Reunited With The P.i.. Anna J. Stewart

call me that.” She might approach every case with her eye aimed on justice, but that didn’t mean she had anything resembling an angel’s wings. Far from it. She did whatever she could to balance the scale for victims. She wasn’t vengeful. Just...determined.

      “Hey, it’s not my fault it’s caught on.” But didn’t he look proud of himself. “And you’re wrong. Our readers are more than interested in what someone who’s thinking about running for district attorney has to say.”

      Had Simone not spent most of her life keeping a mask of impassiveness in place, she might have tripped over her stiletto heels. How had The Troll found out when she hadn’t even made up her mind?

      “No comment.” She pushed through the gate, unable to avoid the tear-filled accusatory glare Marilyn Denton aimed at her as she headed from the courtroom. She couldn’t matter, Simone told herself. Denton was a criminal. His so-called businesses had helped other, more dangerous criminals. She was certain of it. He belonged behind bars. End of story.

      Russell’s scurrying footsteps behind her called to mind a rat targeting a particularly nice pile of garbage. Before she reached the stairs, she spun around and held up her hand. Russell skidded to a stop and nearly plowed into her.

      “Did I stutter? No comment, Russell.” She needed to remind her assistant Kyla to be extra vigilant in manning her phone. She wouldn’t put it past the reporter to get someone else to do his dirty work by trying to scam a statement.

      “So this delay isn’t the DA’s means of stalling for a deal with Paul Denton?” Russell demanded.

      Anger washed over her as the last trace of humor faded from her face. What was it with everyone thinking there was a deal to be made? First the DA, then his political advisor, now Russell? “There will be no deal.” Shoot. She’d just given a statement. She glanced around the slick, tiled hallway, through the crowd of overworked public defenders and disgruntled potential jurors. May as well make her morning a complete loss. She motioned to Russell’s phone and waited for him to click the recorder back on. “It is my intention to see Mr. Denton pay for his crimes by serving a significant prison sentence. The maximum sentence. If he chooses to try to mitigate that time by offering evidence against those he’s worked for and with, we will be more than happy to take that into consideration after his trial. But again, there will be no deal.”

      “And if I called DA Lawson and asked him to comment?” Russell was practically salivating at the idea.

      “He’ll tell you the same thing.” The chances of Benedict Russell making it past Ward Lawson’s gargoyle of a receptionist were slim to none. “If you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment.” Beginning with finding out how the hell her witness had managed to disappear despite two experienced deputies sitting outside her apartment.

      She was downstairs and outside in record time, listening to a stream of messages through her earpiece. Days like this, when the DA himself left a terse “we need to talk” message on her voice mail, Simone would give anything for her office not to be less than a few feet away from the courthouse. They’d already discussed deal options for Denton, none of which sat well with Simone. While the DA hadn’t pushed—exactly—she knew Lawson would be happy to make this case go away as quickly as possible. She’d offered to step down, publicly of course. But the obvious discord in the DA’s office signified it was something the beleaguered Lawson couldn’t afford, with his stagnant approval ratings. The Denton case remained hers.

      For now.

      Despite Poltanic’s accusation making perfect sense, Simone wasn’t interested in stalling.

      Unless of course said stalling included stopping for a triple-shot latte from her favorite coffee cart on the corner.

      Simone might, as Dr. Allie Hollister—one of her best friends—often accused, live life as part rabbit with her penchant for salads, nuts and an inordinate amount of blended juices, but that didn’t mean she didn’t have a weakness. Especially on a day like today.

      Simone looked forlornly at the chocolate croissant peeking out at her from the pastry case. Okay, two weaknesses.

      Coffee in one hand and warm, gooey croissant in the other, she slowed her pace and crossed the street, detouring to the underground parking lot for one of those quick, private pull-it-together sessions she’d started holding in her car during law school. Between the adrenaline rush of getting her delay and the dawning realization that Mara Orlov had turned her case upside down, she needed a few minutes to decompress before tackling whatever her boss—and fellow prosecutors in the office—were going to lay on her.

      She couldn’t shake the feeling her time as the office’s rising star was about to come to a screeching halt.

      She dumped her briefcase in the passenger seat, stashed her cup in the holder and leaned her head back. One, two, three deep breaths later, she finally felt the calm descend...

      Ah. There. Now she could savor the combination of chocolate and caffeine.

      She sipped. And nibbled. And just about swooned.

      Her phone rang. Simone groaned. Leave it to the DA’s office to make sure reception was crystal-clear in their parking lot.

      Seeing Allie’s grinning face pop up in caller ID had Simone smiling in spite of herself. She tapped her ear. “What’s up, Al? I’ve got about five minutes before I have to face a firing squad.”

      “I tried to catch you at the courthouse, but you didn’t hear me.”

      “Sorry.” Simone sank her teeth into the pastry and moaned. Wow, this was better than sex. “Bad morning in court. My brain’s a mess.”

      “Must have been. Eden’s never going to believe you gave Benedict Russell five seconds let alone two and a half minutes.”

      Simone could envision Allie’s trademark pixie smile shining from under her cap of dark hair. “Eden’s not up to believing anything until she gets back from her honeymoon.”

      Allie laughed. “It’s just like Eden St. Claire to celebrate catching a pair of serial killers by getting married.”

      The residual tension in Simone’s spine eased. “Our friend has always prided herself on being unpredictable. Why else would she leave journalism and have accepted that new job as a police consultant in their cold case division?” Eden and Allie. Simone smiled. Sometimes she swore her life began that first day in kindergarten when they’d found each other on the playground. Sisters from the start. Simone, Eden, Allie and...

      Simone squeezed her eyes shut against the unwanted image of a freckle-faced, redheaded little girl with mismatched sneakers. Chloe. Simone brushed her finger against the heart pendant at her throat.

      “You have a court case today?”

      Allie sighed that exhausted sigh that normally took her weeks to build up to. “I’ve been consulting on a custody battle that’s getting nasty. This poor kid. Hearing her parents fight over her and their failures as human beings is taking its toll. She’s a sad little thing. Hard to believe her name is Hope.”

      “How old is she?” Simone sipped her coffee and settled into BFF mode. Whatever was lurking upstairs could wait a few more minutes.

      “Nine,” Allie said after a slight hesitation. “The age when everything changes.” Simone dug her manicured fingernails into the hem of her skirt. How well they knew. After twenty years of trying to put the murder of her childhood friend Chloe Evans behind her, behind them, Chloe’s killer had resurfaced and begun bestowing special “gifts” on her, Allie and Eden. The gifts she could handle, for the most part. It was the psychopath’s attention to their professional—and personal—lives that got to her. He’d wedged himself into Eden’s case, nearly costing an FBI agent his life. It was all Simone could do not to think about what Chloe’s killer might be planning next. As much as Simone agreed Chloe Evans’s case should be readdressed, the wounds that came with it weren’t ones Simone was in any hurry to revisit.

      The