by Cecy Robson
I take a breath, willing myself to remain calm. “The big deal is, I’ve worked hard to get where I am. This internship can open doors, or it could close them tightly behind me. I don’t want my morals or position questioned because of my past, ah, indiscretions.”
“Indiscretions,” Curran repeats. “So you don’t want anyone to know we…went to college together.”
My attention falls to the soiled concrete that makes up the landing. “Yes. Please don’t tell anyone that we, ah, attended the same college, as you put it.”
“Okay,” he says.
“Okay?” I repeat. “Really?”
“Yeah. I get it,” he assures me.
My shoulders relax as my worry lifts and dissipates in the coolness of the stairwell. Once more, my eyes sweep over his physique, stopping to scrutinize his face. I focus on each feature: those light blue eyes, his square jaw, and the curve of his nose. Miles Fenske was right. While glimpses of the young college student I knew remain, his visage reveals a man familiar with the rough city streets and the madness that comes with surviving them.
I shake my head in sympathy. Whatever he’s seen on the job likely hardened him in a way he wasn’t ready for, and forced him to mature into the man standing before me. Curran’s no longer that carefree frat boy I remember. I can see it. And in a way, it makes me sad.
“No one will know we went to college together,” he promises.
I place my hand against my chest. “Thank you,” I say, meaning it.
With that I turn and proceed down the second set of steps, stumbling over the last two when Curran yells, “But can I still brag about our crazy sex?”
Chapter 3
Curran
I try to lift Tess off the floor only to have her nail me in the shoulder with her little fist. “Hey, knock it off—I’m trying to help,” I say, laughing.
I reach for her again. This time, she smacks me across the chest with her giant purse. “Don’t you touch me, you cretin!”
I think about it. “I guess that’s a better word. Don’t remember Bugs using that one.”
“How about ‘asshole’? Did Bugs ever use ‘asshole’?”
“No. Come to think of it, I don’t think he did. Though it would have been damn funny if he had.”
Her pretty eyes narrow over her crooked glasses. “How did your mother not drown you at birth?”
I grin. “Ma wouldn’t do that. I’ve always been her favorite.” I hold out a hand. “Come on, let me help you up. The judge is waiting—you said so yourself.”
Instead of letting me help her, she pulls herself up by grasping the metal railing, clinging to it while she gathers her things. And although she’s limping, she pushes forward. “Looks like you did a real number on your knee,” I point out.
She stops halfway down the next flight and just glares at me over her shoulder. “No shit.”
I chuckle. “You said ‘shit.’ Aren’t you worried how that might affect your rep?”
She spins around at the next landing and points at me. “You are intolerable, unbelievable, and insufferable.”
“Yeah. I think you mentioned that once or twice back in college.” I wince. “Oh, sorry. I forgot that I’m supposed to keep our mutual education a secret.”
She stamps her feet all hissy-fit like. I didn’t think sexy broads did that. Come to think of it, I also didn’t think they wore argyles. “What’s up with you and those socks, anyway?”
Her cheeks flush to a deep red. “We were both young, and intoxicated, and, and—”
“You forgot horny.”
And holy Hannah, I thought for sure she was going to punch me in the nuts. Instead she lifts her chin and clenches her teeth. “Whatever. It seemed like a good idea at the time!”
I burst out laughing. “I wasn’t asking why you tied me up with them way back then—that I’m not complaining about—that was all kinds of hot. What I mean is, why do you wear those things?”
She opens and closes her mouth several times before finally forming her words. “They’re conservative,” she manages.
I lean against the wall. “Like you? And how you want others to see you?”
She presses her lips into a line. I don’t think she’s going to talk, but she does manage a small nod.
I smile. “Then that’s how it’ll be.”
“You won’t mention our time alone together?” she asks, staring past my shoulder.
I take one step down. Then another. And another after that until I’m standing right over her. “No. I wouldn’t do that to you, Tess.” I grin a little. “But if you knew me past our time in bed, you’d already know as much. Come on, let’s get you to court.”
For all I talk and screw around, I’m not one to drag a woman through the mud. The thing is, when Declan asked about me and Tess, I couldn’t lie. He knows me well enough to guess I’d been with her. There was no sense in denying it. That didn’t mean I’d go into detail. Even back in school when I thought for sure she didn’t like me, Tess seemed like a nice girl, just always kind of sad.
I’ll admit that when she wasn’t taken by my looks, wasn’t impressed by my athletic skills, and would avert her gaze instead of smile my way, I saw her as a challenge. She was sexy, in that understated way she is now, with the kind of mouth a guy like me needs to kiss. I figured eventually I’d get her to let me have a taste of those lips, and maybe even cop a feel. I just never guessed we’d end up in bed, doing what we did, as hard as we did it. Hell, out of all the women I banged—homely clothes and all—she was the one who rocked my world.
“You fucked Contessa,” Declan’s voice repeats in my head.
“Yeah. Didn’t you hear me the first time?” I asked him.
“Christ, Curran. I don’t need this shit right now.”
When he slumped in his chair and rubbed his face, I thought for sure he’d send me packing and back to the precinct—seeing what this case means to him. Declan doesn’t like drama. Not when it involves his rep, and especially not when it involves a woman. It’s the reason he’s quick to cut his lays loose and not look back.
But as mad as he was at learning Tess and I hooked up—and as much as he didn’t want anything to interfere with his ticket into the Homicide Unit—he wouldn’t let me off guard duty. And it pissed me off.
He doesn’t think I’m ready for the streets. Just like the sarge, the captain, and the boys back at the station. My first instinct was to rip into Declan. As my brother, he should have my back. But then I thought about Joey, and how he’s messed up for life ’cause of me. Damn, I have to admit that maybe they’re right. All of them.
Tess continues forward and reaches for the door leading out to the second floor. “Hold up,” I tell her, pulling her back before she can step through. I cut in front of her and sweep the area. “Okay. Clear. Stay to my left, and always stand where I can see you.”
“You’re serious?” She peeks over my shoulder, where a handful of people are hurrying to court. “Is this how it’s going to be from now on?”
“Yeah. I’m on the job.”
She takes a hesitant step before resuming her quick pace. Her limp’s better, but mostly because I think she’s pushing past the pain and not wanting to appear weak. My sister, Wren, once told me it’s hard being a woman in a man’s world, no matter how badass that woman is. S’pose she’s right, given how Tess straightens when she spots another suit glancing her way.
I know I pissed her off in the stairwell. But even so, she’d listened to what I had to say, and she keeps to my left as we cross the bridge. I stay just ahead of her, taking everything in.
Three sheriff’s deputies are on security detail at the courthouse entrance. Two take point at the metal detector; the other waits on the right to allow staff and badges through. Tess flashes her ID, gaining immediate access. One look at my badge and uniform and I’m waved through. I know the rookies from the academy. Damn, was it just last year I taught them to shoot? The old guy has done a few decades on the force. Never
met him, and I’m not positive the other two remember me. But all three give me the eye.
Shit. Word travels fast when you screw up and your partner ends up full of holes.
My expression stays hard during our brief exchange of nods. Under other circumstances, I’d make small talk. Maybe crack a joke. But a lot has changed, and I don’t just mean guard duty with Tess. So I keep my focus ahead and my comments to myself.
We round the bend in time to catch a row of prisoners being escorted back to the jail in shackles. I clasp Tess’s elbow, keeping her in place. She motions to a squad of civilians passing by the prisoners. “There’s plenty of space to get through,” she says.
“Not saying there isn’t. But we’re waiting here till the perps pass through.”
What looks like a couple of clerks speed past us. “If it’s safer to wait, shouldn’t you stop them from going through as well?”
“They’re not you, and I’m not with them. In here, that’s all on the sheriffs unless shit goes down.”
“You’re taking this very seriously,” she says.
It’s not a dig, and I don’t take it that way. But I can hear the surprise in her voice. “What did you expect?”
Her attention falls to the floor. “Maybe more of what you were like in the stairwell.”
“That was different. There was no one there. Just you and me.”
Her cheeks flush. “I know,” she says, quietly.
She fumbles with her purse strap, even though there doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with it. Her entire face is now bright pink. The hell?
Instead of staring at her like I want to, I do my job and scan our surroundings, taking in everyone who could be a threat. No one’s making eye contact. No one’s walking around in sunglasses. And more important, no one’s reaching for a gun to blow Tess’s head off. In truth, it’s too early for anyone to make a move—if they make one at all given her small role. Still, that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t keep my eyes open…and off the pretty girl I’m supposed to be watching.
The deputies move the last of the prisoners forward and secure them behind the heavy metal gate leading back to the jail. I nod to Tess, giving her the okay to proceed.
From this point on I don’t know where I’m going, so I allow her to take the lead and shadow her closely, searching for anything that doesn’t seem right or doesn’t belong. I do have a damsel in distress, after all—and whether I want this lame assignment or not, I’m going to do the job right.
Hmmm. And now that I know whose body I’m guarding, and how nice that body’s ass bounces and twitches, maybe this gig won’t be so bad after all.
So long as I can keep my hands off that ass and everything bouncing along with it.
Tess
Curran stays close to me, watching everything with subtle scrutiny. I do my best to keep on task and hurry to the next floor, where courtrooms thirteen and fourteen are situated. My knee continues to throb, a reminder of how easily Curran can rattle me. “Crazy sex”—that’s what he called our night together. Yes, I thought so, too. But to hear him say it…well, let’s just say my knee wasn’t the only thing that throbbed.
Ahead of us, another sheriff’s officer stands guard between the hall to Judge Bronson’s private chambers and the small door leading directly to the raised platform where he presides.
Curran’s broad shoulders tighten when he catches sight of the guard. He seems to know everyone in uniform, just like they appear to know him. But for some reason, his presence causes everyone to tense, which surprises me. Curran was always “that guy” everyone wanted to be around. “The party doesn’t start until O’Brien’s in the house,” his frat buddies used to say.
Yet judging by everyone’s reaction, that party is long over.
Both men lock eyes and nod stiffly, neither particularly cordial. While the sheriff’s deputies take their positions seriously, they’re generally very pleasant—friendly, even—especially to staff they recognize. That hasn’t been the case today, especially in Curran’s presence.
I stop near the double doors leading into courtroom thirteen. “Is something wrong?” I ask him quietly.
“Nope,” he responds, continuing to take in the area. “Come on. Let’s get what you need and then back to the office.”
I don’t know Curran. Not really. And while he keeps his face neutral, I can’t help thinking he’s lying to me. I don’t press and proceed forward, hurrying when I catch sight of the wall clock.
Despite the late hour, Judge Bronson’s courtroom is bustling with activity. Curran stays directly behind me. For all he joked in the stairwell, he was all business from the moment we crossed into the common areas.
I smile at the sheriff’s officer standing guard and show him my badge, which he scans with an expert eye. “Hello. I’m Contessa Newart. I’m here to pick up paperwork Judge Bronson signed.”
“He’s in court hearing a motion for bail. His clerk knows you’re coming?”
“That’s my understanding. I’m here on behalf of Assistant District Attorney Declan O’Brien.”
“You catch that, Simon?” the sheriff’s officer calls over his shoulder.
“Yes. I’m coming,” Judge Bronson’s law clerk responds from the open door to chambers.
Simon attends a different law school from me, and while we work in separate offices, our roles allow us to interact fairly frequently. Our talks are typically brief and revolve around legal matters, with the exception of our last few exchanges. Although he’s sweet, I’m beginning to think Simon has more than a professional interest in me. I hope I’m wrong. He’s a nice guy, but the last thing I need is another distraction. And with Curran at my side, I’m more than a little distracted.
“Hey, Contessa,” Simon calls. He slows to a stop at the sight of Curran, taking a moment to smooth his hair and adjust his jacket before continuing forward. Despite his obvious hesitation, he manages to give me a bright smile. “I’ve been waiting for you to show.”
I smile back. “Yes, sorry about the delay.”
“You can make it up to me with coffee.” His smile fades in time with mine. “I mean a cup of coffee that you bring to me. We don’t have to go out together to get it. Unless you want to.”
“Jesus,” the sheriff’s officer mutters.
“I’ll be sure to bring you a coffee next time,” I offer, well aware that Curran’s watching our exchange. “Again, I apologize for making you wait.”
“No problem.” His attention bounces to Curran. “So, who’s this? Your boyfriend?” he asks with a laugh.
I don’t need a mirror to know my face is red. Nor do I need to turn around to know Curran doesn’t appreciate a laugh at his expense. “He’s the police officer assigned to help me,” I answer, hoping he’ll leave it at that.
“Okay. Good,” Simon responds, his smile returning like I somehow made him feel better.
I motion to the folder in his hand. “Are those the documents Declan needs?”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry.” He passes me the folder. “If you have any questions, call me directly—anytime. At home if necessary. You have my number, right?”
I flip through the paperwork to make sure everything is in order. “Yes. Thank you.”
“So you’ll call me?” he asks, sounding hopeful.
I glance up, feeling Curran edge a little closer. “Ah, if Declan needs anything, either he or I will be in touch.”
“Oh,” he says.
“Christ,” the sheriff’s officer mumbles.
I place the folder inside my large purse. Instead of returning to chambers, Simon excuses himself and rushes toward the doorway that leads to the judge’s raised platform. “What’s up?” the sheriff’s officer asks him.
“The judge is pissed,” Simon answers, grimacing. “He wants me in on this hearing and the one to follow. It’s going to be a late night.”
The guard calls in the update as Simon disappears and the heavy wooden door shuts behind him. Given how loud the judge is yelling,
I hear him despite the door’s thickness. “Did you not hear me, counselor?” he hollers. “The defendant is charged with shooting a police officer. Request for bail denied!”
The judge’s gavel slams down hard enough to echo, but it’s Curran’s stony face that gives me pause. I glance to the closed door and then back at him. “What is it?”
“Perp shot a police officer, that’s what,” the sheriff’s officer answers, staring past Curran. “His pussy defense attorney wants him out, claiming this is his first offense. Attorneys suck dick,” he adds with a grumble before returning his focus on me. “No offense, ma’am.”
“No offense taken.” Who am I kidding? I’m offended all over the place.
Curran’s already hard expression solidifies to an icy tundra. “We done here?”
My attention cuts to the closed courtroom door. The judge’s booming voice pummels against it like a barrage of thrown stones. “Yes. We’re done.”
I take a step forward, yet the sheriff’s officer’s voice holds me in place. “He was just a kid,” he says.
I turn around. “The police officer?”
“Yeah,” he says, nodding. “New to the force, just getting his feet wet.”
“I’m sorry.” I was going to ask Curran if he knew the police officer who was hurt, but given his tightening stance, it’s obvious he does. My hand reaches out to touch his arm before I realize what I’m doing. I quickly drop it to my side, but not before he notices.
He frowns, but I look away from him and address the sheriff’s officer. “Thank you for your time,” I tell him. He nods, but focuses directly on Curran.
Okay. I’m not sure what’s happening, but I all but run past the courtroom, knowing I need to put some space between us and whatever’s going on in that hearing. The attorneys and those in the audience are now screaming at one another and the judge is threatening to hold the defendant in contempt.
