“Well, let me get this crap over with,” I said. “Hopefully I can do enough to keep anything else from coming out.” Jill stepped back, and I focused on pulling enough potency to weave the protections I needed. It came to my control slowly, like taffy on a cold day, reminding me that I wasn’t exactly at my strongest. I hissed through my teeth as I shaped the sluggish energy, cautiously probing at the weak spot. I wasn’t sure I wanted any of my wards to actually touch the weakness, just in case it could be warped or shifted, so I compromised and made a little dome of energy over it. After finishing that, I backed out of the library and set another level of wards—both keep-out and keep-in wards.
I sighed as I looked them over. I sucked at crafting wards, but I had a shred of confidence that they would hold until I could summon something that could place some more-robust protections. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and looked at my moon-phase calendar, even though I knew that it was only a week past the full. Another week until there was no moon. I’d have to give it a try then.
“Let’s get out of here,” I said to Jill, as I replaced the aversion on the front door. “I think we’ve done enough damage for one day.”
IT DIDN’T FEEL LIKE A SUNDAY. I WAS USED TO MY weekends flying by, over before I could even blink, but so much had happened in the past two days that I kept thinking it should be Wednesday at least. Or September.
But now time had slowed back down to a non-frenetic pace, and I had a list of crap that I needed to get done, plus some stuff that I merely wanted to get done. I was pleasantly sore from my trip to the gym the other day—just enough achiness to remind me that I liked having a few muscles—and I really didn’t want to gain back the pudge. So before I could talk myself out of it, I headed to the gym, taking the risk that I’d be shocking the people who worked there by showing up twice in one week.
At eight a.m. on a Sunday morning, the gym was practically deserted, unlike last time. With only a handful of people in the weights area, I was able to throw myself into my workout, welcoming the burn and the sweat as I attempted to drive away all of my uncertainties and insecurities.
At this rate, I was going to end up with six-pack abs.
“You’re making the rest of us look bad,” I heard from behind me as I waited for my pulse to slow between sets. I turned, reaching for my towel to wipe my sweaty face. A good-looking man gave me a friendly smile. I knew him, but my oxygen-starved brain refused to supply me with the information. “It’s a Sunday,” he said, smile widening. “Here we are talking about football and avoiding yard work, and you’re working up enough sweat for all of us.”
I grinned, flattered at the mild flirtation, just as the lightbulb went off over my head: Holy shit, this is Judge Roth. I’d seen him only in court or at the funeral, and he looked far different—and far more approachable—in simple shorts and a T-shirt.
“Sorry,” I said, still smiling. “But if y’all can’t keep up with me, that’s not my fault.”
He laughed. “I should know better than to tangle with strong women. There’s no way to win!” Then he gave me a more appraising look. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in here before. I’m Harris Roth,” he said, extending his hand. “Are you new here?”
I shook his hand. He had a nice, warm grip. “Kara Gillian.” I briefly debated mentioning that we’d met in passing in court, but then decided that would bring up too much other unpleasantness. “I’ve been a member here for a while, but my attendance is sporadic.”
He gave my hand a squeeze and then released it. “Good to meet you, Kara. I won’t keep you from your workout any longer, but I do hope to see you here again.” With that, he gave me another charming smile and turned away. I finished the rest of my workout quickly, bemused and more than a little stunned that I’d been seen as someone worth flirting with. Especially since I didn’t dress in the Cardio Barbie spandex attire that most of the other women here favored. My workout clothing consisted of running shorts, a Jogbra, and a T-shirt. Sexy.
I headed to the locker room and retrieved my gym bag. I’d just turned to head toward the shower area when a blond woman in perfect makeup sidled up to me—dressed in exactly the kind of spandex getup that I wouldn’t be caught dead in. To give the woman credit, though, it was obvious that she put in a lot of time and effort—and perhaps some surgical enhancement—to have the kind of body that looked damn good in spandex.
“I know you don’t know me,” she said in a low voice, “but I wanted to give you a bit of warning about Harris Roth.”
I looked at her expectantly. The expression on her face seemed sincere enough. “It’s none of my business, I know,” she continued, “but I’ve seen him charm his way into the pants of a lot of pretty girls. And he really doesn’t care what may happen to them afterward.”
It took me a couple of seconds to find my voice. “Um, thanks. But I have no intention of sleeping with him.”
She gave me a wry smile. “I’m glad you think so. But, trust me, he’s a charmer. Anyway, you seem sweet and I didn’t want to see someone else get screwed by Harris.”
My cop sense lit up like a Christmas tree. “Who else has been screwed by him?”