He swung on his heel and darted out.

“Oh, God.” Rachel covered her face, but it did nothing to erase the image of the hurt she’d seen in Nick’s eyes. The damage, she thought miserably, that she had done. “What a mess. I’m going after him.”

“Leave him alone.”

“It’s my fault,” she said, dropping her arms to her sides. “I have to try.”

“I said leave him alone.”

“Damn it, Zack—”

“Excuse me.” There was a rap on the door, which Nick had left hanging open. Rachel turned and bit back a groan.

“Judge Beckett.”

“Good evening, Ms. Stanislaski. Mr. Muldoon, I dropped in for one of your famous manhattans. Perhaps you could mix one for me while I have a conference with your brother’s attorney.”

“Your Honor,” Rachel began, “my client…”

“I saw your client as he roared out of here. Your mouth’s bleeding, Mr. Muldoon.” She turned and shot a look at Rachel. “Counselor?”

“Perfect timing,” Rachel said under her breath. “I’ll handle this,” she said to Zack. “Don’t worry. And once Nick works off a little steam—”

“He’ll come back smiling?” Zack finished. His temper was fading, but guilt was moving full steam ahead. “I don’t think so. And it’s not your fault.” He wished he had more than his own empty sense of failure to give her. “He’s my brother. I’m responsible.” He shook his head before she could speak. “Let me go fix the judge her drink.”

He brushed by her. Rachel reached out to stop him, then let her hand fall away. There was nothing she could say to ease the hurt. But she had a chance to minimize the damage with Judge Beckett.

She found the judge looking attractive and relaxed at a table on the far side of the bar. Yet the aura of power the woman had when wearing black robes on the bench wasn’t diminished in the least by the trim blue slacks and white sweater she wore tonight.

“Have a seat, Counselor.”

“Thank you.”

Beckett smiled, tapping rose-tipped nails on the edge of the table. “I can see the wheels turning. How much do I tell her, how much do I evade? I always enjoy having you in my courtroom, Ms. Stanislaski. You have style.”

“Thank you,” Rachel said again. Their drinks arrived, and she took the time while they were served to gather her thoughts. “I’m afraid you might, understandably, misinterpret what you saw tonight, Your Honor.”

“Are you?” With a smile, Beckett sampled her drink. She shifted her gaze to meet Zack’s and sent him an approving smile. “And what would you consider my interpretation?”

“Obviously, Nick and his brother were arguing.”

“Fighting,” Beckett corrected, stirring the cherry around in her drink before biting it from its stem. “Arguing involves words. And, while words may leave scars, they don’t draw blood.”