because he’d found a way to conceal her body.”
Ben arched one of his eyebrows rakishly. “Maybe. But do you get beyond a reasonable doubt?”
He leaned one shoulder against the wall and watched her. As he stood there, he folded his arms across his broad chest, silently reminding Sally that he’d never wanted for dates. Women in their law class had draped themselves across him, baking him cookies and inviting him to join their study groups. It was pitiful, and he’d lapped up the attention shamelessly. Ben used women. That’s who he was. Once, before finals, she’d walked into a quiet study room in the library and caught him with a topless girl straddling his lap, his hand snaking up her skirt. He’d had the nerve to smile at Sally over the woman’s bare shoulder as if to say, You wish.
Well, she didn’t wish. She had self-respect. Ben had never been formally attached to anyone. He used women and dumped them. She may have thought she loved him long ago, but he’d been very clear that he wasn’t interested in any kind of long-term, monogamous relationship. She’d been fooled, but that was a distant and ugly memory. Ten years distant.
She slammed the filing cabinet shut. He may be hot, but he wasn’t that hot, really. At least, she’d never understood the appeal. He had mahogany hair, slightly tousled, that he wore at a conservative length. He was tall, but not taller than six feet. He was clean-shaven, probably still tattoo-free, and just...generic. His only striking feature was his pair of deep blue eyes shrouded by long black lashes and strong eyebrows. Sally could admit that his eyes were beautiful. Even his glasses could be kind of hot on a different guy. But everything else about Ben was ho-hum. A playboy who liked to have one-night stands? Yawn. She preferred a man with a real edge and some substance that went beyond whatever was in his pants. A man who could make her laugh and think before he rocked her world. And since her broken engagement, she preferred no man at all.
“If you’ll excuse me, I have some work to do.” She headed toward the door.
“As do I. And I believe we’re heading to the same place. Remember, we’re partners now.” He stepped aside and waved her through. “After you.”
She rolled her eyes at his pompous formality as she brushed past, accidentally sweeping her shoulder against his chest. “Narrow doorway,” she mumbled.
Her attention was gripped by the sight of seven of her colleagues huddled in front of a television set up in a vacant cubicle in the center of the office. They watched her as she approached.
“Sally, you may want to see this,” Greg said, nodding his head toward the screen.
She squinted to make out the sight of the gray marble steps of town hall. A lectern was erected in the middle of a swarm of buzzing reporters in subdued jackets. “A press conference? What’s going on?”
“Your guy Marlow called it.”
That would be Dennis Marlow, the defense attorney who represented Mitch Kruger in the murder trial. He was a ripe pain in the rear.
“He called a press conference? On the Kruger case? And he didn’t even have the courtesy to tell me about it?” As soon as the words escaped, she reconsidered her simmering fury. Marlow had fallen far short of courteous during the pretrial phase, so what was one more professional breach?
She was aware of Ben creeping up to stand behind her. He had all the space in the world, and he had to stand right there, where she could sense him, practically feel the heat as it rose from his body. She couldn’t resist glancing quickly over her shoulder. Yep, there he was, old jerk face, making a conscious decision to invade her personal space and suck up all her air. She’d been much too polite earlier. She’d have to change that.
Her attention returned to the television as Marlow entered the screen from the right and stood behind the lectern, in a red tie and a black blazer that looked brand-new. “That tie looks expensive,” she murmured, mostly to herself. Marlow didn’t wear expensive ties.
“Must be an important press conference,” Ben replied close to her ear. “Fancy tie, lots of cameras.”
She didn’t have the opportunity to respond before Marlow began to speak.
“I’m Attorney Dennis Marlow, and I represent Mitchell Kruger. My client is accused of murdering his wife almost a year ago. Mr. Kruger has maintained his innocence from day one, and his story has never changed. Namely, that Mrs. Kruger walked out after a heated argument and never returned. We have maintained sincere efforts to locate Mrs. Kruger, but to no avail. Her body was never recovered, and the state’s evidence against my client has always been circumstantial.”
Sally bristled at this bit of theatrics. Most evidence in any case was circumstantial—it wasn’t as if criminal acts were routinely captured on video. Marlow knew better, but lines like “circumstantial evidence” often played well to juries.
The attorney continued. “We have cooperated with the investigation without conceding Mr. Kruger’s involvement in his wife’s disappearance. He was not involved. He, too, was a victim.”
Sally glanced across the crowd of colleagues and caught her friend Tessa’s eye. Tessa made a gesture as if she was about to vomit. Sally shook her head. Mr. Kruger was a victim now? Marlow was really pushing it.
“I’m pleased to announce that now, on the eve of Mr. Kruger’s trial, we are about to clear his good name once and for all.” Marlow looked up from his notes and gestured to the right of the screen. “My client couldn’t have killed his wife, because she’s with us here today.”
Sally’s blood rushed to her feet, and a chill settled in its place as a figure crossed the screen to the lectern. She’d looked at hundreds of pictures of Mitch Kruger’s wife over the course of this investigation and in preparation for trial, imagining the terror the poor woman must have felt in her last moments. Sally knew Mrs. Kruger. The shape of her face. The shade of her white-blond hair. Her slender build.
Through private interviews with her closest friends and family, Sally knew even more than that. She knew that Mrs. Kruger liked country music, line dancing and beer. That she didn’t care for gardening, but kept small potted plants that she tended with love. That she loved her shar-pei, Pookie, and would never, ever have willingly left him with Mitch. Sally knew that Mrs. Kruger was dead.
But then the woman smiled shyly at the camera and said, “Hello. I’m Ronnie Kruger.”
And stupid Ben had the nerve to whisper, “Sally, I think there’s a problem with your case.”
Chapter 2
Ronnie had never been one for card games. The dubious honor of household poker expert belonged to Mitch. “Everyone has a tell,” he’d once informed her over a gin gimlet on the rocks. “A twitch, a smile. Something that lets you know they’re hiding something.”
She’d taken a sip of her icy drink. Three glasses in, and she no longer pinched her lips against the sourness. “I don’t,” she’d said, lowering the glass to the table and licking her lips. “I come from a large family, so I’ve learned how to be a good liar.”
“Is that a fact?” One corner of his mouth had lifted in amusement.
“Absolutely. In a big family, someone’s always looking over your shoulder. I learned a long time ago that if I ever wanted any privacy, I’d have to know how to keep secrets.”
He’d
