Former lovers become partners in Natalie Charles’s new novel of the perfect crime…

On the eve of trial, prosecutor Sally Dawson has all the evidence she needs to convict a man of killing his wife—until the “victim” reappears. Now, alone and pregnant, to save her career she must trust the very man who broke her heart—her sworn enemy, Ben McNamara.

The case confounds Ben, a former marine JAG, but not the attraction budding between him and Sally. Their mutual desire never died. Can Ben prove to her that he’s a changed man? He may never get the chance, because the closer Sally gets to the surprising truth, the closer she gets to a desperate killer….

“You could be in danger.”

Ben didn’t let it drop. “Stay with your friend tonight. We’ll figure out where you should stay tomorrow night.”

Sally fought to keep her traitorous knees from softening. “My sleeping arrangements don’t fall within the purview of our partnership,” she replied. “I’ll decide for myself whether it’s safe to go home.”

He bit his lip as if fighting the urge to say something. She didn’t care. She had a mind of her own, and her instincts told her to steer clear of Ben McNamara.

He came closer, towering protectively over her. “Wherever you stay, I need to know you’re safe.”

Something in his tone snagged her breath, and the heat in his eyes made her head reel. She was falling for him, hard and fast.

Her head told her this was no good, but the rest of her had all but given up fighting the attraction.

Dear Reader,

I must have written the first chapter of this book about forty times before settling on the final version. Between all of those iterations, the only similarity was the image of the heroine in a white trench coat that was longer than her skirt, leaving the hero to wonder whether she was wearing anything underneath. It seems like such a minor image from which to develop a heroine (and a book!), but from there, Sally Dawson unfolded in all of her fashionable and dramatic glory.

Sally knows who she is and she doesn’t make apologies, and I greatly enjoyed bringing her to life. Of course, that life is turned upside down the minute she reunites with the gorgeous Ben McNamara. Ben is strong and kind, but he’s also deeply flawed. The courage with which he sets about righting past wrongs is, in my eyes, what makes him heroic.

I’m very excited to share Ben and Sally’s story with you! I hope you enjoy your time with them as much as I did.

All the best,

Natalie

The Burden of Desire

Natalie Charles

www.millsandboon.co.uk

NATALIE CHARLES

is a practicing attorney whose day job writing is more effective for treating insomnia than most sleeping pills. This may explain why her after-hours writing involves the incomparable combination of romance and suspense—the literary equivalent of chocolate and peanut butter. The happy sufferer of a lifelong addiction to mystery novels, Natalie has, sadly, yet to out-sleuth a detective. She lives in New England with a husband who makes her believe in Happily Ever After and two children who make her believe in miracles.

Natalie loves hearing from readers! You can contact her through her website, www.nataliecharles.net.

MILLS & BOON

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For Mom and Dad, with love and gratitude

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Epilogue

Excerpt

Chapter 1

Sally Dawson sat in her car and waited for disaster. A meteor, perhaps, or a freak bolt of lightning that would knock out power to the city. Whatever happened, it would have to be significant enough to distract her boss from the morning meeting he’d called with her. In her experience, morning meetings with Jack Reynolds were never called to convey good news.

She smoothed a light gloss across her lips, puckered at her reflection in the rearview mirror and took a deep, calming breath. Her father had a term for what she was about to experience: a Day, with a capital D, to indicate the gravity. How tragic that she’d been too upset about this meeting to notice her surroundings until this moment. The sky was the radiant, cloudless blue that seemed unique to early autumn, and the air was clean. She heaved a sigh. The butterflies still flittered against her stomach, but she was already running late. Time to face the Day.

She tapped her hip against the door of the sporty blue BMW to shut it, balancing the tray of coffees in one hand and her briefcase in the other. A few members of the defense counsel bar were gathered along the steps to the courthouse, eyeing her and whispering to themselves. Sally was well aware of the rumors that preceded her. She was a spoiled trust-fund baby, petulant and dramatic. She could be brash and short-tempered. Headstrong. Stubborn. She worked for fun and didn’t take it seriously.

Sally had heard it all before, and she’d stopped caring a long time ago. The gossip was as unfair as it was immutable. Besides, people could say what they wanted about her bank account or her temper. She was equally aware of her reputation for being an impeccably dressed fashion symbol, and there was some comfort in that. There was also some comfort in winning difficult cases and rising to the top of her department. In her experience, nothing shut up the naysayers like a show of competence.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” she said with a knowing smile as she passed the gossipers. Her quirks had never bothered her. She liked who she was just fine.

The click of Sally’s heels up the marble steps resounded like a battle march as she walked into the courthouse. She’d labored for too long over her wardrobe that morning, carefully considering each fabric for optimal effect, but some decisions could not be rushed. She’d finally settled on a gray Valentino dress with a plunging neckline, black Louboutin pumps and a Ferragamo handbag. Every perfect stitch of her clothing bolstered her confidence, the kind of confidence that comes with polish and excellent tailoring. She was unstoppable, a one-woman lawyering machine. These were her fatigues, and this was war.

Well, maybe not exactly war. A business meeting first thing in the morning didn’t feel too far off from it, though. Jack Reynolds hadn’t said much in his email, only that he’d seen her time sheets, and he was concerned about the long nights she’d been pulling while preparing for the Kruger murder trial. It’s time that we discuss getting some help for you, he’d written. Someone who can sit second chair.

She would set Jack straight easily enough. She did not need a partner on the Kruger case. She’d managed to get along without one for this long, and jury selection was only days away. To bring on another attorney, catch him or her up to speed— Was Jack out to sabotage her performance? To throw a wrench in her perfectly oiled machine? No, she couldn’t have that. Sally flew solo; she didn’t need someone else cluttering up her cockpit, and the sooner her supervisor accepted this fact, the easier her life would be.

She frowned at her watch. It wouldn’t help her cause that she was ten minutes late as a result of the wardrobe dilemma. She supposed she could blame the shoes, which forced her to calculate each and every step lest she tumble and break something. Black leather peep-toe pumps with an ankle strap weren’t practical in Connecticut’s autumn, but since when was fashion about pragmatism? She could concede the three-inch heels were high, but they were also beautiful.

Sally glanced down at her feet and changed her mind. The shoes were divine. She would concede nothing. If she was lucky, Jack was running late, too.

She balanced the coffee tray and pressed her hip against the heavy metal door that led to the state’s attorney’s office. “Morning, Delia.” She beamed as she swept up to Reception and planted a coffee on the desk. “This is for your troubles. I’ll no doubt add to them today.”

“Bless you.” Delia swiped a finger across her temple to tuck a stray hair behind one ear. Sally had purchased hair dye for her once during a lunch break. Shade #47, glossy chestnut. “Jack’s waiting for you in his office.”

He wasn’t late. Shoot. Sally beamed a smile that she didn’t exactly feel. “Great, thanks!”

She continued down the hall, taking a breath when she saw that Jack’s door was open. Sally always came prepared, and today was no different. She had a plan. She would pretend to listen to his concerns, but she’d already decided that to the extent Jack was feeling worried about her workload, she was feeling equally resistant to working with another attorney. This was why she’d spent last night preparing a compelling speech that would culminate when she peered out the window, turned her face to receive the best of the morning light and declared in a tone that conveyed both struggle with and acceptance of her circumstances, “The thing is, Jack, I just don’t play well with others.”

As a backup plan, she’d brought him a coffee. Another deep breath. This would work.

She rapped gently on the door, before entering and saying brightly, “Sorry I’m late. You wanted to see me?”

But that’s as far as she got. Jack had a guest. So much for blaming her shoes. So much for finding her best light in that lousy excuse for a window, and dramatizing memorized confessions. The skin on her arms prickled. She suddenly didn’t care if Jack Reynolds chewed her out publicly and called her a lousy attorney on the record. She didn’t care if her beautiful, expensive new shoes spontaneously combusted. All she cared about was the man talking to Jack. The man she’d once lived to hate.

Ben McNamara. The devil himself.

“Hey, Sally.” Jack beamed as he gestured to the man. “I’m glad you’re here. I wanted to introduce you two.”

Ben gave her a cocky smile that showed the top row of his perfectly straight white teeth. “Hello, Sally.”

He extended his hand, but she couldn’t tear her gaze from his blue eyes. Those familiar cobalt-blue eyes behind those thin silver frames. Even now the anger bubbled in her gut. Just what did he think he was doing here? Here, on her territory. She made a point of looking at his hand before setting the coffee tray on Jack’s desk and folding both her arms across her chest. Ben withdrew his hand and brought it down to his side. “Suit yourself,” he said.

Jack looked back and forth between them. “You know each other already?”

“Oh, we’ve met.” The tone of her voice was blistering. “Hello, Ben. It’s been a long time.” And yet somehow not quite long enough.

He was smiling at her as if they were old friends, which they were not. She’d like to pretend that they didn’t know each other at all. They had no history worth revisiting, just a series of progressively bad choices. Graduating from law school with someone didn’t make you friends. She hadn’t so much as thought of Ben in years now. And he had to show up now of all days, just as she was preparing for trial. He had to dampen her trial buzz. Damn him.

“We went to Columbia together,” Ben explained to Jack. “I remember Sally. She was second in our class.”

Ben arched his eyebrow at her, and Sally’s cheeks burned with rage. She’d been second, and in some false display of humility, Ben had neglected to mention that he’d been first. “Oh, Ben. No one cares about law school rankings,” she said through a tight smile.

“I couldn’t agree more, Sal,” he said easily, giving her a little wink. “Nothing’s more important than experience.”

No doubt he believed his experience, whatever it was, trumped hers. He was still smug and unbearable. Good to know that some things really never changed. Bastard.

He looked...all right, she supposed. Healthy. That was good, that fate didn’t smite him with some awful disease, like leprosy or rabies. It wasn’t as if she wished rabies on him. Now, maybe she could’ve gotten behind a good case of poison ivy—one that kept him up for a night or two. That would only be karma. But rabies? Too far. So it was good that he wasn’t foaming at the mouth and that he looked normal. Passably attractive.

She rubbed at her suddenly pounding temple. Maybe “passably attractive” was an understatement. He looked hot, as if he’d just wandered off a billboard advertising that dark gray designer suit he was wearing. She could admire his bone structure, the sharp angles on his jaw complimenting an aquiline nose. His olive skin had darkened over an apparently leisurely summer, bringing attention to his deep blue eyes. He looked clean and showered and still raging with whatever pheromones he exuded that made women weak-kneed around him.

Other women, not her. His pheromones repelled her. Just the sight of him spiked her blood pressure and made her want to do rash things, like throw something hard through something glass to distract him long enough so that she could run away. And now he was watching her, waiting for some kind of response.

Just...damn him.

* * *

Sally Dawson, in the flesh, after all these years. Ben wouldn’t expect her to be happy to see him. Still, he would have hoped that time would mitigate some of the animosity. He ran his gaze along Sally’s slender frame. The years had been kind to her, at least. Her blond hair fell to her shoulders before curling loosely like question marks at the ends. She was glaring at him, all trench coat, bare legs and high heels. It entered his mind that she could very well be naked under that coat. His collar tightened.

She was still beautiful, but then Sally had never lacked the financial means to achieve beauty. He’d always had some trouble explaining her to other people. It was as if the high school drama queen had one day become bored with sunbathing and decided to use part of her ample trust fund to go to law school. He had to give her credit for sticking with the profession for this long.

“I didn’t realize you two knew each other,” said Jack. He clapped Ben on the shoulder. “Then you’ll be happy to know that Ben is joining our team.”

Her eyes widened. “No.” She looked at him as if he’d just kicked a puppy. “I thought you were working in Manhattan?”

“I left Pitney Stern years ago. Since then I’ve served as a Marine Corps judge advocate.” His back straightened. Being counsel to the marines carried with it the pride of being in top physical condition. All marines were battle ready.

“He completed tours in Iraq and Afghanistan,” Jack added.

“But now you’re here. Why?”

Charming, the way her eyes narrowed to little slits as if she were deciding whether she should slip off one of those stilettos and stab him in the neck.

“Because we need him,” Jack interjected. “We’ve been looking to hire someone for a while, and we’re lucky to have him.”

“Hmm.” She sealed her mouth into a tight line. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. Jack, when you’re ready to have that meeting you emailed me about, I’ll be in my office.”

“This is the meeting, Sally,” he replied.

That caught her attention. She blinked her wide brown eyes. “You called a meeting to introduce me to Ben?”

Jack arched an eyebrow. “Have a seat.”

She eyed Ben suspiciously again and waited for him to sit before taking the chair beside him.

“You’ve been pulling fourteen-hour days. Working weekends,” their boss continued. “You could’ve come to me sooner. You need some help.”

“It wasn’t a problem. It’s not a problem,” she corrected. “I’m preparing for a big trial. One that I’m perfectly capable of handling on my own.” She sent a pointed glare in Ben’s direction out of the corner of her eye. Cute.

“It’s not an insult to you.” Jack relocated a stack of files on his desk so he could lean forward to address her. “You know it’s policy that we have two attorneys on large cases. You’re so capable that I neglected to pay enough attention to the fact that you were going it alone for so long.”

Her jaw tightened, and she gripped the seat of the chair. “So what’s this mean?”

“I’ve asked Ben to help you out. Sit second chair. I figured you could get him acclimated to the office.”

“Show me the ropes. You know, where to find the pens, how to make the coffee.” He gave her what he’d hoped was a disarming smile, but she returned it with a glare.

“I like to do things my way, Jack,” she said slowly. “I don’t...play well with others.”

He shook his head. “It’s not negotiable, I’m afraid. The Kruger case is too large, and there’s too much media attention. I regret not giving you more resources sooner.”

Ben cocked his head toward her. “I look forward to working with you, Sally. We’ll make a great team.”

She gritted her teeth and said to Jack, “Are we finished? I have a busy day.”

“We’re finished. Thanks for your time.”

“Super.” She rose from her seat. Then she lifted the tray of coffees, twisted one free and set it before Jack, and proceeded to the door without another word.

As the sound of her angry footsteps receded down the hall, Ben was surprised to hear Jack chuckle under his breath. “What’s the joke?”

“Oh.” He waved his hand and leaned back in his chair. “Sally. You already know her, so I don’t have to tell you that she wears her heart on her sleeve.” He popped the top of the coffee she’d left for him and looked inside before taking a sip of the steaming beverage.

So that’s what that was: wearing her heart on her sleeve. Here Ben had thought she was acting bratty and rude. “Has she been working here for long?”

“Since the day she passed the bar.” The older man leaned back in his chair and opened the blinds behind his desk to allow some sunlight into the dark quarters. “Sweet girl and a hell of a lawyer. But when she gets upset about something... I don’t have to tell you,” he repeated, and dropped back into his seat.

“No. You don’t.”

Ben was all too familiar with Sally’s dramatic tendencies. In law school, she’d had near nervous breakdowns as a matter of routine before finals. She’d show up to the library in ratty jeans and an old sweatshirt, her hair unbrushed, looking as if she hadn’t slept in days. She would draw concern from their classmates with her dramatics and endless questions, and then she’d go on to earn one of the highest grades in the class. She’d routinely squandered the time and energy of those around her. He’d found it tedious.

Jack’s chair squeaked as he shifted forward again. “Anyway, don’t worry about her. You two will be working together on the Kruger case whether she likes it or not. There’s always a slew of work to be done during trial, and Sally doesn’t need to be a hero.”

“No, sir.”

“Funny. She sure got upset about you.” Jack’s bushy eyebrows rose mischievously. “Is there some history I should know about?”

Ben started. There was a history, all right, but not one their boss needed to know. Definitely not. “Like I said, we went to Columbia together. Same first year classes.” He coughed to politely signal a change in subject. “You mentioned that you had some other cases for me already.”

“I’ve got a stack of them. We had a retirement last month and everyone’s been helping out, but as far as I’m concerned they’re yours.” His new boss slid a piece of paper with several columns across the desk. “Here’s a table of the case names and file numbers and the attorneys you should speak with about the status.”

“Great.”

“I’m expecting big things from you, Ben. First in your class at Columbia, followed by an impressive military record. We’re lucky to have you here. Anything you need, you just let me know.”

“I appreciate that, sir.” He waved the list of cases and rose. “I’ll get started on these right away.”

Ben walked along the narrow hall, taking in the gray speckled carpet worn thin down the center, and the white walls marked with odd scuffs and smears of grime. He stopped in front of his office, which was located directly across from a cluster of gray cubicles, empty except for boxes of documents piled on and around the desks. The area hummed with the sounds of distant conversations and electrical appliances, but his was the only warm body in sight. Welcome to the neighborhood, he thought ruefully.

He stared into the hole of a room and wondered whether his office was a converted utility closet. That would explain the size. At least the window was large. He tugged at the strings of the dusty blinds, which rose with a squeal. The window may be large, but it looked out onto the back end of a bar. Working late nights meant he would likely have a front row seat to drunken brawls, which meant he’d be seeing familiar faces at bail hearings. That didn’t seem like a perk.

He dropped his leather briefcase near his desk with a thud. The wooden top was marred by thin grooves, he noted with a frown. A large blotter and calendar would cover up those scratches and dents, and at some point he might even forget about them. He looked around again, absorbing the fact that the walls needed a fresh coat of paint and the office chairs looked as if they needed fumigation. It was a place to work, that was all. He needed this start.

He may have grown up nearby, but Ben couldn’t say that he’d ever expected to land in a town like Bedford Hills. Returning to the area in which he’d started signified failure to him. Now that his mother’s health was declining, though, he needed to be close to her. He pressed his fingers between two slats of the dusty blinds.

He could admit there was something appealing about the quiet of the area. Nightlife consisted of a few downtown restaurants and bars, most of which closed by midnight. The old town had remnants of its farming roots, and aside from some of the downtown core and scattered subdivisions, properties in Bedford Hills were large and houses far apart. He could leave work and slip away into silence and solitude. He’d been raised a few towns away, but no one here knew him. He planned to keep it that way.

Except for Sally. She’d known him once, the old Ben, before he’d gotten his life together. He’d heard that she was working as a prosecutor, but he hadn’t realized she was stationed here. That made sense. If he remembered correctly, her family lived in the area, too.

He glanced around again. The office was claustrophobic, the view dingy. The desk was probably older than he was. Back when he was working on Wall Street, he’d had only the best of everything, and now he didn’t even have an administrative assistant. What had he been thinking, coming here? He’d never get used to this place.

He didn’t plan to stay for long.

* * *

She released her breath when she entered the threshold to her office. Her sanctuary. Sally loved everything about the space, from the onyx vase she’d set on the table in the corner and filled with fresh flowers each Monday, to the framed watercolors depicting the seasons in Bedford Hills and painted by a local artist, to the lavender cashmere pashmina scarf that she draped on the back of her chair in case the ventilation went berserk, as it often did. Her space was warm and filled with the things she loved.

A shiver darted down her spine. She was feeling angry, and that wasn’t healthy. Her palm floated unconsciously to her abdomen, resting protectively over the spot where the baby was growing. She’d read that morning that it was the size of a poppy seed. Just a little ball of cells, really, and she couldn’t help but already feel the need to protect it from everything hurtful in the world. She’d been eating healthy and thinking positive thoughts, because positive thoughts bring positive results. At least that’s what the Life Coach podcast taught. She’d been listening to the series during her commute for a few weeks now. Today’s message had been about making peace with failure. As if they’d known I would walk into work and see failure eyeing me smugly.

“Sally.”

She groaned and spun to see Ben standing in the doorway. All the beauty and positive thinking in the world couldn’t stop her blood pressure from spiking at that moment. She didn’t bother to force a smile. “Can I help you?”

She observed his gaze sweeping across her office, her space, her things. He was appraising her. She studied him, trying to get a sense of his ruling, but his face remained inscrutable and he didn’t comment. “I just wanted to tell you that there are no hard feelings.”

The statement turned painfully in her chest. This guy had some nerve. She removed her trench coat with methodical deliberation and draped it across one of the chairs at the little conference table she’d set up in the corner. “I’m not sure what you’re referring to.”

He wasn’t rattled. Cool Ben had the gall to never appear rattled. “Don’t play coy. It doesn’t work with me. We’re colleagues now. I’m suggesting that we try to be civil, even if we can’t stand the sight of each other.”

She gripped her herbal tea, white knuckled. At another time, she might have calmly removed the cover and hurled the beverage at his glaringly white shirt and dull blue tie. But not today, because today she was above that. “It seems like you’re under the impression I spend time thinking about you. Would it make you feel better to know that even if I tried, I couldn’t muster enough interest to hate the sight of you?”

“You’re funny, you know that?”

He stepped into her office and walked toward her purposefully, his gaze locked on hers, the beginning of a smile curving his lips. She watched him, alarm sounding across her body, her muscles frozen. He reached her desk and pressed his large hands down, leaning forward until he intruded upon her space, caused her to lean away. “We both know you care. At least enough to hate me as much as you do.”

He reached forward with one hand and pretended to pick a piece of lint off her Valentino dress. Then he faked considering it before pretending to flick it away. Sally’s blood pounded in her ears. He was close enough that she could smell mint on his breath. Too close. She grabbed a stack of files from her desk and stomped toward the filing cabinet. “Don’t play games with me. You know the feeling’s mutual,” she growled.

“That I hate you?” He righted himself with a slight shrug. “I wouldn’t say that. I’ve always thought you were...interesting.” He lifted one of her business cards from the holder on her desk, turning it between his fingers before tucking it into his pocket. “This murder trial you have, for example. Jack told me about it. A homicide without a body? That’s risky.”

“Is it? I would think it would be riskier to allow a man to get away with murdering his wife just because he’d found a way to conceal her body.”

Ben arched one of his eyebrows rakishly. “Maybe. But do you get beyond a reasonable doubt?”

He leaned one shoulder against the wall and watched her. As he stood there, he folded his arms across his broad chest, silently reminding Sally that he’d never wanted for dates. Women in their law class had draped themselves across him, baking him cookies and inviting him to join their study groups. It was pitiful, and he’d lapped up the attention shamelessly. Ben used women. That’s who he was. Once, before finals, she’d walked into a quiet study room in the library and caught him with a topless girl straddling his lap, his hand snaking up her skirt. He’d had the nerve to smile at Sally over the woman’s bare shoulder as if to say, You wish.

Well, she didn’t wish. She had self-respect. Ben had never been formally attached to anyone. He used women and dumped them. She may have thought she loved him long ago, but he’d been very clear that he wasn’t interested in any kind of long-term, monogamous relationship. She’d been fooled, but that was a distant and ugly memory. Ten years distant.

She slammed the filing cabinet shut. He may be hot, but he wasn’t that hot, really. At least, she’d never understood the appeal. He had mahogany hair, slightly tousled, that he wore at a conservative length. He was tall, but not taller than six feet. He was clean-shaven, probably still tattoo-free, and just...generic. His only striking feature was his pair of deep blue eyes shrouded by long black lashes and strong eyebrows. Sally could admit that his eyes were beautiful. Even his glasses could be kind of hot on a different guy. But everything else about Ben was ho-hum. A playboy who liked to have one-night stands? Yawn. She preferred a man with a real edge and some substance that went beyond whatever was in his pants. A man who could make her laugh and think before he rocked her world. And since her broken engagement, she preferred no man at all.

“If you’ll excuse me, I have some work to do.” She headed toward the door.

“As do I. And I believe we’re heading to the same place. Remember, we’re partners now.” He stepped aside and waved her through. “After you.”

She rolled her eyes at his pompous formality as she brushed past, accidentally sweeping her shoulder against his chest. “Narrow doorway,” she mumbled.

Her attention was gripped by the sight of seven of her colleagues huddled in front of a television set up in a vacant cubicle in the center of the office. They watched her as she approached.

“Sally, you may want to see this,” Greg said, nodding his head toward the screen.

She squinted to make out the sight of the gray marble steps of town hall. A lectern was erected in the middle of a swarm of buzzing reporters in subdued jackets. “A press conference? What’s going on?”

“Your guy Marlow called it.”

That would be Dennis Marlow, the defense attorney who represented Mitch Kruger in the murder trial. He was a ripe pain in the rear.

“He called a press conference? On the Kruger case? And he didn’t even have the courtesy to tell me about it?” As soon as the words escaped, she reconsidered her simmering fury. Marlow had fallen far short of courteous during the pretrial phase, so what was one more professional breach?

She was aware of Ben creeping up to stand behind her. He had all the space in the world, and he had to stand right there, where she could sense him, practically feel the heat as it rose from his body. She couldn’t resist glancing quickly over her shoulder. Yep, there he was, old jerk face, making a conscious decision to invade her personal space and suck up all her air. She’d been much too polite earlier. She’d have to change that.

Her attention returned to the television as Marlow entered the screen from the right and stood behind the lectern, in a red tie and a black blazer that looked brand-new. “That tie looks expensive,” she murmured, mostly to herself. Marlow didn’t wear expensive ties.

“Must be an important press conference,” Ben replied close to her ear. “Fancy tie, lots of cameras.”

She didn’t have the opportunity to respond before Marlow began to speak.

“I’m Attorney Dennis Marlow, and I represent Mitchell Kruger. My client is accused of murdering his wife almost a year ago. Mr. Kruger has maintained his innocence from day one, and his story has never changed. Namely, that Mrs. Kruger walked out after a heated argument and never returned. We have maintained sincere efforts to locate Mrs. Kruger, but to no avail. Her body was never recovered, and the state’s evidence against my client has always been circumstantial.”

Sally bristled at this bit of theatrics. Most evidence in any case was circumstantial—it wasn’t as if criminal acts were routinely captured on video. Marlow knew better, but lines like “circumstantial evidence” often played well to juries.

The attorney continued. “We have cooperated with the investigation without conceding Mr. Kruger’s involvement in his wife’s disappearance. He was not involved. He, too, was a victim.”

Sally glanced across the crowd of colleagues and caught her friend Tessa’s eye. Tessa made a gesture as if she was about to vomit. Sally shook her head. Mr. Kruger was a victim now? Marlow was really pushing it.

“I’m pleased to announce that now, on the eve of Mr. Kruger’s trial, we are about to clear his good name once and for all.” Marlow looked up from his notes and gestured to the right of the screen. “My client couldn’t have killed his wife, because she’s with us here today.”

Sally’s blood rushed to her feet, and a chill settled in its place as a figure crossed the screen to the lectern. She’d looked at hundreds of pictures of Mitch Kruger’s wife over the course of this investigation and in preparation for trial, imagining the terror the poor woman must have felt in her last moments. Sally knew Mrs. Kruger. The shape of her face. The shade of her white-blond hair. Her slender build.

Through private interviews with her closest friends and family, Sally knew even more than that. She knew that Mrs. Kruger liked country music, line dancing and beer. That she didn’t care for gardening, but kept small potted plants that she tended with love. That she loved her shar-pei, Pookie, and would never, ever have willingly left him with Mitch. Sally knew that Mrs. Kruger was dead.

But then the woman smiled shyly at the camera and said, “Hello. I’m Ronnie Kruger.”

And stupid Ben had the nerve to whisper, “Sally, I think there’s a problem with your case.”

Chapter 2

Ronnie had never been one for card games. The dubious honor of household poker expert belonged to Mitch. “Everyone has a tell,” he’d once informed her over a gin gimlet on the rocks. “A twitch, a smile. Something that lets you know they’re hiding something.”

She’d taken a sip of her icy drink. Three glasses in, and she no longer pinched her lips against the sourness. “I don’t,” she’d said, lowering the glass to the table and licking her lips. “I come from a large family, so I’ve learned how to be a good liar.”

“Is that a fact?” One corner of his mouth had lifted in amusement.

“Absolutely. In a big family, someone’s always looking over your shoulder. I learned a long time ago that if I ever wanted any privacy, I’d have to know how to keep secrets.”

He’d clinked the ice cubes in his glass thoughtfully. “Maybe you can keep secrets, but you can’t hide them completely.”

“Oh?”

He’d set his drink down and placed his hand on the table. Then he’d rubbed the tip of his forefinger against the pad of his thumb. “That’s it, you know. Your tell. I noticed it when you told me you liked the restaurant I chose last week.”

“Huh.” He was right. She’d hated that restaurant. She’d raised her glass and downed the remainder. “And what’s yours?” This was back in the days when they’d flirted with each other, when she’d still found something exciting and arousing about him.

“Not me.” He’d winked. “I’ve eliminated all of my tells. That’s why I’m a hell of a poker player.”

She’d found him sexy and dangerous in that moment, for all the wrong reasons. Here was a man who could read her body’s secrets while he remained almost a complete mystery to her. It was naive on her part to believe he’d never turn it against her. Liars lie, and erasing his own tell simply meant he was an especially practiced liar.

Unlike her. Ever since that conversation, she’d realized how right he was. She was a terrible liar. Her fingertips jumped and twitched when she felt nervous, as she did right now. A press conference? She hadn’t expected that, and this lawyer that Mitch had somehow scrounged up gave her the creeps. He looked like a kid at his own birthday party, hopping around as if he was loaded up on cake and ice cream and drooling about the new bicycle in the driveway.

“This way,” he said with a too-smooth smile as he placed his hand on her elbow to pull her through the hordes of cameras and journalists.

Don’t touch me. She yanked her arm out of his reach, but he didn’t appear to take any offense at the gesture. The old Ronnie might have allowed him to continue to clutch her, for fear of hurting his feelings. The old Ronnie was demure to a fault. Self-sacrificing. She was the school nurse who listened patiently while kids talked about their fake ailments and shared disgusting information about their bodily functions and sexual habits. That Ronnie took it all in stride with a smile. That was the Ronnie who carried little breath mints in her pockets, those sweet red-and-white candies that she’d learned long ago were universally loved and accepted. Sorry your menstrual cramps are so bad, honey. Would you like a mint?

The new Ronnie didn’t carry mints, and neither did she put up with crap like strange men acting overly familiar. I don’t care if you’re his lawyer, his doctor or his priest. None of that makes us friends.

Wormy. That was what the lawyer was. All smug and pleased as punch about her sudden appearance. “This is big,” he confided as they pulled away from the crowd. He was a close talker, and for a second she wished she still carried those mints around. “Real big. You just blew a hole in this side of the prosecution’s case.”

Ronnie smiled tightly. “I’m only here because Mitch is innocent,” she said in a forced saccharine voice. “I just feel terrible that this confusion has continued for so long.”

They were heading down the sidewalk now, and Ronnie winced at the distance to the car. She’d worn the wrong shoes, that was for sure. In fairness, she’d had only a short time to get dressed after she’d arrived. She’d barely been able to sleep on the plane, not knowing what she’d be in for once she landed. She’d gone zombielike to the closet in her home and blinked at the many clothes she’d forgotten about completely. Sweaters and sensible cardigans and so much beige. The old Ronnie had liked beige. Maybe being in a bright landscape like Vegas for almost a year had changed her taste. This Ronnie gravitated toward bright blues and rosy-pinks. They reminded her of the desert sunset.

She’d selected a sensible white blouse, a cardigan in a muted dusty-rose, and a string of pearls. She’d paired the ensemble with a dull gray pencil skirt that fell below her knees and black heels that pinched her toes when she walked. The whole look was dull dull dull. She used to be like this? This boring? No wonder Mitch—

Well. She wasn’t going to think like that. All the beige in the world didn’t justify breaking marriage vows. She wasn’t going to make excuses for him.

She was done with old Ronnie. In her first week in Vegas, she’d come across a fresh snakeskin that a neighbor said had belonged to a rattlesnake. It was just lying there on the side of the road, as if the serpent had taken off its coat and then forgotten to collect it on its way out of the sunshine. It’s a sign, she’d thought. This is what I am now. New Ronnie, who’s shed her old skin.

She’d picked up the remnant, taken it into the motel room she was renting, then spread it out on the bed. She’d never been out West before, and had never seen a snakeskin. The dull scales were brilliantly beautiful under the light, and she’d tried to imagine the sheen of the new ones. Each time the snake shed its old skin, she imagined, it would grow stronger, thicker and more deadly. Glossy and self-confident, it wouldn’t fear anymore.

Hadn’t Ronnie understood when she’d left Connecticut that night that she would never be the same? She’d started changing before she’d even climbed into the metallic cocoon of the airplane. But it wasn’t until she’d found that snakeskin that she knew what she was changing into. In that moment when she’d noticed the discarded pelt from the deadly animal, she’d understood in her heart that she hadn’t come out to Vegas to become a butterfly. She’d come out to become a poisonous snake.

“Ronnie.” The lawyer beamed at her again. “I should’ve asked sooner if I could get you something. Breakfast, perhaps? A coffee?”

He’d placed his hand on the small of her back, and the contact made her cold. “I’m fine,” she replied icily, and with a pointed glare at his arm. “And I’d prefer if you’d keep your hands to yourself.”

* * *

Sally didn’t have to turn to see who was barreling down the hall. Only one person had those footsteps. “Sally! Where is she?” Jack bellowed. He stopped when he saw her. “We need to talk.”

Her stomach knotted. “Your office?”

“Yours. It’s closer.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat and tried not to sway from the reeling in her head. Ronnie Kruger was alive. Good for her, she supposed. Bad for the office, and really bad for Sally herself.

“I need to call Dennis Marlow,” she said weakly, stunned by what she’d just seen. “Mitch Kruger is still in jail.” She placed her palm against her cheek and shook her head, which did nothing to order her thoughts. “I need to find out what’s going on first.”

Jack’s face softened. “I’ll stop by in a few.”

She trudged to her office, well aware of the eyes of her colleagues following her. Now the calmness of her sanctuary offered little reassurance. She drew the blinds. Darkness was preferable—she needed to hide.

Marlow must have been waiting for her call, because he answered after the first ring. “Why, it’s Sally Dawson,” he cooed in an unctuous voice. “Lovely day, isn’t it?”

“You’ve got some nerve, Dennis,” Sally hissed into the receiver. “A press conference? A freaking press conference?”

“It’s nice to finally hear from you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You were my first call. I’ve been trying to reach you for hours. I left messages on your office phone.”

Sally glanced at the device. Sure enough, it was blinking red to indicate she had a message. She sat in her chair, not wanting to admit that she’d been both late and distracted that morning. “I didn’t get the messages. But there’s no excuse whatsoever. You have a hundred ways to reach me.” She took a breath, trying to steady her nerves. “So Mrs. Kruger...what? Wandered back into town this morning?”

“She called me last night and said she was flying in from Vegas. I only met her this morning, and verified her identity.”

“And you couldn’t give me a heads-up before sending out a press release?” Sally pressed her fingers against her shut eyelids. “Dammit, Dennis. You’ve turned this into a three-ring circus.”

“Oh, come now,” he said, clicking his tongue. “This was a circus long before this morning. This case has been held up by the state’s attorney as an example of his staff’s dedication. You’re all so tough on crime and so clever that you don’t even need a body to go to trial. The magic of forensic science and all that.” He snorted. “I just shone the spotlight in a different direction. All of this works to my client’s advantage, really. Maximum impact.”

She rubbed at her forehead. God, was he right about maximum impact. The press was going to love this little gift.

“You need to file an emergency motion and withdraw all charges,” Marlow continued flatly. “Have it heard immediately so Mitch can get out of jail. He’s been held without bail for months. I hope it doesn’t come out later that you’ve been withholding evidence that would have exonerated my client.” His tone was pointed.

Withholding evidence. Marlow didn’t need to come out and say explicitly what she knew he was thinking. The state had charged a man with murdering a wife who turned out to be very much alive. He’d be searching high and low for proof that the state had overlooked exonerating evidence to manipulate the investigation’s outcome. A civil lawsuit could follow, and quickly. “I’d like to meet with Mrs. Kruger before I file anything. Once I verify her identity for myself, I’ll file a motion to withdraw all charges immediately. That goes without saying.”

“We’re at city hall now. We can be at your office in twenty minutes. Half an hour, tops.” Marlow sighed loudly into the phone. “I probably don’t need to tell you this, but this has been a long nightmare for my client. First his wife walks out on him, then the state brings charges against him for her murder. He lost his job. His son was set to testify against him. This proceeding has done immense harm to Mitch’s reputation and familial relations.”

Heat climbed into Sally’s chest. “I’m not sure what you’re implying, Dennis. The state may ultimately have been mistaken, but we aren’t liable for any wrongdoing. We brought that case on sound forensic evidence.”

He laughed drily. “Not so sound, was it? Not really, when the alleged victim is still alive.”

Sally balled one fist and brought it to her lap, digging her fingernails into her palms. This was Marlow’s little way of informing her that Mr. Kruger would be bringing one hell of a lawsuit. It didn’t matter whether the suit was actually successful; the bad press would be damaging enough to the office. She bit her cheek until it hurt, to keep from saying anything she’d regret. “I’ll see you in our conference room in twenty minutes.”

“I’ll be there with bells on.”

She had no sooner slammed her phone down than Jack darkened her doorway. “Sally.”

Her boss’s hands were on his hips, and his face was red. Not angry red, just an alarmed shade of ripened tomato. That made two of them.

“You finish everything you need to do?”

She propped her elbows on her desk and rested her head in her hands. What a nightmare. “Yes, sir. For now. I’m meeting with Dennis in twenty. I need to meet the vic—Mrs. Kruger—for myself.” How disorienting to hear those words out loud, when she’d spent nearly a year thinking of Ronnie Kruger as a concealed body, not a living woman.

“You want to tell me how it is that the murder victim in your case is holding a press conference?”

“Besides stating the obvious?” She looked up to meet his concerned eyes. “You can’t be mad at me, Jack. I’ve prepared for that case exhaustively. I just...” She shook her head, not knowing what she thought anymore. “The evidence was good. Solid. It was Mrs. Kruger’s blood on that rug. There was too much blood for her to have survived. It all added up.” Sally rubbed her temples. It didn’t make sense.

“It’s my fault. The hours you’ve been pulling... I should’ve given you help a long time ago.” He planted himself in her visitor’s chair. His thick eyebrows pulled together, wrinkling the skin on his forehead, and he cursed. “We need to fix this. Quickly.”

She thought of that press conference, how Marlow had chosen to drag Mrs. Kruger out into the spotlight to humiliate Sally, the office and the police. “He let his client sit in jail so that he could shock us all with the news.” Her cheeks grew hot.

“We were about to bring a man to trial for a murder that never happened,” Jack said, loosening his tie. “I don’t think I need to lecture you on the seriousness of this.”

Her heart fell to the floor. No, he didn’t, but he may as well have with that last comment. The effect was equally humiliating. “No, sir. Believe me.”

A quiet rage flickered in her gut. She’d worked her rear off to get to where she was—one of the lead attorneys in the homicide division. She’d worked late nights and weekends for the better part of a decade, sharpening her skills. This case was just like any other: she’d pored over the evidence carefully and taken her responsibilities seriously. Even if Jack didn’t exactly see it, she was certain that the evidence had been manipulated and a trap set. Sally had spent most of her life being underestimated and taken lightly, and she’d worked hard to prove everyone wrong. No one was going to make a fool out of her.

She tried to keep her voice steady now, but it sounded shaky, as if her words were being dragged over gravel. “I’m going to review that file. I’m going to figure this out. Some crime was committed, and whether it was an attempt to commit insurance fraud or murder...” She looked at him. “I’ll fix it. I promise.”

“Sally.” He leveled a gaze at her. “You’re off the file. I’ll review this myself.”

Her heart galloped, and her breath quickened. Jack would review the files? And what if he found a mistake? She scratched at her leg. She hadn’t made one, she was sure. But what if she had? She didn’t want to be blindsided. “Jack, no one knows that case better than I do. You know me. You know I’ve always been forthright with you. Besides, this doesn’t violate any ethical rules. I can examine the file as well as anyone.”

“Sally, I want a review. You can’t review your own file. That doesn’t even make sense.”

“I can review it.”

They both turned at the sound of a voice. Ben stood in the doorway, his hands on his hips, and shrugged nonchalantly. “Jack already briefed me on it this morning, and I’m probably the least busy person in this office.”

“Not for long,” Jack said, unconvinced.

“Not for long. But for now.” Ben crossed his arms. “I’ve prosecuted complicated cases. I had a few murder cases while on tour. I know my way around forensic evidence. Besides, Sally and I are partners on this case. You said so yourself, Jack.”

He sat in quiet thought before shaking his head. “God knows I don’t need to deal with investigating this mess, on top of everything else I’m doing.” He eyed Ben and then looked at Sally. “What do you think? I’m inclined to let him do it.”

She smiled tightly. “Then I don’t think it matters what I think.”

“Fine.” Jack shrugged and rose. “Ben, it’s now your file. I’m off to go try to explain this to the media sharks circling our office.”

Sally glanced at Ben, who gave her a small wink and a nod. And this became, officially, the worst Day of her life.

* * *

Sally may have been spoiled, bratty and rude, but she had her back against a wall. What kind of man would he be if he let her squirm, pinned under the threat of her superior’s review? Win-win, Ben thought with some self-congratulation. He’d relieved his boss of additional work, and he now held the upper hand over Sally.

Not that he’d use it. He was a gentleman, after all, and gentlemen didn’t humiliate women. Having a little power over her might convince her to talk to him again, that’s all. If she did, she might learn that he wasn’t as vile as she thought he was. Not anymore.

He didn’t want to admit that her cutting glares that morning had bothered him. In the past, he’d made some choices he wasn’t proud of. The womanizing. The drinking. He was finished with both. Maybe, if she agreed to speak with him again, she’d stop looking at him as if he’d stepped in something foul. Not that he cared what Sally Dawson thought of him. He didn’t need the approval of a haughty trust-fund baby to sleep well at night. She’d always struck him as a little kooky, anyway. She did her own thing, traveled through life slightly off-kilter. He didn’t care if she thought he was a decent person at the end of the day. She didn’t matter at all. But he could repair the past by fixing his relationship with Sally. He hadn’t always been decent to her.

He flung a self-satisfied smile at her. In response, she leveled a withering glare that would have peeled paint off a wall. Had he expected his charms to work that quickly? Sally sat back in her desk chair stiffly, her piercing glare informing him that he should drop dead.

“You probably think I should thank you.” Her voice was a barely audible hiss. She rose, rounded her desk and stepped forward, closing in on him like a great cat evaluating its chosen prey. “I’m not going to.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to thank me,” he replied calmly. “You probably want my head. But I heard Jack laying into you, and I think it’s in your best interest that your superior not review that file.”

“Oh?” Her eyes narrowed to menacing slits. “And why is that?”

He focused on those light brown eyes. He’d forgotten that they contained tones of gold—the exact shade of whiskey filtering late afternoon sunlight. Beautiful eyes.

He tore himself from their glare to close her office door behind him. “Look, Sally. A mistake was made. It’s the only rational explanation, and whether it was made by you, the police or the crime lab, it happened. You brought a murder case for a victim who wasn’t dead. That’s a problem.”

“It’s not that simple—”

“No one said it was simple. But if I find the mistake first, I’ll come to you. Maybe you can spin it and save your job, or at least your position in this office.” He pulled up straighter and added, “I’m doing you a favor.”

“A favor?” She gave an unlady-like snort and walked away from him, heading back to her desk. She didn’t sit. Instead she leaned against it, her gray dress hugging her curves, and looking elegant and furious, preparing herself to give him a piece of her mind. “I’m not done with this case yet.”

Ben stepped forward then. “I beg to differ. According to Jack, you’re quite done.”

“I didn’t make a mistake. I know how risky it is to bring a murder to trial without a body. I was careful, and the evidence was good.”

The neckline of her dress was plunging to dangerous depths. Ben brought his focus back to her angry brown eyes. “I don’t care how good you think the evidence was. I’ve been instructed to review this file, and that means it’s mine.”

She tilted her head to the side and rolled her eyes. “You sound so military right now.”

Before he could decide what she meant by that comment, she pushed herself off her desk and approached him once more. He was very aware of her lean, bare legs and the way her body teetered just slightly on those heels. Those shoes were ridiculous—amazing that she could even stand, let alone walk in them. Her legs, on the other hand, looked strong and smooth. She probably ran five miles a day. He fought the urge to reach out and touch them.

“Ben.” Her voice had assumed a smooth, glassy tone, and her eyes were wide. “I’m going to level with you. I love my job, and I’m trying hard to save it.”

The note of desperation in her voice tugged at him. Damn. She hated him, but he didn’t hate her. He didn’t want her to lose her job, and he certainly didn’t want to be perceived as being responsible for something like that. “I’m just reviewing the file, not making any recommendations. I would never recommend that you lose your job.” There, that should settle it.

But she continued to watch him, unblinking. He released a sigh. “You may as well come out and tell me what you want me to do. I’ve never known you to hold back.”

She raised her chin. “I want to conduct the follow-up investigation with you. I need to know what went wrong, and if I can, I need to fix it. I need to save my job.”

“You want to doctor the file? Cover your tracks?” He shook his head. “I can’t agree to that. No way.”

“No, that’s not what I meant at all. Jack is locking me out of this case, shutting the whole thing down. But, Ben, the forensic evidence is strong. Mitch Kruger killed someone, I know it. I need a second bite at the apple. I need a chance to prove my case.”

“I think you’re going to have a hard time convincing anyone here to bring Mitch Kruger to trial again.”

She chewed her bottom lip while she considered this. “You’re probably right. My credibility is shot.” Her long lashes fluttered as she turned her gaze to him. “But yours isn’t.”

“Now wait—”

“I can help you review this file. I know everything about it, and you can provide the second set of eyes that Jack feels is needed. If I can convince you that Mitch Kruger committed murder, you can convince Jack that my judgment wasn’t off. Not entirely.”

“And you can keep your job.” Ben crossed his arms. “But Jack won’t like this. He wants an independent review.”

“Fine, make it an independent review. Just let me tag along, treat me as a partner. A consultant. Tell Jack that it’s too complicated and you think my input would be valuable.” He caught the sweet scent of her hair as she leaned forward. “He’ll listen to you. Besides, it wouldn’t be strange for two colleagues to consult with each other. Not if we’re already partners.”

“Sally, I realize you don’t want to lose control of the file—”

“You want to cut a deal?” She squared her shoulders. “Fine. Name your price.”

“A deal?” He started. “What kind of deal are we making here?”

“You let me in on your review process and convince Jack to make me your partner. Give me a chance to save my job and make my case. I’ll give you something in return. So what do you want? I’ll do your dry cleaning, buy you coffee for a month...what?” She placed her hands on her hips.

He didn’t care about dry cleaning or coffee. He allowed his gaze to venture lower, skimming the edges of her dress, the elegant curves of her body. There’d been a time in law school when he’d thought he could fall in love with Sally Dawson. Smart, quirky Sally, who was unlike anyone he’d ever met. Then he’d gone and ruined it. But now she needed him. Now he finally had an in. So what did he want?

“All right, Sally,” he began coolly. “I’ll talk to Jack, tell him I want your help. I’ll let you tag along on my review interviews, and I’ll promise to keep an open mind. If you can convince me that Mitch Kruger committed murder, I’ll help you plead your case to Jack. But if I’m not convinced, or if I think an error in judgment was made...I can’t promise results.”

“Fine, I get that. And in return?”

He moved his hands to his waist. “Anything, right?”

She peered at him from narrowed eyes. “Keep it family friendly, Ben.”

He lowered himself toward her, watching her eyes widen as he reduced the distance between them. “You sneer at me.”

“I don’t.” But she blinked several times and leaned slightly away from him. Busted.

“You know you do. You’ve barely spoken to me since the first year of law school. You can hardly stand to look at me now, and we’re going to be working across the hall from each other.”

“Well, and so what?” She folded her arms across her chest like a belligerent child.

“So what? The ‘so what’ is that now you want something from me. You made my welcome as cold as possible this morning, and now you suddenly want us to work together.”

“You’re mad that I didn’t smile at you enough?” She rolled her eyes. “This is great. So what? You’re going to get even, I suppose. Humiliate me? Make me wash your car in a bikini?”

That was an image worth dwelling on, but he had to stay focused. “Worse. I want a second chance.” He pulled his back straighter. “I want you to have dinner with me.”

* * *

It was as if someone had hit an erase button in her mind. She lost her words, her thoughts slid away into some great expanse of forgotten information, and all that came out of her mouth was, “Ha!”

Have dinner with Ben? Oh, that was rich. She’d put that one in her diary and read it the next time she needed a laugh.

His face was unmoving. “Is that all you have to say?”

“What else is there to say? How about, ‘thank you, but I’d rather set my hair on fire.’”

“That seems like a dramatic response,” he said mildly, then shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

He turned and walked toward the door, leaving her standing there dumbly. “That’s it? Suit yourself?”

He paused to issue a second nonchalant shrug. “That’s the deal. If you’re not willing to bargain, then we’re done.”

“And...what? What happens to your review of my files?”

“I’ll proceed as Jack requested. I’ll conduct some interviews, check under rocks for missing clues, exactly what you’d expect.” He pulled at the knot on his tie. “I’ll submit some kind of report to Jack, let him know how, exactly, a murder victim walked back into town. He’ll take it from there.”

Sally’s stomach worked itself into a ball. “Without me? You mean you’re going to cut me out? But I can tell you the subtleties of the case, who to talk to.”

“I’ll interview you, of course.” Now he turned his gaze directly to her. “You’ll be a part of my inquiry. But I’ll do the rest independently, just as Jack requested. You were a brilliant law student, and I’m sure you’re a good attorney, Sally. You shouldn’t have anything to be worried about.”

Her pulse quickened. He was going to complete a review of her file, and she’d have to sit back and wait for the result? Torture. She couldn’t trust Ben with her job like that. What if he overlooked something obvious, and she was left formulating a defense? She had to maintain some control.

“I’ll talk to Jack myself,” she announced. “I’ll explain the need to help you with your investigation.”

“You can do whatever you want, but I think we both know that he’s not likely to be receptive. But if I suggested it, on the other hand, told him that I thought it would be valuable to have your input at all stages of the review, given the time pressures...” His voice trailed off.

Sally opened her mouth to argue, but then snapped it shut again. Ben was right. If she asked Jack again to be involved in the follow-up investigation, she’d appear self-serving and even suspicious, as if she was trying to hide something. He’d already turned her down once. If Ben insisted that he needed her help, well, that just might work. Jack wanted an answer, and quickly. He would probably be open to anything Ben suggested as long as it might speed up his review. She frowned. “You’re blackmailing me.”

“Now wait a second.” Ben spun to face her. “This exchange was your idea. You know my terms. If you don’t want to do it, no problem. I can promise you I’ll be a complete professional in my review.”

“But your terms are...unseemly.”

“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow. “I’m sorry you find the idea of having dinner with me so offensive.”

She balled her fists. He knew how she felt about him. He knew this would be the one thing she couldn’t take, but she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of being right.

She could do this. Yes, it might be awkward to go out with him—the idea made her palms sweat—but she’d live. She could even fake a headache and leave early. No appetizers, no dessert. Really, what was the big deal? She’d suffer through an evening with him in exchange for having more control over a file she cared about. Dinner in exchange for information that she could use to save her job, repair her reputation and bring Mitch Kruger to justice.

“Fine,” she said through clenched teeth. “I’ll have dinner with you.”

He didn’t smile. She didn’t expect him to. Her tight-jawed acquiescence wasn’t a victory by any measure. Instead he nodded slowly and turned back to the door. “Then I’ll speak with Jack about getting you involved with the investigation.”

“Great. At least one of us will enjoy this.” She flung her gaze to the far wall, directing her words to a large potted plant on the bookshelf.

Ben stood in place, and when he spoke, his tone had softened. “Listen. I’ve done some things I’m not proud of. I was hoping that I could do this to make it... I’m not doing anything to hurt you.”

“You want me to give you a second chance by coercion. That may work on other women, but it won’t fly with me.”

“Sally. Come on now. That was ten years ago—”

She wasn’t listening as she bustled around her office. “I don’t have time for soliloquies. I’m meeting Dennis Marlow and Ronnie Kruger downstairs.” She picked up a few scattered pens on her desk and dropped them with a thud into the pen holder. Then she swept round her desk.

Ben stepped into her path. “Hold it.”

He was in her way, his broad figure blocking her retreat. She had no choice but to stop. “What?”

“It’s not just your file anymore. I’m going to that meeting, too, and I’ll be going to any meeting that comes up. From now on, whether you like it or not, when it comes to the Kruger case, there’s only ‘us.’ Got it?”

His hands were on his hips, his stance wide as he towered over her. Sally stared right through him without saying a word. Then she swept past him and out the door, as if he hadn’t been there at all.

Chapter 3

Sally’s angry head start didn’t matter in the end. Ben caught up with her in three easy strides down the hall. Maybe the heels had been a mistake, after all.

“We’ll take the stairs,” he announced. “And on the way, you can explain your theory of this case to me. Give me your elevator pitch.”

She rolled her eyes again. “Veronica Kruger disappeared almost a year ago. Vanished. Apparently she had a nasty fight with her husband, Mitch. Next thing we know, she’s not showing up at work. The police investigate and their kid tells us he hasn’t heard from his mom in a few days.”

“Their son? How old?”

“Teenage son, sixteen at the time. His name is James. That’s James, not Jim. He was set to testify that he came home late from a party on the night his mother disappeared, sneaked into the house and went straight to bed. The next morning his dad told him that she’d packed up and left after an argument. While he was at the party.” Sally sighed. “James didn’t believe it, and things between father and son have been tense. James was going to testify against his father. He thinks Mitch killed his mom. Thought. He’s been living with a friend.”

They reached the staircase and proceeded down it. Their voices echoed against the metal stairwell and cinder block walls. “But you weren’t basing your entire case on James’s testimony.”

“Partly,” she admitted. “But we’re basing it in larger part on the forensic evidence. The police found an area rug in a Dumpster behind a store that Mitch passed each morning on his way to work, months after we first suspected murder. A store employee called it in because... God. You should see the pictures. It just looks like someone bled to death on it.”

“And he threw it out? In plain sight?”

“A store employee saw it, and surveillance footage confirmed it. It was rolled up, but still messy. We think he may have hidden it in a storage unit and dumped it after the preliminary investigation cooled and the police gave him some breathing room. James identified it. He said the rug had been missing since the night his mom disappeared.”

“It’s like he wanted you to find it,” Ben mused. “So that’s your case? Missing woman and blood on an area rug?”

“The lab ran DNA tests. It’s Mrs. Kruger’s blood, and the amount on that rug proves a fatal injury. Police found blood spatter on the wall consistent with a gunshot wound. The blood had been cleaned up, but the evidence was not completely destroyed. Between all of that and James’s testimony, we have ourselves a murder. I mean, we thought we had.”

“Hmm.”

Sally glanced over her shoulder at Ben. “What?”

“Just thinking,” he replied.

“No.” She opened the door to the landing, then froze in place. “We’re partners now, remember? I told you my theory, so what are you thinking?”

He leaned into the door she held. She was surprised to see his forehead crease as he thought, evidence that he was taking this case, her case, very seriously. “I’m thinking about how a massive amount of Ronnie Kruger’s blood could be on an area rug while she is still alive. Sounds like a lab error.”

“Impossible. I’ve checked and triple-checked everything with the lab and the detectives on the case. I was about to go to trial, Ben. I know there wasn’t a mistake.”

“I’m not saying anyone’s at fault,” he said mildly. “I’m only suggesting that something was missed or maybe overlooked. In any case, the good news is we may have just found Ronnie Kruger’s body.” He gave Sally a wink as they exited through the door. She tried not to roll her eyes yet again.

Marlow was already in the conference room when they arrived. “Sorry I’m—we’re—late,” Sally said. Ben shut the door behind them.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” the defense attorney said, rising from his seat and extending his hand to Ben. “I’m Dennis Marlow, and this is Veronica Kruger.”

“Ronnie.” The woman didn’t exactly smile, but she wasn’t unpleasant, either.

“Ben McNamara.” He shook hands with Marlow and gave Ronnie a polite nod. “Ma’am.”

Sally slid into a seat and studied Ronnie from across the table, trying to wrap her head around the idea of her. Ronnie Kruger had haunted her nightmares. Sally had imagined her screams and her fear. She’d hounded the police detectives about her, wanting them to extend searches for her body so the poor woman could receive a proper burial.

Sally had tried not to think about the grisly details of her death. Blood spatter patterns at the Kruger household had been blurred by aggressive cleaning, but illuminated by luminol, and they indicated Mrs. Kruger had been shot multiple times. A bullet recovered from the fireplace contained Ronnie’s blood and confirmed the weapon had been a .357. Sally couldn’t think about that final, awful end when the bullets had torn into her body. She knew some of her colleagues, like many homicide detectives, had to crack jokes to distance themselves from the daily horrors they witnessed. They called people “vics” and “perps” and used cold, impersonal language to describe the crimes. It was their only armor against evil.

Sally wasn’t quite there yet, psychologically, although she supposed she might have fewer nightmares if she were. Instead, when she had a new case, she thought of clothes. This was what gave her insomnia: victims’ clothing. When she looked at crime scene photos, she’d stare at the person’s shoes and think about how alive he or she had been at the moment they’d dressed. At the darkest points of the case, when she questioned her abilities and her energy to continue, Sally had thought about Ronnie selecting her white blouse and beige khakis, not knowing those would be the clothes she would die in. Then Sally had fought on.

She blinked. But none of that was true anymore. Ronnie Kruger had dressed that morning, and she’d lived to see hundreds of more days, while Sally had worked to bring her nonexistent killer to justice. She tried to identify the source of the tension that balled the muscles around her neck. Was she actually angry that Ronnie Kruger was alive? Sally rubbed at her temple, where a headache had started to throb. No need to engage in psychotherapy right now. There were more pressing concerns.

Ben made his way around to her side of the table. Had he always been so broad-shouldered, or was that the marine in him? He carried himself as if he owned the room. She’d have to remind him that he didn’t.

“I’m new to the office,” he explained in an easy manner as he slid into the chair beside her. “Sally’s showing me the ropes.”

He gave her a smile. She gritted her teeth. “Mrs. Kruger,” she said in a voice that sounded almost calm. “First of all, I’m glad to see you’re doing well. It would be an understatement if I said that I was very concerned about you.”

“And I feel terrible about that, believe me.” The woman’s hand flew to her heart, and her blue eyes widened. “Mitch and I had a terrible argument, and I’m ashamed to say I went a bit out of my mind.” Her eyelids lowered and she shook her head contritely. “I left my son. My poor boy, James, was so worried. I had no idea.”

Sally reached for the box of tissues beside her when she noticed that tears had started to well in Ronnie’s eyes. “Please, help yourself. We’re always well stocked with tissues around here.” She slid the box across the table.

“Thank you.” Ronnie took one out and proceeded to dab at both eyes and blow her nose. “The idea of Mitch being on trial for my murder? Well, I came home as soon as I found out.”

Ben leaned forward across the table, his dark eyes staring intently at her. “That must have been some argument.”

Ronnie sniffed, swiping the tissue beneath her upturned nose. “It was. I’m so embarrassed.” She ran a finger below one eye. “I found out that Mitch was cheating on me. Had been for a long time. My world exploded.” Her chin trembled.

“So Mitch was unfaithful?” Sally chewed on this fact for a moment. “He told us that you’d been arguing about something trivial. Specifically, that he’d left a mess in the kitchen that morning.”

“Is that what he said?” For a flash of a second, she looked surprised. Then she quickly recovered. “I guess it may have started out that way. I’m not surprised that he didn’t mention his infidelity. It’s not the kind of thing he would advertise. It was a woman he worked with. Younger.” Ronnie inhaled a ragged breath.

“Do you have the woman’s name?” Sally reached behind her to open a small cabinet drawer. In her haste, she had forgotten to bring a pen and paper with her, but the cabinet was stocked with lined pads and ballpoint pens.

“I don’t remember.” Ronnie sniffled. “I’ve blocked out so many of those details. It’s all like a bad dream now.” Her chin twitched and her shoulders sagged as if she was about to crumple. “I was devastated. Our marriage, the life we built together, all of it was a lie. I blacked out.”

“Amnesia,” Marlow explained. “Mrs. Kruger doesn’t remember anything after the argument.” He placed a hand on her shoulder as she shuddered. “There now. No one’s upset with you.”

“I wouldn’t say that just yet.”

Sally’s attention snapped to Ben. His mouth was pulled tightly as he studied Ronnie. “Ben, I don’t think—”

“For the past year, law enforcement has been working hard to find you, Mrs. Kruger, and you’re saying that you never had any idea?” He sat straighter in his chair. “And yet, after almost a year of amnesia, you regain your memory enough to come back home right before your husband is tried for your murder. I find that hard to believe.”

He was in full litigator mode, his face blank, his muscular body imposing even as he sat at the table. Sally followed his gaze to Ronnie, who had balled her tissue in her fist. “I told you the truth. I woke up in Vegas without any idea who I was. No ID, nothing. I was treated at a clinic and released. I’ve been living in a motel and waiting tables.”

“Mrs. Kruger has a number of people who can swear she’s been in Vegas,” Marlow interjected. “I called a few of them myself, and I’ll email the list to the police.”

“Copy us on that, please,” Sally said. Marlow nodded and made a note.

Ben turned in his chair, still intent on watching Ronnie. Sally couldn’t read his expression, but she was guessing that he didn’t buy anything she’d just said. “Let’s back up a minute. Now, you had an argument with Mr. Kruger. What was the nature of that argument?”

“It may have started out with something minor, but then I learned he was...that he’d been unfaithful.” Ronnie’s posture had shifted, and now she sat up straight in her seat. All her tears were inexplicably gone. “I remember that we argued, and I walked out. I don’t remember anything after that.”

“Did he hurt you?” Sally asked.

“No.”

“So you remember that he didn’t hurt you?” Ben observed.

Ronnie eyed him coldly. “Mitch has never raised a hand to me.”

Sally nearly shivered from the icy glare Ronnie thrust at him. “Mrs. Kruger, I’m sure you’ve heard that we found an awful lot of blood—your blood—on an area rug that your husband discarded after your disappearance. Any idea how that blood got there?”

She blinked several times and looked around the room. “Now that I think about it, when I was in Vegas, I discovered this.” She lifted a section of hair on the side of her head to reveal a thick, jagged scar. “I have no idea where it came from, but maybe I fell during our argument.”

“Could explain the amnesia,” Marlow interjected. “Bumps on the head, right?”

“You think you fell?” Sally’s eyebrows shot up. The scar was ugly, but any injury that would have produced so much blood on the carpet would have been fatal. “Did you receive stitches?”

“I don’t...” Ronnie turned to Marlow. “Am I in trouble?”

“Absolutely not. Ben, Sally, I’m not sure what the cop routine is all about. Maybe you should leave that to our fine men and women in blue.” Marlow placed his hand on Ronnie’s arm and leaned forward in his chair. “Mrs. Kruger has been through a terrible shock. She’s told you she doesn’t remember anything. Now, kindly do what you need to, to verify that she is alive, so we can reunite her with her husband, who is still rotting in jail. Any further questions as to what happened that night will have to come from a police officer.”

Ben’s face relaxed into an easy smile, and he turned to Sally. “Well, partner, you’re the one who has to file that motion. Are you satisfied that Ronnie Kruger is alive?”

Sally studied her one more time. Ronnie Kruger had a small mole on the left side of her chin. All the missing persons reports had mentioned that mole, and Sally had seen it in each and every photo, and again right now when she looked at Ronnie. “Yes, I’m satisfied.”

“Great.” Marlow rose and indicated that his client’s wife should do the same. “We’ll stick around and wait for you to file that emergency motion. I expect we’ll be pulled in front of the judge in no time.”

“No doubt,” Sally replied flatly.

She watched as Marlow held the door for Ronnie and then followed her out, closing it behind them. She exhaled. “I don’t even know—”

“This stinks.” Ben sat back in his chair. “She just told us a bunch of damn lies. What, are we supposed to believe she had post-traumatic stress disorder as a result of some argument with her husband?” His face darkened. “This is wrong.”

“The cheating is all new,” Sally said. “Mitch told us that they’d argued over dirty dishes.”

The corner of Ben’s mouth lifted in a wry smirk. “They didn’t get their stories straight. Not surprising when it’s been almost a year.”

Sally felt something akin to relief creeping up her spine. Ben believed the Krugers were hiding something. Maybe she wasn’t alone in this, after all.

She tamped down the feeling. Facts were facts, and facts alone would vindicate her and save her job. Besides, this was Ben, the man who’d betrayed her a hundred ways. She couldn’t forget that.

“How did she get to Vegas?” he asked.

“Sorry?”

“She was in Vegas, right? How did she get there?”

He leaned closer, and Sally caught his scent. Soapy and clean, with a hint of vanilla. She felt hot under the intensity of his gaze. “Her car was found near a bus stop on the outskirts of town, about a mile and a half from the Kruger household. We assumed Mitch had dropped it off and walked home.”

“But now we have to rethink that.” Ben’s forehead tensed. “She made it to Vegas, but she didn’t take her car.”

“She could have traveled by bus,” Sally said. “Gotten off at the station and taken a series of buses to Vegas. The police asked around at the time of her disappearance, and flashed her picture. They never found anyone who recognized her, which we took as evidence that she’d never been on the bus, because she was dead.” Sally tapped her fingertips against the tabletop as she thought. “But now that we know she wasn’t dead, we can think about this differently. She didn’t have to take a bus somewhere just because her car was at a bus stop.”

Ben nodded as he picked up her trail of thought. “The police assumed that Mitch had dropped off the car at the bus stop after killing his wife. But now that we know Mitch didn’t kill her, anything’s possible. Especially if they were in it together.”

“Yes. He could have dropped her off at the airport. The police never had a reason to check airline records.” A nervous excitement sent Sally’s heart pounding. “I have to call the police detectives. Maybe they can follow up on that.”

Ben’s jaw was set as he sat in quiet reflection. “Are we even sure she was really in Vegas? There could be layers of lies here.”

That brought Sally back to reality with a thud. “Yes, she could be lying about Vegas. Heck, she may have even gotten a lift from a friend.” Sally puffed up her cheeks with a breath and released it, fluttering her lips. “Even if they’re lying, we don’t know why, and until we do, we’re living a public relations nightmare.” She tucked a stray tendril behind her ear. “Regardless of our suspicions, now that I know Ronnie’s alive, I need to formally drop the murder charges against her husband. Whatever happens after that...” Her voice trailed off. “All that work. It’s like starting from square one, trying to figure out what happened that night.”

“It’s one step at a time, Sally. And remember, you’re not working alone.”

Ben looked as if he was fighting something, the way he stared uneasily at his hands. Then he glanced up. He didn’t need to look at her like that. All intense, as if he were actually listening to what she said. The hair on her arms rose as she remembered how he used to look at her back at the beginning of law school. Back when they’d been friends.

And then suddenly, briefly, so much more than friends.

She wondered what had happened to him, to have gone from an associate at an international law firm in Manhattan to a prosecutor in a small district in Connecticut. Sure, Sally loved the town, but she’d grown up in this area. Her family was here. Ben was from...actually, she didn’t even remember.

She cleared her throat and rose. “I’ve got to get that motion out. We can talk later.”

* * *

Ben nearly bounded up the stairs. After a dismal morning, he felt light with adrenaline. He couldn’t get Ronnie Kruger out of his mind—her facial expressions, the way her tears had dried up the second he’d put her on the defensive. She hovered like a bad premonition at the edge of his mind. This time when he entered his office, he overlooked its small size. This job had just got interesting, and his heart was pounding.

What was Ronnie Kruger hiding? His mind hummed with possibilities. This could be a failed attempt at insurance fraud, or a publicity stunt. Maybe Ronnie had framed her husband for her own murder and then skipped town. This case could go a hundred different ways.

Ben helped himself to several boxes of files and settled at his desk. He paused before opening the lid to the first box. These were Sally’s files, and whatever he found in here could put her job at risk. Ronnie Kruger may have pulled a hoax, but what if Sally had overlooked something obvious while compiling the case? He frowned. He was working a job, that’s all. It wasn’t his concern what Sally had or hadn’t done. He couldn’t blame himself if she lost her job.

He thought of her strutting angrily down the hall in those heels, and smiled to himself. How she managed to stand, let alone walk in those things escaped him. She was just as sexy as he remembered, with that exaggerated sway of her hips. Sally was larger than life, and it was impossible not to notice her. Everyone in their law class had known Sally. They’d all spent the first few weeks of school wondering why Columbia had accepted a ditzy prom queen, and the next few years regretting ever underestimating her. She’d walk into moot court, all smiles and designer clothing, and then proceed to wipe the floor with her opponent. He knew firsthand that underestimating Sally was dangerous business.

He studied the box again. He couldn’t assume that she’d made a mistake. Sally might come off as a lightweight, but when it came to something she cared about, she was all business. The girl was dumb like a fox.

There was a knock on the door, and Ben looked up to see Jack enter. “How’d it go with Veronica Kruger? I went to ask Sally, but she’s in court.”

Ben shrugged. “Looks like she’s alive, all right. Alive, and spinning some lies about what happened that night she went missing.”

“What’s her story?”

“A fight with her husband left her with amnesia that conveniently cleared up right before his trial.” Ben tossed the lid to the first box aside. “Sally’s off dropping the charges against Mitch Kruger as we speak, and I’m going to start digging through these documents to get some background.” He shook his head. “It’s a shame we can’t keep him a little longer. I can’t help but feel he’s getting away with something.”

“You’ll want to talk to the detective on the case and the folks at the crime lab,” Jack said. “We need them to take a fresh look at the evidence.”

“Yes, sir.”

Jack placed his hands on his hips and took a breath. “I don’t need to tell you that there’s blood in the water,” he said. “The media are circling. I need to know what the hell happened. I need to throw them something.”

Ben nodded. “Yes, sir.” He needed to get Sally officially assigned to the case. That was part of their arrangement, and this was the perfect opening. “You know, I was thinking it might be helpful if Sally helped me conduct this review.”

Jack shook his head. “I went over this with Sally earlier, Ben. I want an independent review. A fresh set of eyes.”

“Oh, I understand that, sir. It’s important that you feel you’re getting an honest analysis of the case.” Ben shrugged. “I just thought that if time is of the essence, and it seems that it is, then it’s going to take me a while to get up to speed with this case. But if Sally were to assist me, show me where to look and who to talk to, I might be able to get somewhere, quickly.”

Jack folded his arms across his chest as he considered this, his brow creased in thought. “So you think Sally should help in the investigation?”

“It’s clear to me that no one in this office knows or cares more about this case than she does,” he said. “I think she could speed up the investigation significantly.”

Jack let out a breath. “But your report would be independent, correct? That’s a sticking point with me. I need an unbiased review of this case. It helps that you’re an almost complete outsider.”

“Absolutely, sir. You have my word.”

The older man paused again, then nodded slowly. “All right. That makes sense. Have Sally partner with you on the investigation side, but I want that analysis to be completely independent, got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

Ben smiled to himself after Jack left the room. He’d upheld his end of the bargain, and now Sally had to uphold hers. Wouldn’t she be pleased.

* * *

“He came in and interrupted us. He actually walked right into my office as if we were standing in the hallway, and said he would review the files. He was so smug about it, too. You would’ve thought he was a knight in shining armor!” Sally punctuated her statement with a fork and then viciously speared a ketchup-soaked French fry on her plate. “Of course Jack agreed because, what, like he has any free time these days to review my files.”

Tessa took a sip of seltzer water from her straw and nodded at Sally’s plate. “Can we talk about how you’re the only person I know who eats French fries with a fork and knife?”

“How am I going to get through this, Tessa?” Sally continued, her eyes beginning to sting. She rested her fork on her plate. “I’ve worked harder on this case than any other. I thought I was doing everything right. And now?” She swallowed the tight knot that had worked its way into her throat. “I could lose my job.”

“Oh, honey.” Her friend leaned forward to grasp her hand. “I promise you won’t lose your job. You’re too damn good at it. Besides, we all have those loser cases, the ones we take a chance on, only to come up short.”

Tessa was being generous. She was one of the most skilled attorneys in the office and a genius with juries. Sally had been partnered with her a few times and had witnessed firsthand the way Tessa could read a jury, predicting which members would form a friendship, and knowing instinctively how to win them over. She was such a brilliant advocate that she routinely gave lectures to organizations in the Connecticut bar about jury psychology. Did she lose cases? Sure. But when jurors voted for acquittal, they sometimes apologized to her personally afterward. Sally was confident that whatever Tessa imagined her “loser” cases to be, they paled in comparison to this debacle.

“This is more than a ‘loser’ case, okay? My murder victim held a press conference.”

“This is where I remind you that we’re bureaucrats. We’re lowly cogs in a wheel on a big justice machine. You’re not the only one who decides to bring a murder case to trial.” She removed her hand from Sally’s to absentmindedly brush a crumb off the table. “That evidence must have been pretty darn compelling, for Jack to agree to go to trial without a body.”

Sally had thought so. Now she didn’t know what to think, other than that the instincts she’d always trusted had been horribly wrong. “The evidence was good.” She reached for her glass of lemon water and finished it off. “It doesn’t matter anymore. Let’s change the subject.”

“Okay.” Tessa set her fork down beside her plate and softened her gaze. “How are things going? How are you feeling?”

That hadn’t been the change of subject Sally had hoped for. Tessa was the only other person in Sally’s life who knew that she’d been undergoing fertility treatments for months, trying to conceive her first child. The only other person who knew she’d been successful. “I don’t want to jinx it,” she said quietly. “So far, so good.”

“Any nausea? Fatigue?”

Sally shook her head, not wanting to confess that even though she was early in the pregnancy, the lack of symptoms troubled her. “Not yet, but who knows? Maybe Mr. X just has great genes.”

Mr. X was the man of last resort, the final reproductive frontier. The anonymous sperm donor. He was the concept to which a woman turned when she wanted a family, but the men she’d met were complete duds. When a woman spent so much of her youth heartbroken over men who were more interested in the size of her trust fund than the content of her character, she reached a breaking point. For Sally, that point came last year, when she’d walked in on her fiancé, Michael, with another woman.

She didn’t understand her luck. She was repellant to decent guys and syrup to creeps, and she’d spent more than enough time around men who’d treated her poorly. Ben, for example. She’d once allowed herself to believe she’d fallen in love with him. He’d gotten what he wanted from her, and then he’d been purposefully cruel. Broke off contact. Saw other women. Treated her as if what they’d shared had been nothing. Seeing him again reminded her of how foolish and naive she’d once been.

Well, no more. She was done. She wanted a baby and she would have one, but she’d just eliminate the middleman, so to speak. In a way, the decision was liberating. No more heartbreaks like the one she’d experienced with Michael. No walks of shame after a one-night stand, or waiting for a phone call that would never come. No more! She’d turned thirty-five over the summer and decided it was now or never. Insurance covered most of the treatments, and she had nothing to lose except the painful fear that she’d live out the rest of her life alone.

Sally knew nothing about her sperm donor except his education level, where he’d attended school, and that he lived in a different region of the country. She had a copy of one of his baby pictures, but he hadn’t submitted a photo of himself as an adult. Mr. X, the man who would be the father of her child because she was finished with men and had completely lost hope of ever finding one she trusted enough to make a baby the old-fashioned way, was an enigma. But thank goodness for reproductive technology.

She bit her lip. She didn’t want to talk about Mr. X. He was the white flag she was waving at her future. Yes, she appreciated his help, but he sort of depressed her, too.

“The doctor says it’s probably too early for symptoms, and that I should feel grateful for any day I wake up and feel like eating breakfast.” She looked at Tessa’s large gray eyes. “But you know? I worry. I do. I worry about being too happy and getting too attached. I feel like I’ve been swimming upstream. I thought I was having a baby with Michael, and look how that turned out.” The memory was still painful. “I just want something to go my way for once. Perfectly and easily my way.”

“Oh, honey.” Tessa grasped her hand warmly again, between hers. “It will. I want this for you, too.”

Sally squeezed her friend’s hands before gently pulling back. “Anyway, I haven’t been thinking about it much since I found out last week that I was pregnant, because I have this trial. Had this trial.” She twirled her straw around in her glass. “What am I going to do?” She brought her elbow to the table and rested her forehead on her hand. “I’m so finished. Ben is going to find something, and he’s going to ruin me with it. I just know he is.”

Tessa arched her elegant brown eyebrows. “What makes you sure he’s out to get you? I met him, and he seems like a nice guy. Straightforward.”

“Ben is not nice,” Sally informed her. “If his picture was in a dictionary, it would be filed under ‘nice, antonyms.’ He is the anti-nice, and now he’s my coworker. Oh, and he’s reviewing my file, and he’s going to ruin my life. Et cetera.” She paused. “He wants me to stop sneering at him. He says that I need to give him a second chance.”

Tessa raised her eyebrows. “You held out on me! A second chance—what’s that, like a date?”

She shifted in her seat. Suddenly, there wasn’t enough air in the room. “It’s not a date. It’s more like blackmail.”

Tessa chuckled. “Blackmail? Yeah, right. A man who looks like Ben McNamara can blackmail me that way anytime.”

Sally felt an odd flash at her friend’s light remark, a twitch that felt something like jealousy. She tugged at the diamond stud in her right earlobe. No, not jealousy. She’d have no reason for that. The feeling must be protectiveness. “You wouldn’t like Ben. Besides, you should watch out for him.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“He likes brunettes.” Sally refolded the cloth napkin in her lap. “He also likes redheads, and blondes, so...”

“Okay, I got it. He’s one of those.” Tessa grinned. “But, Sally, you’re acting so funny about all of this. Since when have you been intimidated by anyone? We’ve worked together for years, and you’ve never struck me as someone who gives a damn what others think.”

She didn’t care what Ben thought. She was certain of that. She also wasn’t about to rehash their entire history right now, just as she and Tessa were finishing up lunch. They needed to get back to work, and things with Ben were complicated. They’d dated for three months, during which time she’d fallen completely in love with him. It could have been a happy ever after, until he’d gone and betrayed her.

She felt heat creeping up her neck. “I prefer to work with people with integrity, that’s all.”

Tessa dabbed at the side of her mouth with her napkin, then opened her purse as the check appeared. “You’re not going to lose your job.”

Sally shook her head. “You don’t know—”

“You’re not going to lose your job because you’re too clever for that. Lunch is my treat, by the way.” Tessa slid a credit card over the check. “Considering the day you’re having, it would be unconscionable for us to go dutch.”

Sally barely registered the gesture. “What do you mean, I’m too clever?”

“I mean that if Ben’s going to review your file, you’re going to review Ben’s. You’re going to be his partner on this. You know that case. You know the weaknesses and the strengths better than anyone else. If you don’t trust him, then don’t let him out of your sight.” She shrugged as if it was truly that simple. “It’s not like this is a formal peer review. All Jack wants is a second set of eyes so that he can put some spin on it for the press. The way I see it, you stand your ground, supervise Ben while appearing to just be helpful, and you come out looking like a hero.”

“How do you figure?”

“I know you. You didn’t make a mistake on that file. I also know the crime lab, and they triple-check everything. So I’m thinking that you’re either looking at some kind of terrible scam or publicity stunt by Mr. and Mrs. Kruger, or you’re looking at something very grim.”

Her words settled against the bottom of Sally’s stomach like a brick. “You think—”

“You know exactly what I think.” Tessa leaned closer and dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I think that if the forensic evidence shows that someone was murdered in that house, then someone was murdered in that house.”

“Yes.” Sally nodded slowly. “Someone was murdered, and we just got the wrong victim.”

She ruminated on this idea as they walked back to the office. The wrong victim—was it actually possible? Her head ached.

Before she reached her office, she stopped at the little closet of an office where Ben would be working. This was the worst office in the building, hands down. She sort of pitied him for it. He was sitting at his desk, absorbed in some kind of reading material. Her files. “Hey,” she said.

He looked up, and her traitorous heart kicked. “Hey.”

Sally cleared her throat. “The judge granted the motion, so Mitch Kruger will be released from prison.”

Ben nodded solemnly. “Okay. Thanks for keeping me informed.”

She ran her tongue into the corner of her mouth. “There are food trucks out by the park if you haven’t had lunch. I’ve already eaten, but I wanted to tell you.”

He glanced out the window and then gave her a vague smile. “Maybe later. Thanks.”

She felt as if she was having that dream where she was caught naked in public. A flush crept up her chest, and she turned to leave.

“Hey, Sally?”

She glanced back over her shoulder. “Yes?”

“I got permission from Jack to include you in this investigation. We’re good to go.” He gave her a half grin that made her think sexy things that she shouldn’t be thinking. “You’ll have to let me know your availability. I’ll find the perfect place.”

She glowered at him. So dinner with Ben was really going to happen? “Whatever,” she said. “But don’t expect me to have time for dessert.”

She didn’t wait for a response before turning and leaving the room. Dinner with Ben. After ten years, this was really happening.

She would have scolded herself for entering into such a corrupt bargain at a time of weakness, if she wasn’t so horrified by the shiver of excitement that the thought sent through her.

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