Pursuit of Justice

by Mimi Latt Narrated by Laural Merlington

Overview

Rebecca Morland had a rosy future. She and her husband, Ryan, were making plans to start a family; he was a partner at a prestigious LA law firm; and her own work, at a city legal clinic, was very satisfying. Then one night at a party, on a yacht owned by a wealthy and politically ambitious businessman, Ryan vanishes. And Rebecca's life is turned irrevocably upside down.

Ryan's colleagues say he had seemed depressed, that he had been drinking the night he disappeared. Funds have been embezzled from the firm, and a suicide note is found. The police are all too happy to close the case.

Rebecca sets out to find out what really happened to her husband, but uncovers things that both surprise and terrify her. And she soon realizes that the same forces that took Ryan's life are intent on silencing her was well.

Editorial Reviews

Midwest Book Review

Very forceful and believable...Latt shows that she is a real force in the legal thriller sub-genre.

Los Angeles Times

Entertaining...A terrific sensual romp that should make some members of Los Angeles' legal community a little nervous.

Publishers Weekly - Publisher's Weekly

Latt (Power of Attorney) strives for breathless intrigue, but daytime-drama values render this legal thriller unintentionally droll. One minute, Rebecca Morland is slow-dancing on a "huge private motor yacht" with husband Ryan; the next minute, his drowned body is savaged by circling sharks. The L.A. County Sheriff's Department declares Ryan a suicide, and Ryan's law partners readily agree, announcing that he's been embezzling from the partnership. But Rebecca, herself a lawyer, is incredulous: Ryan was not a thief and was too much in love to take his own life. Why, they were even nervously awaiting blood-test results to confirm her much-desired pregnancy. So, patting her queasy tummy, Rebecca launches into her own investigation of Ryan's unsavory partners: jilted vixen Catherine Dennison (who says "very well" instead of "okay"); "perpetually cunning" John Evans; "stately managing partner" Brandon Taylor, who has unfathomable ties to sleazy Republican power-brokers. Like the makers of TV soaps, Latt characterizes by coiffure: Rebecca's "red hair cascaded over her should in a mass of curls," but the hair of dubious characters is "streaked," "sleek," "dirty-blond" or "scraggly." When Rebecca meets a deputy DA with "curly brown hair worn rather long," we know she won't be grieving forever. The many tinselly details (such as a mustachioed villain's "fawn-colored jodhpurs") border on self-parody, but what is most preposterous here is the wooden dialogue. Says a "top investigator," "I take it something's wrong or you wouldn't have wanted to meet me away from the office where we can't be overheard." If only. (Feb.)

Library Journal

Laural Merlington offers a serviceable yet uninspired reading of this classic David and Goliath tale about a widow who takes on her husband's law firm after his suspicious suicide. Rebecca and Ryan Morland are a happy and youthful lawyer couple looking forward to a bright future--until Ryan is killed falling from his firm's yacht during a cocktail party. The police conclude it is suicide, citing his recent depression and a spurious suicide note found in his office. Ryan is then posthumously accused of embezzling funds from his firm. Rebecca sets out to prove her husband was murdered and then framed. The melodrama is highly predictable, and Rebecca's behavior swings wildly between simpering/tearful and strident/overbearing in her quest for the truth. There are, frankly, no characters who appeal enough to make us care one way or the other. Not recommended.--Kristen L. Smith, Loras Coll. Lib., Dubuque, IA

Product Details

BN ID:	2940169671070
Publisher:	Brilliance Audio
Publication date:	03/12/2010
Edition description:	Unabridged

Read an Excerpt

Chapter One A six-piece band played as Rebecca Brownstein Morland and her husband, Ryan, danced on the top deck of the huge private motor yacht. The boat, called the Majorca, was covered with tiny twinkling lights that reflected back off the inky water, lending the scene a magical aura. Night had fallen a short time ago, and over Ryan's shoulder, Rebecca watched the lights of Santa Monica receding as the yacht motored farther into the San Pedro Channel, away from the breakwater of Marina del Rey and the California coastline.

In spite of the music, the raucous laughter emanating from the various decks, and the hum of the large diesels, Rebecca found it peaceful to be out on the water. With Ryan's arms wrapped around her, she tried to make believe that the last three weeks had never happened and that their life was still perfect.

She glanced around. Tonight's party was a political fund-raiser, and the yacht was packed with the most powerful men and women in the state. The men, looking handsome in dark dinner jackets, and the women, elegantly clad in fancy cocktail dresses and magnificent jewelry, all added to the glamour of the event.

Brandon Taylor, the stately managing partner of Taylor, Dennison & Evans, the law firm at which Ryan recently had been named a partner, was making his way around the deck, shaking hands and stroking egos. As a high-profile lawyer as well as the son and grandson of two former United States senators, Brandon was intent on becoming his party's candidate for the next Senate race. So far, no one of any importance had chosen to oppose him for the nomination, and Brandon was busy ensuring that no one would, especially Paul Worthington, the multimillionaire owner of this magnificent yacht.

Rebecca tossed back her head of red hair, which cascaded over her shoulders in a mass of curls, and nudged closer to Ryan.

"I love you," he whispered in her ear, his breath warm against her cheek.

"I love you too," she murmured.

When the music stopped, Ryan pulled away and immediately began to glance around. Watching him, Rebecca could see that the haunted look was back on his face. He was a handsome man, and she particularly loved the boyish way his light blond hair fell forward over his brow. But tonight, Ryan's face was lined with exhaustion. Gone too was the devilish sparkle in his blue eyes.

His gaze still focused on the crowd of people around them, he leaned against the rail, and his tall, muscular body slumped forward as if the air had been let out of his chest. Ryan usually appeared younger than his thirty-five years, but not tonight.

"You look so tired," Rebecca said, gently admonishing him.

Ryan's mouth twisted into the crooked grin that when she first met him had melted her heart. In spite of his weight loss and his pale, gaunt face, that smile reminded her of the man with whom she had fallen in love.

How could things have changed so drastically and so fast?

A mere three weeks ago everything in their lives had been wonderful. They were in love and trying to have a baby. They were both excelling in their legal careers. At twenty-nine, Rebecca had a responsible and fulfilling job as a staff lawyer in a legal clinic for lower-income people. Ryan's lifelong passion had been politics, and he'd been thrilled when, recently, Brandon Taylor had asked him to join his campaign staff. Rebecca and Ryan were often amused by the fact that their only arguments were not about the differences in their religions, which didn't seem to pose a problem, but about politics -- she was a Democrat while he was a Republican. Then something had happened. Without warning, she had begun to live in a nightmare.

Memories of the last several weeks came crashing into her head. The nights Ryan hadn't been able to sleep -- his almost hostile silences, his moodiness, the abrupt flashes of temper. It was clear to Rebecca that he was deeply troubled. Yet he'd told her virtually nothing, insisting that what was bothering him was work related and therefore confidential. She'd sensed that wasn't completely true. During their two-year marriage -- without divulging any specifics that would violate their ethical obligations -- they'd always discussed everything, including their legal cases. Besides, his eyes gave him away -- he was hiding something from her. Well, if she was going to help him, she had to find out what it was.

Ryan started searching his pockets, looking for a cigarette. "It was your idea to stop smoking when we started trying to have a baby," she reminded him wryly, the corners of her mouth turning upwards.

"Please, babe." He took the pack out and removed one. "I'm at least trying to keep it down to two a day."

Rebecca decided not to press him. He still had a lot of mingling to do tonight, locking up as much support as possible for Taylor's candidacy. She'd wait until they were in the car on their way home to try and find out what was disturbing him so much.

A crewman dressed in a crisp white uniform with epaulets approached Rebecca and Ryan. He nodded to them and smiled. "Your host has asked that any smoking be confined to the stern of the boat, in the fishing cockpit. May I show you the way?"

Ryan glanced at her, a question in his eyes.

"Go ahead," Rebecca said softly. "I've got to fix my contact lens. I'll meet you back up here in a little while."

"Okay." He looked at her lovingly, then brushed his lips against her forehead. "See you soon."

Rebecca watched him follow the crewman to the circular stairway that led to the lower levels of the boat. Just before Ryan's head disappeared from view, their eyes met, and he gave her a smile. It sent a rush of warmth and hope through her. Somehow they would work things out.

Rebecca checked her contacts, covered the few freckles on her nose with powder, and put a touch of mascara on the lashes of her green eyes. Then, satisfied with her repair job, she closed her purse. Gazing at her image in the mirror, she thought her simple black sheath complemented her tall, lithe figure. Yet compared to the other guests, she felt slightly underdressed.

Shopping had never been Rebecca's favorite activity. She'd bought this dress off the rack at Loehmann's, a discount clothing store not far from the legal clinic, without even trying it on. If she worked at a firm like Taylor, Dennison & Evans, where appearance counted as much as performance, she'd be forced to have, as Ryan did, a closet full of finely tailored suits. "Oh well, c'est la vie!" she murmured as she left the powder room.

Heading back to meet Ryan, Rebecca was struck by the opulence of her surroundings. Everything shrieked of money, from the crystal chandeliers and the ornate mirrors to the plush carpeting and the furniture upholstered in shades of white and beige, shot through with threads of silver and gold. The Worthington yacht was a world apart from the sailboats and small powerboats she was used to.

On the upper deck, Rebecca quickly surveyed the crowd but couldn't spot Ryan. Checking her watch, she realized that fixing her contact lens had taken longer than she'd anticipated. She decided to explore the lower decks. As she made her way through the crowd of people she became aware that someone was watching her. It was Maxwell Holmes, a political insider, whose behind-the-scene support was said to be vital to winning any and all elections in the state of California. Rebecca thought Holmes slightly attractive in a rough, unpolished sort of way, but she was repelled by the man. His unwelcome attention to her earlier in the evening had clearly upset Ryan, who ordinarily would have laughed something like that off.

She heard someone calling her name and glanced around. It was Jeremy Rogers, an old law school chum of hers, beckoning her to join him at the rail where he was standing with two other people. While she was anxious to find Ryan, she didn't want to seem unfriendly.

"Hello, Jeremy," she said.

"Rebecca, it's great to see you." He introduced her to his companions, both lawyers, a woman with a lively face and a stiff-looking young man. He then explained to his friends that Rebecca and he had attended law school together.

As Rebecca shook hands with Jeremy's friends, her eyes continued to roam the crowd, searching for her husband.

"Do you go by Brownstein or Morland now?" inquired Jeremy.

"Both," she nodded, smiling.

"Brownstein," said the other man, turning to Jeremy with a smug grin on his face. "Isn't she the one who beat you out for editor-in-chief of Law Review?"

Jeremy's neck grew red with embarrassment. "Yeah."

Wanting to ease his discomfort, Rebecca quickly interjected, "If the truth be known, I think it was decided by the toss of a coin."

Her old classmate flashed her a grateful smile.

"And where do you practice?" The other man's arrogant tone of voice told Rebecca that he was probably a lawyer at a stuffy firm in downtown L.A., the kind of place where they checked your pedigree before offering you a job.

"I'm a senior staff attorney at the Fairfax Neighborhood Legal Clinic."

"A legal clinic?" The man raised one eyebrow, clearly surprised. "I would have thought with your class standing and other qualifications you could have had your pick of any firm in the country?"

"I did," Rebecca replied with a smile. "And I chose exactly where I wanted to be." She was about to excuse herself, when the woman, who was standing next to her, spoke.

"I just figured out where I've seen you. Aren't you the lawyer who was profiled a few weeks ago in the Daily Journal? Something about tackling a bunch of developers on behalf of an elderly woman?"

"Yes," Rebecca responded.

"Going up against all those powerful law firms took a lot of guts," the woman said, looking at Rebecca admiringly.

"I'm just glad it worked out," Rebecca replied, as she scanned the people who were passing in front of them.

"Looking for someone?" Jeremy asked.

"Yes. My husband. I was supposed to meet him on the upper deck, but we seem to have missed each other. I really need to find him. It was nice meeting you both." She nodded. "Take care, Jeremy."

Crossing the main deck, Rebecca saw that a lavish buffet dinner was being served. She gazed at the huge silver trays of fresh clams, oysters, and mussels. Other silver trays were filled with shrimp and crab, poached salmon surrounded by boiled new potatoes and mounds of steamed fresh vegetables. There were all sorts of sauces too, along with lots of fresh fruit, hot bread and rolls. Inhaling the delicious aroma, she realized she was hungry. As she hurried off to find Ryan, she wondered if he might still be smoking in the cockpit.

Pacing back and forth in the salon behind the bridge, Rebecca kept glancing at her watch. Almost an hour had passed since she'd last seen her husband. Having become extremely concerned, she'd finally asked the crew for help and was now waiting for them to locate Ryan. The owner of the yacht, Paul Worthington, had also been by to reassure her that his crew would be thorough and that she shouldn't worry.

"Ryan Morland, please report to the pilothouse."

She heard the loudspeaker paging him again. Why was he taking so long to respond? Was it possible he had not heard the announcement?

Glancing through the windshield, she saw that the party was still in full swing. It didn't appear that anyone was even paying attention to the loudspeaker. Trying to squelch the uneasy feeling in her stomach, she assured herself the crew would find Ryan before long.

Abruptly, the boat slowed, then began to turn. She heard voices approaching. A man with weathered skin, dressed in a white uniform and wearing a cap with insignia, strode into the salon. "Mrs. Morland?"

"Yes."

"I'm Captain Henry." He straightened his shoulders, his feet planted firmly apart as he spoke to her. "My crew has searched the entire yacht and we can't locate your husband."

Every nerve ending in her body sprang to alert. "How can that be?" She waved her arm in a wide arc. "A boat this big must have a million nooks and crannies you haven't yet checked."

"It's large," he admitted with a nod of his head. "But I guarantee you, ma'am, we've covered it all."

Rebecca fought the feeling of dread welling up inside her. "Please ask the crew to give it another try," she said, forcing herself to remain composed. "It might also be wise to see if anyone else is missing."

"That was our next step, ma'am," he acknowledged. "In the meantime, we've turned the yacht around, noted our position, and we'll be retracing our course." Captain Henry paused before adding, "We've also notified the Coast Guard and the sheriff's department. They should be arriving shortly."

"The Coast Guard?" A chill ran up Rebecca's spine, causing her to shiver involuntarily. "Why the Coast Guard?"

"When someone is missing at sea, we always notify the Coast Guard as well as the sheriff's department."

His words startled her. "You don't mean you think he's in the water?"

"There's a good possibility," he replied, his mouth compressed into a thin line. "You see, the transom gate to the swim step is open."

"The what?"

"The swim step is aft of the fishing cockpit," he explained. "It's a platform that goes across the stern of the boat a little bit above the waterline. It's used to transfer to a dinghy or a shore boat -- also to go into the water for a swim."

She shook her head. None of this was making any sense. "Can you show me what you're talking about?"

"Of course." He guided her to the rear of the yacht, down a set of stairs, along a carpeted passageway, and finally through the door to the outside cockpit.

Rebecca realized she'd been in this area before while looking for Ryan, but at the time she'd merely glanced around. An overwhelming stench instantly caused her to feel ill. "What's that terrible odor?" she asked, holding a hand to her nose.

"We're right over the aft end," the captain explained. "The smell is the exhaust from the diesel engines that power the boat." He gestured toward the guardrail. "The swim step is below there. But be careful." It was quite chilly now. The cold night air hit Rebecca like an icy wall. She saw that a hinged half door hung open. Holding onto the rail for support, she inched close to the stern and peered down. A platform ran along the back of the boat. Water churned up and over it, at times obliterating it from view.

She turned to the captain. "Ryan wouldn't have gone out there," she insisted, loud enough to be heard over the din of the engines. "It's way too dangerous -- wet and slippery too."

His eyes softened. "Yes. But let's say, ma'am, that he did go out there." It was obvious he was trying to be patient with her. "It's quite easy to accidentally slip and then fall into the water."

"No," she protested, holding up her hand to ward off his words. There had to be another explanation, she thought as she struggled to stay calm. "Captain, you mentioned this swim step is used to transfer to small boats?"

"That's right."

She peered around. "Are there small boats on this yacht?"

"Oh, yes. We carry three smaller vessels, a speedboat, a Boston Whaler, and a personal watercraft."

"That's our answer," said Rebecca, a half smile breaking through her terror. "I'm not sure why, but my husband must have left the yacht in one of them."

"No, ma'am," the captain countered, his brow furrowing. "I'm afraid they're all still here."

"Then maybe another boat picked him up? Can't you get on your radio or whatever you use to communicate between vessels and see who was near us?" She struggled to keep the panic out of her voice.

"We've put out a 'Mayday' to all the vessels in the area," he assured her. "When the Coast Guard gets here, they'll coordinate the rescue operations."

"How long before they get here?" she asked.

"The helicopters should be here immediately. We should also see the sheriff's department search-and-rescue operations soon and the Coast Guard cutter within the hour."

"If you feel my husband could be in the water, we can't wait." Rebecca's voice was strong, a perfect cover-up for the horror she felt inside. "Don't you think it would be best if your men took down the small boats and we started looking ourselves?"

"The Coast Guard and other agencies are much better qualified than we are to conduct a search of this kind, especially at night."

She pulled herself up to her full height and fixed her gaze on him, ready to bend this man to her will by force if need be. "Captain, if my husband has gone overboard, we must try and find him ourselves."

He stared at her for several seconds. Then, as if realizing Rebecca wouldn't be dissuaded, Captain Henry nodded. "Very well." Turning to one of his crew, he barked out some orders. His eyes on Rebecca again, he asked, "Is there someone who can wait with you while I attend to things?"

"I'd rather go with you. Can you get me some pants and a top, so I can go out in one of the rescue boats?"

"Oh no, ma'am," he said firmly. "I strongly recommend against that. Way too dangerous out there. Besides, there will be people arriving and they'll want to talk to you. You'd be of more help if you stayed here."

Part of her wanted to take immediate action, convinced that this whole thing was a crazy mix-up and the sooner they found Ryan, the better. At the same time, she realized the captain could be right.

"Okay. I'll stay. But I want to speak to the Coast Guard myself on the radio. They've got to dispatch boats and planes and helicopters. I also want this whole yacht to be searched again thoroughly."

"Fine. If you will come with me, ma'am" -- Captain Henry motioned with his arm -- "we'll get started."

Rebecca followed him, her mind racing. There had to be a sensible explanation for all this -- there just had to be. She shook her head. Obviously, she wasn't thinking very clearly at the moment or she would have figured it out by now. After all, she told herself, no one just disappears off a yacht into thin air.

Copyright © 1998 by Miriam Lavenda Latt

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