to wonder if he told her the truth with his brusque words. “I’m fine, baby. Leave it be.”
He turned away to greet his steward, ordering wine with practiced ease. When he returned his attention to her, he was once again the man she knew, the man she loved more than any other. “So tell me about today.”
The words were not a request but a demand. Jessica had known she would have to discuss her day, but she’d dreaded it. When things happened that she could not control, she wanted to crawl into the sand, bury her head and never pull it out.
“You heard what happened. Bruno told me you were upset.”
Her father snorted. “Bruno! He doesn’t understand our legal system. As he always says, ‘I came to America for freedom, but sometimes your freedom is just too free.’”
“He’s right.” Jessica paused as her father performed the wine ritual with his steward, then she nodded her thanks as the accepted selection was poured into her glass. She picked up the crystal and swirled the ruby liquid about, tilting the glass just enough to catch the setting sun and turn the wine the color of blood. Then she put the wine down, untasted. “I had no choice, Dad.”
“Of course you didn’t. No one knows better than I how hard it was for you to let that creep go.”
Their eyes met, and they shared a moment of silence for the tragedy in their past. Once there had been four Kirklands living happily in a house in a Milwaukee suburb. Jessica’s sister, Karen, had been two years her senior, and though they had fought like sisters, they had loved like sisters, too. When Karen went away to college at the University of Wisconsin at Madison, Jessica had visited her often, counting the days until she could join Karen and experience the swirl of life in Mad City, as it was known to Wisconsin Badgers.
“Jessica?” Her father’s voice brought her back to their table. He held his wineglass aloft, waiting for her to join him. She picked up her glass and tapped the rim to his. “Here’s to getting past the past and moving on,” he said.
Jessica took a sip, then set the glass down with deliberation. “I wish I could, Dad. But every time I have to let someone go whom I know is guilty, I remember Karen and…” She stopped and took a deep, ragged breath.
Her father’s hand covered hers where it rested on the table. “And you feel like your heart is being ripped out of your chest and stomped on.” She nodded. “What happened to Karen was unspeakable, honey.”
Jessica stared at his large, blunt, sun-browned hand covering her smaller, thinner, paler one. “Mom never got over it.”
“I doubt we will, either. At least until we can have some closure.”
She looked into his eyes and recognized the never-ending pain. “I thought that if I put away the guilty, I’d feel better.”
“Don’t you?”
“Sometimes. But every time I have to let one go, I remember that one, and not all the guilty ones I’ve sentenced.”
“Why do you think that is?”
“Because no matter how many I sentence, I’ll never know if he’s the one who murdered my sister.”
Her father winced.
“I’m sorry.” Jessica turned her hand and intertwined her fingers with his. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“It’s the truth. Maybe we don’t talk about Karen enough.”
“I doubt that. You know sometimes I can’t remember what she looked like? I know she had lighter hair compared to mine, and she wanted to be a veterinarian. Sometimes, I can almost hear her laugh, but I can’t remember her face.”
“Look at her picture. I always do.”
“Her picture isn’t her, Dad.”
He squeezed her hand. “We’ll never forget Karen, never forgive what happened to her, but both of us need to get past it and move on with our lives. Especially you, Jess.”
Jessica straightened, pulling on her hand, but he wouldn’t let go. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you need to do something other than worry about the bad guys all the time.”
“I thought you were proud of my career.”
“I am. I’m bursting my buttons whenever I can work into the conversation that my daughter is a judge. But you’re starting to worry me.” Jessica scowled and took a gulp of her wine with her free hand. “Don’t glare at me like that, young lady. You need to get a life.”
“Pardon me?”
“Find a man. Have some fun. Live a little.”
“You were the one who broke out the champagne when Dennis moved out.”
“Dennis Wolcott was a wimp. Face it, girl, you need a man.”
Jessica rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Dad!” But his gaze, no longer on her, was fixed on someone near the door. “Dad?”
“Here comes one now,” he murmured, his mouth curving into a welcoming smile.
Jessica glanced over her shoulder to find Doug McGuire bearing down on them. Bruno chased after him, flapping his hands like an agitated bird.
McGuire stopped at their table, his dark-blue gaze touching on the wine, then lighting on their joined hands. He frowned and lifted an icy stare to Jessica.
“What do you want, Detective McGuire?” She removed her hand from her father’s, then picked up her wine when her hand suddenly felt too empty and vulnerable. McGuire always made her feel—nervous.
“We need to talk.”
Jessica raised her eyebrows and lifted her glass. She sipped, ever so slowly, watching McGuire heat toward slow burn. Damn it was fun! “I think we talked enough today, Detective, don’t you?”
Her father turned a laugh into a cough. Her gaze flicked toward him, and she remembered what he’d said just before McGuire descended. She needed a man. Well, McGuire might be a man, but he was not for her. She had to get rid of him before Daddy started matchmaking. And from the look of his grin and the sparkle in his eyes, she didn’t have much time.
“I’m having dinner, Detective. You can make an appointment with Liz.”
“No chance. The boyfriend will just have to eat alone tonight. I need you to come with me.”
She narrowed her eyes, then carefully set down her wine before she made a scene by throwing it into McGuire’s face. Then she sat back and looked him up and down. “This sounds interesting.” She ran her tongue over her bottom lip, tasting the rich, red flavor of the Merlot her father had chosen. “What do you have in mind, Detective?”
His gaze, which had fixed on her lips, snapped to her eyes. The heat there made her want to pull at the suddenly tight neck of her blouse. “Lose the date,” McGuire ordered.
Her father snorted again. She cast him an annoyed glare
