Her eyes light up, go a shade warmer, and she places her fingertips on my jaw. “Yeah, I adore you, too.”

CHAPTER 19

LEARY

The trial has started.

It’s on.

We’re in our third day of jury selection, and it’s almost complete. Contrary to what many people think, a case is either won or lost in jury selection. There’s evidence and witnesses and then the pomp and circumstance of compelling closing arguments. While that’s all important, none of it matters unless you have the right jury.

The law says the jury should be fair and impartial.

I say horseshit.

Every attorney who has ever conducted an effective voir dire has done so by stacking the jury with people who are biased in his or her favor. To do this, the judge gives us latitude in asking a wide variety of questions, designed to pick at and expose a juror’s true feelings and philosophies. Mix that in with body language, tone of voice, and eye contact, and there’s a true art to homing in on those jurors who can make or break your case.

So far, Reeve and I have agreed on ten of the twelve spots. The clerk has called in two more people from the jury pool to fill the empty seats, and I begin questioning them, starting from the top once again. Basic background information, marital status, current job, educational history, et cetera. Then I dive into meatier issues, like how they feel about tort reform and people who bring lawsuits against doctors.

So far, I’ve been pleased with the jurors. I’ve tried to stack it male heavy, because they’ll be more sympathetic to an attractive woman with deformed breasts. Women, naturally, will not be sympathetic to Jenna being a stripper. I did exercise a few of my challenges on two men who, despite what might be a natural affinity for boobs, had other things about them that made them unattractive to me. One was a schoolteacher, and they’re notoriously conservative, and the other was a minister. Now, I’ve had my share of liberal ministers on juries before, but there was something about the way the man looked at Jenna that had me on edge. All of his answers made him come across as completely fair and impartial, but I noted censure in his gaze. So I went with my gut instinct and released him.

Turning to the first applicant in one of the empty seats, I say, “Thank you for the background information, Mr. Harmon.”

He beams back at me. He’s young, maybe twenty-five or so, unmarried, and employed as a graphic designer. His blond hair is long and he sports a scraggly beard. He’s wearing a pair of khaki pants and a blue flannel shirt, and I was absolutely charmed by his surfer-stoned-on-pot lingo. He even called me “dude” twice but, again, in a charming way.

“Can you tell me how you feel about the type of lawsuit that my client, Jenna LaPietra, has brought against Dr. Summerland and his practice?”

Mr. Harmon leans back, places one ankle on his knee, and grins. “Nothing wrong with it. It’s what our country is about, right? Equal access to the judicial system and all.”

I’m surprised he didn’t add on a “dude” to that, but the guy is surprisingly smart. He has a college degree, after all.

“And in particular, when the trial is over, I’m going to be asking the jury to award Jenna a large sum of money. Part of that award will be for pain and suffering. Can you tell me what you think about the concept of paying someone money for intangible things like pain and suffering?”

Mr. Harmon leans forward, shoots a quick look at the judge, then brings his gaze back to me. He dramatically sniffs the air in front of himself and says in his best stoned-out voice, “Ah, nothing like the sweet scent of money to drive the stink of pain and suffering away, dude.”

For the first time in my legal career, I’ve been struck dumb by a juror. His answer is absolutely fucking perfect, but was given in such a way as to border on disrespectful to me. Not that it bothered me, but I turn to look up at Judge Henry, wondering if he’ll chastise the juror. I find him staring bug-eyed at the blond-haired young man, his jaw slightly agape.

Before he can collect himself, I turn back to the juror and give him an appreciative smile. “Thank you, Mr. Harmon. Those are all the questions I have right now.”

I actually have a ton of other questions, but I’m not going to bother. After that answer, there’s no way Reeve is going to let that kid stay on the jury. Mr. Harmon all but agreed he’d be the type to award big bucks for pain and suffering.

Fucking bummer. That dude—yes, dude—was the dream juror of all jurors. I give him one last almost-sad glance and turn to the other juror who was called into the box.

The courtroom has emptied out and the bailiff has turned out the lights. He patiently waits at the back doors for Reeve and me as we pack up our stuff. Reeve’s cocounsel, Gill Kratzenburg, and the insurance company representatives—four in addition to Tom Collier—all made a break for the doors when Judge Henry recessed for the day. Jenna also hightailed it out of there, but that was so she could smoke a cigarette.

Reeve finishes up before me and comes to stand by my table. In a low voice so the bailiff doesn’t hear us, he says, “Please stay at my house tonight, Leary.”

I look up at him briefly, loving the needful look in his eyes, but then go back to packing up my materials. “I can’t. I have too much work to do to get ready for opening statements and my first witness.”

“Baby,” he murmurs and tingles shoot up my spine. “Please.”

Snapping my briefcase shut, I pick it up and look at him with a sympathetic smile. “Missing my body that much?”

He takes a step closer and leans down. He doesn’t touch me, though, because that would be stupid, what with the bailiff waiting on us.

“I miss you,” he says simply. “I just want you to sleep in my bed. It’s been three days.”

My heart melts and puddles warmly, and I really, really want to say yes, because I’ve missed him, too. We’ve both sort of wordlessly agreed not to stay with each other the last few nights, and I figured it was because we’d both be so busy there’d be no time to do anything.

Didn’t stop me from missing him every single night, though. I was having a hard time sleeping even though I was exhausted after a full day in trial and then several hours of work each night in order to prep for the following day.

“I really have to go over my opening statement and tweak some direct exams,” I say regretfully.

“Tell you what . . . come to my house. I’ll cook you dinner and you can spread out in my dining room to work. You can eat and go back to working. I’ll leave you alone and be waiting in bed for you when you’re done.”

The sweetest feeling of warmth and security flows through me. He wants to take care of me. He wants to be near me. I don’t move a muscle but say, “If Mr. Nosy Pants wasn’t in the back of the courtroom watching us right now, I would kiss the hell out of you.”

Reeve smiles at me. “Is that a yes?”