Chapter 4
The next morning…
CALI SLIPPED FROM Xavier’s bed, putting on a pair of sweats and a long-sleeve shirt as she padded downstairs to start a pot of coffee and to check her bank account since another paycheck should have come through yesterday. She’d taken almost every penny he’d given her when he’d been on his trip and deposited it, only using what was absolutely necessary for the few fresh food items she’d needed.
She’d also returned two of the dresses and five of them she dropped off at a high-end secondhand store near the city, shocked that she could probably get a thousand dollars for each one. Doing a mental calculation, that meant she had sixty-five thousand and nine months to go. What she really wanted to do was pay off Thompson early, giving her time to relax and enjoy Xavier’s company, and hopefully enough time and space so that he’d never found out.
The longer she had to essentially steal from him, the more likely he’d figure out she was using him and the fact that she actually did like him and was attracted to him wouldn’t make a difference. The sound of footsteps bouncing off the stairs lulled her from the insanity that stirred in her brain.
“There you are,” Xavier said as he waltzed into the kitchen wearing nothing but flannel pajama bottoms. His defined muscles flexed as he curled his arm around her middle, giving her a quick, but deep kiss. “Want some eggs or something?”
“If you’re making them,” she said, pushing down the lid to the Keurig. “Over easy with toast and bacon if you have it.”
He laughed as he pulled out the eggs from the fridge. “Any other specifications?”
“Pinch of salt and a dash of pepper. And I like my bacon crispy.” She slipped behind the breakfast bar, flipping open her laptop. Besides wanting to check on her finances, she did have studying to do. She really needed to ace the LSAT or she could kiss law school goodbye. She didn’t care about having to take out loans. That was the easy part.
“Good, I tend to burn bacon.”
Satisfied with the money in her bank account, she opened one of her study guides on tort law, an area she felt like she knew well, but still needed to study.
“Why criminal law?” he asked as he tossed some bacon on a cookie sheet and slid it in the oven.
“I’m fascinated with the darker side of human nature and motivations of people. Why they will commit one crime, but not another. Like you, I’m fascinated with organized crime.”
“Do you want to defend them, or put them away?”
“Good question. I haven’t decided yet.” A year ago, she would have said defend. Everyone has the right to a fair trial. No one should be denied counsel, so she’d even consider being a public defender. “I think our criminal system doesn’t help those first-time offenders who are dirt poor, who just need a break. Instead, we give them probation, or put them in jail after a plea bargain, and set them up to fail.”
“I’ll agree with that. I did a story on two kids who were charged with the same crime. One was white, from a privileged background, whose parents hired him a good lawyer. The other couldn’t afford one.”
“I know where you are going with that, and I’m sure the white kid got off, no record, and the black kid didn’t and struggled for the rest of his life.”
“Not really. The white kid turned out to be a cold-blooded killer. Murdered his girlfriend and their three-month-old infant.”
“That’s fucked up,” she said, lowering the top of her computer.
“You’re right in the sense that he got a slap on the wrist, but he got five of them, and with each arrest, his parents managed to buy him out of trouble. The black man I speak of ended up in jail three times for petty crimes. He works now as a mechanic, trying to make ends meet, bitter over the way the system treated him. Oddly enough, he was arrested the first time at the same party as the white kid. Only, the white boy was arrested for vandalism, and the black kid for stealing jewelry he says he intended to pawn off to help his parents with rent.”
“Wait.” She held up her finger. “You’re talking about Clyde Raymond and Jasper Kirkpatrick. I saw…well, shit. That was your story.”
“It was my very first story when I joined Crime Coast Investigations. I did the grunt work but didn’t get to report it.”
“That was a fascinating case study and not just from a socio-economic position. The assumptions made about Jasper and the fact that his crimes were seen as normal teenage boy issues when in reality, he was a psychopath.”
The smell of bacon filled the room as the eggs sizzled in the pan. Xavier waved the spatula. “Clyde was seen as a boy who would become a career criminal when all three times he was stealing, according to him, to help his family. Not that that is an excuse or anything, but his punishments were always stiffer than his rich, white counterpart.”
“Who did become a career criminal, but got away with it until he killed someone,” she added.
“Would you defend someone like Jasper if you were a criminal attorney?” he asked, pushing a plate of steaming hot food across the counter.
She tucked her hair behind her ears, holding the fork in her hand, contemplating her answer. “He deserves good council.”
“But does he deserve to get off because he had a lawyer who knew how to work the system?” Xavier held up a piece of perfectly cooked bacon, running it across her mouth.
She curled her lips over the tantalizing strip, chomping it between her teeth. “It’s an interesting question, but you’re innocent until proven guilty, and the emphasis is on proven. That is unless you confess, but we both know a confession can be tossed out as evidence, especially if it appears to be coerced.”
“Let’s go back to the original question.” He stabbed his eggs with a fork and shoved them into his mouth.
“If I were that kind of an attorney, I would take the case and give him the best council possible, but I would also recommend he did whatever it took to stay out of court, and that was his mistake and why he’s sitting on death row.”
“So, you would have just tried for life without parole.”
“If the D.A. offered it, yeah,” she said, the eggs melting into her taste buds. She could get used to Xavier’s cooking.
She could get used to a lot of things when it came to him.
“If you were the D.A., what would you consider for a plea?”
She laughed. “That’s an entirely different question. But I wouldn’t take anything less than life plus fifty years and no hope of parole, otherwise, I’d be taking that sucker to court, knowing I’d get the death penalty.”
“What about a high-price defense attorney, say for the mafia? Would you consider them for clientele?”
She choked on her last bite of eggs. A few weeks ago, she’d worried Xavier sensed her anxiety over being around Thompson and his colleagues at the Marriott in the city. “If I were to be a defense attorney outside of the public sector, I could choose my clientele, so it would depend on the case.” She pushed her plate aside. The butterflies in her stomach fluttered up to her throat. “Again, everyone accused of a crime has a right to counsel, and it would be my job to give them the best defense possible.”
“I guess there is no other way to answer that.” He leaned across the counter. “We’ve been invited to a party in the city tonight. I figure we can stay at my loft through the next week. Maybe go see a show and then attend the fundraiser my mother is heading up.”
“Not sure I’m ready to meet the rents. At least around here, when I go out, people just wave and whisper, ‘that’s the chick Xavier brought home, but no one knows how they met.’”
He took her hands in his, rubbing his thumbs over her skin. “How would you like people to think we met?”
“Anywhere but a dating app,” she said with a nervous smile. “What did you tell your parents?”
His lips parted as if surprised by the question. “I’ve been avoiding telling my parents anything about us, saying its new and I don’t know where it’s headed.”
“And they are okay with that response?”
He laughed. “God no, so I guess we need a cover story. Where do you live?”
“My apartment is near Columbia University.”
“I know the area well,” he said nodding. “Ever go to the coffee shop near 114th and Riverside?”
“Eddies,” she said, nodding her head. “They make the best banana muffins.”
“I’m partial to the lemon poppy seed ones.”
“Oh, those are good too.”
“Well, let’s say we met there a few months ago. Continued to bump into each other and then exchanged numbers, and things took off from there.”
“I really do go there all the time,” she said, concern edging into her brain. “I stopped there when I was home to get some of my things while you were gone.”
“I had a friend that lived near there, and we’d meet there sometimes. So, we met once when I was visiting Charlie and then I just kept showing up, trying to get your number.” Xavier winked. “I can persistent.”
“I bet you can be.” That was an easy enough tale, one even her parents would buy. “Can we add a twist to that story?”
“Is it a kinky twist?”
“Get your mind out of the gutter,” she said, shaking her head, though she could think of a few things she’d like to try, especially after last night’s marathon between the kitchen, the bed, and finally the shower. “When I signed the agreement, I had to give my parents a reason why I came out here, and I told them you hired me to help with legal research for your latest work.”
“So, when you wouldn’t go out with me, I hired you and the rest is history.” He arched a brow, but his smile never faded. “You know, hiring you isn’t a bad idea. I’m working on a mafia piece, specifically the Costello’s. Interested?”
Hell, no. What the fuck had she been thinking? Bad move on her part to say anything to him about her parents. She would make sure they never met. And telling her parents she was working for Xavier and his family, she should have come up with a different lie.
Now she was stuck.
“I don’t know much about the mafia, so, not sure how I could help,” she said, back peddling.
“Oh, come on. You’re smart. You understand research and more importantly, you can help me with the legal aspect of my piece. Not just how it relates to the mafia but protecting myself from crossing certain lines.” His excitement almost made her forget the same mafia held her parents’ business hostage.
Almost.
“What do you say? I’ll pay you an assistant salary. I figure this project will last a few months, so does seven grand a month sound fair? It won’t be a lot of work, and if we go over a certain—”
She held up her hand. Any amount of money would help, and she wasn’t about to negotiate when she planned on accidentally losing the one piece of jewelry he’d bought her so she could pawn it. “That’s more than fair.”
“Wonderful. We’ll start on Monday. The limo will be here in two hours to take us into the city. I think that gives us enough time to have a little more fun in the tub.”
“I’m game, but it’s still a no to doing it in the limo.”
“We’ll see about that.”
When he found out the truth, he’d probably hire the mafia to hide her body.