For The Defense. M.J. Rodgers
I go with you to see Connie?”
Diana planted a kiss on her daughter’s head. “Not without doubling your chronological age and committing a felony.”
“My psychology professor said that hearing about other people’s pain can help to make you feel better about your own,” Mel said.
“Nice try,” Diana said. “But not even close to working. Now off with you.”
“What’s causing you pain?” Jack asked Mel, curious to know, despite Diana’s obvious desire to be on her way.
“We have to move out of my grandmother’s home,” Mel said. “She’s really sweet, and she understands me, and I’ve lived here for as long as I can remember.”
“Why do you have to leave?” Jack prodded.
“She’s getting married, and her husband’s moving in with her, so Mom and I have to rent a place. There are no houses available, only yucky apartments. And Mom’s going to have to find someone to stay with me when she’s not there. Except I don’t want to be baby-sat because I’m no baby.”
“You’re certainly not,” Jack said. Although, as Mel’s far too unhappy tone had demonstrated, she was still very much a nine-year-old for all her intelligence.
When Diana had finally succeeded in shooing her daughter into the house, Jack turned to her. “You could have warned me about Mel.”
“Yeah, but this was more fun.”
For her maybe. But he didn’t mind. He’d had a chance to hear Diana laugh. That had been a nice surprise. He’d always thought that the deeper a woman’s laugh, the deeper her enjoyment of physical pleasure.
Diana’s laugh had been so deep he could still feel it vibrating along his nerve endings.
FORTY MINUTES LATER, Diana and Jack stepped through the doorway into the Silver Valley County jail. As they walked through the metal detector, Diana exchanged waves with the security guard who had the latest John Grisham thriller in his hands.
Hustling once again to keep up with her fast pace, Jack followed her into the elevator and watched her punch the button for the next floor.
“Are you as upset about having to move out of your mother’s home as Mel is?”
“Just something that has to be done,” she answered without looking at him.
Jack couldn’t tell whether he’d hit on a touchy subject or if Diana’s reluctance to talk was due to preoccupation with their upcoming interview. When the elevator doors opened, she was out in a flash.
“Hi, Diana,” the prison guard called from behind the counter.
“Hi, Fran.”
Jack looked over Diana’s shoulder as she signed in, noticing that she entered both of their names. The prison guard buzzed the door to the hallway open and gestured for Diana to go through.
But before Jack could, the guard pointed to a room behind the counter. “Step in there and take off all your clothes.”
“I beg your pardon?” Jack said.
“Body search,” Fran explained curtly, hands on her sturdy hips, fingers twitching toward the gun in her holster. “Got to make sure you’re not taking anything prohibited to the prisoner.”
He stared at the serious look on the prison guard’s face in growing unease.
“Nice try, Fran,” Diana said, “but Mr. Knight’s part of the law firm’s defense team and not subject to search.”
The female guard looked Jack up and down and let out a disappointed sigh. “Rats.”
“Thanks,” he whispered on an exhale of relief as they walked down the hall.
A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she headed directly for a room at the end. She opened the door and gestured for him to step inside. She apparently wasn’t the type who waited for men to hold doors open for her.
Jack liked that. He stepped past her into a windowless, eight-by-ten foot room with a Formica table, four scratched metal chairs and an overhead fluorescent light that flickered.
“They’ll bring Connie in to meet with us soon,” Diana said as she closed the door then and took a seat at the table. “Before she gets here, I need to fill you in on a few things.”
He sat across from her and waited. She looped the strap of her shoulder bag over the back of her chair as she began.
“Connie is unnaturally shy. I want her to tell you her story because the emotional impact comes through so much clearer in her words. But she might not talk to you. She offered nothing but minimal information to me at first. It wasn’t until I learned she’d lost a daughter that I thought of approaching her another way.”
“When you say lost, do you mean the girl died?” Jack asked.
Diana nodded. “Had she lived, her daughter would have been around Mel’s age now. I got the idea that Connie might find talking to another mother easier than she would to an attorney. So, on my next visit I stopped asking questions and started telling her about the challenges facing me as a single mom. When she seemed interested, I knew I was making progress and showed her a picture of Mel.”
Pausing for a moment, Diana gave her shoulders a little roll as though trying to shake off a sudden tightness. “Connie took one look at Mel’s picture and cried. Then she told me about Amy.”
“Amy is the daughter she lost,” Jack guessed. “How long ago did—”
He didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence. The door opened and a guard brought in Connie Pearce, murderess. She walked into the room slowly, as if she was unsure of each step. The instant she saw Jack, she flinched and took a step backward.
Connie not only didn’t look like she could run down a man with a car. She didn’t look like she could chase down a fly with a swatter.
This case got more baffling by the minute. Jack decided right then that he was not going to leave the room until he had heard this woman’s story.
WHEN DIANA SAW Connie’s reaction to Jack, she was certain her client was never going to talk to him. But before she could ask Jack to wait outside, he stepped forward, took Connie’s hand and smiled into her startled face.
“I’m Jack Knight, Connie. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”
His voice sounded very gentle and sincere. Connie’s retreat halted.
When Fran seemed ready to take exception to Jack’s physical contact with the prisoner, Diana shook her head. Diana and Fran had known each other a long time. The guard trusted her. Fran nodded and quietly left the room.
“You look…familiar,” Connie said as she stared up at Jack, a small frown forming.
“Do I?” he asked as he held her hand within his open palm. Smiling one of those devastating smiles of his, he said, “Maybe you recognize me from TV. The soap Seattle?”
Connie’s mouth opened in astonishment. “You’re Derek Dementer! But I don’t understand. What are you doing here?”
“Diana tells me you’re in trouble. I’ve come to help.”
Keeping her hand within his own, Jack led Connie to the table, held out a chair for her. His facial expression, physical attention and voice all radiated warmth.
He sat facing her, knee-to-knee. “Being an actor was fun for me. But I’d much rather rescue a lady in distress than be the villain causing her distress.”
Damn if he didn’t sound like he meant every word he was saying, too.
“You really think you can help me?” Connie asked, still obviously finding this too good to be true.
“I