She pushed open the heavy wooden door of the coffee shop, pausing on the threshold. It was a popular spot on a Friday morning. There, in the corner, she glimpsed John Hillcroft. He was already robed for court. He gave her a quick wave as she ordered an Americano at the counter. Cup in hand, she strode over to where he sat.

“Kate!” He rose, extending his hand. Kate had crossed paths with him a few times in the courthouse, but she hadn’t realized how tall he was until now.

Kate shook his hand, noting the firm, dry grip. “Thanks for meeting with me, John. I know how busy you are.”

He settled back in his chair, folding his legs under the small table. “To be honest, I was a bit curious to meet you after Eddie called.”

She had been curious—and nervous—to meet him, too. The Cambridge-educated prosecutor was renowned for his success in the courtroom. He wore his black robe with the ease of a man who was confident in his abilities.

Crisp. That was the word that Kate thought of as he faced her. Neatly trimmed hair—brown with a few sprinkles of silver, smoothly shaven face, gleaming black dress shoes, crisp barrister tabs under equally crisp white wing-tip shirt collar and a crisp English accent.

Crisply confident. Crisply intelligent.

“I can just imagine what Eddie said. Trust me, I have my good points.” She smiled. But she could not miss John Hillcroft’s allusion. He was curious to meet the woman who had come face to face with a serial killer—and survived. Would he judge her in the same manner that her firm had judged her?

“There’s no question of that, Kate. You are a celebrity in this town. I know of your cases.” He folded his hands on the table and leaned forward. “I would like nothing more than to trade war stories with you.” He smiled. It was a startling transformation to his face, making it less severe and more boyish. “But I have to appear in court in half an hour. Let’s cut to the chase. Eddie told me you are looking for work in the office of Public Prosecutions.”

“Yes. I think it’s a natural fit given my background.”

He studied her for a moment, his expression impenetrable. “I agree.”

Kate felt a hitch of anticipation. It must have showed on her face, because John held up a hand. “But. And there’s a big ‘but.’ We have no openings.”

“None? I’m willing to move out of the city.” Her stomach tightened. There had to be a Crown job somewhere. “I can be flexible. I don’t have any attach—” Whoa, Kate, that’s a bit too much information.

And maybe not entirely accurate?