Dirty Little Secrets Read Online Free Page B

minutes three police cars, a fire truck and an ambulance arrived, filling the parking lot of the steakhouse. Patrons and staff alike flooded from the restaurant to see the commotion. Nothing people liked better than a free show.
    An officer she knew ran toward her. “Megan, you OK?”
    “Fine now. Thanks, Mac. Be better once Dixon is locked up again.” She gestured to the police car, where he was being handcuffed.
    “You sure you’re OK?” he asked again, concern evident in his tone.
    She shrugged her shoulder. “All in a day’s work, right?”
    Mac Duncan took a preliminary statement from her before he turned to James. “I’ll follow you to the hospital and get your statement there.”
    James opened his mouth but quickly shut it again. She could tell he wanted to object to the ride in the ambulance but remained silent. The muscles in his jaw bunched together, his annoyance clear, but he acquiesced. Her estimation of him went up again.
    “I can drive your car to the hospital and meet you there,” she offered.
    “Fine,” he said, tossing his keys at her. When everyone was out of earshot he whispered, “You owe me one.” His words were casual but his tone sent a jolt through her. It was simultaneously menacing and sexual, not a combination she usually enjoyed, but from his mouth it held just the right amount of danger to make her tingle.
    When Megan arrived at the hospital James was already being seen by a doctor; impressive, since it was a busy DC hospital and the ER waiting room was lined with people waiting to be seen.
    Megan took a seat and picked up a copy of
People Magazine
. The edges were frayed and the main story was about the heroes of Hurricane Katrina. So not a recent issue she thought, as she tossed it back on the table.
    “Mrs. McCoy,” the nurse at reception called.
    Megan looked up. “Yes?”
    “You can go back into examination room five if you want to wait with your friend.”
    James Emerson was hardly a friend. She barely knew the man. She looked around the waiting room. At least twenty people were waiting, some bleeding, most just coughing like they had been nursing a ninety-a-day habit since infancy. God only knew the pathogens making their home here. An examination room with James suddenly seemed quite appealing.
    A nurse showed her the way.
    “Hi,” she said lamely when she saw James.
    He nodded at her. “I’m getting stitched up. And a cast apparently.” James indicated his left hand.
    She glanced down at his hand. It was swollen and an angry bruise had appeared across his knuckles.
Shouldn’t he be moaning or wincing or something? Shed a stray tear at least
. His face was mangled and he had a broken bone. When she stubbed her toe, the neighbours across the street knew about it. But James was sitting chatting quite happily like having his head split open was an everyday occurrence. “You broke your hand?” she asked.
    “Looks like it. Your case better be airtight.”
    “As long as my complaining witness doesn’t go all sentimental and change his mind because deep down you know he really does love you. And he only did it because he is such a passionate and misunderstood person.”
    “Does that happen a lot?”
    She nodded. “All the time. Domestic violence cases are a nightmare. Every second woman recants. There are always kids and dogs and grannies involved. It’s just ugly. Sorry you got caught up in it.”
    He shook his head. “Not a problem. But why do you do it?”
    “My job? Why do I do my job?” Her throat was suddenly dry. The question was possibly her least favourite. There was no answer that could possibly sum up her feelings adequately, or at least not one she would share with someone.
    “Yeah. I reckon you could make a lot of money in private practice. My lawyer just bought a Ferrari. Come to think about it, I think he’s overcharging me.”
    “Probably. Never trust lawyers. They’re a slimy lot.” She smiled.
    “And apparently they’re good at