Page 37 of The Redemption of Remy St. Claire

Thesmellofhomemadecookies greeted Remy when she arrived home. A wave of nostalgia washed over her. Coming home after school to fresh baking. Having a snack with her mother—just a little treat, so as to not spoil her appetite.

She carried that remembrance with her as she changed into her jeans and sweater. It’d been a tough day at work, and she was looking forward to a little family time. Amazing how relaxing her evenings were—now that she left work at the office. All the way home, she anticipated the welcome she always faced when she emerged in her casual clothes. Such a contrast from the fast-paced, adrenaline-filled days.

Ahh. Rusty offered her a grin while the girls threw themselves into her open arms. Both girls began regaling her with stories of baking cookies. She took the girls to wash their hands while he dished up dinner.

Dinner and desert were normal, but something was different. Tension crackled in the air. Nothing overt, of course, but at odd moments, Rusty looked away distractedly. Since she’d only ever seen him one hundred percent absorbed in the girls, it made her skin itch.

Something’s wrong.

He was hiding it from the girls—and trying to hide it from her.

She took her turn with bath time. Progress. She didn’t wind up as wet as she had the first time she attempted this.

The girls didn’t dawdle because they were excited about the books they’d picked up at the library earlier. Great discussion and debate went into selecting the perfect book, but one about tea parties won out.

Gathering the girls in her arms, she read them the story. At one point she glanced up. Rusty leaned against the doorjamb and although his stance was relaxed, he was anything but.

When the girls begged for one more story, he stepped up and insisted on bedtime. As always, he impressed her with his patience. He had an ability to bring calm to what otherwise could’ve been a tricky situation. They exchanged kisses and hugs as the girls curled into their beds.

He was heading to his room when she waylaid him. “We need to talk.”

He hesitated and nodded.

She poured two glasses of Diet Coke while he sat in the living room. He thanked her when she handed him a glass.

“How was your day?”

Although she wanted to demand answers, she’d go along with his direction. For the moment. So she answered his question. “Crazy busy. I had two arraignments and kept both the bad guys in jail. I’m preparing for a big trial in three weeks and will sit down with the witnesses in the next few days to get them ready for what to expect. Court can often be a very intimidating experience for them, and I try to put their minds at ease.” She paused, letting her words sink in. “But that’s not why I asked you to stay up with me. What’s going on?”

He shrugged but didn’t meet her gaze. “Nothing.”

“I almost believe you.” She took a sip of her drink. “Remember, my job is to call people out on their behaviors. To look for the little tells that indicate someone is lying. You have a tell, Rusty. I hardly ever see it because you never lie to me, but your tell is coming through loud and clear tonight.”

“What tell?” His eyebrow rose. He appeared intrigued, but also disconcerted.

“If I give away my secret, I’ll lose my leverage. A good prosecutor never reveals her secrets.” Let him stew with that for a while, wondering what she had on him.

“Fair enough.”

He still wasn’t meeting her gaze. Incongruous. She’d hired him because he always maintained eye contact—because his countenance was always open.

“Talk to me. What happened today? The girls had a great time baking the cookies. Did you burn a batch?” She was kidding, of course, trying to bring some levity to the room that suddenly crackled with tension.

He stared at her for so long, she questioned the wisdom of asking for an explanation. Almost. Keeping her cool was a job requirement, but he was trying her abilities. She had tells as well—things she did unconsciously that indicated her thoughts and emotions.

“My wife showed up today.”

Of all the things she could’ve expected, this was the least likely. “You said she was away. Didn’t you say she wouldn’t come around?”

“She came back early…and I wasn’t prepared. I had ideas on how to deal with her return, but she turned up sooner than I planned.”

His dark eyes were unfocused. He was misery personified. “Actually, I can now call her my ex-wife. She signed the divorce papers.”

“Just like that? Without a fight? Without showing them to a lawyer?” She arched an eyebrow.

Finally, he met her gaze. “Way too easy, right? Physically, at least. I gave her a pen and she signed. Emotionally, though, is a different story. With a couple of strokes of the pen, seven years were obliterated.” He rubbed a hand across his forehead. “I’m no longer a married man.”

“How do you feel?” She digested what he told her. Since he’d only ever been by himself when she saw him, she hadn’t perceived him as married. His wife—ex-wife—had been some phantom figure. Someone in the shadows. Someone he promised would never be an issue.

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