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“So it’s safe to assume that Mrs. Johanson knew this man…well, correct?”

“Objection.” I hear a sigh behind me. “Speculation.”

“Rephrase,” I say tightly, still refusing to look at him. It’s clear he’s only objecting to trip me up at this point, since the basis is ridiculous. “Did you ever see Mrs. Johanson and the man interacting when he would visit, Mr. Crane?”

Mr. Crane shakes his head. “No, ma’am. He always went straight inside the house.”

“But it was always the same man?”

“Yes, ma’am. As far as I could tell.”

I know any other attempts to steer this conversation to theobvioustruth of Mrs. Johanson’s infidelity will only result in more bullshit objections from my opposing counsel.

“Thank you, Mr. Crane.” I give my attention to Judge Hoffstein. “No further questions, Your Honor.”

I try not to look at him when I return to my table, I really do—but that pull is there, the one I so desperately wish didn’t plague me anytime we’re in the same room together. I can feel his eyes linger on me when I’m finally able to avert my gaze, feel them like the weight of his fingers along my skin as I retake my seat.

He stands slowly, one hand reaching to fasten the button of his suit—a deft, practiced motion that makes the tendons in his too-large hands flex—and I can’t help the way my eyes are drawn there, remembering the warmth of them on my body hardly evena week ago. I catch a hint of a smirk when I turn my face to meet his eyes, feeling warmth creep up my neck as I clench my teeth.

Fucking Ezra Hart.

I train my eyes forward, keeping them on the nervous older man on the stand, in quiet support.

“Mr. Crane,” Ezra starts. “Did you know Mrs. Johanson’s visitor?”

“No, sir,” Mr. Crane answers. “I was told that—”

“That’s hearsay,” Ezra cuts him off. “What youheardis irrelevant.” He shoves his hands in his pockets, strolling casually to the side and flicking his gaze to mine for the briefest of moments. “I’m asking if you ever actuallymetMrs. Johanson’s visitor.”

Mr. Crane’s eyes dart to mine, looking unsure. “Well, no, I didn’t.”

“So there’s no possible way for you to know the purpose of that man’s visits. Correct?”

Mr. Crane is quiet for a moment, and my heart thuds in my ribs. There’s no way that Ezra can possibly suggest—

“No, sir,” Mr. Crane answers. “I could not.”

“I see.” Ezra’s mouth turns up in the ghost of a smile. “Just as you couldn’t know of Mrs. Johanson’s recent interests in spiritual direction?”

“I…” Mr. Crane blinks with confusion, and I can feel the same emotion playing on Mr. Johanson’s and my faces. “No? I didn’t know that.”

“Of course you didn’t,” Ezra practically coos. “It’s not something she advertised. The only people who knew this were her close friends. Well, and her husband, of course.” Ezra looks back at our table. “Although I very much doubt Mr. Johanson would recall this, given that he rarely took note of Mrs. Johanson’s interests.”

“Objection,” I call. “Speculation.”

“Withdrawn,” Ezra says with a grin. “Mr. Crane, did you know that the man you saw coming in and out of Mrs. Johanson’s house was her spiritual advisor?”

Oh, what a load of horseshit.

“Objection, Your Honor.” I almost laugh. “This is irrelevant.”

Ezra directs his attention to the judge. “This is completely relevant, Your Honor, I assure you.”

Judge Hoffstein nods minutely. “Overruled.”

“Thank you.” Ezra inclines his head. “You see, Mrs. Johanson’s visitor, a Mr. Jacobs, had been contacted several weeks prior by Mrs. Johanson to oversee her spiritual direction. There was nothing nefarious about their encounters. If you’ll be so kind as to take a look at Exhibit 13, which was already admitted into evidence—you’ll note the credentials I’ve provided to prove Mr. Jacobs’s involvement with the local church.”

Son of a bitch. How did we miss that?