Grant
made an erotic noise into the phone that gave Beverly shivers of
delight as her imagination conjured up vivid images of him doing
just that.

“I think that sounds mouth-watering.” She was
suddenly in a playful, intimate mood.

“I agree.” Grant hummed lasciviously. “So
what are you wearing right now?”

“An oversized nightshirt,” she answered, sure
he’d hoped she would say a sexy silk nightie or maybe nothing at
all.

“I’d love to put my head under that
nightshirt right now,” he said wistfully, “and go on an exploratory
journey that I guarantee would leave you breathless—”

“Umm...” Beverly found herself already
breathless at the mere prospect.

“Then when I had you all hot and bothered, I
would take you in my arms, kiss you like you’ve never been kissed
before, and make passionate love the whole night through...”

Beverly gasped. The phone sex was turning her
on and now she didn’t want it to end there.

“This isn’t fair, Grant,” she murmured. “You
should be here to put your words into actions! If we’re quiet,
Jaime would likely sleep right through whatever happened.”

Grant breathed huskily. “I wish I could come
over, baby, but I’ve got to get up early for a meeting. If we were
together right now, that would be all but impossible. So I’m afraid
I’ll have to take a rain check.”

Beverly frowned, feeling her libido sink like
the Titanic. “Well, let’s hope it rains soon—” she said, biting
back her wishes when smacked against reality.

“Oh it will,” Grant promised. “You can count
on it, Bev. By the way,” he added with a catch to his voice, “did I
ever mention that I think I’ve fallen in love with you—?”

Before Beverly could answer, she heard the
dial tone, leaving her to ponder the words all on her own.

* * *

So there, you told her.
Grant was
sitting in his study sipping scotch. Where did they go from here?
Would Beverly say the same to him when he was courageous enough to
listen? What then?

Admittedly, he had acted impulsively in
spilling out his declaration of love without regard to how to build
upon it. Even if Beverly were to love him back, it didn’t mean they
were ready to walk down the aisle. But it would signify that they
were firmly committed to making this work, whatever the future
held, and Jaime would be a big part of that.

Grant’s thoughts shifted back to the present.
The last thing he wanted to do was apply any pressure on Beverly
with respect to the Santiago case. But he knew that the more she
dug, the more trouble she could make for herself and him. He didn’t
want anything to come between them or the pursuit of justice. The
lines could sometimes be blurred when it came to true justice, he
realized, hoping his own choices didn’t cross the line any more
than necessary.

He sipped more scotch and mused.
The
sooner Sheldon Crawford’s murder and his wife’s sexual assault are
put behind them, the better for all parties concerned
. Getting
a conviction against Rafael Santiago was key; then they could go
from there.

Grant finished off his drink and headed up to
bed for what figured to be a sleepless night.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Manuel followed them to the house, careful to
keep his distance. Though located in the same city he lived in, it
might just as well have been another country. The tree-lined block
spoke of folks who had money, pension plans, stocks, bonds, and
something left over for entertainment. He was sure the sweet
looking Latina had no trouble paying the bills and stashing the
rest away for a rainy day. Probably to send her kid to some Ivy
League school someday so he could go out and make even more
money.

Manuel had watched them come into Burger
King. The lady had captured his attention immediately. She had a
slender, shapely, body with long legs. And small, rounded breasts
that didn’t take away from the rest of her. Her brown hair was in a
long ponytail, hanging temptingly on one side of her chest. Even
her eyes—green like grass and calculating—captured his fancy. She
wore loose jeans that made her ass move with every step she took,
arousing him.

The boy was not nearly as interesting to him.
He was slightly overweight and wearing a burgundy jogging suit and
Nikes. He seemed in his element, stuffing his face as though it
were his last meal.

Manuel had watched as they took their meals
to a table. He walked to a nearby table and sat, careful to appear
as if he had not even noticed them.

From what he could gather from their
conversation, the Latina broad was some type of attorney and
without a man. At least not one who lived with them. Her father was
in some old folks’ home, having lost his damned mind or
something.

She and the boy seemed to be at odds about
the father’s likelihood of survival beyond the year. They were more
in tune regarding the boy’s goal to make rap music or race cars; as
well as her desires to someday move to a newer, bigger house.

He listened with little interest beyond
getting a handle on their situation, and learning more specifics
about
her
.

For a moment she honed in on him, as if
recognizing an old friend. It made Manuel uncomfortable. He didn’t
want the bitch to get too cozy with his face. Not yet. When the
time was right, she could look into his pretty coal eyes for as
long as she wanted.

When she became preoccupied with the boy, he
quietly slipped away.