About That Night (12 page)

Just then, her phone rang.

“Rylann Pierce,” she answered.

“It’s Mark Whitehead. I talked to my client,” he said, not sounding pleased. “For the record, I’m totally and completely against this.”

“Fair enough. That has been noted for the record.” No clue what he was talking about.

“Mr. Rhodes agreed to meet with you this afternoon, at his office.
Alone
,” Mark said with emphasis. “He was quite clear on that last point, despite all my attempts to persuade him otherwise.”

That certainly was not the response Rylann had expected. Judging from the
five
lawyers who’d been present at last Tuesday’s motion call—a fact she still found ridiculous—she’d been under the impression that multimillionaire Kyle Rhodes would never agree to a meeting with the U.S. Attorney’s Office without counsel present.

Still…this development served her interests, as well. She
wasn’t exactly advertising her prior connection to Kyle, and they could speak more freely without an audience present. “Fine. I can meet Mr. Rhodes later today.” She grabbed a pen. “Where is his office located?”

“Well, Ms. Pierce, seeing how my client is unemployed, his current office is his home. Eight hundred North Lake Shore Drive. The penthouse. Mr. Rhodes will be expecting you at four thirty sharp.”

THE PHONE ON Kyle’s desk rang, the double ring that indicated the call came from the security desk in the lobby of his building.

“Ms. Pierce is here to see you, Mr. Rhodes,” Miles informed him when he answered the phone.

“Thanks, Miles. Send her up.”

Kyle hung up the phone and saved the document he’d been working on, thinking that this was indeed an interesting turn of events. If anyone else from the U.S. Attorney’s Office had asked to see him, he would’ve told him or her exactly where to shove that request. Even though they’d held up their end of the deal last Tuesday, they were still at the top of his shit list for the whole “terrorist” business, which meant no favors for federal prosecutors. Period.

Except he’d found this particular request, from the illustrious Rylann Pierce of the amber eyes and sharp tongue, difficult to say no to.

He was…curious to know what she wanted.

This story she’d told his lawyers, about some “investigation” into an incident that had occurred at Metropolitan Correctional Center two weeks ago, sounded a little fishy. He’d already been released from MCC by that time, so he wasn’t sure what knowledge, if any, he would have about anything that had happened after that. But according to his lawyers, she’d been quite vehement in her desire to meet with him.

And that intrigued him even more.

Last Tuesday, when he’d gotten home from court, he’d done
two things: first, he’d gone on a long run, taking his sweet-ass time and going as far as he’d wanted without having to worry about ankle monitors, U.S. marshals, or SWAT teams storming the beach. Then the second thing he’d done was Google Rylann Pierce.

He’d found her on LinkedIn and saw that she’d clerked with a federal appellate judge in San Francisco before joining the U.S. Attorney’s Office. He’d also read press releases from the Northern District of California regarding several high-profile cases she’d prosecuted. From what he could tell, she’d had a successful career in California and then, suddenly, she’d moved back to Chicago.

He had a feeling there was a story there, but whatever it was, Google wasn’t saying.

Kyle heard a knock at the door. He got up from the desk and made his way through the penthouse, not realizing he’d been grinning the whole way until he saw his reflection in the foyer mirror.

Chill out, dickhead. She’s just some girl you walked home.

Perhaps this was, in fact, all a bizarre coincidence, and she really was there to talk about some case. Or maybe…it was something else. Maybe she’d been thinking about him all week, the same way he’d been thinking about her, and just couldn’t stay away.

His smile widened. Only one way to find out.

Kyle opened the door and saw her standing on his doorstep, long, dark hair a-flowing and looking like a Hitchcock heroine, with her belted trench coat and high heels, and carrying a briefcase at her side.

“Counselor,” he drawled.

“Mr. Rhodes,” she said, her voice slightly husky.

That was as far as they’d made it on Tuesday. But this time, there were no reporters, no cameras, and no team of defense attorneys. It was just the two of them now.

Kyle pushed open the door. “Come on in.”

“Thank you for meeting with me.” She brushed past him, the delicate scent of something floral and feminine trailing after her, and stepped into the foyer.

He shut the door, then turned and looked her over. Nine years ago, she’d been eye-catchingly attractive, but now there was something else, something more polished, sophisticated, and undeniably appealing.

Something a man who’d spent most of the last five months in
prison
would be hard-pressed not to notice.

“It’s been a while, Ms. Pierce,” he said.

Her lips twitched in a smile. “Actually, it’s only been about a week.”

He folded his arms across his chest challengingly. “Couldn’t stay away?”

She opened her mouth to say something, then appeared to change her mind. “Maybe we should sit down somewhere and talk.”

Right. About this mysterious “investigation.”
He gestured to the open expanse of the loft-style penthouse. “Make yourself at home.”

Rylann walked into the living room area, curiously checking out the place. “Looks like you’ve done well for yourself these past few years.” She threw him a sideways look, her eyes dancing with amusement. “Aside from that tiny issue with Twitter.”

“Just so I know, how many jokes can I expect about that?”

“It’s almost too easy,” she said with a laugh. “You once said that someone was going to cause a lot of panic and mayhem if companies didn’t start paying more attention to denial of service attacks. How prescient of you.”

Kyle stopped. “You actually remember I said that?”

Rylann paused for a moment, then shrugged nonchalantly. “Only because of the Twitter fiasco.” Moving on, she took a seat in one of the sleek Italian leather armchairs and set her briefcase on the floor.

Kyle sat on the couch across from her, watching as she slid off her coat, revealing a dark gray suit with a cream silk shirt underneath. “Before you say anything else, maybe we should address the eight-hundred-pound gorilla in the room.”

She looked momentarily confused. “Meaning…?”

“About that night.” He held her gaze. “I assume you know why I never showed up for our date?”

Her expression softened. “Oh. Yes. I was very sorry to hear about your mother.”

“Thank you.” Kyle tried to lighten the mood, glad to have that bit of awkwardness out of the way. “It’s a shame, you know. Because I was going to be really charming on that date. You wouldn’t have stood a chance.”

She laughed. “I’m sure you think that.”

Kyle stretched his arm along the back of the couch, getting more comfortable. “So. What brings you here tonight, Rylann Pierce?”

She shifted in her chair, then crossed one leg over the other. “Murder, actually.”

Kyle blinked, and his grin faded. Whatever he’d been expecting her to say, it wasn’t that. “Murder?”

“Yes. An inmate was beaten to death at MCC two weeks ago.”

From her expression, he could tell she was serious. And just like that, the whole tone of their conversation changed. “You’re really here about a case,” he said, not realizing until that moment how much he’d begun to convince himself otherwise.

She cocked her head, as if not following. “Why else would I be here?”

So much for not looking like a dickhead.
“Never mind. Tell me what happened at MCC.”

She proceeded to do exactly that. Kyle said nothing as Rylann related the circumstances surrounding Darius Brown’s death and explained her belief that Quinn, the prison guard, had orchestrated the attack in retaliation.

“We know that Quinn and Brown had a previous altercation,” she said, “and that Brown came out of disciplinary segregation and told his friends that Quinn had threatened him.”

Hearing that, Kyle got up and began pacing the room.

“We know that you were also in disciplinary segregation
during that time, in the cell next to Brown,” she continued. “I came here to find out whether you heard that threat. Candidly, I’m hoping you did.”

She fell quiet then, waiting for his response.

Kyle stopped with his back to her, gazing out the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the lake. In the distance, he could see the Ferris wheel at Navy Pier. “ ‘You’re gonna pay for what you did to my wrist, you piece of shit.’ ” He turned around. “Is that the threat you’re looking for?”

Rylann exhaled, obviously relieved. “Yes.”

Kyle ran his hand over his mouth. This whole situation—the fact that
he
, a former vice president of a billion dollar corporation, had direct knowledge regarding the murder of an inmate—was completely surreal. “I had no idea. Hell, I didn’t even know Brown was dead.”

“Did you know him well when you were in prison?” she asked.

He shook his head. “The only time I ever spoke to the guy was through our cell bars during those two days we were both in disciplinary segregation.” Still, he felt a mixture of emotions right then—guilt included—and felt the need to clarify something. “I thought Quinn was just talking trash, trying to act tough. I had no idea he’d actually follow through with that threat.” He exhaled, trying to wrap his mind around everything she’d told him. “So what happens from here?”

Rylann got up from her chair and walked over. “I present the matter to the grand jury. And I’d like you to be one of the witnesses who testifies.”

Kyle laughed humorlessly. “Right. The infamous Twitter Terrorist as a witness for the prosecution. I’m sure that’ll go over great with the grand jury.”

“Actually, you’re the perfect witness,” she said. “If you’d still been in prison, any defense attorney worth his salt would try to impeach you, claiming that you were testifying to gain favor with the U.S. Attorney’s Office in hopes of a reduction in your sentence. But now that you’re out, you obviously have no such motive.”

Kyle fixed his eyes on her, suddenly realizing something. “You need me for this case.”

After hesitating, Rylann acknowledged this with a nod. “Yes.”

He stepped closer to her. “Tell me something: would you have offered me a deal in exchange for my testimony if I’d still been locked up?”

“I probably would have considered offering you a deal, yes.”

“Then consider offering me one now.”

Rylann gestured to the penthouse. “You’re already out. There’s nothing I can offer you.”

He took yet another step closer. “But that’s not true, counselor. There is something I want—very much, in fact.” He peered down into her eyes. “An apology from the U.S. Attorney’s Office.”

Rylann burst out laughing. “An apology? That’s a good one.” She brushed her hair out of her eyes and flung it back over her shoulders, then pulled back when she saw the look on his face. “Oh my God, you’re not joking.”

He shook his head slowly. “No, I’m not.”

“Kyle, that will never, ever happen,” she said in all seriousness.

He shrugged. “If you want me as your witness, that’s what it’s going to take.” Yes, he was being a hard-ass—and as far as he was concerned, he had every right to be. She may have had her sexy skirt suit and her smiles, but tonight she also had an agenda. This little reunion of theirs had nothing to do with any walk home or some instant connection he’d thought he’d once felt with Rylann Pierce a long time ago. Tonight she was there solely for professional reasons, which meant he could be all business, too.

Bottom line, he was a free man now. So if the U.S. Attorney’s Office wanted to play ball, it would have to be by his rules.

“I’ll give you until tomorrow to think it over,” Kyle said. “Otherwise, I bring in the lawyers. And anything else you have to say, you can say to them.”

Rylann studied him, not looking particularly intimidated. “Hmm. They warned me you might be a little prickly.”

“Well,
they
were right.”

“I see that.” She walked over to the armchair and grabbed her coat and briefcase. She pulled something out of the outside pocket of the briefcase, then strode back to him, all lawyerly efficient in her heels. “Let me explain how this works, Kyle. You can come down to my office, with your lawyers if you like, and we can discuss your testimony there. That’s the easy way. Or I can get a subpoena, drag you in front of the grand jury, and you’ll still tell me everything you know. Either way, I get what I want.”

Is that right?
Kyle shrugged off the threat, not particularly intimidated, either. “You forgot option three. Where I conveniently forget everything I heard Quinn say that night.”

He saw the spark of anger in her eyes.

“You wouldn’t,” she said.

“Are you willing to bet your case on that, counselor?” he asked. “How well do you think you know me? Because five months ago we all saw that I’m plenty capable of doing things I’m not supposed to.”

Surprisingly, his words made her pause. She looked around the penthouse, then back at him. “You’re right,” she acknowledged. “I don’t know you, really. We spent all of about thirty minutes together nearly a decade ago. Still, I think the Kyle Rhodes who walked me home and gave me the shirt off his back would do the right thing no matter how pissed he was at my office. So if
that
guy is hanging around this penthouse anywhere, tell him to call me.”

Kyle folded his arms across his chest. “Were you this pushy and obstinate nine years ago? Strange how I don’t remember that.”

She held out her hand, offering her business card. “My number, should you decide on the easy way.”

He took the card from her. And despite everything, he found he couldn’t resist riling her, just a little. “You really do want to see me again.” He raised an eyebrow, his voice sly. “Are you sure this is solely about business, Ms. Pierce?”