White Rabbit

By J. D. Sloane

When Brooke Avery became lawyer to one of the most notorious criminals in the city, she knew how dangerous he was. She knew all about his charm, his brutality, his infamous reputation with women.
What she didn’t know is how much her obsession would end up costing her, or how their strange, violent relationship would ignite the entire city…

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Nov 4, 2014
• ISBN: 9781483542515

Book preview

9781483542515

Chapter One

Brooke Avery walked down the short winding sidewalk to the city’s new holding facility, the late summer humidity bearing down on her in a way that was just short of oppressive. She glanced around the street, still trying to get used to the sight of all the hasty new construction going up on a road that was once as blistered and broken as a warzone. She raised her brows as she passed one of the city’s new welcome signs, it’s bright green border crisp and official looking at the end of the street.

Welcome to Detroit! The sign read in wide white letters across a black silhouette of the riverfront. One Way Forward.

That’s one of the better ones, Brooke thought, as she checked the address again, just to be sure. More diplomatic than One Way Out, I guess. To her eyes the building in front of her looked a lot like what it had started as, a long industrial sized warehouse. She stood there for a moment, debating whether or not to light a cigarette, and then glanced up as a detention officer in a black uniform swung the double doors open and leaned outside.

Help you with something?

Brooke pulled off her sunglasses and tucked them into a pocket of her light gray trench coat.

I’m looking for the new holding facility.

You found it.

Brooke hesitated, disliking the way the man could not quite keep his eyes to himself, and then walked down the sidewalk, stepping past him into the building as the icy blast of air-conditioning greeted her at the threshold.

You’re holding Ronan White here?

The guard cocked his head at her, and pointed to the desk that ran along the far right wall, a wide gray and blue metal detector separating one side of the building from the other.

We’re holding him. You with the public defender’s office?

Not quite, Brooke said, handing over her purse and briefcase to a female guard as the low hum of a rubber belt slowly whirred to life. I understand he was arraigned earlier today.

Just this morning, the guard said, nodding towards the back wall. You can check in at the front desk.

Brooke stepped through the rectangular doorway, holding out her arms as the other officer ran her handheld device over her clothes lightly and then handed her back her belongings.

She walked across the wide open space of the warehouse floor, looking around curiously as several people in black uniforms bustled around the office area. She noted that most of the walls in the building had been dry walled and painted a utilitarian shade of taupe, but that the brick wall behind the desk had been left exposed, giving the place the feel of an expensive looking loft, one with unfinished cement flooring and high barred block windows.

As she stepped up to the desk she realized that the place wasn’t actually humming with activity, it was more a case of too many bodies in too small a place, with sharp looking metal desks pushed together three to an aisle. She moved closer to the counter, setting down her briefcase, and a man with a clipboard gave her a quick once over before sighing and sliding it over to her.

Name?

Brooke Avery.

You a lawyer?

Brooke picked up a pen and signed in quickly.

I am. I’m here to see Ronan White.

The man behind the desk paused, his brow furrowing, and then looked at her ID closely for a moment before shrugging.

I didn’t know Mr. White had retained counsel.

I’m here at the request of my firm.

Of yeah? Another man said, leaning back in his metal computer chair until the hinges creaked. And what firm would that be? Psycho-Killers R’ Us?

Brooke raised her brows as the administrator laughed and tapped something into his computer.

You can go through. Officer Tobin will take you back.

How long has he been here?

A little over 72 hours. Give or take.

And why wasn’t he transferred to County with the rest of his crew? Brooke asked as three men entered the building from the doorway behind her and disappeared down the hallway.

From what I understand, the rest of his crew doesn’t want to be in the same state with White. Let alone the same cell. Trust me, it’s better if he’s here. County’s overrun as it is.

Has the public defender been here yet?

The man gave her a look of cool annoyance and went back to typing at his computer.

It’s Friday afternoon. What do you think?

Brooke looked up as a tall, dark-haired guard held open a metal door and stepped into the hallway, her eyes going to the florescent lights winking above them. She looked behind her as they walked down the corridor, noting that the lights seemed to follow them as they moved, dimming slightly as they passed from one part of the building to the next.

I’ve never seen florescent lights do that before, Brooke said as they passed what looked like several large meeting rooms on their left, newly outfitted with electronic swipe entrances and what looked like one-way glass.

Yeah, neither had I, The guard said, pointing as the hallway suddenly opened into a large main floor. I guess they save energy. Most of these cells are a lot larger then what they have at County. And those doors didn’t come cheap either, believe me.

But there’s no air-conditioning back here? Just up front?

Tobin pointed to several high metal ceiling fans above them, their metal blades spinning languidly about twenty feet above them.

You’re looking at it. Central air in a place like this is next to impossible. They were talking about adding some wall units just to take the edge off, but...

He shrugged.

But why bother when it’s just the prisoners who’ll suffer, Brooke finished, and Tobin gave her a sullen glance as they walked passed a makeshift visitor’s area with an old-fashioned phone and booth set-up.

Who’s funding all this? Brooke asked as they walked up a flight of metal stairs and followed the grating around to a red metal door at the end of the building. Tobin leaned over a computer desk next to the doorway.

The city appropriates our funding. Just like everyone else.

I was under the impression that the city was broke.

The E.M. restructured the pension plans about a year ago. Since then there have been a lot of changes.

You mean the Emergency Manager? Connor? I heard something about that. He offered new retirees the option of taking their whole monthly pension for the next twelve years, or half over the next thirty. It was part of his Grand Solution.

That’s right. A lot of people were pissed off about it at the time. But I tell you what, since Connor took over the city has put more new officers on the street then they have in the past six years. And I know this place isn’t perfect, but it’s a step in the right the direction, if you ask me.

Brooke looked at the smooth faced young guard in front of her, a guy who couldn’t be much older than herself, and wondered how great Pat Connor’s deal would seem to him in twenty or thirty years. But maybe that’s that point, she thought as Tobin pulled out a swipe card on a canvas strip and swiped it through the side of his computer. They replace a lot of older, more experienced officers with a bunch of new recruits who don’t know the difference. And by the time it matters to anyone, there’s someone else in office to deal with the fallout.

Here, take this.

Brooke took the plastic security tag from Tobin and tossed the canvas strap over her crisp white blouse as the red door in front of her whispered open.

White’s in Cell 11, at the end of the hall. And don’t worry about being alone with him. We’ve had him on twenty-four hour watch for the last day or so. Since the incident.

Incident?

A flutter of contempt moved across the guard’s thin face as he sat down at his desk.

Yeah. One of the transport officers made the mistake of trying to subdue him face to face. White took out his eye before anyone could stop him. You want a piece of advice, lady? And I mean a serious piece of advice? Tell your office to find themselves some other pro bono work. That animal isn’t worth the cost of the bullet to execute him. And, not to sound too sexist here, but you are definitely not the lawyer I would send to interview him. Not by a long shot.

I’ll take it under advisement, Brooke said, stepping inside the doorway, and felt a cool thrill of fear rattle down her spine when it whispered shut behind her. She glanced up as a light above the door flickered from green to red, and then sighed and began walking down the hall, a series of blue painted steel doors with numbers next to their strip pads greeting her on the left.

Brooke’s pace slowed as she came to the door at the end of the corridor, noticing that Cell 11 seemed to be the jail’s only stand-alone cell, and one of the few without a window. It also seemed to be the only room with a guard posted directly outside the doorway, his thick arms folded across his chest like a twin set of mallets.

Buy the ticket, take the ride, Brooke thought, as the guard turned his body towards her, fighting the urge to straighten her skirt as he gave her a curious once over across the iron walkway.

Ronan White? Brooke said in her most efficient lawyer’s tone, and the man cocked his head at her and then shrugged.

No visitors, he said, turning back towards the opposite wall, and Brooke realized that she had been mistaken for a civilian. An unimportant civilian.

I’m From Hart and Cooper, she said stepping forward. My firm sent me to speak with Mr. White about taking over his case.

Brooke looked at her watch.

I’m a little late. I had no idea there would be so much construction on this side of town.

Your firm sent you here to represent him? the guard said, looking at her as if she was categorically insane.

So it would seem, she said dryly, and then held up her security pass as he looked it over closely for a moment.

When he was through he straightened up and pulled an electronic swipe card out of his pocket, his face twitching with irritation as he swept it down the security scanner.

This should be interesting, he said as the light flickered from red to green, and Brooke took a deep breath as she heard the sudden hammer of an internal lock.

Hey, White. You’ve got company.

Brooke stepped inside the holding cell and let her breath out suddenly, the heat rolling over her like a hot, wet wave. She looked around the room quickly, thinking the cell looked less finished then the rest of the building, with dark cement walls and the kind of stark overhead lighting that gave people the cool pallor of the walking dead. Along the far wall there was a low porcelain sink, decorated with a small cracked mirror and a roll of paper towels sitting precariously on the lip. In the middle of the room there was a wooden table, and two plastic folding chairs, the kind Brooke always associated with middle school. One lone fan with metal blades oscillated lazily in the corner.

And then she saw him.

He was sitting on a chair against the far wall, his hands cuffed behind his back, his famous face partially obscured by the tangle of dark blond hair hanging across his cheek. He looked up as she entered and Brooke felt a shock of recognition as Ronan met her eyes flatly, frank appraisal warring with a kind of collective disinterest. Ronan White. The city’s most notorious boogeyman.

Well, well, he said his lips curving into a slight smile. Hello, beautiful. And who might you be?

The guard tipped his head towards her.

Says she’s a lawyer.

From Hart and Cooper, Mr. White, Brooke said, setting her bag and briefcase down on top of the table. Brooke Avery. And I’d like to speak with you about your case. Would you mind uncuffing him, please? We have a lot of ground to cover and I’m afraid we’re already running behind.

Behind her Ronan laughed.

This just keeps getting better and better. You heard her, Kerns. Snap to it.

Absolutely out of the question, Kerns said. The shift supervisor gave me strict orders. Under no circumstances am I to uncuff this prisoner. As for leaving the room, ma’am, this lunatic has attacked two of my men in the last three days. One lost an eye. I don’t want to tell you how to do your job, but you might want to rethink your own protection. And, while you’re at it, who it is your firm wants to represent.

Brooke stood up and gave Kerns her full attention.

Mr. Kerns, I appreciate your concern, I really do. But I worked in the public defender’s office before this. I have been slapped, strangled and stabbed with a pen on one memorable occasion, and I’ve lived to tell about it.

With all due respect...

Due respect aside, Mr. Kerns, what I am saying is that where my safety is concerned, I tend to keep my own counsel. And I’m used to my clients wanting to kill me, although they generally restrain themselves in the initial interview.

Brooke looked at Ronan who was suddenly sitting at attention, his wide dark eyes snapping with interest. As she watched a drop of blood, very red against the white of his skin, ran down the side of his face and Brooke took an instinctive step closer.

Dammit! Don’t move! That’s close enough.

Along his scalp was a ragged looking cut, and Brooke saw that it still bleeding, deep enough to warrant stiches, or at least a routine CAT scan.

Don’t listen to him, Ronan said smiling. Come as close as you like. I don’t mind.

You’re bleeding, Brooke said, and something like rage washed over her. Attacked two of his men? Probably. After the guards on duty had baited him mercilessly knowing there was nothing he could do to stop it and absolutely no one who would defend him. She shuddered to think the kind of abuse that could go on in a place like this, when those in charge simply choose to look the other way. Or, Brooke thought, when one of them decided to dole out a little renegade justice of their own.

That looks like excessive force to me, officer. Tell me that was an accident and not the deliberate abuse of power it will seem like to any judge with eyes.

Kerns opened his mouth and then swallowed hard.

It was an accident.

He’s lying, Ronan said and then laughed when Kerns took a step towards him.

Brooke looked at her watch again.

You’re wasting my time. Uncuff my client. Then leave. If I have to ask you again you’ll be appearing before a judge tomorrow for cause.

What cause?

For use of excessive force and deliberately impeding a defendant’s right to meet with counsel. Please don’t misunderstand my tone, officer. My good nature does have it’s limits.

Kerns gave Brooke one last withering look and then went over to Ronan roughly and kicked the chair to the side. In seconds he had the cuffs off and Ronan snapped his hands up so quickly that Brooke thought he was going to grab Kerns by the neck and throttle him. But he merely showed Kerns his hands and laughed as Brooke breathed a silent sigh of relief.

Your funeral, Kerns said curtly, and before she could respond he was out the door, the thick slab of steel slamming behind him with a resounding thud.

And then they were alone.

The man known as Ronan White looked at her curiously and Brooke was dismayed to find that, if anything, his appearance in person was even more disconcerting then it had been on film. A handsome face, just this side of beauty, marred by a wide river of scars which began at the corner of his mouth and wound up the left side of his face, almost to the temple. His pale skin and dark eyes only seemed to accentuate this unevenness, giving his entire appearance a strange undercurrent of violence, one that was difficult to ignore.

Brooke walked past Ronan and pulled a paper towel from the sink near the back. She brought it back to him, trying not to notice how his flat black eyes followed her, and then made a move to wipe away some of the blood. The cut was deep, and she met his eyes once before reaching for his hand and then placing it firmly on his temple.

Apply pressure here. It’ll stop the bleeding.

Ronan’s eyes narrowed and he looked at the paper towel like some alien thing before setting it down.

Brooke shrugged off her coat and then sat on the edge of the wooden table in front of him, regarding him as frankly as he regarded her. She wondered what was behind his eyes, which were suddenly bright and electric and moving over her with a kind of detached appreciation. Almost like a wrestler looking for a hold, she thought.

So gentle, Ronan said, and Brooke held her breath at the sound of his voice, at once sidling and dangerous, silk draped and dragged across a gravelly drive.

Compassionate even. You wouldn’t by any chance be a nurse in the off hours?

Brooke looked at him sharply and then relaxed. His talent for quick, accurate assessments was well known among the criminal world, but Brooke knew that it was more instinct then magic. After all, before he was a prolific criminal personality he had spent years in and out of several mental institutions. Picking up psychological jargon was one of the perks. If, that was, the only thing a patient intended to get out of therapy was to get out of it altogether.

I volunteer at the VA hospital sometimes. I’d hardly call it nursing.

Ah. The Florence Nightingale syndrome. Tell me Brooke. Can I call you Brooke? Brooke. Do you like working at the hospital? Around men who just can’t cope?

Brooke rubbed her forehead and then pulled a cigarette out of her purse.

Actually, Liam O’Doyle referred me, she said as she lit it. We met at the VA hospital. We’ve been dating for several months.

Ronan looked confused for a moment and then his face lit in a sudden half smile.

Liam. You and Liam? Well, well. We’re practically family. And it seems I have wildly underestimated him.

Ronan gave her a look of amused scrutiny and Brooke pushed the pack of cigarettes toward him. Ronan’s eyes flickered quickly between her and the cigarettes but he didn’t make a move towards them. Don’t take the bait, she reminded herself. Keep the discussion on the case and nothing more.

Was it Kerns who did that?

I’m much more interested in discussing you and Liam, he said, his eyes snapping with amusement. What was it about him precisely that a woman like you would find so irresistible?

Brooke bit back a smile.

Um, Liam and I were both in Iraq. Not together, but around the same time. And he was having a hard time adjusting to civilian life.

Ronan raised his eyebrows. I’ll say.

Brooke laughed in spite of herself and tapped her cigarette on the table.

Ronan glanced at the ceiling as if trying to assemble two random pieces of information into some sort of coherent hole.

So. He was having trouble adjusting and you counseled him. You were his counselor.

I wouldn’t really call it counselling. It was more like- group. I not a licensed therapist or anything.

But you did counsel him, didn’t you? I mean you were, more or less, his doctor. In a manner of speaking, of course.

Brooke bit her bottom lip and pushed her hair behind her ear. She did not like where this tack was heading. Ronan raised his eyebrows and looked at her curiously.

I’m not sure what the ethics committee would have to say about that. I would never say it of course, but then ethics have never really meant that much to me.

Ronan leaned towards her, the shade of a smile touching his lips.

Just between us though, Brooke, Liam’s not what I would call a classic success story for civilian readjustment. Just FYI.

Brooke stubbed out her cigarette and glanced up at him, wondering how much she had given away and how much he had simply guessed. The truth was she had often wondered if she had abused her position at the hospital by allowing herself to become involved with Liam. She hadn’t pursued him, that was true, but she hadn’t exactly rejected his advances either had she? She opened her mouth to defend herself and then snapped it shut as she noticed Ronan’s expression, his head tilted politely to the side while his eyes dipped and devoured, barely part of the same expression at all.

What else do you enjoy about working at the hospital, Brooke? Besides the- dating.

Brooke looked out towards the high barred windows and thought of some of her more grueling counseling sessions with soldiers who had been trapped in foxholes for days before anyone found them, with men who had seen firsthand the evil others were capable of, when they put their mind to it.

I wouldn’t say that I exactly enjoy it, she said sighing. That’s not the word I would use.

No? Then why do it? If you’re not getting anything out of it that is.

I didn’t say I didn’t get anything out of it. I said I didn’t always enjoy it.

You see, my thinking is that women who go to these places, who are drawn to damaged men are actually damaged themselves. They give- comfort, safety, because deep down they never really feel safe themselves,

Ronan chuckled and raised his eyebrows.

So I guess my question to you, Brooke, would be- what are you really afraid of? And why?

Brooke sat down in a chair across from him, restraining an urge to pull her legs up underneath her as she sometimes did at the hospital.

Who hit you Ronan?

Ronan’s eyes darkened and something unpleasant moved behind them.

You haven’t answered my questions. Why should I answer yours?

I will answer them. I’ll try to answer them, if you answer mine first.

Ronan made a face of acquiescence, his eyes flashing triumph, and then shrugged.

No one hit me. I fell. We fall a lot here. The prisoners do.

And some of the guards apparently.

Ronan smiled.

Well, they have their games and we have ours.

Brooke pulled one leg underneath her without thinking and Ronan’s eyes followed the line of her skirt with narrowed eyes, lingering where the material bunched up around her thighs.

You are very beautiful, Brooke, he said, his voice low, and Brooke felt herself blushing beneath the weight of his stare. She pulled her skirt down and then unfolded her legs completely while he watched her with a bemused expression on his face.

Tell me, does your firm often send you out to the wolves like this? All alone?

Sometimes. Usually on the initial interview.

Ronan tilted his head and looked at her, the shadows from the overhead lights making his eyes seem enormous and frightening.

It seems strange, for a woman. Almost masochistic. Do you like dangerous men? Do you like them looking at you, at your body? Wondering what they might do, what they might be capable of, if you turned your back on them for just. One. Instant?

Brooke crossed her legs at the knee and folded her hands in her lap, hoping she sounded more confident then she felt.

I asked for this case, Ronan. Mr. White. And to answer your question, yes. My firm does send me out among the wolves. Often. Alone. And yes, I am fully aware of what dangerous men are capable of doing to women like me.

Ronan’s eyes narrowed and he looked at her oddly for a moment and then stood up so suddenly that she flinched. Ronan watched her, his dark eyes twirling, and then walked around behind her, moving so languidly he barely made a sound.

Brooke turned and looked at him over her chair.

You’re not going to give me Kerns are you?

Of course not, he said without looking at her and Brooke found herself looking him over before she thought better of it, surprised by how tall he was, his arms thick and muscular beneath his standard issue orange jumpsuit. Ronan caught the glance and turned his eyes to her curiously, his expression softening for a moment before picking up his file and beginning to breeze through it casually, like a high school year book. Brooke stood up and walked to the other side of the table, not quite trusting herself to meet his eyes, and lit another cigarette. Ronan smirked and continued looking through his file.

So. Brooke. Tell me about your firm.

Hart and Cooper.

Whatever.

We’re not as large as some of the other well-known firms, but we deal in homicide almost exclusively. We have an acquittal rate that is twenty percent higher than the national average, and when it comes to cases of the criminally insane, that number is even higher. This case is going to be a circus, Mr. White. Media and interviews, and that’s before the trial even gets started. We can help you with that. It’s what we’re best at.

Ronan looked up and feigned a look of shocked propriety.

Getting criminals acquitted for crimes they committed- that’s what you’re best at?

No. Winning. Winning is what I’m best at.

Oh. So it would follow that what you’re worst at is losing. Interesting. Very interesting. And, did you come here for yourself or your firm?

Brooke leaned back in her chair.

I’m sorry- what do you mean?

Ronan leaned towards her, his face a mask of amused conjecture.

What I mean is that a girl as beautiful and intelligent as you are should be able to pick and choose her own cases. Did they send you here on a, ahem, goodwill mission, or would you be handling the case yourself?

I would be the lead on this.

Ah. So this would be your first. Big. Case.

Technically. But I worked in the public defender’s office for two years before I signed on with Hart and Cooper. And there are many other lawyers who are extremely well versed...

Ronan flicked his hand dismissively and went back to flipping through his file, pausing over some photos, raising his eyebrows at others.

So much violence and death. It’s a pity. Really. Now, this wasn’t me. I would’ve remembered that. Pretty girl though. Such a delicate neck. You can’t- buy those things. You have to be born with them. This though. This I remember. That was a lot of fun. And more fun and more fun. What would be our defense?

Brooke looked up, startled, and raised her eyebrows.

What is your defense?

Simple. It wasn’t me. I’ve never seen these people before in my life. I’m an innocent man. Wrongly accused. What do you think?

Brooke took a drag off her cigarette and tapped her lips.

Mr. White. You have been accused of executing three members of a rival drug gang, one of which you videotaped. Two of your own crewmembers have already made deals with the state to testify at your trial.

And?

What I’m saying is that the ‘victim of circumstance’ defense, although bold, might not be our best course of action. Not if you’d like to win.

Ronan came up behind her slowly, walking behind her from shoulder to shoulder until they were inches apart. When he reached her right shoulder she turned her head and looked at him, refusing to startle again, and found his face a hand’s width away from hers, his blond-brown hair waving at the temples, his face dangerous and searching.

Assuming I did want to win, what would you suggest for my defense? What would be the strategy?

I think we would go with an insanity defense. I think that’s the best strategy. If we win you could be home in 6 months. If you lose, we appeal.

Ronan eyes flashed and his mouth worked suddenly, pulling back into feral sneer.

I’m not crazy. I’m not.

No. I don’t think you are.

Ronan eyes widened and he searched her face for a moment before turning his back to her and walking towards the window. He stood in the sunshine for a moment with his eyes closed, and something about the angle of his face, the way it caught the light and held it, reminded her of Sean. Fifteen years older and back from the dead. Ronan moved away from the window and then walked over to the chair he’d been cuffed to originally. He sat down in it with his legs spread, his face half hidden in shadows.

I’ve looked over your file, Brooke said coming around the table, silently wondering how much she could tell him, how much he could hear. She had dealt with many men half mad with war and sickness, but so far, Ronan wasn’t acting like any of them. Brooke thought of Sean again- proud, defiant- and then pushed the thought from her mind before it caught hold and burned.

All 65 pages of it. I watched the police footage, many times. I look through it and I don’t see evil and I don’t see crazy. I don’t know what it is I am seeing but it’s not that. I don’t think you belong in prison. I don’t know if you belong in a hospital, but I’m certain you don’t belong in prison. And you definitely don’t belong on a gurney somewhere with someone shoving a needle full of poison into your arm. So.

Brooke stood in front of him, wanting to kneel down beside him and knowing instinctively that he would lose all respect for her if she did.

So what?

Do you want my help Ronan? Do you want me to represent you?

Ronan looked at her and she could not quite make out the expression on his face as the sunshine washed over him in waves of light and dark.

No.

Brooke looked at him, stunned in spite of herself, and pushed her hair behind her ear distractedly.

No?

That’s right. No. I don’t want your help. As it happens I don’t need your help and, even if I did, you would be the last one I would ask for it. So. Give my regards to Liam, won’t you? Tell him- Tell him I’ll see him soon.

Ronan made a gesture, waving her off, and then moved back where she could see his face again fully. He looked angry. Angry and pleased and completely at peace. Brooke shook her head once as if she’d been slapped and Ronan grinned.

Not used to hearing the word ‘no’ too often are you?

The grin fell from his face and he gave her a look of outright contempt.

No. You wouldn’t. You would not.

Brooke started to turn and then turned back around quickly, her angry embarrassment cracking her facade close to the fault line.

Can I ask why not?

You can ask me anything you like. You still won’t get the case.

Fine. Why not?

Because you’re not honest, that’s why.

How have I not been honest?

Lots of ways. Understand it’s not that I value honesty so much, as a concept. But I think a lawyer should be able to lie more convincingly. And if I can see through you that means that someone in the jury will too. And I can’t have that. Not if, like you said, I plan to get out of this alive.

I haven’t lied to you once!

Ronan kicked a chair towards her and she leapt back as it screeched to a stop at her feet.

Well that isn’t the same thing at all, Ronan said calmly, his black eyes dancing.

Brooke looked at him, afraid for the first time all afternoon, and the smirk slowly faded from Ronan’s face.

Sit down, he said, and Brooke thought about simply walking out of the room and never looking back. She thought of gathering up her briefcase and catching a cab back downtown and telling the partners that she had blown it, that she had failed completely, that somehow she had overplayed her hand and Ronan simply wasn’t going for it, not for her, not for the firm.

I don’t have to be the lead, Brooke said finally. I don’t even have to be involved in the case if that’s what you want. But I still believe that Hart and Cooper would be the best choice for you based on their reputation...

Sit. Down. Ronan said, not quite yelling, enunciating each word so perfectly that they hit her like a slap to the face.

Brooke sat down and tried not to let the tears of frustration and rage she felt show on her face. Ronan looked at her for a moment, his handsome, ruined face drawn up in a sneer, and when he spoke his voice was low and clipped.

Now, Brooke. I answered your questions. You never answered mine. That makes you a- what?

That’s what you’re angry about? The questions about the VA hospital?

Ronan was on his knees in front of her in seconds, his hands at her throat. Brooke gasped and looked at him, terrified, wondering how things had gotten so out of control so quickly.

Do you want to know a secret? Ronan said leaning in towards her ear until she could feel his breath on her neck. They’re not coming for you. None of them. You made sure of that when you humiliated Kerns. When he was only trying to protect you. Now why would you do a thing like that? Why would you turn away the only person who could possibly protect you from someone like me?

A mistake, Brooke said while trying to keep her chin above his left hand, which was squeezing and releasing her throat, his eyes searching her face as they ran down the length of her neck.

Yes. That’s right. A mistake. That’s two.

Ronan released her neck and then cupped the back of her head, pulling her ear towards his lips.

That’s better. Now we can talk like civilized people. What I’d really like to know, Brooke, is why take this case to begin with? Hmm? There must have been something. Not just Liam. Was it money? Ambition? Simple curiosity?

Ronan tilted her head toward his and smirked, smoothing her hair with his other hand as she jerked away from him instinctively.

Tell me all about what dangerous men are capable of doing to a girl like you, he said softly, and her eyes ran over his face with a fear which was not quite panic, but edging towards it.

And don’t leave anything out. If you do I’ll know, and I won’t like it. Not even a little bit.

I don’t know why I took the case. I felt compelled to.

Compelled? Ronan asked, rolling over the word in his mouth like it amused him deeply. You felt compelled? How flattering. Why did you feel compelled?

Your file. Your footage. You reminded me of someone. That’s all. Someone I never got a chance to help.

Now, Ronan said carefully, his dark eyes teasing and dangerous. Who might that be I wonder?

Brooke bit her lip and Ronan twisted her neck back towards him sharply.

No? Don’t want to tell me?

Ronan closed his eyes for a moment and sighed.

That is disappointing.

Before she had a chance to react, Ronan had her off her chair and was holding her on his lap against the closest wall, holding her neck so tightly that she broke off struggling mid-scream.

There, there. That’s a girl, Ronan said into her ear, and she realized how strong he was too late, his arm around her abdomen like a vise, her head immobilized by the strength of his grip.

Makes it difficult to scream, doesn’t it? Ronan said casually, and Brooke closed her eyes and focused on her breathing.

It’s amazing how fragile the human windpipe is. One little squeeze and it’s all over in a matter of moments. It’s really amazing that any of us survive to adulthood, when you think of all the insignificant little things that can go so terribly wrong.

My brother, Brooke said, barely audible, her head bobbing in a sea of red blood. He’s right, she thought. They really aren’t coming. I’m going to die in here and they’ll convince themselves I deserved it for not following protocol.

What’s that?

My brother. You remind me of him.

Ronan let go of her neck and Brooke gasped for oxygen, terrified to move and unable to stop herself. Ronan shifted his weight under her and Brooke felt his hold on her abdomen slack. All of a sudden she felt a rush of rage at him, and shoved at his arms with all her strength. He did not fight her as she stood up and she made her way over to the table in seconds, feeling dizzy and disoriented, her head still swimming with adrenalin.

Ronan sat against the wall for a moment and looked at her with his head tilted. It was obvious that of all the things he had expected to hear, it hadn’t been that.

I remind you of your brother.

Yes, Brooke said, her hands shaking. She wondered if she should attempt to walk around the table for her other file and then decided that if Ronan planned to kill her he could probably accomplish it before the guards made it through the steel door. If, indeed, they ever came at all.

She walked around to the other side of the table and bent down to pick up several loose photographs when she noticed that Ronan was on the move again, coming up slowly around the table.

Don’t! She said standing up, hoping she looked less terrified then she felt.

Ronan held up his hands as if injured by her terror and pointed to the chair opposite her on the other side of the table. When she didn’t move, he sat down and looked at her with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. He pulled up his chair and looked up at the ceiling.

Tell me about your brother.

Why should I?

Why should you? Because I’m curious. And I asked you. And we are still very much alone.

Brooke shoved the photos from a dozen bloody crime scenes into her briefcase and snapped it shut. Ronan shrugged.

I would think that my lawyer would want to foster a relationship built on trust and honesty.

Brooke paused and narrowed her eyes at him and he gave her a bemused expression. He waved his hand to the chair opposite him and Brooke thought about what she had just gone through weighed against the embarrassment of going back to the partners empty-handed after she’d all but assured them that she could seal the deal in two hours flat. She thought of the hospital and the young soldier who had been so shell-shocked and half mad with PTSD that he’d taken a knife