by Cecy Robson
It takes her a long moment before she lifts her chin and speaks. “Is this—” She swallows hard and wipes her mouth with her fingertips. “Is this going to happen again?” she manages.
I brush her hair away from her face. “Oh, hell yeah,” I tell her.
She laughs when I do, but then her features soften with that look girls get after I’ve been with them. I hook my arms under hers and yank her to me, tucking the covers around us. “We’re about to have the ‘Are you my boyfriend?’ chat, aren’t we?” Her hesitancy tells me we are. And damn it all, whatever happened to just having fun?
“This isn’t something I do,” she says quietly.
“That’s what you said last time.”
Her hand smacks against my chest and I laugh. It doesn’t hurt, and she’s not trying to hurt me, but she is letting me know I’m bugging her.
“And I meant it last time,” she insists.
She rolls onto her belly and reaches for her little glasses. I’m guessing she doesn’t want to miss anything my face might give away. She doesn’t realize that talks like this kick my expression into neutral, and that’s how it’ll stay.
She wrinkles her nose, in that cute way of hers. “Like I was saying, it’s not like me to—well, I don’t usually have…”
“Hot, crazy, animalistic sex?” I offer.
Her shoulders slump. “If you must know, yes.”
“When was the last time you messed around—and don’t tell me back in college with me, because I know that’s not true.”
Her hand pauses in the middle of pushing back her wild hair. “How do you know?”
“Because you’re sexy, and not a nun, and yeah, all kinds of hot.” I shrug. “I figure at least a couple of guys, and maybe some women have tried to bang you.”
It’s a compliment, but for some reason she doesn’t seem to take it that way. “You think women have hit on me?” I nod. “Why?” She gasps at the way I’m smirking. “Because I dress borderline masculine? Is that what you think?”
“Some chicks like that shit,” I agree.
“Christ, Curran,” she says, shaking her head. She passes her hand along her pillow, as if debating what to say. When she finally speaks, her tone shifts, like she’s embarrassed about what she has to tell me. “I was seeing someone about a year ago. Howard was pleasant—”
“Pleasant? Well, with a name like Howard I’d expect no less.”
She shifts her body to lie beside me, gathering the bedcovers around us and trying uselessly to hide her small smile. What can I say? I’m hilarious.
“Don’t be mean,” she says. “Howard was a nice man.”
“How was he in bed?” She shuts her mouth tight, which tells me good ol’ Howard was either really “pleasant” or really not that good.
“He was…acceptable.”
“Ouch.” I grimace on behalf of the poor bastard.
“What? I’m not trying to insult him.”
“Babe. When you describe sex with a guy, he wants to hear shit like ‘beast in bed,’ ‘he owned my vagina,’ or ‘I couldn’t walk for a week from the magic of his rock-hard co—’ ” Her widening eyes tell me I should stop right there. “You hear what I’m sayin’, right? ‘Acceptable’ and ‘pleasant’ would shrink some serious balls.” That said, thanks for the favor, Howie, ’cause you made me look that much better.
Tess rests her head against my shoulder, drawing circles with her fingertips along my chest. “To be honest, that’s one of the reasons I ended our relationship. We didn’t connect like I wanted to.” She hesitates, like she doesn’t want to say anything more, but then bites out more than I expect. “For some reason, this isn’t the case with you. You’re sexually freeing.” Her hand stops moving. “But I’m sure you’ve heard that before.”
“No,” I confess. “Mostly, I hear the examples I just mentioned.”
I meant it to be funny, but this time Tess isn’t laughing. Her voice develops that hint of sadness it usually carries, and it bothers me more than it should. “I know you’re used to getting a lot of attention from women,” she says. “And I know you have a lot of experience. But my experiences are few, as are the men I’ve cared for.” She sighs. “I don’t want to be used, Curran. And I won’t be.”
“I’m not trying to use you,” I tell her truthfully.
“Then don’t,” she says. Her warm breath teases my skin as she thinks things through. “I’m not asking you for a commitment, only honesty. The reason I’m clean is because aside from my time with you, I’ve been really careful.” She lifts her head. “If you want to be with someone else, that’s your right. I don’t need details, or names, or anything. I just need you to tell me.”
My fingers stroke her lower back. “You won’t be mad if I’m with someone else?”
“No. But I won’t welcome you back in my bed, either. There are a lot of things wrong in my life, Curran. I don’t want you to be one of them.”
Chapter 12
Tess
“What about the paperwork to the judge?” Declan asks as he continues to sort through his notes.
I scroll through my iPad. “All sent, all received.” I finish reading through Simon’s email. “His law clerk is reviewing everything now. He assures me that he’ll have a trial date for you this afternoon once the judge wraps up his sentencing.”
Declan’s stance relaxes, but only slightly. The Montenegro case is proceeding full speed ahead. We’re holding his second, and one of his hit men, on charges varying from narcotics distribution to murder. Their hearings will have to wait. But Montenegro’s can’t.
If Montenegro’s men don’t help put him away, Declan is determined to make them pay. Yet even with their help, this case won’t be easy. Montenegro is cunning and has covered his tracks well. But that doesn’t mean he’s safe against Declan.
Declan is known as “the lion” among the other DAs, and by the looks of it, that lion is readying to go after his prey. I put my iPad away and sort through the files he needs to review. Our current issue is that we still have nothing on the third in command.
Declan leans back in his chair, appearing lost in his thoughts, but then his expression changes and he smiles. “I almost forgot.” He reaches into his drawer and pulls out a flip phone, then slides it across the desk to where I’m sitting.
“What’s this?”
“Curran said you didn’t have a cellphone.”
I try to brush off the remark. “Oh, I can’t afford it. Tuition, rent—everything seems out of control.”
Declan scoffs. “Tell me about it. Even with all the aid I received, I’m still paying my law school tab.” He motions to the iPad. “Do you at least get text access on that thing?”
“No, and I don’t have money to go wireless. My apartment offers free Internet. I tap into the Wi-Fi there, here, and at school when I need it.”
Like Curran, Declan seems to realize I’m holding something back. I’m thankful he doesn’t press. “Well, then Curran’s right. Looks like you need one. It’s from the Victim Services Unit.”
I glance up. “Won’t the team there miss it?”
“Not at this time. There’s a tremendous turnaround in that department—a new director’s taking over. She’s been saddled with supervising all the units in the county and is restructuring them accordingly. She’s visiting each one now to get things started, but her home base will eventually be here.”
“Wow. That seems like a lot of work.”
He laughs. “Tell me about it. It’s Miles Fenske’s daughter, though—I think her name’s Melissa—and if she’s a workhorse like her old man, I’m sure she can handle it.”
I tilt my head. “Isn’t there a conflict of interest, seeing how he’s the acting DA here?”
Declan unbuttons the cuffs of his sleeves and rolls the first one up. “I think that’s what most are going to assume. Hell, I did. But she started out in Harrisburg at the state level and really kicked ass—cut a lot of baggage loose, and hired people who were
committed and had the education to help victims of violent crimes.”
I play with the phone in my hand as I consider his words. “How was she able to do that? With so many budget cuts, it seems impossible to hire the right people with the right education.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” he says, adjusting his other sleeve. “From what I hear, her dedication caught the governor’s attention. The governor credits Melissa with her reelection based on her accomplishments and changes to the victim assistance program.” He quirks a brow. “The governor apparently gave her all the money she needs for the restructure, the hires, and pretty much anything Melissa wants—including smart phones for her staff. You’ll get one when they come in, in a couple of weeks.”
“How? I’m not working with Victim Services in any capacity.”
“Contessa, Miles told me he’d get me anything I need. You’re my legal intern, and you need a phone. So he secured one through his daughter.”
“Well, thank you. I appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome. Keep in mind that what you know will only get you so far. It’s who you know that will ultimately decide where you end up,” he adds with a wink.
A couple of weeks ago, his wink would have stopped my heart, and likely sparked a blush. Now, it only reminds me of Curran’s playful wink, and how much I’ve missed him all week.
“I suppose you’re right,” I say, quietly.
I lift the phone to find the number stickered on the back, and while I’m thankful to have the cell, my thoughts leave it, the office, my course load, and everything behind to return to Curran.
It’s been less than a month since he stumbled back into my life, and I can’t deny how hard I’m falling for him. His humor and some of his comments absolutely floor me; so does his über-macho attitude. But then he does something like arrange for me to have a phone, among other things….
He left my apartment Sunday afternoon after making a few private calls and taking me to brunch. He didn’t say much about us, but he kissed me goodbye and promised to call. After I walked him to the door, it took me a moment to realize my apartment was warm. I thought my father had taken pity on me until the building supervisor phoned me shortly after Curran went home.
“Is the heat working okay?” he asked.
“Ah, yes. Thank you,” I said, clearly confused.
“Good. That police officer wanted me to make sure it stayed that way.” He took a nervous breath. “Sorry I turned it off. I have to follow the owner’s request.”
My fingers dug into the receiver. “Does the police officer know it was my father who told you to disconnect it?”
“No, ma’am. I don’t want any trouble. Made him think it was just a mistake.”
I used to like the building supervisor. I didn’t then. But Curran? Him I liked very much. What I didn’t like was what he had to say when he called me that night. “Another group of badges will be watching you this week, Tess.”
“Are you going back on patrol?”
I thought it was an innocent question, but I sensed that terrible awkwardness, even though I couldn’t see him. “No. I just have shit to do that needs to get done.”
“Will I see you at all?” I hope I didn’t sound as desperate as I thought.
“Probably not. Like I said, I have a lot that needs doin’.”
“All right. Be safe….”
“Are you all right, Contessa?” Declan asks, bringing me back to the moment.
I place the phone in my purse. “Yes. I’m fine. Do you need me to work on anything for you?”
“Nothing right now. Why don’t you take a break? Come back in twenty.”
“All right.” I stand, slowly, wishing I’d brought my case studies to review. God, I’m so behind on my schoolwork. “Please call me if you need anything sooner. You have the number, correct?”
Declan smiles, lifting the file closest to him. “Yes. I’ll see you in a few.”
I leave Declan’s office, taking my time since I don’t really have anyplace to go. My first instinct is to return to the law library, but unless I’m in need of a legal journal, I avoid the library at all costs. Attorneys are competitive by nature, but since my being appointed to the Montenegro case, the other law clerks have flat out shunned me. I suppose it’s better to be ignored than to be insulted, but I can’t say their behavior doesn’t upset me.
Declan told me that three more assistant DA positions will be available this fall. Two are a result of retirement, and one is due to an attorney who wants to stay at home with her children. If the other clerks are aware of the opening, it could explain why they’re behaving like cutthroats.
Or asshats, as Curran would say.
I’ll be honest. I want one of those spots and hope to apply for it when I graduate in May. The one in the Trial Unit could give me the litigation experience I need. Although I’ve won several mock trials throughout law school, it doesn’t compare to trying a real criminal case.
Hmm. While the starting salary is minimal compared to one at a large firm, I enjoy working here. The detectives, DAs, and staff are extremely dedicated to the public sector. Not to mention that since I escaped the confines of the law library, they’ve been very nice to me, and treat me like I belong.
I think about what it would be like to work here as I drift down the back stairwell and head courtside. And the more I consider it, the more I hope it will somehow happen.
The sheriff’s officers at the security point wave me through. I smile and thank them, but they don’t smile back. Instead, they exchange glances as if they’re expecting something I’m not aware of.
Since I can’t interrupt them to ask, I keep going, although a sense of unease fills me. I try to shake it off and head toward Judge Bronson’s chambers, hoping Simon has some news regarding the Montenegro hearing.
Once more, screaming emanates from courtroom thirteen. I hurry out of the way as the sheriff on guard barks into his radio and an army of deputies swarm the courtroom door. He motions me to the hall that leads to chambers. “Stay here, Connie,” he says. “Too much shit going down.”
There is, so obviously now isn’t the time to tell him my name isn’t Connie.
My mouth falls open as one by one, a cluster of civilians are hauled out of the courtroom in cuffs, most of them struggling, all of them screaming. A large man is dragged out next, blood pouring from his mouth. What appears to be his entire family is gathering around him, ignoring the orders to step back. A hysterical woman is pleading with everyone to stop, to calm down. The bleeding man is so incensed, he’s fighting with everything he has, breaking free of the deputy restraining him and pointing, at Curran.
“You fucking pig!” he yells to Curran. “You ruined my boy’s life. You dirty cop. You fucking dirty cop.”
Curran is being shoved away. I recognize one of the DAs among the many men in uniform attempting to separate him from the crowd. “Fuck you,” Curran fires back. “Your kid messed up one of our own for life!”
Declan comes out of nowhere, shoving his way through the escalating mob to Curran’s side. He slinks his way to him, those who recognize him giving him space to allow him through. He whispers tightly in Curran’s ear. I can’t hear what he’s saying through the growing clamor and the morbid cries, but Curran somehow does. He stops fighting, but his face is so filled with rage, I can barely stomach it.
“Contessa, where’re you going?” A hand grips my arm forcibly and yanks me back. “Contessa, what the heck are you doing?”
Simon has me and is yanking me back toward chambers. I don’t realize I lunged forward until I notice where I’m standing and how far Simon has to pull me back. I struggle against him, desperate to get to Curran, worried he’s hurt.
“What happened, Simon?” I ask, my voice shaking as I take in the blood splattered along Curran’s torn suit.
Simon loosens his hold when I stop struggling. “The judge just sentenced a first-time offender to twenty. His family felt the punishment was harsh
and attacked the lead witness.”
The color drains from my face as I realize who the lead witness is.
“Harsh sentence, my ass,” the sheriff’s officer guarding the chambers growls. “The rookie’s paralyzed. He’ll never walk again. Prick should’ve gotten the chair.”
Simon apparently thinks this is a good time to argue. “The chair wouldn’t be used in any state for the charge of—”
“I know that, you little shit!” the officer yells back, making it clear Simon needs to shut up.
Simon doesn’t, and they begin to bicker. I ignore them, my full attention on Curran. I start to move forward, panicked something will happen to him, until his hard stare shoots my way and freezes me in place.
Curran
Declan continues to whisper in low tones. But I stop listening when my eyes lock on Tess. Shit. What the hell is she doing here? Declan was supposed to keep her at the office!
Like I goddamn need this. I don’t want her to see me lose my shit. And after a week of getting grilled, a week of seeing Joey sitting in his wheelchair—listening to every word coming out of my mouth, reliving every millisecond of that night—I’m seriously ready to tear someone in half.
Tess tries to snake her way forward, only for Simon to snag her by the wrist and tug her back. He’s saying something to her. Like me, she’s not listening, her widening eyes searching my face as the chaos explodes around us.
“Goddamn pig!” someone yells, this time a woman.
“Who you calling a pig, you worthless piece of shit.” A rookie sheriff’s deputy has had more than he can take, but the growing mutters of the surrounding deputies tell me he doesn’t stand alone. Maybe that’s what I need: a long, hard look at how I’m riling everyone up.
I take a deep breath, and another, trying to get it together. But remnants of how bad the defense counsel ripped into me flood my mind. Every detail of how I screwed up was thrown in my face—every detail—all with Joey front and center. The anger and resentment shadowing his face during the trial was all directed at me. Not once did he look at the defendant.