Law of Attraction (40 page)

Anna didn’t mind working while injured, or on the weekend—not one bit. The office had reassigned her to a trial section. Now she was prosecuting felony domestic violence cases. It was what she’d always wanted to do. Anna had a trial coming up, and a slew of pretrial motions to file. She was finally back to doing what she loved.

She walked out of the courthouse’s big glass doors onto the wide brick patio at the front of the building. Jack was waiting for her, leaning against the edge of the concrete flower box. He stood up when she walked out.

“You work too hard, Ms. Curtis.”

“Just taking a page from your book, Mr. Bailey.”

They walked to his station wagon, parked at the curb a few steps away. Anna peered in the backseat. Three children’s booster seats were filled with three lively five-year-olds. Olivia, Dameka, and D’montrae were playing with a set of plastic dinosaurs. They waved when they saw Anna at the window.

Jack held the door open and she climbed into the passenger seat.

“Hi, Anna!” the children called in singsong unison. She turned back to them with a smile.

“Hello, cuties.”

“Can we see the pandas?” Dameka asked excitedly.

“Please, please?” Olivia begged.

“Absolutely.”

As Jack drove, the children quizzed Anna about the animals they would see that day. Anna answered as best she could, wishing she’d spent more time watching Animal Planet. Was a gecko a reptile or an amphibian? She had no idea. But she loved spending time with these little ones. Since Nick’s arrest, Rose had softened toward Anna, and allowed Anna and Jack to see Dameka and D’montrae occasionally. Olivia and the twins loved playing with each other.

The twins were still adjusting to life without their mother. It would be a long process. Anna’s office had helped Rose get them into a good counseling program. Their father had gotten a five-figure settlement from the city for being shot in jail; he’d signed it over to Rose. The money would help Dameka and D’montrae avoid the financial problems that affected many of their friends. But Rose told Anna that both children had nightmares that woke them screaming many nights. D’montrae had started acting out in school, which he’d never done before. Anna didn’t spend as much time with the children as Rose did, but even she could see the clouds pass over their faces sometimes. At least the children had Rose, Anna thought. Their grandmother was devoted to them. In that way, the twins were far more fortunate than many children in the city.

The drive to the National Zoo took ten minutes, and soon Anna, Jack, and the kids were walking down the redbrick walk. It was a warm early-summer day, sunny without the stifling humidity that would come later in the season. The children ran ahead of the adults. Anna was glad to see the twins at play. From a distance, they looked like normal, happy children, untouched by tragedy.

Olivia paused at the head of the Asia Trail and turned to instruct her father to hurry up.

“Go ahead,” Jack said. “Just stay close enough that we can see you.”

He took Anna’s hand as they walked behind the children, past the clouded leopards, fishing cats, and sloth bears. Finally, they reached the big panda yard. Two pandas were playing in the grass with a sturdy red ball; the pandas were flipping over each other to get the toy. The children squealed and shoved their way through the crowd of taller people to get a spot near to the front.

“Say ‘Excuse me’!” Jack called to them.

“Excuse me!” they yelled, continuing to push through the crowd.

Anna laughed. “It’s hard to be polite when there are pandas.”

The kids wiggled into a space at the fence and watched, enraptured, as the pandas knocked each other and the ball around the yard.

Jack put his arm around Anna’s shoulders, and she leaned into him as they watched the children watching the bears. She savored the feel of his solid chest against her shoulder, and she let her head lean back until her temple rested against his chin. He brushed his lips over her ear, sending a delicious shiver of warmth into her belly. She turned to Jack and gazed at him with a silent rush of love and happiness. Jack met her eyes and smiled.

“Me too,” he said softly.

She reached up and pulled his head down to hers. They kissed for a few moments longer than people should kiss in the middle of a zoo.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I am deeply thankful for the love and support of my parents, who are nothing like Anna’s. My father, Alan Harnisch, is one of the nicest men in the world, and my mother, Diane Harnisch, is a bit of a local legend for her energy, guts, and organizational skills. Any success I’ve had has been built on the foundation they gave me.

Many thanks to my beautiful sisters, Kerry Hughes and Tracey Fitzgerald, my two best friends. Much love goes to my amazing grandmothers, Bertl Reis and Gertrude Breidenbach. Thanks to Laurie Harnisch for her thoughtfulness and enthusiasm.

The huge, loud, unconditionally loving Leotta clan is a force of nature, and I’m lucky to be part of it. Thank you to John, Carol, and Barbara for being my second family. Often, whether I’m writing or raising my boys, I try to be guided by what Mom Eileen would have done.

I’m incredibly grateful for the advice and support of Diana Amsterdam, a talented writer and my literary fairy godmother. Her early guidance jump-started this story and made it publishable.

Thanks to my steadfast friends and early readers, Jenny McIntyre, Jeff Cook, Eric Gallun, and Lynn Haaland. Your cheer, counsel, and laughter (with and at me) were critical. And thanks to Michelle Zamarin, Steve Spiegelhalter, and Meg McCoy for making me look good.

Thank you to Dr. Edward Uthman for sharing his expertise on autopsy procedures. Thanks to Long Nguyen for his talented eye and remarkable generosity. Thanks to Julie Buxbaum, author of
The Opposite of Love,
for her inspiring writing and kindness to strangers—I will pay it forward.

The men and women who work at the D.C. U.S. Attorney’s office and the Metropolitan Police Department are real-life heroes. I’m proud and honored to be part of that team. Thank you to Kelly Higashi, chief of the USAO Sex Offense and Domestic Violence Section. Crime victims couldn’t ask for a more devoted advocate, and I couldn’t ask for a more generous boss. I’m also grateful to Channing Phillips for his equanimity and patience.

My story involves a fictional defense attorney, but D.C. is blessed to have two excellent public defenders’ offices. Some of the best trial lawyers in America forgo lucrative law-firm salaries to work there representing indigent clients. Their work is true public service.

Thank you to my fabulous agent, Elaine Koster, and her indefatigable colleague, Stephanie Lehmann. Your tireless devotion made this a better novel and me a better writer. Thanks also for putting me in the gifted editorial hands of Touchstone Fireside’s Lauren Spiegel, who combines sharp literary insight with bubbly and genuine warmth. Lauren, you polished up this book while making me smile, and I’ve loved every minute of working with you. And I’m thrilled to be working with Stacy Creamer, the woman who makes it all happen.

This novel wouldn’t exist without the participation of the smartest, most honorable man I know, my husband, Michael Leotta. His unflagging support, insistence on excellence, and wise editing transformed my idle daydream into this book. Mike, you did so much, in so many ways, to bring this to life. There aren’t words enough to thank you, so I’ll just say: You’ve made every one of my dreams come true. I couldn’t have done this without you. I love you.

A
woman’s scream pierced the stillness of the Capitol grounds.

Officer Jeff Cook was on patrol on the Capitol steps. He’d been a Capitol Police officer for twelve years, but he’d never heard a scream like that around here. He put a hand on his holster and turned toward the sound. His eyes flicked over the scenery until they identified the source of the scream. There—up the hill—the third-floor balcony of the Capitol’s south wing. A man and woman, locked in a jerky dance. Cook couldn’t make out the people, but he knew the geography: that was Congressman Lionel’s hideaway.

The couple lurched left, then right. The woman shrieked again.

Then the man shoved her over the edge.

The woman seemed to fall in slow motion, emitting a feminine, operatic wail the whole way down. Arms flailed in graceful circles, legs kicked in lazy swings, as she dropped past marble flourishes and arched doorways.

A thud. And silence.

She’d landed on the marble terrace in front of the Capitol. Elegant for walking on, it was a disastrous place to fall. What would that slab of rock do to flesh and bones traveling at the speed of gravity?

Cook squinted back up at the balcony. The man was still up there. He peered over the balcony, then turned and disappeared inside.

Cook ran toward the Capitol steps.

•  •  •

Anna Curtis and twenty other women stood in rows on the wooden floor, looking at their feet, at one another, anywhere but at the woman standing in front of them. The instructor stood in front of a floor-to-ceiling window, waiting with a fading smile. The gym was on the eleventh floor of the prosecutors’ office, overlooking the rooftops of Judiciary Square. In the distance, the Capitol towered with smug superiority behind the brutalist concrete slabs of local government buildings. Behind the women, lawyers on stationary bikes and deputy U.S. Marshals on weight machines watched to see what the class would do. Anna felt a growing sympathy for the instructor.

Two weeks ago, an email entitled “Women’s Self-Defense” went to everyone in the U.S. Attorney’s Office. Tonight was the first class. Many students, like Anna, were prosecutors in the Sex Crimes and Domestic Violence section. Others were paralegals, victim advocates, secretaries, and prosecutors from other sections. Anna figured some were there because they really wanted to learn self-defense, but others just wanted to meet Eva Youngblood in person.

Eva was the wife of City Councilman Dylan Young-blood. The couple appeared regularly in the
Post
’s Reliable Source column and the
Washingtonian
’s society pages. They achieved even more celebrity a few months ago, when Dylan announced he was challenging Congressman Emmett Lionel for D.C.’s lone congressional seat.

Anna both wanted to learn self-defense and to meet Eva. She had admired the fierce feminist advocate for a long time, and was excited to take a class with her.

Anna looked around at the class, hoping someone would volunteer. Her fellow prosecutors were some of the toughest women she’d ever met. Yet despite their enthusiasm for the class and willingness to sign a packet of waivers and consent forms, no one would step up. The instructor’s smile faded.

Anna’s sympathy kicked into high gear. “I’ll be the guinea pig.”

“What’s your name?” Eva asked.

“Anna Curtis.”

“Thanks for helping with our first lesson in self-defense,” Eva said.

The instructor smiled and held out her hand. When Anna took it, Eva’s fingers closed tightly around Anna’s palm. The instructor yanked Anna toward her, pivoted, and flipped Anna onto the ground. Anna’s back hit the mat with a thwack.

The class buzzed with exclamations and laughter.

“Wow!”

“How’d she do that? Anna’s like six inches taller!”

“Anna, are you okay?” That was her best friend, Grace.

Anna blinked up at the fluorescent panels. A flash of anger was eclipsed by a desire to learn that move.

Eva’s voice cut through the racket, loud enough to reach the Nautilus machines at the back of the gym. “That’s your first and most important lesson, ladies.” She strode in front of Anna on the mat. “Never let your guard down!”

Anna didn’t mind being the butt of a joke, but she could give as good as she got. And the opening was too perfect. She swept her foot out at Eva’s ankle, knocking the instructor’s feet out from under her. Eva tumbled to the mat with a surprised yelp.

The other students gasped collectively. Throughout the gym, weights froze mid-lift; elliptical machines halted mid-stride.

The two women’s heads were level now, a few inches above the floor. Anna grinned at the instructor. “Nice to meet you.”

Eva seemed to consider her options, then returned the smile. “Nice to meet you, too.”

They got to their feet, and Eva stuck out her hand again. Anna made a show of exaggerated suspicion, then braced herself and took Eva’s hand. It was just a handshake this time.

“So there you go!” Eva said, turning back to the class. “Another demonstration of why you should never let your guard down!”

The crowd applauded. Stairmasters whirred again; weights continued their up-and-down trajectories. Anna trotted back to her place with the other women in the class. Her friend Grace, an elegant black woman in pink capris, said, “You’re a natural on your back, kiddo.” Anna smiled and rolled her neck in an attempt to get the kinks out.

“Okay, ladies!” Eva called. “I’m going to teach you one series of moves tonight. You know the most common injury from a bar fight? Broken fingers, from punching with a closed fist. Hit with the heel of your palm, and you won’t hurt yourself—and you won’t hold back because you’re scared of hurting yourself.”