I’d much rather be obsessing over why Jacob King makes me hot all over when he touches me than living in the aftermath of Davis York’s handshake, I’d wanted to refuse. I step onto the elevator in the DA’s building and grimace, rubbing my palm on my pants to wipe away the touch. It’s symbolic, of course, but it feels good, because despite his good looks and charm, the man is one of the top criminal defense attorneys in this country. He makes a living getting the same bad guys off that I work my ass off to get arrested. He’s slime just like them. And the man is defending Bruce Norton, the bastard I just arrested for killing his pregnant wife. Unfortunately, the bodies haven’t been recovered, which is why the DA needs me to come across strong on this case in a big way.
The good news, I think, punching my destination floor, is that we’re in an election year so the pressure for the DA to convict is high. I like election years. They deliver results and while they won’t make the bastard who killed his wife and unborn child burn in hell as I’d prefer, I’ll settle for him rotting in a jail cell. The doors shut and my cellphone buzzes in my pocket. I dig it out and read a text message from Jacob: Judo move approved
I smile and type a response: Now you know how easily I can cuff you before I shoot you
What if I know judo, too? he replies.
Of course, you do, I type. You’re a big, bad Green Beret.
Yes, he responds. I really am.
I laugh, aware that his over-the-top arrogance is now for my amusement and, in fact, he’s mocking his own announcement of his credentials. He can laugh at himself and I’m officially finding it harder and harder to believe he’s the asshole I thought he was this morning. The elevator stops on my destination floor and I exit to greet a security guard who puts me through the typical bag search and metal detector before I’m walking down a hallway to the appropriate meeting room I know well.
I reach my proper doorway, which is open, and enter to find Evelyn Chris, the assistant DA that I’m working with on this case, sitting on the opposite side of a scuffed up wooden table facing me. “Come in, Detective,” she greets, managing as always to be as welcoming as she is beautiful and tough in a courtroom.
I claim the seat in front of her and she shoves her long brown hair behind her ears and fixes me in a hard, steady, green-eyed stare. “The defense council was just here.”
“I saw him downstairs. Pretty boy asshole. Something about him bugs me. He’s too perfect. No one is that perfect.”
“His track record is pretty damn perfect. This case is one hundred percent circumstantial. You know that, right?”
I set my bag down and settle my hands on the table, and give her my hard, steady, blue-eyed stare. “It’s an election year.”
Her lips thin. “I hate that fucking answer. That wasn’t: We got him. We have proof. We have this or that. It was pressure on me to work a miracle.”
“We do have him. We do have proof. And yeah. I believe you can work a miracle. Get a confession. I’m going to give you what you need to get it.”
Her phone buzzes and she grabs it on the table where it sits next to her perfectly manicured nails. She glances at the message. “A witness on another case is here, claiming mind-blowing information. I have to deal with this. But we have to get through this bail hearing tomorrow, so you can’t leave.”
“I brought work and my computer with me. I’m fine.”
She stands up. “For the record, I believe this bastard is guilty as sin and should burn in hell. I want to give you, his wife, and that baby, ten miracles.”
She rounds the table and leaves me with validation as to why I like her so damn much. We think alike. We fight alike. We are alike in all the important, ethical ways, we just play on slightly different fields and thus package our attacks accordingly. I open my briefcase and pull out my MacBook, files, and the bag with my cookies. My cellphone buzzes again. I grab it and read the message from Jacob: Who was the guy in the suit at the door?
I could respond any number of ways, but Jacob and his “I’m professional” self just invites a little baiting. Thus why I can’t help myself when I type: My lover. He’s very good. Did you feel the chemistry between us?
I’d hate to see how you respond to a guy you hate, he replies. You were as stiff as a corpse.
I grimace and type: I was not as stiff as a damn corpse. And you already saw how I warm up to someone I hate this morning. How did that work for you?
My phone rings and I answer it to hear, “You don’t hate me,” Jacob says. “You were confused about that.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“I am even if you aren’t, just yet.”
“Just yet?”
“I grow on people. Who was he?”
“Davis York. The defense attorney defending a slime-bag I arrested who I know killed his wife and unborn child.”
“And your relationship with Davis York?”
“If I could fuck him, I would, and I don’t mean in a bedroom or with my clothes off.”
“Understood,” he says, quite formally. “On a scale of one to ten, how likely are you to text me as you head to the elevator?”
“A five and that’s only because I am, at this very moment, holding a cookie in my hand that you bought me.”
“Stalking isn’t easy, Detective Carpenter. I’ll buy you dinner to go with the cookies if you’ll just make my life a little easier here.”
“As in you and me alone?”
“Yes,” he confirms.
“No.”
“We can talk through a working relationship.”
“We will most definitely talk about that relationship but not right now, and not tonight. You and the stalking Detective Carpenter theme for the day is distracting and I have to be in court tomorrow morning.”
“All the more reason to talk tonight and start tomorrow on a different note.”
“Not tonight,” I repeat, “but—and this is a big but—since I’m about to enjoy this cookie you got me, I’ll text you when I’m leaving, but don’t get used to it and don’t expect that to foreshadow future negotiations on our working relationship. I’m just not that agreeable.”
“We’ll see about that.”
My brow furrows. “We’ll see about that?”
“Yes. We’ll see about that.”
“There are no more cookies until April.”
“We’ll find another common ground. I’m sure of it.”
He hangs up and I take a bite of my cookie, the first common ground. The common ground that let him see behind my wall, which is why I turned down dinner. The cookies will be gone by morning, my wall restores, and my weird reaction to Jacob King gone. I’m sure of it. On that note, I grab the cold case files, and find the one that’s piqued my interest, flipping it open to stare at a photo of a Green Beret named Jesse Marks. Thirty minutes later, I’m still waiting on Evelyn and I’ve hit the same roadblock I did with Jesse that I did with Jacob. Jesse’s military record is top secret.
I thrum the table and think about Jacob and my declaration to Royce Walker that I’d know if I was being followed. Right before Jacob walked in with my coffee and cookie. Because I didn’t know I was being followed. But Jacob King is on my side, hired to protect me, which is a waste of him as a resource. Which is why I need to put him to use helping me solve this cold case, and in the process, teach me how to face someone in the elite armed forces and win. Jesse Marks, the Green Beret, who killed his family, is officially my new cold case target and Jacob King is going to help me catch him. In fact, the one thing that defeats my own personal demons and inhibitions every single time, is a good challenge that can lead to catching a killer. My wall and Jacob King’s ability to pull it down, no longer matter. Dinner is on.