Dance With Me - By Hayden Braeburn Page 0,38
looking that way. Miss Priss knew Everett's schedule. She conned her way into his office just before his assistant's break, knowing exactly how long Kelly would be gone and that there was a skeleton crew before eight in the morning,” Ian surmised.
“Right. She makes a stop at Night and Daze, changes clothes, drugs him again, then heads up to the park.”
“She changes again, this time into that barely there number, preps the new drug; what did Dr. Marquette call it?”
“Injectable viagra?” Ian offered with a banked laugh.
Reid didn't think rape was funny, but he ignored his boss's laugh anyway. “It had some scientific name, but that'll work,” Reid accepted before continuing, “only she doesn't get a chance because Everett freed himself right before everyone arrived.”
“Then, bang, bang, tackle, bang, bang, tackle.”
How the hell did Ian Carpenter make it to Lieutenant? “Right.” He stood. “The case is solid. With Chris and Jason's accounts, the evidence collected at the Night and Daze along with the park, and the testimonies of Black and O'Dell—not to mention that of both assistants—it's a done deal.”
“You sure?”
Had he been listening? “I am.”
“Take care of it,” Carpenter ordered. “I have a date with a stacked redhead.”
“Sir?” Reid questioned.
“What?”
“Are you sure you want to go out with a witness before trial?”
“Are you questioning my integrity?”
“Of course not, sir, but Peters will.”
“I just wanted to fuck her,” Carpenter muttered as he quickly composed a text.
“She'll keep.”
“She'd better.”
Nice. Had his boss always been this big an asshole?
TEN
Priscilla glared at her attorney. The sniveling, incompetent fool thought she was crazy. She wasn't insane. She'd known exactly what she was doing. She needed Mason to insure her children were born, and now her plans had been ruined.
“Priscilla, are you even listening to me?” Gregory Peters asked.
“I'm crazy. I don't know right from wrong, blah, blah, blah.”
Peters rolled his eyes at her. “The only chance you have is this insanity plea. It doesn't work all that often, but I think you stand a chance. Children that aren't yet conceived? Kidnapping, drugging...” he trailed off when her eyes glazed over. “You really don't care, do you?”
“It doesn't matter! My children will never be! Our son was to be President!”
Peters looked at the floor to keep from laughing hysterically. The woman was certifiable. Deciding to poke the crazy, he asked, “You had planned a daughter, too?”
“Catherine,” she said like a prayer. “She was to be Miss America.” She rattled her handcuffs. “Now it's all been taken from me. I have nothing! Nothing!”
He willed himself to keep his face impassive. Insanity was the only way to go with this case, and he'd win, too, if Priscilla kept on like this. “I'm sorry it was all taken from you, Priscilla.”
Her eyes sharpened then. “Can I talk to Detective Davis alone?”
“Alone?” he repeated, startled by the question. “Not a chance.”
Her eyes hardened. “He's my brother, Greg. He can't investigate my case.”
More crazy talk. “Brandon Davis is not your brother.”
“Maybe not, but my mother was married to his father for more than two years.”
Peters knitted his brows as he thought for a moment. “No, I still have no recollection of that. When were they married?”
“When I was thirteen and Brandon was fifteen.”
He jerked his spine straight. “Twenty years ago? You want him thrown off the case for two years beginning twenty years ago?”
“Yes. He's my brother.”
“He most certainly is not. Hell, I'd have a better chance getting him removed if you'd slept with him, even if it was twenty years ago.”
She shook her head emphatically. “No, never! I've only ever slept with Mason.”
Again, he forced himself not to burst out laughing. No wonder the woman was crazy—she hadn't been laid in sixteen years! “Well, that is interesting.”
She pinned him with a death glare. “True love is not interesting. True love is perfect.”
If it were perfect, he wouldn't be talking to her in a cell right now. He had to circle back to the beginning, and get out of this sad, sad place. “Be that as it may, our only chance of a successful defense is insanity. That is what I'm presenting at arraignment tomorrow whether or not you agree.” When her eyes flashed fire, he ignored her and went on, “I don't care if you believe you're insane, I don't care if you're really not insane and just a cold, calculating bitch, that is our defense.”
“You're fired,” she spat.
“You can't fire me, you're crazy.”
She shook her cuffs again, her anger more than evident. “I am not crazy!”
“Oh, yes you