Courting Death - Carol Stephenson [43]
I shook my head. “The company reported it stolen.”
Kate drew a picture of a truck and circled it.
“Before or after the police band would have been carrying the calls about an ice cream truck involved in criminal activity?”
I opened and then closed my mouth. That was the beauty of brainstorming together. One of us always brought a different insight to the board, saw what another didn’t.
“Good question. One that I intend to find the answer to.”
That afternoon I drafted a motion in limine on the Whitman file to exclude any evidence of the death of their first baby. I didn’t need to wait for the prosecution’s preliminary lists of witnesses or evidence to know that the state would be sliding that insidious information into the trial one way or the other. I needed to make a preemptive strike to keep any reference out. If the judge ruled for me, the prosecutor would have a major hurdle to overcome in terms of circumstantial evidence and might drop the case. If the judge’s decision was unfavorable, then at least I could advise the Whitmans about the odds of prevailing once a plea deal was offered—and one would be laid out at some point.
I became aware of a spike in conversation outside my door in the main office. One staffer stood and craned her neck. We had a secured reception area with a panic button. Still…I rose to check out the situation.
Sam walked through the door followed by a breathless Maria.
“Good afternoon, gorgeous.” Absurd that even the sound of his voice could send a tingle through me, stirring my blood. I walked around the desk. “What are you doing here?”
“Nicole, I’m sorry.” Maria gave me an anxious look. “He flashed a badge and said he had to see you.”
“That’s okay. This is Detective Sam Bowie.”
Her eyes widened. “The Sam—”
I cut her off. “If you could please close the door…”
She nodded and shut the door.
Sam prowled around the room like a caged panther. I cast a quick glance at the board. Good, I had covered it before meeting with my last client. I leaned against the desk.
“What’s up? Has there been a development in tracing the phone call?”
He shook his head and stopped before the vase of faded roses sitting atop a built-in bookcase next to the window. The afternoon sun threw the craggy lines of his face into sharp relief. Abruptly, he turned his head and speared me with his keen gaze. “Are you feeling okay?”
For a second I wondered why I wouldn’t be and then the reason for his question hit me. I could feel my face warm. I cleared my throat, “I’m fine, Sam.”
He raked fingers through his hair. “I was rough with you last night.”
“I’m not fragile. I didn’t break.”
His mouth crooked. “I wouldn’t say that, Red. As I recall, you shattered in my arms.”
By now I was positive the tips of my ears were flame red. “How’s that gigantic ego of yours working for you?”
He stalked across the room, circled his arm around my waist and drew me close. I loved every delicious second of his movements.
Then his mouth came down on mine, and thoughts scattered. Didn’t matter I was in the middle of a work day. Didn’t matter I needed to find a replacement caretaker for my mother. My whole universe zoomed in on this man and how he made me feel.
As suddenly as he’d kissed me, he broke free, leaving me to grope for the edge of the desk for balance.
“How about dinner and then you could come to my place?”
I gulped in some air to give my brain cells a chance to coalesce. “I can’t. Sophie can’t watch Mom tonight.”
“You have Melissa.”
I shook my head. “Too much to dump on her so soon. The first weekend was a rough start, to say the least. Fortunately, Mom’s taking Melissa’s presence in stride. She’s got someone to sing along with her during The Sound of Music.”
“Next thing you know they’ll be on one of those reality talent shows.”
I winced at the thought. Mom would probably love it. “Don’t even think it.