Dirty Little Secrets (3 page)

“Good,” James said as he released him.

“Nice friends you have,” James said to her when the man was out of the building.

A look of annoyance crossed her face. “I wish you would have let him hit me. I could have had him on a felony assault.” She shook her head.

“Excuse me?” James said incredulously.
Who was this woman?

Megan stared into his moss-green eyes. She hadn’t meant to say that aloud. Suddenly she realised what a bitch she was being; so much for maintaining her public persona. She was taking all her frustration out on James because he had the piss-poor luck of being in her firing line. She was having a shit day but she did not have the right to take it out on him. “Sorry. I mean thank you. I really appreciate you doing that. It’s just my case is shot to hell because his wife recanted and he is going to walk. He raped her and shattered her eye socket with a baseball bat, but she has forgiven him so it’s all better now. He bought her flowers so he must be sorry. God, I wish I had something else to charge him with.”

“Shit. I thought I had a bad day.” James shook his head.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have been such a jerk.” She let out a stream of air.

“So you don’t really hate journalists?”

“I do, I just usually have better manners than that. I am really hungry. Low blood sugar does not agree with me, I’m a real asshole when I’m hungry.” Megan held her hand out for him to shake.

“I’m Australian, I don’t need an excuse to be an asshole.” He returned her handshake, his long warm fingers curving tightly over hers. She could feel his power through the simple action.

“You use your nationality as an excuse for a lot of things,” she laughed.

“You don’t know the half of them,” he assured her.

She tore off another piece of bread and dipped it in balsamic vinegar. If she didn’t know better she would think he was flirting with her again.

“Shall we get dinner? We’re already here.”

Megan shook her head. “I should get home. I am liable to go off on another rant. I just need to go home, have a bath, and eat Lucky Charms from the box.”

“I’ve had worse nights.” When he smiled this time, it reached his eyes. Yes he was flirting with her. What was that about? She shifted in her seat before she stood up.

“Here, let me take you home then.”

“No I’ll just get a taxi. Stay and have something to eat. I am really sorry for the way I went off on one. Not my finest hour.” She had warned Ben not to send her. She had disappointed herself; normally she could keep her public mask on, no matter the provocation. She was an expert at it, no one got to see the real her. Unfortunately for her, she had just shown James a side of her she did her best to keep hidden. In reality she kept most of herself hidden.

“Not a problem. At least it wasn’t dull. I can forgive anything as long as I’m not bored.” He stood up beside her. “I’ll reschedule with your husband’s secretary. Let me take you home.”

Megan nodded. “Thanks, that would be nice. I’ll speak to her; tell her to fit you in tomorrow. She likes to pretend he’s busy 24/7 but he goes to the gym from seven to nine. I can get you in then, if it’s good for you.”

There was a slight hesitation before he said, “That would be great.”

Megan took another piece of bread and shoved it in her purse while James paid the bill; it was a waste to let good carbohydrates go uneaten.

Megan made her way to the car while James went to look for the waiter who had tried to stop Steve Dixon from coming in to Albi’s.

The night was dark and unseasonably cold. Megan hugged her arms to her chest. She had almost reached the car when she heard someone shout. A low growl of a voice pierced the silence. “Hey, bitch. Nobody here to protect you now. Not so fucking brave now are you?”

Chapter Two

Megan’s head snapped up to see Steve Dixon standing just ten feet in front of her. Her back straightened, her instinct was to make herself look taller. Her index finger went to the nozzle of her pepper spray. If he came any closer, he would be getting a faceful of pain. “I’m warning you, Mr. Dixon. Go away.”

“Fuck you, bitch. You’re trying to get me locked up. I didn’t fucking do anything.”

He was moving in closer. Almost close enough. She took a deep breath. No man would ever make her run again. “We’ll have to let the jury decide. Go home.”

He lunged at her. She braced herself for the impact as her finger pressed down on the spray. But instead of being on the receiving end of Dixon’s blow she was pushed out of the way. She fell back into the car door before she saw Dixon swing at James.

James stood perfectly still like he had been frozen in suspended animation. His hands fisted, the muscles in his arms bulging, deep lines defining his triceps even through his shirt as he flexed, but his arms remained at his sides. Dixon’s fist connected with the side of James’ face. His head snapped back with an audible cracking sound.

Megan gasped and lunged to help him, but James righted himself and gave Dixon a shove that sent the convict flying to the ground.

James turned and looked at her, blood pouring from his left eye.

“Is that enough to get him for assault?” he asked. There was a fire in his eyes, angry and raw. She knew that look. She had seen that look before. She had been on the receiving end of it.

Megan swallowed hard as she nodded.

“Good,” he said. “Now look away. I don’t need a witness for the next part.”

Before she could do what he said, he pulled Dixon off the ground and pushed him into the door of the Range Rover. “Listen, you piece of shit. You don’t hit women. You just don’t. Next time listen to the lady and go home.” With that last piece of advice James hit him square in the jaw. With one blow, Dixon folded, his hands flew to his face, cradling it in his hands as he groaned.

Megan stood shocked, temporarily frozen in place. People rarely surprised her, and never for the better. She swallowed hard against the lump in her throat.

She shook her head. James was speaking but she did not register what he was saying.

“Sorry. What did you say?”

“I think you should phone the police. We’re both going to need to make a statement. You saw him lunge at me the second time before I hit him?” James asked pointedly, making it clear what answer he expected.

She nodded. The truth was close enough to what he was suggesting.

“Good. Nice to know we’re singing from the same hymn sheet.”

She nodded. She would get the conviction she wanted. Why had James done that, put himself on the line for her? What possible benefit could there be? She strained to think of a plausible explanation, but she fell short. A flash of annoyance washed over her. She had an answer for everything, especially when it came to knowing what made people tick. Reading people is what kept her safe as a kid, and it is what made her good at her job now.

Men didn’t do things unless there was a payoff. All men expected something in return. All men except Ben.

Just to make sure, she asked, “Did you let him hit you just so I would have something to charge him with?”

Dixon made a start on standing up but James pushed him to the ground again. He turned to her again. “No, I was entertaining the idea of masochism, but it turns out I’m not a fan.” The blood continued to gush from above his eye. His shirt was now soaked through with scarlet patches. Despite looking like a crime scene, James smiled.

Her gaze trained on his full lips. She had not noticed before how full his bottom lip was or the way when he smiled the way half of his face raised that bit higher, making him look mischievous and cheerful at the same time, almost playful. She watched mesmerised as his lips relaxed back. She forced herself to raise her eyes and return his gaze.

“Jesus, your eye.” Megan looked in her purse for something to mop up the fast torrent. All she could find was a sanitary towel and wadded up paper towels from wiping down equipment at the gym. She unwrapped the pad and pressed it to his eye.

“Cheers,” he said with the faintest smile. It was a simple movement, his mouth rising slightly at one side again, but it made her stomach flip.

“No, thank you,” she said. She had not intended to whisper but her voice failed her. Suddenly she saw him as a man, not a reporter, just an unfathomably hot man who had done the first decent thing she had seen all day. And she didn’t even care why he had done it because it had righted a wrong that she could not. A searing heat crept across her chest, and lower still, into her belly.

She gave her head a terse shake. She could not remember the last time she had had that feeling, and it unsettled her. Her sex life had taken a nose dive since she married Ben. He never asked her to stop seeing people; quite the opposite, he positively encouraged her to have sex. Ben said she was nicest after a good meal and a good fuck. But fear of exposing Ben had prevented her from having sex for the last few years. She thought back. No, the last time she had sex was the night before her wedding. An old boyfriend had been passing through New York, and she had met him for drinks. No. Had it really been five years?

She could not think about that now. She had to deal with Dixon. “I need to call the police and then I think we should get you to the hospital.”

“I’m fine. Head wounds bleed a lot. Nothing to worry about.” He spoke with authority and it made her wonder about other times he had taken a blow to the head, or perhaps delivered one. Normally she would recoil at the thought of violence, but strangely she was not bothered. She felt…safe.

“It would help my case if an ambulance took you to the hospital. And stitches would really help,” she pressed. She wanted Dixon to go away for a good long time.

“Woman, it is a scratch,” he said in exasperation, but he was already dialling 911.

“Tell them you’re with me. The boys in blue like me,” she smiled. She had a good working relationship with the police department. She knew as a prosecutor to always keep law enforcement onside. And on a personal level, she would always be grateful to the police. Growing up, they had saved her more times than she wanted to remember.

“Really? I don’t really see you as the friends type.” His tone was noncommittal, hard to tell if he was insulting her or just giving on honest assessment of the situation. He was both right and wrong on that count. She had many friends on the most superficial level, but no one really knew her, other than Ben.

Before she could respond, his call went through.

“Hi, this is James Emerson. I’m with Megan McCoy. I need to report an incident.” He took a breath and rolled his eyes before he added. “Also I’ll need an ambulance.” His tone indicated that it pained him to make the request.

She could not help but smile; there was nothing sexier than a man making a sacrifice. As a whole, they did it so rarely.

Within minutes three police cars, a fire truck and an ambulance arrived, filling the parking lot of the steakhouse. Patrons and staff alike flooded from the restaurant to see the commotion. Nothing people liked better than a free show.

An officer she knew ran toward her. “Megan, you OK?”

“Fine now. Thanks, Mac. Be better once Dixon is locked up again.” She gestured to the police car, where he was being handcuffed.

“You sure you’re OK?” he asked again, concern evident in his tone.

She shrugged her shoulder. “All in a day’s work, right?”

Mac Duncan took a preliminary statement from her before he turned to James. “I’ll follow you to the hospital and get your statement there.”

James opened his mouth but quickly shut it again. She could tell he wanted to object to the ride in the ambulance but remained silent. The muscles in his jaw bunched together, his annoyance clear, but he acquiesced. Her estimation of him went up again.

“I can drive your car to the hospital and meet you there,” she offered.

“Fine,” he said, tossing his keys at her. When everyone was out of earshot he whispered, “You owe me one.” His words were casual but his tone sent a jolt through her. It was simultaneously menacing and sexual, not a combination she usually enjoyed, but from his mouth it held just the right amount of danger to make her tingle.

When Megan arrived at the hospital James was already being seen by a doctor; impressive, since it was a busy DC hospital and the ER waiting room was lined with people waiting to be seen.

Megan took a seat and picked up a copy of
People Magazine
. The edges were frayed and the main story was about the heroes of Hurricane Katrina. So not a recent issue she thought, as she tossed it back on the table.

“Mrs. McCoy,” the nurse at reception called.

Megan looked up. “Yes?”

“You can go back into examination room five if you want to wait with your friend.”

James Emerson was hardly a friend. She barely knew the man. She looked around the waiting room. At least twenty people were waiting, some bleeding, most just coughing like they had been nursing a ninety-a-day habit since infancy. God only knew the pathogens making their home here. An examination room with James suddenly seemed quite appealing.

A nurse showed her the way.

“Hi,” she said lamely when she saw James.

He nodded at her. “I’m getting stitched up. And a cast apparently.” James indicated his left hand.

She glanced down at his hand. It was swollen and an angry bruise had appeared across his knuckles.
Shouldn’t he be moaning or wincing or something? Shed a stray tear at least
. His face was mangled and he had a broken bone. When she stubbed her toe, the neighbours across the street knew about it. But James was sitting chatting quite happily like having his head split open was an everyday occurrence. “You broke your hand?” she asked.

“Looks like it. Your case better be airtight.”

“As long as my complaining witness doesn’t go all sentimental and change his mind because deep down you know he really does love you. And he only did it because he is such a passionate and misunderstood person.”

“Does that happen a lot?”

She nodded. “All the time. Domestic violence cases are a nightmare. Every second woman recants. There are always kids and dogs and grannies involved. It’s just ugly. Sorry you got caught up in it.”