Page 2 of Barristers & Bones

“Give me some gauze, will you?”

I handed her a wad, and she used forceps to work it into the throat to absorb any lingering moisture or gas. Then, she worked some into the nostril cavities and massaged the nose back into shape. Next, Sylvie added filler inside the cheeks and formed the mouth into a soft smile.

“How does that look?” she asked.

I leaned over and studied the less-wrinkled face. “A little more on the right.”

She nodded and stuffed a bit more filler into the right upper cheek area. “How about now?”

“It looks good.” I handed her the needle injector with a small nail and nylon wire already loaded.

She leaned in and punched the nail into the lower jawbone just below the gums. It hit the bone and held. Then she loaded it again and punched another one into the upper jaw. Drawing the wire together, she closed Ms. Elwood’s mouth, tied off the wire, and tucked the small ends inside the lips.

Peering around her, I inspected the face. “Nice work. Now for the burial clothes and cosmetics.”

Sylvie glanced at me. “You look like you’re doing better.”

I smiled as I watched her work. “Yeah, there’s nothing like preparing a dead body in a dark mortuary to get my mind off my nightmares.”

I thought the nightmare would be the worst part of that Monday, but after reading the email from my law school counselor later that morning, I realized I’d grossly underestimated the amount of feculence one day could hold. The glass doors of Fowler, Underwood, Carter, and Knox, Legal whooshed open with a surge of artificial chill that did nothing to cool my boiling temper. I marched up to the front desk and made eye contact with the receptionist.

“Hello. I need to speak with Roman Fowler. I’m Luna Cross, and he should be expecting me.”

My irritation and resentment might have leaked through because the woman at the desk raised her eyebrow. Her nameplate readBrenna Wilson. The woman’s blond, highlighted hair framed a pretty, made-up face, and her tailored dress fit well. But her expression made me want to check myself for food in my teeth or nasty stains.

“Are you a client?” she asked.

“No, I’m a law student. Roman Fowler has just been assigned as my mentor, and I’m supposed to complete my internship here. But I need to talk with him about–”

“A law student?” She interrupted, her painted lips twisting into the faintest sneer. “Do you have an appointment?”

“Klim Hudson from the law school sent me over. Roman should know I’m coming.”

Brenna’s fingers danced mockingly over her keyboard. “It’sMr. Fowler, and I don’t see your appointment. You’ll have to wait.”

“If you could just tell him I’m here–”

Her smile sharpened. “Take a seat, Ms. Cross. I’ll let you know when he’s free.”

“It will take maybe two minutes–”

“Have a seat,” Brenna repeated, emphasizing each syllable.

I sighed, turned to the plush leather couch, and slid my backpack off. Pulling my laptop out, I decided to use my forced time with “bitchy Brenna” to do some reading. I figured I’d give her a few minutes, then start pushing back if she didn’t get me in to see Fowler soon. Just over forty minutes later, I slid my laptop back into my backpack and stood up.

“It’s been forty-two minutes. You haven’t gotten up from your desk or picked up the phone to let Mr. Fowler know I’m here.”

“Your observations are noted,” she replied with glacial efficiency. “But Mr. Fowler is extremely busy. When he has a moment, I’ll let him know you’re here.”

I had to hand it to F.U.C.K. Legal. The acronym of their names and their sleek, cold law office gave off a straightforward message. Their frigid receptionist was the perfect complement.

“Bullshit.”

“Did you say something?” She rolled her eyes but didn’t look up from her screen.

“You can keep rolling your eyes, but I doubt you’ll find much back there.”

Her fingers paused mid-air, then resumed typing at double speed.

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