The Burden of Desire

by Natalie Charles

  “This way,” he said with a too-smooth smile as he placed his hand on her elbow to pull her through the hordes of cameras and journalists.

  Don’t touch me. She yanked her arm out of his reach, but he didn’t appear to take any offense at the gesture. The old Ronnie might have allowed him to continue to clutch her, for fear of hurting his feelings. The old Ronnie was demure to a fault. Self-sacrificing. She was the school nurse who listened patiently while kids talked about their fake ailments and shared disgusting information about their bodily functions and sexual habits. That Ronnie took it all in stride with a smile. That was the Ronnie who carried little breath mints in her pockets, those sweet red-and-white candies that she’d learned long ago were universally loved and accepted. Sorry your menstrual cramps are so bad, honey. Would you like a mint?

  The new Ronnie didn’t carry mints, and neither did she put up with crap like strange men acting overly familiar. I don’t care if you’re his lawyer, his doctor or his priest. None of that makes us friends.

  Wormy. That was what the lawyer was. All smug and pleased as punch about her sudden appearance. “This is big,” he confided as they pulled away from the crowd. He was a close talker, and for a second she wished she still carried those mints around. “Real big. You just blew a hole in this side of the prosecution’s case.”

  Ronnie smiled tightly. “I’m only here because Mitch is innocent,” she said in a forced saccharine voice. “I just feel terrible that this confusion has continued for so long.”

  They were heading down the sidewalk now, and Ronnie winced at the distance to the car. She’d worn the wrong shoes, that was for sure. In fairness, she’d had only a short time to get dressed after she’d arrived. She’d barely been able to sleep on the plane, not knowing what she’d be in for once she landed. She’d gone zombielike to the closet in her home and blinked at the many clothes she’d forgotten about completely. Sweaters and sensible cardigans and so much beige. The old Ronnie had liked beige. Maybe being in a bright landscape like Vegas for almost a year had changed her taste. This Ronnie gravitated toward bright blues and rosy-pinks. They reminded her of the desert sunset.

  She’d selected a sensible white blouse, a cardigan in a muted dusty-rose, and a string of pearls. She’d paired the ensemble with a dull gray pencil skirt that fell below her knees and black heels that pinched her toes when she walked. The whole look was dull dull dull. She used to be like this? This boring? No wonder Mitch—

  Well. She wasn’t going to think like that. All the beige in the world didn’t justify breaking marriage vows. She wasn’t going to make excuses for him.

  She was done with old Ronnie. In her first week in Vegas, she’d come across a fresh snakeskin that a neighbor said had belonged to a rattlesnake. It was just lying there on the side of the road, as if the serpent had taken off its coat and then forgotten to collect it on its way out of the sunshine. It’s a sign, she’d thought. This is what I am now. New Ronnie, who’s shed her old skin.

  She’d picked up the remnant, taken it into the motel room she was renting, then spread it out on the bed. She’d never been out West before, and had never seen a snakeskin. The dull scales were brilliantly beautiful under the light, and she’d tried to imagine the sheen of the new ones. Each time the snake shed its old skin, she imagined, it would grow stronger, thicker and more deadly. Glossy and self-confident, it wouldn’t fear anymore.

  Hadn’t Ronnie understood when she’d left Connecticut that night that she would never be the same? She’d started changing before she’d even climbed into the metallic cocoon of the airplane. But it wasn’t until she’d found that snakeskin that she knew what she was changing into. In that moment when she’d noticed the discarded pelt from the deadly animal, she’d understood in her heart that she hadn’t come out to Vegas to become a butterfly. She’d come out to become a poisonous snake.

  “Ronnie.” The lawyer beamed at her again. “I should’ve asked sooner if I could get you something. Breakfast, perhaps? A coffee?”

  He’d placed his hand on the small of her back, and the contact made her cold. “I’m fine,” she replied icily, and with a pointed glare at his arm. “And I’d prefer if you’d keep your hands to yourself.”

  * * *

  Sally didn’t have to turn to see who was barreling down the hall. Only one person had those footsteps. “Sally! Where is she?” Jack bellowed. He stopped when he saw her. “We need to talk.”

  Her stomach knotted. “Your office?”

  “Yours. It’s closer.”

  She swallowed the lump in her throat and tried not to sway from the reeling in her head. Ronnie Kruger was alive. Good for her, she supposed. Bad for the office, and really bad for Sally herself.

  “I need to call Dennis Marlow,” she said weakly, stunned by what she’d just seen. “Mitch Kruger is still in jail.” She placed her palm against her cheek and shook her head, which did nothing to order her thoughts. “I need to find out what’s going on first.”

  Jack’s face softened. “I’ll stop by in a few.”

  She trudged to her office, well aware of the eyes of her colleagues following her. Now the calmness of her sanctuary offered little reassurance. She drew the blinds. Darkness was preferable—she needed to hide.

  Marlow must have been waiting for her call, because he answered after the first ring. “Why, it’s Sally Dawson,” he cooed in an unctuous voice. “Lovely day, isn’t it?”

  “You’ve got some nerve, Dennis,” Sally hissed into the receiver. “A press conference? A freaking press conference?”

  “It’s nice to finally hear from you.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You were my first call. I’ve been trying to reach you for hours. I left messages on your office phone.”

  Sally glanced at the device. Sure enough, it was blinking red to indicate she had a message. She sat in her chair, not wanting to admit that she’d been both late and distracted that morning. “I didn’t get the messages. But there’s no excuse whatsoever. You have a hundred ways to reach me.” She took a breath, trying to steady her nerves. “So Mrs. Kruger...what? Wandered back into town this morning?”

  “She called me last night and said she was flying in from Vegas. I only met her this morning, and verified her identity.”

  “And you couldn’t give me a heads-up before sending out a press release?” Sally pressed her fingers against her shut eyelids. “Dammit, Dennis. You’ve turned this into a three-ring circus.”

  “Oh, come now,” he said, clicking his tongue. “This was a circus long before this morning. This case has been held up by the state’s attorney as an example of his staff’s dedication. You’re all so tough on crime and so clever that you don’t even need a body to go to trial. The magic of forensic science and all that.” He snorted. “I just shone the spotlight in a different direction. All of this works to my client’s advantage, really. Maximum impact.”

  She rubbed at her forehead. God, was he right about maximum impact. The press was going to love this little gift.

  “You need to file an emergency motion and withdraw all charges,” Marlow continued flatly. “Have it heard immediately so Mitch can get out of jail. He’s been held without bail for months. I hope it doesn’t come out later that you’ve been withholding evidence that would have exonerated my client.” His tone was pointed.

  Withholding evidence. Marlow didn’t need to come out and say explicitly what she knew he was thinking. The state had charged a man with murdering a wife who turned out to be very much alive. He’d be searching high and low for proof that the state had overlooked exonerating evidence to manipulate the investigation’s outcome. A civil lawsuit could follow, and quickly. “I’d like to meet with Mrs. Kruger before I file anything. Once I verify her identity for myself, I’ll file a motion to withdraw all charges immediately. That goes without saying.”
>
  “We’re at city hall now. We can be at your office in twenty minutes. Half an hour, tops.” Marlow sighed loudly into the phone. “I probably don’t need to tell you this, but this has been a long nightmare for my client. First his wife walks out on him, then the state brings charges against him for her murder. He lost his job. His son was set to testify against him. This proceeding has done immense harm to Mitch’s reputation and familial relations.”

  Heat climbed into Sally’s chest. “I’m not sure what you’re implying, Dennis. The state may ultimately have been mistaken, but we aren’t liable for any wrongdoing. We brought that case on sound forensic evidence.”

  He laughed drily. “Not so sound, was it? Not really, when the alleged victim is still alive.”

  Sally balled one fist and brought it to her lap, digging her fingernails into her palms. This was Marlow’s little way of informing her that Mr. Kruger would be bringing one hell of a lawsuit. It didn’t matter whether the suit was actually successful; the bad press would be damaging enough to the office. She bit her cheek until it hurt, to keep from saying anything she’d regret. “I’ll see you in our conference room in twenty minutes.”

  “I’ll be there with bells on.”

  She had no sooner slammed her phone down than Jack darkened her doorway. “Sally.”

  Her boss’s hands were on his hips, and his face was red. Not angry red, just an alarmed shade of ripened tomato. That made two of them.

  “You finish everything you need to do?”

  She propped her elbows on her desk and rested her head in her hands. What a nightmare. “Yes, sir. For now. I’m meeting with Dennis in twenty. I need to meet the vic—Mrs. Kruger—for myself.” How disorienting to hear those words out loud, when she’d spent nearly a year thinking of Ronnie Kruger as a concealed body, not a living woman.

  “You want to tell me how it is that the murder victim in your case is holding a press conference?”

  “Besides stating the obvious?” She looked up to meet his concerned eyes. “You can’t be mad at me, Jack. I’ve prepared for that case exhaustively. I just...” She shook her head, not knowing what she thought anymore. “The evidence was good. Solid. It was Mrs. Kruger’s blood on that rug. There was too much blood for her to have survived. It all added up.” Sally rubbed her temples. It didn’t make sense.

  “It’s my fault. The hours you’ve been pulling... I should’ve given you help a long time ago.” He planted himself in her visitor’s chair. His thick eyebrows pulled together, wrinkling the skin on his forehead, and he cursed. “We need to fix this. Quickly.”

  She thought of that press conference, how Marlow had chosen to drag Mrs. Kruger out into the spotlight to humiliate Sally, the office and the police. “He let his client sit in jail so that he could shock us all with the news.” Her cheeks grew hot.

  “We were about to bring a man to trial for a murder that never happened,” Jack said, loosening his tie. “I don’t think I need to lecture you on the seriousness of this.”

  Her heart fell to the floor. No, he didn’t, but he may as well have with that last comment. The effect was equally humiliating. “No, sir. Believe me.”

  A quiet rage flickered in her gut. She’d worked her rear off to get to where she was—one of the lead attorneys in the homicide division. She’d worked late nights and weekends for the better part of a decade, sharpening her skills. This case was just like any other: she’d pored over the evidence carefully and taken her responsibilities seriously. Even if Jack didn’t exactly see it, she was certain that the evidence had been manipulated and a trap set. Sally had spent most of her life being underestimated and taken lightly, and she’d worked hard to prove everyone wrong. No one was going to make a fool out of her.

  She tried to keep her voice steady now, but it sounded shaky, as if her words were being dragged over gravel. “I’m going to review that file. I’m going to figure this out. Some crime was committed, and whether it was an attempt to commit insurance fraud or murder...” She looked at him. “I’ll fix it. I promise.”

  “Sally.” He leveled a gaze at her. “You’re off the file. I’ll review this myself.”

  Her heart galloped, and her breath quickened. Jack would review the files? And what if he found a mistake? She scratched at her leg. She hadn’t made one, she was sure. But what if she had? She didn’t want to be blindsided. “Jack, no one knows that case better than I do. You know me. You know I’ve always been forthright with you. Besides, this doesn’t violate any ethical rules. I can examine the file as well as anyone.”

  “Sally, I want a review. You can’t review your own file. That doesn’t even make sense.”

  “I can review it.”

  They both turned at the sound of a voice. Ben stood in the doorway, his hands on his hips, and shrugged nonchalantly. “Jack already briefed me on it this morning, and I’m probably the least busy person in this office.”

  “Not for long,” Jack said, unconvinced.

  “Not for long. But for now.” Ben crossed his arms. “I’ve prosecuted complicated cases. I had a few murder cases while on tour. I know my way around forensic evidence. Besides, Sally and I are partners on this case. You said so yourself, Jack.”

  He sat in quiet thought before shaking his head. “God knows I don’t need to deal with investigating this mess, on top of everything else I’m doing.” He eyed Ben and then looked at Sally. “What do you think? I’m inclined to let him do it.”

  She smiled tightly. “Then I don’t think it matters what I think.”

  “Fine.” Jack shrugged and rose. “Ben, it’s now your file. I’m off to go try to explain this to the media sharks circling our office.”

  Sally glanced at Ben, who gave her a small wink and a nod. And this became, officially, the worst Day of her life.

  * * *

  Sally may have been spoiled, bratty and rude, but she had her back against a wall. What kind of man would he be if he let her squirm, pinned under the threat of her superior’s review? Win-win, Ben thought with some self-congratulation. He’d relieved his boss of additional work, and he now held the upper hand over Sally.

  Not that he’d use it. He was a gentleman, after all, and gentlemen didn’t humiliate women. Having a little power over her might convince her to talk to him again, that’s all. If she did, she might learn that he wasn’t as vile as she thought he was. Not anymore.

  He didn’t want to admit that her cutting glares that morning had bothered him. In the past, he’d made some choices he wasn’t proud of. The womanizing. The drinking. He was finished with both. Maybe, if she agreed to speak with him again, she’d stop looking at him as if he’d stepped in something foul. Not that he cared what Sally Dawson thought of him. He didn’t need the approval of a haughty trust-fund baby to sleep well at night. She’d always struck him as a little kooky, anyway. She did her own thing, traveled through life slightly off-kilter. He didn’t care if she thought he was a decent person at the end of the day. She didn’t matter at all. But he could repair the past by fixing his relationship with Sally. He hadn’t always been decent to her.

  He flung a self-satisfied smile at her. In response, she leveled a withering glare that would have peeled paint off a wall. Had he expected his charms to work that quickly? Sally sat back in her desk chair stiffly, her piercing glare informing him that he should drop dead.

  “You probably think I should thank you.” Her voice was a barely audible hiss. She rose, rounded her desk and stepped forward, closing in on him like a great cat evaluating its chosen prey. “I’m not going to.”

  “I wouldn’t expect you to thank me,” he replied calmly. “You probably want my head. But I heard Jack laying into you, and I think it’s in your best interest that your superior not review that file.”

  “Oh?” Her eyes narrowed to menacing slits. “And why is that?”

  He fo
cused on those light brown eyes. He’d forgotten that they contained tones of gold—the exact shade of whiskey filtering late afternoon sunlight. Beautiful eyes.

  He tore himself from their glare to close her office door behind him. “Look, Sally. A mistake was made. It’s the only rational explanation, and whether it was made by you, the police or the crime lab, it happened. You brought a murder case for a victim who wasn’t dead. That’s a problem.”

  “It’s not that simple—”

  “No one said it was simple. But if I find the mistake first, I’ll come to you. Maybe you can spin it and save your job, or at least your position in this office.” He pulled up straighter and added, “I’m doing you a favor.”

  “A favor?” She gave an unlady-like snort and walked away from him, heading back to her desk. She didn’t sit. Instead she leaned against it, her gray dress hugging her curves, and looking elegant and furious, preparing herself to give him a piece of her mind. “I’m not done with this case yet.”

  Ben stepped forward then. “I beg to differ. According to Jack, you’re quite done.”

  “I didn’t make a mistake. I know how risky it is to bring a murder to trial without a body. I was careful, and the evidence was good.”

  The neckline of her dress was plunging to dangerous depths. Ben brought his focus back to her angry brown eyes. “I don’t care how good you think the evidence was. I’ve been instructed to review this file, and that means it’s mine.”

  She tilted her head to the side and rolled her eyes. “You sound so military right now.”

  Before he could decide what she meant by that comment, she pushed herself off her desk and approached him once more. He was very aware of her lean, bare legs and the way her body teetered just slightly on those heels. Those shoes were ridiculous—amazing that she could even stand, let alone walk in them. Her legs, on the other hand, looked strong and smooth. She probably ran five miles a day. He fought the urge to reach out and touch them.