Once Kissed: An O'Brien Family Novel (The O'Brien Family) (12 page)

“No. But I won’t welcome you back in my bed, either. There are a lot of things wrong in my life, Curran. I don’t want you to be one of them.”

“What about the paperwork to the judge?” Declan asks as he continues to sort through his notes.

I scroll through my iPad. “All sent, all received.” I finish reading through Simon’s email. “His law clerk is reviewing everything now. He assures me that he’ll have a trial date for you this afternoon once the judge wraps up his sentencing.”

Declan’s stance relaxes, but only slightly. The Montenegro case is proceeding full speed ahead. We’re holding his second, and one of his hit men, on charges varying from narcotics distribution to murder. Their hearings will have to wait. But Montenegro’s can’t.

If Montenegro’s men don’t help put him away, Declan is determined to make them pay. Yet even with their help, this case won’t be easy. Montenegro is cunning and has covered his tracks well. But that doesn’t mean he’s safe against Declan.

Declan is known as “the lion” among the other DAs, and by the looks of it, that lion is readying to go after his prey. I put my iPad away and sort through the files he needs to review. Our current issue is that we still have nothing on the third in command.

Declan leans back in his chair, appearing lost in his thoughts, but then his expression changes and he smiles. “I almost forgot.” He reaches into his drawer and pulls out a flip phone, then slides it across the desk to where I’m sitting.

“What’s this?”

“Curran said you didn’t have a cellphone.”

I try to brush off the remark. “Oh, I can’t afford it. Tuition, rent—everything seems out of control.”

Declan scoffs. “Tell me about it. Even with all the aid I received, I’m still paying my law school tab.” He motions to the iPad. “Do you at least get text access on that thing?”

“No, and I don’t have money to go wireless. My apartment offers free Internet. I tap into the Wi-Fi there, here, and at school when I need it.”

Like Curran, Declan seems to realize I’m holding something back. I’m thankful he doesn’t press. “Well, then Curran’s right. Looks like you need one. It’s from the Victim Services Unit.”

I glance up. “Won’t the team there miss it?”

“Not at this time. There’s a tremendous turnaround in that department—a new director’s taking over. She’s been saddled with supervising all the units in the county and is restructuring them accordingly. She’s visiting each one now to get things started, but her home base will eventually be here.”

“Wow. That seems like a lot of work.”

He laughs. “Tell me about it. It’s Miles Fenske’s daughter, though—I think her name’s Melissa—and if she’s a workhorse like her old man, I’m sure she can handle it.”

I tilt my head. “Isn’t there a conflict of interest, seeing how he’s the acting DA here?”

Declan unbuttons the cuffs of his sleeves and rolls the first one up. “I think that’s what most are going to assume. Hell, I did. But she started out in Harrisburg at the state level and really kicked ass—cut a lot of baggage loose, and hired people who were committed and had the education to help victims of violent crimes.”

I play with the phone in my hand as I consider his words. “How was she able to do that? With so many budget cuts, it seems impossible to hire the right people with the right education.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” he says, adjusting his other sleeve. “From what I hear, her dedication caught the governor’s attention. The governor credits Melissa with her reelection based on her accomplishments and changes to the victim assistance program.” He quirks a brow. “The governor apparently gave her all the money she needs for the restructure, the hires, and pretty much anything Melissa wants—including smart phones for her staff. You’ll get one when they come in, in a couple of weeks.”

“How? I’m not working with Victim Services in any capacity.”

“Contessa, Miles told me he’d get me anything I need. You’re my legal intern, and you need a phone. So he secured one through his daughter.”

“Well, thank you. I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome. Keep in mind that what you know will only get you so far. It’s
who
you know that will ultimately decide where you end up,” he adds with a wink.

A couple of weeks ago, his wink would have stopped my heart, and likely sparked a blush. Now, it only reminds me of Curran’s playful wink, and how much I’ve missed him all week.

“I suppose you’re right,” I say, quietly.

I lift the phone to find the number stickered on the back, and while I’m thankful to have the cell, my thoughts leave it, the office, my course load, and everything behind to return to Curran.

It’s been less than a month since he stumbled back into my life, and I can’t deny how hard I’m falling for him. His humor and some of his comments absolutely floor me; so does his
über
-macho attitude. But then he does something like arrange for me to have a phone, among other things….

He left my apartment Sunday afternoon after making a few private calls and taking me to brunch. He didn’t say much about us, but he kissed me goodbye and promised to call. After I walked him to the door, it took me a moment to realize my apartment was warm. I thought my father had taken pity on me until the building supervisor phoned me shortly after Curran went home.

“Is the heat working okay?” he asked.

“Ah, yes. Thank you,” I said, clearly confused.

“Good. That police officer wanted me to make sure it stayed that way.” He took a nervous breath. “Sorry I turned it off. I have to follow the owner’s request.”

My fingers dug into the receiver. “Does the police officer know it was my father who told you to disconnect it?”

“No, ma’am. I don’t want any trouble. Made him think it was just a mistake.”

I used to like the building supervisor. I didn’t then. But Curran? Him I liked very much. What I didn’t like was what he had to say when he called me that night. “Another group of badges will be watching you this week, Tess.”

“Are you going back on patrol?”

I thought it was an innocent question, but I sensed that terrible awkwardness, even though I couldn’t see him. “No. I just have shit to do that needs to get done.”

“Will I see you at all?” I hope I didn’t sound as desperate as I thought.

“Probably not. Like I said, I have a lot that needs doin’.”

“All right. Be safe….”

“Are you all right, Contessa?” Declan asks, bringing me back to the moment.

I place the phone in my purse. “Yes. I’m fine. Do you need me to work on anything for you?”

“Nothing right now. Why don’t you take a break? Come back in twenty.”

“All right.” I stand, slowly, wishing I’d brought my case studies to review. God, I’m so behind on my schoolwork. “Please call me if you need anything sooner. You have the number, correct?”

Declan smiles, lifting the file closest to him. “Yes. I’ll see you in a few.”

I leave Declan’s office, taking my time since I don’t really have anyplace to go. My first instinct is to return to the law library, but unless I’m in need of a legal journal, I avoid the library at all costs. Attorneys are competitive by nature, but since my being appointed to the Montenegro case, the other law clerks have flat out shunned me. I suppose it’s better to be ignored than to be insulted, but I can’t say their behavior doesn’t upset me.

Declan told me that three more assistant DA positions will be available this fall. Two are a result of retirement, and one is due to an attorney who wants to stay at home with her children. If the other clerks are aware of the opening, it could explain why they’re behaving like cutthroats.

Or asshats, as Curran would say.

I’ll be honest. I want one of those spots and hope to apply for it when I graduate in May. The one in the Trial Unit could give me the litigation experience I need. Although I’ve won several mock trials throughout law school, it doesn’t compare to trying a real criminal case.

Hmm. While the starting salary is minimal compared to one at a large firm, I enjoy working here. The detectives, DAs, and staff are extremely dedicated to the public sector. Not to mention that since I escaped the confines of the law library, they’ve been very nice to me, and treat me like I belong.

I think about what it would be like to work here as I drift down the back stairwell and head courtside. And the more I consider it, the more I hope it will somehow happen.

The sheriff’s officers at the security point wave me through. I smile and thank them, but they don’t smile back. Instead, they exchange glances as if they’re expecting something I’m not aware of.

Since I can’t interrupt them to ask, I keep going, although a sense of unease fills me. I try to shake it off and head toward Judge Bronson’s chambers, hoping Simon has some news regarding the Montenegro hearing.

Once more, screaming emanates from courtroom thirteen. I hurry out of the way as the sheriff on guard barks into his radio and an army of deputies swarm the courtroom door. He motions me to the hall that leads to chambers. “Stay here, Connie,” he says. “Too much shit going down.”

There is, so obviously now isn’t the time to tell him my name isn’t Connie.

My mouth falls open as one by one, a cluster of civilians are hauled out of the courtroom in cuffs, most of them struggling, all of them screaming. A large man is dragged out next, blood pouring from his mouth. What appears to be his entire family is gathering around him, ignoring the orders to step back. A hysterical woman is pleading with everyone to stop, to calm down. The bleeding man is so incensed, he’s fighting with everything he has, breaking free of the deputy restraining him and pointing, at
Curran.

“You fucking pig!” he yells to Curran. “You ruined my boy’s life. You dirty cop. You fucking dirty cop.”

Curran is being shoved away. I recognize one of the DAs among the many men in uniform attempting to separate him from the crowd. “Fuck you,” Curran fires back. “Your kid messed up one of our own for life!”

Declan comes out of nowhere, shoving his way through the escalating mob to Curran’s side. He slinks his way to him, those who recognize him giving him space to allow him through. He whispers tightly in Curran’s ear. I can’t hear what he’s saying through the growing clamor and the morbid cries, but Curran somehow does. He stops fighting, but his face is so filled with rage, I can barely stomach it.

“Contessa, where’re you going?” A hand grips my arm forcibly and yanks me back. “Contessa, what the heck are you doing?”

Simon has me and is yanking me back toward chambers. I don’t realize I lunged forward until I notice where I’m standing and how far Simon has to pull me back. I struggle against him, desperate to get to Curran, worried he’s hurt.

“What happened, Simon?” I ask, my voice shaking as I take in the blood splattered along Curran’s torn suit.

Simon loosens his hold when I stop struggling. “The judge just sentenced a first-time offender to twenty. His family felt the punishment was harsh and attacked the lead witness.”

The color drains from my face as I realize who the lead witness is.

“Harsh sentence, my ass,” the sheriff’s officer guarding the chambers growls. “The rookie’s paralyzed. He’ll never walk again. Prick should’ve gotten the chair.”

Simon apparently thinks this is a good time to argue. “The chair wouldn’t be used in any state for the charge of—”

“I know that, you little shit!” the officer yells back, making it clear Simon needs to shut up.

Simon doesn’t, and they begin to bicker. I ignore them, my full attention on Curran. I start to move forward, panicked something will happen to him, until his hard stare shoots my way and freezes me in place.

Declan continues to whisper in low tones. But I stop listening when my eyes lock on Tess. Shit. What the hell is she doing here? Declan was supposed to keep her at the office!

Like I goddamn need this. I don’t want her to see me lose my shit. And after a week of getting grilled, a week of seeing Joey sitting in his wheelchair—listening to every word coming out of my mouth, reliving every millisecond of that night—I’m seriously ready to tear someone in half.

Tess tries to snake her way forward, only for Simon to snag her by the wrist and tug her back. He’s saying something to her. Like me, she’s not listening, her widening eyes searching my face as the chaos explodes around us.

“Goddamn pig!” someone yells, this time a woman.

“Who you calling a pig, you worthless piece of shit.” A rookie sheriff’s deputy has had more than he can take, but the growing mutters of the surrounding deputies tell me he doesn’t stand alone. Maybe that’s what I need: a long, hard look at how I’m riling everyone up.

I take a deep breath, and another, trying to get it together. But remnants of how bad the defense counsel ripped into me flood my mind. Every detail of how I screwed up was thrown in my face—every detail—all with Joey front and center. The anger and resentment shadowing his face during the trial was all directed at me. Not once did he look at the defendant.

It doesn’t take a genius to know he blames me for putting him in that chair.

And he’s right.

Someone cuts his eyes my way—I recognize him as the brother of the defendant. He blinks once and lunges at the deputy, stirring the two family members on either side of him to attack.

Something silver flashes to my left. It’s then all hell breaks loose.

I should have barreled toward the perp; instead I freeze, trying to force the word out.

Knife.

It lodges in my throat.

Knife.

I break out in a sweat.

Goddamnit,
knife
. Just say it!

Two deputies respond, slamming the perp to the floor and inciting an all-out brawl. Tess screams. My head whips in her direction, her terror forcing me to act.

She and Simon huddle in the corner, away from where the judge’s deputy is lying on his side, curling inward to protect his weapon against the two men kicking him in the stomach.

I charge toward them. Bone crunches beneath my swinging fist when another perp tries to intercept me. He crashes to the floor, giving a smaller deputy the chance to cuff him. She has him, but the other two perps still have the judge’s guard.

In the tough Philly streets where I was raised, you learn to fight or you learn to get your ass kicked. The O’Briens are fighters, and as one of them, I’ve learned to inflict some serious damage.

My uppercut sends the bigger of the two assailants flying. Big man, glass jaw. The leaner one hurls himself at me. Tess screams again when I knock him out. One punch. That’s all it takes.

I dodge a fourth offender and wrench his arm back, kicking his feet out from under him.

Him I cuff, then I lug him to his feet and spout his Miranda. My eyes sweep my surroundings as adrenaline pumps through my veins, readying me for another attack. It doesn’t come. Thank Christ, more deputies have arrived and are quickly regaining order.

As I take in the blood and the swelling faces, it’s clear that the effort to secure the courthouse didn’t come easy. Shit. How did a knife get past security? The press is going to be all over this mess.

Simon stumbles forward when the perp I’m restraining is hauled away. “That was amazing,” he says. “Holy shit, dude, you’re one badass cop.”

“Oh, my God. Oh, my God.” Tess’s shrill voice cuts through the sounds of the angry crowd and furious barks from the deputies herding them out. “Are you all right?”

Despite everything, I feel myself begin to smile. “Yeah, I’m—”

My voice cuts off when I realize she’s not talking to me.

Her hands clutch Declan’s arm like she’s afraid he’s going to die. Seeing how he’s standing there grinning, I’m pretty sure he’s going to make it.

A couple of drops of blood trickle down his nose and onto his crisp white shirt. He chuckles. “I’m fine, Contessa, really. Just caught an elbow to the face. It happens when you’re forced to throw down.”

“You were so brave,” she says, her doe eyes blinking up, at
him.
She removes the paisley scarf from around her neck and dabs his nose, even though it’s already stopped bleeding. “Thank you for coming to my rescue.”

What. Da. Fuck?

He lifts the scarf from her grasp, smiling down at her and patting her arm. Jesus, help me. It’s all I can do not to finish breaking his nose.

“I’ve seriously never seen anything like that, dude,” Simon continues, his breath fast and his voice filled with excitement. “I mean you were like a
machine.
I thought that Jackie Chan stuff only happened in movies!”

Declan has Tess. I have Simon. Somehow, this shit doesn’t seem fair.

Tess’s eyes whip open when she finally notices me. She races over, pulling at my torn shirt. “Your brother hurled a man against the wall who charged me, but he’s hurt and needs immediate medical attention.”

Tell it to my bleeding knuckles.
I turn to Declan. “Wow. You threw
one
guy
against the wall?” I motion to the scrawny teen being led away. “That one right there? You’re a goddamn warrior, Deck.”

He nods like he believes me. “I know.”

The guard assigned to the judge’s chambers is being cared for by two EMTs, even though he’s pissed as all hell over it. Good thing he held tight to his gun, or else…

I shake the thought away. For the most part, things are slowing down. That doesn’t mean we’re safe. I clasp Tess’s elbow. “Come on. I need to get you and Declan back to the office.”

I move them out and away, holding tight to Tess while keeping tabs on Declan. It’s not until we reach the DA’s office that she notices my shredded hands.

She screams, pointing at them. “Oh,
God.
You’re bleeding too!”

Before I can tell her I’m fine, she runs out like the building’s on fire. “I don’t think she’s good with blood,” I say to Declan.

“Not even a little bit.” He gives me a long, hard look. “How’d it go?” he asks.

I shrug. “Shitty. But trial’s over. Jury came back quick due to the preponderance of evidence. Sentencing was today, which is why everyone lost it. Judge Bronson’s all freed up to hear the Montenegro case. You should get your trial date soon.”

He ignores my last comment. “Was Joey there?”

Although I keep my face neutral, the muscles of my neck tighten like a noose. “Yup. All week. He was led out by his family when things got heated following the sentencing.”

“Did you talk to him?”

“No. Twice I tried to approach him. Both times he rolled away from me in his wheelchair.”

“He needs time, Curran.”

“Time won’t give him back the use of his legs.”

The door crashes open, and Tess stumbles into the room with a first aid kit clutched in her arms. “Declan, Detective Wendt needs to see you in the interrogation room. They arrested the
gumad
and are speaking to her now. They said they have enough for a search and seizure, but need to conference with you. I’ll get started on the paperwork as soon as I see to Officer O’Brien.”

For the first time since he started on this case, my brother hesitates. And it really pisses me off.
“Go,”
I snap. “This is the chance you’ve been waiting for.”

He snags his jacket and hurries out, but not before shooting me one last glance.

Tess cracks open the kit and immediately sprays my knuckles with white foam. It sizzles my raw flesh, burning its way down to the bone. I jump and shake out my hands. “What the hell is that?”

“Antiseptic.” She sprays me again, this time with more.

“Shit, are you sure?” My skin is on fire.

“Of course I’m sure,” she says. She glances at the bottle, her eyes widening. “Oh, no. No, no, no. Wash your hands—Jesus
Christ,
wash your hands now!”

“It’s not antiseptic?”

She falls all over herself, trying to lead me to the sink tucked in the corner of Declan’s office. The sink’s tiny; my scorching hands barely fit. In her haste, Tess blasts the water, soaking us both.

“Not hot—cold—
cold,
damnit!”

“I’m trying!” She fumbles with the faucets, completely flustered. “Is that better?” She reaches for the soap and lathers me up.

I yank my hands back. “It was until you added soap!”

She thrusts them back under the water. “Trust me, you need soap!” She reaches for more, her body trembling.

“What did you spray on my hands?” She doesn’t answer, continuing her task and averting her gaze. “Tess, what the
hell
did you spray me with?”

She drops her hands to her sides. “Something that shouldn’t have been in there. I borrowed the kit from one of the secretaries. Had I known she would fill it with random medication I never would have—”

“What did you spray me with?” I growl.

She sighs with defeat. “Wart remover.”

“Wart remover?”

She adjusts her spot-covered glasses. “Watch your tone, Officer.”

“Watch my
tone
? You sprayed me with wart remover!”

“I was trying to help—”

“I don’t have goddamn warts!”

She lifts her chin. “Well, I should hope not,” she says, her face heating.

Oh, I see
….

I turn off the water and reach for the paper towels. My skin continues to throb, but I don’t let it show, my attention now solely on her.

She points to the sink. “Y-you should keep rinsing them. I’m not certain what adverse effects the medication may have on your delicate skin—”

“I don’t have delicate skin. But you already know that.” I clasp her shoulders and pull her to me, kissing her softly, holding her gently, allowing her the opportunity to break away.

But she doesn’t.

Her hands travel across my forearms to carefully hold my wrists, surrendering to my tongue as it circles hers. It’s one of those kisses girls talk to death about: slow, delicate, unremitting, the kind of kiss that lasts all day and ends after hours in bed.

My lips linger over hers until I pull back and leave her mouth completely. “I’m sorry I didn’t call,” I whisper.

She lowers her chin when I release her. “You seemed occupied.”

“Yeah. I was.”

She looks at me then with enough sadness in her expression to tighten my gut. “I take it the testimony on behalf of your friend was this week?”

I almost don’t answer. But she saw me in court, so there’s no denying it now. “That’s right.”

“It must have been difficult,” she says, quietly.

I tighten my jaw and stay silent.

“And stressful, I’m sure,” she adds.

My mouth remains shut. I know she’s trying to get me to talk, but I can’t give her what she wants.

Still she waits, and for a long time doesn’t move. Finally, when she realizes I’m not going to open up, she says, “If I’d known, I would have been there.”

When I do nothing more than breathe, she inches away and returns to where the first aid kit is teetering on the edge of Declan’s desk.

“I didn’t want you there,” I admit. Her back stiffens. “I didn’t want anyone there.”

She shuts the lid to the kit. “I see.”

“No you don’t.”

I don’t miss the hurt in her voice, despite how quietly she speaks. “I would if you’d just let me.”

Maybe she’s right. But I don’t tell her that.

She lifts the box and heads for the door, reaching for the handle.

“I should’ve called,” I repeat. I’m trying to keep her here, but when her shattered expression meets mine, I know it’s too late.

She turns just enough to meet me square in the eye. “Don’t bother. I told you, I have enough wrong in my life.”