Mistletoe and Murder in Las Vegas Read Free

legal abilities, but that she had embarrassed him. He was all about his reputation as a soon-to-be judge.
    “I can’t remember the exact word,” he said dismissively. “You get the gist.”
    She caught the familiar scent of his sweet-peppery cologne, the scent conjuring memories of steamy nights in bed...and it saddened her to not remember the last time they had made love.
    “The stress of this trial has obviously triggered your dyslexia.” He said it with zero inflection, like a tired bingo caller at the end of his shift. “Which is why you missed the reference in the DA’s discovery the first time you read it.”
    After her third grade teacher noticed Joanne occasionally struggling with reading and interpreting numbers, she had been diagnosed with mild dyslexia, which meant her symptoms simmered rather than boiled. Over the years she’d learned coping techniques, such as asking people to repeat instructions or counting on her fingers to keep track of tasks. In the last few years she sometimes used apps on her smartphone and computer that quickly converted text into spoken words.
    Roger knew all that. Also knew she managed the symptoms so well that they rarely flared, and only then during times of high stress. But blaming her dyslexia for missing that buried reference was a cheap shot.
    Just the way Burnett’s discovery dump had been a cheap shot.
    Her insides tightened as she sensed murkier depths to this chat, but the reasoning escaped her. A direct contempt charge was basically about maintaining order in the courtroom—the judge as parent putting the lawyer as child in a time-out for misbehaving. Minor stuff compared to a lawyer violating legal ethics or breaking a law.
    “What’s this conversation really about?” she asked quietly.
    Roger, his face flushed, paced while jabbering about her being an hour late last spring for a hearing in another judge’s courtroom. “You and I both know the stress of that Oliver case triggered your symptoms, one being a lack of directional orientation, which is why you got lost driving and were late. Because of your tardiness he had to reschedule a trial, which resulted in a serious conflict between the defenders’ office and Judge Stein.”
    She agreed with him that her dyslexia had surfaced during that time—evidenced by her struggling with directions while driving—but reminded Roger that she had called Judge Stein before the hearing started. “His clerk said the judge’s cases were running late, and if I got there within an hour, no problem.” She paused. “I need a reality check here. If being late caused a serious conflict, why didn’t I hear about it back then?”
    “I’ll give you a reality check,” he snapped. “Paul wants you off this case. Bad enough that you disrespected Stein’s courtroom, but calling Judge Fields in the wee hours, at home? Then willfully violating his order? You’re out of control, Joanne.”
    No, you’re out of control. Under the eerie-blue fluorescent lights his reddish face appeared almost mauve, and his hard frown cut deep stress lines between his eyebrows. His edginess unnerved and distressed her as she vaguely realized the boyish Jake was no more.
    Taking in a slow breath, she refocused her thoughts on Sebastian and tomorrow’s closing argument. A lawyer told stories to the jury throughout a trial, then finally asked them for justice during closing argument. No DNA, photographs or other evidence tied Sebastian to the crime, only that he matched the general description given to police by eyewitnesses. Without her guidance, twelve people might wrongly convict an innocent young man.
    Underneath all of Roger’s ladder-climbing, yes-man-to-Paul crap, he knew her moral compass pointed to fair play. Which meant she had a chance to convince him to persuade Paul to keep her on this case for just one more day.
    “I realize you must comply with Paul’s decisions because a corporation’s strength, accountability and reputation lie