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He thought about it. “For tonight, can that be enough?”
“Hold me closer.”
His arm was loose around her waist. He pulled her in tight, closing his eyes, feeling the warmth of her skin.
“Closer,” she whispered.
“Any closer and I’ll be in front of you.”
“Now you’re catching on.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
You need to sign these.”
Kelly Gallagher, the public defender assigned to Jackie Newton, clicked the pen and handed it to Myron. Gallagher was younger than Myron expected, probably no more than thirty, with a wet-pavement-gray suit that seemed to be fraying in live time. He wore a tie loose enough to double as a belt. His white shirt may have been some newfangled cream color, but it looked more like it had suffered a laundry accident.
“What am I signing?” Myron asked.
“It’s like I told Terese,” Gallagher said. “If you want to get in and talk to Jackie, you need to be part of her defense team. I know you passed the bar in New York, but Pennsylvania has bar reciprocity. So I need you to sign here. And here.”
Myron skimmed it over as he took hold of the pen.
“So you’re married to Terese Collins,” Gallagher said.
“Yep.”
“If the situation for my client wasn’t so dire, I’d hate you for that right now.”
Myron bit back the smile. “Yeah, I don’t blame you.” He signed the papers and handed them back to Gallagher.
“So what are you hoping to accomplish here, Myron?” Gallagher asked.
“What’s your take?”
“Take on…?”
“Terese says you’re a great public defender.”
He shook his head. “Like she wasn’t already the perfect woman.”
“She also told me you’re cynical.”
“Does she find that attractive? If so, yes.”
“What percentage of your clients do you think commit the crimes of which they are accused?”
“Seventy-three percent.”
“Pretty specific.”
“If I say three out of four, you’d think I was making it up. Seventy-three percent gives the illusion of specificity and thus believability.”
“So between us—and understanding that either way I will defend Jackie Newton to the nth degree—do you think she killed Ronald Prine?”
“No.”
“That was quick.”
