LITMIR.BIZ

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notify him of any further material developments. Like I said, it’s really just for show. Bandon comes out looking good to Sparks. Nothing on the record shows he’s doing some rich ass a favor –’

      ‘And we’re going to play along,’ Rogan said. He didn’t bother to hide the sarcasm.

      Ellie finally spoke up. ‘Donovan’s right. Bandon’s probably helping us out.’

      Robin Tucker looked at Ellie with raised eyebrows. It was a look of surprised approval.

      ‘And Rogan should be the one to do the in camera session with Judge Bandon.’

      ‘What? So I can serve some time, too?’

      ‘So I won’t be an issue. So Bandon will see we’ve dealt with Sparks on the up-and-up.’

      ‘That’s a good idea,’ Max said quietly. ‘Thank you.’

      ‘Okay, so we’re all done here?’ Tucker said. ‘Happy campers all around?’

      No one looked happy, but no one was protesting. ‘That was easier than I thought. Now get out of here. I’ve got a kid waiting at home for dinner.’

      Rogan didn’t bother waiting until they were back to their desks before reconstructing the events that must have led to Judge Bandon’s phone call to Max Donovan that afternoon.

      ‘Your girl Kristen Woods gave us up,’ he said once they had both crossed the threshold of Tucker’s office.

      ‘I assumed the same thing.’

      ‘So much for the sisterhood of the traveling pantsuits,’ he said.

      ‘Well, Woods is more of a miniskirt and stiletto heels type anyway.’ Ellie tried to muster a smile as she lowered herself into her worn vinyl-upholstered desk chair. ‘Given the timing, she must’ve called Sparks the second we left her on the street.’

      ‘And then Sparks makes a call to Bandon.’

      ‘Or, more likely, he calls his lawyer, and then Guerrero calls Bandon. That way it at least looks like an actual legal process.’

      ‘Instead of the bullshit rich-boys club that it is.’

      Ellie felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up to find Max Donovan smiling down at her.

      ‘I’m gonna get my gear from the locker room,’ Rogan said.

      ‘You okay?’ Max asked once Rogan was out of earshot.

      ‘Yeah, I’m good.’

      ‘I know this has to be hard on you.’

      ‘Really, it’s fine. I’m actually grateful that Rogan will be the one to deal with Bandon this time. I probably need some distance.’

      ‘I’ve got another couple hours of work at the courthouse, but meet at my place when I’m done?’

      ‘I’m sorry, Max. I’m really tired. Last night wasn’t exactly the Ritz-Carlton, you know?’

      ‘That’s fine. Why don’t you go home and get some rest, and I’ll come to you.’

      ‘I don’t think I’ll be very good company.’

      ‘That’s all right. I’m used to doing all the talking while I watch you chew,’ he said, smiling.

      Ellie knew she should be grateful for his response. She should be thankful that he wanted to support her, to comfort her, to watch her sleep the way she’d sometimes catch him in the morning. And she wanted to accept his offer. She wanted to be the kind of woman whose first instinct was to run to a man who cared about her when she was under pressure.

      But one of the things she loved about Max was that he seemed to understand her, even when she had trouble understanding herself. And he was comfortable and confident and took everything in stride. Unlike other men she’d dated, she never had to worry about Max making it all about him. It was all the more reason to wish she could give him what he wanted.

      ‘I’m sorry. Tomorrow, okay? I promise. Tonight I just need to kick the blankets, squish the pillows, drool onto the sheets, and snore like an old fat man. And I really don’t want you to see me like that.’

      ‘Might kill the magic.’

      ‘Exactly.’ She held his gaze and brushed his forearm.

      ‘Tomorrow.’

      ‘Tomorrow.’

      ‘I’m holding you to it.’

      ‘You better.’

      ‘Well, get some rest, all right? You’ve earned it.’

      Outside on Twenty-first Street, to the west, Ellie spotted a familiar figure leaning against the white stone of the building, smoking a cigarette. Jess.

      She smiled at her older brother as she imagined all of the one-liners he must have come up with at her expense since she’d called him the night before from jail.

      ‘Hey, you.’ She caught a whiff of smoke and wondered when she’d stop missing it.

      He removed an unopened pack of Marlboros from his faded jean jacket and handed them to her.

      ‘I quit, remember?’ She had, for the most part.

      ‘I hear they’re currency where you’re from.’

      ‘Funny.’

      ‘I’m serious. Anything you want. Soap. Candy. Porn. A shiv. Reefer. The white pony. These bad boys can get you anything on the inside.’ He shook the cigarettes for emphasis.

      ‘Is that all you got?’ she asked dryly.

      ‘Of course not. I figured I’d go with the prop comedy first. Let the rest of my lines trickle out over the next few days. Weeks. Months, if necessary.’

      ‘Oh, good. Something to look forward to.’

      ‘Are you up for a drink, or are you too jacked up on bootleg hootch from your time in the joint?’

      ‘Oh, I think I can stay awake long enough for a drink.’

      ‘You know I only treat at one place.’

      ‘You know the torment that awaits me in there?’

      The bar in question was Plug Uglies, a classic old watering hole around the corner on Third Avenue. Thanks to its proximity to the precinct and an absurdly cheap happy hour, one could always count on finding a row of cops drinking there at this time of day.

      ‘C’mon. Cheap drinks. A little darts. Some shuffleboard. You’ve got to take your lumps from the house sometime, or it’s only going to fester.’

      ‘The house. Listen to you with the cop talk.’

      ‘Jesus, I’ve been spending too much time with you.’

      Ellie and Jess had been raised in the same home, with the same intense homicide detective as a father, but had dealt with their police-dominated environment in opposite ways. Jess had rebelled, shunning any kind of hierarchy or ordered regime that might even begin to resemble a law enforcement culture. Ellie, on the other hand, had breathed it all in and had allowed it to define her.

      She pulled the wrapper from the Marlboros. Just one drag. She’d earned it.

       Chapter Fourteen

      6:15 p.m.

      Inside the tiny efficiency studio that Glen Forrest Communities called her mother’s ‘apartment’, Katie Battle filled a green-tinted glass with water from the sink and placed it on the small rosewood table that doubled as both nightstand and end table between the empty bed and the chair that her mother currently

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