Julie James - About That Night

Well, hello.

Those certainly didn’t look like a mope’s legs.

Sitting in his chair at the defense table, Kyle’s gaze traveled from the ground up, taking in the high heels, sleek legs, black skirt suit and naughty good-girl pearls, and finally came to rest on a pair of gorgeous—and shockingly familiar—amber eyes.

Eyes that held his with bemusement.

Ho-ly fuck.

Rylann.

Kyle watched as she strode up the aisle toward him, looking criminally sexy in her suit and heels. She’d changed her hair—gone was the cute chin-length bob. Now she wore it long, tumbling over her shoulders in thick, raven-colored waves.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” she said, stopping at the defense table. “Only the six of you today?”

Kyle fought back a grin. Yep, still as sassy as ever. His five lawyers immediately sprang to attention and rose to their feet. Slowly, he stood up as well.

Rylann introduced herself as she shook Mark’s hand. “Rylann Pierce.”

Pierce. After nine years, Kyle finally had a last name.

She shook hands with the rest of his lawyers, then made her way to him. With the edges of her lips turned up in a smile, she held out her hand. Her voice was low and throaty, with the same teasing note as the night they’d met. “Mr. Rhodes.”

Kyle slid his hand around hers. The most innocent of touches, but with her it felt downright sinful. “Counselor,” he said in a low voice, as intimate as he dared given their surroundings.

She cocked her head. “Shall we do this?”

It was only after she turned and walked to the opposite side of the courtroom that Kyle realized she’d been talking to his lawyers, not him.

She set her briefcase on the prosecution table just as the door to the judge’s chambers flew open. “All rise!” called the clerk. “This court is now in session, the Honorable Reginald Batista presiding.”

Everyone in the courtroom rose to their feet as the judge took his seat and the clerk called his case. “United States versus Kyle Rhodes.”

Rylann stepped up to the podium along with Kyle’s lead attorney.

“Rylann Pierce, representing the U.S. Attorney’s Office, your honor.”

“Mark Whitehead, for the defense.”

The judge looked up from the motion he held in his hands. “Since both parties and what appears to be the entire Chicago press corps are in attendance, we might as well get right down to business.” He set the papers off to the side. “We’re here on a rather unusual Rule 35 motion filed by the U.S. Attorney’s Office, a motion to reduce the sentence of the defendant, Kyle Rhodes, to time served. My understanding is that Mr. Rhodes has served four months of the eighteen months’ incarceration ordered by this court.” The judge turned to Mark for confirmation. “Is that correct, counselor?”

“Yes, Your Honor,” Mark said. “Two weeks ago, per an arrangement with the U.S. Attorney’s Office, Mr. Rhodes was released from Metropolitan Correctional Center and has been serving his sentence in home detention.”

The judge took off his reading glasses and turned to Rylann. “Ms. Pierce, I’ve seen the appearance you filed yesterday with the clerk’s office, and I appreciate that you haven’t been involved in this case prior to these proceedings. But I have to say, I’m a little surprised by this motion. During the sentencing hearing, your office argued—quite vehemently—that I should order Mr. Rhodes to serve the maximum sentence. I believe terrorist and cyber-menace to society were two of the terms Mr. Morgan used to describe the defendant. Now, four months later, you want to reduce that sentence to time served.”

Kyle shot a nervous glance at the four lawyers sitting at his table, not liking the sound of that. He’d been under the impression that this motion was a done deal.

Then a beautiful voice spoke out on his behalf.

“The circumstances have changed, Your Honor,” Rylann said. “The U.S. Attorney’s Office, in conjunction with the Federal Bureau of Investigation, made an arrangement with the defendant’s sister, Jordan Rhodes. In exchange for Ms. Rhodes’s assistance in an undercover investigation, our office agreed to petition this court for the reduction of Mr. Rhodes’s sentence. Ms. Rhodes upheld her end of the deal, and now we would like to honor ours.”

“And while I note that this court is not bound by any agreements the government has made pertaining to the defendant, I’m going to grant your motion, counselor,” the judge said. “The defendant’s sentence is hereby reduced to time served.”

Kyle blinked. Just like that, he was free.

Then the judge turned to him, peering down sternly from his bench. “But do us all a favor, Mr. Rhodes: stay off of Twitter. Because if I see you in my courtroom again, there won’t be any deal that can save you.” He banged his gavel. “This court stands in recess.”

“All rise!” the clerk shouted, and the entire courtroom rose to its feet.

Pandemonium ensued as an excited roar rippled through the crowd. Cameras flashed in Kyle’s eyes as a mass of bodies, including his lawyers, Jordan, and his dad, swarmed him. Reporters surged forward, eager for a quote, but Kyle pushed past them, catching sight of Rylann as she grabbed her briefcase and turned to leave.

They met in the center of the aisle just as several reporters shoved microphones in both their faces.

“Ms. Pierce! Does the U.S. Attorney’s Office have any comment about the fact that Kyle Rhodes is once again a free man?”

When Rylann’s eyes met his, Kyle felt as if every nerve in his body had been zapped with a body Taser.

He peered down at her boldly, remembering well this woman who’d managed to get under his skin—in more ways than one—with only a walk home. He waited for her to say something, any kind of quip or wink or subtle nod to the fact that they had a prior history. But just as her lips parted, undoubtedly ready with what he assumed would be some sort of saucy zinger, another camera flashed.

She blinked—and the sparkle was gone from her eyes, replaced by an all-business expression as she turned to the reporters. “Only that we are satisfied with the resolution of this case.”

Then, without so much as a glance back in his direction, she brushed past the reporters and walked out of the courtroom.

THURSDAY EVENING AFTER work, Rylann met Rae for dinner at RL Restaurant on Michigan Avenue. It had been a busy couple of days for both of them, with Rylann settling into her first week at her new office and Rae scrambling to get a motion on file, so this was the first chance they’d had to get together since Rylann’s in-court reunion with Kyle.

A reunion she’d thought about more these past couple days than she cared to admit.

“I can’t believe you haven’t said anything yet,” Rylann led in after the waiter brought their drinks. “Have you been following the news at all this week? Perhaps you heard a little something about a certain smug-dimpled ex-con?” She’d been dying to talk to somebody about the court appearance, and naturally that person was Rae.

Rae put down the menu she’d been reading. “Oh my God, yes—I’ve been meaning to ask you about that since Tuesday. I’ve just been so swamped with this summary judgment motion. I saw that the judge reduced Kyle Rhodes’s sentence to time served.”

Rylann smiled to herself, savoring the deliciousness of the gossip she was about to share. “This is true. But I take it you didn’t see any of the billion photographs from the court hearing?” There’d been one particular photograph that had been blasted all over the media that had slightly concerned her, a shot of her and Kyle right at that very moment when they’d met in the courtroom aisle. Maybe she was being overly paranoid, but something about the way Kyle was peering down at her looked a little…intimate. As if they shared a secret.

Which, of course, they did.

“Sorry. I missed it,” Rae said sheepishly. “I’ve been living in a hole since Monday.”

“A hole that also kept you from noticing the name of the assistant U.S. attorney who handled the motion, obviously,” Rylann said.

She was so enjoying this.

Rae shrugged. “I assume it’s the same lawyer who handled the rest of the case.”

Rylann casually took a sip of the pinot noir she’d ordered. “One would assume that, yes. Except—oh, small problem—the original lawyer assigned to the case had a last-minute trial conflict, and my office needed to send in a replacement.” She smiled mischievously.

Rae stared at her for a moment, then her eyes went wide. “Shut up. They sent you?”

“Indeed they did.”

“You went up against Kyle Rhodes in court?” Rae laughed. “Well, that’s certainly an interesting way to reconnect after nine years. What did he say when he saw you?”

“He called me ‘counselor.’ “

Rae sat back in her chair, disappointed. “That’s it? What did you say?”

“I said, ‘Mr. Rhodes,’ and shook his hand.”

“Ooh… scintillating stuff.”

Rylann threw her a pointed look. “We were in court, in front of a hundred reporters. What was I supposed to do? Write my phone number on his hand and tell him to call me?”

Rylann smiled. “Now that would’ve been cute.”

“I don’t do cute. Especially not in court.” Rylann paused. “Although the ‘counselor’ thing is sort of an inside joke between him and me.”

“Is it now?” Rae’s tone turned suddenly sly. “So how did he look, counselor?”

Like sin in a suit. Rylann held her tongue, playing it cool. “He’s wearing his hair a little longer. Other than that, I didn’t notice. I was in the zone.”

“Which zone is that?”

“The prosecutorial zone, naturally.”

“Then why are you blushing?”

Because, in addition to being cursed with fair skin from her Irish mother, she doubted there were many women in existence who wouldn’t have some basic, instinctive physical reaction to Kyle Rhodes. With that devilish smile and those roguish good looks, any girl would be hard-pressed not to get a little flushed when thinking about him.

Still, Rylann covered by gesturing to her glass. “It’s the antioxidants in the red wine. They open up the pores.”

Rae smiled, not buying that for one second. “Right. So what happens next?”

“Nothing happens next. He’s the Twitter Terrorist. I’m a prosecutor from the office who convicted him. I think that pretty much ends the story.”

Rae thought about that. “Kind of an anticlimactic ending.”

Rylann shrugged, adopting a matter-of-fact expression. “He walked me home, and we kissed once. Forever ago. I barely even remember that night.”

Rae raised an eyebrow knowingly. “There are some things a girl never forgets, Ry. And one of those is a kiss from the right guy.”

WHEN RYLANN GOT back to her apartment later that evening, she dropped her briefcase on the living room couch and unbuttoned her trench coat as she made her way to the bedroom. As she stepped into her walk-in closet and hung up the coat, Rae’s words echoed through her head.

There are some things a girl never forgets, Ry. And one of those is a kiss from the right guy.

The notion was a little sentimental for her tastes.

She was a grown woman—thirty-two years old, not thirteen. Meth Lab Rylann did not get all weak in the knees over one measly kiss, no matter how irritatingly charming Kyle Rhodes had been that night.

Still…instinctively, her eyes went to the top shelf of the closet.

Shoved near the back was an old shoebox, one she’d had for years. On the day they’d moved in together in San Francisco, Jon had asked her what was inside.

“Just some old letters my mom sent me when I went away to college,” she’d told him, perhaps the only time she’d lied to Jon the entire time they’d been dating.

Reaching up, Rylann grabbed the box off the shelf and removed the lid.

Inside was the navy flannel shirt Kyle had given her nine years ago.

She ran her fingers over the collar, remembering that moment when he’d handed the shirt over to her. The way her stomach had done a little flip as his hand brushed against her neck.

Okay, fine. Maybe she remembered a few teeny, tiny details about that night.

Rylann shook her head, wanting to laugh at herself as she stared down at the flannel. It was just so…silly. It was a shirt. Really, she had no idea why she’d kept the darn thing all this time. She’d moved from Champaign to San Francisco, and then into a different apartment when her and Jon had decided to live together, and each time she’d contemplated tossing it in the garbage. But something had held her back.