Chapter Twenty-Seven
Ava
Four hours since I last saw Mark.
Not that I’m counting or anything. I definitely didn’t start noticing after the second hour that my patience was wearing thin and my body was staging a full-scale rebellion.
The courthouse air feels stale and wrong, like it’s been recycled too many times.
My blouse clings in places it shouldn’t, and the waistband of my skirt feels too tight even though it isn’t. Everything is also itchy.
It’s the same restless, prickly discomfort I get before a heat. The only thing that will help is wrapping myself in Mark’s scent.
This new bond nonsense is no joke.
I shift my briefcase into my other hand and glance down the hallway, hoping Mark will appear just from the pull of me thinking about him. If the bond is any indication, he is also getting restless and crabby. We need to go home.
The meeting with the ethics committee from the New York State Bar Association went exactly how I knew it would—exhausting.
They accepted our proposed path forward.
The reps from the NYSBA listened, nodded, and asked their questions.
They weren’t thrilled that they were forced to take us at our word regarding our relationship timeline, but there was little else they could do.
It doesn’t bother me nearly as much as it bothers Mark. He and I weren’t technically dating before this weekend. Maybe it’s the defense attorney in me, but I’ve always had more patience for those kind of white lie technicalities.
Apparently, they are going to review our past cases against one another to ensure that another lawyer could not reasonably decide we had pulled our punches.
I have zero fears of that. Fighting each other in the courtroom was practically our foreplay.
All our past clients will be notified, and it does open up the chance for attempted appeals on the cases I lost.
I’m not going to lose any sleep over it. If I lost, it was because the police had properly done their job and they had my client dead to rights.
My neck aches from tension, and I roll it slowly, wincing when something pops. Mark should be done soon, hopefully. Just have to make it a little longer.
I tire of restless pacing and drop onto a bench along the wall. I dig my phone out of my briefcase and start answering emails, even though I know I’m only halfway reading them. Every few seconds, my attention drifts back down the hallway.
Patience has never been my strong suit.
My phone vibrates in my hand, and I realize I’ve been staring at the same email for a full minute.
The screen lights up with a picture of my mom and me at the beach, both of us squinting at the camera, hair whipped into chaos by the wind.
Not that we lingered outside for long—our skin isn’t exactly made for the sun.
Nerves flutter in my gut, and I debate letting it ring for half a second. She’s almost certainly calling to discuss my bloodwork results.
It’s childish, I know that. Ignoring the call won’t change anything. Either my life is about to flip upside down because I’m pregnant, or the suppressants did enough damage that it didn’t take at all. Both options sit heavy in my chest for different reasons.
With a quiet groan, I swipe to accept. “Hi, Mom,” I say, forcing lightness into my voice. “Bloodwork, I presume?”
“Hello, sweetie,” she says warmly. Almost too warmly.
That never bodes well. She’d still been fairly chilly when she left the penthouse yesterday.
I knew it came from a place of fear; didn’t make it less annoying, though.
“Yes, I just finished running all the numbers. It’s actually quite fascinating.
The way your progesterone levels are interacting with the—”
“Mother,” I interrupt, pinching the bridge of my nose as I stand and start pacing again. “Non-science speak, please.”
She laughs softly. “Right. Of course.”
I shift the phone to my other ear, balancing it between my shoulder and jaw, and nearly collide with a man coming around the corner. I mutter an apology automatically and keep moving.
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice someone approaching. Tall. Dark-haired. Another lawyer, probably. Half the men in this building look the same at a glance. Suit. A long coat draped over one arm. Nothing remarkable.
Yet something about him makes the fine hairs along my arms lift, prickling with awareness. My steps slow without me quite deciding to do it.
“Ava?” my mom prompts. “Are you still there?”
“Yeah. Sorry.” I swallow, forcing myself to breathe. “Listen, can I call you back? The signal in here is awful, and I want to actually focus on what you’re telling me.”
There’s a pause on the line. “Is everything all right?”
“Yeah. Totally fine,” I lie, even as my gaze locks on to the man drawing closer. “I just don’t want to miss anything important.”
“All right,” she says, though she doesn’t sound convinced. “Call me soon.”
“I will.”
I end the call before she can say anything else and shove my phone into the pocket of my skirt. My pulse is loud in my ears now, every beat thudding harder. The man’s eyes are on me, so intense it makes my skin crawl.
I don’t make it more than a few steps.
A hand clamps around my elbow, fingers digging in hard enough to hurt. Something solid is shoved against my ribcage, and it shocks a gasp out of me.
“That’s a gun pressed into your side,” a voice growls near my ear. “If you scream or try anything stupid, I’ll shoot you. Keep walking.”
Fear washes over me, and for a moment I want to send it through the bond, my instincts screaming for Mark. But then a new fear quickly replaces it. If Mark feels this, he will come running. Bursting out of his courtroom. Gunshots in a crowded courthouse flash through my mind in sickening detail.
I shut the bond down, as best I can. I don’t know if I’m doing it correctly. It’s still so new and fragile.
“Listen, sir, I don’t know if you know who I am,” I say quietly, “but I can help you out of whatever mess you’ve landed in that makes you think this is a good plan. I’m a really good lawyer.”
He barks a short laugh. “So everyone says. And yet, my brother’s rotting in a cell because you were too busy fucking the DA.”
My body stiffens as my mind tries to race through all the possibilities. I have no idea how he knows about me and Mark, since we haven’t gone public other than to the NYSBA, and something tells me this guy isn’t exactly close with many attorneys.
Think, Ava, damn it. A brother. A case you lost against Mark.
That narrows it down considerably, but not enough. I could ask for more information, but would that set him off further?
“I can promise you this,” I say carefully. “If your brother was my client, I did everything I could to get him acquitted.” He jams the gun into my side again, harder this time. “But… maybe I missed something. Appeals exist for a reason. We can go back to my office and look at—”
“You’re not going anywhere,” he snaps. “You’re going to pay for what you did. And after that, I’m coming back for that piece of shit DA.”
Oh god, Mark.
He sounds crazy. When I glance at him, I notice the haggard stubble along his jaw and the wide, bloodshot eyes. Is he on drugs? That’s going to make it a lot harder to reason with him, and I have to de-escalate this situation.
He keeps pushing me down the hallway, and I try to think of where he might be taking me. There’s a back exit where they move defendants in and out from the jail for their trials. It’s getting late enough in the day; it probably doesn’t have very many people near it.
We pass the door to the courtroom where Mark is, and it swings open.
For a heartbeat, hope surges. Then falters.
Instead of Mark, Henry steps out, dressed in a bailiff’s uniform.
I forgot he sometimes picks up shifts over here to help pad out the retirement fund.
His familiar face nearly breaks me, and I have to fight to keep from sobbing.
“Ms. Kendrick,” he says, “good to see you. I heard you were out sick. How’re you feeling?”
His eyes flick to the man beside me. His posture stays relaxed, but his hand drifts closer to his belt. Close enough to his gun, but not so obvious it will immediately draw attention.
The man beside me stiffens. “Oh, much better,” I say brightly. Too brightly. “Must’ve been the flu.”
“That particular flu’s a doozy,” he agrees, and I swear he’s being careful with his wording.
Did Mark tell him I’m an omega, or did he figure it out?
Not that it matters now, I suppose. “My wife used to get it a few times a year. Always needed help getting through it. Did you have anyone taking care of you?”
“Nah,” I say lightly. “Tough single gal, remember? All I needed was my stuffed tiger.” Please let him remember Mark’s nickname and recognize something is afoot.
I don’t want Mark busting out here and causing a recreation of the OK Corral, but I also don’t want to be alone with the guy holding a gun to my ribs.
“Anyway, I’ve gotta run. My new client and I need to go over some facts of his case. ”
“Mm-hmm. Yes, ma’am,” Henry agrees, eyes looking over me and then back to the man beside me. “You’re lucky to have such a great lawyer, sir.”
“Yes, very lucky. If you’ll excuse us,” he says curtly.
We start walking again, and every step away from Henry feels like tearing something loose inside my chest. God, I wish I knew if this fucker actually had a gun.
“How did you manage to get that past the metal detectors?” I ask once we’re further down the hall.
He snorts. “You’d be amazed at what you can 3D print these days.” He jerks his head toward a side corridor. “Turn right.”
How does he know the layout of this building so well? I do, but I’m here nearly every day. In fact, I recognize the hallway he has us turn down. Supply closets and camera blind spots. The location of more than one reckless tryst between me and my mate.
“I thought you wanted to leave,” I say, slowing. “That’s not the exit.”
He cocks his head, and his grin is wide and wrong. It reminds me of the Joker, and the thought is so bizarre it almost makes me burst into a fit of nervous laughter, but his next words dry my throat as if I’d swallowed sand. “I told you. I’m handling you first.”
I open my mouth to plead with him, but the sharp blare of the building alarm cuts me off.
Bright pulses of light illuminate the hallway from the emergency flashers at the top of the hallway.
“This is not a drill. Everyone shelter in place.” A voice blares over the speaker.
“This is not a drill. Shelter in place.”
His grip loosens, and panic flickers across his face. “No, no, no. He said he would handle the cops. He promised!”
I don’t know who the hell he is, but I’m not about to waste my opportunity. I wrench free and hurl my briefcase at his head with everything I’ve got. I spin and run.
Only my goddamn heels betray me. My ankle rolls. Pain shoots up my leg as I stumble. Something hard slams into my temple. My vision blacks out around the edges, and I can’t hear anything anymore other than the blaring of the alarm, which sounds much further away than it did.