Slade Bear sat at the trial counsel table and watched as the district attorney questioned a witness in the murder trial of a wealthy South Florida entrepreneur.

After having only been hired a little over two years ago by the State of Florida district attorney's office, this was the first capital felony case Slade had been assigned. But here he sat in Judge Celeste Marconi's courtroom and watched as the DA pelted the witness with questions.

This was the second week of the trial, and during that time, he'd observed not only the DA who'd earned Slade's admiration, but the judge who was currently presiding over the case. The judge was known as Maximum Marconi because she always meted out the maximum sentence in criminal cases. She had a vibe that had gotten under Slade's skin. He couldn't pinpoint it exactly, but she’d made him cautious. He told himself it could be one of two things. She wasn't pleased with how the prosecution was handling the trial, or she recognized his last name and knew that Slade's family hadn't exactly been model citizens. Or maybe he just didn't like her. She was fair, but there was an abrasiveness to her that grated on him.

He wouldn't let himself think about the sentencing his brother, Christian, would've received if he'd been tried in Judge Marconi's courtroom. Christian had been found guilty of his crime and was sentenced to five years in prison, but managed to get paroled after serving only three years. Slade would've liked to think that Christian had been released due to his rehabilitation and good behavior, but the sad truth was, the Florida prisons were overcrowded and they needed to make room for more dangerous and sinister criminals.

"No more questions, Your Honor," the district attorney said as he turned his back on the witness and headed for the counsel table.

Judge Marconi announced a ninety-minute recess for lunch. Slade knew that while the DA would be dining with his attorney friends, he would be ingesting whatever he could grab on his way to the law library. As second chair, it was his job to do the research and trial prep. Even though he’d prepared for this trial, he spent his lunch hours continuing to expand his research.

After spending a few minutes with the DA, Slade grabbed one of his files and his laptop and headed toward the courthouse library. He stopped by a vending machine and bought an apple, a bag of chips, and a bottle of water. He sat on a bench and made quick work of downing his less-than-satisfying lunch.

I wonder if she'll be there? he asked himself as he tossed the empty bottle in the recycle bin and made his way through the halls.

He took a seat at his usual table and glanced around the room. Ignoring his disappointment at not seeing her, he opened his laptop. An hour later while his head was buried in his research, he felt a rush of air whoosh by him and watched it take some of his papers with it. As he turned to grab the flying documents, he noticed an entrancing fragrance before finding himself staring directly into light-brown eyes.

"I am so sorry," she said, looking away shyly as she knelt on the floor and tried to retrieve the scattered contents of Slade's folder.

"It's okay, no problem." He scooted his chair back and started to help her. But she was too fast and was already standing up. He stood up too and watched as she tapped the papers on his table and returned them to the folder that was still resting at the edge of it.

Slade had used the courtroom library at least a hundred times and only noticed her for the first time a couple days earlier. She'd caught his attention because he was certain he was seeing the actress, Drew Barrymore, pushing a library cart and returning books to their shelves. She was the spitting image of the character that Miss Barrymore had portrayed in the movie The Wedding Singer. From her short, dirty-blond hair to her unassuming but stylish dresses and subtle makeup, she was a dead ringer. After convincing himself that Drew Barrymore didn't moonlight as a librarian he'd tried more than once to approach her, but the timing was always wrong. Not today.

He stuck out his hand. "I'm Slade."

She smiled and took his hand, shaking it delicately. "I'm Bevin. It's nice to meet you, Slade."

"Nice to meet you too, Bevin," he countered. Slade didn't have his father's dark, Native American good looks. Instead, he favored his fairer mother, Christy. But like Anthony Bear, Slade had a deep dimple in his left cheek.

He watched Bevin blush as she stared at it and quickly looked away. He took the opportunity to rake his eyes down her body and admired what he saw. Slade hadn't received his father's imposing height or width. He stood at five feet eleven inches. In her flat shoes, Bevin was eye level with him. Some would probably consider her tall for a woman. However, she wasn't overweight, which wouldn't have mattered to him anyway, her build fit her height. He noticed that she didn't wear earrings, had one tiny book charm hanging from her necklace, and wore a watch with a thin black band on her left wrist. Her unpainted nails were cut short and she wasn't wearing any rings. He wasn't certain but he thought he detected the scent of apples lingering in the air between them.

"You're new here?" he asked quietly.

"I'm moonlighting during spring break," she answered. Before he could question which school she attended, she added, "I'm the librarian at Citrus Acres Middle School. And you're an attorney."

"Yeah. What gave me away?" he laughed.

"I saw you coming out of Judge Marconi's courtroom yesterday. You looked upset. I know she's a tough one."

"They don't call her Maximum Marconi and other unflattering names for nothing," he scoffed as he ran his hand through his hair. "She is a real piece of work." Before he could elaborate further on his dislike of the woman who was presiding over the murder trial, Bevin interrupted him.

"Other unflattering names?" she questioned.

"They also refer to her as Maxi Pad Marconi," he said in a low voice. He immediately noticed Bevin's discomfort, quickly adding, "I don't like the woman, but I would never call her that."

Bevin tilted her head to one side. He took her inquisitive look as an invitation to explain further. "I have a mother and a sister and I respect women too much to pin a sexist nickname on a successful female who I may not like, but I appreciate." After an uncomfortable pause, he added, “And Judge Marconi seems to penalize rapists harder than any other judge in this jurisdiction. I admire her for that. I despise rapists. They’re spineless cowards.”

His phone pinged indicating he was due back at the courtroom. He was grateful because he was afraid he’d just given Bevin more information than she’d asked for. What would she care about his hatred for rapists? She wouldn’t, but he wanted her to see that he wasn’t a total jerk when it came to his feelings about the woman who was presiding over his trial. "I have to run, Bevin. Do you think you might like to grab a drink after work one evening? Maybe even tonight?"

He couldn't explain why, but the innocent-looking, apple-scented Bevin had intrigued him from afar, and even more so now.

She gave him a wide smile. "I can't tonight. But I can tomorrow night." She fought to hide her slight blush by tipping her chin down. "If you're available."

"Maybe we could have dinner instead of just drinks. If you want to," he said as he stood up straight, his laptop and folder already packed away in his leather satchel.

"That would be nice, Slade. I guess I'll see you tomorrow then?" Her smile was appreciative.

"I'll come by here to pick you up after court lets out. Sound like a plan?"

"Sounds like a plan." Her smile grew even bigger. Slade noticed she had two deep dimples of her own.

He was walking away when he quickly spun around. "Hey," he whisper-yelled. "I didn't catch your last name."

"Marconi." She didn’t meet his eyes. "It's Bevin Marconi."

After a grueling afternoon in that courtroom, Slade welcomed the quiet of his home. His condominium on the Intracoastal had been a present from his parents when he graduated law school. He heated up some leftover takeout from the previous night and sat on his couch, hunched over his laptop that rested on the coffee table. He logged into his Facebook account, which he hadn't used in almost eighteen months, and immediately started searching for Bevin Marconi. Or was it Bevan? He'd never heard such an unusual name and wasn't sure how she spelled it.

Deciding after almost twenty minutes of searching that Bevin didn't have an account, he checked out what some of his friends had been up to. He smiled when he saw some of the pictures his high school and college buddies had posted. There was everything from wedding pics to new baby announcements. He continued to scroll and check out some more posts when he came upon a picture with a caption that read: Can't believe my little bro will be graduating this year. Remember these days, dudes? Slade was lifting a beer to his lips, but set it back down so fast it almost bubbled over. Not taking his eyes off the screen he leaned closer to his laptop. His friend had posted a picture of other college students. Apparently, one of them was his friend’s younger brother. But it wasn’t the brother that caught Slade’s eye. He clicked on the picture to make it bigger and had no doubt that he was staring at Mimi Dillon. He immediately typed in her name and did the same type of search that he'd done for Bevin. And like that search, he came up empty-handed. He went back to the picture and saw that it had originally been posted weeks earlier.

He grabbed his beer and leaned back on the couch. He hadn't thought about Mimi Dillon in years. He remembered how attracted to Mimi he'd been the night he'd rescued her from a dangerous situation—one that had contributed to his disdain for sexual assault criminals. He also remembered how he'd tamped down those feelings because she'd only been fifteen years old at the time. He cringed when he thought about the last time he'd seen her. She'd been babysitting for his little sister, Daisy, and he'd stopped by his parents’ house unannounced. Mimi had let him know that night that she had feelings for him. And he did what he knew he needed to do. Not wanting to hurt her feelings, he let her down as gently as he could. He found her attractive, but he didn't act on it because of the torch he'd suspected Christian had been carrying for years.

He sat up again and looked at the picture. She'd been a beautiful fifteen-year-old, but now she was stunning. The complete opposite of Bevin, he mused. Mimi had a dark and sultry look to her. He immediately determined that her appeal was solely because she wasn't trying to be sexy. She was naturally appealing. He shook his head to keep the thoughts from heading down a road that couldn't be traveled. Then his eyes landed on one of Christian's hoodies that he'd left slung over the adjacent dining room chair and a ridiculous thought jumped to the forefront of his thoughts.

Slade shot straight up from his seat and headed for the spare bedroom that Christian had been using. After rummaging around and finding nothing to confirm his suspicions, he returned to his computer and searched social media for Christian's name. As expected, he didn't find it and breathed a sigh of relief but couldn't let go of the foreboding thought. A picture of Mimi Dillon had been posted on Facebook weeks ago. Christian left a couple of days ago for a trip to Jacksonville. No. He wouldn't. He couldn't, Slade thought.

He picked up his cell phone and dialed a number. After barking an order to the man that answered, he hung up. And having no other recourse, he waited.

Slade paced the floor of his condo, dialing Christian's number every few minutes and getting voicemail. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, his cell phone rang.

"What'd you find?" he asked, anxiously awaiting the answer.

"He's pinging off a couple of towers in Jacksonville. Has been for the last two days. He's definitely there," the man informed him.

"Keep checking it and if it shows up anywhere other than Jacksonville, call me." Slade commanded. And after a pause, “And thanks, dude.”

After the man reassured him that he would continue to check the number in question, Slade hung up, relieved.

"It wasn't Mimi," he said to himself, and laughed. "My eyes were playing tricks on me." Now that he wasn't fretting over Christian, he could concentrate on his trial research.

He'd decided that Maximum Marconi couldn't possibly be Bevin's mother. He'd spent an afternoon in the shrew's courtroom and had never felt so physically drained. The DA had snapped at him after Judge Marconi had denied several motions he’d cited based on previous cases. Slade would spend the next several hours scouring the LexisNexis looking for something he must've missed. He took a quick shower and sat down at the kitchen table with his laptop, his books, and the folder he'd had in the library. He opened the file and had the second shock of the night. Right on top where she must've put it, was a printed note. Bevin hadn't accidentally knocked his folder off the table at the library. She'd done it on purpose. And if what he was seeing was put there by her, it was cause for a mistrial and the accused could go free. And she would know this. Why would Bevin want to sabotage his case?

Since he couldn’t address it until the morning, Slade decided to open his laptop and sign back on to Facebook. He'd confirmed that Christian was in Jacksonville, so he didn't have a reason to look at the girl's picture again. He told himself it was to challenge his earlier assessment. The girl was not Mimi Dillon, and he wanted to confirm it. He went through his notifications and couldn’t find the picture again, so he stalked the page of his friend’s younger brother. But the photo with Mimi was gone. He shook his head and told himself he wasn't familiar enough with social media to know what he was doing. He closed his laptop at the same time his cell phone rang.

Erin was what most people would refer to as a MILF. An extremely attractive single mother, Erin was at least fifteen years older than Slade. She was a tiny wisp of a woman who wore her highlighted brown hair in a stylish bob. She had beautiful green eyes, and a smattering of freckles on her nose that made her look like she was approaching thirty instead of forty.

They'd met in the lobby of his building six months prior and had struck up a casual friendship. Erin lived two floors below him and when she knocked on his door one night wearing nothing beneath her coat, he had no problem giving her what she wanted and what he needed. They were two lonely beings who saw their infrequent time together as a type of therapy. College and law school left little time for him to have a social life, let alone a girlfriend. Which is why he even surprised himself when he asked Bevin to have dinner with him. His relationship with Erin was purely physical. He wasn't a kiss-and-tell kind of guy, and even though he knew they would never have real feelings for each other, he always treated Erin respectfully.

As he waited for her to arrive he couldn't help but wonder whose face he would see when he was buried deep inside of Erin. Would he imagine the sweet and kind eyes of the Drew Barrymore doppelgänger or the smoky and sultry ones of a woman whose Facebook picture reminded him of Mimi Dillon?

Erin's soft knock at the door interrupted his musings. Time to find out.