Page 164 of Things We Left Behind

“Basically I’ll ask for a private, in-­chambers meet with the judge and district attorney. We can ask Judge Atkins to reconsider the sentence.”

I straightened in my chair. “Wait, the judge could just decide to reduce the sentence?”

“It’s a possibility. I haven’t done any digging into him yet,”Fran cautioned. “But this is an older conviction. The judge may have mellowed a little with time, or he might appreciate the PR boost that comes with criminal justice reform.”

Naomi and I shared another look, a triumphant one.

“I’ll give the best damn interview in the history of interviews,” I promised.

Fran shook her head. “They’re gonna love you.”

“How does this work financially?” the ever-­practical Naomi asked.

“My firm takes on a limited number of pro bono cases a year,” Fran said, eyeing us both. “If this becomes a case that requires a significant time investment, we may ask you to pay reasonable court costs.”

“Or we settle the whole thing in one visit with the judge,” I pointed out. “So how do we move forward? Do we need to sign something to make it official?”

“I just so happen to have a retainer letter with me,” Fran said, snapping open her sleek briefcase. “Once this is signed, I’ll pay my new client a visit.”

Me:Not that you care, but the attorney has been retained! And she’s taking the case pro bono! She’s on her way to meet Mary Louise!

Lucian:Congratulations, exclamation point abuser. Welcome to the nightmare of the justice system.

Me:Has anyone told you that you really need to tone down the over-­the-­top positivity? No? Weird.

Lucian:Has anyone told you that you’re annoying? I’m the eleventh person today? Not surprising.

27

Special Delivery Electrosexolytes

Sloane

Valentine’s Day rolled into Knockemout with four inches of snow and a wind chill that was best not mentioned. The library staff and I had decked the stacks with a variety of Valentine’s Day decorations from handmade pink and red hearts with handwritten affirmations in the children’s section to book displays of romance novels and the St. Valentine’s Day massacre on the second floor complete with a tape outline of a body on the floor. We’d covered our bases for our patrons, both the romantic and the grumbly.

Things were pretty damn good. We were all set up for the evening’s special event. My interview with the local paper about Mary Louise had been posted and had seen a positive reaction, which had led immediately to a second interview with the bigger, more importantArlington Gazette. And I had a sex date with Lucian Freaking Rollins.

“Just…one…more…inch,” I groaned as I stretched as far as my muscles would allow.

“Get your ass down here right now, Sloaney Baloney,” a familiar authority figure ordered.

I stopped what I was doing and glared down at Chief Nash Morgan. “Don’t make me shush you. You’re on my home turf, buddy,” I shot back from the top rung of the ladder.

“Your turf is about to be splattered with your pretty face when you fall,” he admonished.

I climbed down the ladder and slapped a purple, glittery heart to the man’s chest. “Since you’re so manly,youfinish hanging the heart garland.”

Nash mounted the ladder in a warning-­sticker-­abiding kind of way and made quick work of the garland. I felt no shame in joining the rest of the female patrons in admiring his superior posterior.

“Did you come in here just to show up my decorating skills?” I asked when he climbed back down.

“I might have an ulterior motive,” he said, scanning the folding chairs we’d arranged facing a podium. “What’s going on here?”

“We’ve got a guest author coming in tonight. Cecelia Blatch. She writes dark and dirty paranormal romance. The book club has been obsessed with her since we picked up her series. We’re hosting her for a book wining.”

“A book whining?”

I grinned. “It’s like a book signing but with wine.”