Amanda Stevens - Gallagher Justice

She didn’t say as much to Lori, however, and the following week, they met for dinner at a restaurant on Michigan Avenue. Lori and Fiona had arranged to arrive early so they could have a chance to chat before the girls joined them. They were exchanging stories about some of their more interesting cases when Lori suddenly touched Fiona’s hand. “There’s Alicia. She just came in.”

Lori’s whole face was suddenly aglow. For one split second, Fiona almost resented the adulation that radiated from her friend’s eyes. Motherhood couldn’t be that grand, could it? Fiona wasn’t missing out on something that spectacular, was she?

Then she turned. And for several long seconds, she could do nothing but stare at the girl making her way through the crowded tables toward them.

She was, without a doubt, one of the most beautiful young women Fiona had ever laid eyes on. “Oh, my God,” she blurted. “No wonder you didn’t want to let them out of your sight.”

Lori’s smile turned wistful. “She is lovely, isn’t she?”

Lovely was an understatement. In spite of the sedate way she dressed, Alicia Mercer turned heads as she walked through the crowded restaurant. But when she sat down at the table, she seemed oblivious to the stares and admiration. Fiona was instantly charmed. The girl was as modest and unassuming as she was gorgeous. She was almost too good to be true.

And then her sister walked in.

Lexi Mercer was tall like Alicia, with the same pale blond hair and blue eyes, but there was nothing understated about her appearance. She had on low-rider jeans and a cropped shirt that showed off a very flat, tanned stomach and a belly button ring that sparkled in the lighting.

If admiring eyes had noticed Alicia, men literally drooled over Lexi. It was more than just her physical beauty. She had a kind of magnetism that would make even the most principled man have some very dark thoughts.

Fiona tore her gaze away long enough to glance at Alicia. She was staring at her sister, too, and there was something in her eyes. Not jealousy. Not envy. Not even resentment, but...something.

It made Fiona wonder instantly what it must have been like, growing up in Lexi’s shadow. In any other family, Alicia would have been the golden child, and even now, she would still be the most desirable woman in any room—until her sister arrived.

And Lori? What had it been like raising such a child? Lori was still a young, beautiful woman in her own right, but in her daughter’s presence—

Let’s face it , Fiona thought grimly. With Lexi Mercer around, we all look like hags .

But in spite of any latent rivalry, it was obvious the three women were close and had such a wonderful relationship that Fiona again felt twinges of jealousy. It was at that moment that she suddenly became aware of the ominous ticking of her own biological clock.

After that day, Fiona didn’t see the girls again until just before Christmas, when Alicia called to set up a dinner. Fiona had been so pleasantly surprised at how much she enjoyed the girls’ company that she’d honestly meant to keep in touch. But work became extremely hectic. Cases piled up. Every once in a while, if she thought about the Mercer twins, Fiona would promise herself she’d call them when she had a spare moment, just to say hello.

But that spare moment never came. Not even to return Alicia’s call last week.

And now it was too late.

Soon, it would be Lori who received a phone call, one that would turn her perfect little world into a nightmare.

“WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO WALK up with you?” Milo asked as he pulled to the curb in front of Fiona’s building. In spite of the earlier tension between them, he’d been very solicitous since they’d left Lexi’s apartment, and Fiona appreciated his effort to return their relationship to normal. The last thing either of them needed was a strained working environment.

She gave him a tired smile. “No, thanks. I still need to do some work on the DeMarco case. We’re due in court in...exactly...” She glanced at her watch and groaned. “Four and a half hours. What about you? Are you ready?”

“I will be.” He frowned suddenly. “Tell me the truth, Fiona. Do you think we have even an outside shot at a conviction?”

“I don’t know. It’s always hard to predict what a jury will do in a he said-she said case like this. With no forensic evidence, it’ll be a hard sale to the jury.”

“How could there not be one single piece of evidence against that bastard?” Milo muttered. “I get that he wore a condom, but no hair, no fibers, no DNA beneath her fingernails? What the hell did he do, scrub her down afterward?”

“You know what happened,” Fiona said. “Same thing that happens in too many of these cases. She went home and showered.” Although in Kimbra’s case, she’d gone to a runaway shelter. She’d gotten rid of her clothes, too, because she’d never planned to report the rape at all. But Rachel Torres, a woman who ran the runaway shelter, saw the bruises and forced the truth from Kimbra. She was the one who took her to the emergency room, but by then a rape kit was almost useless. Whatever evidence there might have been to help put DeMarco away had been washed down the drain.

“I watched the jury yesterday when DeMarco took the stand,” Fiona said. “He scored some serious points.” And nothing she’d been able to do during cross-examination had rattled him. If she didn’t know better, she would have sworn the man was on something. How could anyone remain that calm when she’d gone straight for the jugular?

Milo nodded morosely. “I thought so, too. And Kimbra’s testimony was shaky, at best.”

That was another thing that made this case so difficult. The accused wasn’t just any cop. DeMarco was a decorated veteran of the Chicago Police Department and a war hero from Desert Storm. Good-looking, well-educated, the kind of defendant that was easy to root for because people wanted to believe he was exactly what he seemed to be—one of the good guys.

Kimbra, on the other hand, was a troubled young girl who’d lived on the streets for years. Moody, defiant, and tough as nails, she’d been a difficult and reluctant witness from the start, the kind that sometimes made Fiona wonder if the aggravation was worth it.

She sighed wearily. “Since we didn’t get any help from Kimbra, it’s imperative we make up ground in the closing argument. We’ll both have to be at the top of our game, Milo.”

“Oh, no pressure there,” he grumbled as he got out of the car and came around to open her door. When she stepped out, he said awkwardly, “Look, Fiona, that business about Guy—”

She cut him off. “Let’s just forget it, okay? I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

“I understand.” He ran a hand through his hair, messing his gel job. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. About the gossip, I mean. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable at the office.”

She shrugged. “I hate gossip, but maybe it’s best that you did bring it to my attention. It’s always a good idea to know what people are saying about you behind your back. But just for the record? I’m not involved with Guy Hardison. On any level. I want you to know that. I want you to believe that.”

“Maybe you’re not involved, but—”

“Milo.” Her tone held a warning note. “There is nothing going on between Guy Hardison and me. Period.”

He nodded. “Okay. I get the message. Case closed. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

They said their good-nights, and then Fiona ran up the front steps and inserted her key into the lock. She couldn’t wait to be inside her own apartment, to lock the door behind her and close herself off from the rest of the world, if only for the next few hours.