An Affair Across Times Square

by Rachell Nicole

Tyler surveyed the jury, readying to continue with questioning Paulson.

  But their gazes darted behind him. What the hell were they looking at?

  “You will let me in to see him right now, bailiff.”

  No. That voice. It couldn’t be…

  “What is going on over there?” the judge asked, standing.

  Oh, God. How had she found him? Why the hell did she think this was a good time to come waltzing in here and make up? He caught Williams staring at her out of the corner of his eye but refused to look at the other man.

  He watched as Layla took a deep breath.

  “I am terribly sorry, Your Honor. I really must have a word with you and DA Connely in your chambers, please.” Her voice shook. Her eyes were wide, and she stared straight past him to the judge. She looked terrified. Worse than when his mother had shown up. She wasn’t here for him?

  “Connely, who is this woman?”

  “My law assistant, your honor. I have no idea what she’s doing here, but whatever it is can wait.”

  Law assistant? She was working on the same case he’d been, and he hadn’t even known. Had she? She pushed the bailiff right out of her way and strode down the middle of the pews, looking more like her mother by the minute.

  “I am not a law assistant, Connely, and you well know it. I am a fully bar-certified member of the prosecution team, and I have vital information pertaining to this case that I believe you would rather we discuss in His Honor’s chambers.” The look she gave the DA was withering. It was the look you gave a guy when he’d betrayed you. When he’d broken your heart and you were scorned. As in hell had no fury like… So she’d been sleeping with the DA too? None of this made any sense. “Permission to approach the bench, Your Honor?” She kept her eyes focused on the judge, not looking at Connely anymore.

  “Yes, I think you had better.”

  She walked through the gate between the pews and the open floor and handed an envelope to the second bailiff, who gave it to the judge. Connely had gotten to his feet and looked as if he was going to flee.

  “Council in my chambers. Now.”

  The judge nodded to the bailiff, who moved closer to Connely. The DA swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. Layla followed the judge into his chambers, not sparing Tyler a glance as she passed right before him. He waited for the bailiff and Connely to move past him. He walked into the room, and the bailiff left, closing the door behind him.

  “Sit.” The judge’s voice boomed in the smaller room.

  Everyone sat.

  “Ms. Morgan has just presented me with this.”

  He handed a picture to Tyler. Ms. Morgan. Oh, God. Layla Morgan. The woman from the DA’s office whose scathing voice had reprimanded him for not sending in the witness list on time, when it was her fault he’d been so distracted at work. Under other circumstances the irony would make him smile, but this was too screwed up to be funny. He looked down at the picture. It was a close-up of a cuff link, an evidence number beside it.

  “Your Honor, I’ve never seen this picture before,” he said, “but if this is pertinent to the case, I’m going to have to make a motion for a retrial.”

  “Brian.” Layla’s voice came out quiet but firm. The DA looked up at her, guilt plain on his face. If Tyler had any doubt they’d been together, that look would have squashed it. “Tell me that’s not what I think it is. Tell me there has to be another set somewhere in the world that’s been worn exactly the same way, that has the exact same engraving as the set I gave you.” Her voice held so much emotion, Tyler couldn’t comprehend what she said at first. He was focused too much on her voice. She sounded so hurt. So lost. She’d given Connely a gift. A cuff link.

  Shit. The cuff link. The one that was found beneath the body. No wonder those pictures hadn’t come to him at the beginning of the case. The DA had tried to dispose of them, the same way he’d disposed of Jeannie Rose. Son of a bitch. At least Paulson wouldn’t go to jail.

  The DA said nothing. She nodded, and Tyler could see the sheen of tears in her eyes. A slight tremor shook her body. Did she care for Connely? She seemed to be personally crushed by the knowledge that he’d killed Jeannie Rose. But the woman Tyler knew wouldn’t have been in a relationship with two men at once, and he distinctly remembered seeing a wedding band on Connely’s finger. No way she would be sleeping with him.

  “Your Honor, the state of New York would like to move to drop all charges against Mr. Paulson for the murder of Jeannie Rose Wright.” Layla’s voice had turned to steel. “I would personally like to report that I believe this cuff link found beneath her body, entered into evidence, and then hidden was the sole property of Mr. Brian Connely, and that he is now a suspect in a case Detective Ross has reopened. I also have confirmation of a trace of his cell phone records for March third, when he was in fact in Central Park.”

  She sounded so unlike herself. So formal and strict and like the woman who had called to demand he send over the witness list. This was Layla Morgan, daughter of the Queen of Bitchdom, attorney at law. But he could see his Layla beneath the layers she’d wrapped around herself. It didn’t matter, though. Because she’d lied to him. She turned to the district attorney.

  “Brian, did you really come on to a twenty-year-old? Honestly?” She shook her head. The DA gave no response, and she huffed. Clearly she was convinced of Connely’s guilt, and his motive. Could the DA have been the man Paulson heard talking outside his tent that night? The one who wanted to meet up in the park with the person he was talking to?

  “Bailiff,” Judge Henders called. The door opened. “Please take DA Connely into custody immediately.”

  “Yes, Your Honor.” The bailiff moved into the room and led the DA out a second door of the chambers in handcuffs, without raising an eyebrow.

  Tyler couldn’t say anything to Layla. Nothing would come out of his mouth. How could she have lied and told him she was leaving? Had she been trying to distract him from the case the whole time? So many questions swirled in his brain, he didn’t know which end was up.

  “Well, kid, it’s your lucky day.” It took Tyler a minute to realize the judge was talking to him. He nodded, trying to focus but unable to. “Let’s get back out there and let everyone go home.”

  The judge rose, and they followed him out into the courtroom. Layla said nothing to him. She hadn’t even looked at him since bursting through those doors. Good. She should feel guilty. And hurt. And pissed. Just like he did. He’d started deluding himself into thinking he could forget about her one day, and then she came crashing back into his life to remind him that was a hopeless prospect.

  “Let’s do this formally,” Henders said, mounting the stairs to the podium and taking the gavel in his hand.

  Layla stood behind the prosecutor’s desk. “The state of New York moves to drop any and all charges against Mr. Paulson regarding the murder of Jeannie Rose.”

  Gasps and murmurs erupted all around them. Henders slammed the gavel, and silence reigned. “Objections from the defense?”

  “No, Your Honor.”

  He nodded. “Case dismissed.” He banged the gavel again, and noise assaulted Tyler from every direction. He turned to Paulson and shook the man’s hand. Then he looked up, trying to spot Layla. He deserved an explanation from her, damn it. But she was gone.

  * * * *

  Layla slumped against the side of the building, letting tears run down her face. Her gasps for air were loud in her ears, almost as loud as the slam of her heart. He’d done it. Brian had killed that girl. She gripped her thighs, nails digging into the fabric of her pants. She tried to calm down. How could he have killed her?

  The images from the crime scene flashed through her head. Brian. Brian had done that. She couldn’t breathe. She leaned over and emptied her stomach. Coughing, she straightened up and wiped her mouth with her shirtsleeve. She didn’t know how to reconcile the Brian who brought her muffins and doughnuts with the brutal killer. The way he’d grabbed at her, tryi
ng to force himself on her, then almost hitting her—she’d seen a glimmer of real rage in his eyes. That man, that Brian, could be capable of murder. Why hadn’t she seen it sooner?

  She shook her head. It wouldn’t do her any good to dwell on it now. All she could do was help make it right. She had to stay, had to see the office through Brian’s prosecution, if he didn’t plead guilty and accept his sentence. But that meant staying in New York, and she’d just destroyed her biggest reason to stick around.

  Seeing the look on Tyler’s face, knowing that he knew she’d lied to him, and not having a clue what he must think of her now was torturous. She had to get out of there before he made it through the crowd. She couldn’t face him again. Not now. Probably not ever.

  She forced herself to stand, holding on to the wall when her head swam. She took three deep breaths and walked away. She needed Eddie. Right now. He would help her sort through yet another one of her messes.

  She ran to the nearest subway and kept her mind blank all the way to Times Square. She didn’t cry again until she was hidden in the office on the eighth floor, with Eddie’s arms around her.

  He didn’t ask any questions, knowing she wouldn’t be able to talk through the sobs. He’d been calling her for days, and she’d been ignoring him, afraid Tyler had contacted him about her. She’d been unready to face the fact that she could either run from Tyler forever and pretend it was for his own good, or she could attempt to be an adult and work things out. Now she didn’t even have the chance for that.

  So she let Eddie hold her, and she cried. For Bob and Linda and Jeannie Rose. For the fact that she hadn’t seen the truth sooner, that she’d been too wrapped up in her crazy budding relationship with the man across Times Square to realize that she’d been working with a killer. For the way she’d had to stand there in the middle of the courtroom and demand attention and respect, and the scary, powerful rush that came when she got it. For the look in Tyler’s eyes as he tried to figure out what the hell was going on.

  She let it all come pouring out of her, and then, before the tears stopped, she told Eddie the whole story, from meeting Tyler’s mother to standing up to her own mother and getting kicked out, right up until she’d stood in the alley beside the courthouse, panicking. He rubbed her back and murmured that things were going to be okay. She let him lie to her, grateful for his support.

  She had no idea how long she sat in the office with him holding her, but somewhere along the line her tear ducts dried up and her breathing returned to normal. He handed her a bunch of tissues and moved back so she could pull herself together.

  “So what are you going to do about it?”

  That was the question, wasn’t it? Problem was, she didn’t have a freaking clue.

  “You have to talk to him. At least write to him. Tell him you’re sorry you lied.”

  “I can’t. I mean, you didn’t see his face. Shock and then hope and then just confusion. If I talk to him, he’ll know…” She couldn’t say it. Not even to Eddie.

  “He’ll know what?” he prompted. Not a hint of accusation colored his words. Just warmth and a genuine desire to help.

  She shook her head. He pushed his lips into a straight line and wheeled his chair away from hers. He grabbed a small box from under the desk and handed it to her.

  “What’s this?” She didn’t think she could handle another shock to the system right now.

  “Just open it,” he said.

  She opened the box, and a new well of tears poured down her cheeks.

  “Carl said you left it in the limo. He found it a few days ago. It had rolled under the seat. He thought you might like it back,” he said.

  She looked down at the baseball through the blurry tears.

  “Tell him, Lay. I mean, really, what’s the worst that could happen? He’ll say he doesn’t accept your apology and doesn’t love you back?”

  How could he say the word so easily? Love. She didn’t know how to love anyone. All she knew was how to screw up relationships and get everyone around her into trouble. He was wrong. The worst part wouldn’t be if Tyler said he never wanted to see her again, or if he told her he didn’t love her. The worst part would be if he told her he did.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  “Yes, Mom, I’m sure.”

  The look on her face told Tyler she didn’t believe him. “But baby, you love this place.”

  “I know, but I love my sanity more. My peace of mind. I can’t afford to stay here any longer.” He looked around his apartment. He would miss the high ceilings and the bank of windows, the cabinets he’d put together and installed. He’d miss the memories of holding Layla in his arms in this very room.

  His mother nodded. “I shouldn’t have made you buy it in the first place. I know you only wanted that stupid job to pay off the loans, and this place wouldn’t help. I was just so proud of you. And you deserved it.”

  He didn’t deserve anything right now. How could he not have seen through Layla’s act? Why hadn’t he noticed the cuff link earlier and contacted the detective about it then? He had a hell of a lot of work ahead of him if he wanted to prove he could make it at the Innocence Project. He pulled his mom under his shoulder, hugging her to him.

  “This was a good place. I’m glad you talked me into buying it. But now it’s time to move on.” He just hoped his heart would catch on to that idea eventually.

  It had been a week since he gave his notice, nine days since the incident at the courthouse. The new DA was building a case against Connely, who still wouldn’t confess, despite the evidence. He hoped the jackass had a shitty defense attorney. Or that the new DA was good enough not to let him walk. They would call Layla back to the city to testify. Would she want to see Tyler? He didn’t know if he could talk to her.

  He took his mother to dinner to celebrate his new job and new, more affordable place. It was the only time he’d get to spend with her for a while, and he was going to enjoy it, even if he had to force himself. She asked about Layla, and he brushed her off. He wasn’t ready to talk about it. Didn’t know if he’d ever be ready to talk about her. The past week and a half had been hell. He’d made himself keep moving when all he wanted to do was curl up into a ball and scream. How had she gotten so far under his skin after only a week in her company? How had he let her rip his heart out so effortlessly? He finished dinner with his mom and moved the rest of his stuff into his new apartment, ready to focus on a new case and someone else’s problems for a while.

  * * * *

  It took Tyler another week to get settled into his new job, until he was so engrossed in a case that he only thought of Layla every hour instead of every minute. Every time the phone rang, his heart clenched, his body tensed. But she didn’t have his cell phone number. She’d had his work number, and that wasn’t his anymore. He wondered for the billionth time if she had tried to call him.

  He would’ve picked up, just to hear her voice. Even if what she would tell him was a bunch of lies. As long as she lied in that deep, sultry voice—not the one he’d heard in the courtroom, but her real voice—he would listen. He wanted to hear the sound that went with her thick, heavy eyelashes and beautiful smile and the wicked gleam in her eyes. That was the woman he’d fallen in love with.

  He forced his mind back to the case files as a knock sounded at the door.

  Shut up, heart. It’s not her. It was what he told himself every time the phone rang or someone knocked. He was certainly tired of hearing the repetition in his head. He got to his feet and opened the door.

  “Got a package for you, sir. Sign here.” The delivery boy handed him a small box and the big scanner.

  Tyler signed the screen and gave it back to the kid. “Thanks,” he said and closed the door. He walked the few feet to his couch and sat down. The package had come from the law office. What had they sent him?

  He opened it, and there was a smaller box inside.

  Tyler was written on the top. He knew that handwriting. He tore the box open and
found a few sheets of paper, folded and covered in the same scrawling letters. He unfolded them and read the note.

  Mr. Times Square,

  Let me start by saying, I’m so very sorry I lied and told you I was leaving. I thought it would be best if you didn’t see me anymore, especially after that visit from your boss. But that’s the bullshit reason.

  He laughed at her vulgar directness and kept reading.

  Honestly I snuck off in the middle of the night because I couldn’t face you in the morning. I knew if you woke up and I was still there, you’d try, and succeed, to get me to stay. I couldn’t deal with what that could have meant for us. No one’s ever asked me to stay, not for very long, and I’ve never wanted to say yes to the ones who might. This letter is really fucking hard to write.

  I’m so sorry I distracted us both from the case, though, because if I hadn’t, maybe we would have seen the truth about Brian earlier and saved us all some grief. I can’t believe my boss killed her and then covered it up and expected to get away with it. He had absolutely no idea how good I am at my job. Stupid prick.

  Yeah, she was definitely still bitter, but she didn’t mention a relationship. He looked at the second page.

  So I left the baseball in the limo that night. Eddie gave it back to me. I don’t know how long it’s going to take me to bring this over to your office. It might be a few days or a month or longer. This sealed box with this letter in it might sit on my shelf forever if I continue to be a complete chickenshit. But I hope it doesn’t sit unsent. And I really hope you open it when you get it, even though it’s from me.

  Because when you open this, I’ll be here. I’ll be back in my hotel room, waiting for you to come and take me on our third official date. I’ll know if you don’t come that you were maybe just a little bit chicken too and didn’t open the box. Or that you opened it and don’t want to go on that date with me after all.

  Shit. What were the chances that the firm sent this to him right away? Even if they had, would it have only taken a day to get there? He reached for the outer box. They’d sent it to his old address, and it had been forwarded. The postmark was six days ago. She’d think he hadn’t wanted to come. He didn’t bother reading the rest of the letter, though he clutched it in his hands. He grabbed the baseball and his keys and ran out the door.