Outside the Law

Mitch sprawled onto the sofa, feeling a little better after his brutal workout, a stinging shower and ingesting a few calories. “All right, Bethy, lay it on me. Say what you have to say.”

“First, Mitch, Daniel wants you to know that he doesn’t—that no one at work thinks you killed anyone. The notion is preposterous.”

As hard as he was trying to remain detached, his coworkers’ faith in him touched something soft inside him. “Thank you. That means a lot.”

“That said, are you out of your mind?”

Mitch sat up, startled by her vehemence. “Excuse me?” He’d been expecting a much gentler approach from Beth. Some sympathy, maybe.

“You practically told a law enforcement officer to go to hell. I don’t care if he’s related to you. He was acting in his official capacity.”

Mitch shook his head. “It might have looked that way to you, but it was personal. He was doing his level best to embarrass me.”

“Why?” Beth asked. “Why would he do that?”

He looked at her, an angry retort on the tip of his tongue, then squelched whatever he’d been about to say. She was asking out of genuine concern, not prurient interest.

“A long and ugly family history,” he finally said. “Dwayne doesn’t have my best interest at heart.”

“So why don’t you stand up to him? Accept his challenge, prove him wrong.”

“Look, I appreciate your concern. But the police couldn’t possibly have any evidence against me. I didn’t kill Robby, and I don’t know anything about how he died. He was my buddy.”

“Mitch.” Beth stood and began pacing. “Who do you work for?”

“Is this a trick question?”

“You work for Project Justice,” she said, in a hurry to make her point. “And what is Project Justice’s mission statement?”

His gaze lingered on her trim calves and thighs. “To free those unjustly imprisoned for crimes they did not commit.” Every employee was required to memorize that statement and be able to quote it backward and forward.

“And how many people in this country are sitting in prison, right now, for crimes they didn’t commit?”

“You’re sounding a lot like Raleigh.” And he didn’t mean that as a compliment.

“Just answer.”

“The answer is unknown.”

“True. But it’s in the hundreds, possibly the thousands. How many people has Project Justice exonerated?”

The total was always posted in the lobby, but he hadn’t looked at it lately. “Sixty-three?”

“Seventy-two,” she corrected him.

“Look,” he said sensibly. “The police are on a fishing expedition. They couldn’t possibly have any evidence against me.”

Suddenly Beth sat down next to him, her face inches from his. “Mitch, listen to yourself. Do you have any idea how many of our clients were convicted on really bad evidence? Circumstantial evidence? Or no evidence? I’ll answer for you. A lot. And do you know what a lot of them say?”

Mitch could only shake his head. He’d never seen Beth grandstand like this. She could speak eloquently when called for, if it was about DNA or fibers or soil samples. But she never made impassioned speeches. Not around him, anyway.

Impatient, she answered the question for him. “They say, ‘If I’d known this could happen, I would have taken it more seriously.’” She skewered him so effectively with those big baby-blue eyes that he was afraid she’d soon push him out onto the patio and pop him onto his gas grill. “They say, ‘I would have hired a lawyer from the very beginning.’ Do you want to be one of those people? Do you want to hide your head in the sand until the cops show up with a warrant and handcuffs?”

The room went deathly quiet. Not even the air-conditioning fan whirred to break the silence. He couldn’t hear a bird outside or a passing car. Just the sound of his heart pounding in his ears.

Beth, all rosy-cheeked with her passion, was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.

Clearly she was waiting for him to say something.

“You think I should go to Coot’s Bayou and answer their questions?”

Beth seemed to remember herself. She scooted a few inches away from him, looked down and cleared her throat. “Yes.”

“And you think I need to hire a lawyer?”

Beth, looking a bit shell-shocked by her own outburst, squeaked out an answer. “Don’t you dare let the police question you without one. Raleigh will go. Eventually you might have to hire someone from the area who knows the local justice system, but she said she can handle the preliminary questioning.”

“Won’t hiring a lawyer just make it look like I have something to hide?” He couldn’t believe he was actually considering taking Beth’s advice. But she had made several good points.

“You know what cops do when a suspect agrees to be questioned without a lawyer, right? They stand up and cheer. You used to work for a police department.”

“Just computer stuff,” he said with a shrug. “I wasn’t anywhere near where they questioned suspects.”

“Well, know this. A good interrogator can trip you up six ways to Sunday, and every word you say can come back to haunt you during a trial. Let Raleigh be there for you.”

“Raleigh has her own cases to manage,” he argued, even though arguing was the first step toward defeat. He should have refused to even discuss this with Beth. But he couldn’t bring himself to fling any more harsh words at her. “Traveling to Louisiana to answer ridiculous accusations flung at a coworker falls way outside her job description.”

“Daniel made it clear,” Beth said quietly. “You are his—everyone’s—priority right now.”

“I appreciate this unnecessary outpouring of concern,” he tried again. “But as I’ve said before—”

“He’s going to fire you, Mitch!” Beth said suddenly.

“What?”

“Or suspend you or put you on paid leave or something,” she amended. “But he said he can’t have a murder suspect working at Project Justice. It could jeopardize everything he’s worked for.”

“Ah. So the concern isn’t really for me.”

“You’re being deliberately obtuse. Would you please just get your ass over to Louisiana to answer the damn charges?”

“Do I have a choice?” He was getting pissed off all over again, though he knew Beth was only the messenger. A suddenly sexy messenger. Every time her passion rose, so did his. Sure, he’d thought about what it would be like to go to bed with her. She was more than average pretty with a curvy little body that begged for a man’s most lavish attention. But he’d always dismissed the notion as ridiculous—first because they were coworkers, second because they were friends, and third…well, third, she needed a nice boyfriend. She’d gone to a private Catholic girls’ school, for cryin’ out loud. And he was a Cajun street punk. He didn’t know the first thing about how to treat a sweet, classy woman like Beth.

“Just give the word,” she said, unaware of where his thoughts had skipped, “and Raleigh will arrange for a meeting tomorrow morning. The two of you will drive down first thing.”

Dammit all to hell. This wasn’t going to go away. “Fine. I’ll go. But I want you there, too.”

“M-me? Why?”