“I can’t give you much. Just go to her.”
This was nothing Justin hadn’t done before. He’d always managed to do so without Ava knowing. As if guarding her from afar could make up for the way he’d hurt her. For the way he’d hurt them both.
Secrecy was better for all of them. And he’d always been able to take care of the problems plaguing her without much effort—usually some lowlife threatening her because of her job as an assistant district attorney, and because of her tendency to refuse to stand down when she was up against it.
It was a trait that ran long and hard in that family. And while Justin himself had a healthy appetite for living right out there on the edge, Turk and Ava brought it to an almost artistic level without even trying.
But this time, something in the tone of Turk’s voice didn’t sit right with Justin. “Tell me more.”
“This is just between us, Justin. There’s a possibility that her new case could blow my cover,” he murmured, and Justin knew what his friend said could mean a death sentence for him, no matter the case Turk was on. It also meant that Justin couldn’t bring in the local authorities for backup. “She’s involved in something big and she doesn’t realize it. You need to get to her tonight and get her out of New York.”
“Where do you want me to take her? Maybe she needs more protection than I can give her.”
“You’re the only one I can trust with this right now.” Turk paused for a long second, as if he wanted to say more but couldn’t. “It’s not going to be easy this time, Justin.”
“Dammit, Turk—don’t do this—” But the phone clicked on the other end before he could finish. Frustrated, he slammed it against the table and stared up at the sky for a few minutes.
Turk had joined the DEA around the time Justin made it through BUD/S training and moved into SQT, the final step before he received his Trident. He and Turk were always helping each other out, especially when one of them found himself balls deep in something, but Justin had never heard fear in his friend’s voice when Turk called for a favor. Not like this.
Turk was so deep undercover that he couldn’t get out in order to protect Ava.
But protect her from what?
Justin closed his eyes, thought about what would’ve happened if he hadn’t been home now—if he’d still been deployed and God almighty, his instincts were screaming.
If he hauled ass, he could get to Ava before midnight, maybe hitch a ride on a helo from Virginia to a base in New York. Then he could rent a car and drive to Westchester County. And that would’ve made him happy if the thought didn’t cut him right off at the knees.
Nine years had passed since he’d actually had more than peripheral contact with her. Years full of some of the worst memories of his life, some of them softened by time and by a job he excelled at. A job that kept him too busy for more than a passing fling and no more commitment than a few hours could bring.
At one time, Ava had promised she’d be there for him. No matter what. That she trusted him. And then she’d never given him the chance to explain—the day he got married she skipped town and never looked back.
You wouldn’t have been able to tell her anyway.
Yeah, loyal to the end. Loyal and stupid. And young—too young to know any better, although it only made him feel marginally better to be able to blame his stupidity on youth and misguided loyalty.
It’s not going to be easy this time, Justin.
With Ava, it never was.
“YOUR HONOR, Miss Turkowski is making a mockery of this case, and her antics are becoming a hindrance to the prosecution.” The defense attorney clenched his fists and made a face Ava recognized immediately as exasperation. The judge wore it, too, as did pretty much any man Ava had ever known.
“Your Honor, a continuance is not on the people’s shortlist of wants. However, some new evidence has come to my attention that will showcase the defense’s arguments in a whole new light,” Ava said.
Before anyone could protest, she turned to Paul, her new assistant on the case, and in a perfectly choreographed move, he handed her the file folder she needed to present to the judge. She bypassed the defense council, a man she’d often gone up against and with whom she had a fifty-fifty loss/win split and handed the folder off.
She loved this moment—when she commanded the attention of every single person in the courtroom. She loved it because it didn’t happen quite as often as she would’ve liked, and when it did, she savored it more than dark chocolate and good sex, neither of which she’d had time for lately.
But this was certainly not the moment to muse about that. Not when she was about to win this case.
The judge peered at her over the top of his glasses. “A.D.A. Turkowski, how did you come upon this information?”
“My source is protected, Your Honor. But, as you can see, the evidence has been verified by forensics.”
“So it has.” The judge closed the folder and handed it off to the defense. “You might want to take a look at this before you make any more motions on behalf of your client.”
They were talking plea in less than two minutes, in hushed tones up by the judge, and Ava and the defense attorney agreed on a plea and punishment that would be put into place as soon as his client agreed.
“I wish all my cases wrapped this quickly,” Judge Barrett told them.
“I don’t,” defense council mumbled before walking back to his client. Ava headed to her side of the courtroom, the smell of victory mixed in with the usual smell of the courtroom —a combination of stale air, fear and old coffee.
Paul was busy putting his files in order. He looked harried, a perpetual state of affairs for any new lawyer working in the D.A.’s office, and one that never got any better. She’d just learned to hide it well.
“Nice job,” Paul said. “Stanton’s not happy with you at all.”
“Stanton can kiss my you-know-what.”
“From the way he looks at you, I think that’s what he wants.”
“Well, he’s not getting it,” she said. She certainly wasn’t going to whine about her attractiveness. In her opinion, she’d had nothing to do with it. It was all good genes and such, and she knew the difference between using her mind and using her body to get what she wanted. She also knew how to use both simultaneously, but most men didn’t seem to enjoy that.
She sighed, realized her feet were killing her. The price of trying to have fashionable feet to offset the conservative, mostly black attire she wore when she was on the job. She sat, kicked off a shoe and bent to massage a cramp in her arch.
“I’m late for a deposition. Are you going to need me tonight?” Paul asked.
She needed something tonight, but work wasn’t it. “No, no, take the night off. You deserve it,” she said, mainly because Paul looked more stressed than he usually did. “Is something wrong?”
“It’s this case I’ve got.” He looked pained as he went into the details. “It’s a domestic abuse case…”
“And the victim’s decided she doesn’t want to testify.”
“It’s an open-and-shut case, Ava. She could get him out of her life for good and she won’t.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself, or on the victim,” Ava said, not wanting to break it to him that he’d have much tougher cases soon enough, ones that would wrench his heart out.
She’d been there, more than once, but especially with the Crafton case. She would never forget that one, or the look on her client’s face when Ava had been forced to admit that the man who’d raped