through their grief. Violent death was a cruel and heartless way to die. It left family and friends not only grief-stricken but guilt-ridden, wondering if they could have done something to prevent their loved one’s death. He always felt tremendous sympathy for those left behind.
But the feelings niggling their way through his chest right now were more than just sympathy for Dani as a grieving granddaughter. He felt protective of her. He had an unprofessional urge to hold her close and ease her pain.
No. Not hold her close. He hadn’t meant that. He didn’t want that. He was merely concerned about her safety and state of mind. He needed to make sure that by Monday, she could clearly and succinctly describe what had happened the night Freeman Canto died. That was all.
Her voice interrupted his thoughts. He tried to concentrate on what she was saying.
“It’s funny. I was okay at the funeral too. But ever since—” Her eyes filled with tears. She blinked and looked down at her hands.
Harte leaned his forearms on the table. “It’s no wonder that you’re upset now. You were almost run down by a car yesterday. Not to mention being uprooted from your home, which you shared with your granddad until he was murdered. I suspect that hearing those cats last night was the last straw. You’re in a much more vulnerable state than you’ve been so far since your granddad died.”
Her brows drew down. “Vulnerable state? You make me sound like a Jane Austen character. Trust me. I am not prone to fainting on couches.”
He couldn’t suppress a smile. “No, I’m sure you’re not. Now, about the windows. I want you to pay attention to the things you hear and see while you’re here. Nothing that frightens or startles you is silly. Tell the officers. It’s their job to check out anything that looks, sounds or even smells suspicious. I don’t care if you call them a hundred times about cats fighting.”
She gave a small laugh. “I promise, despite the surroundings, I’m really not a hypersensitive Victorian maiden.”
“You’re doing fine,” he said, patting her hand.
Immediately, her expression hardened and she drew her hand away. “Don’t patronize me, Mr. Prosecutor.” She gulped a large sip of coffee and picked up the cinnamon roll with her fingers. “So, are we ready to prep?” she asked, then bit into the gooey roll, leaving a bigger dollop of icing on her lip this time.
Harte’s insides ached at the sight of her tongue slipping out to catch the sugary frosting. She was fascinating. Haughty as a runway model one second, stuffing her face like a college kid the next. He looked at a point somewhere behind her head and forced himself to ignore her unconscious sensuality. He swallowed. “We’ll start this evening. Unfortunately, you don’t have a lot of evidence to testify about. Not that your testimony is not important. Just the opposite. I believe we might have a chance to put Ernest Yeoman behind bars for the first time ever. I merely mean that your testimony probably won’t take that long. Still, I want to make sure you’re comfortable enough with what you’re going to say that you come across as earnest and likeable.”
“Why wouldn’t I?” she retorted. “You know, every bit of what I told you and the police is the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.” She stuck her chin out defiantly, although since she was still chewing, it made her seem like a stubborn kid.
“Hey,” he said. “I’m not questioning your honesty, but you know as well as I do that if a witness is nervous or too emotional, it doesn’t matter if she’s telling the truth. What matters is the jury’s perception of her. And I want the jurors to see you as the grieving granddaughter who is bravely holding it together, even though her heart is broken.”
“Wow. Queue the violins,” Dani said sarcastically. “Think you can pull that off?”
Harte grimaced at her tone. “I’m not implying that
But the feelings niggling their way through his chest right now were more than just sympathy for Dani as a grieving granddaughter. He felt protective of her. He had an unprofessional urge to hold her close and ease her pain.
No. Not hold her close. He hadn’t meant that. He didn’t want that. He was merely concerned about her safety and state of mind. He needed to make sure that by Monday, she could clearly and succinctly describe what had happened the night Freeman Canto died. That was all.
Her voice interrupted his thoughts. He tried to concentrate on what she was saying.
“It’s funny. I was okay at the funeral too. But ever since—” Her eyes filled with tears. She blinked and looked down at her hands.
Harte leaned his forearms on the table. “It’s no wonder that you’re upset now. You were almost run down by a car yesterday. Not to mention being uprooted from your home, which you shared with your granddad until he was murdered. I suspect that hearing those cats last night was the last straw. You’re in a much more vulnerable state than you’ve been so far since your granddad died.”
Her brows drew down. “Vulnerable state? You make me sound like a Jane Austen character. Trust me. I am not prone to fainting on couches.”
He couldn’t suppress a smile. “No, I’m sure you’re not. Now, about the windows. I want you to pay attention to the things you hear and see while you’re here. Nothing that frightens or startles you is silly. Tell the officers. It’s their job to check out anything that looks, sounds or even smells suspicious. I don’t care if you call them a hundred times about cats fighting.”
She gave a small laugh. “I promise, despite the surroundings, I’m really not a hypersensitive Victorian maiden.”
“You’re doing fine,” he said, patting her hand.
Immediately, her expression hardened and she drew her hand away. “Don’t patronize me, Mr. Prosecutor.” She gulped a large sip of coffee and picked up the cinnamon roll with her fingers. “So, are we ready to prep?” she asked, then bit into the gooey roll, leaving a bigger dollop of icing on her lip this time.
Harte’s insides ached at the sight of her tongue slipping out to catch the sugary frosting. She was fascinating. Haughty as a runway model one second, stuffing her face like a college kid the next. He looked at a point somewhere behind her head and forced himself to ignore her unconscious sensuality. He swallowed. “We’ll start this evening. Unfortunately, you don’t have a lot of evidence to testify about. Not that your testimony is not important. Just the opposite. I believe we might have a chance to put Ernest Yeoman behind bars for the first time ever. I merely mean that your testimony probably won’t take that long. Still, I want to make sure you’re comfortable enough with what you’re going to say that you come across as earnest and likeable.”
“Why wouldn’t I?” she retorted. “You know, every bit of what I told you and the police is the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.” She stuck her chin out defiantly, although since she was still chewing, it made her seem like a stubborn kid.
“Hey,” he said. “I’m not questioning your honesty, but you know as well as I do that if a witness is nervous or too emotional, it doesn’t matter if she’s telling the truth. What matters is the jury’s perception of her. And I want the jurors to see you as the grieving granddaughter who is bravely holding it together, even though her heart is broken.”
“Wow. Queue the violins,” Dani said sarcastically. “Think you can pull that off?”
Harte grimaced at her tone. “I’m not implying that
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