I sit in my apartment surrounded by files and law books and feel like I’m starting to get dizzy.
It’s early in the morning, barely past eight, and I’m already overwhelmed.
After visiting Nicolas, I got together everything the prosecution sent over and borrowed as many books on homicide as I could and got to studying. As it turns out, living like a saint for my whole life prepared me for lots of cramming, and I stayed up half the night reading case law and trying to get myself up to speed. But all that did was give me a headache and make me exhausted because there’s no way I’m going to learn everything I need to know in time.
There won’t be any fancy legal tricks. I don’t know how to mount a proper defense, and if this goes to trial, I’m totally screwed.
I’m going to have to prove that Nicolas didn’t kill those guys beyond a shadow of a doubt, and I’d better do it soon.
There’s a knock at my door. I sit up straight, and a spike of fear runs into my chest. I keep imagining those killers, picturing at least three or four of them, professional guys in those suits crime scene people wear that don’t leave any prints or fibers or DNA evidence, like killer spacemen. I look through my peephole, heart racing, phone in hand ready to call emergency services—
But Angelo’s face looks back at me. “I hear you breathing,” he says and raises up two coffees. “You’re working. Let me in.”
I step away from the door.
I could ignore this. Pretend like he’s not there. I could tell him to go away and let me do what I need to do.
But he’s got coffee and I’m barely functioning.
“Fine,” I say and unlock the door. When I open it, he breezes past and heads inside. “But you’re not distracting me.”
“Nice place,” he says, looking around. I live in a decent two-bedroom apartment in a nice part of Dallas. There are certain perks to being a lawyer, even a first-year associate, and it helps that my parents paid for my undergrad degree and helped with law school.
I shut the door and lock it. “Be respectful of my personal space, please.”
“I’m nothing but respectful.” He hands me a cup. “Coffee, one cream, one sugar. I didn’t know how you took it.”
“That’s fine.” I take a sip and sigh. “You’re right, okay? I am working. Been working all night.”
“I see that.” He lingers at the edge of my living room and stares at all the books, files, folders, and pictures. “You come up with anything?”
“Nothing.” I sit down in the middle of it all and slump back against the couch. I feel him watching me and I’m suddenly very aware of my thin pajama shorts and the simple black Metallica t-shirt I’m wearing with the big rip near my boobs. I wish I had a bathrobe or something, and I settle for putting up my hair into my customary tight bun and hoping he doesn’t look too closely at my chest. Which is definitely wishful thinking. “Just a few odds and ends but nothing solid.”
“Like what?” He drifts closer and squints down at what I’m studying.
“Like they found fingerprints on the table and that lines up with Nicolas’s story. They have footage of him going into the motel room and coming back out, but the CCTV doesn’t have sound, and allegedly doesn’t show anyone else coming or going. But he was only in there for a brief window, like he claimed.”
“That’s all they have? They’re basing the murder of five guys on that?” Angelo looks appalled. “Fucking prosecutors. Fucking cops.”
“There’s one more thing.” I hesitate to even tell him about this, but he’ll find out eventually. “A witness claims to have heard something. He’s a maintenance guy that was doing work on a room nearby, and he swears he heard violent and angry shouting around the time that Nicolas went into that room. He claims the fighting ended after Nicolas left. He was the one who contacted the cops.”
“A fucking witness,” Angelo says quietly, face hard. “That’s where we start then.”
I hold up a hand. “Actually—”
“It’ll be easy. We find him, break one of his fingers, and he’ll tell us the truth. We get him to recant his story, and boom, it’s all over.”
“Absolutely not,” I say sharply. “That’s called witness tampering and that’ll get us both thrown in jail.”
“So we let the prick do whatever the fuck he wants?”
I shake my head. “No, we don’t, but here’s the thing. If he is lying, that means he’s part of whatever really went down. If we go to him, our enemies will know we’re starting to peel apart their story. We need to look somewhere else, ideally somewhere they’re not looking too.”
He studies me as a small smile breaks across his mouth. “You’re one smart ice queen, you know that?”
“God, you’re the worst.”
“Beautiful, intelligent, and isn’t afraid to crack the whip. I’d say you’re the perfect woman.”
“Get out. Just go.”
“No thanks.” He stretches and sighs. “What now?”
“Now I sit here and drink this coffee and then I read through all these files again. And you leave.”
He stands and crosses the room, which is the opposite of what I wanted. He sinks down onto the couch beside me, sitting way too close, and I’m very aware of his dress shirt rolled up to the elbows and his slim suit pants that hug his muscular thighs to perfection. His eyes skim across the papers before landing on my mouth, and I swear I can hear him thinking right now, or maybe it’s just me, but either way, the image of him kissing me and fucking me slips back into my mind.
I have to get up. I shuffle off the couch and move away, heart racing, sweat beading down my back. What is it about this guy? Why does my body react like I want him to kiss me again, when all I really need is for him to get the hell out of here?
“Come here, look at this.” He’s squinting down at a police report and slowly picks it up between two fingers like it’s filthy and he’s going to contaminate himself by touching it.
“How about you read it to me.”
He smirks but doesn’t comment. “This says there were a few other people working that day. There’s a couple maids, a front desk kid, and the manager. Did the cops interview any of them?”
I pause before walking over. I take the paper from him and skim it, then skim another page, and another, before finally grunting in surprise. “If they did, it’s not anywhere in here. How the hell did I miss that?”
“That’s where we start then.” His smug grin is so infuriating I want to rip it off his face.
“I think this is the most painful thing I’ve ever had to say in my life, but you’re right. We should talk to them.”
“My favorite words. Say them again, my frigid princess.”
“Get out of my apartment.”
“Oh, come on. Say my name and tell me that I’m right.”
“You’re sick. Do you remember the boundaries?”
“I remember them. I simply don’t care.”
I sigh and rub my face. As infuriating as he may be, the fact that the other employees apparently weren’t questioned is a massive breach of protocol. It’s possible the prosecution hasn’t sent it over yet but—
It could be something else. Something bigger.
I sit on the floor cross-legged and start taking some notes. “All right, I have work. You can go now.” I try to read and pretend like he doesn’t exist, but he’s watching me the whole time, and I quickly give up. “Seriously, why are you still here?”
“Let me ask you something,” he says. “Why are you like—this?” He gestures at me.
“That’s insanely insulting, you know.”
“This whole ice queen thing. Where’s it come from?”
“I’m not—” I clench my jaw and take a calming breath. “Angelo, I’m not interested in talking about my personal life with you. Boundaries.”
“It’s gotta be your parents, right?” He tilts his head. “Yeah, it’s always the parents.”
“Angelo.” I stand up and stare at him, seething, hands curled into fists at my sides.
“Come on, frigid princess. I bet your mommy and daddy are rich but didn’t give you enough love. Am I right?”
“You’re not right. I’m ten seconds away from hauling you out of here myself.”
“I’d love to see you try.” He leans back and crosses his legs. “Come on, I’ll tell you about my tragic backstory if you tell me about yours.”
“No, thank you.” I turn away from him and sink back to the floor. Whatever game he’s playing, I’m not interested in talking about my past, because the worst part of it all is that he’s right.
Or at least he’s partially right.
“You know what gets me, princess? You and me are like complete opposites. You’ve been given everything, haven’t you?”
“No, not even remotely.”
“You went to Blackwoods College. You work for a big, fancy law firm. How can you tell me you weren’t handed a perfect future on a silver platter?”
I take a deep breath and try to think calming thoughts—waterfalls, wind through prairie grass, the sound of a computer fan buzzing on an otherwise silent night—but nothing seems to work.
This bastard knows how to crawl under my skin.
“I wasn’t handed anything. I got straight As in high school and got a massive academic scholarship to college.”
He looks surprised. “Straight As, huh? I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. I dropped out in ninth grade.”
“Guess I shouldn’t be surprised, either.”
“When it’s either work and help your grandmom pay her rent or go to school and watch her get kicked out, the decision’s pretty easy.”
I hesitate, not in the mood to get pulled into this conversation, but curiosity gets the best of me. “Did you live with her?”
“I did. My parents passed when I was nine. I barely remember them anymore.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“I’m not. They were both drunks. Mom was driving and absolutely shitfaced the night she swerved into oncoming traffic on the Blue Route and got four people killed.”
I look away and try to imagine what it must’ve been like growing up with that. “I can empathize more than you realize.”
“Yeah? You got something you want to share.”
I level my gaze at him and shake my head. “Not even remotely.”
His lips curl. “Yeah, I figured. Girl like you, what’s the point? You already made your mind up about me, didn’t you?”
“All I know is I have work and you’re a distraction.”
“Understood.” He stands and stretches. “As much as I love driving you crazy, I do want you to get my boy out of prison. Let me know when it’s time to do some interviews.”
“Sure,” I say, already turning back to my work. “Whatever.”
But instead of leaving, he leans closer to me. “I’m not going away, my frigid little princess, so stop thinking you can treat me like another simpering loser until I disappear. It won’t happen.”
He stands up straight and walks out. I watch him go, seething. That’s not what I’m doing—if anything, I’m giving him more grace than he deserves.
It seems the honeymoon is over. Now we’re down to the real work, and he’s not enjoying himself anymore.
Not that it matters. So long as he lets me do my job, I’ll keep working for the best of us.
