Chapter Two
Mark
Ava is there before me when I enter the courtroom, standing at her table and speaking with her client.
Her hair is down today, tumbling in long red waves around her navy-blue suit jacket.
She rarely wears it down, and I briefly wonder if her head is still bothering her.
I noticed her rubbing her temple yesterday.
I shake my head and question why the hell I care. If anything, a headache benefits me. Maybe she’ll be distracted. Though that feels like a cheap way to win. Not really my style.
I should hate her. God knows half my colleagues think she’s the devil wrapped in Dior.
But what I told her yesterday was true—she helps the system work the way it’s supposed to.
The NYPD has been forced to take shit far more seriously since she came on the scene.
So, I respect the hell out of her. Not that I would tell her that part.
Though my tendency to watch her hips sway in her tight pencil skirts isn’t based on respect. I’m certain most people would find how frequently my thoughts turn to wondering what her juicy, plump peach of an ass would feel like in my hands downright disrespectful.
Ava Kendrick. Manhattan’s most ruthless defense attorney, my personal nemesis, and the only woman who has ever made me want to strangle and kiss someone in the same breath.
I wonder sometimes if we’d have been friends under different circumstances.
Possibly even date, since I’m obviously attracted to her.
From all the times I’ve caught her looking, I think it’s a fair bet that it’s mutual.
Not to mention we’re both “prodigies” in NYC’s law scene.
I’m the youngest elected district attorney in Manhattan’s history, and Ava has to be one of the youngest women partners at any of the major firms in the city.
Fate placed us on opposite teams, though, so we are forever stuck being adversaries.
She is decidedly unpopular in all the circles I’m in.
The cops hate her for the number of cases she wins, especially since she got a cop killer freed earlier this summer.
My attempts at point out that she’d won because they’d mishandled evidence and ignored interview protocol tended to fall on deaf ears. To them, she’s the viper. Nothing more.
The fact that she’s become one of the loudest champions in the city for omega rights hasn’t gained her any favors either.
Takes on pro bono cases no one else will touch for them—workplace discrimination, custody battles, you name it.
And because she’s a powerhouse of a lawyer, she almost always wins.
The more conservative alphas that run the city do not appreciate this.
And those are the ones I have to butter up if I have any hopes of them donating to my eventual mayoral campaign.
I just can’t figure out why it’s so important to her.
She’s a beta, and so is her entire family other than a couple of alphas somewhere back in her pedigreed family tree.
She lifts her head, green eyes meeting mine, and I have to look away. No more distractions; I need to focus on beating her. I do have a reputation to uphold, after all.
After the bailiff calls us to order, Reynolds looks to me and nods. I clear my throat. “The prosecution calls Detective Marisol Vega.”
“Objection, Your Honor! Surprise witness,” Ava says sharply.
I spread my hands. “Merely following the path the defense set up with her questioning of Detective Stephens, Your Honor.”
He nods. “I’ll allow it, though keep the scope within the chain-of-command questioning, or I will allow Ms. Kendrick time to prepare for the witness.” There’s an unspoken threat in his wording that annoys me. As if he’s saying, you don’t want to give her that, do you?
It’s not incorrect, which annoys me more. The more time Ava has to prepare, the likelier she is to find something to attack.
Vega takes the stand, and it’s obvious she is flustered and nervous, which actually helps what I’m attempting to do.
“Detective Vega,” I say evenly, “you are Detective Stephen’s partner, correct?”
She nods. “Yes, sir.”
“And how long have you been on the force?”
Color stains her cheeks. “I’ve been with the NYPD for seven years.”
“At the time of Mr. Simmon’s arrest, how long had you been a detective?”
“Objection, Your Honor! I thought we were sticking to the chain of command, not going over Detective Vega’s resume,” Ava says.
A fair objection, but it’s early in the day to be so sassy, especially with Reynolds already annoyed with us. A little off her game today.
The judge shoots her a warning look, and I suppress my grin. He looks at me and raises an eyebrow. “I’m assuming there’s a point to this, Mr. Taylor? Let’s move it along.”
I nod and look back to Vega to await an answer.
She sighs. “It was my first day as a detective when we arrested Mr. Simmons.”
I give her a gentle, understanding smile. “First days on the job can be overwhelming. New responsibilities, new expectations, new paperwork. Fair to say?”
She lets out a small, nervous breath. “Yes, sir.”
“Despite that, though, you were still a trained NYPD officer with seven years of experience in the field.”
“Yes.”
“Please explain how the evidence got to the lab and what state it arrived in.”
“Detective Stephens logged the evidence into the computer, but before we could take it downstairs, we were called to an emergency scene. I watched him seal the bag and initial the tape before locking it into the evidence locker near our desks. In the morning, I unlocked it and took it downstairs.”
“So you followed standard NYPD protocol during the transfer?”
“Except for the signature portion, yes, sir. That was the only mistake.”
I wish I’d had a little more time to prep her for the stand.
She needed to learn to only answer my questions and not offer anything additional.
I made a mental note to have my assistant reach out to her captain to set up some training time.
If she is going to remain a detective, she needed to be better prepared to face off with Ava.
“Explain what you mean about the signature.”
“I read the sign-in sheet incorrectly. I thought it was asking for the name of the officer who had logged it into the system, not who was bringing it to the lab. So I signed Stephens’s name. I—”
I cut her off before she can continue adding on. “At no point was the evidence unsecured or able to be accessed by anyone but law enforcement?”
“No, sir.”
I nod once, letting it settle into the jury for a moment. “Just to be clear, the discrepancy the defense highlighted yesterday reflected only who physically transported the sealed evidence, not whether the evidence was compromised. Correct?”
“That is correct.”
I glance toward the jury, then back to her.
“No further questions.”
I keep my expression neutral, but my mind is already running through the angles Ava will take during cross-examination. She’ll likely attack Vega’s inexperience and poke holes in whether there is any proof to back her claim. Insinuating this was damage control, which it was.
But the jury should hopefully see it for what it is. Stephens misspoke, and Vega clarified that a simple first-day-on-the-job error occurred.
I give Ava a quick wink as I head back to my seat.
The case finally wraps for the day, Judge Reynolds practically shoving us out with threats of contempt if we so much as breathe too loudly in his courtroom tomorrow. My staff flies out ahead of me, discussing catching up on paperwork.
When I step out on the courthouse stairs, the late afternoon light is dappling between the heavy gray clouds. It looks like rain. Probably if I were home, it would smell like rain too, but here in the city, you aren’t able to catch that.
Ava is ahead of me, waiting on the curb for her car. Her phone is to her ear, voice clipped, and it’s the same voice she uses when she’s cross-examining. Business, then.
I should keep walking. Hail a cab and get back to my office.
Yet my feet betray me, and I’m by her side before I know it.
Even in her ridiculously tall heels, I still tower over her, and she has to tip her chin to look up at me.
The wind blows a tendril of hair across her cheek, and I have the strangest urge to wrap it around my finger just to see if it feels as silky as it looks.
This close, I should be able to scent her, even though betas have muted scents, but Ava always wears a heavy-duty neutralizer.
I don’t know what she smells like, and it bothers me.
“Kendrick. A solid attempt at a win, but I think we both know how this one is going to go,” I say, unable to stop myself from baiting her.
She lowers her phone and smiles at me, but there’s no sweetness in it.
Her eyes are sharp and sparkling, the black cat-eye liner around them making the deep emerald green pop.
“Don’t get too comfortable, counselor. The jury is smarter than you give them credit for. They can smell a rushed cover story.”
I can’t help but smirk. “I guarantee everyone on that jury has fucked up on their first day on the job at some point.”
Her car pulls up, long, sleek, and black. “Can’t relate. I don’t make mistakes.” She opens the door, casually tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Have a good night, counselor.”
My grin widens despite myself, and I give a sharp salute with my fingers as she pulls off.