Powerful Love Page 2

  Looking back, I gave the boys a nod and they let her in, apologizing as they did. I waited until she caught up. I didn’t trust myself to touch her, I was too far gone in a mess of emotions that were too powerful to predict.

  Cara linked her hand under my arm, holding onto me at my bicep. She’d been right that the main part of the bar was no place to have the conversation we needed to have. I led her toward the back of the bar, to the staircase. The second floor was for VIP’s but there were also a few rooms that could be used for private entertainment or meetings.

  “We’ll be using room two,” I told man posted at the bottom of the stairs.

  “Room three and four are open, Mr. De Serra,” The man said as I started up the stairs.

  I stopped climbing them and looked down at the man who was stupid enough to talk back to me when I was in the state of mind to strangle someone. “Good. Then whoever the fuck is in room two can use one of those rooms.”

  He nodded. “Yes, boss.” He tapped his earpiece telling the guys up top to clear out room two.

  Cara watched me and I could see she thought I was too harsh with the man on the stairs. Part of me wanted to tell her just how lucky the guy was that I wanted answers more than I wanted to spend my anger, or he would’ve been choking on my foot down his throat.

  I didn’t.

  When we reached the top of the stairs the door to room two stood open and a handful of staff were inside cleaning and wiping the room down. They filed out as soon as I was spotted.

  The room still smelled of the lemon scented cleaner when we entered. “I’ll have scotch neat,” I told the man standing at the entrance to the room. “What will you have?” I asked Cara.

  “I’ll take water and a shot of bourbon please,” Cara told the man at the door.

  I gestured to one of the chairs hoping she recognized the invitation to sit. The door closed taking the music down several decibels.

  “I can see why you wanted to use this room. It’s very nice,” Cara said from a sitting position at the small table with her gaze directed upward toward the chandelier. There was also an oversized couch with plush, soft pillows. It looked more like a room out of a Victorian manner home than one you’d find in a bar.

  “Have the authorities figured out who killed him or why?”

  Cara sat up a bit straighter in the chair and shook her head at me.

  “When is the funeral? I’ll make sure it’s all taken care of and a great tribute to Jerome. Fuck, I can’t believe he’s gone.”

  Cara looked toward the closed door like she was considering using it.

  “Cara?”

  She stood up, still holding the clutch. “Like I said, I thought you heard about Jerome. The funeral is done and over.”

  “When?” I asked. It was the first time I’d ever seen Cara look like she was afraid. I put myself between Cara and the exit.

  Her green eyes were wet and glistening as she looked at me. “It was nearly four months ago.”

  Four months.

  I could feel all that anger and pain compacting, preparing to launch at the target I’d just been given in Cara.

  The door opened and a waitress delivered the drinks. She left quickly, not asking if there was anything else we might require.

  I watched Cara throw back her shot.

  “Didn’t want to make it to the six month mark before you let me know that my best friend was murdered?”

  “I thought you’d-”

  I don’t remember taking the steps to invade her space. One minute I was across the room and then next I was towering over her petite frame. “Don’t fucking lie to me Cara. You already showed up looking like a fucking, desperate animal in heat in that slutty getup you have on. Don’t make me lose the last shred of respect I have for you by lying to me.”

  Her green eyes narrowed on mine. “Fine. You’re right. I didn’t tell you and I should have. I didn’t because I was still mad at you and raw from my brother just having been murdered. I didn’t want to have to deal with you and all your shit at my brother’s funeral.”

  I took a small step back, trying to reel in my temper.

  “I kept waiting for you to show up but when you didn’t I knew you didn’t hear about his funeral. Then when I haven’t heard from you since, I knew you still didn’t know.” She exhaled and took a small sip from the tall glass of water. “As time passed I chose to focus in on finding out who killed him and why, but the police have pushed Jerome’s case to the back of the line. I need your help and your influence to get his case back to the front.”

  The scotch was gone before I even knew I was drinking it. I was so pissed off I could’ve destroyed the room or that fucking excuse for a dress she was wearing. I knew I wasn’t in the right state of mind to talk with Cara. Not when she’d just confessed to deliberately taking away my opportunity to say goodbye to Jerome before he was buried.

  “I know you hate me for being selfish about this and probably for what happened in the past between us. Can you help me for Jerome’s sake?”

  I looked at Cara with all the raw, fury, and agony that I felt inside as I pushed the button on the wall next to the door.

  “For the record, I didn’t wear this for you. I can see you need time. I’ll write my number down for you and go.” She unzipped the clutch and fished out a pen and business card. She turned it over and wrote on the back.

  The door opened and the waitress stepped inside. “Can I help you sir?”

  “Yes. Bring me the bottle and see that Miss Younger is put safely into a cab.”

  Cara left the card on the table and followed the waitress from the room. I stood in the doorway watching her go, knowing that Jerome wouldn’t want me to be angry with his little sister, and knowing at the same time he wouldn’t want me watching her with the hunger I still felt for her.

  This is some fucked up shit.

  Cara

  “Claude, you have to keep pushing for me, I know you can give me more than that,” I encouraged one of my new patients. He was recovering from ankle surgery and was supposed to be pushing the ball of his foot against my hand but he was too afraid of the pain.

  I felt like a hypocrite telling him to dive right into the pain when I’d been avoiding mine for much longer than four months. “There you go, now we’re in business,” I encouraged as soon as he gave me more of a push.

  “I hate that pinching feeling,” he complained as we finished up the last of his rehabilitation workout.

  “I know it, but we’ll get you set up with an ice treatment and that’ll take down the swelling. Keep it elevated for the rest of the day, alright?”

  He nodded, but the frown that bowed his lips when I mentioned the ice remained in place. I did my best to give him a lot of encouragement and finally got a little smile out of him before I left him with the ice boot on his foot.

  “You look like an abused puppy today, Cara. What’s the deal? Did the meeting with the lawyer guy really go so poorly?” Nell asked me before I could get out of the room where people were getting ice and heat treatments.

  “It wasn’t much of a meeting, Nell. That’s why there isn’t much to tell. I met with him, he was pissed at me as he has every right to be and now he’s thinking it over whether or not he’ll help me.”

  “Every right to be? What’d you do?”

  I glanced around us to see if anyone was listening in. “This discussion probably has to wait until lunch.”

  “Yeah, I knew you’d say that, that’s why I waited to ask you until lunchtime.”

  I looked at the clock on the wall and was surprise that Nell was right. Where had the morning gone?

  Nell linked her arm with mine and took me out the back exit. “Get in, we’re going to Adelaide’s.”

  I didn’t argue with her or try to convince her that I didn’t need a middle of the day drink as I usually did when she tried to push Adelaide’s on me. I think that must be the reason why she didn’t start throwing questions at me again until we were in our
favorite booth at Adelaide’s with one Long Island Iced tea in front of her and a Strawberry Margarita in front of me.

  “Why’d he have the right to be pissed at you?” Nell asked, as I tasted my sweet, crushed iced drink.

  Plucking one of the strawberries from the rim of my drink, I took a bite. “You know how Jerome was really protective of me and he never liked any of the guys I dated. Well, his friends weren’t good enough for me either and he made it clear to both me and Tony that he didn’t ever want us to get romantic. Obviously, you know how that went. Jerome blamed Tony and said they weren’t friends anymore. Tony broke up with me even though Jerome said nothing would ever make him trust Tony again.”

  “Damn, Jerome was one serious guy. Huh? I never saw that side of him.”

  “Yeah. He could be. Anyway, I… didn’t take the break up well.”

  Nell nodded. “I bet it’s why you pick dumb asses like Darice, to date.”

  I gave her my best disapproving look. “It’s why I didn’t tell him that Jerome had passed away. He wasn’t invited to the funeral, and last night… it was really obvious that he still didn’t know that Jerome is gone.”

  “Shit.” Nell leaned forward and sucked hard on the straw.

  “I just didn’t want to try and sort through all the feelings I had for Tony while I was at my brother’s funeral. I know it was selfish. It was … awful of me. Wasn’t it?”

  Nell’s blue eyes rounded and she squeezed my hand. “I think when you’re mourning the passing of your last known living relative you’re allowed to be selfish. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

  I followed her lead and sucked hard on my straw, gulping down the sweetly flavored alcohol that I hoped will dull my guilt.

  “And… did you wear the outfit you were going to wear for Darice on your date?”

  “Yeah but don’t get too excited. He told me I looked like a needy, desperate animal in heat.”

  Nell snorted and then held up her hand when I glared at her. “I’m laughing because he said you looked like that because it was how you made him feel. He probably wanted to cum all over you.”

  I looked around to see if anyone heard her as I scolded her. “Nell, oh my gosh! Stop that. I’m telling you it’s not like that. I’m not looking to hook up with him again. I’m with Darice. I have a really great, successful, sexy boyfriend.”

  “Successful? Yes. Sexy? Oh, hell yes. Great boyfriend? Not so much.”

  “Really? You’ve kept it such a mystery about how you feel about me and Darice,” I said and then laughed at my own joke.

  Nell rolled her blue eyes upward toward her recently bleached blond hair. “Okay, so he was mad but tell me this, did you feel anything?”

  “Did I feel anything? Like feel him?”

  Nell closed her eyes giving me a disgusted shake of her head. “That old feeling? A spark? Chemistry? Because, I’ll tell you what, you don’t feel it with Darice.”

  “Ouch, Nell. Damn. Long Island’s take you to a whole new level of brutal honesty.”

  “I’d need more than one to really get me honest,” Nell laughed.

  My phone chimed in my pocket.

  It was the text message alert sound I’d assigned to numbers that I didn’t know and the mixture of anticipation and anxiety that pulsed through me had me pulling the phone out of my pocket like it’d just bit me.

  “It’s from him isn’t it? What does it say?”

  I read the text to her, “Be at 357 Hillard Grove by seven tonight-Antonio.”

  “Not a man of many words, is he?”

  “One more word would’ve helped. Please isn’t an unheard of term.”

  I re-read the text over and over not liking the tone of the text but at the same time feeling hopeful that he was willing to meet with me and help with Jerome’s case.

  “I think he’s going to help you. You should go.”

  Should had nothing to do with it. I had to go. Jerome deserved to have his killer brought to justice.

  “Darice is not going to take it well that I’m canceling plans with him twice in a row.”

  Nell grinned. “Boo-hoo, poor rich playboy.”

  Antonio

  “Are you … I mean… are you really sure you want me to give the closing argument?” Moira Haze asked me for the fourth time.

  I handed her my notes that I’d prepared for myself, but that was before I’d learned that my best friend was murdered. “You are the best choice. The jury is familiar with you since you participated in cross examination of the witnesses, when I had that thing with the governor come up and you did a kick ass job.”

  Moira blushed, her pale cheeks gaining color quickly and then spreading to the rest of her face. She was a hard worker and yeah, I knew she had a thing for me but she wasn’t a slut trying to sleep her way to the top. The young woman actually thought she kept her crush on me from my notice.

  The blushing gave her away every time.

  “If you trust me with this then I’ll do it,” she said.

  “I knew you would, Moira. You never let me down.” Sliding into my wingback chair behind the oversized desk I pressed a key to wake up my computer.

  Moira said something else before she left but I was already thinking about how I was going to spend the day going over the casefile on Jerome Younger. I was sure there was going to be so much to sift through that I’d be too swamped to make it to court.

  I logged in to the secure system and began to search under his name. At first glance, it looked like I had a lot of information but as I clicked and looked into the documentation I found that most of what I was coming up was nothing more than what was printed in newspapers.

  Jerome Younger fell victim to a robbery gone bad. That wasn’t information. It didn’t even detail how he died. It would tell me something about the killer if I knew the method he’d used.

  “Sir?” Maven Terrell said as he opened my door. “The file you said you were waiting for is here.” He set the file on my desk but didn’t leave afterward so I knew there was something else.

  “Yes?”

  “You asked Ms. Haze to give the closing arguments and I was…. I want to know why you didn’t pick me.”

  I looked up from my computer, seeing that the envelope with the requested file was skinny. “Maven, I appreciate you being direct, so I’ll be equally direct.”

  “Yes, please.”

  “You grand stand too much. The last time you gave a closing argument, you made yourself the spotlight. The guilt of the accused is what must take center stage.”

  Maven nodded even as he cursed under his breath. “I appreciate your candor sir,” he said though his tone belied his words.

  I picked up the envelope and opened it. The file was even thinner than it appeared when it was inside the padded envelope. “Anything else?” I asked noting he was still in my office.

  “No. No sir.”

  “I actually do have one more thing I’d like to tell you,” I said, probably because I was still a bit hungover and because I was furious that there was so little information available about what happened to Jerome.

  Maven paused by the door.

  “Don’t take out your shortcomings on Moira. Own them if you want my respect. And for shit’s sake stop fucking all the interns who come through this office. This isn’t a dating pond, it’s a place of work, law, and justice.”

  He nodded but didn’t dare look at me before he slid out of my office.

  I opened the file and began to read the summary of events written by the officer who investigated the murder. The victim identified as one Jerome Duane Younger, age 35, African American decent, bi-racial parentage, was found dead in his vehicle at approximately five hundred and thirty hours.

  It appears the victim was surprised by a carjacking assailant. The victim shows signs of putting up a fight on his person with abrasions to his wrists, knuckles, face, chest and throat as photographed.

  The victim appears to have died do to strangulation from behind with the
use of a chord or rope that was not recovered at the scene.

  There are no witnesses coming forward other than the individual who found the car and body and called it in to police. This witness claims to have found the body when she was leaving for work and found that the victim’s car was blocking her exit.

  I turned the page only to find that apparently that was all the investigating officer wrote about the case. No approximate time of death. No mention of what was stolen, or what type of injuries were observed.

  Son of a bitch. I’m gonna kick this guy’s ass.

  A photograph of the car, a beat-up, rust marked, 1997 Buick Century, in gray with no rims, cracked paint, and graffiti tags all over it.

  “Because that looks like the kind of car some hood would want to rob. This is fucking ridiculous.” The next picture was with the door open and a side shot of Jerome in the front seat. He was facing the camera, his green eyes half closed. He was wearing the same fucking letterman jacket he always wore. He said it reminded him where he came from and what he did to get out of the bad situation he was born into.

  What happened Jero? Who did this to you?

  Next picture was of the back seat, which was clean aside from the cracks in the vinyl pleather covering of the seats but it was from wear. I looked through pictures of the backseat that were useless, clean trunk pictures, and far too many pictures of the outside of the vehicle.

  When I got to the back of the file, there was a list of what the file was meant to contain it made a lot more sense. The file was missing, basically everything that would be of help.

  “This is fucking bullshit.” I picked up my phone and dialed the police department directly. “I need to speak to Officer…” I looked at the file again for the name. “Scott Darket. Detective Darket. This is State District Attorney Antonio De Serra.”

  “I’m sorry Mr. De Serra but Detective Darket retired about six weeks ago.”

  “I need to speak with him about a case he worked before his retirement. Can you please give me his contact information?”