Shameless
PRAISE FOR WILLIAM BERNHARDT
"Exposed has everything I love in a thriller: intricate plot twists, an ensemble of brilliant heroines, and jaw-dropping drama both in and out of the courtroom. William Bernhardt knows how to make the law come alive."
TESS GERRITSEN, NYT-BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF THE RIZZOLI & ISLES THRILLERS
“Splitsville is a winner—well-written, with fully developed characters and a narrative thrust that keeps you turning the pages.”
GARY BRAVER, BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF TUNNEL VISION
“Bernhardt is the undisputed master of the courtroom thriller.”
LIBRARY JOURNAL
“William Bernhardt is a born stylist, and his writing through the years has aged like a fine wine….”
STEVE BERRY, BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF THE KAISER’S WEB
“Once started, it is hard to let [The Last Chance Lawyer] go, since the characters are inviting, engaging, and complicated….You will enjoy it.”
CHICAGO DAILY LAW BULLETIN
“[Court of Killers] is a wonderful second book in the Daniel Pike series…[A] top-notch, suspenseful crime thriller with excellent character development…”
TIMOTHY HOOVER, FICTION AND NONFICTION AUTHOR
“I could not put Trial by Blood down. The plot is riveting—with a surprise after the ending, when I thought it was all over….This book is special.”
NIKKI HANNA, AUTHOR OF CAPTURE LIFE
“Judge and Jury is a fast-paced, well-crafted story that challenges each major character to adapt to escalating attacks that threaten the very existence of their unique law firm.”
RJ JOHNSON, AUTHOR OF THE TWELVE STONES
“Final Verdict is a must read with a brilliant main character and surprises and twists that keep you turning pages. One of the best novels I’ve read in a while.”
ALICIA DEAN, AWARD-WINNING AUTHOR OF THE NORTHLAND CRIME CHRONICLES
SHAMELESS
WILLIAM BERNHARDT
Copyright © 2022 by William Bernhardt
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
For my WriterCon family
“A good writer possesses not only his own spirit but also the spirit of his friends.”
“There is a virtue in shamelessness.”
DAVID BROOKS
CONTENTS
I. The Mirror Crack’d from Side to Side
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
II. The Curse Has Come Upon Me
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
III. Out Flew the Web and Floated Wide
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Afterword
About the Author
Also by William Bernhardt
PART I
THE MIRROR CRACK’D FROM SIDE TO SIDE
1
Sandy gazed into the mirror on the wall. His image stared back at him, accusing, glaring, challenging him to explain how he’d made such a mess of his life. Was that him or his evil twin, a doppelganger he could no longer control? His life seemed defined by doubles—double life, double-crosses. But, he tried to convince himself, if he just doubled down on this operation—double time—he might survive. One more day.
Maybe he should change his name to Gemini. Given his current situation—double trouble? double jeopardy?—he should change his name to Tantalus. No torture could exceed the pain he experienced now. Except perhaps what lay ahead if this sting failed to deliver its venom.
His heart hammered as if he were dangling off the edge of a cliff. Prometheus, then? Sisyphus? He was hanging by a single finger and if he screwed this up, he could face his final plummet. He had to get the job done and he needed her help to do it. But she was not cooperating. If he couldn’t get her in that chair, he would have to resort to…whatever was necessary. Otherwise, he was dead. Charon. Hades. Or worse than dead. Given who he had breathing down his neck, worse than dead was an all-too-real possibility. He’d studied mythology extensively during his school days because he loved it—not because he expected his life to become a reflection of it. Another hero missing his highest and best potential, felled by hubris.
He took a deep breath and wrapped his arms around her, hoping she wouldn’t notice that his hands were trembling. “You really turn me on, baby.” He nibbled her neck.
She hovered over the stove. “I’m busy.”
“C’mon. You know you want to.”
She reacted with a simultaneous eye roll and pursed lip. “I don’t know that at all.” She had two pots on the stovetop, one cooking the spaghetti, the other warming the marinara. “I told you, I’m busy.”
“Dinner can wait.”
“It really can’t. The sauce will burn.”
“Turn off the heat.”
She slapped her hands down on the kitchen counter. “Cool your jets, okay? I’m in the middle of something.”
“It can wait.” He pulled her tight against him. His hands started roaming.
She blew dark hair out of her eyes. She still held a wooden spatula, which made it hard to deflect his advances. “Have you not heard a word I’ve said?”
“My brain isn’t working, honey. Another part has taken control.”
“You need to improve your listening skills.”
“Your body is talking. And I hear it loud and clear.”
“Are you for real? Do you hear words of consent? Because there haven’t been any.” She whirled around and shoved him back. “What is it with you lately, anyway? You never get enough.”
He grinned. “That’s ’cause my sweet-assed babe is such a hottie.”
“Is that supposed to flatter me? Because it doesn’t.”
This was not going the way he wanted. The way he needed. He didn’t have the option of playing the sensitive male who put her desires first. And he didn’t have the option of waiting. She might get tired. She might go out on a job. She might decide she needed to conserve her energy. “Seems like you don’t mind it too much once we get started.”
She shook her head, eyes closed. “What women do to stroke male egos.” She waved the spatula at him. “Just let me finish dinner. Then…maybe.”
He grabbed her hand. “I need it now, baby. I can’t hang around here forever.”
“I get it. Wham, bam, thank you, ma’am, and you’re out on the street. Maybe visiting the next woman on your list.”
“It isn’t like that. I want you.”
She turned back to the stove. “Fine. Have at it. You can thrust while I cook.”
“It’s gotta be over there. In the chair.”
“Why? I can multitask.”
“It’s best in the chair. You sitting in my lap, totally in control. Hot as hell.”
“I’m plenty hot
cooking, too,” she said, slicing the mushrooms.
“I do love watching that perfect butt of yours wiggle.” He placed his hands on her hips. “You have the tiniest waist. Compact little body. Not an ounce of fat on you. Fantastic package. Especially from behind.”
“Especially from behind? Like, you prefer it when you can’t see my face?”
Why was this going so wrong? He was saying and doing everything that had worked in the past. But when he really needed it, nothing seemed to please this cut-rate Helen of Troy.
He caught another glance of himself in the mirror. Five foot ten, bearded, barely a wrinkle. Still young. He should be building, not crumbling. He should have a stable life with a home and a business with actual clients. He was well past thirty and what did he have to show for it? No fortune, no friends, just a random assortment of losers sporting the mythological nicknames he gave them. And all his sins closing in on him.
How did this happen? How did everything go so wrong?
And what would be the inevitable climax? Would there be a deus ex machina? Or a final fall from grace?
“You’re not listening to me,” she said, her shrill voice recalling him from his reverie. “You’re using me.”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
“I’m sick of it. Totally, completely sick of it.”
He stepped forward, pinning her against the stove. “Stop resisting.”
“No, for once, you listen to me. You—”
He clapped his hands over his ears. “I don’t have the time or inclination.”
She stepped around him, freeing herself. “Stop shutting me out. You need to treat me like a human being, not your personal puppet.”
“I don’t want to hear this!”
“You’re gonna hear it, like it or not. You—”
“Shut up! Shut. Up!” Without even thinking about it, he thrust his elbows back—and hit something solid. Followed by a sickening crunching sound.
He spun around. She clutched her nose with both hands. Blood streamed from her nostrils, trickling through her fingers.
She stared at him, unblinking. Stunned.
“Oh my God. Oh my God.” He reached out, horrified. “Honey, I didn’t mean—I—I—”
She pushed her hands between them, backing away. Her nose, still bleeding, looked as if it had been flattened.
“Baby, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Let me help.”
She tried to speak, blood slicking her mouth and chin. “Stay…away from me.” She reached for the phone in her pocket. “I’m calling the police.”
“Don’t do that.” He took a tentative step forward. “You can’t do that.”
“Watch me.” Her eyes seemed to have trouble focusing. She fumbled with her phone, unable to unlock the screen.
“Honey? Are you okay?”
Her knees buckled. She reached toward the nearest wall for support, but instead hit a shelf loaded with his souvenir beer cans. All at once, the cans came crashing down. She frantically flailed, trying unsuccessfully to grab something for support. She lost her balance and tumbled backward. The back of her head hit the wall.
She cried out in pain. Her eyelids fluttered.
Did she have a concussion? He wasn’t sure. He didn’t think he’d hit her that hard, but she seemed barely conscious. “Sweetie?” Damn, damn, damn. He didn’t need this. And he definitely could not afford to be hauled off by the police.
She recovered, at least a little. She brought her phone back to eye level. “Be…quiet.” She punched the screen and this time managed to get to the phone app.
He’d tried to be patient, but this was her fault. First she wouldn’t cooperate. Then she wanted to turn an accident into a prison sentence. With his record, even a minor arrest could take him off the streets for the rest of his life.
“Look, just rest for a moment, okay? I’ll get something to stop the bleeding. Sit in the recliner.”
She managed to stumble to her feet but still wobbled, lurching with each step. She made it to the chair, but as soon as she was situated, dialed 911.
“What is the nature of your emergency?”
“I told you not to do that!” he bellowed. He jerked her up by her hair, ripping strands out by the roots. Once she was more or less upright, he punched her hard in the stomach. She buckled over like she’d been hit by a speeding car. The phone clattered to the floor. She raised her hands, trying to fend off the next blow.
“Why wouldn’t you listen to me?”
His mind raced. What now? She’d become a liability. But if not her, who? It would take so long to set everything up again. And time was one thing he did not have much of…
To his surprise, she started limping toward the kitchen. He didn’t know what to do, but he couldn’t let her escape. He grabbed her again by the hair, yanking back hard. He swung her around and she slammed into the wall face first. Her nose bled even more. She staggered like a top at the end of its spin, wobbling out of control.
She’d been beaten before. He knew that. She could take a punch. But maybe not like this. He was bigger than her and much stronger. He could do anything he wanted.
He never wanted this! But he could feel his options draining away…
Double trouble. double jeopardy, double exposure.
Double whammy.
You can’t leave it like this, he told himself. You have to finish the job.
She clutched her stomach. Had he broken her rib? She started crawling toward the door, so he kicked her. Hard. He felt the crunch. Something bad was happening in there…
He squatted down to her level. Her eyes seemed glazed as if she were barely there.
He gripped her tightly, one hand around her neck. She tried to squirm but didn’t have the strength. He pinned her down on her back. He leaned in, putting his full weight on her throat, pinching off the airway. She raised her hands, trying to push him away. He ended that with another punch to the gut.
He closed his eyes and squeezed. In just a few moments, it would be over…
Or so he thought. He was completely unprepared when her fist hammered between the legs.
The blow electrified him. His eyes ballooned. His groin burned and sharp daggers of pain raced up and down his body.
Before he fully understood what had happened, she’d squirmed out of his grasp.
Had she been faking? Misleading him? Making him overconfident?
If she got outside, into the hallway, someone might hear.
He pushed to his feet just in time to feel her fingernails scrape his face.
He screamed. His hand went to his cheek. Blood bubbled to the surface. He wiped it away but still felt the stickiness between his fingers.
Damn. This girl could fight.
“Son of a bitch!” she gasped. “Did you think you were going to knock me out, then have your way with me? Then kill me? You’ve got another think coming.”
She wasn’t going for the door. She was going for the kitchen knives. The wood block beside the oven held five big ones. She grabbed the largest and pointed it at him.
Serrated blade. Slightly bent, but that wouldn’t make it any less effective.
She crouched like a tiger, a fierce expression on her blood-streaked face. “You’re not the first man to lay a hand on me.” There was an unmistakable growl in her voice. “But you’re gonna be the last.”
2
Kenzi peered at the man on the witness stand. She didn’t delude herself into thinking her steely gaze would make him come clean…but then again, it never hurt to try.
Kenzi typically practiced in family court, where witnesses tended to be nervous and unaccustomed to being grilled by lawyers. But today she was in civil court representing the plaintiff in a suit alleging breach of contract, medical malpractice, and intentional infliction of emotional distress. The judge was hearing a pretrial discovery motion, and the man in the witness chair was Emil Anderson, CEO of the Washington State Center for Reproductive Wellbeing which, despite its altru
istic name, was a large and prosperous for-profit health-care corporation.
“Do you know the plaintiff?” Kenzi asked.
Anderson sat up straight, a bit stiff. He kept blinking, as if something were in his eye, or a contact lens was about to slip. She knew from the company's annual report that he was over forty, but he looked at least a decade younger. “I do. Julia and her husband came to my office seeking help conceiving a child.”
“Why did she come to you?”
“Their prior efforts had been unsuccessful. They wanted to try in-vitro fertilization.”
“Could you please explain to the court what that is? Just in case there’s some uncertainty about it.”
Anderson pivoted around to face Judge Dugoni. The judge’s facial expression suggested he already knew everything there was to know, but experience had taught Kenzi that it never hurt to make sure. Dugoni was a relatively new appointee and probably had been assigned a slew of unwanted administrative duties. Sometimes even the most experienced judges didn’t have time to do as much prep as they would like.
“Of course,” Anderson replied. “In-vitro fertilization is a complex, lengthy process in which an egg is extracted from a woman, fertilized in the clinic, then implanted in the woman’s uterus.”