Dirty Little Secrets (2 page)

“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, they don’t actually say it.”

“I was thinking worse,” she said.

“Well then, congratulations on your restraint. But don’t hold back on my account. Tell me what you really think.”

“Do you really want to know?”

He nodded.

“Are you sure? Cause I’m Southern, I have to be absolutely certain you want to hear the truth. It’s what passes as manners where I come from.”

“Tell me.”

“I think journalists are vultures. They violate people’s privacy and are more interested in titillation than news. They pretend to be providing a public service but more often than not they are just appealing to the lowest common denominator. I’m glad your father went to prison. It proved that no one is above the law.”

James took a drink of his iced tea and wished he had something stronger. She might look sweet but she had an edge. Perhaps he had underestimated her. “I doubt you’re as happy as I am about his incarceration.”

Megan blinked. She looked around the room, presumably to make sure no one was within earshot. “Is this the part where you tell me all about your integrity? It was all daddy. You didn’t benefit at all from his felonious actions. But oh wait you did. You are now the sole owner of a multibillion dollar corporation. You came out quite well in the deal.”

“Did I? My reputation was in tatters. There are still ignorant people far too eager to tar me with the same brush.”

“I prefer my insults indirect. If you want to call me ignorant, say it,” she challenged. Her tone was sweet, in direct opposition to her message.

“Trust me, if I’d wanted to insult you, you’d know all about it. I don’t think you’re ignorant by the way. Wound a bit too tight, yes. Quite possibly a bitch, but not ignorant.”

She smiled like he had just complimented her. He had indeed underestimated her.

“I’m glad our esteem for each other is mutual.”

“Indeed,” James said as the waiter brought over a basket of bread.

Megan tore off a piece and dipped it in olive oil. “I understand completely if you want to tell the world I’m a bitch. You have my blessing.”

“I’m not going to write an article about you being a bitch. I would never let my personal feelings cloud my professional judgement.”

“Of course you wouldn’t.” The sarcasm penetrated her saccharine smile.

“You really hate journalists.”

“I really hate people that violate trust and take advantage of vulnerable people.”

“Let me get this straight, journalists provide no benefit to society?”

She finished chewing before she answered. “In theory they do, of course. They have the opportunity to inform and enlighten. But in practice they stalk pregnant celebrities and print stories about how fat they’ve become. That’s hardly a public service.”

“I think you are confusing paparazzi with legitimate journalists.”

Megan put down her bread and leaned in. She spoke slowly and softly. Her long lashes kissed her cheeks when she blinked. “Have any of your papers or news stations printed a photograph that was obtained from a paparazzo?” Her gaze was direct, her smile never faltered.

James shifted in his seat. Christ, this is what defendants must feel like under cross examination. She was cold; no wonder she was called the ice queen. She struck him as the type who would do her homework, toil through reams of microfiche just to make a point. And James Emerson did not lie. Ever. “We have.”

“I rest my case.”

“What case is that exactly? I’m kind of like you, I like my insults direct.”

She sat back in her chair. “I think you pretend to have integrity, but you don’t give a rat’s ass about anything beyond the bottom line. You would sell out your granny to get a story. You are more like your father than you admit.”

He ran a hand through his hair. She had gone for the jugular. She was either incredibly lucky in her aim or very astute in her judgements. There were few things he liked less than comparisons to his father, but he refused to be baited. “I give the people what they want.”

“Child pornographers say the same thing.”

“Did you just compare me to a paedophile?”

“Certainly not. I was just taking your argument to its logical conclusion.”

“Unbelievable.” He shook his head. The day had been too fucking long to deal with this. “Look, clearly we have gotten off to a bad start.” It crossed his mind that it may be impossible to get off on the right foot with such a caustic woman. “Perhaps we should reschedule when your husband is available.”

“Perhaps we should,” Megan said through a static smile.

James turned his head to the commotion at the entrance to the restaurant. A waiter was pulling at the arm of a man, trying to stop him from coming into the dining area. The man shook the waiter off and marched towards their table.

“Why don’t you return my calls, bitch?” His eyes bulged and the snake tattoo on his neck pulsated with his heartbeat.

Megan stood up. A look of defiance flashed in her eyes. Her back straightened like she was ready to pounce. “Mr. Dixon, I suggest you turn around and walk out of here before I have you charged with criminal threats and stalking.”

“Listen, you fucking bitch. My wife admitted she lied when she made that statement. The cops wouldn’t let her go until she signed that fucking paper.” He shook his fist in her face.

Megan did not blink; instead she stepped further toward him, standing her ground or taunting him? “I am well aware that Mrs. Dixon has recanted but the jury will have to decide who they believe, an ex con who has already served time for battery and rape, or the doctors, nurses, and police officers that tended Mrs. Dixon after she was brutalised. I know who I would believe.” Her voice did not falter.

A sense of admiration shot through James. Megan was one tough woman; shit, she would make a tough man.

“Fuck you, bitch!” the man said as he lunged at her.

On reflex James stood up and grabbed him. He did not think, he just acted, preventing the man’s punch from landing squarely on Megan’s face. He would give her her due, she flinched but still she did not step away. She was quite possibly the bravest or stupidest person he had ever met. If James had not been there, she would be nursing a black eye but she was completely unfazed. Her pointy chin jetted out in defiance. He had to admit he kind of liked her. She was abrasive as hell but she had a backbone of steel.

James leaned down and said into the man’s ear. “Leave her alone. Or I’ll hurt you.”

“Get the fuck off me. That bitch is crazy. She’s trying to jam me up.” The man struggled against the tight hold but he was going nowhere.

“I am going to let you go but if you even look at her before you walk out of here, I will tear off your balls and shove them down your throat.” To prove he meant business James increased the pressure of his hold until the man was gasping for breath. “Are we clear?” he asked. The man tried to speak but nothing came out. “Are we clear? Nod your head if you understand.” The man’s head wagged up and down like an eager puppy.