Whatever It Takes (2 page)

Shoulders straight, expression resolute, she said fiercely, “That my sister was taken advantage of. She was not a prostitute. And that she most definitely did not kill Frank Braden.”

She turned her back to the camera and strode rapidly away. 

A smug smile tugged at the reporter’s mouth. “To recap, the trial of Alice Callahan, who is accused of murdering local businessman Frank Braden, will resume this morning at ten o’clock. And as we just heard, today’s testimony will include Kathleen Callahan, the accused’s sister. Considering what we’ve learned so far, one can only speculate what today’s revelations will be. Reporting from Cook County Courthouse, this is April Majune.” 

Eli clicked off the television, but it didn’t matter. The image of Kathleen Callahan’s captivating face stayed etched in his mind. The husky, musical tone of her voice was a sound he knew he’d never forget. 

Returning to the kitchen table where he’d left his laptop, Eli opened it and entered the names Callahan and Braden into a search engine. He had heard nothing about the trial. Dallas and Chicago were hundreds of miles from each other. And having no love for the media and their shenanigans, he usually avoided the news, local and national, as much as possible. 

A lengthy list of hits appeared. Eli clicked on one and skimmed the information. The more he read, the more intrigued he became. Exiting out of one site, he scrolled down until he came to the name Kathleen Callahan. Clicking on that one, Eli stared hard at the photograph of one of the most striking women he’d ever seen. This shot had been taken at a happier time in Kathleen’s life. Though still not smiling, there were no tension lines around her mouth, no shadows beneath her eyes. 

His gaze moved to the text, and once again he became immersed, unaccountably fascinated, so deeply engrossed that when his cellphone rang, it took him several seconds to identify the sound. 

He headed back to the bedroom and grabbed his phone. When he saw the caller’s name on the screen, and then the time, he winced. Dammit, he was never late.

“Hugh?”

“Eli, everything okay?”

“Yes. Sorry. I know we were supposed to meet downstairs. I—” Making a split decision, Eli said, “Listen, there’s been a change of plans. Come up to my room and let’s talk. I need to move some appointments around.”

Thankful that his assistant wasn’t one to ask needless questions, Eli ended the call and then immediately pressed a speed-dial number to one of his most trusted friends.

“Justice. Eli. You have any information on a case in Chicago involving the murder of a Frank Braden?”

Grey Justice wasn’t often taken by surprise, but Eli could hear it in the man’s voice—his British accent always became a little crisper. “Frank Braden? Chicago? Not that I recall. Is it something I should check out?”

“Yes. I’d—” He’d what? What was he going to say? That he’d seen a beautiful woman on television, looked her up on the Internet, and was now obsessed with knowing more? Hell.

“The case sounds like something you’d be interested in.” Eli winced at the lameness of his answer.

“Is that right?” The slight amusement in Justice’s tone told Eli that he hadn’t fooled his friend in the least.

Eli relayed the basic facts. Grey Justice and his people could find out everything about the case within a matter of a few clicks. And even though Eli’s interest in Kathleen was definitely personal, what he’d told Justice was true. This case sounded perfect for the Grey Justice Group. 

“Let me look into it,” Justice said. “I’ll get back to you.”

Eli returned the phone to the desk and stared out at the Chicago skyline. He had no explanation for what he was about to do. Impulsiveness had been beaten out of him long ago, and damned if he could begin to formulate a reason for his actions. Never in his life had he had such a visceral reaction to a woman. Something about Kathleen Callahan called to him, compelled him to know more. Despite all the scheduling problems, the headaches he was about to cause, Eli refused to not see this out. 

Chapter Two

Cook County Courthouse

Chicago

Kathleen Callahan sat in the courtroom on the front row, directly behind the defense table. It was as close to her sister, Alice, as she could get. Every day for two weeks, she’d sat in the same spot, alternating between cursing beneath her breath and biting her tongue. 

Alice’s attorney, Tony Burton, was young but had a solid reputation and was known for his ferociousness in the courtroom. Though he had come at a premium price, Kathleen had recognized early that to win, Alice would need the best defense money could buy. 

This whole ordeal was wearing her sister down. Strawberry-blond hair, once lustrous and thick, was now dull, lifeless. Blue eyes the color of a cool, crisp October sky had lost their light. Though the Callahans were naturally pale, Alice’s color was an unhealthy pallor. She looked the complete opposite of the bubbly, outgoing young woman Kathleen remembered.

“The prosecution rests, Your Honor.”

She jerked her eyes away from Alice and concentrated on the proceedings. By the smug glint in the DA’s eyes, he believed he had proven his case beyond a shadow of a doubt.

It did look bad—no one would deny that. Alice’s fingerprints had been on the brandy decanter and glass. The poison that had killed Frank Braden had come from the decanter. If that had been the only thing, perhaps the crime wouldn’t have looked so heinous, so intentionally vile. Not by anyone’s standards had Frank Braden been a good man, and many people, including Kathleen, believed he’d gotten what he deserved. But the post-mortem throat slicing, eye gouging, and severed penis looked like the act of a psychopath.

Alice swore she had done none of those things, including poisoning the brandy. She’d admitted to pouring Frank the drink and watching him collapse, but she claimed she’d run out of the house right after and had done nothing more. 

Kathleen believed her. Unfortunately, no one else did.  

There had been no sign of forced entry, and to add to her appearance of guilt, instead of calling the police, Alice had stolen one of Frank’s cars and left.

Driving for fifteen hours straight, she had shown up at Kathleen’s door in Denver, Colorado, with nothing more than her purse. Those were the actions of a vulnerable, panicked person, not a cold-blooded murderer.

Kathleen knew her sister. Yes, Alice had made mistakes. She trusted too easily and too often took the easy way out, but she wasn’t a bad person, and she was most definitely not a killer. 

Because she believed in her sister, Kathleen had persuaded Alice to call the police and turn herself in. She had been sure it was the right thing to do—that justice would prevail. But now, Kathleen couldn’t stop the doubt, the nagging suspicion that maybe she should have just grabbed Alice and headed out of the country. Had she made the wrong decision once again?

If only Frank Braden had never entered Alice’s life. The man had been older and much too worldly for her innocent sister. He had charmed, wined and dined her, bought her pretty things, and made promises he never intended to keep. Alice had been dazzled by the money and gifts, and by the time she’d wanted out, it had been too late. He had used her in the worst way possible.

Now that the prosecution had rested, the real truth could be revealed. Tony would be calling expert witnesses, a psychologist who specialized in Stockholm syndrome, other women whom Braden had used and abused, as well as a former high school friend of Alice. All of them would cast doubt on the prosecution’s claim. That no way in hell had Alice Callahan murdered Frank Braden.

But it would start with the one person who knew Alice better than anyone else. Believed in her above all others.

“The defense calls Kathleen Callahan.”

Kathleen stood. Head held high, posture perfect but relaxed, she gave no indication that she was the least bit worried. Her heart, soul, her very being, was certain of her sister’s innocence. She just had to convince twelve strangers of that fact.

Even though she walked slowly, calmly, she knew her slight limp was noticeable. The accident had been eighteen months ago, and she had completely recovered. However, when she was tired, her ankle had a tendency to ache. Her low-heeled shoes were not only for a serious and competent appearance, but also gave her the additional support she needed. Unfortunately, exhaustion was winning out, and her ankle ached like a sore tooth.

She stepped up onto the stand, and as she took the oath to tell the truth, Kathleen let her eyes roam the jury. They looked average and ordinary. Did they realize they held the fate of two lives in their hands? She and her sister only had each other. She would not, could not, fail.

Kathleen made her voice strong and true as she vowed “To tell the truth and nothing but the truth, so help me God.” 

Tony started slow, lobbing softball questions at her, giving her a chance to overcome her nervousness. 

This wasn’t new territory for Kathleen. As a security specialist, she had testified in court several times. The legalese was familiar, the procedure no mystery. A trial had a rhythm all its own, the courtroom held an ambience she’d always found comforting. Here, justice was served. Here, life and death decisions were made. She believed in the law, in the right and wrong of things. She had to trust that the justice system would not fail her sister. 

Tony asked about her relationship to Alice, where Kathleen lived, what she did for a living. Tense muscles loosened, and she felt herself settle into a confident and comfortable rhythm. She could do this.

The questions became more intimate…personal. Kathleen valued her privacy—sharing details about her life, past or present, was most definitely not in her comfort zone. Alice was the outgoing, cheerful one. Kathleen was the serious, responsible one. But for Alice, she would gladly reveal everything, down to her unimpressive bra size, if that would help.

The questions became even more personal and direct, but Kathleen hung in there. No, she and her sister hadn’t always lived together growing up. Explaining why wasn’t easy, but hopefully she managed well enough that the jury understood that their father had been a loving man but had made some mistakes. Because of that, he’d served time in prison, and she and Alice had lived separately in various foster homes.

Kathleen was grateful that Tony didn’t ask specific questions about those dark days. They weren’t pertinent to what was happening now, but when any kind of reference was made, her stomach always twisted into knots. 

When he moved on to asking questions about their father, the tight muscles in her body loosened. Even though Tony didn’t ask outright, she was glad she was allowed the opportunity to explain that their father was given an early release from prison in exchange for working for the government as a security consultant. Because of that, Daniel Callahan had been able to be reunited with his family.

Kathleen appreciated the way Tony maneuvered the questions to show both she and Alice in the best light. What she liked even more was that the prosecutor hadn’t made the slightest objection to any of the questions or Kathleen’s answers.

The instant Tony said he was finished with his questions, she tensed up again. The prosecutor, Arnold Sims, stood, his long thin body unwinding from his chair like the uncoiling of a snake. The pitiless look in his eyes was a clear indicator that the soft, easy questioning had ended.

“Miss Callahan, how old were you when your sister was born?”

“Nine.”

“And what happened to your mother?”

“She died giving birth to Alice.”

“So your father had a nine-year-old and an infant to raise by himself?”

“Yes.”

“Miss Callahan, isn’t it true that your father placed much of the responsibility of raising your sister on you?”

“I helped a lot. Yes.”

“That’s not what I’m asking. Isn’t it true that you basically raised Alice?”

Thankfully, Tony interrupted. “Your Honor, I fail to see what relevance this has on the case.”

“Mr. Sims?” the judge said.

“Goes to the instability of the accused, Your Honor. Prosecution will show the defendant’s unstable home life led to her poor choices as an adult.”

“Very well. I’ll allow it but tread lightly, Mr. Sims. Answer the question, Miss Callahan.”

Satisfaction gleaming in his eyes, Sims turned his attention back to Kathleen. 

Though the term
unstable home life
carved a wound in her heart, Kathleen answered honestly. “Much of the responsibility for Alice’s care was left to me.”

“Why is that, Miss Callahan?”

“My father needed the help.”

“Isn’t it true that you handled your sister’s care because your father was too busy breaking into businesses and homes, being a thief? A criminal?”

Tony’s voice rang out. “Your Honor, we’ve already established that Daniel Callahan broke the law and served time in prison. Not only did he pay his debt to society, but he served his country by working for the government.”

“I agree, Mr. Burton. Objection sustained. Move on, Mr. Sims.”

“Very well, Your Honor.”

But the satisfaction was still there. The seed of doubt had been planted in the jury’s mind. A father who’d broken the law, served time in prison. A child raised by another child. An unstable childhood had produced a cold-blooded, murdering adult.

“Miss Callahan,” Sims said, “is it true that you and your sister, Alice, are estranged?”

Grateful to move on, Kathleen said, “No, sir, that is not true.” 

“Let me phrase my question a little better. Isn’t it true that until she murdered Frank Braden, you had not spoken to your sister in years?”

That was an impossible question to answer. If she said yes, it would appear that she believed Alice had killed Frank. If she said no, then she would be lying. When Alice had shown up at her door that night, almost seven months ago, it was the first time in over two years that she had seen or spoken to her sister.

Thankfully, Tony jumped up and objected to the question. The prosecutor’s smug smile when he asked again, rephrasing the question, fooled no one. Again, he’d gotten exactly what he wanted. More doubts had been sown.