The Playboy's Baby: A BWWM Pregnancy Romance (13 page)

Cheryl shrugged. “He’s a good guy. I can probably teach him some tricks to make him better.”

Cheryl’s eyes looked past Sara at Rafe, who was mockingly pretending that someone just shot an arrow into his heart. She tried to stifle a giggle.

“Anyway,” Sara said. She turned back to Rafe.

“Yes?” he asked.

“Can we take a long lunch?”

“By all means,” he said. “Buy yourself something pretty. Lord knows you deserve it.” He nodded at them in a quiet goodbye and made his way into his own office with Oswald following suit.

As soon as Rafe shut the door, he collapsed onto his couch. He had spent the entire night fighting with Stacey about their baby. They didn’t love each other and that was no environment to raise a baby. Not only that, she wasn’t a mother figure, though he didn’t bring that up. As the night dragged on, she finally told him that she didn’t want the baby but Rafe wouldn’t let her get an abortion. When push came to shove, she would have that baby, even if Rafe had to raise it on his own.

There was a knock on the door. Rafe didn’t bother moving. He muttered some kind of utterance, allowing Cheryl to poke her head in. She found him sitting on the couch with his arms draped across the back and his legs stretched out.

“Long night?” Cheryl asked.

Rafe nodded. He motioned for her to come in. As soon as she shut the door, he stood up and met her in the middle of the room. “I’m beat,” he said. “But not too tired for this.” He kissed her. Hard. One of his hands cradled her head while the other found its way to her waist. After pulling away, he took a good look at her. “You look beautiful today,” he said. “I like those boots and…” His voice trailed off, the hand that was on her waist played with the fabric of her skirt.

“I have to go.”

He nodded. “Lunch date with Sara. Yeah, I know.”

“I just wanted to check and see,” she started but couldn’t finish her sentence.

“It’s done,” he said, reading her mind. “It’s done but it is a bit more complicated than I had anticipated. We’ll talk about it later.” He kissed her forehead. “But it’s done.” His voice softened. He liked being close to her. Warmth filled his chest. He could feel his desire and longing for her rise in him.

“I love you,” she said. The words were like a song to his ears. He kissed her again but she pulled away. “I have to go,” she said with a smile. Her hand caressed his cheek. “I’ll see you in about an hour.”

He shook his head. “I won’t be here. I’ll be in court. If you’re still here tonight, I’ll see you after we adjourn.”

*   *   *

“You did a good job today,” Patrick said as he walked his son to the office. “And finding those mistakes from the ME’s office. That was pure genius. If that doesn’t scream reasonable doubt, I don’t know what does. You just made their only piece of hard evidence unacceptable and irrelevant. Good job, boy. You want to go out for a drink tonight?”

Rafe shook his head. “Naw, we’ve got summations tomorrow. I want to make sure that I get it right.”

“Good boy,” his dad replied. “And thanks for the ride back to my car.” He stopped Rafe before he took another step by grabbing his arm. “Cheryl’s in there still, isn’t she?” he said, pointing up to the lit window in Rafe’s office.

“Probably.”

“Send her home. She doesn’t need to be working late. Not while she’s pregnant.”

Rafe and Patrick locked eyes for a moment. Rafe could feel his heart stop – his dad knew. But how…

“She’s a good girl, but won’t make it past research assistant,” Patrick said. “She’s not lawyer material son. If you want to throw away your marriage for something else, make sure it’s worth it.” He motioned toward the window. “Cheryl’s not worth it.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m sure she was a nice fling. She’s got a decent body but she’s not one of us. Pay her the child support and leave it be.”

“It’s not like that. We’re in—"

“Don’t even say it.” He scoffed. “Love doesn’t matter in life. It doesn’t lead to success. Love doesn’t matter. Don’t throw your life away.”

“Thanks for the advice, Dad, but---"

“You know what I can do to her. You know what I can do to you. I’m a very powerful man, Rafe. I can have her blacklisted from every law firm between the Atlantic to the Mississippi River.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.” He turned to leave. “Have a good night. Tell your wife I said hi.”

*   *   *

Rafe burst into the floor like a wrecking ball, mowing down anyone that got in his way. At seven o’clock in the morning, it wasn’t normally a time when the office saw him, so he was greeted with shocked and surprised faces. Clenching a file folder in his hand, he threw open his father’s office door. Sara turned to face him.

“Rafe?”

“Where’s dad?” Rafe asked.

Sara pointed to the conference room. He followed her finger and barreled through that door as well. A room full of suits turned to look at him. Rafe held the folder up. “We’ve got a problem.”

Chapter 8

“What do you mean eye witnesses?” Patrick screamed. “They can’t bring this in now.”

“These women claim that Stephen tried to kidnap them, sexually assault them, and torture them until they finally escaped.”

Patrick shook his head. “This case has been going on for months. Why are they just stepping up now? Right before closing statements?” He kicked the table in a mini-tantrum.

“Prosecutors claim that they were only now just able to find them. These girls are prostitutes and have been deep underground for the last few months because of what they had experienced.”

“That is utter crap,” Patrick said. His voice boomed through the now empty room. “We’re due in court in a few hours. I will head there myself. I want you to take—" He paused but only briefly. “I want you to take Cheryl and go to the police station. Talk with the detectives about vetting these witnesses before they show up in court today.”

“Why—" Rafe started but Patrick wouldn’t let him finish.

“Don’t test me, son. You and I know that you both work well together and that you both achieve results. Just get me something – anything – to discredit these allegations.”

*   *   *

Bayland sat, majestically, at the head of the courtroom. His black robe contrasted with the light wood of his bench and the surrounding wood-finished accoutrements. His gaze only momentarily left the witness stand when both Rafe and Cheryl entered the courtroom. Cheryl gave Rafe a reassuring pat on the shoulder as he left her side for the defendant’s bench. She sneaked off and disappeared in the crowded courtroom.

Both sides were surprisingly full. The prosecutor’s half was filled with women of all races, shapes and sizes. Not to mention, the families of the victims that were found. The defendant’s side was filled with his family and hordes of women. Cheryl scanned that side of the room. They all fit the same description: Caucasian women of various hair colors and sizes, all middle aged with gleams in their eyes. Groupies? They didn’t look like Stephen Roche’s family members. She slipped into the crowd and found a seat.

From where she was sitting, she could see the back of Rafe’s head. He whispered something in his father’s ear and produced a handful of file folders. They both skimmed through the contents. Patrick nodded and patted Rafe on the back.

A woman walked up to the stand. She was thin. Her hair was down, which helped to soften her angular face. She took the stand and sat down in the small, wooden, rotating chair. The prosecutor walked up to the witness and smiled.

“Can you give us your name, miss?” he asked.

“Missy. Missy Turner.”

“Hello, Miss Turner. Let’s get right down to it, shall we? You do have a small boy waiting for you at the hospital, isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” she said, leaning in to the microphone to answer.

“You were attacked on September of last year, is that right?”

“Yes, sir. I remember because it was the night of daylight savings time.”

“Let the record show that this is before the first murder occurred. Can you tell us what happened on the night you were attacked?”

“I was walking home from the laundromat when that man came from behind me and grabbed me by the neck. He had a gun to my back. I could feel the barrel against my spine. He took me to an alley and tied my hands together behind my back. When I tried to cry out, he just pulled a piece of cloth out of his pocket and put it against my mouth, then taped it there. He was really talkative, like he was nervous or something. He kept going on and on about everything.

“He tried to rape me in the alley but I guess I struggled too much and he couldn’t perform. He got mad and… He tried to lead me back to his car, which was parked further down the alley but when he got me up, I ran away and ducked in an open door. I got my hands free and ran home.”

“What happened the next day?”

“Well, I went to work. He came in with a bag of laundry and told me I was lucky I got away. That I couldn’t tell anyone or he would kill my son. My son. How did he know about my son?”

“So you didn’t report the attempted rape?”

“No, I mean, he didn’t really hurt me and I wanted to make sure that my boy would be safe.”

“Thank you, Miss Turner. No further questions.”

Patrick stood up and crossed the prosecutor’s path as he headed back to his seat. “Hello, Miss Turner. Thank you for coming in today.”

She smiled meekly at him.

“You claim that the defendant threatened the life of your son if you were to call the police, is that true?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Can you tell me a little bit about your boy? He has some health issues, is that right?”

“Yes, sir. He was diagnosed with leukemia.”

Patrick took a big sigh. “I’m sorry. That’s a tough spot for a mother and a child. Not to mention, the treatments aren’t very cheap. How have you been paying for the treatments since you are a single mother who works at a laundromat?”

“I’ve been taking some… odd jobs.”

“Odd jobs? What specifically?” he asked.

“I work for an escort service at night,” she said quietly.

“Does that bring you a lot of money?”

“It can.”

“Your bank statements show that you’ve been getting some big lump sums of money lately. Are those from the escort service as well?”

Her gaze went from Patrick’s face to the prosecutor’s face.

“Objection,” the young prosecutor called. “What does this have to do with the crime?”

“I’m getting to that, your honor. Just humor me for another moment.”

“I’ll allow it,” the judge said. “Just get to your point quickly.”

Patrick turned back toward the girl. “Where did you get that money?”

“I can’t—"

“You are under oath, Miss Turner. You have to tell us.”

“Mr. Roland.”

“The prosecutor?” Patrick said quickly. “Why did he give you so much money?”

“He said it was for my boy.”

“Out of the goodness of his heart?”

Missy shrugged.

“Yes or no. Is it true that the prosecution gave you a large sum of money so that you would testify against Mr. Roche today? Is it true that Mr. Roland gave you a large sum of money so that you would come in today and testify that Mr. Roche attacked you?”

“Well, yes, but—"

“Thank you, Miss Turner.”

“It was only to keep my boy safe. He didn’t.”

“Thank. You. Miss Turner.”

Patrick stood up and walked to the center of
his stage
. He faced the jury and raised his hands. “People of the jury. Today we sit here in disbelief at the heinous crimes, which were committed in our homes. The sexual assaults and murders that were committed under our own roof are both sickening and frightening.

We don’t deny that. However, that’s not what is on the stand today. Stephen Roche is a family man. He has a loving wife and children who sit by his side every day. I’m sure that you’ve seen their loving glances. Their stance on his innocence has not changed and neither does mine.

“Because of the police incompetence, the bribery, the lying witnesses, and the false accusations, it is easy to see that Roche was merely a pawn. The prosecution has told you that Stephen is a bad man. The city wants you to feel safe and choosing a scapegoat will allow them to push this all under the rug. That is not how you clean up the crime in this city.

“However, how can you feel safe if the killer still roams free? This man did not kill those women. He did not sexually assault those women. He is just a man who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Convicting him would only allow the real killer the ability to walk among you to choose his next victim. Don’t fall prey to the tactics of the prosecution. These women deserve justice. You deserve to feel safe in your own homes. Convict the right man. Stephen Roche is not that man.”

The woman sitting next to Cheryl leaned in toward her and whispered, “Oh, he’s good.”

* * *

Rafe and Cheryl sat in his office, Cheryl on the couch and Rafe in his chair. He played with a tennis ball, tossing it up in the air and catching it in one smooth move. She was on her phone, scrolling through Facebook.

“Ugh,” she groaned. “I always hate this part. Hurry up and wait,” she added.

“Me too,” Rafe said. He tossed the ball to Oswald, who ran across the room to fetch it when it got away. Like a dinner bell, Rafe’s phone chimed, bringing both of their attentions to the small electronic device on his desk. He picked it up and tapped on the screen a few times. “Looks like we don’t have to wait too much longer though,” he said. “Jury’s back.”

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, in the case of the people versus Stephen Roche, have you reached a verdict?”

A small woman who sat at the corner of the jury box stood up. Her curly red hair seemed almost as big as she was. She held a small paper in her hand and addressed the judge. “We have, your honor. On the charge of rape in the first degree, we find the defendant not guilty. On the charge of murder in the first degree, we find the defendant not guilty.”

There were murmurs amongst the crowd. People on both sides of the courtroom expressed their emotions through physical and verbal forms: crying out loud, looking toward the heavens, and muttering in victory. Mothers hugged their other, surviving, family members. Stephen turned around and faced his family. They reached toward each other, his wife crying from relief.

The judge nodded his head. “Members of the jury, the state thanks you for your service. You are dismissed.” Bayland turned from the jury box to Patrick, Rafe, and Stephen on the other side of the courtroom. “Stephen Roche, you are free to go.” He banged the gavel and swiveled his chair toward the door leading back to his chambers.

* * *

It was rare to see Rafe alone in the office. He always made fun of those suits, the guys who only had their work to take pride in. No personal life. No fun. Just work. After the trial, things were different for him. Cheryl was taking some time off to rest. He was starting the divorce papers with his wife. His home didn’t feel like a home anymore – not that it did before their big fight.

He had been to Cheryl’s the night before and wanted to go back tonight, but the quiet time alone with Oswald was what kept him at the office. He wanted to reflect on what his future held for him. His father had offered him the partnership but he hadn’t said yes yet. There was something holding him back.

Rafe heard the elevator ding in the distance and didn’t think anything of it. Both doors (his and the door to Cheryl’s office) were wide open. The power flickered.
The stairs,
he thought.
I should take the stairs just in case.
He turned to face the window. Beyond his reflection he could see the echoes of the night stars in the dark skies. The city lights wouldn’t allow him to see the actual stars. One of these days, he planned on taking Cheryl out to the edge of the city so that they could have a nice quiet evening under the-

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” said a voice from the doorway.

Rafe looked to the side and saw a small, squat figure in the doorway. He turned around. It was Stephen Roche. “Oh,” he said, surprised. “Yeah, I love the cityscape.” He took a step toward the desk. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to thank you and your dad for representing me.”

“Yeah, dad will be happy with the paycheck.” He grinned. “That’s how you can thank him.”

Stephen smiled. “I learned a little bit about the law while I was sitting in the pen.” He nodded at him. “I also looked you up a bit. I just wanted to know about the people representing me. You’re a good guy. Kind of quiet, though. I guess being in the shadow of our dad can’t help but cause that. I went through the same thing.

Rafe looked at his watch. He wanted to stay at the office for the quiet, not so that he could spend time away from Cheryl. He looked back up at Stephen, impatiently. “Oh yeah? It’s a pretty interesting.” He gritted his teeth. “My dad’s looking for a partner right now. That means that someone will be moving up. If you can speed through your courses, you could jump in the opening here – wherever that opening may come from.”

Stephen walked around the office, running his fingers over the spines of the leather-bound law books that filled the shelves. “Maybe I’ll do that. I have some free time now. My job let me go after the trial. No one felt comfortable letting me into their homes to fix the plumbing, I guess. I’m not one for all the paperwork, though.”

Rafe let out a forced laugh. “Unfortunately, that’s more than half of the job.” He looked at his watch again. “Listen,” he said. “I’ve got somewhere I need to be. Thanks for coming in and all. I appreciate the gesture. I just need to get going. I’ll take you and your family out to lunch sometime.”

Stephen shook his head. “My family doesn’t eat out much anymore.”

Rafe raised an eyebrow.

Stephen turned to him. “They’re too proud to take handouts and we don’t have any money coming in right now. The savings is the only way I can pay your dad for your services.”