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For The Defense
M.J. Rodgers
A bereaved mother charged with murder and a dedicated lawyer determined to prove her client isn't guilty.What happens when the White Knight coming to their rescue is an actor turned private investigator?Jack Knight isn't used to having to prove himself to anyone. But that's exactly what he has to do. Because Diana Mason doesn't think he's the right man to find the evidence she needs to defend her client in court.After all, Jack joined his family firm only a year ago. He doesn't have the experience for a job like this. Does Diana dare to let him try when so much is on the line?



Diana was looking forward to getting her co-worker’s opinion on several aspects of the murder case
But first she had to get things moving on Connie Pearce’s defense, which meant this meeting with the private investigator couldn’t be delayed. Still, the second she saw the man waiting for her at reception, she came to an immediate stop.
He was in his early thirties, over six feet and wearing a hand-tailored suit that emphasized his wide shoulders and long legs. His thick, dark hair had been sculpted, not cut. His Technicolor blue eyes and wide-screen smile could easily stop a female heart at fifty feet.
He was Jack Knight. No wonder the receptionist had been so breathless. White Knight Investigations had sent her an actor!
Diana cursed to herself. What in the hell was she going to do now?
Dear Reader,
Courtroom dramas—where talented legal adversaries match wits and reveal shocking new evidence with every witness they call to the stand—have always been favorites of mine.
But once I had a chance to work on real criminal defenses, I met the unseen and unsung heroes of the legal process—private investigators. Without the skillful and dedicated private investigator tracking down both evidence and crucial witnesses, most defense attorneys wouldn’t have the proverbial leg to stand on in a courtroom.
This is a story about a defense attorney and a private investigator fighting to free an accused woman. But it isn’t full of the dramatics played out in front of judge and jury. Rather, the story focuses on how the two work together to build their case before the trial starts. Because the truth is that’s how a case gets won—or lost.
Now one expects defense attorney Diana Mason to win her case. Jack Knight of White Knight Investigations is her only hope. But what can Jack do when eyewitnesses verify the defendant committed the crime, and the defendant herself admits she did it? You might be surprised.
I hope you enjoy Jack and Diana’s story. Drop a SASE in the mail to me (at P.O. Box 284, Seabeck, WA 98380) and I’ll send you an autographed sticker for the front of your book.
Warmly,
M.J. Rodgers

For the Defense
M.J. Rodgers

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For MARGUERITE DUCHARME,
because her heart is filled with love.

CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER ONE
JACK KNIGHT COULD THINK of at least a dozen other places he’d rather be about now.
He rested his shoulder against the cold stucco wall as he watched the entrance to the gambling casino. The wind swirled rain up his nose and whipped the soggy rope of long, black hair against his neck. His pinched toes ached inside the beat-up triangle-toed boots he’d dug out of the Goodwill rejection bin. The chilly night air seeped through his threadbare overcoat, sending shivers up his back.
Being a private investigator was such cushy, glamorous work.
It was almost midnight. A minute before, he’d stood at the casino’s window, watching the man cash in his chips and the woman heading for the rest room. They should be along anytime. Jack made sure the video camera lens was peeking through the enlarged buttonhole in the front of his ragged overcoat, his fingers firmly on the controls inside the torn pocket.
Places! Camera! Action! The words echoed in his head bringing a wry smile of amusement to his lips. A rain-drenched Indian Reservation was about as far away from a dry and comfortable television studio as a guy could get.
When the doors to the casino burst open, he tensed in anticipation.
The couple staggered out. The man’s face was flushed from too many drinks, the woman’s from having to lug him around for the past hour. His heavy arm was draped over her sagging shoulders. As they hobbled by, the woman’s eyes scanned Jack.
He knew what her look meant. She’d hold on to the man she was with only until a better offer came along.
When she was close enough to make out his filthy features in the shadows, Jack sent her a toothless grin. The woman grimaced and quickly turned back to her companion.
Jack’s grin faded as the couple headed toward the Lexus at the curb. This man and woman were such a pathetic cliché. Not even a burned-out soap writer would sink into the banality of including their characterizations in a script.
After using a keyless remote control to open the car door, the woman dumped her drunken companion onto the passenger seat and circled around to get behind the wheel.
When she drove away, Jack turned off the video camera. He didn’t need to follow them. He’d already filmed them in a body-crunching clinch that morning at the SEA-TAC airport. He’d shot more footage of them that afternoon mauling each other on the open patio of the condo where the woman was living and chronicled their subsequent evening out on the town. Considering how much bourbon the man had put away, Jack doubted he’d be capable of any more debauchery tonight.
Not that it mattered. Jack had the conclusive proof his client needed. Her husband’s business trip to Washington State was an excuse to meet with his mistress. The guy hadn’t even gone to see the employees at his new Seattle branch office.
Jack sprinted through the rain to the old blue pickup at the far corner of the casino parking lot. Once settled on the driver’s seat, he pulled the wet black wig off his head and carefully hung it up to dry on the hook beside him. A private eye had to take good care of his props.
Sometimes on nights like this, he missed his life in show business. Sure, he’d played some villainous parts, but at least at the end of those days, he didn’t have to deal with a flesh-and-blood victim.
His client was a scared Idaho housewife who had recently seen the last of her five children leave home. She had a high-school education and no marketable skills. A vague feeling of unease had generated her call to Jack. All she really wanted him to do was relieve her mind.
He wasn’t going to be able to do that. Her husband was not only cheating on her, he was also planning to divorce her to be with his twenty-five-year-old mistress.
Jack had found a bank account the guy had taken out in his name only the year before. A lot of cash had since been deposited into that account. The condo where he’d stashed his mistress was also in his name only, as was the Lexus she was driving.
No doubt in Jack’s mind that the guy was hiding other assets as well so that when he sprang the divorce on his wife he could cheat her out of as much community property as possible. The best his wife could do was to get a good lawyer and get her husband before he got her.
And that’s how their thirty-year marriage would end.
Jack grabbed some hand wipes and worked at removing the mud he’d earlier smeared on his hands and face to camouflage his features. The more he saw of marriage, the more convinced he became that it was a sucker’s bet.
Hell, the majority of men and women he knew had trouble committing to the same cell phone carrier for six months, much less another person for a lifetime.
He flicked the black-tinted contact lenses out of his eyes and carefully placed them in their protective case. Next, he slipped the false, blackened teeth out of his mouth and stowed them away.
Since joining his family’s private investigation firm the year before, he’d become an expert at surveillance. His theatrical background enabled him to blend into any crowd, much to the dismay of the errant husbands and wives he’d caught on videotape. Problem was, he’d gotten so good at tracking them, cheating-spouse cases had become his specialty.
Thank God this was his last one.
Yanking the too-tight boots off his feet, he threw them in the back seat and eased his aching toes into loafers. He slipped his watch back onto his wrist and combed his hair with his fingers.
His father had agreed that Jack had proved his mettle and was ready to take on the meaty stuff. Next Monday he’d tackle his first criminal case—a nice, clean murder.
Amazing how refreshingly wholesome murder could sound after the sordidness of marital deception.
Jack turned his cell phone back on and checked the messages.
His twin had called a couple of hours before. Doubtful he’d still be warming a barstool at their favorite watering hole. Still, some of the regular Friday-night crowd would definitely be milling around, including, in all likelihood, an unattached female eager to engage in some wrestling under the sheets.
All the more reason Jack wouldn’t go there. He wasn’t interested in women who frequented bars.
When Jack saw his second message was from Heather, he smiled. She was an actress he’d worked with, someone who wouldn’t dream of letting herself be picked up in a bar. Being with a woman who valued herself made the exchange of physical pleasure so much more enjoyable.
Jack punched her number on his speed dial, a smile on his lips. She’d been shooting a movie in Canada for the past six months. Getting reacquainted was going to be fun.
Heather’s voice greeted him with warm enthusiasm. “Jack, I’m so glad you called. I have great news!”
She’d gotten that new hot tub installed?
“I’m getting married!”
Damn. All Jack’s hot tub fantasies swirled down the drain.
As Heather’s excited voice related all the scintillating details of the whirlwind courtship with her new co-star, Jack diligently deleted her name and number from his cell phone list.
He’d give the marriage ten months, tops.
Jack had already selected another candidate for late-night company by the time Heather had finished her tale. Wishing her well, he released the connection and punched in the next number.
Thankfully, his address book still listed a dozen or so women who knew their demanding careers didn’t give them time to think about marriage.

DIANA KNEW she didn’t have time to think about marriage with everything else going on in her busy life, but she couldn’t help herself. The whole idea was so mind-boggling.
When her mother had announced her upcoming nuptials the week before, her face had positively glowed. The groom-to-be had looked pretty happy, too. Ray Villareal was not as handsome as Diana’s father had been. He was something better. He was in love with her mother.
Because of that, Diana was ready to forgive him for both his obnoxious stepson and for making her move.
But damn, she hated moving. She had neither the focus nor energy for the chore. Connie Pearce’s life was in her hands. Guilt poured through her when she even thought about taking time to—
“Mason, are you listening?” Vincent Kozen, one of the two senior partners at the law firm, demanded from the other side of the conference table.
The insipid argument had been droning on for more than an hour. Diana’s only hope of staying awake had been to tune out. Snapping back to attention, she stopped doodling on her pad and raised her eyes to Vincent.
“To every word,” she lied, straight-faced.
Replaying her set-to-automatic mental tape, she retrieved the rapidly fading sentences. Yep, the topic was still Vincent’s new, incredibly complicated time-allocation study, which would see if the law firm’s staff was tracking case expenditures correctly.
Just another one of those useless projects that was so dear to Vincent’s little number-crunching heart.
“If you’ve been listening, Mason,” Vincent challenged in his typically high and condescending tone, “then by all means tell us how you would handle the matter.”
He folded his hands in front of him and glared at her. She knew he was looking for a target. He always seethed when one of his “wonderful” time-tracking ideas met with dissention, as this latest had.
Diana plastered a look of concern on her face. “Although I recognize that the contributions from everyone at this table have been both thoughtful and insightful,” she said, intent on not offending anyone who actually was naïve enough to express their real opinion, “I do believe that the wisest course would be to heed your considerable expertise in this area.”
Bushy gray eyebrows rose in surprise as Vincent shifted his bony butt in the chair. “In the future, Mason, don’t make me have to prod you,” he said in a tone still annoying but far less combative. “I want to hear everyone’s opinion.”
Like hell he did. Vincent Kozen didn’t care what she or anyone else at the law firm thought, unless that person was agreeing with him. He and his brother, Ronald, were very similar in that regard.
Still, Diana had learned when to fight, when to surrender and when to walk away. This morning’s subject required a waving, white flag and nothing else.
Vincent pontificated for another ten excruciating minutes on his open-mindedness before the meeting finally came to a close. A sigh of collective relief wafted through the air as the staff members stood and gathered their belongings.
One of the midlevel associates at the firm, Leroy Ripp, sent Diana a look of open disdain as he shuffled toward the door.
“Nice going, Mason,” he said, his whisper hot with ill humor. “Now we have to waste fifteen minutes out of every hour filling out one of his idiotic forms.”
She didn’t answer Leroy. No point. Whenever Leroy got angry at anything, he ended up angry at everything. Vincent had already made his decision to institute the new time-tracking procedure. Nothing she nor anyone else had said in this meeting would have affected the outcome.
As Diana headed toward the door of the conference room, Gail Loftin, another one of her colleagues, fell into step beside her.
“Was Leroy accusing you of crossing over to the Dark Side?” Gail asked, a big grin on her face.
Diana chuckled.
She’d known Leroy for three years, Gail for nine months. All the words in the world wouldn’t get a point across to Leroy. Gail often understood without any.
“What’s gotten Leroy in such a foul mood these days?” Diana asked.
“Our favorite prosecutor creamed him in court last week.”
“Ah.” Diana knew Gail meant Silver Valley’s thoroughly detestable Chief Prosecutor, George Staker. Although she’d never classify Leroy as a friend, at this moment she felt for him.
“Hard not to take it personally sometimes,” Diana said. “At least three of our other attorneys have lost cases to Staker recently. Getting to be a damn epidemic.”
“Except Leroy keeps insisting that Staker knew things he shouldn’t have when they went to trial. I overheard Leroy tell Ronald that there must be a mole in our office.”
Diana shook her head. “Shoot me before I get that paranoid.”
“You have my promise,” Gail said, unlocking the door to her office. “Come in for a minute. I need to talk to you.”
As soon as Diana had stepped inside, Gail firmly closed the door behind them.
“I heard you got the Pearce case.”
“Ronald gave it to me a couple of weeks ago when you were tied up in that trial on the coast,” Diana confirmed. “He told me Earl said the case conflicted with another one he had.”
“What the case conflicts with is his drive to become a junior partner,” Gail said, the irritation thick in her tone as she circled her desk and plopped onto the chair.
Yes, Diana had figured that as well.
With Gail’s smarts, experience and expertise, she should be a shoo-in for the junior partner slot that the Kozen brothers had dangled before her eyes to get her to join the expanding private law firm of Kozen and Kozen.
But Earl Payman was vying for the position as well. Although Earl possessed not one tenth of Gail’s talent or experience, he wore Armani suits, had finagled a membership in the private club the Kozen brothers belonged to and always said the politically correct thing. Gail wore a size fourteen bought off the rack, never played golf and often made the mistake of speaking her mind.
That latter failing was one Diana shared with her friend.
“You shouldn’t have let Ronald dump the Pearce case on you,” Gail said.
Diana snorted in amusement as she slipped onto Gail’s guest chair. “You think I had some choice when our beloved senior partner charged into my office, dropped the file on my desk and said, ‘You need to take over this court-appointed defense case that goes to trial in two months, so get up to speed’?”
Gail exhaled heavily. “I’m sorry. Of course, you didn’t have an option. I’m only mad at the unfairness of seeing this happen to you.”
“Don’t be,” Diana said as she stretched her arms above her head, trying to encourage some circulation back into her shoulders after sitting hunched over for so long in that pointless meeting. “I know Ronald only gave it to me because everyone else probably ran the other way when they saw him coming. But I’m glad I’ve got it.”
Gail rested her elbows on the desk, regarding Diana gravely. “When I was in the prosecutor’s office last year and the sheriff’s reports landed in my in-basket, I was salivating in anticipation of taking the case to trial. A prosecution like that can make a career, which is why Staker grabbed the case right out from under me. Diana, the evidence is so overwhelming there’s no way you can come out looking good.”
“The case may not be as open and shut as everyone thinks.”
Gail’s eyebrows climbed her forehead as she inched forward in her chair. “You know something that no one else does?”
A knock came on the door. Gail looked decidedly put out at the interruption. “Come in,” she called out.
The door popped open and Kelli, the firm’s receptionist, poked her head inside.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Kelli said, oddly out of breath, “but Mr. Knight is waiting at my desk. Do you want me to show him to your office?”
Diana’s eyes went to her watch. Startled to see the time, she shot to her feet. “No, Kelli. I’ll see him now.” She headed for the door. “We’ll talk later, Gail.”
“Make that sooner,” Gail said. “You can’t keep me hanging like this.”
Chuckling at Gail’s frustrated look, Diana followed Kelli toward the reception area. She was looking forward to getting Gail’s opinion on several sticky aspects of the case. Having worked both sides of the legal fence, Gail was a wealth of insight.
But first Diana had to get things moving on Connie Pearce’s defense, which meant this meeting with the private investigator couldn’t be delayed. Still, the second she saw the man waiting for her, she came to an immediate and startled stop.
He was in his early thirties, over six feet, wearing a deep-blue, hand-tailored suit that emphasized his wide shoulders and long legs. His thick, dark hair had been sculpted, not cut. His Technicolor blue eyes, wide-screen smile and leading-man features could easily stop a female heart at fifty feet.
Dear heavens, it was Jack Knight. No wonder Kelli was so breathless. White Knight Investigations had sent her an actor!
Diana cursed to herself. What in the hell was she going to do now?

JACK FOLLOWED DIANA as she led the way to her office, his smile broadening. Well, well. The lawyer he’d be working for was a knockout—despite a formless gray business suit and no makeup—and she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. This had to be fate.
No, not fate, he corrected. Opportunity. He didn’t believe in fate, but he sure as hell believed in opportunity.
He caught a whiff of her scent, something cool and sweet he couldn’t quite place. She was maybe thirty and at least five-eight. Her gleaming black hair was gathered with a silver clip at the nape of her neck and fell to the middle of her back.
The way the light caught the curves of her face, highlighted her hair and settled in the soft centers of her eyes was absolutely arresting. She had what in the business was called “screen presence.” He knew stunningly beautiful actresses who worked for years, and for naught, to try to attain what came naturally to Diana Mason, Attorney at Law.
Jack took a quick look around her small office as they stepped inside. Well-used law books lined the shelves that covered every available inch of wall space. Dozens of pieces of scrap paper stuck out of them marking passages. Several rather high but neat stacks of paper covered the beige metal desk.
Her functional office confirmed what Jack had already surmised. She was about substance, not show. The only personal touch was the half-dozen pots of geraniums, full of pink blossoms, that adorned the south-facing window-sill.
He sat in the offered guest chair as she slipped onto the chair behind the desk. Scooting forward to the desk’s edge, she rested her elbows on the small space of available surface and regarded him silently.
He smiled.
The expression on her face changed slightly, but not in a way he anticipated. He wasn’t used to this kind of reaction to one of his smiles. The lady was something less than overjoyed to see him.
Ah, a challenge. Jack loved challenges.
“Frowns like the one you’re wearing can leave permanent marks on a guy’s delicate ego,” he said projecting the faint hint of pain designed to amuse and maybe even elicit a defensive apology.
“I was counting on working with your brother, Richard,” she said with such absolute candor and no hint of defensiveness that he almost laughed.
“Not to worry,” Jack said. “I come with a sixty-day warranty and a money-back guarantee.”
Her frown did not abate. “Your brother cleared up a very sticky case for me that another investigator had badly bungled. He came through on two other difficult cases as well. I trust Richard.”
“Really?” Jack said, feigning surprise. “When we were kids, he used to put his spinach on my plate and tell Mom he’d eaten it.”
“This case demands the best,” she said pointedly.
He was disappointed that all his efforts to lighten her up weren’t working. A good sense of humor in a woman always added to her sex appeal. Still, he could be serious with her if absolutely necessary.
“Fortunately for you, the best is here,” he said, straight-faced.
An eyebrow raised on her forehead. “Are you always this modest?”
“Modesty is a false cloak when it covers competence, wouldn’t you agree?”
“If it covers competence,” she said, brutally.
He leaned forward, the better to emphasize his sincerity. “I understand that relying on a known quantity is always more comfortable. But Richard will not be available for a month. I was given to understand that you need help immediately. At least that’s what my father said when he persuaded me to take this assignment.”
Actually, he’d talked his dad into giving him this case, but he saw no reason to reveal that part. He’d been warned that Diana would be expecting Richard. Jack had told his dad not to worry. Charming women into accepting him had never been a problem.
But considering the continuing displeasure on this woman’s face, he was beginning to wonder if he’d spoken too soon.
“Your brother, David, found a missing witness for me once. I was also quite pleased with his work. Is he available?”
Jack almost laughed. Next she’d be asking for his father or mother to take her case. What did this woman have against him?
“I’m the only one who is both available and right for this job,” he said.
“How long have you worked at your family’s private investigation firm?”
He pitied anyone who got drilled by this lawyer while in a courtroom. Thankful he wasn’t sitting in the witness box, he avoided answering her sticky question by asking one in return.
“Do you think that my father would risk our firm’s forty-year reputation for excellence by sending you someone who couldn’t handle the job?”
Jack was well aware Diana had hired White Knight Investigations half a dozen times during the past two years. She’d come back because she’d been satisfied. Yes, she trusted Richard and David. But Jack also felt certain that she trusted their firm.
“You used to be an actor,” she said. Her tone was almost an accusation.
Ah, so that was the problem. She’d seen him on TV and was mixing up the character he’d played with the man he was. A common failing. Still, he would have thought someone with her obvious smarts would have hesitated before making such an assumption.
“I used to be a very good actor,” he corrected. “I’m very good at whatever I put my mind to, Diana. I have a strong sense that you are as well.”
He knew no one was immune to a compliment, as long as it was delivered with sincerity. Knowing when to mix a compliment with a first name had become second nature to him. The timing on these two had been right. Now he waited to see how well the combination had worked.
And waited.
She finally extracted a form from her middle desk drawer and slid it toward him. “This is our standard contract and confidentiality statement. Please initial beneath each clause, sign your full name at the bottom and we’ll get started.”
Jack told himself he hadn’t really doubted the outcome of this conversation. Nonetheless, he was relieved to hear her confirming words.
Scanning the contents of the two-part form she’d handed him, he noted that the confidentiality statement demanded absolute secrecy from him. It also warned that if he were to repeat anything about this case to an unauthorized party, he would be subjected to all the legal racks and thumbscrews at Diana Mason’s disposal. He had not a doubt that she’d be happy to apply them, too.
Jack took a pen out of his shirt pocket, initialed where she’d indicated, signed his name and passed the document back to her.
“I understand your client is charged with murder,” he said.
“First degree,” she said slipping the confidentiality statement into the fairly thin folder in front of her. “This is a court assigned defense.”
She pulled a stack of blank forms from her desk. “I’ll need your time and expenses recorded daily and turned in weekly on these.”
Damn, he hated paperwork. Dutifully taking the stack of forms she handed him, he decided to let Harry, the clerk at the firm, do this part for him.
“Does court assigned mean that you’re acting like a public defender?” he asked.
A new frown appeared on her forehead. “Don’t tell me this is your first criminal defense case?”
“If you don’t want me to tell you that then I definitely won’t,” he said and sent her one of his most engaging smiles.
She shook her head, clearly not engaged. “When there are more cases than there are public defenders to handle them, a judge drafts the services of lawyers from legal firms in the area to represent a defendant. We’re paid by the state, not by the client.”
“When were you drafted into service?”
“I got the case two weeks ago in a workload shuffle. But the court assigned Connie Pearce’s defense to another lawyer at this firm ten months ago.”
“Connie Pearce?” Jack repeated. “Isn’t she the kindergarten teacher who killed her lover?”
“That’s what all the banner headlines proclaimed last year.”
“I remember hearing about that case.”
“You and nearly everyone else in this county. Getting a panel of jurors that hasn’t heard wasn’t easy.”
“She was supposed to have hit him with her car,” Jack said as the details began to come back to him. “There were a couple of eyewitnesses.”
“Are you having second thoughts about accepting this assignment?”
He smiled into the serious look on her face. “On the contrary. I love being on the side of the underdog.”
The tenseness in her shoulders seemed to increase with his assurance.
“Well, then you’re going to be ecstatic working this case,” she said. “The victim’s father suffered a fatal heart attack after witnessing his son’s death. The victim’s mother is one of our most prominent and politically connected superior court judges.”
“And this prominent, politically connected judge is out for blood,” he guessed.
“The Honorable Barbara Weaton insists she’s simply out for justice, but you can be sure she’s not going to take kindly to anyone who is trying to help the woman charged with her son’s murder.”
He pointed to the thin folder in front of her. “Is that what the other lawyer has done?”
She gave the folder a quick glance. “Over the past ten months.”
Despite the evenness of her tone, Jack knew she wasn’t only unhappy about the thinness of the folder in front of her. She was angry.
“Why didn’t this lawyer do anything?” he asked.
“Earl Payman said Connie wouldn’t speak to him. Or anyone else.”
“That sounds like a symptom of shock to me. Why didn’t he think of that?”
“He brought in a psychologist to examine her a week after her arrest. She wouldn’t talk to him, either. The psychologist said he couldn’t testify to whether she was legally sane or not. Earl decided the safest thing for him was to plead her not guilty and let a jury convict or acquit her.”
“He did nothing else in the intervening nine and a half months?”
“He played a lot of golf with the two senior partners at this firm.”
Although Diana’s voice remained calm, there was enough contempt in her expression to have sent the incompetent, golf-playing Earl into lockup for life.
“Where has Connie Pearce been all this time?” Jack asked.
“In jail. Earl made no attempt to get her a bail hearing.”
“Have you talked to her?”
“Nearly every day since I got her case. But it wasn’t until late last week that she opened up and told me what happened.”
“And that’s when you called White Knight Investigations.”
Diana nodded.
He was pretty certain he knew why. “Connie Pearce convinced you that she wasn’t the one driving the car that killed Weaton.”
“No, she was driving the car.”
“She didn’t see the guy run in front of her car?”
“She saw him.”
Jack let his mind quickly dig through the other possibilities. “It was self-defense,” he said as the obvious answer came through. “The guy was coming at her, threatening to do her bodily harm, and the only weapon she had to defend herself was the car.”
“No,” Diana said. “It wasn’t self-defense.”
Jack was stymied. He couldn’t think of anything else that made sense. “Okay, I give up. What happened?”
“Connie Pearce saw Bruce Weaton in front of her car and she hit him.”
Jack was more confused than ever. “If that’s what she has admitted happened, then what do you need me for?”
Diana locked eyes with him as she leaned forward in her chair. “I need you to help me get her off.”

CHAPTER TWO
JACK STARED at Diana for sixty very long and silent seconds. Did she really have the audacity to ask him to help get a guilty client off?
He understood that most defense attorneys didn’t care if their clients were guilty. All they cared about was making sure that the accused was tried according to the dictates of the law. Didn’t even matter to them if a guilty client ended up slipping through a legal loophole.
It mattered to Jack. He was a little disappointed to learn that Diana was proving to be one of those attorneys. His father had given him the impression she had integrity. That was one of the reasons he’d wanted the case. Now he had a strong urge to get up and leave.
Only the straight, no-holds-barred challenge on her face combined with the total absence of any apology kept him in his chair. A woman who could face him this squarely didn’t strike him as one who would sell out her conscience.
He wasn’t going anywhere until he learned what the hell was going on.
“All right,” he said, settling back in his chair, “tell me why you want Connie Pearce to get away with murder.”
Something that looked suspiciously like surprise flashed across Diana’s face. So, she had expected him to leave. He found that very interesting.
As she studied him quietly, he returned her assessment, trying to read what thoughts or emotions were going on in that lovely head of hers. But this attorney knew how to keep both well hidden when she wanted to. Damn if she didn’t intrigue him more by the minute.
Without warning, she got to her feet. “I’d like Connie to tell you the story in her own words.”
“We’re going to see her now?” he asked.
“I called early this morning to let her know I’d be stopping by.”
Diana grabbed her briefcase and headed toward the door, slipping the long strap of her bag over her shoulder without so much as breaking stride.
“I’ll drive you over,” he said, hurrying to keep up with her. Most men probably found themselves getting lost in this woman’s wake. He had no intention of making the mistake of most men.
“I have my own car, thank you,” she said.
“Riding together will give us an opportunity to discuss the case.”
“I have to pick up my daughter from class and drop her at home before going to see Connie. You can either follow me or meet me at the jail. Up to you.”
A daughter? Damn. His hopes for something personal developing out of this assignment took an immediate and definitive nosedive.
Jack was very particular about the women he dated. And one of the things he was most particular about was that they not have any children.
“I’ll follow you,” he said.

SIZING UP PEOPLE quickly was an essential skill for a trial attorney, one that couldn’t be gleaned from a law book. Diana paid attention to all the signs and made her decisions accordingly.
Jack’s good looks and background in the entertainment field had prepared her for the kind of man who presented a convincing image, but who couldn’t handle the hard facts of life or come through when it counted.
She had personal experience with the type. For a brief time in her younger and far-less-wise years, she’d been married to a rock musician.
But her openly expressed and brutally honest reservations about Jack’s abilities hadn’t seemed to bother him a bit. He’d barely even flinched when she told him she wanted his help in getting her guilty client off.
This was not going well.
She had counted on him turning tail and running for the nearest exit. That would have given her the perfect excuse to phone Charles Knight and convince him of the need to free up Richard or David to help her on this case.
Only Jack hadn’t run. He was hanging in there, even displaying an open mind. Damn him. She needed an investigator with a proven track record, not some TV star who had decided to play at being a private investigator until another role came up.
She stopped her car in front of the school, feeling the weight of yet another problem she did not have the time to handle. But the moment her daughter opened the passenger door and got in, Diana felt a smile on her lips.
“Hi, Mom.”
Definitely two of Diana’s favorite words.
“Hi, Cute Stuff. How did astronomy class go?”
“The universe is expanding at an ever accelerating rate,” Mel said in her typically matter-of-fact tone as she buckled up. “With all that extra space being created, you’d think we could find a new place to live.”
Diana checked her mirrors before pulling away from the curb and reentering the stream of traffic. “We’ll resume apartment-hunting tonight after dinner.”
“You’ve given up on finding us a house?”
Diana watched as Jack’s car mimicked her actions and moved in behind her.
“Finding a house doesn’t look too promising,” she said. “I’ve exhausted every lead from the newspaper and friends alike.”
“Grandma did say we could stay with her as long as we wanted to,” Mel said, trying to sound nonchalant, but not quite pulling it off.
Diana knew that her daughter hated the idea of moving as much as she did.
“Your grandmother loves us so much she’s willing to compromise her privacy and maybe even her chance for happiness with Ray. We have to show her how much we love her by not letting her sacrifice those things.”
“We’re not going to see Grandma nearly as much now that she’s marrying Ray,” Mel said, obviously not pleased with the fact.
“Maybe not as much, but we’ll still see her. She’s not moving away.”
“But Ray’s moving in. Everything’s going to change.”
That was true. Diana knew pretending otherwise would be foolish. Besides, she never lied to Mel.
“Everything changes, Cute Stuff. Embracing change—even when we think the change less than ideal—is the best way to handle life if we want to be happy.”
Mel thought about that a moment before glancing over at her mom and asking, “Do you suppose the universe is embracing the fact that it’s continuing to expand?”
“Only if it’s not female,” Diana said.
Mel burst forth with a happy giggle.
Ah, to be nine again and able to giggle like that! Women needed daughters if for no other reason than to help them remember those moments of delight.
“You keep glancing into the rearview mirror,” Mel said, twisting in her seat to look behind them. “Is someone following us?”
“The private investigator who’ll be working on Connie’s case. He’s driving the white Porsche back there. You’re never going to guess who he is.”
Mel squinted. “I can’t see his face, but he can’t be Richard Knight or you wouldn’t be making me guess. Who is he?”
“Remember that paper you wrote a little over a year ago where you contrasted fictional villains from the beginning of the twentieth century with their popular counterparts from the twenty-first?”
Mel nodded. “And concluded that the steady advance of a culture embracing diversity and tolerance had given birth to the creation of an increasing number of fictional villains as three-dimensional characters,” she quoted, displaying not only her perfect memory, but a mental capacity and clarity that still frequently left her mother in awe.
Diana had been startled when her daughter had started talking in complete and complex sentences at two. She was floored when she’d later learned that Mel’s IQ was in excess of one hundred and sixty.
“How does my paper on fictional villains relate to the private investigator following us?” Mel asked.
“He was one of your study subjects, your favorite one.”
Mel whirled around in her seat again. “Derek Dementer, from the soap, Seattle!” she yelled, sounding very much like an excited nine-year-old.
Diana smiled at her daughter’s exuberance.
Mel turned back to her mom, her voice still high with her discovery. “Jack Knight is a private investigator now?”
“Apparently.”
“He must be Richard Knight’s brother. Richard never said he had a brother in show business.”
Diana nodded as she took a corner. “Richard’s too much of a professional to even discuss his personal business, much less brag. If I hadn’t taped all those Seattle episodes for you, I never would have known his brother was the Jack Knight when he showed up at the firm this morning.”
“Why did he become a private investigator?”
“I didn’t ask.”
“I can’t wait to meet him. Will he stay for lunch?”
Seemed even her brilliant daughter had been struck by the show business bug.
“No, Jack and I have an appointment to see Connie Pearce as soon as I drop you off. Afterward, I have a ton of work waiting for me back at the office. So, when I take you over to say hello, do me a favor and limit yourself to only one of the zillion questions I know you want to ask him.”
Diana could feel Mel’s watchful eyes. “You’re not happy that Jack is on the case?” her daughter said.
“Why do you ask?”
“You have that frown that pulls your eyebrows together,” Mel said as she demonstrated by squeezing the skin on a corresponding part of her face.
Diana put a finger between her eyebrows, making a mental note to work on that. A trial attorney had to be able to control her facial expressions.
“Connie needs the best,” she said by way of explanation. “Richard is the best.”
“But you still hired Jack?”
“White Knight Investigations has always come through for me. If Charles Knight thinks Jack can do the job, professional courtesy demands I give him a chance.”
At least that’s what she told herself. But there was a nagging suspicion at the back of Diana’s mind that her decision might also have something to do with the fact that she wasn’t as immune to Jack Knight’s thousand-watt smile as she should be.

JACK FOLLOWED DIANA into the deeply wooded countryside surrounding the city of Silver Valley, finally parking in front of a well-kept Craftsman-style home. He let the car idle as he waited, assuming they’d be leaving right away. But Diana got out of her car and started toward him with her daughter in tow.
Jack let out a frustrated exhale, turned off the engine and got out to stand beside the driver’s door.
The girl wasn’t bad looking, he supposed, if one liked kids.
Jack didn’t. They were noisy, messy and rude, had to be watched every minute, constantly demanded things and were never satisfied for more than ten seconds with whatever they got. He had no idea why anyone would want one.
Nor could he understand what made parents think that other people were interested in getting to know their kids. He’d just as soon be introduced to their pit bulls. At least they could be kept on a leash.
Yet here was Diana, like all the other proud mothers he’d met, bringing her kid over to be introduced. He didn’t need this. The last kid he’d tried to talk to had sneezed all over him and given him a cold.
He gritted his teeth and diligently tried to keep himself from flinching when this one walked right up to him.
“Hi, I’m Melissa Mason, but everybody calls me Mel. It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Knight. Do you mind if I call you Jack?”
He blinked at her in surprise. This kid was articulate, polite, even had a sweet voice. He found himself smiling as he took her offered hand.
“Please do, Mel. You have very nice manners for one so young, or for one of any age for that matter.”
“Thanks, but I’m short on tact when I lose my temper. Mom says it’s a family failing.”
He looked over at Diana as Mel released his hand. “Is that a fact?”
Diana didn’t look too pleased with Mel for having shared that.
“Can I ask you something?” Mel said.
“I guess,” Jack said cautiously.
“I’ve read that one of the biggest agonies of being an actor is an endless search for identity. You portrayed a very believable villain on Seattle. Did you have difficulty keeping your identity separate from the part you played?”
Hell of a question from a kid this young. Jack gave it a moment’s thought before answering.
“When I worked hard and knew I had played the part well, I felt good about myself. I suppose the bottom line is that a strong sense of self develops from doing your best, no matter what your profession.”
She tilted her head. “That was a very interesting answer.”
“I was responding to a very interesting question,” Jack said. “How old are you?”
“I don’t like to give my chronological age,” Mel said. “It elicits a bias about what I’m like, and I’m not like that at all. Did you know that being aware of a person’s age early on in a relationship can actually prevent people from getting to know each other?”
Jack stared at the girl for a moment before turning to address Diana. “Care to help the mentally handicapped here?”
Diana laughed. He felt his insides warm at the bold huskiness of the sound. She stepped behind her daughter, gently clasped her shoulders. “Mel celebrated her ninth birthday a few weeks ago. But she’s currently enrolled in schoolwork equivalent to the third-year college level.”
“You’re a genius,” Jack said to Mel, not attempting to hide either his surprise or fascination.
“Not in any widely agreed-upon definition of the term,” she answered very seriously. “Genius rarely, if ever, equates to superior intellectual achievement, even when that achievement is blatantly manifested. Most researchers think of it as bringing into existence something original, an inspiration beyond intelligent thinking and clever reasoning. What do you think, Jack?”
“I think I’d better wait for a brain donor before I ask you any more questions,” he said, shaking his head.
Mel giggled. “You’re funny.”
He smiled at the good-natured amusement on the girl’s face.
“You’d better go inside now, Mel,” Diana said. “We have to be on our way.”
“Can’t I go with you to see Connie?”
Diana planted a kiss on her daughter’s head. “Not without doubling your chronological age and committing a felony.”
“My psychology professor said that hearing about other people’s pain can help to make you feel better about your own,” Mel said.
“Nice try,” Diana said. “But not even close to working. Now off with you.”
“What’s causing you pain?” Jack asked Mel, curious to know, despite Diana’s obvious desire to be on her way.
“We have to move out of my grandmother’s home,” Mel said. “She’s really sweet, and she understands me, and I’ve lived here for as long as I can remember.”
“Why do you have to leave?” Jack prodded.
“She’s getting married, and her husband’s moving in with her, so Mom and I have to rent a place. There are no houses available, only yucky apartments. And Mom’s going to have to find someone to stay with me when she’s not there. Except I don’t want to be baby-sat because I’m no baby.”
“You’re certainly not,” Jack said. Although, as Mel’s far too unhappy tone had demonstrated, she was still very much a nine-year-old for all her intelligence.
When Diana had finally succeeded in shooing her daughter into the house, Jack turned to her. “You could have warned me about Mel.”
“Yeah, but this was more fun.”
For her maybe. But he didn’t mind. He’d had a chance to hear Diana laugh. That had been a nice surprise. He’d always thought that the deeper a woman’s laugh, the deeper her enjoyment of physical pleasure.
Diana’s laugh had been so deep he could still feel it vibrating along his nerve endings.

FORTY MINUTES LATER, Diana and Jack stepped through the doorway into the Silver Valley County jail. As they walked through the metal detector, Diana exchanged waves with the security guard who had the latest John Grisham thriller in his hands.
Hustling once again to keep up with her fast pace, Jack followed her into the elevator and watched her punch the button for the next floor.
“Are you as upset about having to move out of your mother’s home as Mel is?”
“Just something that has to be done,” she answered without looking at him.
Jack couldn’t tell whether he’d hit on a touchy subject or if Diana’s reluctance to talk was due to preoccupation with their upcoming interview. When the elevator doors opened, she was out in a flash.
“Hi, Diana,” the prison guard called from behind the counter.
“Hi, Fran.”
Jack looked over Diana’s shoulder as she signed in, noticing that she entered both of their names. The prison guard buzzed the door to the hallway open and gestured for Diana to go through.
But before Jack could, the guard pointed to a room behind the counter. “Step in there and take off all your clothes.”
“I beg your pardon?” Jack said.
“Body search,” Fran explained curtly, hands on her sturdy hips, fingers twitching toward the gun in her holster. “Got to make sure you’re not taking anything prohibited to the prisoner.”
He stared at the serious look on the prison guard’s face in growing unease.
“Nice try, Fran,” Diana said, “but Mr. Knight’s part of the law firm’s defense team and not subject to search.”
The female guard looked Jack up and down and let out a disappointed sigh. “Rats.”
“Thanks,” he whispered on an exhale of relief as they walked down the hall.
A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she headed directly for a room at the end. She opened the door and gestured for him to step inside. She apparently wasn’t the type who waited for men to hold doors open for her.
Jack liked that. He stepped past her into a windowless, eight-by-ten foot room with a Formica table, four scratched metal chairs and an overhead fluorescent light that flickered.
“They’ll bring Connie in to meet with us soon,” Diana said as she closed the door then and took a seat at the table. “Before she gets here, I need to fill you in on a few things.”
He sat across from her and waited. She looped the strap of her shoulder bag over the back of her chair as she began.
“Connie is unnaturally shy. I want her to tell you her story because the emotional impact comes through so much clearer in her words. But she might not talk to you. She offered nothing but minimal information to me at first. It wasn’t until I learned she’d lost a daughter that I thought of approaching her another way.”
“When you say lost, do you mean the girl died?” Jack asked.
Diana nodded. “Had she lived, her daughter would have been around Mel’s age now. I got the idea that Connie might find talking to another mother easier than she would to an attorney. So, on my next visit I stopped asking questions and started telling her about the challenges facing me as a single mom. When she seemed interested, I knew I was making progress and showed her a picture of Mel.”
Pausing for a moment, Diana gave her shoulders a little roll as though trying to shake off a sudden tightness. “Connie took one look at Mel’s picture and cried. Then she told me about Amy.”
“Amy is the daughter she lost,” Jack guessed. “How long ago did—”
He didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence. The door opened and a guard brought in Connie Pearce, murderess. She walked into the room slowly, as if she was unsure of each step. The instant she saw Jack, she flinched and took a step backward.
Connie not only didn’t look like she could run down a man with a car. She didn’t look like she could chase down a fly with a swatter.
This case got more baffling by the minute. Jack decided right then that he was not going to leave the room until he had heard this woman’s story.

WHEN DIANA SAW Connie’s reaction to Jack, she was certain her client was never going to talk to him. But before she could ask Jack to wait outside, he stepped forward, took Connie’s hand and smiled into her startled face.
“I’m Jack Knight, Connie. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”
His voice sounded very gentle and sincere. Connie’s retreat halted.
When Fran seemed ready to take exception to Jack’s physical contact with the prisoner, Diana shook her head. Diana and Fran had known each other a long time. The guard trusted her. Fran nodded and quietly left the room.
“You look…familiar,” Connie said as she stared up at Jack, a small frown forming.
“Do I?” he asked as he held her hand within his open palm. Smiling one of those devastating smiles of his, he said, “Maybe you recognize me from TV. The soap Seattle?”
Connie’s mouth opened in astonishment. “You’re Derek Dementer! But I don’t understand. What are you doing here?”
“Diana tells me you’re in trouble. I’ve come to help.”
Keeping her hand within his own, Jack led Connie to the table, held out a chair for her. His facial expression, physical attention and voice all radiated warmth.
He sat facing her, knee-to-knee. “Being an actor was fun for me. But I’d much rather rescue a lady in distress than be the villain causing her distress.”
Damn if he didn’t sound like he meant every word he was saying, too.
“You really think you can help me?” Connie asked, still obviously finding this too good to be true.
“I know I can help you,” he said with the kind of confidence that brooked no argument. “But first, I need to understand everything that happened. Will you help me?”
For the first time since she’d met Connie, Diana saw her client smile. Jack’s constant attention was telling Connie that she alone existed for him. A normal man showing a woman that kind of attention would be hard to refuse. When a charismatic man like Jack turned it on, what chance did a woman have?
“What do you want me to do?” Connie asked.
“Tell me about Amy,” he said.
Connie sigh was soft and sad. “Oh.”
“I know talking about her is very difficult,” Jack said, his voice tender. “But will you try for me?”
Connie nodded. “Okay.”
Diana let out a relieved breath. He had accomplished in a couple of minutes what had taken her two weeks. The lawyer in her was impressed, but the woman in her was more than a little annoyed.
Connie inhaled deeply before she began.
Diana knew the story. She focused her attention on Jack, trying to imagine what he would think and feel when he heard it. Was he merely a handsome actor with all the right words at his command? Or was there some substance behind that charm?

CONNIE STRUCK Jack as so childlike and vulnerable that he had a hard time remembering that she was in her late twenties.
“I fell in love with Jimmy when we were seniors in high school,” Connie began. “He said he wanted us to get married. But when I told him I was pregnant a couple of months before graduation, he got upset. The day after graduation, he disappeared. I knew then that I’d have to raise my baby by myself.”
“Your parents couldn’t help?” he asked.
“My parents told me I was going to hell when I told them. They turned me out of the house and warned me to never come back.”
Jack shook his head. Religion could so easily be perverted into hate when humans turned away from its message of love. He squeezed Connie’s hand, urging her to go on with her story.
“A woman who owned a small diner down the street from the high school gave me a job as a waitress and let me sleep in her storage room,” Connie said. “The next few months were very hard. But once my Amy was born, I knew nothing else mattered. She was my sweet baby, my total joy.”
He could hear that joy in Connie’s voice, see it flooding her face as the memories of her child filled her.
“Amy was the happiest, most loving child. She was the reason I got up every morning and said prayers of gratitude every night. I worked in a day-care center so I could keep her with me. When she got close to school age, I applied to be a teacher’s aide. Only then my baby…my baby…”
Connie’s head dropped as her voice faltered. She stared down at her lap as her hand clutched his.
Jack would have sworn he was immune to dramatic pauses, but he wasn’t immune to this one. Connie didn’t know how to simply relate facts. She emitted the complete range of her emotions in full and living color. He now understood why Diana had wanted him to hear the story from her client. No one else could tell it like this.
“What happened to her?” he asked quietly.
“It was Amy’s fourth birthday. I was in the kitchen baking her cake. She was playing on the screened-in front porch. I heard a car, and it seemed much too close. I looked up to see this old car jump the curb and smash through our fence. It plowed into the porch, then sped away. I ran outside to look for Amy and I found her under the wreckage. She was dead.”
Tears poured down Connie’s cheeks, large glistening drops of pure grief. Jack had no handkerchief or tissue to offer her. He leaned over and gently rubbed the tears away with his thumbs.
“Did they find the driver?” he asked after a moment.
She tried to speak, but her words were choked by sobs. Out of the corner of his eye, Jack saw Diana answer him with a shake of her head.
Connie wept for several more minutes before resuming her story. Her voice was whispered pain. “I wanted to die. I tried to. But Amy kept coming to me in my dreams. She told me she’d be too sad if I died. I enrolled in night school and earned a teaching credential. They offered me a job teaching third grade. I told them I wanted to teach kindergarten instead.”
“So you could be around children Amy’s age,” he guessed.
She nodded. “Sometimes when they smiled, I saw Amy in their eyes.”
Jack let a moment pass before he asked, “When did you meet Bruce Weaton?”
“Over a year ago. Amy had been gone almost four years by then.”
“How did you meet him?”
“I worked late one day setting up a classroom exhibit. When I walked out to the parking lot, I saw that one of my tires had gone flat. Everyone else had gone home. I didn’t have a phone to call for assistance. I was trying to figure out how to put on the spare when Bruce came by in his car. He changed the flat for me. Afterward, he invited me out for coffee.”
“You had coffee with him?”
“Oh, no. He was very handsome and drove a Mercedes. I was certain he was only being kind.”
“But you did see him again?” Jack prompted.
“About a week later. I bumped into him while we were both standing in line for popcorn at the movie theater in the mall. He’d come to see some war movie. I was there to see a Disney adventure my class was talking about. I was so surprised when he asked if he could sit with me and watch the kids’ movie.”
“And after the show?”
“He bought me an ice-cream cone from a concession in the mall. We talked until closing. He kept asking me about myself and seemed really interested in what I told him. When he walked me to my car, he invited me to dinner the next evening.”
Jack listened to the amazement in Connie’s voice as she described her growing relationship with Bruce. Everywhere they went over the next few months, women gave the good-looking Bruce the eye. But he gave all his attention to her.
Bruce told Connie about his father, Philip, and his brother, Lyle, both of whom were partners with him in a very successful real estate firm. He explained that his mother, Barbara, was a prominent judge. Connie had a hard time believing that this perfect man from a perfect family was interested in her.
After they’d been dating for three months, she finally got up the courage to ask Bruce what he saw in her. To her total amazement, he asked her to marry him.
“What did you say, Connie?”
“I didn’t know what to say. He’d been pressing me for weeks for…a more intimate relationship. I’d told him that after Jimmy, I didn’t want to be physically intimate with a man again unless I was married. Now he was asking me to marry him. When I told him I wasn’t sure, he agreed to give me more time.”
At a barbecue the following Sunday, Bruce’s seven-year-old nephew had dragged Connie into Bruce’s garage to show her the new bike his uncle had bought him for his birthday. As he swung his leg over the bike’s seat, the boy’s foot caught on the edge of a drop cloth. When Connie had pulled the drop cloth from the boy’s foot, she saw a tiny gold locket and chain in the corner. A distinctive blue rose was on the front of the locket.
“I picked up the locket, opened it,” Connie said, her voice suddenly nothing but a quivering breath. “I found Amy’s picture inside. She was wearing the locket the day the car hit the porch.”
Connie lifted her eyes to Jack’s. “Bruce had been so sweet to me. He’d asked me to marry him. I couldn’t believe he was the man who’d driven the car that had killed my baby.”
Jack held firmly onto her hand. “What did you do?”
“All I could think about was getting away. I ran from the garage and got into my car. I started the engine and backed into the street.”
“Did you see Bruce?”
Connie nodded. “When I put the car in drive and stepped on the gas, Bruce ran into the street and waved his arms, trying to get me to stop.”
“Did you try to stop?”
Connie’s chin dropped to her chest. “I tried to steer around him, but I was crying, and I couldn’t see him anymore. All I could see was Amy.”
“Connie, did you want to kill Bruce?” Jack asked.
“No. I only wanted to get away from him.”
Jack gently lifted Connie’s chin with his fingertips. The pain on her face bore witness to the truth of her words.

CHAPTER THREE
DIANA ACCEPTED Jack’s suggestion to talk about the case over lunch. Normally, she ate at her desk, unwilling to accept the long lines that were inevitable at good restaurants. But talking with him while grabbing a bite would actually be a more efficient use of their time.
Still, she felt uneasy.
She’d worked closely with both Richard and David Knight on cases, even shared an occasional meal with Richard without a moment’s unease. Jack’s brothers were also very good-looking, but she felt different around Jack, and she couldn’t quite put her finger on why.
It probably had something to do with watching him work his magic on Connie. That had been damn scary. Jack knew how to get a woman to talk to him and to trust him with effortless charm. She had no doubt that he could probably make a woman believe anything he said.
How could a woman ever know when he was being sincere?
Diana led the way to a favorite restaurant not far from her office. They got a great table on the second-story terrace that overlooked the street below. The day was dull, as most days in Western Washington were. In the distance the snow-capped peaks of the Olympic Mountains wore dark lumpy hats of cumulus clouds.
But the early summer temperature was mild and the air tasted sweet, reminding Diana that people whose jobs chained them to desks all day needed to get out for a little natural light and fresh air once in a while.
The restaurant catered to business clientele, its patrons appropriately attired. But Jack had taken off his suit coat and tie, opened the collar of his shirt and rolled its sleeves to the elbows. Despite the lack of sunshine, he wore large reflective sunglasses and—what was strangest of all—a false beard.
After the waiter had taken their orders and scurried away, the reason for Jack’s altered appearance finally occurred to Diana.
“Do you still get recognized when you go out in public?” she asked.
“Enough that I do my best to avoid it.”
“How do fans react to seeing a screen villain in the flesh?”
“Depends on the fan. The nice ones smile and ask for my autograph.”
“And the others?”
“They demand to know why I stole my uncle’s business while he was in the hospital with a brain tumor, refused to give my nephew part of my liver when he required a transplant, drove my horse-racing competitor to suicide, seduced my sister’s best friend when she was in mourning, denied her baby was mine and then tried to murder her husband when he returned from the Amazon—having not been killed in the plane crash after all—only to find he was my long-lost brother who had been raised in the orphanage when we were separated as infants.”
She shook her head in amusement. “My, my, you were busy. I must have missed taping a few of the shows.”
“I’m surprised you taped any. You don’t strike me as a soap fan.”
“Mel was writing a paper that involved your TV character, and my assignment was to preserve your performances via the VCR,” she admitted. “You might find her conclusions interesting reading.”
“If Mel wrote the paper, I might find her conclusions above my reading comprehension.”
He was smiling, and Diana suddenly found herself smiling back. She knew few adults—and no men—who would have felt comfortable enough with themselves to admit that, even in jest.
This man had a couple of nice points about him.
The waiter delivered Diana’s seafood salad and Jack’s sliced roast beef along with their iced teas. Diana realized she was quite hungry and dug in. Her first bite tasted heavenly. This sure beat yogurt and an apple at her desk.
“I understand why you don’t want Connie convicted of murder,” he said between bites. “That would be unjust.”
“I’m glad you feel that way,” she said, and she was. But she was cautious, too. “Now tell me why you feel that way.”
She studied his face for any sign of the confidence with which he’d greeted her that morning. Or the captivating attention he’d lavished on Connie. But his sunglasses and beard hid so much of his face that reading any expression was next to impossible.
“Connie isn’t capable of intentionally squashing a bug, much less a man,” he said. “I can’t imagine that anyone talking with her for five minutes could think otherwise.”
Actually, Diana knew a lot of people too cynical to see her client for who she was. She was relieved to learn Jack wasn’t one of those people. That told her something important about him that nothing else could have. He did have some genuine emotional substance beneath the polished surface.
“Have you told the prosecutor what happened?” he asked.
Diana’s mouth was full of chunks of tender shrimp and fresh avocado. She shook her head in response.
“I think you should. Any prosecutor who heard Connie’s story would understand that she wasn’t responsible for her actions at the time she ran over Bruce Weaton.”
Diana swallowed before responding. “Any prosecutor in the wonderful world of TV maybe. In real life our Chief Prosecutor has too much time and effort invested in proving Connie’s guilt to entertain any thoughts of her possible innocence.”
“You don’t think he’d care about getting to the truth?”
“All George Staker cares about is arranging the facts in front of a jury so he wins the case. If I told him Connie’s story, he not only wouldn’t believe me, he’d do everything within his power to use the information against her.”
“You’ve been up against Staker before,” Jack guessed.
Diana nodded.
“Tell me about it.”
She sipped her tea as she gave his request some careful thought. It would be fair to tell him, she supposed. If he stayed on this case, he would need to know exactly what he’d be up against. Relating the basic facts should be enough.
“My client was a retired military man in his sixties, taking care of his wife who had terminal cancer,” she began. “He got up to attend to her in the middle of the night and inadvertently gave her too much medication. In the morning, he found her dead. Staker claimed the man had deliberately given his wife an overdose to collect on her term life insurance that was due to expire. He charged him with murder.”
“Are you sure your client was innocent?”
“Positive. I spoke to the hospice nurse. She’d visited the night my client’s wife died and administered pain medication without mentioning that fact to my client. He was asleep on the couch, exhausted from caring for his wife. When he was awakened a few hours later by his wife’s moaning, he gave her another dose of medication, assuming she hadn’t had any. When I learned all this, I went to Staker and asked him to drop the charges.”
“He didn’t,” Jack guessed.
“And he used what I told him to strengthen the state’s case. In his opening statement to the jury, he said the hospice nurse had spent many nights at my client’s home, implying they were having an affair. When the hospice nurse got on the stand, Staker cross-examined her about her recent divorce and asked if she was lying because she wanted my client’s wife dead so she could be with him.”
“And her denial didn’t carry any weight,” Jack said, “because the force of the accusation was enough to get the jury to believe the affair was true.”
Diana nodded. “I’m always amazed how ready people are to think the worst about someone without a lick of proof.”
“Your client was convicted?”
Diana put down her fork, her appetite suddenly abandoning her. “He took his own life.”
“I’m sorry.”
Jack had spoken the words softly. Without his impressive array of facial expressions and tonal range, he still sounded very sincere. Diana wondered how he’d managed to do that. Was that ability part of his training, or could it be she was seeing the real him?
“When did this happen?” he asked after a moment.
She hadn’t thought she’d share this next part. Now she realized she wanted to.
“Two years ago. I’m still not able to discuss the case dispassionately. Maybe I never will be. My client was a good man who loved his wife dearly. He was depressed over her death and filled with guilt for having had a part in ending her life prematurely, however unintentional.”
“Is that why he killed himself?”
“I think he would have come out of his depression if he hadn’t been unfairly accused and tried. He left a letter, thanking me for believing him and asking me to make sure that the hospice nurse was not victimized.”
“What did Staker say when you showed him the letter?”
Diana spoke the words through a clenched jaw. “He said he wished the guy hadn’t killed himself before the jury had reached their guilty verdict because he was robbed of another win. Staker was competing with the prosecutor in a neighboring county for most convictions within a calendar year.”
Jack called Staker a filthy name, so filthy in fact that Diana decided right then that she liked Jack very much.
“Is Staker in another competition?” he asked, his tone cool with contempt. “Or does he have a vendetta against Connie?”
“I don’t know about another competition,” Diana said, “but he never has anything personal against a defendant. They’re simply not real to him. Nothing and no one is real to Staker but Staker. The law is something he uses for his own ends. He intends to use Connie’s trial to launch his campaign for judge. Her high-profile trial and conviction will give him the media spotlight he craves as the ‘hard on crime’ candidate.”
Jack chewed for a few minutes before he asked his next question. “What about the judge who will hear the case? Can you talk to him or her?”
“Him. William Gimbrere. He’s a friend of Barbara Weaton’s. And he would not be willing to listen.”
“As a friend of the mother of the victim, shouldn’t Gimbrere excuse himself from the case?”
“Every judge in the county is a friend of Barbara Weaton’s. Earl Payman should have petitioned the court for a change of venue at the time he entered Connie’s plea. He didn’t. When I did, Gimbrere told me the request had come too late and turned me down.”
“I can’t imagine that when the jury hears Connie’s story, they won’t at least opt for the lesser charge of involuntary manslaughter.”
“The only option the prosecution is going to give them is guilty or not guilty of first-degree murder. There will be no lesser charge from which they can choose.”
“The prosecutor can do that?” Jack asked.
“He’s done it.”
“But there’s no way he can prove premeditation.”
“A death doesn’t have to be premeditated to qualify as first-degree murder. Paraphrasing Washington State law, a defendant can be found guilty of first-degree murder if he or she manifests an extreme indifference to human life by engaging in conduct that creates a grave risk of death to any person and thereby causes the death of a person.”
“Like deliberately running over a guy with your car,” Jack said, nodding.
“And you can be sure that Staker will do everything he can to try to prove Connie did that deliberately.”
“How can he?”
“By characterizing Connie as a jealous lover. Bruce’s nephew said he was showing Connie his new bike and the next thing he knew she was running from the garage. Staker claims that Connie saw another woman’s panties lying on the dashboard of Bruce’s Mercedes and suddenly realized that Bruce was two-timing her.”
“The panties were there?”
“Red lace bikini,” Diana confirmed. “Part of the physical evidence in the prosecution’s case.”
“And the owner?”
“Tina Uttley, an employee at the real estate firm Bruce owned with his father and brother, identified them as hers. She’s also admitted to having an affair with Bruce at the time he was romancing Connie.”
“Did Bruce’s family know he’d proposed to Connie?” Jack asked.
“They said nothing about knowing in their statements to the sheriff’s office.”
Jack put down his knife and fork, pushed his empty plate aside. “Connie would have said something about Bruce seeing another woman if she’d known.”
“I’m certain you’re right,” Diana said. “But Staker’s going to claim that she realized the significance of the panties and that jealousy was her motive for killing Bruce.”
“Even though the nephew never mentioned that Connie even looked into the car?”
“All Staker has to do is put Connie in the vicinity and make the idea she saw the panties sound plausible. Without any other explanation for her running out of the garage, he’ll count on his suggestion to be taken as fact by the jury.”
Jack shook his head. “Connecting the dots so the picture of a lamb turns out to look like that of a lion.”
“Pretty scary how well Staker is able to connect those dots, too.”
When the waiter arrived to remove their empty dishes, Diana ordered iced tea refills as an excuse to keep squatter’s rights on their table. “A trial is basically the telling of two conflicting stories,” she said after the waiter had gone. “The story that seems to be the clearest and most believable to the jury given the supporting evidence will be the one they accept. I have to make Connie’s story the one the jury will believe.”
“How can I help?”
She liked the way he’d phrased that. Not, what is my job? Not, what do you want me to do? But, how can I help?
With every passing minute, Diana became more convinced that Jack really wanted to help.
“First,” she said, “you’re going to have to put Bruce Weaton in that car at the scene of Amy’s hit-and-run five years ago, establish an unbreakable link between him and the locket Connie found hidden in his garage, have every piece of physical evidence analyzed and authenticated by an outside forensic lab and do it without Staker knowing.”
“Oh, is that all,” Jack said, with good-natured sarcasm.
“No, that’s only step one of three.”
The waiter refilled their glasses, and Jack squeezed a slice of lemon over his iced tea. “Why an outside forensic lab?”
“One of our strongest weapons will be surprise. Staker and Sheriff Riker have been buddies since high school. What Sheriff Riker knows, Staker knows. We have to maintain complete secrecy about Connie’s story until she takes the stand.”
“So Staker can’t try to twist the facts the way he did in your other case.”
“And nearly every other case he’s prosecuted. I’ve watched him at several major trials. His strength lies in knowing exactly what to expect from the defense and putting his own spin on the facts. He can’t deal with surprises, which is why he mustn’t know that Connie is going to testify, much less what she’s going to say.”
“If you don’t present the evidence of Bruce’s involvement in the hit-and-run until after Connie has testified,” Jack said, “what will you say in the opening statement?”
“I’m not giving an opening statement. Judge Gimbrere’s a firm believer that a jury should base their decision on the evidence, not on a lawyer’s interpretation of that evidence, which is what he considers both opening and closing statements by trial attorneys to be. He’d restricted us to one statement to the jury. Staker chose an opening statement. I opted for a closing.”
“Staker will run the show at the onset of the trial,” Jack said. “Won’t overcoming the jury’s early conclusions be difficult?”
“Very,” Diana agreed. “The judge will caution the jury not to form an opinion until all the evidence is in, but many will do so anyway. The people who have investigated the psychology of juries say that members place the most weight on what they hear first and last. By the time I’m through, I’m going to shift that weight to Connie’s side.”
Despite the confidence Diana put into her words, she knew that her chances were slim. She had an incredibly complex case and was up against the most ruthless and feared prosecutor in the county. And she hadn’t even told Jack the most difficult part yet.
“Has Connie given you a description of the car that hit Amy?”
“Not a very good one,” Diana admitted. “She doesn’t know much about cars and everything happened so quickly. All she could remember was that the headlights were round and close together. There was a vertical grill on the front and the fenders were high above the tires.”
“Color?”
“Just an impression of gray as it sped toward the porch.”
“Age?”
“I showed her a book of old cars. She didn’t recognize any.”
“Maybe we’re talking about a classic or sports car as opposed to an old one.”
“Quite possibly,” Diana agreed. “The fact that Connie found Amy’s locket in Bruce’s garage tells me he parked the car there after killing her child. At some point the locket must have fallen off the car and ended up unnoticed in the corner. What we have to do is get a crime scene unit to scour the place for more forensic evidence without Staker knowing.”
“Who owns the property now?”
“According to the county assessor’s office, Donald and Joyce Epstein, formerly of Plainfield, New Jersey. The sale included all personal items—furniture, appliances, dishes, flatware, even towels.”
“Which implies that the Weaton family didn’t remove much, if anything, before putting the property on the market.”
“That’s the way I read it,” Diana agreed.
“When did escrow close?”
“Last week. I drove by the place yesterday. No one has moved in yet. If the Weatons or Epsteins haven’t cleaned out the garage, there might be some evidence left.”
Jack repositioned the Rolex on his wrist. “Being able to tie Bruce to Amy’s hit-and-run will blow Staker’s supposed jealousy motive right out of the water.”
“Yes, and that’s important. The jury needs to understand that Connie is not the kind of woman who would fly into a jealous rage. If she had discovered Bruce cheated on her, quietly fading away would have been far more in character for her.”
“Speaking of character, the villain I played in Seattle was brought to trial on a first-degree murder charge. As I remember, there was a scene where my attorney had to disclose to the prosecutor who he was going to call as witnesses.”
“The writers on your series did their homework,” Diana said. “I do have to give Staker a list of potential defense witnesses.”
“Then how are you going to keep him from knowing who you’re going to call to the stand?”
“My initial witness list will have close to sixty names—few of whom I actually plan to call on to testify. Each week I’ll add more names.”
“How does that help?”
“All those extra names will camouflage who I’m really going to have testify. Staker won’t have a chance to check out all the witnesses. Knowing him, he probably won’t bother to check out any since he thinks he’s got an airtight case.”
“If he sees the names of private forensic lab personnel, he’s bound to know that something is up,” Jack pointed out.
Diana liked the questions Jack was asking. They told her he had a good mind and was thinking carefully about the case. Despite his lack of experience, he was hitting on some key points.
“I’ll be requesting that a lot of the physical evidence evaluated by the sheriff’s department be reevaluated at an outside lab,” she said. “When I put the names of the lab personnel on my list, Staker will assume they’re a smoke screen. Chances are he won’t bother deposing them.”
“Give him a forest so he won’t see the trees,” Jack said with a smile. “I’ve always liked clever women.”
Diana shortened the smile she gave him, reminding herself that liking Jack too much wasn’t a good idea.
“Once Connie takes the stand and tells the jury what happened, we’ll go right to the proof that Bruce killed her child,” she said.
“And effectively turn the tables on Staker by putting Bruce Weaton on trial instead of Connie.”
“Which is going to bring some immediate questions to the minds of the jurors.”
“Such as why Bruce pursued Connie after he’d gotten away with the hit-and-run murder of her child?”
No doubt about it, Jack was very quick.
“Yes,” Diana confirmed. “Step two of getting Connie acquitted will be answering that important question as well as others. Even when the law doesn’t require motives to be established, juries always look for them. Wanting things to make sense is part of what makes us human.”
Jack nodded. “Why we do something is often as important as what we do.”
She placed her forearms on the table, aware she couldn’t have put it better. “And, for the life of me, I can’t imagine what possessed Bruce to do what he did. He was responsible for the death of Connie’s child and had successfully hidden his crime. Why would he pursue her? I would think she’d be the last woman he’d want to be around, if he had any conscience.”
“Maybe that was the problem,” Jack said. “He didn’t have a conscience. Or he got some sick thrill out of getting the mother of the child he’d murdered to fall in love with him.”
That thought gave Diana the chills.
Jack counted off on his fingers. “First, you want me to prove Bruce killed Amy. Second, you want me to find out about Bruce so the jury understands what drove him to pursue Connie.”
“Yes,” Diana answered. She could feel his next question coming. She’d been waiting for it.
“That’s two things. You said there were three. What’s the third?”
“The third thing could be the toughest,” she admitted. “I have to be sure to seat a jury who will listen to Connie, understand the shock she was in and believe her when she says that she was only trying to get away from Bruce that day. Because even if we prove to the jury that Bruce killed her child, and help them to understand his motive in pursuing Connie, and they sympathize with the awful shock she must have felt when she learned what he did, they can still convict her of murder if they believe she deliberately tried to kill him.”
Jack was quiet a moment. Diana had no clue as to where he might be looking or what he might be thinking. She was beginning to resent those sunglasses that reflected back her own image and nothing of the man wearing them.
“How are you going to seat a jury made up of people with open minds and the ability to recognize the truth when they hear it?” he finally asked.
“By your investigating the hundred and fifty people whose names have been selected as prospective jurors so we can weed out the ones who won’t while identifying the ones who will.”
“A hundred and fifty prospective jurors?” he repeated, his voice rising a full octave from its deep bases.
“The original jury pool was close to seven hundred,” she added. “The others were dropped after a preliminary questionnaire established they had either heard or read about the case, had hardship circumstances that prevented them from serving, or were relatives or friends of law enforcement or others connected with the case.”
“How long did that take?”
“Two months. Judge Gimbrere told Staker and me in a pretrial conference last week that we had to select our jury from this panel. He was adamant that he would not call up any others.”
“How long do I have to investigate these people?”
“Formal jury selection starts in six weeks. We have to gather every piece of information we can about these people by then in order to know which twelve we want sitting in the jury box.”
“You want me to investigate a hundred and fifty people in addition to gathering the evidence to prove Bruce killed Amy and discovering his motive for pursuing Connie, and do it all in six weeks?”
“Yes,” Diana said as if she was making an everyday request. “Everything has to be done before we go to trial.”
Now he knew. The next move was his.
Jack rested casually against the back of his chair, the index finger of his right hand gliding along the rim of his iced tea glass. Whatever he was thinking was well hidden behind his disguise.
As the silence lengthened, the waiting became more difficult for Diana to bear. She looked away from him to stare at the blur of people passing by on the sidewalk below.
Jack had to know that she’d asked him to accomplish the impossible. A team of professional trial consultants would probably be able to give her a thumbnail sketch on a hundred and fifty prospective jurors in the time available. But not even they could provide the kind of in-depth analysis she required in order to know whom she could trust with Connie’s life.
If such an analysis was even possible. Diana had no idea. But she couldn’t ask anything less of Jack. Connie’s life was at stake.
The Court had approved the expense for only one private investigator. Her motion requesting a trial date extension had both led to an immediate grunt of “no” from Judge Gimbrere and an undisguised snicker from Staker.
She was doing what she had to do. And Jack was going to have to do what he had to do. Chances were good he’d be getting up and walking out any minute now.
A part of her wouldn’t blame him. And, yet, she acknowledged that another part of her would be very disappointed.
A few hours ago she’d been hoping he would walk out on this case so she could get someone better qualified. But that was before she’d seen him with Connie. He hadn’t simply gotten her client to talk. He had listened to her story with compassion.
Diana realized now she’d been overlooking a key ingredient to Connie’s successful defense. Jack had the most important qualification a private investigator could have on this case—a firm belief in the client’s innocence.
What was she going to do if he walked out?
Diana started when Jack suddenly downed the contents of his glass, grabbed the check and stood.
Her heart sank. He was getting ready to run.
Jack whipped off his sunglasses and smiled at her in pure, unbridled enthusiasm. “Come on, Diana. We’re wasting time sitting around here. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

CHAPTER FOUR
JACK COULDN’T BELIEVE what a great case this was.
He had an interesting mystery to solve, some mind-boggling investigative work to do, and he was being given a chance to help a nice woman who was far more of a victim of a crime than a perpetrator. Finally, after enduring nearly a decade of being thrust into villainous roles, Jack had been cast as a hero.
Hot damn. He couldn’t wait to get started.
Of course, Diana had given him an impossible task. But what the hell, that was half the fun. The only thing that gave him pause was the fact that they’d be working very closely together for the next six weeks.
She was an alluring combination—strong, smart and sexy. He also liked the fact that she was genuinely committed to helping her client, instead of taking the easy way out as that slimeball Earl Payman had done.
Hard-core morality in a woman turned Jack on big-time.
But his decision not to get involved with women who had children had been based on painful practical experience and important soul-searching. He knew who he was and what he wanted out of life.
Which meant that his relationship with Diana had to remain strictly business. He could handle it. In the past, he’d worked with a lot of desirable women who were out of bounds for one reason or another. Keeping his hands to himself had never been a problem.
He couldn’t suppress a smile when he remembered the surprised look Diana had given him in the restaurant when he’d accepted the case. As he had surmised when they’d met back in her office, she had underestimated him.
In a way, he was glad. There was something so poised about her that being able to rock her erroneous assumptions was irresistible.
He’d agreed to meet with her the next morning to get a copy of the sheriff’s report on Bruce Weaton’s death and a picture of the deceased, discuss strategy on his investigation and to pick up the list of the prospective jurors. Now he had to see about getting whatever evidence might exist in Bruce’s garage into the right hands.
After having listened to Diana’s description of George Staker, Jack knew that if he gathered the evidence against Bruce, Staker would do everything he could to make the jury question the validity of both Jack’s abilities and the evidence. The fact that Jack had once been an actor would be something Staker would no doubt use against him as well.
But if a sheriff’s detective got the evidence, Staker couldn’t challenge the findings because he’d be challenging his own source pool.
Diana had agreed with Jack’s assessment of Staker. But she’d initially balked at what Jack had planned to do to foil Staker. Convincing her had taken some effort.
Jared, Jack’s twin, was a detective in the sheriff’s department. Jared had no respect for the elected sheriff, Bernard Riker, whom he considered a politician, not a lawman.
Jack knew that if he gave his twin a lead in Amy’s hit-and-run, Jared would track down the truth, no matter where it led.
Jared was his own man. He’d started out as an FBI agent—as their dad had—but chucked the rigidity of the Bureau for the comparative freedom of Silver Valley County where it was a little easier to apply common sense to law enforcement.
Jack’s older brothers, Richard and David, often exchanged information with Jared on a quid pro quo basis when they worked on cases. That sharing had helped Jared make more collars in three years than most other deputies did in a decade on the job.
When he helped his brothers at the family’s private investigation firm, Jared insisted on only two things. First, they were to be discreet about his “cooperation.” And, second, if he ever had to testify in court about what he’d been asked to do, he had to be able to tell the truth.
He would go out on a limb for family or in the hot pursuit of justice. But he wasn’t going to lie under oath for anybody, not even to get himself or a family member off the hook.
Jack was well aware that the confidentiality agreement he’d signed prohibited him from sharing the particulars about Connie’s case with anyone not involved in her defense. Ethically, he had no problem telling Jared, since Jack was convinced his brother had to be the one to gather whatever evidence there might be in Bruce’s garage. To Jack’s mind that made his twin a part of the defense team.
Still, to get his brother’s help, Jack had to let him know what had to be done in a way that wouldn’t get either of them into ethical or legal trouble. This called for some careful staging.
Jack pulled into the parking lot at Costco, heading directly for the pay phone. This was not a call he wanted anyone to be able to trace to him.
Looking around to make sure no one was within hearing, he dropped some change into the slot and dialed his brother’s office. Jared answered with his name.
“Hi, I’m a concerned citizen making an anonymous call,” Jack said. “I have some important information about an unsolved crime.”
There was a pause on the other end of the line. He hadn’t disguised his voice because he wanted Jared to know who was making the call so that his brother would take what he had to say seriously.
But he had purposely stated the fact that this was to be from an anonymous source so if Jared ever had to explain how he got the tip, he could truthfully say that a “concerned citizen” had called anonymously.
“All right, Mr. Concerned Citizen, I have a pad and pen handy to take down the information you wish to pass me anonymously,” Jared said.
“About five years ago, a four-year-old girl by the name of Amy Pearce was killed in a hit-and-run,” Jack said. “An old car jumped the curb and struck the girl while she was playing on her porch. The driver was never identified. You might find forensic evidence of that old car in the garage once owned by Bruce Weaton.”
“Would that be the same Bruce Weaton who was killed last year?” Jared asked.
“Yes.”
“The same Bruce Weaton that Connie Pearce has been accused of killing?”
Jared had put the pieces together fast. Jack expected nothing less.
“A couple by the name of Donald and Joyce Epstein have recently bought the Weaton property, fully furnished,” he said. “If they haven’t cleaned out the garage, the evidence could still be there. Connie Pearce was holding a locket on the day she was arrested. That locket and its chain are most likely a part of her personal property being kept at the jail. They, too, could contain important evidence.”
“I’m confused as to why you haven’t come into the sheriff’s office to tell us this in person, Mr. Concerned Citizen,” Jared said after a moment.
Jack took pains to word his answer carefully.
“If you decide to reopen this investigation and discover that Bruce Weaton was behind the wheel of the car that killed Amy Pearce, this concerned citizen hopes you will not compromise the defense of Connie Pearce by informing the prosecution of those facts.”
“Who do you suggest I inform?”
“The attorney for the defense. If anyone else learns of this connection before she has an opportunity to present the evidence to the jury, her client’s right to a fair trial could be compromised.”
There was another significant pause on the other end of the line. Jack knew that he’d told his brother he was working for Diana. He had intended to. Jared now knew why he had to contact him anonymously and also whom he could trust.
“Is there anything else you wish to tell me?” Jared asked.
“I advise caution. The sheriff and prosecutor are buddies. Bruce Weaton’s mother is well connected. Watch your back. I wouldn’t want you to find yourself in a compromising position while trying to clear up an unsolved homicide.”
Jack hung up the phone, satisfied that Jared would get hold of Amy’s locket and arrange for a team of investigators to scour the garage that had once belonged to Bruce Weaton. If any evidence remained, he’d find a way to let Jack know.
Step one was in motion.
Now on to step two. Jack was going to have to dig up everything he could on Bruce. He knew where to start looking, but he had no idea what he’d find. Not even his fictional character had sunk to the depths Bruce had.
What kind of a man would pursue a woman whose child he’d killed?

“YOU STILL HAVEN’T TOLD ME how dinner with Arnie went last Saturday,” Diana’s mother said as she ran some hot water over a sponge in the kitchen sink.
Diana stacked the dishwasher with their dinner plates. “That’s because my mother always told me if I couldn’t say something nice about someone that I should hesitate to say anything at all.”
Margaret Gilman switched off the faucet as she turned toward her daughter. “That bad?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“I’m so sorry. When Ray said Arnie was going to start dating again now that his divorce was final, I guess I hoped that maybe the two of you—”
“Your heart was in the right place,” Diana spoke up quickly. “Unfortunately, he refused to keep his hands where they belonged.”
Margaret gave the counter an overzealous wipe with the sponge. “If Arnie made improper advances to you, Ray should be told—”
“—all his efforts to teach his stepson courtesy toward a woman failed? He must know. Why rub his nose in it? Arnie was seventeen when his mother married Ray. No doubt the damage had already been done.”
“You’re right,” Margaret said. “But don’t be surprised if I develop a sudden klutzy streak at the wedding and dump a glassful of ice water onto Arnie’s lap.”
Diana chuckled at the image, although she knew her gentle mother could never bring herself to carry out the threat. “Speaking of the wedding, have you decided where you’re going on your honeymoon?”
Margaret squeezed out the sponge and set it at the edge of the sink. “Ray suggested we fly to Hawaii, but I don’t know.”
Diana started the dishwasher. The explosion of water and whirling pump had her gesturing for her mom to precede her out onto the porch. She closed the door behind them to shut out the noise.
Margaret eased her trim form onto one of the porch’s white wicker chairs and patted the one beside her.
Diana sat, trying to emulate her mother’s physical grace, all the while knowing she’d fall short. She’d inherited her dad’s big bones and the kind of temperament that would dump a glass of ice water on a goon with grabby paws.
She often wished she were more like her mother. Margaret Gilman’s smile lit every line in her face with the joy of life. That smile was like a secret fountain of youth. Men were drawn to the wearer in hopes of being able to share in its secret. No wonder she was still turning heads at fifty-five.
Ray was a lucky guy. One of the nice things about him was that he knew it.
“You don’t want to go to Hawaii?” Diana asked.
“I’d love to go, but Hawaii is the kind of place you fly to when the weather where you are is cold and icy,” Margaret explained. “We wait all year for summer.”
Diana inhaled the sweet fragrance as she looked around at the lovely garden her mother’s time and talent had created over the years. Red, white and pink roses, all in full and glorious bloom, nodded in the muted evening sunlight. Yes, this was a lovely time of year.
“I was thinking maybe we could drive into British Columbia, find a cute little bed-and-breakfast and spend a few weeks there,” Margaret said.
“Some place comfortable and pretty like home, but away from the duties of home,” Diana added.
Margaret gave her a smile. “Sometimes I forget what a smart daughter I raised.”
Diana smiled back. “Glad I’m around to remind you.”
Mel opened the door then, bringing with her the intrusive bumps and grinds of the dishwasher. “I’ve signed off the Internet, Mom. Be ready to go apartment hunting in about ten minutes. That okay for you?”
Diana nodded in her daughter’s direction, and Mel retreated into the kitchen.
“I feel like I’m kicking you out of your home,” Margaret said, distress in her tone.
“Don’t, Mom. It’s time we got our own place. I’ll have the last of my student loans paid off in a couple of months. I don’t know what we would have done if you hadn’t taken us in after Tony took off. Without you there would have been no law school, no—”
“Dear, you’ve thanked me a million times,” Margaret interrupted. “And not a one of them has been necessary. I’ve loved having you and Mel here.”
Diana felt the same tug in her chest that she had first experienced when she finally realized what an incredible mom she had. How blind she’d been as a child—totally idolizing her father and all but ignoring her mother’s crucial role in their lives. Kids were so damn dumb. Well, except for Mel, of course.
Thoughts of her daughter brought Diana to her feet. Time she got back to the business of finding them a place to live. One day she’d get a place out in the country like this. But for now, a city apartment would have to suffice.
“Have you told Mel that your aunt Shirley is going to be living with you?” Margaret called out before Diana had reached the door.
“Not yet,” Diana admitted.
“Coward.”
Diana laughed as she turned around to face her mom. “We won’t be late. I can’t be. I have an early-morning meeting with a judge on a plea-bargain, and then I have to see the investigator I’ve hired on Connie Pearce’s case.”
“The movie star turned private investigator?”
“I see Mel told you.”
“Some actors don’t look nearly as good in person as they do on the screen,” Margaret said. “What do you think about Jack Knight?”
“I think an engaged lady like yourself shouldn’t be asking about handsome men when you have a first-class fiancé to ogle.”
Margaret grinned. “Ah, so you do think he’s handsome.”
Diana rested her free hand on her hip in feigned irritation. “Ever since you’ve gotten engaged you’ve developed this annoying tendency to try to fix me up.”
Her mother’s face was full of mischief. “Is that what I’ve been doing?”
“First with your insurance salesman. Then with Ray’s stepson. Now with this private investigator. What gets into brides-to-be? Can’t you stand seeing us happy single folk content with unwedded bliss?”
Margaret’s grin widened. “Being in love is so wonderful I’m filled with an overwhelming desire to spread that feeling around. Can’t think of anyone I’d rather spread it to than you.”

“SO DID YOU and Mel find an apartment yet?” Jack asked the moment he walked into Diana’s office Tuesday morning.
His simple, conversational question was met with a noticeable pause from Diana. Most women he’d met were more than willing to share news about everyday events. Their biggest complaint was that men were too focused on themselves to ask about a woman’s concerns or listen to what she had to say.
But Diana seemed determined not to share much about herself.
Still, she’d let down her guard at lunch the day before. He’d heard the anger and sadness in her voice when she’d spoken of her client’s suicide. For a strong woman, she had a soft heart.
A head shake was all he got in answer to his question.
She handed him a folder. “That’s the copy of the sheriff’s report on Bruce’s death and the other stuff you asked for. Is your brother going to investigate Amy’s hit-and-run?”
There she was, right back to business. Definitely not the response he was used to getting from women. Did she not find him attractive, or was she too much of a professional to let on?
He told himself the answer wasn’t important. She was keeping their relationship businesslike and for that he was glad.
“I contacted Jared as we discussed,” Jack said in response to her question. “He’ll let us know if and when he finds anything. I also began the search into Bruce Weaton’s background. Now that I know where he went to school and who his friends were, I should be able to—”
“How did you find out those things so quickly?”
There was far more challenge than curiosity in her tone.
Jack repositioned himself on her exceptionally uncomfortable guest chair as he set the folder she’d given him on his lap.
“I have no problem indulging your curiosity, Diana. But your question comes across more like a cross-examination of my investigation techniques.”
“It was.”
Her candor came as a complete shock, which must have been apparent, because a small smile lifted her lips.
She had enjoyed surprising him. Maybe as much as he’d enjoyed surprising her.
“So, you want me to assume that you know how to do your job?” she asked.
She was testing him. “As I’m assuming you know how to do your job.”
That made her smirk. “But you won’t take exception to my asking questions purely out of curiosity?”
“I’m always happy to satisfy the curious.”
She inched forward on her chair. “Then strictly out of curiosity, how did you find out about Bruce’s schooling and friends so fast?”
“His obituary mentioned the schools he’d attended,” Jack volunteered easily because he was satisfied that she’d been honest about her motives. “A glimpse at the guest registry at the mortuary where his services were held last year told me who cared enough to show up.”
“Doesn’t that guest registry go to the family?”
“Smart mortuary personnel keep a copy, knowing that a family in mourning may misplace theirs.”
She rested against the back of her chair. “Seems so simple now that you’ve explained.”
“Everything seems simple once you have the answer. Knowing where and how to get the answer is what separates the professional from the amateur.”
An amused eyebrow lifted. “Was that another reminder that you are a professional and deserve to be treated as one?”
Jack smiled. “A very gentle reminder. I’m always careful not to inflict any unnecessary bruises.”
“As opposed to the necessary ones?” Her brief smile was good-natured.
So, she had a nice sense of humor lurking behind her formal façade. Getting past this woman’s defenses might not be easy. But Jack was becoming more certain by the minute that the effort would be worthwhile.
“Anything else you feel curious about this morning, Diana?”
Damn, he was flirting with her. He hadn’t meant to, but those last words had come out full of invitation. Unable to take them back, he carefully wiped the come-hither smile off his lips.
She studied him intently for a minute, then pushed a thick binder in his direction. “Before you get too involved in investigating Bruce’s background, I need some quick input on these.”
Not only had she not flirted back, she’d completely ignored his flirting. Relief vied with an odd disappointment.
Jack picked up the thick binder. “What are these?”
“The preliminary jury questionnaires. They list names, addresses, driver’s license numbers and other pertinent information as well as the answers to the basic questions of whether they’ve heard about the case or know any of the principals who are involved.”
Jack flipped through one of the questionnaires. One page listed the names of Bruce, his family members, Connie, witnesses to the alleged crime, as well as Staker and Diana. The next page cautioned each prospective juror not to discuss the case with anyone or allow themselves to be exposed to any news reports.
“What kind of input are you looking for?” he asked.
“I meet with Staker first thing tomorrow to try to agree upon an expanded questionnaire.”
“You have the jurors fill that out before you talk to them in the courtroom, right?”
She nodded. “Voir dire is the legal term for selecting a jury from the prospective panel. It begins the first day of the trial. Last week, I argued that a more detailed questionnaire filled out in advance would save time. Judge Gimbrere not only agreed to one, he’s planning to include a cover letter asking the prospective jurors to be honest and assuring them that their responses will be kept confidential.”
“So Staker didn’t fight you on this.”
She shook her head. “He wants time to digest the information as much as I do.”
“How can I help?”
“If there are questions you want me to ask that will assist with your investigation, I need to know by the end of today.”
As attractive and exciting as Diana was proving to be, Jack was thankful that he wasn’t planning on pursuing a personal relationship with her. She wasn’t even giving him time to complete their business one.
He closed the binder on his lap. “What kinds of questions can we ask a prospective juror?”
“Personal background stuff and whatever else could have a bearing on the specific case for which they are being considered.”
“So, if you have a case of spousal abuse, you could legitimately ask prospective jurors if they’ve been the victim or perpetrator of spousal abuse.”
“Both questions would be considered germane,” she confirmed. “A prospective juror who has been a victim or an abuser would most certainly be excused from serving on such a case.”
“Their experiences having clouded their objectivity.”
Diana nodded. “Except that even if a prospective juror has abused his spouse, he’s not going to admit it.”
No, Jack didn’t suppose he would. “The danger is that prospective jurors lie.”
“Some lie or omit information to protect themselves or their images. Most will try to be honest.”
“The important word here being, try?”
“Yes. My biggest concern is that people simply don’t recognize their own biases. If they possess a bias that is going to interfere with their ability to see the truth during Connie’s trial, I have to know. The judge will ask the prospective jurors if they will decide the case based solely on the evidence presented. If the jurors answer yes, the judge takes them at their word.”
“But we can’t afford to,” Jack said, as he got to his feet.
“Are you going somewhere?” she asked.
“We’re going to my office.”
She remained seated, looking up at him. “Why are we doing that?”
“Because my computer is already programmed with what we’re going to need to do a quick review of these prospective jurors.”
“You could call me later and let me know what you’ve found.”
Yes, Jack supposed he could. But he’d already decided he wanted her sitting beside him while he discovered those answers and developed the jury questionnaire. This was his case as much as hers. He needed her help if they were both to be successful.
“If you want a set of questions by tomorrow, we have to work together,” Jack said. “Unless you’re looking for an excuse to skip apartment hunting tonight?”
“I can’t skip apartment hunting.”
“Then let’s get going. My schedule’s free. I’m prepared to stay with the task until it’s done.”
“I won’t be able to stay past five today,” she said, not looking especially happy about the fact.
“When do you and Mel have to move out of your mother’s place?”
“Soon.”
And that was obviously all she was going to say about that. “If you only have until five,” he said, “we’d better get started.”
She glanced at her watch. “I have to pick up Mel from school in about thirty minutes.”
“I’ve been meaning to ask. What’s a genius like Mel doing in summer school?”
“She’s in a special curriculum for gifted youngsters. A former NASA scientist is here this week showing some incredible shots taken by the Hubble telescope, which is why I’ve been driving her to attend his lectures.”

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