About That Night

  So she clicked on the message.

  Rylann read the entire e-mail, then sat back in her chair to contemplate its meaning. Given that this was their first correspondence in nearly six months, it would be tempting to read too much into Jon’s every word. Luckily, he had been thoughtful enough to spare her from the rigors of that exercise.

  After three years of dating, a year of living together, and six months of being apart, he’d written one word to her.

  HI.

  Thirteen

  “HI ? THAT’S IT?”

  Rylann grabbed another carrot stick and dipped it into the hummus plate she and Rae had ordered. “Yep. That’s all he wrote.” She waived the carrot in the air. “What does that even mean? Hi.”

  “It means he’s a jackass.”

  Rae had always possessed a talent for getting to the heart of the matter.

  “Is this his way of testing the waters or something?” Rylann asked. “He throws out a hi to see if I’ll write back?”

  “Well, for one thing, it’s a sign that he’s thinking about you,” Rae said.

  The bartender returned with their martinis—between the interview with Kyle and Jon’s stupid Hi, Rylann had called for an emergency post-work happy hour at a bar in between her and Rae’s offices.

  She chewed her carrot stick, musing over Rae’s comment. Then she shook her head. “You know what? I’m not going down this road again. I’ve already spent plenty of time analyzing and second-guessing every word of my last few conversations with Jon.” That had been stage one of her six-month plan to get over the breakup—a stage that had gone nowhere.

  “Cheers to that.” Rae clinked her glass to Rylann’s and took a sip of her French martini. “So are you going to write back to him?”

  “Sure. How about ‘Bye’?”

  Rae laughed. “Probably not the response he was hoping for. But over the last six months, Jon has displayed a shockingly poor ability to read you. I guess we shouldn’t be too surprised by this.”

  “More than six months, since we obviously hadn’t been on the same page about our relationship leading up to the Italy thing,” Rylann pointed out.

  Rae snorted in agreement. “How he ever thought you were going to go for that idea, I have no clue.”

  Rylann had expressed that very sentiment on several occasions since the breakup, but something about the way Rae said it made her feel as though she needed to clarify something. “Right. Because I would’ve been a fool at this point in my life to quit my job and follow some guy to Italy who can’t commit to marrying me.”

  Rae set down her glass. “Absolutely. But even beyond that, he should’ve known you would’ve never gone with him.”

  Rylann hedged, not sure she liked the sound of that. “Well, I wouldn’t say never.”

  Rae gave her a get-real look. “Please. You go to Italy? You have your plans, remember?” She held up her hands innocently. “Why are you looking at me like that? Come on—you know this about yourself.”

  “True. But when you say it, it makes me sound so…lame.” Suddenly concerned, she leaned in, lowering her voice. “I’m not lame, am I?”

  “Sweetie, you’re not lame.”

  Rylann grabbed her drink. “Look at this, I drink martinis on workdays—that can’t be lame, right? And this wasn’t even planned.”

  Rae smiled. “You know I love you, right?”

  Rylann eyed her warily. “That’s typically a lead-in people say to give themselves permission to tell you something you don’t want to hear.”

  “Okay, then let’s start with the part you do want to hear: you are a brilliant trial lawyer, Ry. And part of that comes from your ability to plan ahead—you’re always three steps ahead of the other guy, and have figured out the solution to the problem before he even realizes there is one.”

  Rylann sniffed, partially mollified. “Go on.”

  “But let’s be honest: did any part of you, even for one second, think about chucking it all and getting on that plane with Jon?”

  “No,” Rylann said matter-of-factly. “Because that would’ve been crazy. And I don’t do crazy. Crazy is for women in their twenties.”

  “You didn’t do it then, either.”

  “So I’m ahead of the curve.” Rylann took a sip of her drink, mulling something over and turning serious for a moment. Rae had been her best friend for years, even when they’d lived two thousand miles apart. She trusted her opinion more than anyone’s. “If it had been you, would you have gone to Rome?”

  Rae thought this over. “Probably not. I don’t do crazy, either.”

  Rylann threw her hands up in exasperation. “Then why are you riding me about this?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe because we’re both thirty-two and single. It used to be bridal showers and bachelorette parties. Now a week doesn’t go by without the mailman bringing me some sort of announcement or invitation with a baby booty on it.” She shrugged. “So maybe not doing crazy isn’t working so great for either of us.”

  The words hung in the air between them.

  “Well, thanks, Mendoza—now I’m just depressed. Actually, no. The hell with that.” Rylann reached across the table and squeezed Rae’s hand. “Just because we haven’t met Mr. Right doesn’t mean we’re doing anything wrong. And by the way, you’re brilliant and awesome, too. If I were a lesbian, I’d totally settle down with you and make lots of in vitro babies.”

  Rae smiled, just as Rylann had hoped. She hated to see her friend—normally so upbeat about the dating scene—get down about this. Plus, it unsettled her. Rae was a smart, attractive, successful woman. If she didn’t have her pick of the litter, Rylann had no clue what men were looking for.

  “Have I told you how glad I am that you moved here?” Rae asked.

  “Me, too.” And as she said the words, Rylann realized just how true they were. Sure, she missed San Francisco at times, but even in the couple short weeks Chicago had begun to feel like home again. “So there’s something else I wanted to tell you. Not related to Jon.”

  Rae took a sip of her martini. “It’s something good, isn’t it? I can tell by the look on your face. Let me guess: work hottie.”

  “No.” Rylann thought about that. “Actually, there is a work hottie. A couple of them, in fact. But that’s not it.” She lowered her voice. “I can’t tell you any details because the matter is still in the investigatory stage, but Kyle Rhodes is a witness in one of my cases. We met for coffee earlier today.”

  “Get out of here.” Rae’s expression changed from one of surprise to curiosity. “What kind of case is it? Computer hacking or something?”

  “It’s an investigation related to the prison,” Rylann said vaguely. “He overheard something while he was there.”

  “Did you two manage to exchange more than three words this time?” Rae asked teasingly.

  “We did.”

  Rae waited expectantly. “And…?”

  “Andwe talked and had coffee.” Rylann looked at her pointedly. “Obviously, that’s as far as that story can go. He’s my witness now.”

  Rae considered that. “Technically, it’s not an ethics violation to be involved with a witness, you know.” She held out her hands at the look Rylann gave her. “I’m just saying.”

  “I think we’re way ahead of the game here. And regardless, technical violation or not, it would be a really bad idea.”

  “Yes, it would,” Rae said, without hesitation.

  “Can you imagine what would happen if this case went to trial and it came out that Kyle and I were involved?”

  “Sure I can, I’m a defense attorney. I’ll tell you exactly what would happen if that came out at trial—I would light his ass up on the witness stand.” Rae set down her martini glass and went into mock cross-examination mode. ” ‘Mr. Rhodes, is your testimony here today at all impacted by the fact that you’re having sex with the assistant U.S. attorney handling this case?’ “

  Rylann tipped her glass in agreement. “Exactly.”


  ” ‘Did Ms. Pierce ever talk about your testimony in bed, Mr. Rhodes? Perhaps give you a few pointers, lover to lover, on what you should say on the witness stand?’ “

  “Right. So you see my—”

  ” ‘—You like to please your lovers, don’t you, Mr. Rhodes? You’d say anything to help Ms. Pierce win her case, wouldn’t you?’ “

  Seeing that this could take a while, Rylann sat back in her chair and got comfortable.

  Rae smiled. “Speaking for a moment as a defense attorney and not as your friend, that would be so much fun.”

  “Well, that kind of fun is not happening in any case I handle,” Rylann said. And it wasn’t just Kyle’s reputation as a witness that she was thinking about. Just as important was her own reputation. She couldn’t imagine the embarrassment of sitting in court while a defense attorney grilled one of her witnesses about a sexual relationship with her. She was a former clerk; she knew exactly what the judge would think of any lawyer who allowed herself to be put in that situation. Not to mention the stir that would cause around her office.

  Bottom line, she was trying to impress her new boss and coworkers, and make a name for herself in the Chicago legal community. And being the dimwit who slept with a witness sure as heck wasn’t the way to do it.

  “Well.” Rae gave Rylann a disappointed look. “That kind of sucks. I mean, not to rub it in or anything, but he’s really hot. Like, movie star hot.”

  This had not escaped Rylann’s attention. “I wouldn’t want any part of that scene, anyway,” she said with a shrug.

  “Right. Because the hot guy scene is such a drag.”

  “I meant Kyle’s scene. How many times did I see his name mentioned in Scene and Heard, PageSix, or TMZ.com, gossiping about how he was with some model at a hot new club or restaurant?”

  Rae raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know, how many times did you see that?” Her tone turned sly. “Wait a second…have you been Googling Kyle Rhodes these past nine years, Ms. Pierce?”

  Rylann blushed furiously at that. “No,” she said as Rae began laughing in delight. She shifted uncomfortably, suddenly feeling like a witness in the hot seat. “I may have accidentally, wholly inadvertently, stumbled across his name one or two times”—or ten—”when I happened to be perusing a few gossip websites. That’s all.”

  As Rae continued to smile, Rylann shot her a look over her martini glass. “Oh, like you’ve never looked up a guy you once knew on Facebook or anything.”

  “So you admit it.”

  Rylann tossed her hair back dismissively. “I admit nothing except for the fact that the man is now my witness.”

  “Over ninety percent of federal criminal cases plead out before going to trial, Ry.” Rae winked knowingly. “Kyle Rhodes won’t be your witness forever.”

  LATER THAT EVENING, Rylann sat cross-legged on her bed with her laptop open. She’d been dreading this moment since she’d gotten home—trying to come up with some kind of appropriate response to Jon’s e-mail.

  Finally, she typed, HI YOURSELF.

  She immediately deleted it. That sounded too flirty.

  This prompted a new question: Did she want to sound flirty?

  Definitely not—he’d dumped her.

  So she tried again. GOOD TO HEAR FROM YOU, she began, before deleting that, too. Frankly, it wasn’t all that great to hear from him. Particularly since he’d thrown her into a tailspin over the damn Hi and now she was up at night, writing and rewriting a response to an e-mail that barely deserved one.

  So ignore it. He’ll get the hint.

  But ignoring it made it seem as if she wasn’t ready to face Jon, even via e-mail, and that wasn’t the case. She was…okay with the breakup.

  She perked up as that realization hit her. Suddenly, the pressure to write the perfect response was gone, and she just went with her gut.

  HEY YOU—HOPE ALL IS WELL IN ROME AND THAT IT’S EVERYTHING YOU WERE LOOKING FOR. IF YOU GET A CHANCE, DROP ME A LINE IN ANOTHER SIX MONTHS. : )

  There. She read it again and was satisfied that she’d struck just the right tone. Friendly enough—she’d even thrown in a smiley face emoticon—but not overly so. Assuming the whole point of Jon’s e-mail was to check in and see how she was doing, her reply conveyed the message that he was free and clear to go about his business.

  And also that she was going about hers.

  Fourteen

  KYLE CAREFULLY EASED his car into a tight parking spot, trying hard not to laugh at the sight of Dex, who stood on the sidewalk sporting a visor over a brown mess of seriously ridiculous bed hair.

  After shutting off the engine, Kyle grabbed the handle of the gull-wing door of his Mercedes and pushed the door open upward toward the sky.

  Dex grinned. “Dude, I don’t care how many times I’ve seen you do that. That car is so fucking cool.”

  No disagreement there. Kyle pushed the button on his key, locking the car, and pointed to his friend’s head. “Any particular explanation for the hair?”

  “A hookup that ran late.”

  “I really hope she didn’t see you on the way out. Because I think I see a gaggle of birds nesting in there.” Not that it was the first time Kyle had seen Dex looking less than stellar, seeing how they’d shared an apartment their senior year of college and also during the two years thereafter.

  “That’s funny, man.”

  “I thought so. How was the hookup?”

  “Good enough to last until noon,” Dex said with a grin. Then he turned to the matter at hand, proudly gesturing to the bar they stood in front of. “Ready to check out the place?”

  “Absolutely,” Kyle said.

  Eight years ago, after managing a campus bar in Champaign, Dex had moved up to Chicago and opened a sports bar on the north side of the city. Having done well for himself with that venture, he was now opening his second bar, an upscale nightclub called Firelight in the heart of the city’s affluent Gold Coast neighborhood.

  Once inside, Dex first gave Kyle a tour of the main bar. From the looks of the sable suede lounge chairs and couches, the large curving bar, and the subtle touches of deep red and copper fabric throughout, it appeared that Dex had spared no expense.

  Next, Dex led him up some steps that would take them to a VIP lounge. “We open in four weeks. I heard a rumor that the food and dining section of the Trib is going to run an article this weekend, calling it the most anticipated bar opening of the season.” He pointed. “You’ll be there, right?”

  “Ten U.S. marshals couldn’t keep me away.” Kyle looked up at the ceiling and admired the glittering sheets of red and burnt orange wavy glass. “Like fire. Nice touch.”

  “I worked with the designer for almost a month on that.” Dex lifted the visor up to scratch his forehead, then caught Kyle’s grin. “Come on. The hair’s not that bad.”

  “Remember Kid ‘n Play?”

  Before Dex could respond, Kyle’s cell phone rang. He pulled the phone out of his pocket and checked to see who was calling.

  Rylann Pierce.

  How intriguing.

  “I should probably take this in private,” he told Dex. He stepped out of the VIP room and then answered. “Counselor. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

  Rylann spoke above the sounds of car horns and a jackhammer in the background. “We’re all set. Thursday at two o’clock. Just you, me, a court reporter, and a grand jury of twenty-three of your peers.”

  “Where are you?” Kyle asked. Her voice sounded a little breathless.

  “Outside the courthouse, trying to catch a cab. I’ve got a meeting at the FBI building in twenty minutes.”

  He could picture her in her trench coat and heels, trusty briefcase at her side, all fired up and ready to throw around a few subpoena threats.

  The image was strangely hot.

  “Thursday, two o’clock,” he confirmed. “Where do I go?”

  “Room 511. For confidentiality purposes, there’s nothing but a room number outside the door. Yo
u should wait in the witness room closest to the door until I come get you,” she said. “Although you’ve refrained from retaining counsel on this matter, I’m obligated to say that you can still choose to bring a lawyer, but he or she would have to wait out in the hall. No one is allowed inside except for the witnesses, the jurors, the court reporter, and me. Think of it like Vegas—what happens in the grand jury room stays in the grand jury room.”

  Unable to resist, Kyle lowered his voice, teasing her. “I didn’t think good-girl prosecutors knew about the types of things that happen in Vegas.”

  “There are probably a lot of things bad-boy ex-cons don’t know about good-girl prosecutors.”

  Kyle raised an eyebrow. That actually sounded flirtatious.

  But then her tone changed, back to all business. “I’ll see you Thursday, then. Two o’clock.”

  “It’s a date.”

  “No, it’s a grand jury proceeding,” she said firmly.

  “You say tomato, I say—”

  “Good-bye, Kyle.” She hung up on him before he could finish.

  Chuckling, Kyle tucked his cell phone into the pocket of his jeans and walked back into the VIP room.

  Dex looked him over. “Whoever that was, she sure put a smile on your face.”

  Kyle waved this off. “Just this project I’m working on.”

  “Does this ‘project’ have a name?”

  Sure. Rylann Pierce, aka Burr Up My Ass. “It’s not what you think. That was someone from the U.S. Attorney’s Office. I’m sort of…helping them in an investigation.”