Page 121 of Beautiful Betrayal

Her voice is small, but her will is not or she wouldn’t have lived through the abuse she endured.

The hostess seats us and I have Delaney sit across from Reese, and it’s not long before we all have steamy cups filled with coffee. I don’t try to direct the meeting, not quite yet. I let Reese and Delaney start things out.

“I’m interested in your case, Delaney,” Reese says. “but I don’t represent anyone I don’t believe is innocent. Once I believe in you, I’m passionate about winning, as I know Mia is as well. I need to feel the passion she does for your case. I need you to tell me your story in your words.”

Once she begins to speak, I plan to lead her to my controversial defense that really shouldn’t be controversial at all. Not once the entire story is told.

“I don’t think there’s a reason for me to tell my story,” Delaney says, which doesn’t surprise me. I know where she’s going: to that honest place that won me over.

Reese arches a brow. “And why is that?”

“Because you just said that you don’t represent anyone you don’t believe is innocent. I’m not. I killed my husband.”

Chapter eighty-one

Mia

At Delaney’s declaration that she killed her husband, Reese doesn’t so much as blink. He doesn’t look at me, either. He stays focused on Delaney. “Why?” he asks.

“Does it matter?” Delaney challenges. “I killed him.”

“Do you want to go to jail?” Reese counters.

She cuts her stare, swallows hard, and then meets his stare again. “No, but,” her fingers curl into her palms where they rest on the table, “I killedhim.”

Reese doesn’t miss a beat. “Why?”

“He wouldn’t stop hitting me.”

I pull a folder out of my briefcase, open it, and slide a photo of her from the night of “the incident” in front of him. In the photo, Delaney’s face is beaten black and blue and her eye is swollen shut. He glances down at it, shows no reaction, and then looks at her. “Tell me more.”

She swallows hard. “I was—desperate—for him to stop. I reached for anything and I grabbed the fireplace—the metal thing by the fireplace. The fire poker.” She presses two fingersto her temple and then powers through the words. “I hit him. I didn’t mean to kill him.”

“How often did he beat you?” Reese asks.

“Daily,” she replies.

“Did he rape you?” Reese asks, getting right to the point.

“Daily,” she repeats.

“Why didn’t you leave?” Reese asks next.

“He threatened anyone and everyone I knew.” She makes a choked sound. “He even threatened the grocery store bakery manager I chat with every day who has three kids. And he had the money to make people dead and not get caught.”

Reese arches a brow. “Did he tell you that?”

“Every day for sixteen of our seventeen years together.”

My chest and eyes pinch just looking into her tormented stare. “Who inherits if you don’t?” I ask, leading her to my strategy for her defense.

“My daughter,” she replies.

“Who inherits if your daughter doesn’t inherit?” I ask.

“His brother.”

And we’re almost to the sweet spot I’m reaching for. “What’s your relationship with his brother?”

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