Page 89 of The Silent Hour

There it was again—that unwelcome spark of awareness. My eyes locked onto details I wouldn’t have noticed weeks ago. I resented it bitterly, torn between the thought that I’d always seen these things and never cared, or that last night had dragged her into my consciousness for the very first time. Either way, it irritated me.

“That was quick,” she said as we met in the hallway, voice smooth and professional.

“His Honor was feeling merciful,” I replied silently, but let my lips tilt into a small grin.

“Lucky for everyone, then.”

No smile answered mine, no spark of flirtation—only the memory of her mouth lingering in my mind. A flicker crossed her face before she pressed her lips into a straight line.

“Mr. Marcelli?” she asked with obvious caution.

“What?”

Her fingers clenched the folders she carried. “I’m sorry.”

I studied her, noting the slight quiver of her brow. “For what?”

She hesitated, and something else unsettled flitted across her expression before vanishing. “All of it. I know you’re happily married and would never in a million years betray your wife.”

I tried to detect some kind of sarcasm in that statement but found none.

Will this affect my employment? I’m willing to sign anything or enter a probationary period,” she continued, voice lowering.

That plea stung more than whatever had just happened in court. I exhaled, trying to steady myself. “I’m not going to undermine your career because of this. But the boundaries have shifted. You understand that?”

She met my gaze. “Yes.”

“Good. Because if my wife ever suspects something—” I let the threat hang between us. “—she’ll bury both of us, and we both know there’s nothing between us.”

“Of course.” She turned and resumed walking. No lingering looks or loaded words. Exactly how it had to remain.

I tucked my phone into my pocket and headed toward my downtown office, my footsteps echoing off the courthouse marble. When I finally burst through the glass doors, Laurel looked up from her desk. “Any messages I need to know about?”

She shuffled a stack of papers. “There was one. I meant to tell you earlier, but yesterday was chaos.”

“Just show me.”

She pushed a folded note across the desk. “Santiago Ruiz had someone drop by.”

My heart thumped. Santiago—Saint seniors adopted son and heir-apparent, a man as comfortable in boardrooms as in back alleys, and a known admirer of my wife that had me wanting to gouge his goddamn eyes out. I took a thick envelope, feeling its weight in my hand and something hard inside.

“When was he here?” I asked.

“About forty minutes ago.”

“Did he say his name?”

“No. Just that you needed to read whatever that is and Ruiz sends his regards.”

“Thanks, Laurel.”

She nodded, and I turned away already opening the envelope. By the time I reached my office door, my shoulders were rigid. If Saint had come to drop something off personally, I knew things were about to take a turn.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

JULIA

MY PHONE FLARED WITH the incoming alert before the soft click of the front door reached me. Security Alert: Gate Entry.