This was her fault. Mondays were jury selection, and she should have built in extra time to get through security. But this hearing had cropped up at the last minute, and she hadn’t thought about the timing.

Leigh’s stomach knotted as she eased forward in line. The Honorable Randolph J. Thielman was a ballbuster. He despised unmuted cell phones, baseball caps in his courtroom, and late attorneys. Punctuality was a particular fetish, and he didn’t hesitate to slap lawyers with stiff fines if they showed up late more than once. Leigh had long ago used up her free pass.

At last, she stepped through the propped glass door into the shade of the courthouse. She heaved her leather satchel onto the table, then grabbed a plastic tray for her phone. She checked the time before sending it through the X-ray.

Five minutes.

Leigh stepped through the metal detector and set off a nerve-grating beep. Damn it, she didn’t need this now.

A barrel-chested sheriff’s deputy waved her over. “This way, ma’am.”

Cursing her choice of lingerie, Leigh stepped out of the traffic flow and scanned the guys manning the X-ray machine. Where was Deputy Gronkowski? That one knew she was a regular and always waved her through without a hassle. Leigh didn’t actually know the man’s name, but he was big and beefy and reminded her of a football player.

Leigh lifted her arms and felt a half dozen male gazes on her as the deputy ran a wand over her body, pausing beneath her breasts. She dropped her arms before he could nod and rushed to retrieve her belongings.

Four minutes.

She quickly silenced her phone and stuffed it into her bag. Glancing up, she spotted Gronk near the water fountains talking to a pair of plainclothes cops, a tall one and a short one. They were detectives—she could tell by the guns and gold shields.

And they were looking right at her.

Gronk nodded in her direction, and she felt a jolt of shock as she read the words on his lips: There she is.

Leigh turned and hurried for the elevator. The car was full. The door started to close, and she made a dash for it.

“Wait!” she yelped.

The door slid shut.

“Leigh Larson?”

She whirled around. The tall detective’s gaze homed in on her as he strode toward her.

“Shit.” She cast a glance at the red digits above the elevators. The second elevator was on floor three and moving up.

She stomped her foot.

“Are you Leigh Larson?”