Tess

Curran stays close to me, watching everything with subtle scrutiny. I do my best to keep on task and hurry to the next floor, where courtrooms thirteen and fourteen are situated. My knee continues to throb, a reminder of how easily Curran can rattle me. “Crazy sex”—that’s what he called our night together. Yes, I thought so, too. But to hear him say it…well, let’s just say my knee wasn’t the only thing that throbbed.

Ahead of us, another sheriff’s officer stands guard between the hall to Judge Bronson’s private chambers and the small door leading directly to the raised platform where he presides.

Curran’s broad shoulders tighten when he catches sight of the guard. He seems to know everyone in uniform, just like they appear to know him. But for some reason, his presence causes everyone to tense, which surprises me. Curran was always “that guy” everyone wanted to be around. “The party doesn’t start until O’Brien’s in the house,” his frat buddies used to say.

Yet judging by everyone’s reaction, that party is long over.

Both men lock eyes and nod stiffly, neither particularly cordial. While the sheriff’s deputies take their positions seriously, they’re generally very pleasant—friendly, even—especially to staff they recognize. That hasn’t been the case today, especially in Curran’s presence.

I stop near the double doors leading into courtroom thirteen. “Is something wrong?” I ask him quietly.

“Nope,” he responds, continuing to take in the area. “Come on. Let’s get what you need and then back to the office.”

I don’t know Curran. Not really. And while he keeps his face neutral, I can’t help thinking he’s lying to me. I don’t press and proceed forward, hurrying when I catch sight of the wall clock.

Despite the late hour, Judge Bronson’s courtroom is bustling with activity. Curran stays directly behind me. For all he joked in the stairwell, he was all business from the moment we crossed into the common areas.

I smile at the sheriff’s officer standing guard and show him my badge, which he scans with an expert eye. “Hello. I’m Contessa Newart. I’m here to pick up paperwork Judge Bronson signed.”

“He’s in court hearing a motion for bail. His clerk knows you’re coming?”

“That’s my understanding. I’m here on behalf of Assistant District Attorney Declan O’Brien.”

“You catch that, Simon?” the sheriff’s officer calls over his shoulder.

“Yes. I’m coming,” Judge Bronson’s law clerk responds from the open door to chambers.

Simon attends a different law school from me, and while we work in separate offices, our roles allow us to interact fairly frequently. Our talks are typically brief and revolve around legal matters, with the exception of our last few exchanges. Although he’s sweet, I’m beginning to think Simon has more than a professional interest in me. I hope I’m wrong. He’s a nice guy, but the last thing I need is another distraction. And with Curran at my side, I’m more than a little distracted.

“Hey, Contessa,” Simon calls. He slows to a stop at the sight of Curran, taking a moment to smooth his hair and adjust his jacket before continuing forward. Despite his obvious hesitation, he manages to give me a bright smile. “I’ve been waiting for you to show.”

I smile back. “Yes, sorry about the delay.”

“You can make it up to me with coffee.” His smile fades in time with mine. “I mean a cup of coffee that you bring to me. We don’t have to go out together to get it. Unless you want to.”

“Jesus,” the sheriff’s officer mutters.

“I’ll be sure to bring you a coffee next time,” I offer, well aware that Curran’s watching our exchange. “Again, I apologize for making you wait.”

“No problem.” His attention bounces to Curran. “So, who’s this? Your boyfriend?” he asks with a laugh.

I don’t need a mirror to know my face is red. Nor do I need to turn around to know Curran doesn’t appreciate a laugh at his expense. “He’s the police officer assigned to help me,” I answer, hoping he’ll leave it at that.

“Okay. Good,” Simon responds, his smile returning like I somehow made him feel better.

I motion to the folder in his hand. “Are those the documents Declan needs?”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry.” He passes me the folder. “If you have any questions, call me directly—anytime. At home if necessary. You have my number, right?”

I flip through the paperwork to make sure everything is in order. “Yes. Thank you.”

“So you’ll call me?” he asks, sounding hopeful.

I glance up, feeling Curran edge a little closer. “Ah, if Declan needs anything, either he or I will be in touch.”

“Oh,” he says.

“Christ,” the sheriff’s officer mumbles.

I place the folder inside my large purse. Instead of returning to chambers, Simon excuses himself and rushes toward the doorway that leads to the judge’s raised platform. “What’s up?” the sheriff’s officer asks him.

“The judge is pissed,” Simon answers, grimacing. “He wants me in on this hearing and the one to follow. It’s going to be a late night.”

The guard calls in the update as Simon disappears and the heavy wooden door shuts behind him. Given how loud the judge is yelling, I hear him despite the door’s thickness. “Did you not hear me, counselor?” he hollers. “The defendant is charged with shooting a police officer. Request for bail denied!”

The judge’s gavel slams down hard enough to echo, but it’s Curran’s stony face that gives me pause. I glance to the closed door and then back at him. “What is it?”

“Perp shot a police officer, that’s what,” the sheriff’s officer answers, staring past Curran. “His pussy defense attorney wants him out, claiming this is his first offense. Attorneys suck dick,” he adds with a grumble before returning his focus on me. “No offense, ma’am.”

“No offense taken.” Who am I kidding? I’m offended all over the place.

Curran’s already hard expression solidifies to an icy tundra. “We done here?”

My attention cuts to the closed courtroom door. The judge’s booming voice pummels against it like a barrage of thrown stones. “Yes. We’re done.”

I take a step forward, yet the sheriff’s officer’s voice holds me in place. “He was just a kid,” he says.

I turn around. “The police officer?”

“Yeah,” he says, nodding. “New to the force, just getting his feet wet.”

“I’m sorry.” I was going to ask Curran if he knew the police officer who was hurt, but given his tightening stance, it’s obvious he does. My hand reaches out to touch his arm before I realize what I’m doing. I quickly drop it to my side, but not before he notices.

He frowns, but I look away from him and address the sheriff’s officer. “Thank you for your time,” I tell him. He nods, but focuses directly on Curran.

Okay. I’m not sure what’s happening, but I all but run past the courtroom, knowing I need to put some space between us and whatever’s going on in that hearing. The attorneys and those in the audience are now screaming at one another and the judge is threatening to hold the defendant in contempt.

We snake through three more halls before either of us speaks again. “What’s our situation going to be like?” I ask him. “This situation here. With us. At night.” I throw my hands in the air when he smirks and practically laughs at me. No, this gorgeous hunk of man has no effect on me. No, not at all.

“You know what I mean,” I add. The strain caused by our trip to court lifts a little. For that I’m thankful; I only wish it hadn’t come at my expense.

“Tess, relax. I’m only here to make sure you stay safe.”

I sigh. “It’s not that.”

“Then what’s bugging you?”

I glance around, worried who might hear me. “It makes me uncomfortable knowing someone is watching me all the time.”