Page 8 of Fierce-Colson

His blue eyes softened into a smile she recognized instantly. Charming. Disarming. Dangerous.

Time had been very good to him. More than good. It’d been fabulous.

The cute boy had grown into a man. Broad shoulders, sharp edges, and facial hair giving him a hint of trouble beneath the charm. The kind of smile that reassured victims and won over juries.

The kind that set women’s panties ablaze. Just like hers.

“Yeah,” he said. “Just work.” His gaze washed over her, slow but respectful. “Look at you, Ms. DA. Congratulations.”

She dipped into a slight, theatrical bow. A rare indulgence. One she allowed because Colson was familiar and, at times, he just brought that frivolous side out of her. Reminding her of a less stressful part of her life.

Where facts, evidence, testimony, and politics didn’t control her life.

“Why, thank you.”

“I would have said it sooner,” he said, “but I’ve mostly been dealing with the people under you. Guess that’s one of the perks now.”

“The pros and cons,” she said easily. “Everything lands on my desk eventually.”

“Like this case. You don’t have any doubts, do you?”

“No.” Her answer was immediate. Unwavering and back to being professional. “We have corroborating testimony, conclusive DNA, and his last victim is finally ready to testify. That will be the nail in the coffin. If I could, I’d slam it in myself to see him rot.”

He studied her for a second, her body feeling heat that it shouldn’t. “Do you think he’ll take a plea?”

“I hope not.”

He huffed out a laugh. “You’re not cocky. You just want to watch him burn.”

“One hundred percent,” she said. “A plea gets him less time. Once I turn over the remaining evidence, his attorney will call. I’m sure of it.”

Which meant him not getting the time he should.

“It’s still a win,” he said quietly.

She met his eyes, understanding what he didn’t say. Justice wasn’t always perfect. Victories came with compromise and the system gave and took in equal measure.

She’d known that before she ever ran for office. She’d witnessed it with the conversations her parents always had.

But now she’d feel it even more.

“It is. And I know this is an old case for you. Or your part in it.”

Another victim seven months ago. One who had little memory of the events that night. Nothing more than the DNA collected under her nails from a scratch and the notes in the PD’s report.

Colson’s report.

“Doesn’t mean I don’t remember it or won’t be here to help,” he said.

She pushed the papers in front of her.

She had a million other things to do, but a few minutes of time talking with an old friend wouldn’t hurt anyone.

And would give her some eye candy in the process.

Dark blue eyes, sharp cheekbones, a dimple when he smiled, if he didn’t cover it up with his facial hair.

And his hair, it looked as if he needed a trim, but nothing crazy.