Olivia
Five Years Later
The scent of roasting chicken and rosemary filled our farmhouse kitchen, a warm, comforting aroma that had become the backdrop to my life. It was a world away from the scent of old paper and ambition that had once been my natural habitat. I was still ambitious, but my world, and my definition of home, had expanded in ways my twenty-year-old self could never have imagined.
I stood on a step-stool in the living room, carefully hanging a string of fairy lights around the exposed wooden beams. Our farmhouse, once a crazy, impulsive purchase, had become our sanctuary. Every scuffed floorboard, every mismatched piece of furniture, told a story of the life we were building together.
"You know," a familiar, teasing voice said from the doorway, "for a woman who once tried to schedule fun on a spreadsheet, you've become surprisingly domestic."
I looked down at my husband. Ethan was leaning against the doorframe, a glass of wine in his hand and that same, heart-stopping grin on his face. He was thirty now, his features matured, the boyish charm replaced by a confident, easy-going masculinity. He was, if possible, even more handsome than the day we met.
"Don't mock my process," I said, reaching for another thumbtack. "A well-planned dinner party is a successful dinner party. It's basic organizational strategy."
"Some things never change," he said with a laugh, walking over to me. He handed me the glass of wine and took the string of lights from my hand. "Here, let me. You're the brilliant Assistant District Attorney. I'm the tall guy. We all have our roles."
He easily tacked the rest of the lights into place, his presence filling the room. I hopped off the stool, my stockinged feet soft on the worn wooden floor. It had been a long week. I was in the middle of prosecuting a high-profile fraud case against a powerful real estate developer, and the days had been a grueling marathon of depositions and legal battles.
"How was your day?" I asked, leaning against him as he worked. He wrapped his free arm around my waist, pulling me close.
"Good," he said, his voice rumbling in his chest. "The foundation just approved a new grant for a music education program in inner-city schools. My mom is thrilled. She's flying out next month to help launch it."
I smiled. His work with the Brooks Family Foundation was his passion. He'd transformed it from a stuffy, corporate check-writing entity into a dynamic force for good. He was changing lives, and he did it with a humility and a joy that made me prouder than I could ever say.
"That's amazing," I said, kissing his shoulder. "We should invite her to stay with us."
"Already did," he said, finishing with the lights. He stepped back to admire his handiwork. The tiny, twinkling lights cast a warm, magical glow over the room. "Perfect."
"Perfect," I agreed.
Our guests were arriving soon—Mia and Jake, who were now married and expecting their first child, and a few other close friends from our college days. It was a comfortable, easy group, a family we had built for ourselves.
As I was putting the finishing touches on the table setting, my phone buzzed. It was a text from my boss, the District Attorney.
DA Thompson: Need you to come in tomorrow morning. 9 AM. We've had a development in the Connolly case.
My heart skipped a beat. The Connolly case. It was the biggest, most dangerous case in the office, and one I had been deliberately kept away from. It involved a massive political corruption scandal, with ties to organized crime. And at the center of it was a name I hadn't heard in years: Sarah-Jane Connolly.
Our bubbly, blonde classmate, the former head of the cheerleading squad, had married into one of the most powerful, and most corrupt, families in the state. Her father-in-law, Michael Connolly, was a ruthless developer and a suspected mob boss. He was the target of the investigation.
"Everything okay?" Ethan asked, coming up behind me and wrapping his arms around my waist. He rested his chin on my shoulder, looking at the phone in my hand.
"It's work," I said, trying to keep my voice neutral. "A new development on a case."
But he knew me too well. He could feel the tension in my body. "Which case?" he asked, his voice losing its easy-going tone.
I hesitated. I knew he worried about my job, about the risks that came with prosecuting violent criminals. The Connolly case was on a whole other level.
"The Connolly case," I said softly.
I felt him stiffen. "Olivia, no. That case is a hornet's nest. It's dangerous. Thompson promised he'd keep you off it."
"I know," I said, turning in his arms to face him. "I'm just going in for a meeting. It's probably nothing."
But I knew it wasn't nothing. You didn't get called into a weekend meeting on the biggest case in the state for 'nothing.'
"Promise me you'll be careful," he said, his eyes dark with a worry that mirrored my own. "These people… they're not just white-collar criminals."
"I promise," I said, reaching up to cup his face. "I'm always careful."
The doorbell rang, signaling the arrival of our friends. The warm, happy bubble of our evening was pierced by the cold reality of my job. I forced a smile, pushing down the knot of anxiety in my stomach.
"Showtime," I said, trying to sound cheerful.
He kissed me, a quick, hard kiss that was full of a desperate, unspoken fear. "I love you," he murmured against my lips.
"I love you, too," I said.
As we walked to the door to greet our friends, I couldn't shake the feeling that my life, our life, the beautiful, predictable world we had so carefully built, was about to get very, very complicated. The past had a funny way of showing up uninvited. And Sarah-Jane Connolly was a ghost I had never expected to see again.