Evening Hours. Mary Baxter Lynn

      Three

      Cutler’s desk was piled high with files and folders.

      He looked at them, feeling a knot form in the pit of his stomach. If he didn’t get off his ass things were going to start unraveling. He couldn’t afford that. Not in an election year.

      Not in any year. His high standard of ethics wouldn’t allow it.

      As he peered at his calendar, a sigh split Cutler’s lips. Two major cases were on the trial docket, cases that even his top assistant wasn’t up to prosecuting. That responsibility fell squarely on his shoulders.

      Both were controversial, with the potential to explode, and that was precisely why he had to be perfectly prepared. Losing was not something that interested him. When he walked into a courtroom, he expected to walk out a winner. He would accept nothing less.

      Cutler glanced at his watch. He and Angel were due to meet as soon as he made it to the office. Too bad he hadn’t told his prime investigator to meet him early, but he knew Angel wasn’t in the best of moods first thing in the morning. Besides, it was barely seven and all his staff worked more nights than not. Ergo, he needed to cut them some slack. That was hard, because he required very little sleep.

      Coffee could take most of the credit for that, Cutler reminded himself. Thinking of coffee made him realize he hadn’t taken advantage of the pot he’d brewed minutes after he’d walked into the office. He’d had several cups at home, but those didn’t count. He was just getting started.

      Moments later, back from the kitchenette, mug in hand, Cutler sat behind his desk. The paperwork hadn’t lessened any, he noticed with a smirk. After sipping on the hot liquid, he leaned back in his chair, lifted his arms above his head and stretched.

      Man, he was tired. No sleep and long hours were telling on him, something he couldn’t let happen. He had to be razor sharp mentally because he knew a shark was circling, a shark that was after his blood.

      During his tenure as district attorney, Cutler had made more than his share of enemies, one of whom, his current opponent, Winston Gilmore, was a high-profile attorney from an old established family with big mouths and big dollars. Gilmore was known to be abrasive, self-confident and into mudslinging.

      No matter.

      Cutler was more than ready to take him on. He had earned a reputation for his own brand of hard-ass volatility. He’d been accused of being so self-assured he wouldn’t listen to others. His own head of Major Crimes, Mike Snelling, had told him that to his face. He couldn’t argue with him.

      He liked to think that he merely approached everything with the grit and determination that eventually brought justice to all. For that Cutler would make no apologies regardless of whether he was reelected. He’d be devastated if he wasn’t, but no one would ever know, not even his mother.

      He’d started out as a cop before attending law school, then had spent several years practicing criminal law, and his determination had catapulted him to the office of district attorney.

      If he lost this election, Cutler knew he could always go back to practicing law, but he didn’t want to do that. He had grown to respect, if not actually enjoy, his job and he wanted desperately to hold on to it. According to his mother, he’d sacrificed a home and family for the people, which was only partly true.

      Although he’d been with a lot of women, he’d never found one with whom he thought he could spend the rest of his life. That included his present significant other, Julia Freeman. He cared about her as a friend, though he wasn’t positive that was her perception of their relationship despite his candor on the subject. When he needed a woman on his arm for social purposes, he chose Julia.

      It would take a special woman to put up with him, and he knew it. Until last night he hadn’t met anyone he felt the desire to sleep with.

      Kaylee Benton had set his heart racing, and he was still thinking about her.

      He hadn’t had that reaction to a female in ages. But there was something about Kaylee that had intrigued him from the moment his blue eyes had locked with her large brown ones.

      He was used to appraising stares from the opposite sex, and he was aware that he was thought of as a player in the singles arena. But there was something different about Kaylee and her eyes. She had touched him on a deeper level.

      Had he detected sadness reflected in her expression when they had met face-to-face? Whatever melancholy she might have been feeling, Cutler immediately recognized one classy lady, someone more striking than drop-dead gorgeous, in both looks and personality.

      Perhaps it was the dimple in her right cheek that had revved his engine. Perhaps it was her body, although he hadn’t seen her standing. His instinct assured him that wouldn’t be necessary. She was nipped in all the right places. And for someone with such a lithe figure, she was amply endowed.

      In his opinion, she would light up a runway more than any of the models who worked for her, and he assumed she had been a model herself. Her unblemished skin, high cheekbones and shoulder-length golden-brown hair were dazzling features.

      Down, boy, he warned himself. Now was not the time to get seriously involved with a woman, not when his life was already on maximum overload. On the other hand, maybe a relationship was exactly what he needed to take the edge off his overstressed mind and body.

      For a moment he considered turning to the computer and running a background check on her.

      Nah.

      If she was a woman he wanted to know better, even on a short-term basis, and she was, then it was better to slowly unwrap the package and savor its contents.

      “You got a moment?”

      Startled at the unexpected interruption, Cutler barely managed not to show his surprise. And disgust. He’d rather start his day biting into a wormy apple than cross paths with this man.

      Mike Snelling, head of Major Crimes Division, was a royal pain in the ass, and had been from day one of Cutler’s term in office. He and Mike had crossed swords from the start, and he didn’t see that changing. Whatever Cutler said, Mike would argue the opposite.

      Yet he’d have to give the devil his due. Snelling was damn competent and when push came to shove, Cutler could depend on him. That was why he curbed the urge to deck him every time he opened his mouth.

      “What’s up?” Cutler finally asked, trying to keep his voice even.

      Mike, who was short and round with ears that protruded far too much, ambled toward one of the vacant chairs in front of the massive desk, sat down and took a deep breath. That short trek had clearly winded him. Cutler wanted to point that out, but that would be like tossing a lighted cigarette butt on a puddle of gasoline.

      “I just wanted to make sure you know what you’re doing,” Snelling said without mincing words.

      What a pompous prick. “I’m not even going to respond to that.”

      “I’m referring to Judge Jenkins,” Snelling pressed.

      “I know that.”

      “My advice is to back off.”

      Cutler squinted his eyes. “I don’t recall asking for your advice.”

      “I know you two butt heads in court like angry bulls,” Snelling went on as though Cutler hadn’t spoken. “Everyone knows that, but to blatantly open an investigation against him is preposterous, if not suicidal.”