About That Night (8 page)

“Maybe?” she asked him.

Jon waved his hand, gesturing to the crowded restaurant. “Do we really need to have this conversation now?”

“Yes, I think we do.”

“Fine. What do you want me to say, Ry? I’ve been having second thoughts. Marriage takes a lot of work. Kids take a lot of work. I already kill myself at my job. I make good money, but I never have time to enjoy it. I’m not going to quit or take a leave of absence in this economy, so this transfer seemed like the perfect opportunity to do something for myself.”

He leaned in, his expression earnest. “Don’t make a bigger deal out of this than it has to be. I love you—at the end of the day, isn’t that all that truly matters? Come with me to Italy.”

But as Rylann sat there, staring into his dark hazel eyes, she knew it wasn’t that simple. “Jon…you know I can’t go.”

“Why not?”

“For one thing, I’m an assistant
United States
attorney. I’m thinking they don’t have a lot of job openings for those in Rome.”

He shrugged. “I make plenty of money. You don’t need to work.”

Rylann’s gaze sharpened. “If I’m supposedly so focused on my career, that’s not really going to sell me on this trip, is it?”

Jon sat back in his chair, saying nothing for a moment. “So that’s it?” He gestured angrily. “Going to Italy doesn’t fit into your ten-year plan or whatever, so you’re just going to choose your job over me?”

Actually, it was a twelve-year plan, and scrapping everything to move to Rome with no job and no prospects definitely wasn’t in it, but Jon was conveniently sidestepping the issue. “Moving to Italy might be your dream, but…it isn’t mine,” she said.

“I’d been hoping it could be
our
dream.”

Had he now? Rylann rested her arms on the table. Somewhere along the way, this had begun to feel like a cross-examination. “You said you asked for this transfer. Did you tell them you needed to discuss it with me before you committed to going?”

Jon met Rylann’s eyes with a look of guilt she recognized well, one she’d seen numerous times on the faces of the criminal defendants she prosecuted.

“No,” he said quietly.

She rested her case.

NEARLY SIX MONTHS after that night, Rylann was sitting on her living room floor, unpacking a box that contained half of the Villeroy & Boch dinnerware she and Jon had bought for entertaining. Jon had insisted she have the entire set of ten, but as a final “screw you and your pity,” she’d taken only her fair share. Now, however, she was wondering what the heck she was going to do with an incomplete set of china.

Darn pride.

Her cell phone rang, so she put the dinnerware conundrum on hold. She rummaged around on the floor and finally located her phone under a pile of packing paper. She checked the display and saw it was Rae. “Hey, you.”

“How’s the new apartment?” Rae asked.

Rylann tucked the phone against her shoulder, freeing her hands so she could continue unpacking the box as she talked. “Mostly a disaster right now, since I got a late start. I spent the afternoon walking around, checking out the neighborhood.” And she’d nearly frozen her ass off in her trench coat. Apparently, somebody hadn’t told the city of Chicago that it was
spring
. “If I remember correctly, somebody had volunteered to come over and help me unpack,” she said teasingly.

Rae sounded guilty. “I know. I’m the worst friend in the world. I’m still stuck at work. I’ve got a summary judgment motion due next week, and the draft this second-year sent me is a piece of crap. I’ve been rewriting the statement of facts all afternoon. But I think I can be there in about an hour. On the bright side, I’ve got cupcakes.”

Rylann pulled a dessert plate out of the box. “Ooh—nice. We can eat them on my very fancy and incomplete set of china.” She looked around. “Seriously, what am I going to do with five sets of dinnerware?”

“You could…throw an elaborate dinner party for my imaginary boyfriend, your imaginary boyfriend, and their imaginary third-wheel friend who seemingly never has anything better to do?”

Ouch. “Don’t laugh. After Jon and I broke up and he moved to Rome, I
was
that third-wheel friend,” Rylann said. Their closest friends in San Francisco had been “couple” friends, and after the breakup, she simply hadn’t fit in anymore. One of the many reasons she’d been looking for a fresh start in Chicago. “At least in this city, I’m a first wheel. A unicycle.”

Rae laughed. “Very tricky business, unicycling. Particularly in your thirties.”

“It’s not like I never dated before Jon. How different can it be?”

“Oh, such naivete.” Rae sighed dramatically. “I remember when I, too, was once so hopeful and unjaded.” Her tone turned a touch more serious. “Think you’re ready for all this?”

As Rylann took in the chaotic state of the apartment—
her
new apartment—Jon’s words popped into her head.

Maybe it’s time for a new adventure.

“I think I have to be,” she told Rae.

Because there was one final piece of the sixth-month plan she was absolutely determined to follow through on.

No regrets, and no looking back.

MONDAY MORNING, WITH her briefcase swinging by her side, Rylann got off the elevator at the twenty-first floor of the Dirksen Federal Building. She made her way to a set of glass doors bearing the familiar Department of Justice seal: an eagle carrying the United States shield with the motto
Qui Pro Domina Justitia Sequitur
, “who prosecutes on behalf of justice.”

Seeing that seal helped put Rylann at ease. Sure, she was a little nervous about her first day at the Chicago office, and it felt odd being the new kid on the block again, but she wasn’t a junior litigator fresh off a clerkship anymore. She’d prosecuted cases as an assistant U.S. attorney in San Francisco for the last six years; she’d advanced her way up to the special prosecutions division, and she’d had one of the best trial records in the district.

She belonged behind those glass doors, she reminded herself. And the sooner she proved that to everyone else, the better she’d feel. So she took a deep breath—silently vowing to knock ‘em dead—and stepped into the office.

The receptionist behind the desk smiled in greeting. “Good to see you again, Rylann. Ms. Lynde said that you’d be starting today. I’ll let her know you’re here.”

“Thanks, Katie.” Rylann stepped off to the side, standing before a panoramic photograph of the Chicago skyline. She was somewhat familiar with the office, having gone on a tour last month when she’d flown in to interview for the open AUSA position. Spanning across four floors of the Federal
Building, the office employed approximately 170 lawyers, two dozen paralegals, and a large administrative and support staff.

Timing-wise, Rylann had gotten lucky with this transfer. She’d been looking for a fresh start after her breakup with Jon, and thus had been relieved when she’d heard that the Department of Justice had opened up a new AUSA slot for the Northern District of Illinois. Since she’d grown up in the Chicago suburbs and had always considered the possibility of returning one day to be closer to her family and Rae, she’d leapt at the chance.

Rylann smiled when she saw an attractive woman with long, chestnut-brown hair and a welcoming look in her aquamarine eyes coming down the hallway. As she had been during her interview, she was struck by how relatively young Cameron Lynde was for a U.S. attorney—thirty-three, only a year older than Rylann herself. Formerly the top AUSA in Chicago, Cameron had been appointed to the position after the former U.S. attorney, Silas Briggs, had been arrested and indicted on public corruption charges. The arrest of such a prominent political figure had caused quite a stir—both within the Department of Justice and in the media—and had been the topic of gossip among all the assistant U.S. attorneys for weeks.

When interviewing, that had been Rylann’s one concern—transferring to an office that had recently experienced such significant upheaval—but she’d walked away from the meeting with only positive impressions of Cameron. From what she surmised, the new U.S. attorney was driven and ambitious and eager to restore a good name to the Chicago office.

Cameron stuck out her hand. “It’s good to see you again, Rylann,” she said warmly. “We’ve been counting down the days to your arrival.” She gestured to the stack of case files she carried in her other hand. “As you can see, we’re swamped around here. Come with me—I’ll show you to your office.”

While making small talk, Rylann followed Cameron down an internal staircase to the twentieth floor. The setup of the office was similar to that of the one in San Francisco, with the assistant U.S. attorneys in the exterior offices, and the support staff and paralegals working from desks and cubicles in the
interior space. If she recalled correctly, all twenty-seven AUSAs in the special prosecutions division were located on this floor.

“So when I spoke to Bill after your interview,” Cameron led in, referring to Rylann’s former boss, the U.S. attorney for the Northern District of California, “he said that I’m supposed to ask why the San Francisco FBI agents call you ‘Meth Lab Rylann.’ “

Rylann groaned. Although, secretly, she didn’t mind the moniker
that
much. “They gave me that nickname my first year on the job, and I’ve never been able to shake it.”

Cameron looked curious. “So? Let’s hear the story.”

“I’ll give you the abridged version. I was the second chair on a multiple-count organized crime and drug case, and was scheduled to meet the two FBI agents who’d handled the investigation at this underground meth lab. What the agents failed to mention before I got there was that the only way to get into the meth lab was to climb through a hatch in the ground and climb down a rusty, rickety fifteen-foot ladder. And since I’d been in court earlier that morning, I happened to be wearing a skirt suit and heels. Most inconveniently.”

Cameron chuckled. “Come on. The agents had to be messing with you—how could they forget to mention that?”

Walking side by side with Cameron, Rylann didn’t disagree. “I think they might have been testing the new girl, sure.”

“What did you do?”

“The only thing I could do,” Rylann said matter-of-factly. “I climbed through the hatch in my skirt suit and went down that rusty, rickety fifteen-foot ladder.”

Cameron laughed. “Good for you.” She stopped in front of a midsized office. “Here we are.”

The bronze nameplate outside the door said it all:

RYLANN PIERCE
assistant u.s. attorney

Rylann stepped inside. It wasn’t a glamorous office, with dark blue carpeting and fairly inexpensive furniture, but as a
senior AUSA, she at least had a view of the Hancock building and Lake Michigan.

“Everything should be virtually the same as your old office,” Cameron said. “Luckily, we don’t have to waste time training you on the phones and computer, since you’re familiar with those already. Oh, one thing I wanted to be sure of: you’re on active status with the Illinois bar, correct?”

Rylann nodded. “Yes. I’m good to go.” She had taken the Illinois bar exam the summer after graduating from law school and had gone back on active status as soon as she’d learned she’d gotten the job in Chicago.

“Perfect. With that said…” Cameron handed the stack of files over to Rylann. “Welcome to Chicago.” She cocked her head. “Am I going too fast?”

“Not at all,” Rylann assured her. “Just point me in the direction of the courtrooms, tell me where the nearest Starbucks is, and I’ll be all set.”

Cameron grinned. “The Starbucks is right across the street—follow the herd of people sneaking out of the office at three o’clock every afternoon and you’ll find it. The courtrooms are on the twelfth through eighteenth floors.” She gestured to the stack of files Rylann held. “Why don’t you take the morning to review the case files? Feel free to swing by my office this afternoon with any questions you might have.”

“That sounds great, Cameron. Thank you.”

“You’re actually the first AUSA I’ve hired since taking over. How am I doing so far with the welcome speech?”

“Not bad. The part where you softened me up by asking about the meth lab story was a nice touch.”

With a laugh, Cameron looked her over approvingly. “I think you’re going to fit in just fine around here, Rylann.” She paused in the doorway before leaving. “I almost forgot. You should probably check out the top file first—there’s a motion call tomorrow morning. The AUSA who’d originally handled the case had a trial unexpectedly rescheduled for this week, so I needed somebody in special prosecutions to cover for him. It’s an agreed motion, so I don’t expect you’ll have any trouble. There’ll be reporters, but just go with the usual
response—that we’re satisfied with the resolution of the matter, have no further comment, that kind of thing. You’ve been doing this for a while now, so you know the drill.”

The prosecutor in Rylann was instantly intrigued. “Reporters for an agreed motion? What kind of case is it?” Curious, she opened the file folder on top of the stack and read the caption.

United States v. Kyle Rhodes

Thank God her six years as a trial lawyer had given her one damn good poker face; otherwise, her jaw would’ve hit the floor right then.

You’ve got to be shitting me.

Just seeing the name brought forth a sudden rush of memories. The amazing blue eyes and sexy smile. The lean, muscular, made-for-sin body. His mouth covering hers as she pressed closer to him in the moonlight.

Probably not the best time to let her new boss know that she’d
kissed
the defendant in her first case.

“The Twitter Terrorist case,” Rylann said casually. Sure, she may have been taken aback by this unexpected turn of events, but no one else would ever know that. Once upon a time, Kyle Rhodes had made her heart skip a beat with just a kiss, but that had been nearly a decade ago. Now she was Meth Lab Rylann—and on the job, she never let anyone see her flustered.

“I figured that would be a fun one to give the new girl.” Cameron paused on her way out the door. “Feel free to stop by my office anytime. My door is always open.”