Stepping from the shower, Paul mentally went over the day's testimony one last time as he made a grab for a towel. After a couple of swipes at thin air, he turned his head to look at the chrome rack mounted on the wall.

Empty.

He checked all the steamy surfaces. Not a damp discard, useless decorative piece, or even a fricken Bounty option in sight. This was what happened when you lived with someone—habits clashed, routines imploded, expectations shifted. And you were left exposed and dripping in the middle of the bathroom.

Thief, he thought, smiling to himself. "Robbie! You took all the towels. Again."

"Ooops," came through the door before it was cracked open just wide enough for two white rectangles to be flung in his direction.

He chose the drier of the two to secure around his lower half and ran the other over his hair, shoulders, and back without complaint. There was something intimate about all the sharing, considering what was now touching his skin had just been covering hers. He was a firm supporter of the Reduce, Reuse, Recycle way of thinking, especially when it was followed up by his personal favorite, Reveal.

He moved to the mirror, forcing his mind back to the outline in his head as he went through his primp and preen routine. Today was the final day of Shaw's court case, and thanks to the woman in the next room, Paul had every confidence they would succeed in his defense. He'd been diligent in the jury selection, meticulous in his cross examination, and Robbie had made sure their witnesses were polished but not overly-practiced. So far there had been no surprises, and in his professional opinion, the verdict could have swung either way—up until today. Wendy Alexander, the woman Robbie had found from the list, was taking the stand this morning.

Paul had been saving her for the grand finale.

The last two weeks had been brutal, filled with long days in court followed up with takeout dinners and staying up late to go over the next day's examination. Robbie had been right there with him, helping with both the detailed testimony and his confidence level. By the time they'd hit the mattress at night, they'd both been far too tired for anything but sleep. Yet just being there, holding her in his arms as she drifted off, was the perfect ending to a hard day. Thank God she had suggested he move in. He hadn't felt this content in years, both professionally and personally.

With everything cleaned, dried, shaved, and styled, he tidied up and opened the door. Robbie was half-dressed and on her tiptoes, searching for something in the top of the closet, her long dark hair swaying as she moved. With her head angled up like that, the silky strands almost reached the white thong that gave him a spectacular view of one perfect ass.

He was used to seeing that.

The matching corset, garter belt, and stockings, however, were an erotic surprise. "What are you—" His voice cracked. Actually cracked. "—wearing." She was an angel, in a heaven of her own design amid all the white décor.

"Oh." She spun around and smiled. "I'm wearing a suit today." She'd said it like it was no big deal, like she'd put on socks in preparation of putting on running shoes.

He had to smile. "Meaning?"

She clasped her hands and looked down as one set of silken toes pointed and brushed along the carpet in front of her. "I always wear lingerie under my suits. I don't know why. Luck. Confidence. Maybe I just like the irony of what people see on the surface versus what's underneath." She shrugged. "I guess it's my version of the power suit."

"Well, it's certainly influencing me." In a heartbeat he was in front of her, bringing a hand up to draw his fingertips across the two mounds straining against the lacy edge of the bodice. Delicious was the word that came to mind. She looked absolutely delicious. He was due to pick up Colonel Shaw in an hour, but . . . "I have a few minutes."

"Really? A few minutes, Captain? I don't think so. And you need to save your energy." She playfully slapped his hand away. "We'll see how you do in court today. Who knows? Maybe you'll earn yourself a reward."

She turned away, back to her search in the closet, and he tracked her movements like a tiger stalking its prey. He wasn't used to his requests being ignored, and the disobedience had him so sexed up, he was tempted to do some serious convincing.

With a toss of her head, her hair surged in a sensual wave. She glanced over her shoulder and smiled. Damn it. She knew he was still standing there, obsessed, a slave to all the blood pounding behind the terrycloth tied at his hips.

Stop thinking with your dick, asshole. Besides, she was probably right. Muhammad Ali went six weeks without sex before a major fight, perhaps for good reason. This was not the time to test a belief that dated back to ancient Greece and Rome.

"Fine," he said, pointing at the navy jacket and skirt combo hanging on the door beside her. "But as soon as we're alone, that's coming off."

"Hmmmm." She gave him another quick look as one shoulder lifted and lowered. "We'll see."

Oh, man. When had she become such a tease? I'm going to have to train that out of her. He smiled with the thought, anticipating the fun he was going to have in the process.

)l(

As Paul moved about the courtroom, emptying his briefcase and organizing papers, Robbie couldn't help but remember the day she happened to be on the west coast and visiting Pendleton during one of his cases. A fan of his technique, an admirer of his work, a supportive associate, she could have justified watching him in all kinds of ways without divulging the number one reason she'd rearranged her schedule to do so—pure and simple attraction. Nevertheless, she would have been a stranger in his mind, which seemed too close to a stalker to have the nerve to go up and speak to him.

Not anymore. Now she could enjoy the show with unabashed enthusiasm.

As if reading her thoughts, Paul lifted his gaze to her usual seat in the front row and winked.

What a difference a year makes.

"That is one gorgeous man," a female voice spoke softly in her ear.

Robbie didn't need to look to know who was sitting behind her. Joanne Thomas, entrepreneur, owner of Sally's and a few other establishments, had testified earlier in the week, detailing Elizabeth's visit to her bar with a man other than her husband. A man with platinum blonde hair. A man she'd identified through photos as Charles Pearson. Joanne had returned every day since in order to, in her own words, witness justice for Lizzie. She had yet to speak with Tony Shaw, however, which had Robbie wondering which side of the courtroom she was really routing for. She was definitely a fan of Paul's, though.

As was every other female within viewing distance, no doubt.

The voice was back, warm breath brushing across Robbie's neck with the soft whisper of, "I'd tap that if I were you."

Mortified, Robbie looked to her left and right while her cheeks burned, and yet she had to smile. Same old Joanne. She twisted around to face the woman. "Sshhh."

The flush gave her away, causing the redhead's eyes to widen. Joanne leaned back in her chair, pursing her lips and nodding. "Good for you, girl. Good for you." Her gaze shifted down with a few clicks of her tongue. "Still wearing you mother's clothes, I see." With her index finger, she drew a circle in front of one eye. "Contacts were a smart move, though."

"I'm not—" Never mind. "How's business?" Robbie asked, wanting to change the subject.

"Meh." Joanne shrugged. "I'm forever waiting on that rich investor."

"All rise," the bailiff announced, stealing Robbie's attention.

Joanne leaned forward once again as they all stood, adding, "We should go shopping. I'd find you something that man will never forget."

Robbie kept the smirk to herself. If she only knew.

It grew quiet as Judge Benson walked in and sat at his bench. "Please be seated," he said before addressing a guard across the room. "Bring in the jury."

The group of twelve filed in, filling one row, then the other.

"The floor is yours Captain Sullivan," the judge announced.

Paul nodded his thanks, turned to the jury to pay them the same respect, and in a deep and distinct voice, stated, "The defense calls Wendy Alexander."

The door in the back opened, and the crowd of spectators turned their heads, like guests at a wedding waiting on a bride. But there was no raw joy on the face of the woman standing there. She looked nervous, but determined, which is exactly what made Wendy Alexander the perfect witness. She kept Paul in her sights as she walked down the aisle and took the stand.

After being sworn in, she intertwined her fingers in her lap and aimed her stare at the man in front of her.

"Please state your name again for the court," Paul said.

"Wendy Alexander."

Good, Robbie thought. Her voice was strong, confident, just as they had practiced.

Paul nodded. "Did you know the victim, Elizabeth Shaw?"

"Yes."

"Can you describe your relationship?"

Wendy looked to the jury, another tactic they had discussed. "I knew of her at first. My husband is a Marine, stationed at Quantico. It's a small world on base." She paused and looked down at her hands. "But three months ago, she arrived on my doorstep, looking for help. I turned her down. I'll regret that for the rest of my life."

"What kind of help was she looking for?"

"It was about Charles Pearson."

"Do you know a Charles Pearson?"

"Yes. Only I knew him as Charles White. As did she. Of course it was an alias. Trusting that man was the worse mistake I ever made. I cheated on my husband with Charles Pearson."

Murmuring spread throughout the courtroom. Wendy turned her head to the gallery, and Robbie willed her to look in her direction, despite the unease it caused deep down in her gut. Once those weary eyes locked on, Robbie drew on years of therapy to maintain her side of the link, hoping the woman would find some strength in the connection, like two young friends holding hands in the dark.

In theory, anyway.

Robbie had never experienced anything like that herself.

The judge's gavel came down and Wendy's gaze shifted to him as the room grew quiet. Paul looked to the jury to make sure he had their full attention. He did. They appeared to be fans too. "Tell me more about him."

"I met him one night in a bar." Wendy sighed into the microphone. "At the time I was very vulnerable. My husband and I were having . . . difficulties." She focused on the jury again. "I know that's not an excuse."

"You are not on trial here, Ms. Alexander. We are grateful for your honesty." It was a smart move on Paul's part, reassuring Wendy while sending a direct message to any of the twelve who may have a predisposed dislike of cheating spouses.

"Thank you," she muttered before clearing her throat and squaring her shoulders. "Charles was very flattering, charming, the perfect companion, a really good listener, you know?" She laughed a little, but it was the saddest laugh Robbie had ever heard. "I should have known better. He had me pegged the moment I walked in." There was no bitterness in her voice, no contempt, just an honest anguish which could draw sympathy from anyone, even the heartless.

"How did the relationship evolve?"

Wendy's stare went to the ground and stayed there. "Like I said, it was all flowers and flattery at first. Once we slept together, he became more distant, but I made excuses for that. He seemed stressed at times, angry even."

"Did he ever hurt you?"

She shook her head and frowned. "No, it was never directed at me. He talked a lot about Quantico and what was happening on base, encouraging me to do the same. He showed up in uniform sometimes, had a Marine tattoo, and I just assumed he was one of you. I thought perhaps he had PTSD."

"Objection!" The prosecutor, Andy Stewart, was up on his feet. Tall, fit, in his late thirties, with a fierce reputation in the DA's office, he was definitely a worthy opponent. "That's an opinion."

"Sustained," the judge added, looking over at the jury. "Ignore the statement."

Robbie had to smile. They hadn't practiced that, but Wendy's adlibbing had certainly planted a seed.

Paul knew it too, looking a little pleased with himself as he continued with, "But he's not a Marine, is he?"

"No. Elizabeth cleared that right up. She'd been investigating him. He'd done the same thing to her, only she'd had the balls to fight back."

"Elizabeth told you she'd had an affair with Charles Pearson?"

"Yes."

Movement caught Robbie's eye. Tony Shaw had slumped a little further in his chair. He'd aged over the past few weeks. Learning about Elizabeth's infidelity and the need to use it as their main defense had torn the man apart. At first he had refused, adamant about not dragging his wife's name through the mud. It's what Elizabeth would have wanted, Robbie repeated in her head, the statement that had finally convinced the colonel to go with what they had.

"Tell the court what he did to you." Paul shoved his hands into his pockets and started pacing, another method of keeping the jurors' attention, a change in scenery to help stimulate the mind. It definitely aroused Robbie, those long strides a potent combination of power and confidence. As he moved, she took in the wide shoulders filling the generous dimensions of the uniform, the thick curve of one bicep only half-hidden by a short sleeve, the forearm almost twice the size of her own. Heat pooled between her legs, and she shifted in her seat, rubbing her thighs together. Jesus. She was turned on just watching him.

Wendy went on. "We communicated through notes he would leave hidden in my husband's car." It was the bombshell that launched a thousand gasps, like shrapnel ripping through the courtroom. The woman on the stand stiffened and lifted her chin. "He said emails and texts were too risky. At first I thought he got off on the danger of being discovered, but looking back, I think it was my husband he really wanted to screw. Not in the physical sense, but by having an affair with his wife right under his nose."

"Objection." Mr. Stewart was back on his feet. "We have no idea what this man was thinking or what it has to do with the case, and he's not here to explain, so . . ."

Yes, unfortunately he was right. Charles Pearson had yet to be found, a fact that ate away at Robbie. Elizabeth's murderer was out there somewhere, free to possibly kill again.

"Sustained," the judge stated. "Stick to the facts, Captain Sullivan."

"Yes, your Honor." He turned back to his witness. "How did the affair end?"

Wendy Alexander closed her eyes, taking a moment to compose herself. Robbie knew what was coming, the woman's pain obvious in the grinding of her jaw, the tension in her posture, the twisting of her hands. When she spoke again, her voice was filled with self-loathing. "He wanted money. It had been his plan all along. I paid Charles Pearson ten thousand dollars to not tell my husband I was an unfaithful fool."

END OF CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

How do you feel about Wendy? Does she deserve sympathy, or did she get what was coming to her?😔

Elizabeth's secret is out. Any changes of opinion? Is Tony Shaw innocent?🤷🏻‍♀️

Sounds like Paul is getting pretty comfortable with their living arrangement. 🥰What's he going to do when the trial is done?😳

Sorry I'm late. I'm terribly slow. You may forgive me when I tell you the next chapter is a hot one. 🔥 🔥 🔥 🔥🔥Be prepared🧯 

I appreciate all votes ✨and comments🗣It's great to know what you're thinking♥️