Dirty Little Secrets. Kierney Scott
she stroked the pepper spray on her key ring with the pad of her thumb. She never left home without it. Inexplicably her heart began to race, beating hard against her ribs, but it wasn’t because she felt unsafe; the worst this man would do was write a nasty article about her. Clearly her current case had gotten to her. She needed to move on from domestic violence, maybe move to murder. Murder was always straightforward, and the complaining witnesses never changed their story because, well, because they were dead.
“I’m afraid it will just be us tonight. Ben has a migraine. I’m really sorry I didn’t have time to phone you.” She lied with the fluidity of the Ivy League-trained lawyer she was.
James’ eyes darkened. For a fleeting moment there was an expression of disappointment or perhaps anger on his face, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared, but she had seen it, because nothing escaped her.
“Right. Shall we go out for a cup of coffee then? I wouldn’t want to disturb him.” His question sounded more like a challenge. Perhaps she was not as skilled a liar as she originally thought.
Megan shifted from one foot to the other. Her mind was suddenly blank. She searched for excuses as to why she could not do the interview. James was far too big a presence for her to deal with tonight. Normally she did not back down from any adversary, but there was something about him that made her feel off balance. She was painfully aware of his proximity, his scent, his gaze scrutinising her. She fought the urge to run, but her feet remained nailed to the floor because she had stopped running from her problems a long time ago.
“I passed a diner on the way,” James pressed.
Wordlessly Megan nodded.
“Shall I drive?” he asked.
Megan’s thumb slid up and down the cool metal container of her pepper spray. She narrowed her eyes to scrutinise him. He was beautiful, in a rugged, raw sort of way. She could practically smell the testosterone under the subtle scent of his aftershave. He looked like the kind of man women threw themselves at, the kind of man who could bend women to his will. She hated those kinds of men. Even had he not been a journalist, she would have taken an instant dislike to him. He was too polished and his smile too ready. No one should smile that much.
“Sure. Let me grab my bag.” She would give him an hour of her time, it was the least she could do for Ben. She could keep things light for an hour, especially if she was eating.
James opened the passenger door of a silver Range Rover Sport. Megan was temporarily back-footed. It occurred to her that no one had ever opened a car door for her. None of the guys she dated back in Mississippi would know chivalry if it had bit them in the ass. And Ben, well, Ben was just Ben. “Thanks.”
“Have you eaten yet? Cause I haven’t had time. Do you mind if we go somewhere for dinner?”
Sharing a meal with him was not her idea of a good night, but at this point she would dine with Kim Jong Un if it meant she could get a steak and potato. “That would be great. I wouldn’t recommend that diner though; all meals come with a side of food poisoning.”
He smiled. His teeth were straight and impossibly white. “I know a good steak place, not too far from here. You OK with red meat?”
She bit back a smile. “Yeah, I am good with red meat.”
“Thank God. I was worried you were vegan like every other woman I’ve met in DC. That would be a great way to start the interview, with me offering you flesh.”
The idea sounded strangely sexual and flirtatious, though she was certain it was unintentional. Why would he flirt with her? Her radar must be way off, too long spent as the cover for a closeted gay man maybe. Or maybe it was because the only men she spent time with were the ones she was cross examining. And those men usually wanted to shoot her, not flirt with her.
“No, definitely not vegan. Funny you mention it, my secretary is but she has a massive shoe collection, all leather. Totally bullshit, if you are going to stand for something, then commit.” She realised too late that she had sworn. The wives of future Vice Presidential candidates don’t have mouths like sailors on shore leave. Shit, he would probably put that in the piece, and blow her image. “Sorry about my language. I only swear when I’m hungry.”
He smiled again. “Don’t apologise, I’m Australian, I just swear.”
“So you won’t put that in your article?”
“That you said bullshit?”
She nodded.
“No, I’ll leave that out, as fascinating as that is.”
He was teasing her. Her cheeks tingled under the heat of her flush. He was flirting with her. What was he playing at? A tactic to get her onside and divulge more information? No doubt the strategy worked for him with other women. But Megan McCoy did not let men get the upper hand. Ever.
Megan McCoy was not what he expected. She looked softer in person, less harsh, almost vulnerable. Her bio had her age at thirty-two but she looked mid-twenties. There was a dusting of cinnamon-coloured freckles along the bridge of her nose. Her dark blonde hair fell below her shoulders, curling at the ends. She had blue eyes that narrowed when she was thinking, and a full mouth. She was not the typical DC trophy wife. She was pleasant enough to look at but she was miles away from being beautiful by anyone’s standards.
James needed to reconsider his position. He really needed to speak to Ben McCoy if he was going to get to the bottom of the situation regarding Seth Blair’s car accident. The reporter had been dead for less than forty-eight hours, and there had not been a mention of it anywhere in the press. There wouldn’t be if James could not prove foul play. The police would not touch it based on the circumstantial evidence he had so far, but James knew Ben McCoy was somehow involved. He felt it in his gut and he was going to prove it.
James pulled in to Albi’s Steakhouse. He offered Megan his hand, and she hesitated before allowing him to help her out of the car. She looked more like a scared mouse than the take-no-prisoners Assistant District Attorney she was reported to be. He found it hard to believe this was the Ice Queen defence attorneys hated go up against. She had a reputation for being a tenacious ball breaker. Even judges did not want to get on the wrong side of her, apparently she was whip smart and knew case law better than anyone practising in the District and she was not afraid to tell people when they were wrong. Those were the rumours, but they did not square with the nervous woman in front of him.
A waiter seated them at a table overlooking the river.
“So what drew you to a career in law? Why are you a prosecutor?” he asked once the waiter had taken their order. Admittedly it was a lame question, but he had not prepared to speak to her. He’d only gone through with the meeting so he did not throw up any suspicion with Ben.
Megan took a long sip of her iced water and eyed him dubiously. “Really, you want to know why I work for the DA?” She tapped her fingers on the white linen table cloth. “I suppose I want to put bad guys away.”
“Why do you specialise in domestic violence cases?”
She turned to look out the picture window. Slender fingers touched her neck as she cleared her throat. “Off the record?” she asked, turning back to him.
He nodded. None of this was going in a story anyhow, but now he was interested.
“I like taking down men who prey on vulnerable people. I would be just as happy to try a man who abuses his position, let’s say, by tapping phones, intimidating witnesses and failing miserably to cover it all up,” she said pointedly.
There was no question she was talking about his father. His jaw clenched. No matter where he went he could not get away from the fact that Conrad Emerson had violated every ethics law known and paid for it with his freedom. His father’s actions had brought GMN to the brink of collapse only a few years ago, but James had worked his ass off to bring the company back stronger than ever. Shame some people could not see past his father’s sins.
“Most people just think that,