Page 53 of Scream (Duchess & Devils #1)

Sabrina.

Whilst congratulating my client – who is as old as my mother and spent twenty-seven of her years with her ex-husband, including the years they were together as teens, who couldn't take any more of the cheating – not only for getting the maximum in child support for her youngest child but also well-deserved alimony cerulean eyes meet mine.

Where she should look happy, she looks... confused. Sheepishly, she asks, "Now what? I spent almost thirty years with him. He's all I know. I quit college to raise our children... I have to start all over again. Meanwhile, he already has some ditzy trophy lined up, the age of our eldest.”

I smile broadly, "Now, Ms. Witherby, you get to find yourself.

You're on a new adventure. If you’ll allow me to be forward, I've seen your paintings, and I think they're incredible.

I have a friend who's a gallerist in Brooklyn.

I took the liberty of snapping some pictures when you weren't looking and sent them to her.

She's very excited to hear from you. I'll forward you her information. "

She blushes with the compliment. "They're just macabre sketches and doodles. Nothing grand."

I shake my head, knowing it was her husband saying that to her over the years.

"You bring macabre things to life, Ms. Witherby.

You give them a second meaning - a different perspective.

I, for a fact, have a very rich friend who would take a look at your paintings and purchase the lot for a very good price," I reply, knowing how much Raven would love her art.

"You have the rest of your life to make it how you want it, Rhea.

For today, go to the spa, get a massage, sleep the entire day away, and when you wake up tomorrow, it's the first chapter of your new life. Make it a good one."

Fuck, I feel like a fraud.

Always easier to dish out advice instead of following your own, isn't it?

I catch Judge Mayhew gathering her items to leave and excuse myself from Ms. Witherby.

“Anna!” I call out, following her into the back hallway of the courtroom, where more private mitigations are proceeding in conference rooms.Lots of sad people in this building.

“Oh, Sabrina. How are you? You did well out there,” she praises me, and it feels good to hear that from another woman in our field.

Anna Mayhew is a tall, slender thing. Her robes swallow her, making her look smaller than she is.

Brown waves frame her square face, hazel eyes - she’s gorgeous, even with the wrinkles showcasing how much time she’s dedicated to law over the years.

I grin, while reminding myself to make that Botox appointment.

“Thank you, Judge Mayhew. You're not so bad yourself.” It helps to kiss a tiny bit of rump around here.

We round the corner and step into a different hallway.

“Listen, I know you're in a rush to get home to your husband, so I won’t waste your time, but I need to ask a favor.

There's a girl missing from my husband's club, and he thinks an officer may be involved. Is there a way for you to get into records?”

“Juvenile records are closed, Mrs. Winters. You know this.”

“Yes, ma'am, but this girl – she just turned eighteen a few months ago. She was a runaway, and the officer we think may be involved knew her from before – when she was a minor .”

This causes the waif of a woman to stop in her tracks. Thank God, because she moves quickly, but my Armani’s do not. “Where did she go missing, and for how long?”

“About three days or so, and we're not too sure yet. Anywhere from…” I hold back from saying Eden. “The meat packing district to Queens. I know it's a large area, and we've looked everywhere. Nobody seems to know her, or no one is speaking to us about it.”

“She a dancer?”

I nod.

She sighs and gives a soft shake of her head. “She just turned eighteen?”

I nod again. “Maybe three months ago.”

“And this cop, I know him?”

I shake my head and lift my shoulder in a shrug.

“It's a large precinct, but he mostly did traffic violations – which is why he should have no reason to either be harassing this girl or even knowing her.

She's a true New Yorker. Trains and feet. You may have even worked on her family case. She was in foster care until she ran away at sixteen. ”

Her brows shoot up. “Her name?”

“Emilia Fontaine.”

She shrugs, her eyes squinting behind her frames as if trying to recall the name.

“The name sounds familiar, but two years is a long time in this field.” She looks over my shoulder, most likely at Parker, whose presence I can always feel and miss when I don't. This time when she speaks, she lowers her voice. “I have to say, Sabrina, I do respect what your husband does. There are too many women out there that have to turn tricks just to get by in this economy, and your husband has provided such a safe space for them. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t heard from a few of them myself.

So yes, I’ll look. If I find anything, I’ll let you know. Do you have the name of the cop?”

While she looks like an honest person, Maksim’s warning is in the back of my head to not give away too much information. I shake my head. “No, only Miss Fontaine's,” I reply. “But I do thank you, Anna,” I take a step back. “Please email me with any information you find. Have a good night.”

She nods curtly with a half-smile and turns away from me.

I look up at Parker, and he smiles down at me, canting his wrist up to look down at the tactical watch I gave him for his birthday on the first of the year. Mix-matched eyes - one peridot, one forest - crinkle at the sides, and he almost takes my breath away, except he makes me feel so steady.

I would love this man into the afterlife.

He cocks his head to the side. “Ready, Mrs. Winters?”

His southern drawl feels like silk skating over my skin, reverberating in my mind. The shivers that want to scatter have nothing to do with fear, and everything to do with him. “Hmm,” I smile back, “I do believe we’ve put in enough human hours today.”

“That we have,” he agrees, turning to follow me through the corridors of the courthouse. He ignoring the sobs that come from certain rooms, opens the door for me, and follows me out.

An hour later, I’m in Maksim’s study- slash- library, nestled in a mushroom chair he got for me, reading the next Verity Huntington book. Raven’s first demo album, Late Nights, is playing low in the background.

I hear footsteps clomping up the stairs in quick succession, and Parker enters. Like me, he’s out of his suit and tie and in leisure wear. My mouth waters at the sight of him – tall, brawny, and broody. He could wear a potato sack and still look delicious. It’s so unfair. “What’s wrong?”

“I found treasure,” he beams, and I love how much he’s been smiling at me lately. He has such a boyish charm it’s so easy to forget that he’s lethal beneath all the tatted muscles, scars, and burn marks that decorate his tan skin.

When does he have time to tan?

“Is that right?” I query, unable to help but grin back.

He jerks his head back, a motion for me to follow him. “C’mon, baby.”

I slip my bookmark between the pages and put it on the end table, trailing behind him as we head down the flight of stairs.

We greet the chef, Lydia, who’s now leaving, and press on.

He grabs my hand. Not recoiling from his touch, I let myself feel the calluses at the base of his fingers.

We go past the first and second guest rooms and to… . A wall.

I arch a brow at him, staring blankly and he laughs. “Have you never questioned why the guest bathroom size didn’t match with the wall size?”

“Seeing as I’ve never been very good at geometry, no, Savage. My degree is in law . Not architecture,” I answer.

He rolls his eyes at me and presses a hidden button next to the wall. It opens up, then looks at me. “See?”

“Impressive. You found a hidden supply closet.”

He barks out a laugh and steps into the darkness. “It’s so much more than that, Bri. Come here, baby, look.”

He’s so excited I can’t help but do as he says.

Parker takes a step back, letting the darkness behind him swallow him whole.

He flicks on a light, and I step inside the tiny room with him.

I try my best to ignore the heat that comes off him, the intoxicating scent of fresh lemongrass that rolls off him.

To our left is another set of double doors. Beside said doors is a code entry lock.

“Huh.”

“Told you.” he punches in a few numbers, and they swing open.

“How did you know the code?”

“Easy. It’s your birthday.”

For some reason, the thought that Maksim made his Top Secret Very Important Code my birthday lights me up inside.

We step into the vast room and find… a gym.

Over the hardwood flooring, to our left are machines for each muscle group, including a few cardio machines.

Behind those are different jump ropes and bands for stretching, and in the far right corner are punching bags.

Before that is an entire mirrored wall with dumbbells, kettlebells, a squat rack, and benches over rubber mats.

I feel my brows rise. If Maksim has this here, why does he still go out to the gym?

Is that a lie? Is he meeting someone else?

Jealousy flares through me at the thought of him lying to be able to meet some bitch.

I shake the thought out of my head. No, he comes home smelling like sweat and sometimes with bruises.

The rational part of me wants to accept that.

The irrational part of me wants to kill anyone that touches my husband.

How the turns have tabled.

“Well, c’mon!” Parker rings. “I’ve been having to rely on calisthenics to keep my physique.”

I look down at my oversized shirt and biker shorts. Good a time as any, I suppose. “I don’t have my trainers on.”