Read the book: «Her Best Defense»
“You’ve already convicted her!”
“Not me, babe. I’m not on the case.”
“Sorry, but I’ve never known the police to move that fast before.” Lisa leaned forward. “There’s something more, isn’t there? What is it, Kurt?”
He sat there and stared into her eyes for a long tension-filled moment. She neither blinked nor backed down.
“Well, you’re going to hear about it from the prosecutor soon, I’m sure, so I’ll tell you if you swear you didn’t hear it from me. I don’t intend to lose my badge over this.”
Lisa’s pulse quickened. “For the record, no one will ever hear from me that you gave me any information, all right?”
“There was an eyewitness.”
Dear Reader,
This book began as a plot suggestion—quite detailed—from my editor, Mary-Theresa Hussey. Besides being a wonderful editor, this lady has a great imagination and I have truly enjoyed working with her.
She phoned one day with an invitation to do a book for Silhouette’s new Bombshell line. After some discussion I agreed and it took off from there.
At this point I would like to introduce my coauthor, Lori Myles, who is my daughter. Kaye, her real name, has always wanted to write, ever since she was a very young child. I still have her first book, written in block letters on lined grade school paper. It’s about an elephant and rather amazing because she set up the story and carried it through to an appropriate ending.
We have loved working together and plan to continue writing as a team. We both hope that you’ll be seeing many books on the shelves written by Jackie Merritt and Lori Myles.
Jackie Merritt
A note from Lori: It’s been a wonderful experience writing with my mother, and I would like to thank Mary-Theresa and Silhouette for giving me this opportunity.
Lori Myles
Her Best Defense
Jackie Merritt and Lori Myles
JACKIE MERRITT
is still writing, just not with the speed and constancy of years past. She and her husband are living in southern Nevada again, falling back on old habits of loving the long, warm or slightly cool winters and trying almost desperately to head north for the months of July and August, when the fiery sun bakes people and cacti alike. She has written dozens of novels for Silhouette Books.
LORI MYLES
was born and raised in Idaho and moved to Nevada shortly after graduating high school. After college and many years of traveling for her job, including a two-year stint in Japan, she now calls Henderson, Nevada, home.
For the past several years she worked in the convention industry in Las Vegas, and while she enjoyed “show” business very much, her heart lay in the world of words. She still has boxes and boxes of stories she wrote over the years and her mother, Jackie Merritt, still has the first story she ever wrote, when she was in the third grade.
She is very excited to have this book out and hopes it leads to more and more and more…!
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Epilogue
Prologue
Sixteen years ago
Chicago, Illinois
The alley was dark, lit only by lone streetlights at either end. At best, those lights illuminated no more then a few feet of the alley, casting shadows that bespoke of hidden, unspeakable things. The middle of the alley looked as if it had been swallowed by the night, and his stomach churned with dread. Was blackness and an eerie silence the reason that this particular place had been chosen for the meeting?
He looked around before entering the alleyway. The buildings on either side appeared to be deserted.
Again, not a good sign.
But it wasn’t just the lack of light that was unnerving; the lack of sound was equally as injurious to his normal courage. No cars passed by, no voices could be heard, no music wafting through windows. The only sounds now were those of his shoes softly shuffling against the pavement and a lone dog barking somewhere off in the distance.
“That’s far enough,” he heard from out of the darkness.
“Step out so I can see you,” he addressed the shadows.
“You don’t need to see anything.”
But he did see something. A glint of light, a flash of sorts, but all too late. He felt the bullets entering his body at the same time he heard the shots. Everything went black.
“You shot him! What the hell did you do that for? I thought we were only going to talk to him.”
“Shut up and get over there. Make sure he’s dead.”
“Hey, I want nothing to do with this.”
“Johnny, go make sure he’s dead while I have a little talk with Paulie here.”
“Sure, boss.”
The barrel of the gun jammed into his guts. For a few seconds, Paulie thought he was going to be next. Out of instinct, he grabbed at the gun; at the same time, he felt his boss releasing the weapon into his possession.
“Now you got something to do with this.”
Paulie knew he’d just been framed for murder. “What do you want me to do, boss?”
“Get rid of the gun, stupid. Unless you want to go to prison.”
“Yeah, he’s dead,” Johnny hollered back.
“Good, now let’s get out of here.”
Chapter 1
Present day
Lisa Jensen entered The Pub at 6:15 p.m. Polished wood and brass, indirect lighting, unobtrusive background music and friendly service made The Pub the perfect place to relax after a long and strenuous day of work. Lisa had stopped briefly to deposit files in her office at the law firm of Bonner, Drake, Ludlow and Kirten, a mid-sized firm in the heart of Chicago’s famed Loop with a reputation for successful litigation and criminal defense. It occupied the sixteenth and seventeenth floors of the Ridge Building, a gray, quarried rock structure just minutes away from the courthouse as well as most of the other city offices. Lisa had always felt that the original partners had chosen their place of business perfectly when they’d selected this site thirty years ago.
“Especially this part of the operation,” Lisa said as she spotted her friends and began walking toward the group. The Pub was located on the first floor of the Ridge Building and on Wednesday nights Lisa met—whenever she could make it—with others from work for a drink and some good conversation.
The place was busy so she had to wind her way through several other groups to get to hers. She knew many of the people she passed or bumped into along the way. Most were also attorneys, housed, as she was, in upper level offices.
She heard “Hey, Lisa!” coming from several different directions, but it wasn’t until she was within a few feet of her friends that they spotted her. And when she did get close, she almost wished she had bypassed The Pub that night. Everyone there from her firm stood and clapped, whistled and cheered as she approached.
“Will you guys stop?” she said as she looked around and saw that practically everyone else in The Pub had put their drinks down to grin and gawk at what was going on in the far corner.
“Hey, golden girl,” Larry called out. “What are you drinking tonight? The first one’s on me.”
“And you stop with that golden girl nonsense,” Lisa shot back good-naturedly.
“I don’t know, Lisa,” Darren McCaffery, another junior associate said, “I think Larry might have something there. What is this? Your twelfth straight win?”
“Actually, it’s my thirteenth. But who’s counting,” she said with a teasing grin.
A space was opened for Lisa at the two tables the group had joined together, and before she could say Jack Frost, an icy cold beer was set in front of her.
“You know, winning thirteen consecutive cases is an accomplishment to be proud of,” Pamela said as Lisa took her first sip. “And if you consider the type of cases Ludlow has given you lately, you really are the firm’s golden girl.”
“Come on, Pam, not you, too. You’re supposed to be my best friend.”
“I wonder if we’ll still be friends when you’re moved upstairs,” Pamela commented.
“Oh, please!” Lisa said, nearly spilling her beer. “You know me better than that. Besides, I don’t think I’ll be moving anywhere in the near future.”
“Don’t be so sure of that,” Madeline chimed in.
Madeline was the sixteenth-floor receptionist and crucial to everyone on the floor. It wasn’t just her expertise with the complicated telephone system or the way she handled visitors and clients that had her held in such high esteem by her co-workers. What made Madeline special was her knowledge of everything that went on in the firm. Some said it was because of a long-term affair she was supposedly having with one of the firm’s senior partners, Philip Bonner. Others speculated that it was simply because she had been there for so many years. Whatever the case, Lisa was glad she could call the woman a friend.
“You heard it here first,” Pamela said.
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Lisa replied, making light of a subject dear to her heart.
Moving upstairs would mean a huge promotion and it was, of course, what every associate was working toward. Moving upstairs meant a junior partnership and that was something that wasn’t offered very often or taken lightly. Lisa felt her heart picking up its pace just from thinking about such a move.
“Hey, Lisa,” Larry called from the other end of the two tables, “tell us about court today.”
Lisa shook her head. Larry Lutz was the firm’s researcher and another valuable asset. He loved to tease her about her success because he knew she was never the type to brag, like the other lawyers they all knew.
“We can certainly find something more interesting than that to talk about,” she called back with her face screwed up in a comical expression that made the others laugh.
Then she unconsciously pushed her shoulder-length blond hair behind her left ear, and was completely unaware of how one particular light fixture beamed directly on her and turned her hair color to gleaming gold. She was a pretty woman, twenty-eight years of age, with dark eyes and beautifully shaped lips. She was five feet six inches tall and weighed in at 120. She loved high heels and extravagant shoes, and would willingly spend much more on a pair of elegant designer shoes than on one of the business suits she favored for work.
A round of jokes began, with everyone getting in on the fun. The group was laughing and cutting up when someone tapped Lisa on the shoulder. She glanced up and saw Grant Gowan, a handsome young attorney with one of the other law firms in the building. Grant was smiling down at her, his light brown eyes sparkling.
“You’re all having entirely too much fun over here,” he said and heard a round of good-natured boos in response. He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Sorry, sorry. I really came over to speak to Lisa.” He put a hand on the table and leaned toward her. “Do you mind?”
“Mind talking to you? Of course not. But you might have to yell to be heard over this bunch.”
“I’ll lean in a bit more,” he said and did exactly that, putting his mouth very close to Lisa’s ear. “There’s a birthday party for Faith Unser tomorrow night. I know you know her and I thought you might like to go with me. It’s being held at John and Rita Bryant’s apartment. You’ve met them, haven’t you?”
Lisa gave a slight nod. “Yes, we’ve met. Sure, I’ll go with you.”
“How about I give you a call tomorrow and we’ll firm up our plans? It’s pretty hard to talk in here.”
“Good idea.” She smiled as Grant straightened up, nodded and walked away.
“Now, pray tell what that was all about,” Pamela said with a raised eyebrow. Madeline was all ears, too, Lisa saw. “Grant is quite a hunk,” Pamela added. “How long has this been going on?”
Lisa laughed. “Nothing’s going on, so put your wild imagination back in its cage.”
“A man whispering in a woman’s ear is nothing?” Pamela’s left eyebrow was still higher than the right.
Lisa playfully decided to let them all wonder about Grant. Even the men at the table wore expressions of downright nosiness, which brought out her devilish side.
“I never talk about anything that a man whispers in my ear,” she said with a teasing little grin. “That’s just the way I am.”
“Well, I can pretty much guess what it was, so there!” Pamela shot back.
“Taken up mind reading, have we, Pam?”
“You’re incorrigible. You know you’re going to tell me all about it sooner or later.” Pamela turned to the others at the table and began relating a joke.
Lisa chuckled to herself. She had unwound beautifully with one glass of beer and some laughs. The Pub was good medicine for a hardworking attorney who had spent most of the day in a courtroom, winning her thirteenth consecutive case.
Lisa was home shortly after nine. Home was a renovated town house, circa 1920, and she loved it. It was the most significant purchase of her life. After moving in, she had spent a lot of time and money on personalizing the two-story, long, narrow building with its small but wonderful backyard.
In the foyer, she set her briefcase and purse on the ancient library table she’d run across in a secondhand shop and fallen madly in love with—she was a sucker for furnishings from past eras—stepped out of her high heels and took off her suit jacket. She loved the smell of her home, a combination of old wood, furniture polish, her favorite perfume and something she couldn’t positively identify but liked thinking as her unique scent.
Shoeless, Lisa went into the kitchen, took some cheese and fruit, which she figured would do nicely for her supper, from the refrigerator and then returned to the foyer for her briefcase. She left her shoes and jacket to be put away in the morning, whereupon she went upstairs to the small room she used as a home office. Seated at her desk, she took a bite of cheese and dialed her mother’s telephone number. Claudia Caputo answered at once.
“Hi, Mom, what’s up?”
“Nothing new, honey. Another day, another dollar.”
Lisa had long ago formed the habit of calling her mother every day. They both looked forward to their daily chat.
“I won in court today,” Lisa said.
“Of course you did.”
“I’m not always going to win, Mom.”
“Well, if you don’t, you should have.”
“Always on my team, aren’t you?”
“Always, honey.”
“I dropped into The Pub for a drink with the gang,” Lisa said. “And a guy asked me to go to a birthday party with him tomorrow evening. What do you think of that?”
“Is he young, handsome and sexy?”
“Mom!”
“Well, for heaven’s sake, why would you want to go out with an ugly old coot?”
Lisa couldn’t help laughing. “He’s young and good-looking, but sexy? I don’t know about that.”
“You’d know, believe me, you’d know,” Claudia said dryly. “You knew with Bobby, didn’t you?”
Lisa had married Bobby Jensen while they were both still in college. It hadn’t lasted; he hadn’t been able to keep his pants zipped around other women. She had kept her married name for no particular reason and sometimes wished she hadn’t as it was an unneeded reminder of Bobby. Legally changing it back to Caputo would be a pain at this late date, though. She was Lisa Jensen to Chicago’s legal community, and Lisa Jensen she would remain.
“Yes, I knew with Bobby,” she said quietly. “And so did every other woman on campus. Mom, I’m going to say goodnight. It’s been a long day and I’m beat.”
“All right, honey. Get a good night’s sleep. Talk to you tomorrow.”
Lisa hung up and finished eating her fruit and cheese while staring off into space. She hated thinking about her short-lived marriage, she really did. For one thing, Bobby’s overactive libido and almost constant infidelity had left her extremely cautious with other men. She believed with all her heart and soul in total faithfulness between committed partners, and had to wonder—from firsthand experience—if there was such a thing as a man who felt the same way.
“Oh, to hell with it,” she muttered, getting up from her desk, turning out the light and going to her bedroom to hit the sack. She hadn’t lied to her mother about being beat; she was asleep shortly after her head hit the pillow.
It was May, pleasantly warm during the day and chilly at night. Not consistently, of course. Chicago was known for its erratic weather, and at this time of year it could be hot and sunny one day and snowing the next. Lake Michigan was beautiful to the eye, a fabulous playground for water and beach enthusiasts, and essential to Chicago’s commerce, but it could stir up a dilly of a storm in the blink of an eye. Lisa enjoyed the good weather when it came along and endured the bad without complaint; it was, after all, Chicago, and she loved the city.
Thursday dawned sunny and bright, making Lisa feel especially good. Arriving at work around eight, as usual, she stopped at the reception desk to pick up yesterday’s phone messages and mail from Madeline. They chatted a few moments about last night’s fun at The Pub. Then Lisa put herself into work mode.
“Thanks for these, Madeline.” Lisa eyed her mail and messages. “Looks like a load of work here.” With her briefcase in one hand and the stack of items Madeline had just given her in the other, Lisa walked down the hall to her office.
She left her door open, as was her habit, and was getting settled at her desk when the intercom line on her telephone beeped. “Lisa Jensen,” she said after hitting the Speaker button.
“Just checking to make sure you were there. Mr. Ludlow is on his way down to see you.” The caller was John Ludlow’s private secretary, Audrey Muldaney.
“I’ll be here,” Lisa said. It wasn’t an everyday occurrence for a senior partner to visit the sixteenth floor, but it happened often enough that Lisa wasn’t at all uneasy about the meeting. She tidied her desk a bit and waited. In mere moments, she saw Ludlow walking toward her office. When he entered, he shut the door behind him.
“Good morning, Lisa,” he said.
She stood and smiled. “Good morning, Mr. Ludlow. Please, have a seat.”
“Thank you, I will.”
Ludlow was a tall, gaunt-looking man well past sixty. He no longer did trial work, but his reputation from former years, Lisa had learned, was that of a brilliant litigator, a real tiger in court. Given his present soft handshake and nonabrasive personality, Lisa had trouble picturing him as a tiger at anything.
But he was always polite and pleasant around the firm, and Lisa liked him. They sat down and Lisa waited for him to speak, which he did with little pause.
“I’m sure you are well aware that the firm in general, and I personally, appreciate your intelligent approach to the many intricacies of the law. There are a lot of good attorneys, some of them right here in this firm, but only a few of the mass rise to the very top of the heap, like cream in a container of whole milk.” He smiled. “That analogy harks back to my youth, as I grew up on a farm. Lisa, I believe you’ve been proving right along that you’re one of the chosen few. In time, you’ll be a full partner in this firm, but I’m sure you already know that.”
Lisa’s heart skipped a beat. “I’ve been hoping, sir.”
“Of course you have. I didn’t come down here to talk about your future, but I began thinking of your accomplishments in the elevator. I’ll get to the point of this meeting now. Lisa, I have a bit of a problem waiting in my office. I’m sure you’re familiar with the Witherington name?”
“Most people in this part of the country are, I believe.” The Witheringtons were an extremely wealthy family that had, reputedly, begun amassing their fortune during the early 1900s. She’d never had reason to look into their background and find out how they had become so wealthy; in fact, other than seeing their name in the society pages of various newspapers, she really knew nothing of consequence about the family. “But name recognition is about the extent of my knowledge,” she added.
“That’s about to change,” Ludlow said. “There’s been a serious mishap at the Chandler and Glory Witherington home. A young man was found dead early this morning in their driveway, obviously a victim of foul play. I’m speaking of young Chandler and his wife, with whom I’m acquainted because of my long association with his father, Chandler Sr. You may recall his passing from several days of publicity surrounding his death two years ago. I want to say first of all that young Chandler’s premonition of impending doom, by way of the police coming down on Glory because she was the only one at the house all of last night, could fizzle out to nothing. Personally I’m leaning in that direction, but there’s also a chance of this case becoming quite serious. I thought of you at once because of your enviable flexibility. I think you could deal with Glory’s, uh, shall we say, little eccentricities, better than most.”
Lisa waited a moment, then realized he was waiting for her to say something. “Little eccentricities? Could you give me a hint as to what that term actually covers?”
“Well…perhaps I should have used another term. Yes, I think so. Glory is lovely and can be very charming, but she can also be as scatterbrained as they come.”
“Scatterbrained,” Lisa repeated, wondering if that was a polite word—and abbreviated version—for a more accurate phrase, nuttier than a fruitcake. What Ludlow was doing was appeasing the Witheringtons, she suddenly realized. They had come in asking for legal support for some imagined threat and Ludlow had chosen her because of her “rising star” reputation in the firm, which might impress them.
She could impress the hell out of them, if that was what Ludlow wanted, she thought. Of course, at this point that idea was mere conjecture. She would play it by ear, she decided, take her cue from the Witheringtons themselves.
“I would be happy to meet with the Witheringtons,” she said.
Ludlow got to his feet. “Give me about ten minutes, then come up to my office.”
Lisa rose. “Yes, sir. Ten minutes.”
Alone again, she wasn’t quite so subservient, and it struck her that she wasn’t overly thrilled with what sounded like a time-wasting, kiss-ass project. She loved really tough cases, the kind that made her work hard and think hard, the ones that she became so immersed in that she lived and breathed every segment of the legal process necessary to defend her client to the fullest.
She heaved a sigh and put that bit of rebellion aside because she knew in her soul that she would give the Witherington case her all, as she did with every one she worked on. When it came down to the nuts and bolts of her life, she was happy to have this job, and she would never do less than her best for even a dud of a case.
Checking her watch, she stood, straightened her skirt and jacket, picked up a notebook and pen, and left her office to head for the elevators. In minutes, she had arrived at the seventeenth floor, greeted Audrey and been ushered into Ludlow’s office. John rose to his feet and introduced her to Chandler and Glory Witherington. The first thing that Lisa noted about Chandler was that he had remained seated while John had acknowledged her presence by standing. He also wore an arrogant, condescending expression and his “Pleased to meet ya,” sounded as lame as a one-legged duck.
Lisa sized him up over a limp handshake and from behind the businesslike smile she gave him. He was starting to bald, appeared to be in his fifties and looked physically fit in an obviously expensive custom-made suit. He was also, in her estimation, a jerk.
She turned to Glory and felt struck by lightning. The woman was flamboyantly gorgeous. Flashy as all get-out in a hot pink-and-orange outfit, with flaming red hair and eyes so blue they didn’t seem real. Actually, Glory didn’t seem real, Lisa thought. She looked more like a life-sized doll than a human being. She was obviously very high maintenance and well tended, and it wasn’t hard for Lisa to picture Glory spending a great deal of time in Chicago’s best beauty spas, which offered every procedure known to mankind to keep a woman—or a man—looking young.
So far, she hadn’t moved a muscle or uttered a sound. In truth, she intrigued Lisa. Certainly Lisa knew that she had never met anyone like her.
Lisa stepped over to her and held out her hand, obviously requesting a handshake. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Glory.”
Glory looked at Lisa’s hand for a long moment and finally touched it with hers. “Thanks,” she said in a bored-sounding voice.
Lisa almost laughed. These two were something else. Questions about them began piling up in Lisa’s mind, questions that she would definitely remember and get the answers to, directly from their own lips or indirectly by other methods.
John Ludlow, who was still standing, said, “Lisa, I think it best if you and the Witheringtons get acquainted in the small conference room.”
Lisa looked into his eyes and thought she saw a message: Get these two out of my office. Whether or not that was an accurate interpretation of the vibes she was picking up from Ludlow, she hastened to deliver on his suggestion.
“Please come this way,” she said to the Witheringtons. “The room is just down the hall.”
It was tastefully decorated and offered comfortable furniture on which to sit and hopefully relax enough to converse without reservation. Lisa indicated the sofa for the Witheringtons and took a nearby chair for herself.
She opened her notebook and asked Chandler to relate the story he’d told John earlier.
Almost sullenly, obviously because he had to repeat himself, Chandler said, “A man was found shot to death in our driveway. Someone called the police and all hell broke loose.”
“Who made that call, Chandler?”
He glanced at his wife. “You did, didn’t you, hon?”
“I think it was me. Everything was so confusing after Maria started screaming.”
Lisa was busily writing, wondering if she should perhaps be using a recorder. But she had discovered that the sight of a recorder often made people uncomfortable and cautious of what they said, so except in extreme cases she relied on her own brand of shorthand to get down nearly every word spoken between herself and whomever she was interviewing.
“Do you know who the man was?” Lisa asked, expecting a fast and forceful denial.
“Mateo Ruiz,” Chandler said.
Lisa was surprised, although her demeanor didn’t change. “Did you actually know him, or merely overhear someone mention his name? A police officer, for instance.”
“No, I knew him. Not well, but…well enough.”
Chandler’s answer struck Lisa as a bit strange, but she accepted it and turned to Glory. “Did you know him, Glory?”
Glory’s hot pink lips twitched in a semblance of a smile. She looked Lisa directly in the eyes and drawled with that odd little smirk still on her face, “I did from his waist down.”
