Lanie's Lessons

Lanie’s Lessons

By

Maddie Taylor

Copyright © 2014 by Stormy Night Publications and Maddie Taylor

Copyright © 2014 by Stormy Night Publications and Maddie Taylor

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Published by Stormy Night Publications and Design, LLC.

www.StormyNightPublications.com

Taylor, Maddie

Lanie’s Lessons

Cover Design by Korey Mae Johnson

Images by Jimmy Thomas at RomanceNovelCovers.com and Bigstock/Hawkeye978

This book is intended for
adults only
. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults.

Chapter One

“Not guilty.”

Anguished wails of distress and loud cursing erupted from the audience that had crowded into the standing room only courtroom. The long awaited verdict was not what they wanted to hear. For five long, grueling months, the murder trial had been a media circus. Now, right or wrong, the decision had been made and the proceedings were over.

Weak kneed, defense attorney Melanie Fischer wanted to sink into her chair in relief, but her steely disposition wouldn’t allow it. She didn’t reveal a trace of emotion, neither a glimmer of elation as one would expect at her victory, nor the horror she actually felt deep inside. No. She was the Ice Queen and any reaction would have been out of character. She was exhausted, but she tried not to let that show either. She’d worked her ass off for months before the case ever came to trial. Almost a full year of her adult life had been consumed by it. There was the sentencing phase and the inevitable appeal yet to come, but for the most part, she was done with her disturbing client.

As she glanced over at Morton Deevers, she struggled to suppress a shudder while her skin crawled. She watched as the familiar smirk of confidence spread across his thin lips and as always, a chill raced up her spine. Deevers celebrated with his elderly mother and equally creepy friend; his only support in the room that day. What would it take to forget his squinty-eyed gaze, or the greasy strands of hair that he swept from just above his right ear, up and over his sparsely haired head, and swirled around his crown in a ridiculously pathetic attempt at a comb-over? Would she forever see the buttons of his shirt straining to contain the girth of his huge potbelly? And the disgusting popping sound his knuckles made as he repeatedly cracked them, would that forever haunt her dreams? As bad as he looked, his personality was worse—snide, condescending, nasty—and he had a skin crawling snicker. He tried to hide this from the jury, being quiet and respectful. He saved his nastiness for when the cameras and court weren’t watching. How such a disgusting human who had nothing whatsoever to be smug about got such an overinflated air of confidence was beyond her.

“How can you sleep at night, bitch? You lawyers have no souls.”

Ignoring the vicious insult from a faceless voice in the crowd, she gathered up her notes and tucked them into her briefcase. She’d heard it before. The slurs and hurled invectives stung, but she didn’t let it show. Never in public would she let her mask of detachment slip. If she gave in to the emotion, she’d be done.

“Bloodsucking whore.”

Huh! That was a new one.

“Your blood money won’t help when you’re rotting in hell!”

Okay, that one she’d heard, a few too many time.

Looking around for the security detail assigned to her, she spotted the sheriff’s deputies heading her way. As the uniformed men moved slowly through the crowd, she wondered if they could have found two less intimidating officers. At five foot six inches, her four-inch heels made her taller than either one of them and her one hundred and fifty pounds would probably tip the scales over them both as well. Still, they were better than nothing. As they moved slowly toward her, other insults and curses, as well as some epithets on her ancestors spewed forth from the angry onlookers.

“If he does it again, you’re as guilty as he is, lawyer cunt.”

Lanie tried hard and succeeded in hiding her involuntary reaction. The ‘c’ word always got to her. The message hit a nerve too. Did they think she hadn’t thought about that every day of the trial?

Nausea roiled in her stomach as the reality of what she’d done struck her. She had a hand in releasing this psychopath back into society and God help them if he acted again. Thankfully, he had charges pending out of state and there was another chance to put him away for good. He’d been accused of abducting and torturing another young woman to death, and the marshals were waiting to take him into custody as soon as he walked out of the courtroom. She’d heard the evidence was damning and with any luck, Dallas law enforcement was more skilled than the ones who investigated this case. Deevers’s new attorney had contacted her for case notes and told her he didn’t have a prayer for an acquittal. Thank God! Barring another prosecutorial fuck up, he would be found guilty and face the death penalty, because as luck would have it, he was being extradited to Texas.

Finally, the deputies arrived. Flanking her, they escorted her out the rear doors of the courtroom, bypassing the judge’s chambers through a long maze of corridors and more security to the back of the courthouse. Dodging a barrage of questions from the few reporters who had managed to find their way to the restricted rear entrance and parking lot, she rushed to the handsome man who waited beside a silver BMW sedan. On her approach, he opened the door.

“Lanie?” he inquired as she brushed past him, entered the vehicle and pulled in her feet.

“Please, Ethan. Get me the hell out of here before the vultures descend.”

He shut the door without another word and in the quiet that encompassed her, she sucked in a deep gulp of air and sank into the plush seat of his BMW. Closing her eyes, she counted to ten and collected herself. When she opened them again, she stared out the window at the vultures that were the tireless press and greedy paparazzi. Mercifully, Ethan had tinted glass.

The driver side door opened and her beleaguered husband folded his six foot three inch frame into his seat. Ignoring the persistent parasites with their clicking cameras and ridiculous questions, he slammed the door hard and locked it. “Damn leeches!” he growled.

“Please, Ethan. Don’t talk. Drive.”

“You got it, baby.” He’d left the key in the ignition and in seconds, the engine turned over. He revved it twice and honked the horn—a warning to any idiots who might be foolish enough to get in his way—and pulled out. A few minutes later, they hit the streets of Boston.

“What was the verdict?”

“Not guilty.” Her voice cracked faintly with emotion. If Ethan didn’t know her so well, she doubted he would have noticed. His eyes shifted to her and his hand reached across the center console and grabbed her icy one. He squeezed her cold fingers, clinging to him like a survivor cast adrift in a storm swept sea and he, her only lifeline.

Chapter Two

“You’ve got to settle, Lanie.”

Ethan watched with worried eyes as his wife paced their bedroom floor. His words didn’t slow her one bit. It was like this every time she was assigned a case like this. She wasn’t cut out to defend low-life thugs and known criminals, but as a junior associate at her firm, she was assigned the shit cases as was customary. Overworked and underpaid, the public defender’s office in Boston was giving away cases left and right. Lanie had already been assigned four high profile murder cases in as many years and she’d won every one of them. But her superiors didn’t care. They were throwaways, pro bono work where they didn’t care about the outcome.

She’d been very vocal about being assigned yet another one when Morton Deevers’s murder trial had landed on her desk. It was the last one, the partners had promised. If she took it without too much fuss, they’d all assured her, she’d be setting herself up nicely for a junior partnership. So, she’d gone along with it, worked her ass off, and once again gotten the acquittal. The trial had ended three months ago.

“They weren’t in the right place to take on another junior partner at this time,” she mimicked as she paced in clear agitation, “You’re on the shortlist when it’s time.” Coming to the end of the room, she spun on her heel and met his gaze, her blue eyes snapping with fire. “What a load of crap! They have no intention of making me a junior partner. Shortlist, my ass.”

He stood and crossed the room to her. “I know you’re upset, but swearing like a sailor isn’t going to help.”

“Actually, Ethan, it makes me feel a lot better to curse those sons of bitches.”

His hands cupped her shoulders, rubbing up and down along her smooth, bare arms. He could feel the tension beneath his fingers; she was wound as tight as a spring. Gathering her into his chest, he wrapped her up, one hand stroking soothingly down the length of silky hair that fell long and sleek down her back.

“How about some good news?”

“There’s such a thing? I was beginning to wonder.”

He reached behind her and picked up his phone from the nightstand. With a few swipes of his thumb, he pulled up the article and angled the screen toward her. She read the headline out loud. “Justice for Abbie Dolenz.”

A look of disbelief crossed her face as she grabbed the phone out of his hand and continued reading.

“A seven man, five woman jury brought back a guilty verdict in the case of the people vs. Morton Deevers on Monday in Dallas County after only twenty minutes of deliberation.”

She swayed on her feet and Ethan tightened his grip, steadying her. Leaning more fully against him, he felt her body tremble as she buried her face against his chest and began to murmur in a plaintive chant, her voice harsh and raw with emotion. “Thank God, thank God, thank you, dear God.”

Ethan caught her with little effort as she collapsed against him. She’d lost weight recently, at least fifteen pounds. Lifting her, he carried her to their bed and laid her back against the pillows. Sitting beside her, he stroked his hand over her cheek, brushing back a few wayward wisps of her honey blonde hair. His eyes scanned her face, pale and drawn from stress, her eyes appearing bruised with dark rings beneath them, even the light dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose and cheeks seemed to have faded somehow. He knew something had to give.

“Baby, you can’t keep on this way.

“If he’d gotten off again, Ethan, I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself.”

“You were doing your job, Lanie. Every defense attorney represents a few sleazebags in their career, it comes with the territory.”

“I can deal with sleazebags. This was a depraved psychopathic killer.”

He broached a subject that had caused arguments in the past. “You could get out of criminal law and leave this to someone without a conscience. You’ll live longer, and that would make me infinitely happy.”

“Four years, Ethan. I’ve given them my blood, sweat, and tears for four years. In that time I’ve taken everything they’ve thrown at me. I’ve immersed myself in defending the dregs of society, men so morally bankrupt and mired in filth that there isn’t enough soap and water in the world to make me feel clean. After all that they screw me like this.” Rising up on her elbows, she spoke her frustration. “Do you know they gave me another PD case today? Another murder, this time a child. Can you believe it?”

“I’m not sure what to say, baby. In a large law firm, junior associates get the scut work until they make partner. You knew that going in. So, you either have to learn to deal with it or move on. You know what my recommendation would be.” Ethan wanted her to quit. If she walked out tomorrow, he had no problem with it. He had the means to support them financially. She could take her time and decide what she wanted to do. If she wanted to stay at home and raise babies, be a lady of leisure or hang out her own shingle, he would support her decision, whatever it was. He couldn’t bear watching these cases eat at her and drag her down.

Collapsing back against the pillows, she threw an arm over her eyes. “Scut work… I pray for menial and tedious. I want to be treated fairly, not get stuck with all the crap that blows in that no one else wants.” Her hands came to her face, rubbing her temples, a sure sign of a headache. “Oh, Ethan, I was going to right all the injustice in the world, represent the innocent, and make a name for myself. For the good of society, not to become the heartless bitch that gets rapists and murders off with impunity. I hate myself some days.”