Page 45 of Hush

Tom frowned at him. His expression said he was confused, but his gaze was guarded.

“I… think you may have seen a message on my phone. From this… stupid app. I don’t even know why I was on that app on Saturday. It’s terrible, and I deleted it. I’ve deleted it a bunch of times, actually.” He sighed, and jogged ahead, holding open the door for Tom. He was getting nowhere fast, and Tom was still frowning.

“You don’t have to justify anything to me. Your life is your own. I don’t judge—”

“I know,” he said quickly. “I’m not— I mean—” He bit his lip, forcing himself to stop.

Tom turned to face him in the bright, open entryway of the courthouse. People passed them right and left, attorneys racing to and from meetings with judges and law clerks and clerks of the court, families and friends arriving to watch their loved ones at their arraignments, hearings, and open trials. Defense attorneys barked into their cell phones, and harried AUSAs juggled bulging briefcases, manila folders, their phones, and paper cups of coffee. But Tom stared right at him, soft frown on his angular face. His eyes were guarded, emotions locked up tight.

“I was having a great time,” Mike said carefully. “And I am sorry the night ended like that. I would have liked to have spent more time talking with you.” He snapped his jaw shut.

Tom’s smile was a breaking dawn, and his stomach flip-flopped like he was in an elevator that had dropped out from beneath him. “I had a great time, too, all day, in fact.” Tom shrugged. “We’ll just have to try again.”

Relief was a physical thing, a weight lifted from his shoulders. “I’dreallylike that, Judge B.”

Did Tom have any idea that he sounded like he was asking Mike out on a date?

“Hey. I want Judge Brewer’s felony murder case.”

Deputy Marshal Rob Villegas gave Mike the hairy eyeball, glaring at him over his computer monitor in his tiny second-floor office. “Good morning to you too. And why the fuck do you want that?”

Villegas always got his hackles up. He seemed like he was one of the cowboys, a marshal who just wanted to go out and hunt down fugitives. Being a U.S. marshal was the only legal way to hunt a human being, one of his old coworkers on the task force had told him. Villegas would have loved it out there, would have loved the thrill of hunting a man.

But, Villegas was stuck at the DC federal court, and was a miserable cuss who hated every minute of it. He took it out on everybody—the defendants, the attorneys, and, especially, on Mike.

“I don’t want to trade anything, and I don’t want to fucking fight, Villegas. I just want to take Judge Brewer’s upcoming trial off your hands.”

Villegas’s eyes narrowed to slits. His lips flattened. “Yeah, right. You want to get something in your back pocket and then make me take some kind of shit later on.”

“No!” Mike forced his hands to unclench. “Look, I know Judge Brewer’s style. He’s on my floor. I should have this case.”

“But Winters gave it tome.”

“Why are you fighting me on this? I want to take the case.”

“’Cause I don’t trust you, Lucciano.”

He blew out a breath, cursing hard. “Give me the damn case, Villegas. I’m not trading anything, and I’m not giving you any shit later for it. I just want it.”

“Well, when you ask so nicely.” Villegas smirked. “Sure, you can have my work. I’ve been meaning to get down to the range and put in some time.”

Mike grabbed the file folder labeledBreweroff Villegas’s desk. “Go have a real great time, asshole.”

“You wanted this.”

“I’ll be so Goddamn happy when you’re gone, Villegas. So Goddamn happy.”

“You and me both.”

He knocked on Tom’s doorframe a couple hours later, poking his head in the open door. “Hey, Your Honor. Got a minute?”

Tom looked up from his computer. His reading glasses were pushed down on his nose, he had three law books spread across his desk and two yellow legal pads filled with scribbles. But he left it all and stood, smiling. “Come on in.” He gestured to the small conference table by the door. “Have a seat.”

“I took your felony murder case off Villegas’s hands. He had some things to take care of this week.”

“Oh.” Tom smiled politely and folded his hands in his lap as he sat. “Jury selection begins this afternoon. Danny is managing it with the attorneys. Do you need to be involved?”

“I’ll need the juror information after they’re all seated, but I don’t need to be in the courtroom unless the defendant is there or the proceedings are open to the public. And when you’re in there. I reviewed Villegas’s plans and they’re all right. I made a few changes. I’ll be escorting you to and from the courtroom, as per our usual practice.”