Bad Moon Rising by Katherine Sutcliffe Read Free Book Online Page B

steady. Any other time and she would be tempted to
slap the condescending smirk from his face, but she was in no position to allow
her temperament to get the best of her. J.D. Damascus was the only defense
between her and a possible murder conviction. “I was looking for a friend who
was supposed to meet this ... creep. She’s the hooker. Not me.”
    “Right.”
    “Hey, I thought an attorney was supposed to believe in
his client’s innocence.”
    “Did you or did you not shoot a man?”
    “He had a knife.”
    “Did he attack you?”
    “He had a knife.”
    “Did he attack you?”
    “When a man who is dressed in a black hood and cape
pulls a knife from said cape, one has reason to suspect that he intends to use
it. I had every right to defend myself.”
    “So who’s the friend?”
    “Melissa Carmichael.”
    He nodded and glanced around the cell. “I know Melissa.
She’s a client of mine. Specializes in kinky.” He shifted his weight to one hip
and crossed his arms over his chest. “So what were you doing there?”
    “Looking for Melissa. She was ... frightened. The girls always look out for one another, so I
was concerned, okay?”
    His mouth curved. “So you are a hooker.”
    She looked away. “No.”
    “So what’s a young lady such as yourself doing walking
around with a .38 in her possession?”
    “Why does anyone own a gun?”
    “To shoot someone?”
    “For protection.”
    “So where is Melissa?”
    “I don’t know. She didn’t show.”
    “How did you know where she was to meet this particular
john?”
    “She left a message on my cell phone. If you don’t
believe me, listen to it.”
    His gray eyes narrowed again. It was that look that
could unnerve the most cold-blooded killer to the root of his black heart—as
could the silence that filled up the space between them. The eyes, the
condescending smirk on his mouth, at another time in her life might have made
her confess to a crime she didn’t commit. It was a look that could convince a
soul they were guilty whether they were or not.
    She swallowed and tried to keep the tremor from her
voice. “Look, I shot him. I don’t deny it. But I’m telling you—”
    “Self-defense.” Again with the smirk, a tip of the
head, the gaze that slid over her from head to foot, then back to her eyes, his
own narrowing even more. She could almost hear his brain shifting through the
files in his memory. Damascus’s cutthroat courtroom techniques weren’t the
only reason defense attorneys had too often floundered in their
representations. The former assistant district attorney had a photographic memory
that could make a computer blow its circuits.
    “Do I know you?” he asked.
    There it was.
    “We’ve never met.”
    “You look familiar.”
    “Our paths might have crossed.” She cleared her
throat. “But we never met.”
    He slowly nodded, his inspection of her still intense.
“I know you.”
    “Hey, what difference does it make? I need a lawyer,
okay? I killed a man—”
    “No, you didn’t.” She blinked. “No?”
    “No.” He shook his head. “He’ll be sore as hell for a
few days, but he’ll survive to grate on my nerves yet another day.” He stepped
to one side, away from the cell door. “You’re free to go, Miss . .. Jones.”
    She blinked again, disbelief and relief rushing
through her in a hot wave. “Free?”
    He nodded, still smirking.
    “I don’t understand.”
    “No charges are being pressed against you.”
    “Just like that.”
    “Just like that.”
    “But—”
    “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, Miss Jones.
Just go and don’t look back.”
    Her gaze still locked on his lean face, she slowly
moved by him. He was still assessing her, she could tell.
    “You can retrieve your personal belongings, including
your weapon. That is if it’s registered and you have a permit.”
    “It’s registered and I have a permit.”
    He reached into his pocket and withdrew another couple
of tablets, popped them into his