Man with the Muscle. Julie Miller
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Audrey was fighting to be her own woman, to create her own success story—to build her own life that included her father, but wasn’t dominated by him. Her mind was more focused, her goals clearer now, than they’d ever been. She didn’t need Daddy’s money to get the job done. She didn’t need his name to give her clout.
She didn’t need lectures from some doubting Thomas of a cop, either. She could do this.
She had to do this.
Beyond getting a ruthless criminal off the streets, she needed to succeed in order to prove that, at twenty-seven, with a degree from Smith and a juris doctor from the University of Missouri, she was no longer Daddy’s little girl. She was more than the pretty princess in the gilded Kline cage.
So why had she agreed to help her father host this fundraiser for a scholarship to honor Gretchen’s memory on the night before the trial began?
Proof that she was her own woman, indeed.
Audrey pulled out a glass and filled it with water from the tap, hating that vulnerable place in her heart. “Why can’t I say no to you, Daddy?”
Probably because the arts and friendship were worthy causes. Probably because she was as fiercely protective of her father as he was of her. Audrey had moved back home those last few months when her mother had been ill—to take care of Rupert as much as her mother. Despite the tragedy, Audrey had finally understood what it felt like to be needed. Her. Not her family’s money, not her father’s name. Her parents had needed their daughter to be there, to love them, to be strong when they couldn’t be.
Just like he needed her tonight. But she really should be practicing her opening statement.
Taking a long drink of water, Audrey pulled out a stool from the counter and sat. Using the center island and the two ovens as her imaginary audience, she began. “Your Honor, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I’m here today to prove that every citizen of Kansas City deserves justice. Every citizen deserves to feel safe, walking his own streets …” She groaned and shook her head. “Too pompous.” She tunneled her fingers beneath the tendrils of hair loosely pinned at her nape and massaged the back of her neck. “No child should live in fear of walking home from school … What’s this?”
Lowering her glass, Audrey picked up the sealed envelope lying on top of the basket of pledge cards on the counter. Recognizing the neat handwriting on the front, she smiled. “Charlotte.”
Feeling as if she’d just gotten a hug, Audrey slit open the flap and pulled out a note card that was as smart and unassuming as the woman who’d sent it. Charlotte
Mayweather was another classmate who’d gone to the same private high school she, Gretchen and Harper Pierce had attended. Audrey tried to remember the last time she’d seen Charlotte—certainly not at Gretchen’s funeral. And she hadn’t been included on the guest list tonight because Audrey had known she wouldn’t be able to come.
Still, as Audrey read the note, she wasn’t surprised to see that Charlotte had enclosed a check for the scholarship fund. Somehow, Charlotte had known that they were honoring an old friend tonight. Although she’d never been the social butterfly Gretchen was, Charlotte had always been adamant about supporting the causes—and people—she cared about.
I wish I could be there
the note began.
Like you, Gretchen made a point to come visit me from time to time. She could always make me smile. Here’s a token of my affection for her, and how much I miss her. Thanks for doing this for her, Aud.
Good luck with the trial. I’ll be following you in the papers.
Charlotte
Good luck? Audrey sighed with a bit of melancholy as she tucked the note and check inside the envelope and dropped it back into the basket. Was there anyone in Kansas City who wasn’t watching how she handled the Smith case?
And how many of them expected her to fail?
The swish of the kitchen door sweeping across the threshold gave her a split-second notice to paste a smile on her face before company joined her. “There you are.”
Audrey turned to the distinguished man with the silvering, receding auburn hair and smiled. “Daddy.”
“I wondered where you’d gotten off to.” He picked up her sandals and carried them over to the counter where she sat. He pressed a kiss to her temple and dropped the shoes into her lap. “No fair skipping out if I can’t. Our guests are starting to leave. Will you see them off at the door while I chat up another ten grand from the Bishops?”
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