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Chapter Eighteen

N oah didn’t make it to the loft. Watching over Annabelle would have to wait for the time being because the assistant district attorney had arrived with her boss in tow.

From the second-floor landing, Noah watched the district attorney sweep into the building like it was just another stop on his campaign trail. All bleached teeth and expensive hair plugs, the man oozed synthetic charm as he held out his hand to Rochelle in the foyer below. At least she’d had time to shower and dress in one of her many suits.

“There’s more people coming through here than Grand Central Station,” Noah muttered to Abasi, who’d come up beside him.

“The man has expensive taste in suits.” From his expression, Abasi was busy tallying up the cost of making the DA look perpetually camera ready.

“So do you.” Noah cocked his head at Abasi’s Italian suit.

“Yep, and I know how I can afford to look this good. Got to wonder where a public lawyer gets the money for that sort of wardrobe.”

“District attorneys make decent money. I’m sure he can afford a bespoke suit.”

“From Italy? Or Sackville Row? Maybe he could afford one or two. But I did some digging and this guy has a wardrobe full of them. No DA on the planet makes enough to finance that.”

“I’ll take your word for it, seeing as I buy my clothes at the mall. We should probably dig into his background and finances. The leak could be anyone.”

Abasi’s expression made it clear he thought Noah had said something as obvious as the sun is hot.

“Ms. Davis.” The DA’s voice echoed through the tiled stairwell. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m sure you already know, but please allow me to introduce myself. I’m District Attorney Dwight Carpenter. Margaret has kept me up to date on the job you’re doing to protect our star witness. Isn’t that right, Margaret?”

ADA Grant gave a non-committal grunt.

The DA ignored her. “Benson Security has quite the reputation.” His smile was wide, and his gaze cunning. “Although, it seems you may have bitten off more than you can chew this time. I heard there was some trouble last night. How’s our witness?”

Oh yeah, the DA had an agenda.

“Election year,” Noah muttered.

“Duh,” Abasi said.

“Thank you, DA Carpenter.” Rochelle smiled serenely, her expression giving nothing away. “Ms. Simmons is perfectly fine. My team did everything within their power to ensure she remained safe and secure throughout the attack.”

The DA gestured up at Noah and Abasi. “That’s good to hear. Margaret tells me your team is quite experienced.”

“In many different areas,” Rochelle said evenly.

Noah leaned into Abasi and muttered, “Here’s hoping he doesn’t ask for specifics.”

Abasi didn’t reply.

“I gather,” the DA said, as though speculating, “that most of your team is immigrants. They might not be used to the way we do things here in the States.”

“They’re fast learners,” Rochelle said sweetly.

“Yes, but a steep learning curve is no substitute for local knowledge and experience. I have to agree with ADA Grant in this matter: it would be best if Ms. Simmons left her protection to the professionals.” He smiled benignly at everyone around him. “We have a lovely safe house ready for her. She’ll be quite comfortable there.”

“As much as we appreciate the offer,” Rochelle said, standing her ground, “Ms. Simmons is unable to leave this building, and to take her from it would render her incapable of testifying for your office.”

His eyes narrowed. “That sounds suspiciously like a threat, Ms. Davis.”

Rochelle smiled. “Of course not. It’s just fact. If you want to discuss it with her psychiatrist, I’d be happy to call her.”

“I don’t believe that’s necessary. I would, however, like to speak with our witness.” The DA pointed to the stairs. “May I? I’m eager to meet Ms. Simmons. That’s one courageous little lady.”

“Little lady?” Noah whispered. “Are we in an episode of The Dukes of Hazzard ?”

“More like Monty Python,” Abasi grumbled. “I’m outta here. I don’t shake hands with snakes.” He turned on his heel and headed for the office door.

“Of course.” Rochelle stepped aside, no longer blocking the stairs and gestured for the DA to proceed. “Please, follow me. Annabelle’s up in her apartment right now.” She shot Noah a look, but he already had his phone out, texting Katrina to give her a heads-up while the DA and his police escort climbed the stairs.

“I heard you’d moved in,” Dwight said, holding out a hand to Noah as he reached the second floor.

It was a firm shake. No clammy palm or attempt to assert his dominance.

“Only place to be when you can’t move the client out,” Noah said.

“True, so true.” Dwight grimaced. “This can’t be the job you expected when you answered Margaret’s call for help.”

“We know how to pivot at Benson Security,” Noah assured him.

The DA sauntered into their office, his gaze taking in everything. The man might come across as a “good old boy,” but he was shrewd and didn’t miss a thing—qualities that probably made him excel at his job.

“Looks like a police station,” the DA said with a grin.

“Well, half our team is former law enforcement.” Rochelle joined him in the room.

“And the other half?” the DA asked.

“They have different skills.” Rochelle gestured to the stairs up to the third floor. “Shall we?”

“Of course.” Dwight’s attention lingered on the whiteboard, full of information about the Demon Brothers, before he followed Rochelle up to Annabelle’s apartment.

Behind them, Noah kept a close eye on the DA’s entourage while ADA Grant did nothing to hide her irritation at her boss’s interference in her case.

“Polls down?” Noah asked as he fell into step beside her.

Her lip curled. “Nothing like a major case to bring the voters out in an election year.” She glanced at her wristwatch with clear frustration.

“In a hurry?” Noah asked.

“This isn’t my only case,” Margaret said. “Although it will seem like it until it’s over.” She glanced around before lowering her voice. “How’s Annabelle doing, really?”

“Good. She’ll make an excellent witness.”

“If we make it to trial,” Margaret said darkly. “The Demon Brothers certainly stepped up their game last night. The shop looks like a bomb hit it.”

“No, the bomb took out their motorcycles. The first floor just suffered a fire. I know things are worrying right now, and the Demons are certainly unpredictable, but no matter what happens, we’ll keep her safe,” Noah promised.

“I sure hope so,” Margaret said grimly. “Because if you don’t, we’ll all go down for losing our witness, not to mention our only chance of putting Eddie Hanson away for a very long time. My job is hard, Mr. Merchant, but I’d still like to keep it.”

“Interesting.” Noah held the door to the apartment open for her. “I’ve been wondering if losing mine might be the best thing that could happen to me. There are only so many years a man can get shot at before he starts questioning what the hell he’s doing with his life.”

Margaret blinked at him, appearing surprised by his candor. “Have you ever considered that you might be in the wrong line of work?”

“Every damn day,” Noah said as he followed her into Annabelle’s home.

One minute, Annabelle was trying to figure out how to get rid of the burn marks on her wooden floor, and the next, Katrina was telling her to put on her game face because the district attorney had arrived. Seemed like everyone in Houston wanted to be in her old warehouse—invited or not.

“Ms. Simmons.” The DA made a beeline for her, his hand outstretched. “May I call you Annabelle?”

“Sure.” She shook his hand, all the while wondering why he was there. “Are you taking over from ADA Grant?” she blurted, unintentionally causing Margaret to bristle and glare at her boss.

“No, no, no. Nothing like that.” The DA beamed at her and the ADA. “I just wanted to meet our star witness and ensure you’re fine after last night’s drama.”

Annabelle was bewildered. She caught Noah’s eye, and he smiled his encouragement. “Well, I’m a bit rattled, and my aunt’s shop is ash and debris, but other than that, I’m fine. The team did a great job of making sure the gang didn’t get near me. I feel very safe with them.”

“Is that right?” The DA walked over to the window where she’d witnessed the murder. “This is where you were standing that night, isn’t it?” He smiled back at her. “I’ve reviewed the case file, which contains several photos of your apartment.” He glanced around. “Although I see some things have changed since then.”

Annabelle wasn’t quite sure which of his questions to answer first and was grateful when Rochelle spoke up.

“We spent some time fortifying this floor of the building after the first attack,” she told the DA. “Unfortunately, some of Annabelle’s belongings got damaged during the shooting.”

“Yes,” the DA said, opening a mirrored glass screen. “It’s clear Ms. Simmons was most fortunate to have you here that night.” He gave her another smile. One that didn’t make it to his eyes. “It was down there. The murder, I mean. Am I right?”

Annabelle was about to go over to him to point out what she saw, but Noah had crossed the room to stand beside her. He placed a hand on her back in a silent reminder to stay out of sight from the street.

“That’s right,” she said, staying where she was.

It seemed like the DA stared out of the window for far too long. At last, he closed the screen and turned back to the people inside the room. “I can’t tell you how lucky it is that you were here that night. We very much appreciate that you came forward to report what you saw. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that this gang is serious business, and we owe it to the citizens of this fine city to get them off the streets. Isn’t that right, Margaret?”

“That’s what we’re trying to do,” she said through gritted teeth.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out that Ms. Grant just wanted to get on with her job, while her boss wanted to insert himself into the trial for the publicity. Annabelle, who watched the news like everyone else, knew full well it was an election year. The DA hadn’t hidden his desire to be reelected, and the media attention around the Demons case would go a long way toward making that happen.

DA Carpenter wandered through her loft, taking in everything with eyes that missed very little. “Great place you have here. A fantastic amount of space and a fine view of the downtown skyline. I can see why you want to stay at home rather than move to a safe house.”

Annabelle frowned. Surely someone had told him that it wasn’t a matter of choice. She literally couldn’t leave.

“Leaving my home isn’t an option,” she said. “I have a condition which means I have to stay here.”

“Is that right?” He spun to pin her with his intense gaze. “When was the last time you tested your theory that you can’t leave this building?”

His question caught her off guard, and she was about to blurt out that, actually, she’d tested the theory just last night, but again, Noah patted her back in warning.

“Sorry, but that isn’t how agoraphobia works,” she said instead. “You don’t test it by stepping out of your safe zone. That’s why we have therapists.”

“Yes, of course. You are such a brave young woman to live with such a debilitating condition.”

Annabelle didn’t know what to say to that, although the urge to order him out of her home was pretty darn strong.

Fortunately, she didn’t have to say anything. The DA had moved on to her work area and was studying some of the photos she’d pinned to a board on her easel. “ADA Grant tells me you’re quite the photographer. She says you’ve been taking photos of these streets for years. I imagine you’ve taken some fine shots. What with you being an artist and all.”

“It’s a hobby,” Annabelle said, feeling awkward. Politeness made her want to offer her visitors coffee, but the signals coming from her security team made it clear they didn’t want the DA and his police officers lingering.

The whole team were now in her loft, spread throughout, standing quietly, watching everything. She wasn’t sure whether to feel reassured by their diligence or anxious about what their presence might mean. It wasn’t often they all felt the need to watch over her. Did they really think someone in the room was the leak who’d sold out her location?

More to the point, did she trust everyone in the DA’s office enough to believe they wouldn’t do that to her?

Now that she thought about it, she was glad the team was paranoid on her behalf.

“You don’t show your photographs in galleries?” the DA asked.

“No, I’m a comic book artist. I don’t exhibit my work.”

“Pity.” He shook his head while indicating a few of the photos she’d framed and hung. “You’ve quite the talent.”

Margaret cleared her throat pointedly.

The DA frowned at her before smiling at Rochelle. “I’m afraid I’ve run out of time. Meetings to attend. I’m sure you understand. I just wanted to come over and thank you personally. But…” He stepped into her personal space and held out a hand. Annabelle took it because it would be rude not to, and he closed his other hand over the top of hers, trapping her. “I want you to think long and hard about moving to a safe house. Last night’s events have made it clear that your security team has a limited ability to protect you here. This building is falling apart now. You can’t possibly be as safe here as you would be with us. And I know you think you can’t leave this building, but there are options we could utilize to minimize the stress on you should you decide to take us up on our offer.”

Her heart raced, and her throat grew tight. He couldn’t mean what she thought he meant. Could he?

Noah stepped even closer. “You mean drugs.” His words dripped with ice. “You want to sedate her until the trial.”

“I spoke with the best physicians in Houston just before coming here,” the DA said with a cold smile. “They assure me that no harm will come to Annabelle if this is the route we choose to take.” He patted her hand and released it. “I would never suggest an option that endangered your health. Think about it. Talk to your own doctor and see what she thinks.” He gestured around the loft. “While you’re in a safe place, we could get this building back up to scratch for your return. Sometimes, Annabelle, the best options are the simplest.”

With a parting nod, he strode toward the door, the two police officers falling in behind him. Rochelle and Rodrigo accompanied them. As she watched them go, Annabelle leaned into Noah, letting him take some of her weight.

“Sedate me?” she whispered. “He wants to keep me asleep until I can testify?”

It was too terrifying to contemplate.

Noah made a low growling sound before speaking. “If that’s what you choose to do, we’ll still protect you.”

She was already shaking her head. “I’d never. No. I couldn’t. You don’t think?—”

“No. I don’t think you should let them knock you out and keep you sedated until the trial starts. It’s barbaric. Plus, I don’t trust anybody in the DA’s office to keep you safe. It’s still your decision, though, Bella.”

“No.” She shuddered. “Just no.”

The ADA walked over to Annabelle, looking embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I honestly didn’t know he was going to suggest that. If he’d made his intentions known, I would have protested beforehand.”

“It’s okay,” Annabelle said, even though it wasn’t. She cleared her throat. “He can’t force me to…” She couldn’t even say the words.

“No.” The ADA frowned. “No. He can’t. Now, let’s go over your testimony again.” She crossed to the dining table and set her briefcase on it.

“I’ll make coffee.” Noah headed for the kitchen.

The rest of the team kept to the shadows, watching intently, none of them happy with what they’d just heard.