Madrigal. Everything isn’t always what it seems. And the fees generated by his more affluent clients allow Trenton to represent the wrongly accused who can’t afford his services.”
She’s right. I need to stop making snap judgments about cases I know nothing about. “Sorry. It’s just . . . he’s a complex man. I get that. But I want to understand him.”
“I get the attraction, Madrigal. I really do. He’s brilliant, handsome. Many women find him irresistible. They love that edge of danger he carries around. But that edge has hurt many women. Most of them knew the score when they got involved with him. But you’re younger than his usual type and far more innocent. I don’t want you getting hurt.”
Innocent. There’s that word again. I’m not, especially after what happened last night. But of course I can’t share that with her. “Trenton took the couch. I took the bed. He was a perfect gentleman.” It’s the truth, as far as it goes.
“Good. I would hate for Holden to find out the head of his criminal law practice seduced his granddaughter.”
“Tr . . . Mr. Steele didn’t seduce me.” He didn’t have to. I threw myself at him.
“Very well. Don’t worry about the credit card charge. I talked to the motel manager and asked him to charge us for two rooms. As you can imagine, he was more than glad to comply. Trenton’s business expense will reflect those two rooms.”
“Thank you.”
“Next time, you might want to think things through.”
“What could I have done differently?”
“You could have insisted on renting a hotel room in Raleigh. I’m betting he would have given in if you had.”
The rental car had been on its last legs and the storm’s arrival imminent. Yet I had voiced no objection to his plan. Why? Because it was my walk on the wild side, that’s why. I’d wanted to brave the elements by his side and see if we’d win. We hadn’t. Instead, we’d ended up in a motel where I shamelessly offered myself to him. Maybe Madison is not the only wild child in the family. The difference being until yesterday I’d kept that side of me well hidden. My phone rings. Talk about the devil. “It’s him.”
“He probably wants to talk about that research assignment he handed you.”
“You’re probably right.”
Except she isn’t. When I arrive at Steele’s office, he has someone he wants me to meet. Charlie White. An ex-detective from the Metropolitan Police Department, now an investigator Steele uses for criminal law work.
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. White,” I say, taking a seat on Steele’s couch.
“Please. Call me Charlie.” He’s in his fifties, grizzled hair, chocolate-brown skin. Kind smile. He pulls out a spiral notebook and a pen. Guess he’s old-school. “Tell me the details of your parents’ deaths.”
“Very well.” I clasp my hands on my lap. “They were killed April 8, 2002.”
“Where?”
“In our home. My mother—”
Steele interrupts. “I told him about that, Madrigal. No need to go over it again.”
“Did they charge anyone, Ms. Berkeley?”
“Yes. Two handymen. They’d been doing work around the house. My mom was throwing a party and needed some things done—painting, sprucing up, that kind of thing.”
“Do you recall their names?”
They’re permanently etched in my memory. “Bill Johnson and Michael Haynes. They’d been working for North Dominion Handymen for maybe a month when my mother hired them. Both had records. The company was supposed to bond their employees, but it was their busy season, and they never got around to submitting their names to the bond company. So their references were never checked.”
“Were you home the night it happened?”
“No. A friend was having a birthday party. It was my first party with boys. I remember being very excited.”
“Were adults present at the party?” Steele asks.
“Of course. Her parents. No alcohol, no drugs, nothing the slightest bit out of line.” Except one
She’s right. I need to stop making snap judgments about cases I know nothing about. “Sorry. It’s just . . . he’s a complex man. I get that. But I want to understand him.”
“I get the attraction, Madrigal. I really do. He’s brilliant, handsome. Many women find him irresistible. They love that edge of danger he carries around. But that edge has hurt many women. Most of them knew the score when they got involved with him. But you’re younger than his usual type and far more innocent. I don’t want you getting hurt.”
Innocent. There’s that word again. I’m not, especially after what happened last night. But of course I can’t share that with her. “Trenton took the couch. I took the bed. He was a perfect gentleman.” It’s the truth, as far as it goes.
“Good. I would hate for Holden to find out the head of his criminal law practice seduced his granddaughter.”
“Tr . . . Mr. Steele didn’t seduce me.” He didn’t have to. I threw myself at him.
“Very well. Don’t worry about the credit card charge. I talked to the motel manager and asked him to charge us for two rooms. As you can imagine, he was more than glad to comply. Trenton’s business expense will reflect those two rooms.”
“Thank you.”
“Next time, you might want to think things through.”
“What could I have done differently?”
“You could have insisted on renting a hotel room in Raleigh. I’m betting he would have given in if you had.”
The rental car had been on its last legs and the storm’s arrival imminent. Yet I had voiced no objection to his plan. Why? Because it was my walk on the wild side, that’s why. I’d wanted to brave the elements by his side and see if we’d win. We hadn’t. Instead, we’d ended up in a motel where I shamelessly offered myself to him. Maybe Madison is not the only wild child in the family. The difference being until yesterday I’d kept that side of me well hidden. My phone rings. Talk about the devil. “It’s him.”
“He probably wants to talk about that research assignment he handed you.”
“You’re probably right.”
Except she isn’t. When I arrive at Steele’s office, he has someone he wants me to meet. Charlie White. An ex-detective from the Metropolitan Police Department, now an investigator Steele uses for criminal law work.
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. White,” I say, taking a seat on Steele’s couch.
“Please. Call me Charlie.” He’s in his fifties, grizzled hair, chocolate-brown skin. Kind smile. He pulls out a spiral notebook and a pen. Guess he’s old-school. “Tell me the details of your parents’ deaths.”
“Very well.” I clasp my hands on my lap. “They were killed April 8, 2002.”
“Where?”
“In our home. My mother—”
Steele interrupts. “I told him about that, Madrigal. No need to go over it again.”
“Did they charge anyone, Ms. Berkeley?”
“Yes. Two handymen. They’d been doing work around the house. My mom was throwing a party and needed some things done—painting, sprucing up, that kind of thing.”
“Do you recall their names?”
They’re permanently etched in my memory. “Bill Johnson and Michael Haynes. They’d been working for North Dominion Handymen for maybe a month when my mother hired them. Both had records. The company was supposed to bond their employees, but it was their busy season, and they never got around to submitting their names to the bond company. So their references were never checked.”
“Were you home the night it happened?”
“No. A friend was having a birthday party. It was my first party with boys. I remember being very excited.”
“Were adults present at the party?” Steele asks.
“Of course. Her parents. No alcohol, no drugs, nothing the slightest bit out of line.” Except one
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