Winning Snow White

by Maggie Dallen

  He may not have known her for long but he knew her, or he was starting to at least. And that right there was a defense mechanism. She might as well have held up a sign that read “I’m terrified.” But of what? He was certain she was being honest about the fact that he wasn’t her first hookup. So what was she so scared of? It suddenly seemed imperative that he know.

  A sudden realization left him rattled. He wanted to know everything about her. He wanted in. He desperately wanted to tear down that wall and see the woman underneath.

  He didn’t just want that. He needed it. It was as if his own redemption might be hidden there beneath the surface. If he was deemed worthy of entry into this ice queen’s heart, he might just have some hope of finding his own happy ending.

  He watched her nostrils flare as he reached a hand out and gently tucked a lock of black hair behind her ear. “I don’t believe you.”

  His quiet words made her still. She seemed frozen in place.

  “You’re scared of something and I want to know what.”

  Again she remained silent, but her eyes were wide and searching. She wanted to trust him, but she clearly didn’t. What had happened to this woman to make her so distrustful?

  “I won’t push you to tell me,” he said. “But I won’t let it go, either.”

  When it was clear she wouldn’t respond to any sort of emotional plea, he let his hand drop with a sigh. “In the meantime, what do you say you and I focus on business?”

  Something like relief flickered across her face and the tense stillness was broken. She reached for her door handle and rushed out of the car like demons were chasing her. “Coming?” she called over her shoulder as he scrambled to catch up to her.

  Hunter's presence in her apartment made it impossible to concentrate. He was sprawled next to her on the sofa, dwarfing it with his large body.

  What had they been talking about? Right. The investigation.

  "Well, if my father thought it was Margaret and Margaret thought it was my father then clearly they're both wrong."

  Hunter nodded. "So where does that leave us?"

  She knew what he was doing. He was trying to make her go first, reveal her hand. That would not fly, even if she’d had a hand to reveal. "Who else would have something to gain?"

  "That was my thought exactly," Hunter said. "None of the employees show an obvious motive for money."

  Jenna murmured her agreement. She found the same thing when going through the files. "But then people don't always need strong motive for more money. Money is motive in and of itself."

  "Spoken like a true divorce attorney.” He’d said it so quietly she almost didn't catch it. But she did hear it and the words stung even as she told herself she was being ridiculous.

  "Spoken like a man who's been on the losing side of a court battle.”

  That earned her a grudging smile. "Sorry, I guess I am a bit jaded when it comes to your profession."

  "You wouldn't be the first." That was the truth. She’d developed a reputation as one of the more ruthless divorce attorneys in the city and that title didn't come without its fair share of critics. Still, she didn't want this man to think badly of her and the fact that she cared irritated her beyond belief. "I take it you’re divorced?" She tried to keep some of the curiosity out of her voice and failed.

  He gave her a wry smile. “How could you tell?”

  “I’d recognize that bitter tone anywhere.” She softened the remark with a smile of understanding. It was true. Having witnessed countless divorces, she was something of a pro when it came to jaded, bitter victims of passion. Between her career and her father, was it any wonder she didn’t believe in the fairy tale called love?

  She didn’t push him for the gory details but waited patiently in silence. That was something else she’d picked up at her job—she knew that the best way to get people to open up was to give them room to breathe.

  Sure enough, after several long moments, he sighed. “It’s nothing you haven’t heard before, I’m sure. Boy marries his high school sweetheart. Girl’s unhappy being the wife of a police officer. They grow apart. Girl cheats on boy.”

  He shrugged as if that and the cool way he’d glossed over his story could cover up the pain that was clear as day in his eyes.

  Her heart ached for him but she knew better than to let him see her pity. No one wanted that no matter how bad his problems. So instead she focused on what he’d said. The cheating part was abhorrent. There was nothing she could say to that. But the other part…she put herself in the other woman’s shoes for a moment and thought she could see where she’d been coming from. “I imagine it would be difficult to be married to a cop,” she said slowly. He turned to her with surprise.

  She glanced toward his leg where he’d been shot—Mackenzie had given her all the details about the case and his injuries. It wasn’t difficult to imagine how she would have felt getting that call while waiting for Hunter to come home. She wrapped her arms around herself as she shivered. “It must be hard knowing that your husband is in danger while he’s at work.”

  He stared at her for a moment as if she’d just said something profound. But then he laughed and the sound was cold and hard compared to the soft, low laugh she’d come to love. “That wasn’t what she hated about it,” he said. “She hated that my salary was mediocre and no potential for the life of luxury that she’d always dreamed of—unless one of us won the lottery, of course.”

  Jenna’s sharp inhale sounded loud in the room but she couldn’t help it. “She left you over money?” But the question was rhetorical. That was what he’d just said, wasn’t it? Before he could reply she blurted out the first question that popped into her head. “Was that before or after you were shot?”

  He arched his eyebrows at her, a hint of amusement tempered the bitterness that had made him seem older than he was. “Does it matter?”

  “Yes.” She didn’t know why, but it did.

  “After.”

  Rage flooded her, intense and insane. Her hands clenched at her sides. “What kind of woman cheats on her husband who’s wounded in the line of duty?”

  Rather than match her outrage, he surprised her by bursting out with a laugh. It was rich and full laugh, and she found herself smiling like an idiot in return.

  He reached out a hand to touch her face and she froze.

  “You should do that more often.”

  “What?”

  “Smile.” His calloused hand lightly stroked the outline of her jaw, making her lips part as she fought for air. It was a simple caress but breathtaking nonetheless.

  “And you should laugh more,” she said, her voice irritatingly breathy.

  His gaze searched her face. Once again she got the impression that he was reading something there. That she was an open book. She hated that feeling even as she relished it. It was that connection. That sense of understanding. Someone seeing something more in her than what was at the surface.

  “How did you become a divorce attorney?”

  The question caught her off guard—yet another specialty for this man. It took her a moment to remember the humorous answer she typically gave. “I’m something of an expert on the subject thanks to my father, so it seemed like the obvious fit.”

  He didn’t smile. Instead his brows drew together. “You said we were involved on the same case….”

  He waited for her to fill in the blanks.

  “I worked for the DA’s office during my last year of law school. I helped prosecute a case where you were called to testify.”

  “Which case?”

  She tilted her head to the side. “Why? Surely you don’t remember every case.”

  “Try me.”

  “The Beckingworth trial.”

  She knew the moment he made the connection when his eyes widened slightly. “Domestic abuse case, wasn’t it? An abusive husband who broke his restraining order—”

  “And sent his wife to the hospital with seven broken bones, a fractured collar
bone, and a concussion.” There was a pause after she recounted those morbid stats, so she added, “I’m surprised you remember.”

  He cocked an eyebrow in disbelief. “And I’m surprised you remember the details. That’s quite a memory you have.”

  She opened her mouth to tell him the truth—that case was what had made her decide to pursue family law. She’d met too many women with a similar story when she worked for the DA. While criminal law hadn’t been for her, she’d quickly realized that she could specialize within family law. While divorces paid the bills, it was her pro bono domestic abuse clients who made her job meaningful. And when she opened a firm of her own, she could take on as many cases as she could handle, while still maintaining the high-profile, and high-paying, divorce clients to foot the bills. Hopefully sooner rather than later.

  He was waiting patiently for her to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. That part of her life was personal. Funny, because it was her career, but in a way her career was more meaningful than most of her relationships, minus her friendship with Mack.

  She’d definitely never felt as passionate about a lover as she was about her job. What did that say about her?

  That she was the ice queen everyone called her, she supposed.

  When it became clear that she wasn’t going to respond, he spoke instead. “It must be hard.” He reached out a hand and pushed back a lock of hair again but this time it hadn’t fallen into her face. He was touching her just to touch her and the contact was just as electric this time as every other. She kept thinking that this insane chemistry would dilute somehow. That each touch would make the effect less intense, but instead the opposite reaction seemed to be occurring.

  For a moment she couldn’t comprehend his words. Hard? “What must be hard?”

  His hand lingered next to her face, idly tracing her cheekbone and the length of her jaw. “It must be hard to be positive when you’re working in a world so filled with contentiousness and hate.” He gave her one of those small self-deprecating smiles. “And yes, that is bitterness from my own experience talking.”

  “Not every divorce is as toxic as you’d imagine.” Just most.

  He didn’t look convinced. “To spend your days surrounded by people who’ve been burned by love—it must be impossible to retain any sense of optimism about relationships, at least.”

  She couldn’t bring herself to deny it. It was the truth, after all. She forced a wry smile. “Trust me, as the daughter of a man who’s been divorced five times—that optimism wasn’t there to begin with.”

  He met her gaze and whatever he saw made him pause. His hand stilled where it had been gently caressing her neck. Don’t stop. She stopped herself from begging him to continue just in time.

  Her stomach sank as his gaze filled with sympathetic understanding. Dangerously close to pity.

  “That’s what you’re so afraid of.” He didn’t phrase it as a question but as the cold, hard truth. Maybe that was why she couldn’t bring herself to deny it.

  He’d seen the truth and called her out on it.

  Yes, of course she was terrified. She didn’t believe in love. Didn’t trust relationships. Yet, here she was, victim to a cruel case of infatuation with a man who absolutely did not fit into her life or her plans.

  She was so far gone that she couldn’t bring herself to pull away from his touch, let alone kick him out of her apartment. Instead she just sat there, wide-eyed and pitiful as he broke through every one of her well-built defenses.

  He seemed to be waiting for her to speak. What was she supposed to say? Yes, you caught me. I’m a scaredy-cat when it comes to romance. No way.

  So they sat there, caught in a cowardly standoff until the silence was broken by a jarring dinging noise from his phone.

  He finally broke the staring contest to retrieve his phone from his jacket pocket. As he read whatever the text said, Jenna watched his expression go from shocked to angry to thoughtful.

  “What is it?”

  He filled her in on the fact that there had been some discrepancy while tracking the phishing email. Apparently the IT department had told him they’d traced it to an internal computer, but his specialist on the outside had said the opposite. He’d had one of his police buddies look into it and he had just confirmed that the IT department had gotten it right in the first place.

  Jenna frowned at Hunter’s apparent anger. “So your consultant made a mistake. What’s the big deal?”

  Hunter shook his head. “You don’t understand. Spencer was—probably is—a professional hacker. That man knows more about computers and IP addresses than every guy in the IT department combined.”

  “So you think he lied?”

  He didn’t answer, just stared off into space.

  “Why would he do that?”

  Hunter turned to her then, but his gaze was still unfocused. “I have no idea. But there was a moment on the phone…he paused.”

  Jenna waited for him to continue and when he didn’t, she laughed. “He paused? That’s it? Not exactly the crime of the century.”

  Hunter gave her a little smile. “I know it sounds crazy but at the time my gut said something was up. Like Spencer wasn’t being honest. But I ignored my intuition, thought I was being overly sensitive.”

  Jenna nodded slowly. “But now you think that Spencer had noticed something in the files you sent over…that he might know who’s behind all this.”

  Hunter turned to her and his eyes were bright with excitement. “Are you up for a little late-night visit to see an old friend?”

  Relief mixed with disappointment. A little part of her had hoped this was leading somewhere. But at the same time…she wasn’t sure she was ready for wherever this was about to lead. “Of course. Are you sure he’ll be home?”

  He smirked at that. “Oh, I’m sure.”

  Old friend hadn’t exactly been an accurate description of Spencer’s relationship to Hunter. Old pain-in-the-butt was more like it. He glanced over at Jenna as she drove and tried not to feel too resentful toward Spencer.

  But really, as if his old informant hadn’t screwed things up enough by lying to him the other day, now he was forced to interrogate him while he should be alone with Jenna.

  Doing what? Well that had remained to be seen. But he’d sure loved touching her. Too much. More than he cared to admit. And if that text hadn’t come when it had, there was no way he could have resisted the temptation of those lips.

  So maybe the text had been good timing, after all. Judging by Jenna’s reaction, she needed time. He wouldn’t pressure her, but he wanted more.

  For the first time in a long time, he felt desire. True desire. For her body, sure, but also…for more. Something that would fill the void in his chest where his heart had been.

  For the first time in a long time he felt a flicker of hope that the hole could be filled at all.

  “Is this the place?” Jenna asked, craning her neck to read the number on the apartment building on the Lower East Side.

  He forced himself back to the present and back to the mission at hand. “This is it. Let me do the talking.”

  She scoffed as she parallel parked the car in front of the building. “Yeah, right.”

  He didn’t waste time arguing. This probably could have waited until the morning, but he wouldn’t have been able to focus on anything else until he confronted his longtime informant. He led the way up the front stairs and into the elevator where he jabbed the button for his floor.

  “You all right?”

  He nodded but didn’t meet her gaze. His hands were clenched at his side and his heart racing from adrenaline. He didn’t want to admit how hurt he’d been to discover that someone he thought he could trust had betrayed him. Again. “Fine. I just want to get to the bottom of this.”

  “Remind me not to get on your bad side,” she murmured as they stepped off the elevator.

  Two seconds after he knocked—or rather, pounded—on Spencer’s door, it opened. Spencer looked u
p at them from his wheelchair and he had the good grace to wince when he saw Hunter’s expression.

  “I had a feeling you’d be showing up here sometime soon.” Spencer wheeled away from the door and left them to follow. “Come on in, then. You’re letting in the cold air.”

  He opened his mouth to let out the angry speech he’d been preparing since he discovered his friend’s lie but was cut off by Jenna’s low whistle as she walked beside him through Spencer’s apartment to his office in the back.

  “Holy bat cave, Batman.”

  He turned to her in surprise. The last thing he’d expected was to hear a Batman joke come out of this woman’s mouth—she seemed far more operas and documentaries than comics and superheroes—but Spencer let out a rare bark of laughter ahead of them.

  “Bat cave. Love it.” He looked thoroughly amused as he spun around to face them once they’d all entered his office.

  If Jenna had thought the rest of the apartment had looked like an underground lair, this office topped it all. Spencer was a bit of a recluse, to put it mildly, and had poured all his money and energy into making his home the only place he needed to be.

  He couldn’t name half of the gadgets and electronics that covered the surface of every piece of furniture, and back when he was a cop he’d had a feeling that was a good thing. If he couldn’t name it, he couldn’t report it.

  “I take it you know why I’m here,” Hunter said.

  Spencer never took his eyes off Jenna and Hunter bit back a growl.

  “I know why you’re here,” he said to Hunter. “But who’s the dame?”

  He nodded toward Jenna who rolled her eyes. “The dame? What is this, a black-and-white movie?”

  Hunter stepped in. “You’ll have to excuse Spencer. He doesn’t get out much.”

  Spencer’s smile was the same smug grin he remembered from years ago, back when he was a punk up to no good. Now he must be nearly thirty—he was getting old. And it looked like the former punk had pulled himself together a nice little life, if the expensive gadgets were any indicator.

  Jenna seemed to take that as an apology, or at least a valid excuse, and she wandered away to take a turn around the office, perusing all the gadgets as she did. Meanwhile, he was left to face off with one of his oldest friends. It seemed like a metaphor for the way his life had been unfolding lately. Job, wife, and now friend. All gone in some form or another.