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 * 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.”