Page 72 of Free to Judge

I didn’t tell her this was the first time I’d ever made a meal with a woman. Not takeout. Not half a cup of coffee so it didn’t seem like I was escaping like a dire wolf. Just this. The simple enjoyment of banter and good food.

She twirls her wineglass, watching the deep red swirl. “I bet you were insufferable in Con Law.”

“I dominated Constitutional Law.” I can’t help but brag.

“Why does that not surprise me?”

I flick my hands down my arms. “Because I’m your specimen of perfection?”

She rolls her eyes. “Let me guess, you quote Justice Scalia at parties?”

“Only when severely provoked.”

She slides the pizza into the oven, wipes her hands, and leans next to me against the counter. She’s dressed casually in a ratty Brendan Blake T-shirt that has seen better days. It hangs off her delicate shoulders, making me too aware of her smooth, creamy skin and the casualness of us being together, alone without any pretense. I want to reach for her, but instead, I take a drink from my wineglass.

It’s getting harder and harder to resist her.

She looks up at me over the rim of her glass. “So…why Harvard Law?”

I tilt my head. “Is this your version of twenty questions?”

She shrugs, twirling the stemless glass in her hand. “I remember you at my graduation, but never really asked if you went there. I figure now’s as good a time as any.”

I could lie. Say what I always do: “Because it was the best,” but her eyes are too sharp, too knowing. She wouldn’t settle for less than the truth.

So, I give it to her. “Growing up was a challenge. My parents? Well, Dad was gone long before I was born and Ma? She was amazing until she got sick when I was in college. Couldn’t figure out how to work the system to get more assistance.” I look down into the ruby red liquid and take another drink before continuing. “Then she was gone, but she told me I could help more people than just her.”

“And then?”

“Then, I spoke with my next-door neighbor. He was a special agent with the FBI.” A pang hits my heart when I think aboutDirector Holder. Times like this, I want to reach out to him. “As my world was falling apart, he was there. He explained my options. Law felt like order. Like if I understood it well enough, maybe I could stop things from happening.”

“So, you got your law degree?”

I nod. “Took the bar as a backup. Then, trained physically and mentally before my time at Quantico.”

“Were you a good agent?”

“I was…until I wasn’t.” Tanya’s head arriving at the office slashes through my memory. I shudder in revulsion.

Kalie, for her part, doesn’t press. Instead, she squeezes my arm, leaving her hand there for a brief moment before she moves away and faces the oven where our pizzas are cooking away.

Then, she opens up and gives me a gift I wasn’t expecting. Her voice is softer than I’ve ever heard it. “I wanted to speak for people who were hurt. That’s what I went to school for—criminal justice and psychology.”

“What changed your path?”

“Living it. I did my internship at a battered women and children’s shelter. I wasn’t assigned to work with women who never had a shot. Women like my family. Who were dismissed before they even opened their mouths.” She takes a deep breath. “Instead, I was assigned—as an intern, mind you—to teach the batterer’s intervention program at the local jail.”

My whole body stills. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“No. They were underfunded, and there I was—smart, free labor.”

My spine tingles with awareness. “What happened?” Because I know something did.

She wraps her arms around her chest. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

Liar. I coax, “Let me be the judge of that.”

She bites her lip before admitting, “One night, I was teaching a class about anger management. Overall, my class was made up of guys who were in for bar fights, B&E, things like that. But there was one…”