Star Witness

chapter Seven

Harte caught Dani’s glass just in time to keep it from turning over. “Hey,” he said. “It’s okay. It was just thunder.”

“I know,” she snapped. “It startled me, that’s all.”

He studied her closely as she took a deep swallow of water. Her hands were trembling. She really was afraid of storms.

“Are you going to be able to concentrate?” he said.

“Of course,” she replied, her voice sounding slightly defensive. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“If the storm passes directly over us, it could get nasty. We might lose power.”

“I’m fine.”

“Okay. That’s good, because we’ve got a lot to cover.”

“A lot to cover? I thought you said my testimony wouldn’t take long.”

“It won’t. Not your direct. But with Jury Drury sitting first chair on the defense side, there’s no telling how long he’ll try to drag out the cross-examination. He’s a master at rattling witnesses. He’ll be on everything you say like a vulture on roadkill. Make you doubt what you heard with your own ears. I want to try to give you some defense against that.”

Dani groaned. “As you pointed out yesterday, I’ve questioned and cross-examined my share of witnesses. I know what to expect.”

“I know. But this time you’re the one testifying. Keep in mind that your goal is to put away the scumbag who caused your grandfather’s death.”

“I’m not likely to forget that,” she muttered.

Harte grabbed his briefcase and pulled out the Canto file. During the three months since Akers assigned the case to him, he’d familiarized himself with the specifics, including the autopsy report, Dani’s witness statement and the transcripts of all the interrogations of suspects. Plus, he’d had the dubious pleasure of reading and responding to the mountains of motions filed by Drury.

But during all that time, he’d only talked to Dani twice. He remembered his dad telling him something his grandfather had said. “Criminal law’s nothing like television. It’s ninety-nine percent paperwork and one percent court drama. So if you’re in it for the limelight, find yourself another career.” Lucky for Harte, he didn’t mind the paperwork.

“Okay. You pretty much know what to expect. So let’s start with you telling me what happened. Start from the beginning, as if I’ve never heard it before. You’ve never testified on the stand, right?”

Dani nodded. “That’s right.”

“Keep in mind that facing a jury as a witness is very different from facing them as an attorney.”

Dani bristled at Harte’s tone. Now that he was talking about the trial and her testimony, he’d switched to his imperious prosecutor’s voice. She didn’t like it. It made her feel as if she were back in the courtroom, facing off against him.

Her immediate instinct was to shoot a cutting response at him, but it was beginning to dawn on her how hard it was going to be to sit in that witness box and talk about her granddad’s murder in front of a judge, a jury and the man responsible for his death. So she bit her tongue and nodded again.

His brows twitched, but he didn’t comment. Had he expected a retort? “Okay,” he said. “Go ahead.”

For a second, she wasn’t sure how to begin. “I’ve thought about that night so many times you’d think I wouldn’t have any trouble describing what happened.” She rubbed her temple.

“Why don’t you start with what you were doing that day?”

“Okay.” She nodded. “That was the day of the City Hall Awards Banquet.”

“That’s right,” Harte commented with a grimace. “The annual rent-a-tux rent-a-crowd.”

“Exactly,” she said with a smile that lightened her expression and put a twinkle in her eyes. “I was going, of course. I’d even bought a new dress. But I caught a stomach bug. I ended up throwing up all day. Granddad brought me some crackers and ginger ale—” She had to swallow hard before she could continue.

“So I’d finally gotten to sl-sleep—” Her breath hitched. “Oh, this is awful.” Her fingers massaged her temple. “Let me start over.”

“No,” Harte said. “You’re doing great.”

She shot him a skeptical look. “Anyway, I woke up hearing voices.” She shifted in her chair. “They were yelling. I heard one of them say, ‘You’ll do it or you’ll regret it,’ and Granddad yelled back, ‘You sons of bitches can go to hell.’ That was just like him. He didn’t suffer fools gladly.”

Harte nodded and smiled back at her. For some reason his smile made her feel better.

“I was groggy and weak, so at first I didn’t pay much attention. I figured it was one of his friends and they were arguing about politics. That wasn’t unusual. He had guests several evenings a week. I used to scold him about not getting enough sleep.” She sighed. “If I’d gotten up then—” Her heart ached with a hollow, sharp pain.

“Hey, don’t go there. Just stick with the facts. Stay on point. You’re fine.” He laid his hand on top of hers where it rested on the table and squeezed it.

She looked down, surprised at the gesture. It didn’t bother her. Just the opposite, in fact. His large, warm hand felt so good, so comforting, over hers. She longed to turn her hand over and clutch his. She wanted, needed, comfort so badly. But she’d already discovered that she was much too vulnerable to his good looks. She pulled away.

“Watch out,” she said. “The jury might think you’re fraternizing with your witness.” She aimed for a smile and a light tone. When his gaze snapped to hers, she realized she’d failed. She’d meant it as a joke, but now, her gaze caught by his, she felt something flare between them. Something hot and intimate. Much more intimate than the touch of a hand or a glance should be.

A flash of lightning and its accompanying clap of thunder made her jump, and that quickly, the spell was broken.

Harte withdrew his hand with a quick smile. “You’re right,” he said. “I’ll have to watch it.”

A chill slid through her—was it from the thunder or the absence of his warm hand on hers? She shivered and glanced up at the kitchen clock. “I wonder if Michele’s made it home. The storm is getting worse.”

A second flash and rumble proved her right.

“I’m sure she’s fine,” Harte said. “She’ll be back soon.”

Another time, Dani might resent Harte’s carefully patient tone, as if he were trying to calm a screaming child. But right now he was her only port in the storm—literally. And he was being quite nice.

He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and checked it. He shook his head.

“Still no service?” she asked. In the distance, a high-pitched wail signaled that emergency vehicles were responding to calls.

“Not even one bar. When I was trying to talk to the D.A., I had two bars and it still kept dropping the connection. I hope the storm hasn’t knocked out any towers.” He sighed and pocketed the phone. “So. Your grandfather and whoever was in his study were yelling.”

She cleared her throat. “Then I heard noises—grunts and crashes, like furniture being knocked over or things being thrown. I didn’t know at the time, but now I know they were hitting him. When I think of those awful sounds, I—” She stopped. She had to swallow a couple of times to get rid of the lump in her throat. “There was one guy. He was louder than the others, sounded like he was in charge. He’s the one who started naming names.”

“What names did you hear?”

Dani looked at Harte blankly for a moment. Her head was filled with the awful, sickening sounds she’d heard that night. The dull thud of fists hitting flesh. The crash of a body falling against a table or the floor. Sounds that would always haunt her dreams.

“Dani?” Harte said. “What names did you hear?”

“Yeoman, Senator Stamps and Paul Guillame. All that’s in my statement.”

“I know. But remember, I asked you to tell me about the night as if I’d never heard it before.”

She sighed. “I heard ‘Mr. Yeoman sent us,’ and—”

“Okay, hold on a second,” Harte interrupted. “One of the men said, ‘Yeoman sent us’?”

“He said, ‘Mr. Yeoman sent us.’”

“You’re absolutely sure? It couldn’t have been ‘Mr. Yeoman said’ or ‘Mr. Yeoman should’?”

Irritation burned in her stomach. “You know it’s not either of those. He said, ‘Mr. Yeoman sent us.’”

Harte studied her for a moment. “Okay. Don’t forget that I’m asking you these questions for the jury. What else did they say?”

“I couldn’t understand everything. The next thing I could make out was something about Senator Stamps, and—” She stopped. Just like that night, the exact words the men had said eluded her.

“Can you tell me specifically what they said when they mentioned Stamps’s name?” Harte prodded.

“They didn’t mention Stamps’s name. They yelled it.”

“Okay,” he said with exaggerated patience.

She closed her eyes and forced herself back there. Creeping quietly across the hardwood floor toward Granddad’s study, her stomach queasily protesting, listening to the awful sounds and trying to remember where her cell phone was so she could call 911. “It was like ‘Senator Stamps warned or armed or aimed.’ I was groggy from nausea medication and terrified, because I couldn’t figure out what was happening.”

Harte’s mouth thinned. “That brings up a good point. Where were you that night while all this was going on?”

“I was trying to get to the telephone in the living room.”

“And where was your grandfather?”

“In his study, on the other side of the house.”

“That distance has been measured. From the door of your bedroom to the door of Freeman Canto’s study is sixty-two feet. Are you telling me that you could hear and understand what the men were saying?”

She bristled. “Ye-e-es.” She drew out the word sarcastically.

“Dani, you’re supposed to be answering as if you were on the witness stand. You’re the prosecution’s main witness. As an attorney you know better than to get defensive. Remember that it’s your job to give the judge and jury an accurate recounting of the events that led up to your grandfather’s death.”

The control she was holding on to with such desperation cracked and her eyes filled with tears. “This is a lot harder than I thought it would be. I’m talking about hearing men beating my grandfather to death while I was three rooms away.”

Harte’s gaze seemed to soften. “It’ll be even harder when you’re on the witness stand,” he said gently. “How many phones are there in the house?”

“Besides the one in the living room, there’s one in Granddad’s study. Then there’s my cell phone, which was in my purse on the hall table, and Granddad’s, which I believe was in his pocket.” She pushed her chair back from the table and began pacing. Her path took her toward the front room where the rain was pounding the picture window. “And you don’t have to remind me that it will be harder. I know that.”

Harte continued with his questioning. “Now, if you were frightened, sick and medicated, how can you possibly be sure the name you heard was Stamps?”

“I know what I heard. He didn’t just say Stamps, he said Senator Stamps. And I heard the name Paul Guillame too and he’s Stamps’s political adviser.”

“Again, Ms. Canto, you’ve admitted that you were medicated. In fact, you really can’t testify to what the men said, can you? They could have said William or DeYoung or a dozen other names, right? It might not have been a name at all. It could have been anything.”

Dani spoke clearly and calmly. “I was there, and I know what I heard. I can’t tell you exactly what they said about Senator Stamps or Paul Guillame, but I am absolutely certain those names were spoken that night, along with the name Mr. Yeoman.” She glanced at him sidelong. “And don’t think for a minute that I don’t know who Paul Guillame is.”

“Objection. Irrelevant.”

“No, it’s not. Tell me, counselor, is it going to impact me that my attorney is related to one of the people whose name came up while my grandfather was being beaten to death?”

Harte’s mouth thinned. “The D.A. has considered that and is not concerned. We’re marginally related at best. He’s like a third cousin.”

“So Akers asked you about it.”

“I’m your attorney. Don’t even suggest that I don’t have your best interests at heart. But please, by all means get all this hostility out before you actually go on the stand. And don’t forget that it’s not going to be me badgering you about what you heard. I’ll let you tell the jury what happened in your own words. It’s going to be Drury who’ll be hitting you with the tough questions. He’s a snake. Don’t let him upset you. Think about what you tell your own witnesses. They lose credibility if they let the opposing attorney get to them.”

Dani tried to compose herself. Everything Harte said was true. But the renewed pain of her grandfather’s violent death, combined with the storm outside and the fact that she had to rely on Harte Delancey, her courtroom nemesis, was about to undo her. “I apologize,” she muttered.

“Let’s get back to the question at hand. Isn’t it true that you’re not certain about the names you heard? That you’re merely desperate to find someone to blame for your grandfather’s death?”

“That is not true. And of course I’m—” She stopped. Her breath caught in a sob. The tears she’d been trying to hold back stung her eyes. She blinked fiercely. She would not cry!

“Okay, okay,” Harte said gently. He sat back. “Don’t worry about not being absolutely sure about Stamps and Guillame. As long as you’re positive about Yeoman.”

She sniffed. “But I am sure—like ninety-nine percent. About Stamps and Guillame, I mean. I’m definitely a hundred percent about Yeoman. That guy said his name twice, or maybe three times.”

“Okay. That’s good. When you’re certain, be sure the jury knows you’re certain. Now, go on. You said you heard violent noises.”

She nodded. “They must have been hitting him. I heard him fall, and one of them said, ‘Do you understand Mr. Yeoman’s message?’ But Granddad didn’t answer. Then I heard them say, ‘We better get out of here. The granddaughter will be home soon. And I think he’s hurt—bad.’” Her breath caught again and her hand flew up to cover her mouth.

“It was so awful,” she mumbled from behind her hand.

“Come back over here and sit down,” Harte said. “Want some coffee?”

She shook her head. “No. I’m fine. I just can’t help thinking of Granddad. They murdered him. He must have been so scared in those last minutes—” She stopped and tried to suppress the little sobs that kept quivering in her throat. “And I wasn’t able to help him. By the time I got to his study, the men were gone.”

“They didn’t pass you as they left?”

She shook her head. “The study has French doors that lead to the outside. That’s how they got in and how they left.”

He studied her for a few seconds, then turned his attention to his water glass, tracing a finger down the side. He spoke without looking up. “You know, my grandfather was murdered too.”

Dani was surprised. He didn’t seem like the type to share his personal life casually. Certainly not with a witness—or a rival.

She nodded. “I’d heard that. He was killed by one of his employees?” She looked at him, expectant, but apprehensive. Was he about to try to give her encouragement by relating some anecdote about bravery in the face of tragedy? Or how Con’s wife testified, head held high, even though she was heartbroken?

“He was murdered by his personal assistant, Armand Broussard.”

“I’ve heard that name,” she said. She waited for a few seconds, but he didn’t explain why he’d brought up his grandfather. “What are you saying?”

He shrugged. “Just that we have something in common.” He grimaced, then tilted his head. “I never got the chance to know him because someone murdered him. He died the year I was born,” he said quietly.

“The year you were born?” Dani said. “I’m sorry. It’s awful that you never got to know him.”

Harte met her gaze, and his dark eyes, which normally caught the light like brown bottle glass, were soft and sincere. “What you’ve been through is worse. You had your grandfather with you for your whole life. I can’t even imagine how much you must miss him.”

One of the tears that kept gathering in Dani’s eyes slipped down her cheek. To her surprise, Harte reached over and stopped it with a finger. She barely felt his touch, but somehow, it acted like a current of electricity, sizzling through her, creating heat in every inch of her. She stared into his eyes, wondering what he would do if she leaned over and kissed him. Then wondering what she would do if he kissed her back.

For a split second, their eyes held; then Harte blinked and cleared his throat. “So, do you think you’re ready for Jury Drury?”

Dani moistened her lips. “I’m sure I’m not,” she said with a tiny, ironic smile.

“You just do what the oath says you should. Tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. I’ll object to everything I can think of if he tries to bully you.”

“He’s going to rip me to shreds, isn’t he?”

“I don’t think so,” Harte said. “I hope not.”

She pushed her fingers through her hair and took a long breath. “I’m going to end up looking like an idiot and a liar to the judge and jury.”

“No, you’re not. You’ll come across as earnest and sincere and heartbroken. Between us, we’ll make sure the jury sees your honesty and integrity. I know you don’t think so, but I’m a good prosecutor.”

She studied him. “Oh, I know you’re a good pros—”

Just then the wind picked up, flinging rain like gravel tapping against the big picture window in the living room.

Dani jumped. She drew up her shoulders and braced for more. Sure enough, lightning flashed as a sharp crack rent the air. She swallowed a shriek and vaulted up out of her chair.

“Hey,” Harte said, rising. “It’s okay.”

“The storm’s right on top of us. Do you think it’s a tornado?” she asked tightly.

“Hopefully not. I’m thinking it will blow over soon. It should be moving north.”

Dani nodded as she rubbed her arms. “I hope so.”

He smiled that crooked smile. “Trust me,” he said. “So, I’d like to keep going if you’re up to it.”

“I’m fine. Let me just get some water. The jambalaya made me thirsty.”

“Yeah,” he said, following her as she stepped over to the sink. “Me too.”

As Dani reached for the tap, a huge burst of bright white light blinded her, a deafening explosion split the air and everything went black.

She screamed and flung herself toward Harte. Caught off guard, he stumbled backward when her weight hit him. “Dani—?” he started.

Her almost silent whimper cut him off. Her hands clutched at the front of his shirt. Instinctively he folded his arms around her. Her body trembled violently.

He breathed deeply and nearly groaned at the sweet melon scent of her hair. That delicious fragrance combined with the pressure of her body so tight against him ripped away at his normally rock-solid self-control. The soft firmness of her breasts, the slight bump of her hip bones, the feel of her warm breath on his neck, were as tantalizing as he’d known they’d be. He squeezed his eyes closed. He could learn to love the feel of her body pressed against his. He pulled her closer.

After a moment he turned his head and looked out the kitchen window. He couldn’t see a thing. Not a pale porch bulb of a neighbor’s house. Not a streetlight. Nothing.

“The lightning must have blown transformers all over the area,” he muttered. “There are no lights as far as I can see.”

She nodded and more of the sweet scent of melon tickled his nose. He clenched his jaw as his body reacted. Damn it, he was on the edge of some very dangerous territory.

A vision of them together in bed taunted him. He struggled to banish it.

The only reason she threw herself into his arms was that she was terrified by the lightning and the darkness. She was seeking safety. If she had the slightest notion of his unprofessional thoughts, she’d be away from him like a shot and any trust he’d managed to build with her would be gone.

“Hey,” he said, peering intently at her. He could barely make out her features in the darkness. “It’s just a storm, that’s all. You live in south Louisiana. It’s not like you haven’t been in a storm before, right?”

She stiffened and pushed away. “Right,” she said shakily, then cleared her throat. “Sure. I’m fine. I’ve got a flashlight on my key ring. It’s in my purse in the bedroom—”

“Hang on. I’m sure there are candles around here somewhere,” he said. “Check the kitchen drawers.” He turned and reached out for a drawer handle, found one and pulled, then searched inside. “Ow!” he exclaimed. “Be careful. I just pricked my finger on a knife.”

“Is it bad?” she asked, sounding more like her old self.

“Nah.” He stuck his fingertip in his mouth for a second, then continued searching. His hand closed around the distinctive shape of a lighter and next to it, the waxy tapered length of a candle. “Here we go,” he said as he pulled them out.

He thumbed the lighter and lit the candle. The flickering light gleamed eerily as it reflected in her wide eyes. Her mouth was set in a tight line.

“Here,” he said. “Take this. I’m sure there are more. I’ll see if I can find something to hold them.”

She held out her hand, her eyes glued to the flame.

Outside the thunder rumbled loudly and lightning flashed, lighting up the windows for a split second. She flinched and scrunched her shoulders. She was definitely afraid of storms. He felt a different emotion take hold of him. An urge to shelter her, protect her, hold on to her and reassure her that everything was going to be all right. It surprised him that he felt so protective toward her. She was one of the strongest, most determined women he’d ever met.

He touched her sleeve and felt her stiffen. “Storms really bother you, don’t they?” he said gently.

She tried for a casual shrug, but her shoulders moved jerkily. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. Tell me why storms scare you.”

She sniffed in frustration. “Why storms scare me. Well, my father died in a tornado when I was seven. Maybe that’s why.”

“That’s an awful thing for a little girl to go through.”

She shrugged and the candlelight outlined her sad face in shadows. “I had this image of the tornado as a big whirling monster that ate everything in its path. When it storms like this, I can’t wipe that image out of my mind.”

Thunder rumbled again and she hugged herself.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered. “I’m right here.”

Her gaze snapped to his, and her chin lifted. “I said I’m fine.”

He considered what he’d been thinking about her seconds before and amended it. She was one of the strongest, most determined and most stubborn women he’d ever met.

He shrugged and turned his attention back to the drawer, looking for more candles. He found a few that had been burned down at least halfway. Those would be easier to set up. He lit one and began dripping wax on a saucer he took from the drain board.

“I have to get my purse,” Dani said.

Harte nodded, still busy with the candle. He got it stuck to a saucer with wax, then started on a second one. “Now we’ve got several candles,” he called. “This should last us until they get the power back on—”

A crash drowned out his words. His head snapped toward the window. Was that glass breaking? Or just the noise of the thunder?

“Harte!” Dani’s panicked voice came from across the room.

“Dani?” he asked. He stuck a stubby candle and the lighter in his pocket as he hurried toward her.

“What was that—?”

He saw her and halted. Something wasn’t right. The way her body was lit—the way shadows were flickering, almost dancing, as if tossed around by a fire.

A split second later, he knew what was wrong, but that was a split second too late. Dani had figured it out too. She was screaming and pointing behind him. He turned, already certain of what he would see.

In the middle of the hardwood floor, in front of the big picture window, surrounded by broken glass that glinted red and yellow and orange, was a bottle belching flames from its mouth. Flames that licked at the curtains and crawled across the floor.