Rylann smiled when she saw an attractive woman with long, chestnut-brown hair and a welcoming look in her aquamarine eyes coming down the hallway. As she had been during her interview, she was struck by how relatively young Cameron Lynde was for a U.S. attorney—thirty-three, only a year older than Rylann herself. Formerly the top AUSA in Chicago, Cameron had been appointed to the position after the former U.S. attorney, Silas Briggs, had been arrested and indicted on public corruption charges. The arrest of such a prominent political figure had caused quite a stir—both within the Department of Justice and in the media—and had been the topic of gossip among all the assistant U.S. attorneys for weeks.

When interviewing, that had been Rylann’s one concern—transferring to an office that had recently experienced such significant upheaval—but she’d walked away from the meeting with only positive impressions of Cameron. From what she surmised, the new U.S. attorney was driven and ambitious and eager to restore a good name to the Chicago office.

Cameron stuck out her hand. “It’s good to see you again, Rylann,” she said warmly. “We’ve been counting down the days to your arrival.” She gestured to the stack of case files she carried in her other hand. “As you can see, we’re swamped around here. Come with me—I’ll show you to your office.”

While making small talk, Rylann followed Cameron down an internal staircase to the twentieth floor. The setup of the office was similar to that of the one in San Francisco, with the assistant U.S. attorneys in the exterior offices, and the support staff and paralegals working from desks and cubicles in the interior space. If she recalled correctly, all twenty-seven AUSAs in the special prosecutions division were located on this floor.

“So when I spoke to Bill after your interview,” Cameron led in, referring to Rylann’s former boss, the U.S. attorney for the Northern District of California, “he said that I’m supposed to ask why the San Francisco FBI agents call you ‘Meth Lab Rylann.’ “

Rylann groaned. Although, secretly, she didn’t mind the moniker that much. “They gave me that nickname my first year on the job, and I’ve never been able to shake it.”

Cameron looked curious. “So? Let’s hear the story.”

“I’ll give you the abridged version. I was the second chair on a multiple-count organized crime and drug case, and was scheduled to meet the two FBI agents who’d handled the investigation at this underground meth lab. What the agents failed to mention before I got there was that the only way to get into the meth lab was to climb through a hatch in the ground and climb down a rusty, rickety fifteen-foot ladder. And since I’d been in court earlier that morning, I happened to be wearing a skirt suit and heels. Most inconveniently.”

Cameron chuckled. “Come on. The agents had to be messing with you—how could they forget to mention that?”

Walking side by side with Cameron, Rylann didn’t disagree. “I think they might have been testing the new girl, sure.”

“What did you do?”

“The only thing I could do,” Rylann said matter-of-factly. “I climbed through the hatch in my skirt suit and went down that rusty, rickety fifteen-foot ladder.”

Cameron laughed. “Good for you.” She stopped in front of a midsized office. “Here we are.”

The bronze nameplate outside the door said it all:

RYLANN PIERCE


assistant u.s. attorney

Rylann stepped inside. It wasn’t a glamorous office, with dark blue carpeting and fairly inexpensive furniture, but as a senior AUSA, she at least had a view of the Hancock building and Lake Michigan.

“Everything should be virtually the same as your old office,” Cameron said. “Luckily, we don’t have to waste time training you on the phones and computer, since you’re familiar with those already. Oh, one thing I wanted to be sure of: you’re on active status with the Illinois bar, correct?”

Rylann nodded. “Yes. I’m good to go.” She had taken the Illinois bar exam the summer after graduating from law school and had gone back on active status as soon as she’d learned she’d gotten the job in Chicago.

“Perfect. With that said…” Cameron handed the stack of files over to Rylann. “Welcome to Chicago.” She cocked her head. “Am I going too fast?”

“Not at all,” Rylann assured her. “Just point me in the direction of the courtrooms, tell me where the nearest Starbucks is, and I’ll be all set.”

Cameron grinned. “The Starbucks is right across the street—follow the herd of people sneaking out of the office at three o’clock every afternoon and you’ll find it. The courtrooms are on the twelfth through eighteenth floors.” She gestured to the stack of files Rylann held. “Why don’t you take the morning to review the case files? Feel free to swing by my office this afternoon with any questions you might have.”

“That sounds great, Cameron. Thank you.”

“You’re actually the first AUSA I’ve hired since taking over. How am I doing so far with the welcome speech?”

“Not bad. The part where you softened me up by asking about the meth lab story was a nice touch.”

With a laugh, Cameron looked her over approvingly. “I think you’re going to fit in just fine around here, Rylann.” She paused in the doorway before leaving. “I almost forgot. You should probably check out the top file first—there’s a motion call tomorrow morning. The AUSA who’d originally handled the case had a trial unexpectedly rescheduled for this week, so I needed somebody in special prosecutions to cover for him. It’s an agreed motion, so I don’t expect you’ll have any trouble. There’ll be reporters, but just go with the usual response—that we’re satisfied with the resolution of the matter, have no further comment, that kind of thing. You’ve been doing this for a while now, so you know the drill.”

The prosecutor in Rylann was instantly intrigued. “Reporters for an agreed motion? What kind of case is it?” Curious, she opened the file folder on top of the stack and read the caption.

United States v. Kyle Rhodes

Thank God her six years as a trial lawyer had given her one damn good poker face; otherwise, her jaw would’ve hit the floor right then.

You’ve got to be shitting me.

Just seeing the name brought forth a sudden rush of memories. The amazing blue eyes and sexy smile. The lean, muscular, made-for-sin body. His mouth covering hers as she pressed closer to him in the moonlight.

Probably not the best time to let her new boss know that she’d kissed the defendant in her first case.

“The Twitter Terrorist case,” Rylann said casually. Sure, she may have been taken aback by this unexpected turn of events, but no one else would ever know that. Once upon a time, Kyle Rhodes had made her heart skip a beat with just a kiss, but that had been nearly a decade ago. Now she was Meth Lab Rylann—and on the job, she never let anyone see her flustered.

“I figured that would be a fun one to give the new girl.” Cameron paused on her way out the door. “Feel free to stop by my office anytime. My door is always open.”

After she left, Rylann peered down at the mug shot of Kyle that was paper-clipped to the top of the file. Not surprisingly, he looked serious and chagrined in the photograph, a far cry from the devil-may-care charmer who’d once walked her home on a warm May night in Champaign.

She wondered if he would even remember her.

Not that this mattered much, obviously. She had no doubt that Kyle Rhodes had kissed many a woman in the last nine years—and done a helluva lot more than that—so she considered it quite probable that he wouldn’t so much as blink when she walked into the courtroom tomorrow. Which was just fine with her. After all, what she remembered about that night was that her first impression of him hadn’t been all that favorable.

And if her second and third impressions had been any different…well, she would forever plead the Fifth on that one. Because a serious federal prosecutor like herself did not get all hot-and-bothered over the criminal defendants she faced off against in court.

Not even a criminal defendant who’d once said he would drive two hours to take her out for chicken wings.

Luckily, that was ancient history. Yes, the circumstances of their “reunion” were ironic, perhaps even laughable, but at the end of the day she would treat Kyle Rhodes no different from the many other felons she’d encountered during her career as an assistant U.S. attorney. She was a professional, after all.

And tomorrow, she would prove just that.

Six

“KYLE! KYLE! WHAT are your plans for the future now that you’re a convicted hacker?”

“Have you spoken to Daniela since your arrest?”

Seated at the defense table in the front of the courtroom, Kyle ignored the questions and the flashes of the cameras behind him. They would get bored with him eventually, he told himself. In less than an hour, he would have his freedom, and then this would all be over.

“Do you plan to make Facebook your next target?” another reporter screamed out.

“Would you like to make a statement before the judge comes in?” someone else yelled.

“Sure, here’s a statement,” Kyle growled under his breath, “let’s get this show on the road so I don’t have to listen to anymore dumbass questions.”

Sitting next to him, one of his lawyers—inexplicably, there were five of them today—leaned over and spoke in a hushed tone. “Maybe we should handle all inquiries from the press.”

The courtroom door suddenly opened, and cameras began flashing wildly. A low murmur spread through the crowd, and Kyle knew it could mean only one thing: either his sister or his father had walked in.