Chapter 1 - The Husband I Buried

Then

The first time Luis spoke to me, I was already breaking a rule.

It wouldn’t be the last time I did that.

The day we met, I was running later than usual for court, coffee cooling in my hand, heels clicking across the marble lobby like a countdown. The place was crowded with the usual mix of lawyers, defendants, and people trying not to look afraid. I was already rehearsing my opening argument in my head, half-present, when a voice stopped me.

‘Excuse me.’

I didn’t slow down.

‘Counsel?’

That did it.

I turned, my chocolate-brown hair fanning out across my shoulders, irritation ready on my tongue, and found him standing a few steps behind me, calm in the middle of the chaos. He wasn’t dressed like a lawyer – not the usual suit, no briefcase – but he carried himself like someone who belonged exactly where he was. Tall. Composed. His eyes trained on me.

Most people in courthouses announced their purpose. He didn’t.

It was as if meeting each other was inevitable. As soon as I saw him, I was drawn to him. It was inexplicable.

It’s just because he’s gorgeous, I told myself. Every woman crossing his path this week probably thought something similar.

That’s the thing about inevitability; you only recognize it in hindsight – once it’s too late to do anything about it.

‘Do you have a pen?’ he asked.

The question was banal. Who used pens anymore? But the way Luis asked, it wasn’t.

I glanced at the courtroom doors, then back at him. ‘I’m on my way in.’

‘I know,’ he said, more amused than apologetic. ‘You’re arguing a suppression motion in courtroom three. Judge Feldman hates when people are late.’

‘Excuse me?’ My stomach tightened. I gripped my bag. Who was this stranger who knew so much about where I was going and what I did, and wasn’t trying to hide it?

He wasn’t the prosecution. I already knew the prosecutor was a man named Paul Barry. A decent enough lawyer, but I’d beaten him in court before, and he wasn’t one to lose twice.

Maybe this man had been sent to stall me, to find out what he could and then use it against me so Paul Barry could claim the case for himself.

‘How do you know all that?’ I asked.

‘Observation,’ he said, like that alone explained everything. He watched me watching him, the corner of his mouth tilting upward. ‘You observe people the same way I do.’

It sounded like a line and I tried not to roll my eyes. Had I passed him in the halls? I would remember his licorice-black hair and those hypnotic, smoky-blue eyes. If he worked for Barry, he was new.

‘I mean,’ he said, ‘you would’ve chosen a different profession if you weren’t observant.’ I took a deep breath, thankful he’d added some context, or else it might have sounded creepy.

He smelled of expensive cologne. The kind that lingered in the halls. His eyes were burning into mine, but I couldn’t look away. I’m sure I would’ve noticed if I’d seen him before.

I should’ve left without another word. I should’ve asked him more questions about how he knew my schedule. Instead, realizing I’d been staring at him for too long, I dug into my bag, handing him the pen.

He took it, his fingers brushing against mine. I couldn’t tell if it was intentional.

‘Thanks . . .’ he said, leaving a question I instinctively answered with my name.

‘Mackenzie.’

He smiled. ‘Mackenzie.’ The way it moved on his lips, slow, deliberate, made it sound new.

I didn’t wait for him to finish with the pen. I had at least two more in my satchel and a courtroom to get to. I started walking.

He fell into step beside me, matching my pace as if this were the most natural thing in the world. ‘You work too much,’ he said lightly.

‘You know that too, do you?’ I turned to him, narrowing my eyes. ‘You’re very bold for someone asking a favor.’

‘I didn’t mean any offense,’ he said. It was the first time I saw that smile – unhurried, confident. ‘Jury duty gives a man time to observe.’

His words stopped me in my tracks.

Shit.

A juror. I should have shut the conversation down right then. I was counsel. Even speaking to him was a problem.

‘You know you’re not supposed to talk to me, right?’

His brow creased, just slightly. ‘Because you’re a lawyer?’

‘Because I’m a lawyer involved in an active case,’ I said. ‘And because if anyone hears us talking, you’ll be dismissed from the jury.’

A flicker crossed his face. Too quick to pin down. It wasn’t surprise. Something closer to satisfaction. Maybe he wanted to get out of jury duty, and I was his ticket.

I felt my cheeks redden at my own stupidity. I hadn’t thought he might be on the jury, or I wouldn’t have stopped to talk.

He shrugged, like he wasn’t fazed. ‘I figured.’

‘That doesn’t bother you?’ I played along, curious to know why he was so keen to get out of jury duty. It wasn’t exactly like anyone loved it, but talking to me to get out of it would be pretty extreme.

He studied me, as if weighing how honest he should be. ‘Maybe it should,’ he said finally. ‘But no.’

‘You did this on purpose,’ I said, baiting him.

Slap most people with the truth when they least expect it, and it usually reveals a lot. But he didn’t respond how I expected. He didn’t try to deny it.

A corner of his mouth lifted, deepening his smile. ‘I was hoping you wouldn’t hold it against me.’

The crowd had thinned around us, people flowing past like water around a stone, until it felt like we were standing in a pocket of stillness where only we existed. He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. ‘If I’m dismissed I can ask you out without crossing any ethical lines.’

‘Well, now we’re going to have to explain to the judge why we’re talking,’ I said.

He looked around conspiratorially and leaned in closer, whispering, ‘We could pretend this never happened.’

His lips close to my ear sent a small shiver down my spine. Fleeting. Gone almost as soon as it arrived.

Pretending it never happened would mean pretending we never spoke, and I wasn’t sure I wanted that.

I stepped away. ‘We can’t,’ I said. ‘I could lose my license. Why am I still standing here?’

He was smiling impishly, like he knew I couldn’t help myself. ‘Let’s go speak to the judge then. I’m happy to take full responsibility.’

‘If you wanted to get out of jury duty,’ I said, ‘there are easier ways . . .’

He nodded, as if conceding the point. Then said quietly, ‘OK, you’re right. I didn’t want to be on the jury. That’s my second reason for talking to you. I don’t believe in judging people for their actions. With all due respect, why should someone’s fate rely on your ability to defend them?’

I bit back a response. I really shouldn’t be talking to him. Especially not right now. And definitely not about this.

Maybe he really didn’t want to sit in judgment on a stranger’s life. Looking at him, it seemed there was a good chance he didn’t like the idea of being trapped in a room where he couldn’t control the outcome.

I checked my watch. Then again, surprised to find almost ten minutes had passed since we’d started talking.

If I didn’t get a move on, I really would be running late.

‘I need to go,’ I said, feeling something sharp and unwelcome. Disappointment. After this, we would go our separate ways, and that would be that.

He handed back the pen. His fingers brushed mine, intentional this time. The contact lingered like a question.

‘Listen. I didn’t talk to you to get out of jury duty,’ he said. ‘I’ll prove it to you if you like.’

I quickly pulled my hand away and tossed the pen into my bag, trying to figure out how to explain to the judge I’d mistakenly spoken to a juror.

When I looked back at him, he was waiting for my response, but if he handed me his number written down, I’d scrunch it up in a ball and toss it back.

He didn’t seem nervous about confronting the judge.

If anything, he looked like someone who’d just won a bet.

I half rolled my eyes, and asked, mostly so I could get moving, ‘OK, how are you going to prove it?’

‘I’ll go in. I’ll sit on the jury and do my part.’ He smiled, so sure of himself.

I opened my mouth, ready to protest, but he wasn’t done. ‘So how about that date?’ he asked. ‘I’ll give you until after the trial to make up your mind.’ He smiled. ‘It’s up to you.’

I watched as he walked toward the jury stand, knowing I wouldn’t be able to get him out of my head.