The Best Defense Read online

  The Best Defense

  by

  Carsen Taite

  2011

  © 2011 by Carsen Taite. All rights reserved.

  ISBN13: 978-1-60282-528-4

  This Electronic Book is published by

  Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  P.O. Box 249

  Valley Falls, NY 12185

  First Edition: July 2011

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

  Credits

  Editor: Cindy Cresap

  Production design: Susan Ramundo

  Cover design by Sheri ([email protected])

  Praise for LAMBDA Literary Award Finalist Carsen Taite

  “Law professor Morgan Bradley and her student Parker Casey are potential love interests, but throw in a high-profile murder trial, and you’ve got an entertaining book that can be read in one sitting. Taite also practices criminal law, and she weaves her insider knowledge of the criminal justice system into the love story seamlessly and with excellent timing. I find romances lacking when the characters change completely upon falling in love, but this was not the case here. As Morgan and Parker grow closer, their relationship is portrayed faithfully and their personalities do not change dramatically. I look forward to reading more from Taite.”— Curve Magazine

  “Taite is a real-life attorney so the prose jumps off the page with authority and authenticity. [ It Should be a Crime] is just Taite’s second novel, but it’s as if she has bookshelves full of bestsellers under her belt. In fact, she manages to make the courtroom more exciting than Judge Judy bursting into flames while delivering a verdict. Like this book, that’s something we’d pay to see.”— Gay List Daily

  “Taite, a criminal defense attorney herself, has given her readers a behind the scenes look at what goes on during the days before a trial. Her descriptions of lawyer/client talks, investigations, police procedures, etc. are fascinating. Taite keeps the action moving, her characters clear, and never allows her story to get bogged down in paperwork. It Should be a Crime has a fast-moving plot and some extraordinarily hot sex.”— Just About Write

  “Taite’s tale of sexual tension is entertaining in itself, but a number of secondary characters…add substantial color to romantic inevitability.”—Richard Labonte, Book Marks In Nothing but the Truth… “Author Taite is really a Dallas defense attorney herself, and it’s obvious her viewpoint adds considerable realism to her story, making it especially riveting as a mystery. …I give it four stars out of five.”—Bob Lind, Echo Magazine

  “As a criminal defense attorney in Dallas, Texas, Carsen Taite knows her way around the court house. This ability shows in her writing, as her legal dramas take the reader into backroom negotiations between the opposing lawyers, as well as into meetings with judges. …Watching how Carsen Taite brings together all of the loose ends is enjoyable, as is her skillful building of the characters of Ryan and Brett. Nothing But the Truth is an enjoyable mystery with some hot romance thrown in.”— Just About Write

  Visit us at www.boldstrokesbooks.com

  Acknowledgments

  Writing might be a solitary pursuit, but brainstorming, research, editing, and polishing up the final product is a group effort.

  Thanks to these very special people for assisting me with their specialized knowledge: John Ambler (private jets), Sharon B. (dead bodies), Mike Bosillo (private investigators), Roselle Graskey (firearms), Vicki Allen and Jean Alston (Harleys), and VK Powell (cop stuff). All of you provided excellent information and advice, and any lingering inaccuracies are my own.

  Extra special thanks to my good buddies, VK “Vic” Powell and Sandy Thornton, who carefully read draft after draft, up until the hour the manuscript was due—your insightful advice was invaluable.

  A big shout out to the Jewel Lesfic Book Club. Thank you for making me feel like a rock star with every new release. Your support is super motivating.

  I am extremely lucky to be a part of the Bold Strokes Books family. I’ll always be grateful to Rad for inviting me in, to my editor Cindy Cresap for whipping me into shape, to Stacia Seaman for her attention to detail, to Sheri for her hot cover art, and to all the other folks, Connie, Lori, and everyone else. You make me and BSB look good.Huge thanks to my wife, Lainey. Don’t think I don’t notice all the extra things you do to keep our lives running smoothly when I’m in the throes of a deadline. You inspire me to be a better person.

  And finally, a big group hug to all the readers who read my books, watch my vlogs, and take the time to let me know you’d like me to keep writing.

  Dedication

  For Lainey. You’re simply the best.

  Prologue

  "Would you like to take a break, Detective Keaton?”

  Skye breathed deeply and shook her head. A break would only prolong the agony. “No thank you, Your Honor. I’m fine.” She wasn’t fine. She shook and fumbled through her testimony.

  She didn’t need a mirror to know she was probably also pale. The edges of the room loomed and faded by turns, and she struggled to be present. Trained to deliver tight, simple answers, instead she found herself rambling, her voice trailing off into whispers the jury strained to hear.

  The last time Skye felt this nervous was the first time she testified in court. Fresh from the academy, she was called to testify in her first arrest. Her vocabulary consisted entirely of cop speak, and she’d become downright surly under cross-examination. Her lieutenant had pulled her aside and told her to spend a couple of her days off watching seasoned professionals on the witness stand. Skye had quickly learned to adopt a professional, engaging demeanor designed to win more convictions. Over the years, the prosecutors in the District Attorney’s office were relieved when they learned she was the lead detective on a case. She could sell even the sketchiest set of facts as grounds for a conviction.

  Today was different. Skye was at the center of the case, but this time she was the complaining witness—the victim—not the lead detective. A year earlier, while investigating a case, Skye had been badly beaten, almost killed, by a suspect. Today, that suspect, Theodore Burke, was on trial for the attempted murder.

  Ironically, while investigating the murder of Theodore’s sister, Skye had done everything she could to pin the death on someone else, the family handyman. When her former partner on the force, Parker Casey, pushed her, Skye had elected to do the right thing, and she came forward with evidence sure to exonerate him. What she hadn’t realized was how much of a vested interest Theodore had in the outcome of the case. When the handyman was cleared, Theodore came unglued at the prospect of becoming a suspect himself. Furious at the detective who threatened his security, Theodore Burke, son of an elite Dallas family, broke into Skye’s house, tied her up, and beat her. Skye shuddered to think about what he would have done next if Parker hadn’t come looking for her and interrupted his crazy scheme. After an unsuccessful attempt to kill them both, Theodore Burke was arrested and charged with attempted murder. Today was Skye’s day in court, as well as his.

  She flashed back to the dozens of times she had encouraged crime victims to take the stand. Just tell what happened. Focus on the jury. Don’t look at the defendant. He can’t hurt you anymore.

  Your courage will keep future victims safe from harm. Platitudes and promises, all of which were designed to finish the job she’d started when she had arrested the bad guy. Had she ever cared about the victims as much as she cared about clearing the cases? Did anyone care abo
ut her now that she was the victim?

  Theodore had sexually abused his sister, Camille, and drove her to commit suicide. Without Camille alive to testify about the abuse, there was no credible evidence to prosecute him for his crimes against her. Plus, Skye’s meddling with the crime scene evidence would taint any prosecution for Camille’s death. The assault on Skye was the only way the prosecutors would be able to bring Theodore to justice. With her credibility in the tank, would they have even bothered without Parker’s testimony to corroborate her account? This trial had nothing to do with avenging her personal harm. She was a means to an end.

  Skye stared across the room, breaking her own witness rule, daring Theodore Burke to look her in the eyes. His gaze was steady, mocking even. Skye summoned all her inner strength and fought back the memories of his mad visage and waving gun. She had both physical and emotional scars as evidence of his madness. She would always have them. She couldn’t change what had happened, how she had handled it, or what she had done to cause it, but she could do everything in her power to make sure no one else suffered at the hands of Theodore Burke. Skye reached for a cup of water, took a quick drink, then a deep breath. Fortified, she answered every question thrown her way with the professional and engaging manner that had earned her commendations throughout the years.

  After what seemed like hours, she finally heard the words, “I have no more questions for this witness.” The judge released her and she found herself standing in the hall outside.

  “Hey, Skye.”

  Skye looked up into Parker Casey’s eyes. After all they had been through together, more downs than ups, Parker still cared about her. Skye was more embarrassed than appreciative.

  “Hey, Casey. They tell you to stick around?”

  “No, I’m done.”

  Skye knew Parker wanted to ask if she was okay, but didn’t want to imply she wasn’t by even asking. She should be a big girl and acknowledge how she felt, but she didn’t want to break down.

  Not here in the hallway outside the courtroom.

  “Want to grab a drink?” Parker asked.

  Skye couldn’t think of anything that sounded more appealing.

  A stiff shot of whiskey would be the perfect antidote to whatever she was feeling, but in her experience medicinal drinking was best done alone. “I need to get back to the station. I have some paperwork to clear out,” she lied.

  “Okay then.” Parker looked like she wanted to say something else, but she just shook her head. “If you need anything, you know where to find me.”

  Skye nodded assent if only to make her old friend go away.

  Parker was a lawyer now, married to another lawyer. The two women had a thriving practice representing folks like Theodore Burke. Skye had no intention of seeking Parker out for anything.

  All that had ever bound them together had been severed with the conclusion of this case. As Parker turned and walked away, Skye wondered how much more she could lose.

  Chapter One

  "I need your badge too.”

  Skye pulled the shield out of her pocket and placed it on the Deputy Chief’s desk alongside her department issued Glock 9mm. She didn’t care so much about the gun. She had plenty of those at home. Her detective shield was a different matter. The soft, worn leather holder encased the badge she’d worked hard to earn.

  Through the years, she kept it shiny. The irony of the shiny badge pinned over her tarnished reputation didn’t escape her. She wanted to crack a smart remark, even opened her mouth to do so, but words wouldn’t come. She stared at the badge. Shiny, defiant, and no longer hers.

  “I’m sorry about this.”

  Skye looked up. His apology was sincere. She could tell. Chief Henry had been her biggest champion on the force. Even after his own promotions meant he was no longer one above her in the chain of command, he took a special interest in her career. He’d been a second father, a mentor, a teacher. She assumed that was why he took responsibility for relieving her of her duties himself instead of assigning the task to her lieutenant.

  She knew coming clean on the Burke case would result in disciplinary action. She had used the guise of justice as an excuse to break the rules numerous times in the past, but each time her actions and the motivations behind them were safely concealed behind the blue veil of her brethren. When she admitted her transgression to a defense attorney, she crossed the line and became an outcast.

  Although the disposition of the disciplinary action against her had been put on hold while the Burke case was pending, she’d been given two options: resign and maintain her law enforcement certification, or put the department through a protracted termination proceeding and be stripped of all that she had worked to earn. It wasn’t much of a choice.

  She shrugged. The chief might be sorry, but it didn’t change anything. His loss was short-lived. He would find another young cop to groom, someone to whom he could teach all his well-honed shortcuts. Someone who would crave his admiration and respect so much that he or she would shove the rules aside in favor of meting out real justice, quick and sure. Her replacement would be one of many waiting in the wings. She sincerely hoped that person would benefit more from breaking the rules than she had.

  She shook his hand and left his office. The walk through the corridors was interminably long. The halls were lined with offices of the powerful elite in the Dallas Police Department. Chief Henry had chosen headquarters for their final meeting instead of her precinct, probably out of respect for her privacy. Here, there would be less of an audience of her peers to watch her dishonorable exit from a career distinguished by high profile arrests and solid convictions.

  What he probably hadn’t counted on was that this particular walk of shame led to a sharp sense of loneliness. Neither her partner nor any of the other detectives from her squad were there to commiserate with her, pat her on the back, mourn her loss as one they could easily have experienced themselves. She was a pariah now. She’d broken the code, but the real transgression had been revealing her shortcomings to a defense attorney. The enemy. Having allowed the other side to glimpse a flaw in the mechanics of law enforcement, she’d never be welcome on the right side of law and order again.

  Skye strode from the building, refusing to betray any embarrassment in her carriage. She walked through tall glass doors and crossed the street, counting the seconds until she could get on her bike and ride away.

  “Skye! Hey, over here.”

  She looked in the direction of the voice, spotting her partner standing on the side of the building she’d just left. Former partner.

  She stood in place while he walked toward her, huffing at the exertion.

  “You okay?”

  She nodded. She wasn’t. She might never be, but she wasn’t going to talk about it.

  “Are you coming back to the station?”

  His subtle way of asking if she’d been fired almost amused her.

  “No, Ed. I’m never coming back to the station.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Everyone was sorry. Well, everyone should stick it. I’m the one who should get to be sorry, but instead everyone wants to say it first and have me reply with platitudes: it’s okay; I’ll be fine; don’t worry about me. Well, fuck that.

  Skye didn’t speak.

  “Do you want to grab a drink?”

  She did. She wanted to hold on to a big, tall glass of whiskey with both hands. She wanted to feel the burn as it crossed her lips and coursed down her throat, searing a path to her gut. She craved the slow, building buzz of warmth simmering in her belly and rising up until her ears reddened and her thoughts floated out of her head.

  She’d get what she wanted, but she didn’t need company.

  “No, thanks.”

  “Okay.”

  Ed Peterson didn’t move. He seemed rooted in place, as unable to move as he was to come up with something appropriate to say to the partner who had taught him the ropes. She may be leaving the force while he continued to ascend the
ranks, but their roles would never be reversed. She walked toward her bike and signaled for him to follow. Once there, she reached into one of the saddlebags, shoved aside the contents she’d hastily packed when she’d emptied her locker earlier, and pulled out a revolver. Ed looked around wildly, obviously afraid they were being observed. She ignored his frenzy. She didn’t care who saw them.

  She didn’t recall where she’d gotten this particular handgun. It was a thirty-eight, common enough, though not the preferred weapon on the street. As a throw down, the gun would serve its purpose.

  Reliable, easy to fire. Skye could count on it to do in a pinch. Now Ed could. She wondered if he ever would, but not enough to discuss it with him. Instead, she said, “It can’t be traced. Save it for a special occasion.” He would either understand or he wouldn’t. He was no longer her responsibility. She shoved it toward him, grip first. He stared into her eyes as if to divine her intent, but Skye didn’t give him anything. Finally, he took the gun from her grasp and placed it in his jacket. Wisely, he didn’t offer thanks.

  Skye unlocked and pulled her personal weapon, a Sig P228 9mm from the special compartment inside the saddlebag and slid it into her shoulder holster, where her duty Glock had been. She’d always preferred the Sig, but the missing Glock left a big hole.

  The gun, the badge, the rank, the camaraderie—the list of things now lost to her was long, and the emptiness ran deep. Filling the space was an insurmountable task. She’d never shied away from the impossible before, but now…Now, all she wanted was a drink, a strong, deep glass of forgetting to wash away her memories and aspirations.