lap. “Show me yours and I’ll show you mine.”
A typical jury questionnaire had more information than any online dating profile, and Jon liked to have all the facts up front.
She brought her cup to her lips to hide a smile. “I haven’t fallen for that since ever.”
“You can trust me,” he said.
“Before coffee I don’t trust my own mother,” she said.
He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out his form, folded in squares. She hesitated, then snatched it from his hands. He took note of the things she chose to read.
“Jonathan Gunther. Thirty-two. Single. No kids. Attorney, criminal defense...”
She stopped reading and glanced up at him.
“They never pick lawyers,” he said with a wink. “We can turn a shoplifting case into a constitutional crisis.”
“Criminal defense?”
“Is that going to be a problem?” he asked. “I won’t bring my clients home.”
“You’re the problem,” she said with a smile.
That smile could light up the world, Jon thought. “Your turn.”
She handed over her form, but he didn’t take it. “Why don’t you tell me what’s there?”
She pressed her lips together. “Let’s see... Sofia Silva. Twenty-nine. Event planner.”
“A party girl?” he asked.
“I’m an entrepreneur, an award-winning small business owner.” She frowned. “You have a strange way of making friends.”
“I thought you had enough friends. I put us on another track.”
“Don’t. You’re wasting your time.”
“Why?” he asked. “Married? Kids?”
She read from the questionnaire as if she’d forgotten what she’d written. He knew it was all to avoid making eye contact. “No kids—yet. One significant other.”
Jon took another sip of coffee. Normally, this would be his cue to back off. But she’d stirred things up, and there was no quick way to calm those things down.
The clerk assembled a panel, calling out numbers like lottery picks. One by one, those selected gathered their things and stumbled out of the room. The room fell silent again with Julia Roberts’s laughter for pleasant background noise.
“Why defend criminals?” she asked.
“Criminals are just people who’ve made bad choices.”
“Or they’re selfish and stupid people with complete disregard for others.”
“Callous disregard,” Jon said. “Sounds better.”
She moaned. “You really are a lawyer.”
“One of the best.” He handed her a business card. “Next time a client tries to sue you, you’ll be glad you know me.”
She laughed at the joke and took the card. Another panel was assembled and time passed. It was easy talking with her. She was sharp; nothing he said went untested. But a pattern was emerging. She’d fire questions at him but carefully avoided revealing anything about herself.
“You’ve tried cases at this courthouse?” she asked.
“No. Federal court.”
“Are your clients killers?”
“Alleged killers, you mean,” he said. “And no, they’re not. They’re alleged Ponzi schemers, tax evaders and embezzlers.”
“Can you name some of your clients?”
“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.”
“What’s that?”
“The one-sided conversation. I invented that trick.”
“All I’ve done is ask a few questions,” she said defensively. “If you weren’t so careful, you wouldn’t mind.”
“Careful? No one’s ever accused me of that.”
“Not an accusation,” she said. “An observation. You’re careful with words.”
“I’m good with words.”
“You’re not at all modest,” she observed.
“Not even a little,” he said. “I’ll note that we have a past that you’re trying to bury. So who’s being careful here?”
She held him in her soft brown gaze. “But if you can’t remember our past, does it exist?”
“And if a tree fell in the forest...?”
The clerk returned to the microphone, this time to announce an extended lunch break. He invited her out to eat.
“I’m going to pick up a salad at the medical campus across the street,” she said. “You’re welcome to come with.”
They rode the elevator to the courthouse ground floor. Outside, the aroma rising from the hot-dog carts made him nostalgic for New York City. With a hand on her elbow, he steered her across the street toward the parking lot. His Porsche was parked in an open lot reserved for jurors. Its steel-blue glaze matched the hazy Florida sky.
She yanked her arm free. “We can walk to the salad place. It’s not far.”
“We’re not going to the salad place. I heard there are seafood restaurants along the river not far from here.”
She came to a full stop in the middle of the street. “I’m not getting in your car.”
She really didn’t trust him. He wondered what he’d done to her? And why couldn’t he remember? He was sharper than this.
“I’ll bring you back in one piece,” he promised from the sidewalk. “How else will you collect your fifteen bucks?”
She stood rooted in place, stubborn. A patrol car turned a corner and signaled a warning for her to move out of the way. This was her chance to escape; all she’d have to do was turn and run. They locked eyes, engaging in a mental arm-wrestling match. Another whirl of the police siren propelled her into motion. Picking up the pace, she made her way toward him. He watched in quiet fascination as the wind tossed her hair and her body moved under a fitted blue dress.
“Let’s go to Garcia’s,” she said. “It’s the best.”
* * *
He let her take charge at the restaurant. She chose the table on the terrace overlooking the bloated river. She ordered on his
