Julie James - About That Night

“How’s the new apartment?” Rae asked.

Rylann tucked the phone against her shoulder, freeing her hands so she could continue unpacking the box as she talked. “Mostly a disaster right now, since I got a late start. I spent the afternoon walking around, checking out the neighborhood.” And she’d nearly frozen her ass off in her trench coat. Apparently, somebody hadn’t told the city of Chicago that it was spring . “If I remember correctly, somebody had volunteered to come over and help me unpack,” she said teasingly.

Rae sounded guilty. “I know. I’m the worst friend in the world. I’m still stuck at work. I’ve got a summary judgment motion due next week, and the draft this second-year sent me is a piece of crap. I’ve been rewriting the statement of facts all afternoon. But I think I can be there in about an hour. On the bright side, I’ve got cupcakes.”

Rylann pulled a dessert plate out of the box. “Ooh—nice. We can eat them on my very fancy and incomplete set of china.” She looked around. “Seriously, what am I going to do with five sets of dinnerware?”

“You could…throw an elaborate dinner party for my imaginary boyfriend, your imaginary boyfriend, and their imaginary third-wheel friend who seemingly never has anything better to do?”

Ouch. “Don’t laugh. After Jon and I broke up and he moved to Rome, I was that third-wheel friend,” Rylann said. Their closest friends in San Francisco had been “couple” friends, and after the breakup, she simply hadn’t fit in anymore. One of the many reasons she’d been looking for a fresh start in Chicago. “At least in this city, I’m a first wheel. A unicycle.”

Rae laughed. “Very tricky business, unicycling. Particularly in your thirties.”

“It’s not like I never dated before Jon. How different can it be?”

“Oh, such naivete.” Rae sighed dramatically. “I remember when I, too, was once so hopeful and unjaded.” Her tone turned a touch more serious. “Think you’re ready for all this?”

As Rylann took in the chaotic state of the apartment— her new apartment—Jon’s words popped into her head.

Maybe it’s time for a new adventure.

“I think I have to be,” she told Rae.

Because there was one final piece of the sixth-month plan she was absolutely determined to follow through on.

No regrets, and no looking back.

MONDAY MORNING, WITH her briefcase swinging by her side, Rylann got off the elevator at the twenty-first floor of the Dirksen Federal Building. She made her way to a set of glass doors bearing the familiar Department of Justice seal: an eagle carrying the United States shield with the motto Qui Pro Domina Justitia Sequitur , “who prosecutes on behalf of justice.”

Seeing that seal helped put Rylann at ease. Sure, she was a little nervous about her first day at the Chicago office, and it felt odd being the new kid on the block again, but she wasn’t a junior litigator fresh off a clerkship anymore. She’d prosecuted cases as an assistant U.S. attorney in San Francisco for the last six years; she’d advanced her way up to the special prosecutions division, and she’d had one of the best trial records in the district.

She belonged behind those glass doors, she reminded herself. And the sooner she proved that to everyone else, the better she’d feel. So she took a deep breath—silently vowing to knock ‘em dead—and stepped into the office.

The receptionist behind the desk smiled in greeting. “Good to see you again, Rylann. Ms. Lynde said that you’d be starting today. I’ll let her know you’re here.”

“Thanks, Katie.” Rylann stepped off to the side, standing before a panoramic photograph of the Chicago skyline. She was somewhat familiar with the office, having gone on a tour last month when she’d flown in to interview for the open AUSA position. Spanning across four floors of the Federal Building, the office employed approximately 170 lawyers, two dozen paralegals, and a large administrative and support staff.

Timing-wise, Rylann had gotten lucky with this transfer. She’d been looking for a fresh start after her breakup with Jon, and thus had been relieved when she’d heard that the Department of Justice had opened up a new AUSA slot for the Northern District of Illinois. Since she’d grown up in the Chicago suburbs and had always considered the possibility of returning one day to be closer to her family and Rae, she’d leapt at the chance.

Rylann smiled when she saw an attractive woman with long, chestnut-brown hair and a welcoming look in her aquamarine eyes coming down the hallway. As she had been during her interview, she was struck by how relatively young Cameron Lynde was for a U.S. attorney—thirty-three, only a year older than Rylann herself. Formerly the top AUSA in Chicago, Cameron had been appointed to the position after the former U.S. attorney, Silas Briggs, had been arrested and indicted on public corruption charges. The arrest of such a prominent political figure had caused quite a stir—both within the Department of Justice and in the media—and had been the topic of gossip among all the assistant U.S. attorneys for weeks.

When interviewing, that had been Rylann’s one concern—transferring to an office that had recently experienced such significant upheaval—but she’d walked away from the meeting with only positive impressions of Cameron. From what she surmised, the new U.S. attorney was driven and ambitious and eager to restore a good name to the Chicago office.

Cameron stuck out her hand. “It’s good to see you again, Rylann,” she said warmly. “We’ve been counting down the days to your arrival.” She gestured to the stack of case files she carried in her other hand. “As you can see, we’re swamped around here. Come with me—I’ll show you to your office.”

While making small talk, Rylann followed Cameron down an internal staircase to the twentieth floor. The setup of the office was similar to that of the one in San Francisco, with the assistant U.S. attorneys in the exterior offices, and the support staff and paralegals working from desks and cubicles in the interior space. If she recalled correctly, all twenty-seven AUSAs in the special prosecutions division were located on this floor.

“So when I spoke to Bill after your interview,” Cameron led in, referring to Rylann’s former boss, the U.S. attorney for the Northern District of California, “he said that I’m supposed to ask why the San Francisco FBI agents call you ‘Meth Lab Rylann.’ “

Rylann groaned. Although, secretly, she didn’t mind the moniker that much. “They gave me that nickname my first year on the job, and I’ve never been able to shake it.”

Cameron looked curious. “So? Let’s hear the story.”

“I’ll give you the abridged version. I was the second chair on a multiple-count organized crime and drug case, and was scheduled to meet the two FBI agents who’d handled the investigation at this underground meth lab. What the agents failed to mention before I got there was that the only way to get into the meth lab was to climb through a hatch in the ground and climb down a rusty, rickety fifteen-foot ladder. And since I’d been in court earlier that morning, I happened to be wearing a skirt suit and heels. Most inconveniently.”

Cameron chuckled. “Come on. The agents had to be messing with you—how could they forget to mention that?”

Walking side by side with Cameron, Rylann didn’t disagree. “I think they might have been testing the new girl, sure.”

“What did you do?”

“The only thing I could do,” Rylann said matter-of-factly. “I climbed through the hatch in my skirt suit and went down that rusty, rickety fifteen-foot ladder.”