Stiletto Justice Read online

  STILETTO JUSTICE

  CAMRYN KING

  KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  PROLOGUE

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  42

  43

  44

  45

  EPILOGUE

  Teaser chapter

  To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

  DAFINA BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2018 by Camryn King

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  Dafina and the Dafina logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  ISBN: 978-1-4967-0216-6

  eISBN-13: 978-1-4967-0217-3

  eISBN-10: 1-4967-0217-4

  First Kensington Electronic Edition: March 2018

  PROLOGUE

  “Is he dead?”

  “I don’t know, but seeing that lying trap of a mouth shut is a nice change of pace.”

  Kim Logan, Harley Buchanan, and Jayda Sanchez peered down at the lifeless body of the United States senator from Kansas, Hammond Grey.

  “I agree he looks better silent,” Kim mused, while mentally willing his chest to move. “But I don’t think prison garb will improve my appearance.”

  “Move, guys.” Jayda, who’d hung in the background, pushed Harley aside to get closer. She stuck a finger under his nose. “He’s alive, but I don’t know how long he’ll be unconscious. Whatever we’re going to do needs to happen fast.”

  “Fine with me.” Harley stripped off her jacket and unzipped her jeans. “The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can get the hell out of here.”

  “I’m with you,” Kim replied. Her hands shook as she unsnapped the black leather jacket borrowed from her husband and removed her phone from its inside pocket. “Jayda, start taking his clothes off.”

  “Why me?” Jayda whispered. “I don’t want to touch him.”

  “That’s why you’re wearing gloves,” Harley hissed back. “Look, if I can bare my ass for the world to see, the least you can do is pull his pants down. Where’s that wig?”

  Kim showed more sympathy as she pointed toward the bag holding a brunette-colored hair transformer. “Jayda, I understand completely. I don’t even want to look at his penis, let alone capture it on video.”

  Harley had stripped down to her undies. She stood impatiently, hand on hip. “I tell you what I’m not going to do. I’m not going to get buck-ass naked for you two to punk out. It’s why we all took a shot of Jack!”

  “I’m too nervous to feel it,” Jayda said as she wrung her hands. “I probably should have added Jim and Bud.”

  “Hold this.” Kim handed Jayda the phone and walked over to the bed. After the slightest of pauses, she reached for the belt and undid it. Next, she unbuttoned and unzipped the dress slacks. “Jayda, raise him up a little so I can pull these down.”

  Harley walked over to where Kim stood next to the bed. “Don’t take them all the way off. He looks like the type who’d screw without bothering to get totally undressed.”

  Kim pulled the pants down to Hammond’s knees. The room went silent. The women stared. Kim looked at Harley. Harley looked at Jayda. The three looked at each other.

  “Am I seeing what I think I’m seeing?” Jayda asked.

  Harley rubbed the chill from her arms. “We’re all seeing it.”

  “Star Wars? Really, Hammond?” Kim quickly snapped a couple pics, then gently lowered the colorful boxers and murmured, “Looks like his political viewpoint isn’t the only thing conservative.”

  She snapped a few more. Harley donned the wig, looked in the mirror, and snickered. “Guys, how do I look?”

  “Don’t,” Kim began, covering her mouth. “Don’t start to laugh . . .” The low rumble of muted guffaws replaced speech.

  The liquor finally kicked in.

  “Come on, guys!” Jayda harshly whispered, though her eyes gleamed. “We’ve got to hurry.”

  “You look fine, Harley. As gorgeous a brunette as you are a blonde.”

  Harley removed her thong and climbed on the bed. “Remember. . .”

  “I won’t get your face, Harley. What the wig doesn’t cover, I’ll clip out or blur. You won’t be recognizable in any way.”

  “And you’re sure this super glue will work, and hide my fingerprints?”

  Jayda nodded. “That’s what it said on the internet.”

  “I’m nervous.” Harley straddled the unconscious body and placed fisted hands on each side.

  “Wait!” Kim stilled Harley with a hand to the shoulder. “Don’t let your mouth actually touch his. We don’t want to leave a speck of DNA. I’ll angle the shot so that it looks like you’re kissing.”

  “What about . . . that.” Jayda pointed toward the flaccid member.

  “Oh, yeah. I forgot. Look inside that bag.” Harley tilted her head in that direction. “With the condom on, it looks like the real thing.”

  Jayda retrieved a condom-clad cucumber and marched back to the bed as though it were a baton. “He won’t like that we’ve filmed him, but he’ll hopefully appreciate that we replaced his Vienna sausage with a jumbo hot link.”

  The women got down to business—Jayda directing, Harley performing, Kim videotaping. Each job was executed quickly, efficiently, just as they’d planned.

  Finally, after double-checking to make sure her work had been captured, Kim shut off the camera. “Okay, guys, I think we’ve got enough.”

  Harley moved toward the edge of the bed. “Pictures and video?”

  “Yep. Want to see it?”

  “No,” she replied, scrambling into her jeans. “I want to get the hell out of here.”

  “That makes two of us,” Jayda said, walking toward the coat she’d tossed on a chair.

  “Three of us.” Kim took another look at the footage. “Wait, guys. I have an idea. Jayda, quick, come here.”

  “What?”

  “No time to explain. Trust me on this . . . please?”

  Five minutes later they were ready to go. “What should we do about him?” Jayda asked, waving a hand at his state of undress.

  “Nothing,” Kim replied. She returned the phone to its hiding place in her pocket. “Let him figure out what may or may not have happened.”

  They’d been careful, but taking no chances, they wiped down every available surface with cleaning wipes, which they then placed back in the bag that once again held the condom-clad cucumber. Harley almost had a hear
t attack when she glimpsed the wineglass that if forgotten and left behind would have been a forensic team’s dream. After rinsing away prime evidence, she pressed Grey’s fingers around the bowl, refilled it with a splash of wine, and placed it back on the nightstand. After a last look around to make sure that nothing was left that could be traced back to them, the women crept out of the bedroom and down the stairs. Harley turned off the outside light and unbolted the side door.

  Kim turned to her. “You sure you don’t want to come with us?”

  Harley shook her head. “I have to leave the way I came. Don’t worry. The car service is on the way. See you at the hotel.”

  After peeking out to make sure the coast was clear, Jayda and Kim tiptoed out the back door as quietly and inconspicuously as they’d arrived. A short time later Harley left, too.

  Once down the block, around the corner, and into the rental car, Jayda and Kim finally exhaled. The next day, as the women left the nation’s capital, hope began to bloom like cherry blossoms in spring. Until now their calls for help and cries for justice had been drowned out or ignored. Maybe the package specially delivered to his office next week would finally get the senator’s attention, and get him to do the right thing.

  1

  A Year Earlier . . .

  We the jury in the above titled action find the defendant, Kendall Aaron Logan, guilty . . .

  Kim sat straight up, pulling in a gasp of air as she awakened from the recurring nightmare.

  Guilty . . .

  She checked her watch and looked around, momentarily confused as to why she was in bed with the sun still out. Then she remembered. The other nightmare. The one that happened today, that crushed her heart completely and sapped her strength to the point where lying down was all she could do.

  Her son’s last appeal, the one to the Kansas Supreme Court, had been denied.

  Denied . . .

  Head in hands, she squeezed her eyes against another onslaught of tears.

  Guilty. Denied.

  The words echoed and repeated in her head, like a silly song you hated but later found yourself singing. Only this wasn’t a song, it was her real life, with a melancholy melody that made breathing difficult and dancing impossible.

  Pulling the cover over her head, she squeezed her eyes shut again to hold back the tears. They leaked out anyway. Tears of sadness mixed with ones of bittersweet joy. Cries for her son, her miracle baby, the result of a pregnancy doctors had said would never happen. It did, after years of trying. A difficult one, but Kendall came out as six pounds, eight ounces, and twenty-one inches of perfection. Kim never got pregnant again. All the more reason the sun rose and set on their now six-foot-two, one-hundred-ninety-pound angel. The one who’d been in prison for two and a half years. The one whose final appeal the Kansas State Supreme Court had just denied.

  “That’s it. Get up, Kim.” These mumbled words accompanied a determined push off the pillows as she rolled herself out of bed. “Aaron!”

  Silence.

  “Honey, are you here?”

  She trudged down the stairs of the lovingly restored American Foursquare located in Kansas City, Missouri’s historic Hyde Park neighborhood. When her husband had suggested they purchase it fifteen years ago, she had thought him mad. It had been in shambles, empty for more than a decade. Where she saw dilapidation, he saw potential. Over time, she saw it, too. They bought it for a steal, and over the next five years restored each room to its turn-of-the-century glory, with modern touches for convenience and a blended sense of style. Now, however, she didn’t see any of that. Or Aaron. A quick check of the rooms confirmed that she was alone. When troubled, her husband of twenty years either sought solitude, buried himself in work, or combined the two. Solitude was the last thing she needed. Back upstairs, she picked up the phone to call her mom. It rang in her hand.

  “Hi, Harley.”

  “Oh, no, Kim. Don’t tell me . . .”

  Kim knew she didn’t have to, that her somber greeting had more than answered the question for which her good friend had called.

  “What reasons did the judges give?”

  “None, if you ask me. They wrote a bunch of legal jargon, yada, yada, that made about as much sense as his conviction.” She heard Harley’s heavy sigh.

  Exactly.

  “Kim, I’m so sorry.”

  “Me, too.”

  “How are you holding up? Stupid question, I know, but . . .”

  “At the moment, not too good.”

  “Is your husband there?”

  “Nope, it’s just me. And the quiet isn’t helping. I feel like I’m going crazy.”

  “I’m coming over.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “Did that sound like a question? I’m not letting you deal with this by yourself.”

  “I appreciate that. But I’ve got to get out of here.”

  “Fine. We’ll meet somewhere then. How about Johnny’s, where I used to work? The portions are large and the drinks are strong.”

  “I don’t have much of an appetite, but I could sure use a drink. That’s downtown, right? Near Twelfth and Main?”

  “Tenth and Main.”

  “Got it. How soon can you get there?”

  “Give me fifteen minutes.”

  “From Olathe? Slow down, girl. That trip should take half an hour at least.”

  “Okay, thirty minutes then.”

  Kim experienced her first laugh of the day. “All right, Mario Andretti. See you then.”

  Thirty-seven minutes later, Kim pulled into a space just a few doors down from Johnny’s Steakhouse in downtown Kansas City. It was Tuesday, a beautiful May day, and were it the lunch hour finding a parking space near this popular haunt would have been impossible, let alone a table. But at four in the afternoon, one could sit almost anywhere. Though she lived twice as far from the restaurant, Kim wasn’t surprised to see that Harley, a fiery millennial with Jack in her glass, ice in her veins, and a heart of gold, had beat her there and was sitting at the bar. Shocking Kim, though, was who sat beside her. Jayda, Kim’s other best friend from WHIP, as sweet and easygoing as Harley was tough. WHIP, Women Helping Innocent Prisoners, was the organization Kim had founded soon after her innocent son was wrongfully convicted. It was this organization that had brought Harley Buchanan and Jayda Sanchez into her life, and helped save it.

  Kim gave Harley a big hug and then turned to Jayda with a stern look. “You’re supposed to be at work.”

  “I got sick,” Jayda blurted before Kim could continue to fuss her out. “As soon as I heard what happened, I felt the beginnings of a fever and my throat got scratchy.”

  Kim’s eyes narrowed.

  “You needed me more than the pharmaceutical department did,” Jayda whispered as she pulled Kim into a heartfelt embrace. “I’m sorry.”

  “Kim, what do you want to drink?”

  “I could use a shot of your favorite, Harley, but since I’m driving it’s probably better to stick with Merlot.”

  “Go grab a booth,” the bartender told Harley. “I’ll have the server bring over her drink, and freshen up your Jack and Coke.”

  “Sounds good.” Harley slid off the barstool. “Come on, guys. Let’s head to my office.”

  It was said lightheartedly enough, but heaviness joined them at the table, an uninvited, unwelcomed guest that settled in with the cocky confidence of an entity that knew it had every right to be there.

  Kim looked between the two women almost young enough to be her daughters and stretched her hands toward them. “Thanks for being here, guys.”

  Each took a hand and squeezed. “Where’s Aaron?” Jayda asked.

  “The office, probably.” Kim took a sip from the full glass of wine the waiter brought over, ready to take their order until Harley waved her away. “Or the golf course. Maybe the gym. We handle stress in polar opposite ways. He shuts down. I go off. He buries himself in work. I scream from the mountaintops to whomever will listen.”
>
  “I don’t understand how the case was denied. I mean what. . . how could he . . . what happened?”

  Kim shrugged. “I don’t know. I haven’t known much about anything since June twenty-seventh three years ago when Aaron and I got the call that changed our lives.”

  She clenched her jaw, rapidly blinked back tears, and looked beyond her friends into the nightmare that had become her life. “How did Kendall get a ten-year prison sentence on drug possession charges with no evidence, no witnesses? Just testimony from plea-bargained cronies that was corroborated by police officers who just happened to be friends with a district attorney blatantly building a political platform by being tough on crime?”

  “Political platform. Who, Grey?” Harley’s crystal-blue eyes widened in staunch disbelief.

  “You didn’t know?” Jayda asked. “He announced, what, a couple months ago? He’s running for senator. I didn’t see the announcement, but my mom did.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding.” Harley’s face showed disgust.

  “The incumbent had a stroke,” Kim continued. “With elections six months away the party had to scramble to find a ‘suitable’ candidate, one they thought could beat Jack Myers.” She used air quotes to emphasize the adjective used by the papers to describe the district attorney, but Kim’s expression made it clear that she found nothing suitable about him.

  The waiter who’d been shooed away earlier came back bearing gifts. “You’re going to need something to soak up that alcohol, girlfriend,” she said to Harley with a wink, as she removed spicy wings, spinach avocado dip, and tortilla chips from a large, round tray and placed them on the table.

  “When it came to taking care of customers, you were always the best. Guys, this is Lisa. Lisa, my friends Jayda and Kim. Right after getting hired, she took this clueless green thing under her fairy wings and taught me everything I know about giving good service.”

  “I taught her the basics,” Lisa said. “Her naturally flirty nature and Midwestern charm did the rest, brought out the big tips and kept customers coming back.”