Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 54091 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 270(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54091 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 270(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
I sit down in a chair across from his desk. “Yes.”
“What are your thoughts on the one that went down at Home Depot?”
“No deal. Plenty of witnesses and a victim willing to testify.”
He nods. “What about People v. McCoy?”
“Is that the one where they both got arrested?”
“Yep.”
“Plead it. He’s remorseful and willing to go to rehab.”
“Do you want to sit in on my meeting with his counsel?”
I stand up and walk to the corner of the room, ditching the rest of my cookie. “Yes. Just check my schedule and add it as long as I’m not in court.”
“Will do. And People v. Hadsell is a bust because the victim won’t testify.”
“What?” I pull my brows together, my heart kicking up speed. “But he beat her unconscious.”
Bruce shrugs. “I can’t get a conviction without her testimony.”
I close my eyes, the photos of the woman’s injuries the police took at the hospital still fresh in my mind. Statistically, her abuser will keep hurting her, and it could be even worse next time.
“This is part of the job, Torres,” Bruce says. “You can’t win ’em all.”
“Can I talk to her?”
I can tell he’s about to say no, so I cut him off. “I’ll be gentle, I promise. I’ll mostly listen and if she’s a hard no, I’ll respect it. I just want a chance.”
“She said no. That’s it.”
“But she could change her mind. She’s pregnant, Bruce. Just one conversation, that’s all I’m asking for. If nothing else, let me have one last conversation with her to let her know about the help that’s available.”
He chews a pretzel, considering. “One conversation. Don’t make me regret it.”
“You won’t. Thank you.”
He scowls at the bag of pretzels and rolls the top down, putting the bag back in his drawer. “I’m going to get lunch, you want to join me?”
“I have to pass, but thanks. I’ve got a thing tonight, so I need to get out of here a few minutes early.”
He nods and stands up. “You know the drill. She comes here; you don’t go to her home.”
“Got it.”
“I look forward to being bested by an attorney who wasn’t even alive when I started practicing,” he says wryly.
I panic for a second, but recover quickly. “It’s not a contest. I just thought maybe having a woman closer to her age might help.”
His lips curve up in a smile. “I’m messing with you, Torres. In this division, we take all the help we can get.”
“I hope you’re proud of yourself. My arms hurt.”
Leo scowls at me that evening, his arms out at his sides like the kid in a snowsuit in A Christmas Story.
I really didn’t intend to make him uncomfortable. When I bought the men’s size small sweater-vest with one button and covered it with Christmas tree balls, I wanted him to look and feel ridiculous.
Instead, his very defined abs are on full display since the bottom of the vest is gaping open and he can’t put his giant, muscular arms at his sides without breaking the balls. His tipsy teammates are still calling him “ballbuster” from the last time it happened a few minutes ago.
“Do you want me to take off some of them so you can put your arms down?” I ask.
“Some of what?”
I give him an isn’t it obvious look. “The balls.”
He arches his brows and grins. “You want to touch my balls? We haven’t even been at this party an hour. Someone’s frisky this evening.”
“Offer rescinded.” I take a sip of my wine, scanning the room for Suki.
When I find Suki, I see that she and Carter are talking to Anson and Lucien, and Anson is staring at me.
“Time for some insincere affection,” I murmur, moving closer to Leo and looking up at him. “What would I be saying to you right now if we were together?”
His eyes are greener than any Christmas tree, something I don’t recognize swirling in them.
“No one’s ever fucked me the way you do, Leo,” he says, his voice deeper and gruffer than usual. “I never should have doubted you. Can I practice my blow-job technique on you again tonight?”
I don’t know if it’s his words or the wine, but I laugh. His eyes shine with amusement and he says, “What? You don’t think so? What would I be saying to you if we were together?”
I consider for a second. “Probably something like, Mara, you’re the smartest woman I’ve ever known. What charities do you support that I can write big checks to so I can, in some small way, make up for walking in on you in the bathroom?”
He holds my gaze, still smiling. “Like a desperate pervert.”
It’s what I called him in the heat of the moment that day, when I was panicking about him seeing me naked. But something about the way he just said the words is making my heart feel fluttery.