STONE FLINCHED AS the door closed behind him, locking him inside the Tombs just like his client. The Tombs was slang for the Manhattan Detention Complex where defendants were held awaiting trial.
No matter how many times Stone visited jail or prison, he never got used to it. Maybe that was because he’d started visiting jails and prisons when he was too young—when his parents had gone in and out of them, serving time for dealing drugs.
His mother had cried every time, apologizing and swearing that she would change her ways. But she never had. And sick of her broken promises, Stone had saved them both the trouble of her making any more.
Once they’d gotten him out of foster care, after serving another jail term, he had run away. And he’d never intended to wind up in jail like them. But here he was.
He was just visiting, though. It was his client who might wind up staying there. Byron Mueller must have realized that as well, because he looked like hell. Maybe it was because he couldn’t dye his hair and tan in jail, but he looked old, pale and fragile now.
Like a broken man...
Hillary Bellows might have broken Mueller. But she wouldn’t break Stone.
“Why’d you do it?” Stone asked. “Why’d you pay the alibi witness?”
“I told you,” Byron said, “I gave Scooter money all the time. He’s my son’s best friend. They’ve been friends since they were little.”
“You gave him some money,” Stone agreed. He’d used that argument in court to refute Hillary’s claims. But now he argued her side of it, using her words. “But never that amount. That one amount is more than all the other payouts to him combined. And the timing...”
The big transfer had happened right after Scooter had come forward to the police.
He shook his head. “It looks bad.”
“It’s your job to fix that,” Byron said. “Hell, you never should have let the prosecution get a subpoena for those records in the first place.”
She hadn’t needed it. Those records had been handed to her. But he couldn’t admit that or Byron would fire him for sure. Stone had tried to get them thrown out, though.
The judge had ignored his request, as he’d ignored most of his requests. That was why Stone was losing—because of Judge Harrison.
Not Hillary.
As if Byron had read his mind, he said, “She’s getting to you.”
“What?”
“I see the way you look at her,” Byron said. “It’s the same way I used to look at Bethany.”
Stone shook his head, unwilling to admit what he knew was the truth. Maybe he had more in common with the billionaire than he’d thought.
The older man uttered a heavy sigh. “Unfortunately, I wasn’t the only one looking at Bethany that way.”
“Who was he?” Stone asked. “Who was she sleeping with?”
Byron shook his head. “I don’t know.”
Did Hillary? Was she going to spring that on him, too? She knew Byron’s young wife had had a lover. She’d used that as his motive for killing her. And it had worked well.
Her case was strong. But she was going to rest it soon and then Stone would have the chance to present his defense. But he needed help and not from those stupid press releases McCann and Simon had issued.
He needed help from his client. “If I’m going to help you, you have to tell me everything,” Stone urged him. “I know you’re holding back.”
On the identity of his wife’s lover. And on the reason he’d paid Scooter such a large sum. Stone could have called Byron’s son to the stand to back up the alibi, but Hillary would more than rattle that nervous young man. She’d destroy him on the cross-examination.
“If you’re going to help me, you have to stop letting the sexy little assistant district attorney distract you,” Byron said as he stood and motioned for the guard to open the door. “You think I paid Scooter a lot? I’ll pay you another million—two million total—in addition to your other fees, if you prove my innocence.”
That was what had convinced Stone that the man wasn’t guilty. He’d never asked Stone to get him off or help him get away with murder. He’d always asked him to prove his innocence. He was innocent.
And like he’d said, Stone needed to prove it, and he wouldn’t be able to do that if he didn’t stop letting Hillary distract him. What was it going to take for him to finally get enough of her?
They’d had sex twice. Would it take a third time? Fourth? Whatever it took, Stone was willing to make the sacrifice. He had a case to win and two million dollars to collect.
* * *
Hillary settled onto her couch with a sigh. It was so much softer than her chair at the office. But she was still working. She had so much work to do to stay ahead of Stone.
And she was ahead of him now.
She’d rather be under him, though.
Or on top of him...
A lusty sigh slipped through her lips as she remembered how it had felt straddling him in the SUV, how deep he’d driven inside her with each thrust of his hips.
She’d never been filled so completely. But then, he was so damn big. Larger than life in every way.
Her doorbell rang, and she jumped. But she had no hope it was him. She’d been sorely disappointed the last time she’d thought he had shown up at the office, but it had only been her boss. Who was it this time?
Not Stone. He had no idea where she lived. Maybe her boss had tracked her down here. He might have figured out that she’d manipulated him, even more effectively than McCann and Stone had tried, and he intended to take the case from her anyway.
Her stomach tight with dread, she stood up and walked toward the door. Since it was the weekend yet, for a few more hours, she was dressed casually in soft knit leggings and a long sweater that hung off one shoulder. She touched her face, uncertain if she’d put makeup on or not.
But it didn’t matter if she hadn’t. Her visitor had shown up unannounced. So unless it was Stone—and it wasn’t—she didn’t care how she looked. No. She didn’t care how she looked for him, either.
He’d probably think it was cute that she wasn’t wearing makeup. Without it, she looked more like a teenager than thirty.
Just as the bell pealed out again, she pulled open the door. It wasn’t her boss leaning against the jamb. Unfortunately, it also wasn’t Stone.
No, that was fortunate. She didn’t want him to know where she lived; she didn’t want him in her place—even though she couldn’t deny that she wanted him inside her, buried deep.
“Hey, remember me?” her visitor asked, and Dwight’s mouth curved into a sheepish smile.
She didn’t step back; she didn’t want him inside—her apartment or her. “I thought you had a girlfriend.”
He snorted. “That was a mistake—trying a relationship. What we have works better.” He stepped closer.
He was tall like Stone. But unlike Stone, he was thin instead of muscular. His hair blond instead of black, and it was already thinning despite Dwight being the same age as she was.
“Why does it work better?” she wondered aloud.
“Because it takes less effort.”
Maybe she should have been offended. But she understood. Neither of them had time for complicated and feelings and...
Whatever the hell Stone made her feel. She sure as hell didn’t have time for that.
She didn’t have time for Dwight now, either, because it was clear he hadn’t shown up because he wanted to be with her. It was obvious he wanted to be with someone else—someone who’d required more effort from him.
“I’m busy right now,” she told him. She was resting her case in the morning. She had to make sure she hadn’t missed anything, that she hadn’t given the jury any cause to let Stone give them a reasonable doubt.
He glanced over her head into her living room. “Do you have someone here?” he asked. “Are you seeing someone?”
She laughed at the thought of her being in a relationship. Like she would ever have the time or the energy for that. She knew relationships were fleeting and not worth the effort and definitely not worth the pain when they ended. And they always ended for one reason or another.
A noise behind Dwight drew her attention. It was the sound of someone clearing his throat. As Dwight turned to see who was coming down the hall, he stepped back against the wall with its faded brocade wallpaper. And Hillary saw Stone round the corner of the corridor.
How long had he been standing back there, out of sight but not earshot?
Hillary felt another laugh bubble up in her throat. But she was afraid it might sound hysterical if she let it slip out. So she swallowed it down.
Dwight recognized Stone and held out his hand. “Mr. Michaelsen, it’s an honor to finally meet you.”
Stone stared at his hand for a long moment before clasping it tightly. So tightly that Dwight flinched. “We haven’t actually met,” he pointed out. “Who the...?” He swallowed hard as if choking down a curse. “Who are you?”
“Dwight Hanson,” her friend told Stone with all the eagerness of a little boy meeting his sports idol.
She hadn’t realized Stone was an idol to anyone. But it stood to reason that he might be to an ambitious lawyer like Dwight who struggled with making commitments. Of course, Dwight would envy Stone’s legendary success in the courtroom and the bedroom.
“I work at Swanson and Turner,” Dwight said. “I have cited so many of your cases when I’ve been arguing mine.”
“How’s that worked out for you?” Stone asked.
Dwight’s pale skin flushed. “Well, the judges have pointed out that I’m not you.”
Hillary didn’t need a judge to point that out to her. But it had never been more obvious than it was now when the two men stood side by side.
“Still, it’s a gutsy move to use my court cases in your arguments,” Stone acknowledged.
Dwight beamed with pride that he’d received a compliment from his idol. “Thank you so much for that. I’d love to talk to you more about the Rapier murder trial. It didn’t seem like there was any way Rapier wasn’t going to prison for the rest of his life.”
“He should have,” Hillary said. That was one of the cases she’d lost to Stone, one that still bothered her. Stone had used battered-husband syndrome in his defense. Rapier’s wife had been abusive but she still hadn’t deserved to die—as Stone had implied.
“He’d already suffered enough through twenty-five years of marriage to a person who physically and mentally and emotionally not just abused but destroyed him, his spirit, his soul, his will to even live,” Stone said, repeating a line verbatim from his closing argument.
Hillary glared at him while Dwight applauded. “That was amazing.”
“Thank you,” Stone said and lowered his head in a slight bow.
Hillary considered telling them to get a room and closing her door. But it was so good to see Stone, especially as he was now. Like her, he wasn’t wearing a suit. He was dressed casually in jeans and a soft silvery-gray cashmere sweater that nearly matched his eyes. Or it would have had his eyes been the lighter color they usually were. But they were dark now, the pupils dilated as he looked away from Dwight and focused on her.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Dwight said. “You must be here to talk to Larry.”
“Larry?” Stone repeated and peered around Hillary as if expecting that she had another man inside her apartment already.
She nearly laughed again at the expression on his face. His skin flushed, and his nostrils flared. It was almost as if he was jealous. But that was ridiculous.
“We’ve called Hillary that since law school,” Dwight said. “There’s nothing girlie about her.”
Well, so much for Stone being jealous.
He turned back toward Dwight and arched a brow as if incredulous. “Are you blind, man?” he asked him. “Everything about her is girlie.”
Now she was offended. “What?”
Dwight snorted. “Sure, she looks like a girl, but she fights like a man.”
And that was why she and Dwight were friends. It wasn’t just for the uncomplicated sex. It was because he understood her.
“She hits below the belt,” Stone agreed.
“And she’ll do anything to win,” Dwight said. And as he said it, he glanced back and forth between them. His brow puckered as if he was wondering how far Hillary had already gone with Stone.
Too far.
Too damn far...