Readers wanted
Readers! Are you USMC military police or CID? I am looking for someone familiar with the United States Marine Corps Military Police or Criminal Investigation Division to read my WIP. Please DM me if you're interested. It's a fun one, I promise. 💜
Readers! Are you a JAG officer? I am looking for someone familiar with the Judge Advocates General corps (any branch!) to read my WIP. Please DM me if you're interested. It's a fun one, I promise. 💕
Will a sample help? Check out the prologue!
PROLOGUE
Two years ago
July 2022 | FOX 11 | Encino businessman, accused of stabbing and killing wife during argument, pleads not guilty | Luxury furniture shop owner Wade Walters pleaded not guilty Friday in downtown Los Angeles to a murder charge for allegedly stabbing and killing his wife during an argument in their Valley home last August.
“Listen, Asher, you have to bring this guy in for questioning,” I say to the tall, dark, and devastating prosecutor who’s smirking at me from the tiny pink chair in my office.
“I’m not sure I could bring him in. Have you seen this guy?” He’s being coy. Asher is over six feet tall and built like the Krav Maga expert he is. “I could take ten thousand cops and still not be able to capture this monster.”
The murdering bastard we’re talking about is about four inches taller and eighty pounds lighter. But he’s a monster. I don’t blame the assistant DA for his reluctance.
“How about this? If you will go with me, I will bring him in,” he says.
I laugh in surprise. “Right. You’ll take me to apprehend an obvious murderer.”
“An alleged murderer.”
I scoff at the distinction. “I am a judge.” I roll my eyes at him. Well, I was. Goddammit.
After two decades in the Judge Advocate General's Corps, I could not wait to get home to Southern California to sit under the palm trees sipping my iced rose matcha. Now that I’m home and living my best life here in the City of Angels, the fact that I’m no longer the boss of anything is starting to chafe. But I wear my discomfort with civilian life well. Today I’m in a pink and purple wool-silk shorts suit. Pink and purple you ask? Yeah, no. I’m not afraid of color (now that I am allowed to wear what I want!). And a suit is never just a suit—it’s red satin or peach plaid or bares my midriff.
“You are a retired judge. That doesn’t actually count in Los Angeles, doll.” He’s doing his film noir voice. It’s the only reason I don’t call him out on the “doll” insult. He even looks like an old-fashioned movie detective in his crisp navy blue suit and skinny green tie. He is handsome, this prosecutor I’m so lucky to have on my side. I bat my eyelashes at him, coyly acknowledging his playful patriarchal taunt. This is my first civilian case and I want to prove that my client didn’t do this to his wife. I know he didn’t do it.
Asher and I both know to trust my gut: Sisera is the guy who murdered my client’s wife. I just feel it in my bones.
That’s not the whole truth—it’s not just my intuition telling me this is the bad guy. It’s my client—he saw Sisera brutally murder his wife. His retelling was so vivid and so gruesome, I could truly, actually see it.
This is my gift. And my curse.
I experience violence as it’s reported to me. Not just what’s reported, but the actual scene. As though I were there in the room where it happened—in full color, with sounds and smells. So vivid, it turns my stomach. Reading the newspaper takes courage but I do it every morning no matter what. The victims of those crimes—so often women, especially women of color, all too often queer women, so devastatingly often—deserve a witness. I decided long ago to not only watch, but to fight for justice.
He sighs. Loudly. “Look, if I can get a warrant—”
Hearing what I wanted to hear, I cut him off. “Perfect. Thanks. You may go,” I dismiss him with a wave of my hand and start to turn to my computer monitor.
“Wait. I said if I can get a warrant—that’s no guarantee. But my point is this. If I can get a warrant, I really do want to take you with me. I need you there, Div. You’re the only one who can verify if Sisera is the guy you think he is.” What he means to imply is it’s either me or my client. And, no, I do not want my client anywhere near that man.
“Very well, I will go with you,” I answer. “However, there will be no glory for you in it.”
“Glory? For fuck’s sake, Divya.”
“I’m serious. When we take this guy down, it will be by the hands of a woman.”
“Whatever.” He gets up from the delicate guest chair he’s shoved his frame into. I swear I bought these chairs just to make this man squirm in them. “I’ll call you when I get a warrant. Clear your calendar tomorrow.”
Putting on my reading glasses and completely turning my chair to look at the screen, I don’t even bother to answer him.
But that’s not enough for him. I catch his reflection in my monitor and smile to myself. His heat hits me and then his lips on the back of my neck. “You can’t dismiss me that easily, Mav.” The rumble of his deep rich voice sends a shiver down my spine.
Involuntarily, I turn my head to give him access to the rest of my neck. “Can’t I?” Before I can even take a breath, my world is spinning. Literally. He’s spun my desk chair 180 degrees so I’m blinking up at him. My husband.
“Kiss me goodbye, Mav.”
With glee. I crush my mouth to his, run my fingers into his hair, arch up to him. His hands are on the arms of my chair, caging me in. He tastes like hot coffee, my past, my present, and my future. “Always,” I whisper against his lips.
“Hm.” He huffs. “You were about to send me away.”
I squeak as he scoops his hands under my bare thighs and I’m flying from my chair to his chest. I tighten my legs around his waist. “Maverick, you’re going to muss your suit.”
“And yours, too.” He wraps his strong arms around my back and crushes me to him. We proceed to makeout like newlyweds—lips and hands, teeth and tongues.
His phone buzzes against my inner thigh. “Dammit,” we say in unison. Probably for completely different reasons as my curse is for pleasure and his is for the call that is most likely work related.
He puts me back down in my chair—because that’s adorable—kisses me on my nose, turns on his heel, and answers his phone as he leaves my office. “Te’o.”
I sigh. He’s so handsome. I adore that man.
I spin back to my computer, giddy with victory and the oxytocin coursing through my veins. Mostly because I am thrilled with my victory. He said “when” he gets a warrant. I won this round. I hear the front door snick shut behind him, and I take a deep breath.
Now, I just have to prove I’m right. How the fuck am I going to do that?
