Love, Lies & The D.A. (8 page)

“Yes.
Who’s this?”

“It’s
Jada. I’m so sorry. I called before but—”

“Well,
maybe you should take a hint!” she shouts then hangs up. I guess that answers
my question. Since I am not certain if his mother feels the same way, I arrange
to have some flowers sent to her along with a heartfelt card. I’ve tried. At
this point, I don’t want to cause his family any more grief than necessary.

I
guess Linda’s attitude must mean that she believes that I had something to do
with his death. I don’t expect anything from her. We were always just polite
with each other at family events. His mother was always sweet, though.

*     *     *

This
week has been difficult. Since I found out about Jada’s ex, when I’m not
working, I follow every public detail of her case.

I
barely know her, but I have to admit the way this woman has captivated my mind
leaves me wondering what I would do should her case ever come to my desk. I
hope and pray that it doesn’t.

On
many occasions, I argue points in her defense while I listen to some of the
media judge her and allude to her guilt. I’m thankful that she has a lawyer as
a brother who probably told her to keep her mouth shut from the very beginning
of this case.

Friday
is two days away, and while I am looking forward to seeing Howard and his wife,
I’m hoping that, somehow, I run into Jada.

*     *     *

The
next couple of days quietly go by. No new twists or turns and no police raids
or arrests, but it gives me time with my brother.

Bobby
suggests that we enjoy something fun in the area this Friday night, but my mood
all day has been iffy. It’s almost seven in the evening, and I still can’t seem
to pull myself together. Perhaps it’s because somewhere in my subconscious, I
am aware that if all had gone according to plan, we should have been at a big
dinner party right now. All our closest family and friends would have been
there getting ready for the big day tomorrow.

I flip
through the TV channels aimlessly, and I pause on a live show with a bunch of
women talking.

The
blonde one says, “She loves her fiancé, but because he screws up once, she can,
within hours, cut him completely out of her life. She never really was in love
in the first place.”

I
realize that they’re discussing my life, talking about me, and now I’m curious,
so I keep watching.

The
feisty redhead replies, “The man was a philanderer! If the rumors are true, she
caught him doing
the business
with her best friend, in her home.”

How
the hell could they have possibly found that out?

“That’s
not just one betrayal you have to deal with, it’s two,” the redhead continues.
“Can you imagine finding all this out just days before your wedding?”

 “Look,
just because the woman was hurt doesn’t mean she’d go crazy and kill the man or
have him killed,” says a brunette.

Thank
you.

“Well,
there’s also a rumor that she might have done this for money,” the blonde
insists.

“Give
me a break. She owns one of the most glamorous luxury hotel chains in
California. She doesn’t need his money. In case you hadn’t noticed, her net
worth is at least ten times his.”

Really?

“Well,
I think she did it,” the blonde exclaims. “I think she did it because she was
pissed off at him, and she didn’t want her best friend to end up with her man.”

They
could have had each other for all I care.

“You’re
not making any sense. If that were the case, wouldn’t she ignore what she saw
and gone on with the wedding anyway?”

My
head is spinning. I’ve had enough. I shut the TV off and head into the living
room. I hear Bobby’s voice. He’s talking to a woman. I realize they’re on
Skype. It must be Val. My guess is right. He introduced me to her yesterday.
She seems perfect for him. I quietly wave then head over to the kitchen to get
something to drink. I’m hungry. I look in the microwave but Big Brother didn’t
cook anything.

Moments
later, he ends the call.

“Go
get dressed. I’m taking you to dinner,” he commands.

“It
doesn’t sound like I have a choice.”

“You
don’t.” He smiles.

I
throw on a cream sweater dress and let my hair loose over one shoulder. With a
tad of makeup, I throw on some matching stilettos, and I’m out in a record
twenty minutes.

“You
look nice,” my brother says as we step into the car.

“Nice…
thanks, that’s just the word we women are always dying to hear.”

“If
Val were in that dress, I’d tell her that she looks hot… but you’re my sister.”

“
Immm
hmmm
.” I laugh.

“So
tell me about Jonathan,
the asshole
.”

I try
to stifle my gasp. “What?”

“You
heard me.”

For
some unknown reason, I find myself blushing uncontrollably, and I’m thankful
for the cover of the night’s darkness.

“I don’t
know what you’re talking about,” I lie.

“Is
that so?”

“Jonathan
is Charles’s son. He’s the DA in San Francisco.”

“Is
that all he is?” he asks.

“Yes.
What are you getting at?”

“You
really need to be careful what you say in your sleep?”

Shit.

“What exactly
did I say?”

“Well,
on two separate occasions, once in the car when we drove back from Reno and
this afternoon when you slept on the couch, you mentioned him in your sleep.”

“Well,
it’s nothing you need to be worried about.”

“I’m
not worried. I find it intriguing.”

“Well,
it’s nothing to be intrigued about,” I retort. “He’s an obnoxious jerk, and our
paths managed to cross each other’s a few times.”

“Right…”
he replies, seemingly unconvinced.

I can
tell because he has that stupid grin on his face.

“Bobby,
what’s your point?”

“Nothing…
nothing…” he sings.

I have
no idea where we’re going, but he pulls through some stately gates. After a bit
of a drive through well-lit manicured grounds, we arrive at a parking lot. Through
the buildings and the trees, I can see the silvery moonlight sparkling over the
midnight blue waters. My brother knows me well. Take me to a place with natural
beauty and I’m happy.

We
enter the building, and all around from left to right, the large fixed glass
windows seem to brace the log-vaulted ceilings. It overlooks panoramic lake
views. I don’t think I can ever get tired of this place.

“This
is beautiful. How did you find it?”

“The
internet. You realize we’re in Nevada?”

“I
didn’t notice. This is awesome. I hope the food is as good as the place looks.
I’m starving.”

“The
reviews were excellent.”

We’re
in the
middle of dinner when I get the strange feeling that
someone is watching me. I scan the room, and my eyes collide with his piercing
greys. I freeze. He smiles and raises his glass in acknowledgement. I smile and
tip my head in return. If only we could have been so pleasant with each other
the last time we were together.

He
sits in a party of about six. It’s two guys with four women. I can’t remember
what
Malibu Barbie
looks like, but I’m pretty sure that she’s not
included in that group. Bobby follows my gaze.

“Who’s
that?”

“
Mr.
Asshole
,” I reply.

He
nearly chokes on his wine.

“Jonathan
Kole?”

“Yep,
the one and only.”

“He’s
your type.”

“I don’t
have a
type
. And don’t be fooled; looks can be deceiving. All he is is a
jerk wrapped up in nice packaging.”

“Is
that what you’ve been telling yourself?”

“Give
me a break. He’s rude, entitled, and he has no respect for people that he deems
as below him. As we’d say back home, he has no
broughtupsy
—absolutely no
manners.”

“And
you deciphered all of this after only one encounter?”

“Actually,
three.”

“Did
you two date?”

“No,”
I exclaim. “My first encounter was last weekend at brunch. He wanted me to
change my seat so he could make some grand proposal to his girlfriend.”

“What’s
so bad about that?”

“Nothing…
if he’d asked politely. However, he was rude to the host and to me. Pulling
that ‘don’t you know who I am?’ garbage on me.”

“He
said that?”

I nod.

“What
did you say?” he continues.

“I
told him he could be the king of England and I wouldn’t give a damn.”

Bobby
laughs.

“Then
there was a minor accident out in the parking lot, and I scratched his precious
Bentley trying to avoid a seventeen-year-old in an out of control Corvette.”

“You
didn’t tell me this.”

“It
wasn’t a big deal. That’s where the scratch on my front bumper came from. The
boy’s father agreed to pay for the damage. I haven’t gotten around to it yet. I’ll
send it to the dealer the next time I’m in San Francisco.”

“You
said three.”

“What?”

“You’ve
told me two. You said you had three encounters.”

“Oh.
David called later that day… the accident boy’s father. Actually, right after I
got off the phone with you last Sunday. He invited me to dinner at his house
later that evening.
Mr. Asshole
was invited as well. Unfortunately, I
found out after it was too late.”

“Interesting.
So did you two exchange words at dinner too?”

“For a
short time, but we managed to be on our best behavior for most of the night.
That is, until he dropped me home.”

“Wait,
where did that come from? Why’d he have to drop you home?”

“David
lives down the road, so I walked. It’s just three houses down the street.
Anyway, they insisted he drop me off. Quite frankly, I was grateful. The
temperature had dropped drastically that night.”

“So no
goodnight kiss?”

“Absolutely
not!” I look at him, stunned by his question. “I said some rude things and he
took some low blows. By the time we got to the house, he insinuated I was a
rich bitch and I told him he was an asshole. So you see, the feelings are
mutual.”

“Right…”
he replies, looking at me curiously. “So where was his fiancée that night?”

“He
said she turned down his proposal. Smart girl…”

“Fascinating.”

“What’s
so fascinating about that?”

“Nothing…”

“Which
one is she?” he asks, referring to the group at the table.

“I don’t
think I see her here. Maybe that caused them to break up.”

He laughs
sarcastically.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re
holding out on me.”

“No. I’m
not.”

“You’re
a liar.”

“I’m
not,” he laughs. “Dessert?”

“Sure,”
I reply. “Excuse me. I need to use the ladies’ room. Order me something nice.”

“Sure
thing…” He stands as I leave the table.

In the
bathroom, I look into the mirror checking my outfit and making sure my makeup
is perfect. Suddenly, it crosses my mind that
that asshole
told the
police where I was. Is he out to get me like the rest of the SFPD? I bet he’s
dying to get me onto a stand so he can tear me apart.

I
return to the table. A massive piece of chocolate cake awaits me with a glass
of wine.

“Thanks
for dessert,” I say. “Do you think he was the one that told the police where I
was? Do you think he’s keeping tabs on me?”

“Jada,
you’re being paranoid. Prosecutors aren’t part of the investigative process… most
of the time. That’s the police’s job.”

“But
he knew where I lived. The police knew exactly where to find me.”

“Sweetie,
the police could find out where you were in a hot second. Any email or cell
phone signal could give them an idea if not an exact location of where you
were. They don’t need him to do that.”

“I
hope you’re right. Two weekends in a row? Don’t DA’s work their asses off
through the weekends?”

“Some
do. Some play it smart. Some delegate.”

“Oh
yes—to the little people,” I reply sarcastically.

“I
think you’re wrong about him. He likes you.”