Page 55 of Defend Me

The more time I spend with Von, the more time I want to spend with her.

This is crazy. She’s my lawyer, for one. She’s Caden’s sister, for another. Not sure how he’d feel about me lusting after her. And she’s Von! I’m not even supposed to like her at all. She’s snobby and mean and out of touch.

But the woman I’ve seen glimpses of since moving to New York is different. And now she’s seen me naked. God, I hope I didn’t embarrass myself. I hope I didn’t make her uncomfortable in her own house.

But I also find myself hoping thatwashunger in her eyes.

I hear the light patter of her footsteps on the stairs, which means she’s taken her heels off. When she comes around the corner, I’m struck dumb at the sight of her. Dainty bare feet with bright red toes, soft white top that reveals a tempting, sun-kissed shoulder. Her hair is pulled back in a low ponytail.

She smiles at me shyly. “It smells amazing. Sorry I didn’t say that before.”

“No, it’s fine,” I say. “Sorry my dick got in the way of dinner.”

Von lets out a high-pitched giggle as my ears go hot. What wasthat? I file it away under the worst apology ever.

“Let’s eat,” I say, taking the plates over to the table, while she grabs a bottle of wine and two glasses. Thank god. I need a drink. We eat in silence for a moment, my brain frantically trying to come up with something normal to say.

Von speaks first and saves me from my myself. “Foghorn Leghorn sent over a ballistics report today,” she says. “Though without a bullet to compare it to, I doubt it will be of much evidentiary value. So not sure why he went through the trouble of ballistics. Feels like he’s trying to intimidate us.”

She snorts and cuts her lamb into tiny pieces. I’ve grown to love the way she does that, ensuring every bite of her meal is balanced and precise. She holds up a perfectly composed forkful like she’s going into battle. “We will not be intimidated by a cartoon rooster.”

I chortle and take a bite from my own plate. “Ballistics report on what?”

“Your gun. They confiscated it from your house during the search, remember?”

“That’s not the right gun,” I say, swallowing.

Her head snaps up. “What?”

“I didn’t have a duty weapon at the time of your mom’s death.”

Von instantly switches into lawyer mode. “What are you talking about?”

“I wasn’t a deputy five years ago,” I say. “I had just started firearms training that week. I was assigned a gun at the shooting range to use. But I had to leave it there. I didn’t take it home with me. It’s still at the range, as far as I know.”

Von is leaning forward now, her face alight. There’s this almost magical shift in her when she becomes ultra-focused—it sharpens the line of her cheekbones, brightens her gaze. Her slender frame seems to buzz with energy.

“Are you telling me,” she says slowly, “that anyone could have had access to your gun?”

I feel a prickle in my fingertips. This is something new—an avenue that’s never been explored. “I don’t know about anyone,” I say. “But certainly the other officers on the force.” I pause. “And maybe other civilians who use the shooting range.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“I thought you knew,” I say.

“Who can we talk to about this?” Von asks.

“The guy who runs the range is this old curmudgeon, Stan Jefferson.”

“I’ll speak with him,” Von says.

“Stan won’t talk to you,” I warn her.

She raises an eyebrow and juts her chin, a classic Von “I dare anyone to defy me” expression. “And why not?”

I grimace. “He kind of hates your dad.”

“Why?”

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