She froze, listening to the tick of the clock on the wall above the file cabinet, which held cases and clients and documents that didn’t carry the same emotional baggage that her drawer of sorrow did. She flicked her gaze up and took in the intensity of her brother’s gaze. Okay, so he knew, maybe?
“Ah…” was all she could get out. She sat back in her chair, hearing the woosh. “Pity party.” She tried to conjure up something profound, but nothing came.
Owen just lifted his hand and waved, that same motion he had used with all of them, growing up, when he wanted them to stop whatever bullshit was about to come out of their mouths. How in the hell had he ever managed to step into the role of their father? He’d been just a teenager, sixteen.
“You think I didn’t figure it out some time ago?” he said. “This Friday night thing, this ritual you have…” He gestured to her desk, her glass. “Drinking whiskey and staying at the office—doing what, I wasn’t really sure. I have to wonder, from those old case files on your desk, if that’s part of it.”
“What do you think you know? Seriously, Owen, every good lawyer looks at those lost cases because that’s what makes you get better. You’re being ridiculous. So what if I’m here, working?” Her bare feet hit the floor, and both her palms were flat on the desk.
Owen jabbed a finger to her glass. “You’re drinking the hard stuff that you never drink.”
“Who else knows?”
He raised a brow, always the silent observer. “Well, I had an idea. Pretty sure Luke does too. I know Suzanne has wondered. Marcus and Ryan…” He just shrugged. “They’re wrapped up in their stuff. Every Friday night you make some excuse, yet I see the lights on in your office, and I figured out the whiskey thing because Marcus mentioned he spotted you leaving the liquor store with it. Suzanne said she’s seen you leaving the office late on Friday night a couple times when she’s been out on a call, and you walk instead of drive. We all know when you’ve been drinking. Luke said we need to give you space while you figure out how to deal with a bad loss, because we know how personally you take your cases. You seem to forget I listen to everyone and put the puzzle together. Guess I just don’t understand why you put yourself through it.”
There it was. Her secret was unraveling. How could she explain to anyone when she didn’t understand herself?
“Is it too much for a little privacy in this family?” she said, reaching for her glass and leaning back. She turned her chair to the side as she took another swallow.
“Karen, Karen, Karen, you should know better. Privacy in our family? You forget, I’ve been watching your back for how long? As for the whiskey thing, don’t worry. No one in the family would believe you drink it. Marcus likely thought you were picking it up for someone. This pity party, you looking at those cases or whatever you’re doing, no one else has figured it out.”
“But you have.” She turned to her brother, who ran his hand over his face.
He was handsome, a catch, yet he was as single as she, Luke and Suzanne were. The one that they all depended on, Owen was only a few years older than they were, yet he had been a father to them all. Maybe the day their father left was the day she’d decided to hide everything she was thinking and feeling. Every man who’d ever said he loved her had turned his back on her and walked away, except her brothers.
“Yeah, always had my eye on you,” Owen said. “The trouble you’d get into… Your prickly personality pushes everyone away, and at times you just can’t help but make things difficult for yourself, with the way you’d scrap with Mom, with anyone and everyone. You need to let those cases go. You did more than anyone could do.”
“They got a raw deal, Owen. You know, when I went to law school and then started practicing, I never realized law is just a different version of poker, a game of chance, where your life is in the hands of someone who doesn’t know who you truly are. It’s a toss of the dice, all up to whether the DA got laid the night before, or is fighting with his wife, or has profiled you because of the color of your skin, or because you’re poor, or because you’re a woman, or because you didn’t come from a good home, a good neighborhood, or because you pissed off the wrong person, because, because… I could keep going. Racial and social profiling are things everyone does, but at the same time, you’ll never get a judge, DA, or defense lawyer, never mind your average person out there, to admit they do it, because then they’d have to admit that this broken system doesn’t work, and everyone’s preconceived ideas about people and situations are in fact what should be on trial.”
There she went, on a roll. She wasn’t sure, by the way her brother cocked a brow, whether he was about to mock her, scold her, or tell her to get over herself.
Instead, he pulled in a breath. “Wow, you really are stuck in a dark place. I hope this isn’t a place you go often, as it’s not helping you or anyone and can make you bitter.”
The way he said it felt so much like a scolding that she wanted to snarl.
He held up a hand. “You think I don’t know all that? Of course I do. I saw the closed doors Mom faced, even though no one else did. But give yourself a break, Karen. It’s the way the world works and always has. You’re making a difference, and you need to start looking at what’s working instead of what isn’t. This dark place your head is in isn’t doing you any good.”
He gestured to her desk. “I know all those cases you’ve lost stick with you. If you had been any other lawyer, though, it would have been far worse for them. Reine Colbert would have gotten a lot more time, Lawrence Green would’ve been in a supermax in another state, where his family couldn’t visit, Janine Baker wouldn’t be up for parole next month, with a chance to reunite with her family, and Matt Wilky would never see the light of day again instead of having the chance of parole in fifteen years, all because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time.
“You want me to go on? Yeah, those cases sucked, and I saw how you took what happened personally after each one. But no one could have done better. It was a crapshoot for them anyway. You think I don’t know how you see a part of yourself in those cases that everyone else calls a lost cause? So how about you start telling yourself that you give a damn, and you did what you could, but it’s not all on you?”
She just stared at her brother. “Is this a pep talk?” She settled her glass on the desk, crossing her legs again, leaning back. “Because, in case you didn’t get the memo, I’m a big girl and can look after myself.”
“If that’s what you need to tell yourself, then so be it, but you’re still my little sister, and a pain in the ass, too. You always did take things way too personally. You can’t fix everything for everyone. Sometimes you’re just going to have to tell yourself that you did all you could, and that’s the best that can be hoped for. Life isn’t always fair, Karen. It can suck sometimes, too.”
She didn’t know why, but the way Owen said it had her leaning forward on the desk, really looking at him. He never said anything about what was going on in his life. Instead, he was always steady for all of them.
“You okay there, Owen? You know, I’m getting the feeling something is going on with you. You know you don’t always have to be the one who carries everything for everyone else. You know you can tell me—” she started just as the office phone rang. She stared at it, and so did her brother. Damn the interruption. Who the hell was calling now?
“You going to answer that?” he said.
Well, Owen showing up here had ruined her melancholic Friday night alone time anyway. She hadn’t even had the chance to settle into the files, which were back under lock and key. She let out a sigh and reached for the phone.
“So who is it?” Owen said. “Mom, Suzanne, Ryan, Marcus…?”
She pressed the phone to her ear. “Karen O’Connell. The office is now closed, so unless this is really—”
“Karen.”
It was his voice. Deep, dark. It sucked her right back into that girl who had been nothing in his shadow. For a second, she had t
o remind herself to breathe. She somehow managed to turn her chair, because she couldn’t let Owen see how rattled she was. No freaking out.
“Are you there?” he said.
She breathed out, having to remind herself that she hated this man, that he’d once called the cops on her because she wouldn’t leave him be. His was a voice she’d never forget. Her heart was pounding. “Yes, I’m here. Why are you calling?”
Owen was listening, she knew.
“So you know who this is?” the man said.
Of course she did. What was it about the voice of Jack Curtis, the first man she’d ever loved, the one she’d married, who’d broken her heart?
“You know what?” she said. “This really isn’t a good time for me, so if you don’t mind…” She went to turn around and hang up.
“Wait, don’t hang up. I need your help. And you know I wouldn’t call you unless the situation were really…dire.”
She didn’t have to turn in her chair to know her brother was more than listening to everything she was saying—and everything she wasn’t. She lowered her voice. “What I remember is that I’m not supposed to be talking to you. You made sure of that with the last set of cops. You’ve made your feelings for me very, very clear, so if you don’t mind, I’m going to hang up now.” She started to turn around again.
“Wait, Karen, don’t hang up. Look, I’m sorry, but I’m in trouble—the kind of trouble that has me calling the last woman I would expect to help me.”
“No, you look. I don’t know what this is or what kind of trouble you’re in, but let me remind you clearly of your words to me: You hate me, you want nothing to do with me, ever, and you never want to hear from me, talk to me, or see me again. In other words, I was and am very much dead to you, and—”
“I’m in jail,” Jack said. “I’ve been charged with murder. I didn’t do it.”
She found herself staring at the phone for a second before putting it back to her ear.
“So if you could put everything aside, please,” he said, “because I need your help.”
She just lifted her gaze to the ceiling and leaned back in the chair, very aware of how her end of the conversation likely sounded to her brother.
“Hello, Karen, are you there?” he said. “Don’t talk. Just listen. This is my one phone call. I’m in Sweetwater County Jail, and I’m stuck here until I go before a judge Monday morning. You know what that means.”
“Why me?” She let out a sigh.
“Because there’s something else you don’t know,” he started. She thought she heard someone in the background. “Look, I’ve got to go. Please, Karen, just please, show up.”
The line went dead, and she pulled the phone from her ear before turning her chair around and setting the receiver back in the cradle. It took her another second to ground herself enough to look at her brother. His confusion was in his expression.
“You want to tell me what that was about?” Owen gestured to the phone and settled his feet back on the floor, not pulling his gaze from her. “Sounded to me like trouble. You in trouble? Something happened? Who aren’t you supposed to contact? You know I can call Marcus…”
She found herself shaking her head. “It’s someone I haven’t heard from in years, something that ended badly. You know that one person you never want to hear from, and then they call? Well, he called because he just landed in a shitload of trouble.”
Owen didn’t seem convinced. “Sounded like more than that, Karen. You may as well just tell me, because I’ll figure it out.”
She took in her desk, the empty glass, and her brother, who didn’t seem too interested in moving. “That was my husband,” she said. “He’s apparently in jail. I haven’t talked to him in years. He hates me, and I hate him. He called the cops on me, got a restraining order. Things ended very, very badly, and I never expected to hear from him again, but hey…” She gestured to the phone as if that explained everything. She could honestly say she’d never seen Owen appear so shocked. He didn’t wear it well.
“Right, good, glad to have this talk,” she said. “So, since you’re struggling to find something to say, let me help you. You’re right to think I didn’t tell anyone I got married. I hid it from all of you. At the time, it was a stupid-ass thing to do, a time in my life when I was doing stupid-ass things. Is there more to the story? Yes, absolutely. If you could just keep this little bombshell to yourself…”
Owen exhaled and looked around for a second as if trying to understand what she’d said. “I think you’d better start at the beginning,” he replied. “And this time, Karen, don’t leave anything out.”
Chapter Two
She took in the concrete walls, the gray, the kind of place where she spent way too much time with people who’d found themselves on the wrong side of the law. This time, she struggled between being overwhelmed and numb as she listened to the echoes outside, wondering too many things.
Could the deputy who’d led her back to the interrogation room she was standing in now smell the liquor on her? She should have gone home to her one-bedroom condo. She shouldn’t be here now, and she didn’t know what she was more freaked out over, the fact that she’d dropped her little bomb about Jack Curtis to her brother when she’d sworn to take it to her grave or the fact that she was now waiting for the man she loved and hated all because he’d called her. Like, who did that? Evidently, she still hadn’t learned.
She heard the door. The sound of the county jail was one she didn’t think she’d ever get used to. Instead of sitting and waiting for her client, she stood frozen, unable to feel the dampness under her arms, the ache in her toes from the pumps she’d shoved her swollen feet back into.
Jack was a man she hadn’t seen in…how many years? Six, seven—no, eight.
There he was, being led in by a cop her brother no doubt knew. He was cuffed, in a white dress shirt and dark pants, ultra-conservative, tall, dark, and handsome. He was burned in her memory, but he wasn’t as she remembered. God damn him, he looked even better.
She just gestured to the cop with her chin as he took off the cuffs and then left the room. She still hadn’t said anything. For the first time in her life, she swore, she was at a loss for words. At the same time, the only thing that kept her standing there instead of striding over to Jack and slapping him was the fact that her fingers were digging into her bare arms, which the short cap sleeves of her dress didn’t hide.
“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” he said. Yup, that was the same deep voice that had been able to talk her into anything, including having a ring on her finger before he could yank the rug out from under her.
“I shouldn’t be here, considering the difficulties you caused me,” she said. “Pretty sure, from the restraining order and the sheriff’s last talk with me, where he reminded me to grow the fuck up, move on, and never come near you again, that this here is a bad idea for me. But you know that already, so I can’t help wondering why you called me. You killed someone?”
At least she’d managed to add a pissed-off edge to her voice even though it was killing her to stand there so calmly.
He glanced to the door, and she took in his heavy five o’clock shadow. When he rubbed both his wrists, she took in the way his sleeves were rolled up and didn’t miss the cut and elegance of his suit pants—no, a tux. It looked as if it had been made for him, by the expense of the cloth. Yeah, that was custom tailored. His fingers were bare, but then, the cops would have taken everything when they booked him.
“So they said, but it’s not true. You look good.” His blue eyes were frigid, icy, far different than hers. He lifted his chin. “I see you’re a redhead now.”
She wasn’t sure if he was mocking her, and she found herself reaching up to her hair. She’d settled on the color a few years back. It was pulled up and back, and she had to fight to keep her self-doubts, which had kicked the shit out of her confidence, from resurfacing.
“Look, Jack, you didn’t call me here to talk about the shade
of my hair, and I can’t help wondering why you did call me. This makes no sense to me, because you shouldn’t be that desperate for a lawyer. The phonebook is flooded with them. Take your pick. I can’t seriously be your only option. I’m very well aware of how you feel about me. Out of all the lawyers to call, why me?”
Yes, she was dedicated, a pit bull, and she fought for her clients, but she was well aware that there were better lawyers out there. The way he was watching her had her remembering everything, the good, the horrible. He had been there one day, gone the next, walking out the door with a suitcase and his final words: It’s over.
“Why not you?” Jack said. “You’re a lawyer and you’re good, and I need one.”
She also knew bullshit. The tension was so thick that her stomach churned, and for a moment thought she might be sick. She was furious that she couldn’t feel anything for him. “Right, so you call me? You know what I remember, Jack, is the day you left me. I stood there, eating my heart, as you packed a suitcase and walked out the door, and as you did, remember what you said to me?” She had to force the lump in her throat away as she swallowed. She couldn’t finish reliving that moment. It had gutted her, the way he looked at her, the way he spoke to her.
The table was between them, and there was something about the way he stood there, so strong and tall. She wasn’t sure what to make of his expression. Evidently, she’d never been able to read him, and obviously, he wasn’t going to answer.
“You told me not to contact you, that it was over,” she said. “You told me this should never have happened, that it was a mistake—that I was a mistake. That’s what I remember.”
He’d stared at her as if he’d hated her. She’d never forget that one look. It haunted her still, and so did the papers she’d been served, which were tucked in the bottom drawer underneath the velvet box that still held his ring, which she couldn’t believe she’d kept.
#1-3--The O’Connells Page 26