Excerpt

Available now from Carina Press and
Kate McMurray

Senate candidate Parker Livingston chose his political dreams over a future with the man he loved. When a woman is found murdered in Parker’s apartment, Jackson is the only person Parker trusts to help clear his name.

Read on for the first chapter of Damage Control

Chapter One

The smug look on Reed’s face could only mean one thing. Some juicy financial crime had been exposed overnight, and Reed was already counting the money their firm would make from the case.

Jackson couldn’t help but speculate.

Embezzlement? Fraud? Some rich playboy caught with his pants down? He glanced at the deposition he’d been reading, wondering if the pile of work on his desk was more important than whatever Reed had to say. Probably it was. Jackson pushed the deposition aside anyway.

“Did you see the news today?” Reed asked, pulling Jackson’s door closed and settling into the spare chair.

“No. I haven’t had time to look yet. Some of us have jobs to do.”

“Ha. No, seriously, go to the Times website right now.”

“Or you could save us time and just tell me what happened.”

Reed had a knack for the dramatic. He sat up a little, waved his arms, and leaned forward. “An as yet unidentified woman was found brutally stabbed in an Upper West Side apartment last night.”

“Jesus.” Awful news, but not the sort of thing Reed would usually bug Jackson with. There must have been an interesting angle to the crime. “That’s terrible. Why do you seem gleeful about it?”

“You know that tech mogul running for Senate? Parker Livingston?” Jackson’s heart stopped. He froze until he realized Reed was looking at him expectantly. He nodded slowly.

“They found the body in his apartment.” Reed raised an eyebrow.

Good lord. “Is he a suspect?”

“Livingston? Not sure. It wasn’t clear from the story I read. The police haven’t released many details. But if he’s implicated in this at all, I think it’s safe to say his political career is over.”

“Yeah. Christ. What a mess.” Jackson’s words came out more flippantly than he felt. His heart pounded. He tried to school his face to hide how dizzy this news made him feel.

Reed grinned. “This is a tabloid goldmine. Can you imagine the splashy headlines and lurid photos? I haven’t seen the Post yet, but I’m picturing the puns. ‘Senator Slays!’ No, that’s not very good, what about—”

“I get it.” Jackson closed his eyes and was hit by an unshakable gut feeling: Park couldn’t be guilty. He wasn’t the violent type, first of all, but more than that, he was so goddamn careful about his public image that he would never be so sloppy as to leave evidence of a crime in his own home.

Of course, it had been quite some time since he’d seen Park. Five years or so. More than that, probably. “The Times is already calling this Livingston’s Chappaquiddick.” Reed ate gossipy nonsense like this for breakfast. “Not to be morbid. I mean, I’m sad that someone died. But Livingston is such a blowhard. Of course he’s got some shady business going on behind the scenes.”

Jackson pressed his lips together to keep from arguing. He wanted to protest Park’s innocence, even if he had no knowledge of it. He wanted to say that Park was a good person, that he knew firsthand about Park’s good heart. And he wanted to shake the sinking feeling in his gut that justice was about to be miscarried if he didn’t intervene in some way.

He never knew what to do with Reed’s delight in gruesome cases like this. Reed had distance because he hadn’t spent the years prosecuting homicides that Jackson had. He knew what it was like to talk to victims’ families, to work with investigators who had painstakingly pored over every hair and fiber to find crucial evidence, to stare at photos of blood spatter and bloated corpses. Jackson had quit the DA’s office to start his own firm precisely because he couldn’t stomach life as a prosecutor of violent criminals. So now he sat in a pillowy soft leather executive chair and worked primarily on cases involving financial crime, never the sorts of cases where someone had ended up in a coffin.

Jackson opened his mouth to ask if any other details had been in the news when his desk phone chimed. He hit the speaker. “Yes?”

“You’ve got a walk-in, Mr. Kane,” said Penny, Jackson’s secretary. Potential new clients showing up without appointments were rare but not unprecedented. Most showed up without realizing the firm’s hourly rate was well beyond what they could afford. Jackson was too startled—whether by the crime itself, by the mention of Park, or by both, it was hard to say—to humor someone who would balk at his fees, so he said, “I’m not seeing new clients today.”

“I know, but he’s quite insistent. Sir, you can’t—Sir, he’s in with someone, you can’t just walk in—”

Jackson’s office door opened and there stood Parker Livingston, in the flesh.

The first man Jackson had ever loved.

If Martha were here, she would have told Park he was being an asshole by assuming he just belonged in this office. That barging in to see a lawyer illustrated how people let him get away with things because he was rich and sort of famous. She’d tell him he was being rude and inappropriate and his privilege was showing. Martha was good at calling him on shit like that, and he’d appointed her his campaign manager for exactly that reason; she was always honest and straightforward and good at keeping Park from doing stupid things.

She was not here, however. She also couldn’t have known how much this terrified him. Park hated the uncertainty of not knowing if he’d be welcomed like a long-lost friend or immediately thrown out on his ass. The latter felt more likely, and Jackson had every reason to turn Park away.

But Park took a deep breath, put on his game face, and strolled into Jackson Kane’s office as if he owned it. And then his game face slipped, because Jackson was right there staring at him from behind his gigantic desk. Jackson’s lips parted as their eyes met.

Park needed to make his own mouth work, to say something, anything, but he was rooted to the spot just inside the doorway.

Jackson was still gorgeous. He’d gained a little weight since the last time Park had seen him, lost the gaunt edge he’d had back when he’d worked for the city, lost the dark circles under his eyes. His well-tailored and obviously expensive suit fit him well.

If Park could just pull the lever that activated the politician who could speak smoothly through any situation, he could be in command here. But the longer they gaped at each other, the more Jackson’s hazel eyes clouded over and his eyebrows knit together, like he was already angry and tired of Park and mentally pushing him back out the door.

The other man in the room stood. “This is certainly a ballsy move.”

And like that, the spell was broken.

Jackson looked away and shook his head. “He can afford the fees, at least.”

Park glanced at the stranger and dug deep to find his voice. “And you are?”

“Michael Reed. Partner in this firm.”

Park weighed his options. Jackson still seemed stunned. Park’s main goal in coming here today was to hire this firm, though he’d intended to talk to Jackson directly. Jackson probably shared the details of his more important cases with his partner, so there was no logical reason to kick the partner out of the room. Park wondered briefly if he’d interrupted anything more intimate than the morning meeting.

The spike of jealousy surprised him, as if he had the right to feel anything where Jackson was concerned.

“Er, Jack,” Park said. “Mind if I have a word with you alone?” Jackson looked between Park and this Reed fellow, but nodded. “Yes. Would you excuse us, Reed?”

“Not a problem. I’ll tell Penny to hold your calls for a bit.” Then Reed walked out.

And they were alone.

Jackson slid open a desk drawer and pulled out a notepad.

“I suppose you heard the news.” Park looked at Jackson, waiting for some sort of reaction. Had coming here been a mistake? Park was so nervous, his fingers started to go numb, and he opened and closed his hands a couple of times to get circulation going again. At least he was still sitting here and not on the 6th Avenue sidewalk outside.

Jackson nodded slowly. Then he seemed to come back into himself and said, “What the hell have you gotten yourself into?”

“I didn’t do it, Jack. I don’t even know this woman. I swear.” And that was the god’s honest truth. Low-grade panic had coursed through Park from the moment he’d arrived home the night before and found his apartment full of police. The situation felt surreal, and Park still wasn’t sure how to deal with the fact that a woman had died in his apartment.

And he had no idea who had killed her.

Jackson narrowed his eyes, staring at Park the way he might have stared at a weak witness on the stand.

“Have you been accused?”

“No. Not yet, anyway. The lead detective on the case seems pretty convinced of my guilt, but I didn’t do this.” Park rubbed his forehead. It had been a hellish morning. His apartment was a crime scene, so he’d gotten a room at a hotel normally known for its discretion, but the press had been camped out front when he’d left that morning. He’d only managed to lose the tail by switching cabs three times; luckily none of the drivers had seen the news yet.

“Why are you here?”

Jackson’s voice was low and tight, meaning he was irritated. The longer Park sat here, the more he could feel the odds of Jackson saying yes getting worse. But he needed Jackson. Needed someone on his side.

Perhaps things with Jackson were too far gone, but Park couldn’t think of anyone else he could rely on.

“You’re the only defense attorney in New York City I trust. I want to hire you. I haven’t been accused yet, but that doesn’t mean I won’t be, and I need a strategy.”

Jackson sighed and leaned back in his chair. “I mostly defend white-collar criminals. If you were being accused of tax fraud... But that doesn’t even get into our personal history. It’s a huge conflict of interest, don’t you think?”

Park knew he’d have to do some convincing. Years in business and politics had perfected Park’s ability to deliver a sales pitch, but Jackson would likely see through anything fake. He also knew he was asking for a lot, begging a favor from someone he’d once walked out on. He flexed his fingers again, working up the nerve he needed to convince Jackson to take his case.

“Our relationship is in the distant past. What’s the conflict? You also used to be a prosecutor, a good one, so you know criminal law inside and out. You know how the DA’s office operates. And you’re smart and you work hard. It has to be you.”

“But how do you know you can trust me? As you just pointed out, we haven’t seen each other in years. We might as well be strangers.”

Park took a deep breath. “Instinct. I don’t know.”

He paused to consider how best to answer Jackson and looked around the office. It was nice, if small, with a big window behind Jackson’s desk that looked out over 6th Avenue and sturdy, dark-wood furniture. Park met Jackson’s gaze. “I know I can trust you because I’ve always been able to,” he said softly. “Because you never told anyone my secrets.”

Because, if nothing else, Jackson Kane had always been the soul of discretion.

“I suppose it never occurred to you that I wouldn’t want to take this case,” Jackson said. “Given our history and the way things ended with us, even if you push the ethical issues aside, I’m not exactly feeling too kindly toward you.”

Park had spent a good portion of the cab ride down here fretting about this very turn of events, worried Jackson still bore him enough ill will to turn him down. But Jackson had developed a reputation in the four short years Kane & Reed had been open for being among the best defense attorneys in the city, worth every cent of his exorbitant fees, and Park hadn’t been lying when he’d said he knew he could trust Jackson.

A lesser man would have taken his pain and resentment to the press the first time Park had run for office.

Park needed Jackson. But Jackson saying yes was hardly a sure thing. Jackson could very well say no, and it would be fair for him to do so.

“You don’t have lawyers on retainer already?” Jackson asked.

“I do, but none with your expertise. And this situation is...unprecedented.”

“Christ.”

Park knew how this must have looked. He said, “Look, you and I cared about each other once. I’m sure you never wanted to see me again, but I never stopped—” Then Park thought better of what he wanted to say. Circumstances being what they were, he couldn’t be nostalgic. “Come on, Jack. You know me.”

“I did once. I don’t anymore.”

Maybe Park deserved that. “I’m the same man. But set aside the fact that we used to date for now. What information do you usually need to determine whether to take a case?”

Jackson stared at his pad of paper. “Tell me, bare bones, what happened. Not details, just an overview. Don’t tell me anything incriminating, because if I don’t take the case, there’s no attorney-client privilege. And if the DA who catches your case has an axe to grind, he or she could find many skeletons in your closet, including me.”

“I don’t have much to tell you. I went to Buffalo for the weekend for a campaign event. I flew back yesterday and was home long enough to change into a tux before I went to a fund-raiser at the St. Regis. I got home from that around eleven and found my apartment crawling with cops. One of my interns found the body.”

It wasn’t real. Nothing had seemed amiss when Park had stopped home, and within six hours, a woman had been killed, very likely in his apartment.

He wanted to shout that he hadn’t done it, that he hadn’t known the woman, that he suspected someone was setting him up. But he took Jackson’s point about the potential for him knowing too much being a problem later, and he pressed his lips together.

“I need some time to think about this,” Jackson said. “I don’t try these kinds of cases anymore, first of all, and I’m not altogether sure I can work with you, either.”

Time to think was not a no. Could Park dare hope?

“I understand. But I want you as my lawyer. And I don’t have a lot of time.”

Jackson stood, a sure sign he wanted Park to leave.

Park stood as well, though part of him wanted to drop to his knees and beg for forgiveness, to wrap herself around Jackson’s legs and press his face into the obviously fine wool of his trousers. God, what would it be like just to touch Jackson again? Park’s reasons for leaving Jackson all those years ago had been good ones, and he couldn’t jeopardize the career he’d built, the ground he’d gained in the polls, his political future, by having anything but a professional relationship with him. But desire and practicality were different things, and seeing Jackson again was like watching the highlight reel of their relationship.

The unexpected surge of emotion didn’t dissuade Park from his conviction that Jackson was the best man for this job, but it made him linger behind that chair for a moment.

“I’ll get back to you within a day.” Jackson grabbed a business card from a crystal holder on his desk. “Call the phone number on the back of the card if something changes. That’s my personal cell phone number.”

“Thank you. Sincerely.” Park grabbed a blank sticky note from the dispenser off to the side of the desk. He leaned over and wrote his phone number on it. “That’s mine. I had to get a new one. Most of my campaign workers don’t even have this number.” It felt odd to hand over his number, as if Jackson hadn’t called him a thousand times.

Jackson nodded and escorted Park to the office door. “Don’t thank me yet. I haven’t said I’ll take the case.”

“Thank you for not throwing me out of the office, then. I probably deserve it.”

Before Jackson opened the door, he paused with his hand on the knob. “I want to know, before I consider anything further, that this is...you’re here strictly because you want my representation in a legal matter. There’s no expectation that anything will be different between us personally. We part ways when this is over.”

Park said quietly, “Nothing’s changed.”

“No, I didn’t think so.” Jackson’s tone was flat, but Park could practically feel the resentment coming off him in waves. “I just wanted to know where we stood.”

“Jack...”

Jackson opened the door. “I’ll let you know by end of business tomorrow.”

So Park accepted what little he could get. “Yes. I appreciate it.” He paused in the doorway, trying to come up with something to say that would be the thing to convince Jackson, but the expression on Jackson’s face made Park think it was better not to tempt fate. He smiled and nodded. Then he slipped out the door, hoping he’d done enough.