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“The victim’s account of last night doesn’t match the accused’s MO,” Chase says as he flips the page in the report.
The ACA sitting at the table across from us leans forward, swiping a stray hair from her vision. “Then you admit your client has an MO.” She’s young, and her raised eyebrows give away too much of her thoughts, even though she’s doing a good job of that all on her own.
Chase isn’t fazed by her accusation. Instead, he continues to read the victim’s statement without any acknowledgment her way. “Accused, Miss Garcia. Doctor Bates has been accused three times and stood trial, all accounts inciting a specific routine.” He does look up once he’s finished with the report. “Or ritual, if you will. This, however, is a clear witch hunt. So now, every time a rape is reported anywhere within three counties, the Commonwealth is going to waste precious time by first harassing my client rather than conducting an investigation.” He crosses his arms. “Good to know.”
I’ve seen Chase in action before, during preliminaries and on news broadcasts, but I’ve never been this close to him while he’s in fighter mode. He exudes a dominance that ripples over my skin, heating my flesh. The woman across from him feels it, too. She touches her hair again and glances down, a clear sign she’s affected.
She’s as much out of her depth with him as I am.
After she clears her throat, she pushes another report across the table. “The scope of the warrant included Doctor Bates’ computer.”
“Oh, come on,” Chase says, his tone mocking. “How did you even get that pushed through? What judge did you stroke off?”
She blanches at his lewd allegation, and I can’t stop the smile that twists my lips.
“You know this will be thrown out,” Chase continues. “There was no probable cause for a search of this scope. So what else do you have?”
“The victim’s testimony should be enough, Mister Larkin,” she fires back. “I know you’re used to getting your way, but you won’t intimidate me. This is not a witch hunt. Malcolm Bates was the last interaction the victim had before she was attacked. In her own home. Both the victim’s and Bates’ metadata confirm they were in contact. And here,” she says, pointing to a bulletin point on the report. “You can read for yourself. The perpetrator used surgical gloves during the attack.” She tilts her head. “I know that you have many high profile clients, but maybe you should refresh yourself with the details of your own case. The MO of the previous victims all stated the perpetrator wore surgical gloves. Like a doctor. Like your client.”
For dramatic effect, she stands, collecting her laptop and folders. “And of course, there’s the evidence of the email the victim sent just prior to the attack.” She glances between us, smug. “The one containing the victim’s address as per their agreed ‘hook-up.’ I think we’re done.”
Before she marches off, I turn toward Chase and silently ask permission to address her. “Wait, Miss Garcia. I believe my assistant has something to add.”
I thought he’d want to know first, but I guess this is where the trust comes in. I suck in a breath, let it out slowly. “What about the time?” I ask.
She shakes her head, her dark hair slipping over her shoulder. “Can you be more specific?”
“The metadata, according to the report, states the victim sent the email at 10:15 p.m. But the distanc
e between the victim’s house and Bates’ residence is calculated to be fifteen minutes. She claims she was attacked in her living room, while she was still on her laptop.” I nod, urging her to catch on. “Six minutes after the email was sent. And the metadata also confirms that Bates didn’t open the email until two minutes prior to the victim’s attack.”
Her mouth parts, and she looks at Chase as if to address him rather than me. “Circumstantial. He could’ve already been in route when he received the email. To which he opened on his phone.”
“I don’t think so,” Chase cuts in. “Miss Wilde is correct. The metadata clearly states the email was received by his home IP address. Which means, you must have some exculpatory evidence for us.”
The ACA curses under her breath as she tweaks a report from her folder. She slaps the report on the table. “I only just received this before you arrived, Mister Larkin. It still needs to be investigated.”
The report is a record of Bates’ Internet activity at the time of the rape. Most of which is clearly visits to porn sites and a dark fetish site.
Chase’s mouth kicks up into his devilish smile. The one that highlights his dimple. The one I love. “Your time would be best spent on investigating the actual rapist, Miss ACA Garcia,” he says.
She releases a huff of frustration. “It’s a technicality that will be scrutinized closer, I assure you.”
He tucks the report away before he stands, offering me his hand to rise beside him. “Not a technicality, but a fact that clears my client for the time being.”
Once she leaves the room, Chase pulls me against his chest. His hand slips down and he tugs up my skirt. I gasp in a breath at the feel of his rough caress between my thighs.
“There’s a camera in here,” I whisper.
His gaze locks on to the camera in the corner. “Even if it wasn’t off, that wouldn’t stop me from touching you.” My hands grasp for the table behind me, seeking support as he pushes my underwear aside and possessively takes what he wants. “Are you going to stop me?”
He knows I won’t. And I am under no delusion that his intention is not to demean me right here, the notion that someone can walk in on us at any moment adding to my increasing humiliation. He’s not just enjoying it; he’s feasting off it.
The abrasive stubble of his cheek rubs against my face as he lowers his mouth to my neck, the feel more desperate and immediate, heightening this erotic secret between us.
My pulse accelerates, triggering pressure to the spot he’s expertly working. But just as suddenly, the fear and excitement dissipate as he pulls away.
“I’m more than tempted to take you right here on this table,” he says, adjusting his erection. “But let’s get Bates out of processing before they try to question him. Then I’ll take my time with you.”
